This was the real reason Dudley had insisted on staying at Mrs. Figg's house: the cats. So many glorious, furry friends.
In his previous life, he'd been a devoted cat owner. In this one, Vernon's unfortunate allergy to cat fur had crushed his dreams of filling the Dursley home with fluffy companions.
"Dudley, dear, I think you should put Snowy down," Mrs. Figg said, a gentle, amused smile on her face. "Look, you're annoying her."
"Impossible," Dudley mumbled, rubbing his face against the silver tabby's belly one more time. "I dote on this little one. I practically raised her on bottled goat's milk. If she's annoyed with me now, then she's just plain heartless."
The sight of the hulking, muscular boy tenderly nuzzling a small cat was a study in contrasts. Snowy, for her part, wasn't struggling. Aside from a look of pure, feline indignation on her face, she was actually purring, a low rumble vibrating from her chest. Cats were not like dogs; if she truly felt threatened, Dudley's face would have been met with a flurry of claws.
"Well, it's your own fault for not visiting," Mrs. Figg said with a hint of playful blame. "Snowy, Tibbles, Mr. Paws, and Tufty have almost forgotten who you are."
As she spoke, the other three cats, drawn by the familiar voices, emerged from various corners of the house. They began to wind around Dudley's legs, rubbing against him frantically, driven by the dual desires to get some of the dried fish they knew he carried and to reclaim him with their scent.
Harry stood by the door, feeling like an invisible ghost as he watched the easy, happy chatter between his cousin and the old woman. He couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Dudley could talk to anyone about anything.
"Oh, Harry, dear," Mrs. Figg said, finally noticing him. "Let me get you something to eat."
Her cooking was excellent—fried sausages, stewed sauerkraut, mashed potatoes—but Dudley wasn't in the mood. It was the same food Petunia made, just prepared with a bit more skill. Even the most delicious meal becomes tiresome when it's all you ever eat.
"Mrs. Figg, let me," Dudley announced, tossing the rest of the dried fish to the grateful cats and clapping his hands together. "Tonight, I'll show you my skills."
Mrs. Figg looked surprised. "Little Dudley can cook?" Given the Dursleys' personalities, she thought it was a miracle they had raised such a boy at all. She never would have guessed he had culinary talents.
"Of course!" Dudley beamed.
"Brother D's cooking is delicious," Harry added, remembering a previous taste. He couldn't stop himself from licking his lips in anticipation.
Seeing Harry's earnestness, Mrs. Figg, half-believing and half-doubting, ushered Dudley into her kitchen.
The room soon filled with the fragrant sizzle of scallions, ginger, and garlic hitting hot oil. Dudley moved with the confidence of a seasoned chef. He diced tofu, blanched it, and stir-fried minced pork until the rich aroma filled the entire house. Soon, a feast was laid out on the dining table: Twice-Cooked Pork, Braised Pork Belly, Mapo Tofu, and Lion's Head Meatballs, accompanied by a simple Tomato and Egg Drop Soup.
One taste was all it took to conquer the stomachs of Mrs. Figg and Harry.
"It's so good," Harry mumbled, his mouth full. Even though Petunia's cooking was fine, the limited menu couldn't compare to the explosion of flavours Dudley had created.
"It's just simple home cooking," Dudley said, finishing another bowl of rice with satisfaction. "If you like it, I'll make it for you every day while we're here." At home, Petunia forbade him from entering the kitchen, so he could only cook on the rare occasions the house was empty.
The cats, having just finished their own meal, were drawn by the new smells. They leaped onto the table, sniffing curiously at the plates. Their first choice, unfortunately, was the Mapo Tofu. The sharp, pungent scent of chilli and Sichuan peppercorns sent them recoiling, and they hopped back to the floor in disgust.
"Now, now, children, the kitchen is my territory," Mrs. Figg began, a stern look on her face. Harry's expression fell. "...But," she added, her eyes twinkling, "I suppose an occasional treat is fine."
"Yay!" Harry cheered, raising his spoon high.
In the days that followed, life settled into a peaceful, happy routine. Dudley and Harry went to school, exercised on the lawn, and came home to a delicious, home-cooked meal.
Until one afternoon.
A school activity let out early, so Harry arrived home before Dudley. He found the house empty; Mrs. Figg was out running errands. As Dudley walked in the door a few minutes later, before he could even take off his shoes, Snowy darted out from a side room.
"Meow!" the cat cried, her meow sharp and anxious.
"What's wrong, Snowy?" Dudley asked, confused. He loved cats, but he certainly couldn't speak their language.
"Meow!" Seeing her message wasn't getting through, Snowy bit down on Dudley's trouser leg, tugging insistently. Then she ran towards a hallway at the back of the house, looking back at him and pawing at the floorboards.
Dudley finally understood. She wanted him to follow. These cats are smarter than average, he thought. Almost human.
The hallway ended at a tightly shut wooden door, one that was always locked. But from behind the door, which should have led to an empty storeroom, came a chaotic thumping and scrambling sound.
A break-in?
Dudley's first reaction was a surge of protective anger. He clenched his fists, a grim smile spreading across his face. Breaking into my house? I'll have to make sure this is an experience you never forget.
Enforcer Dudley was back.
A flimsy wooden door was no match for him. With a single, powerful shove, the lock splintered and the door flew open.
But the sight that greeted him wasn't a thief.
It was a book. To be precise, it was a book that was skittering across the floor on its own, snapping a pair of vicious-looking teeth that lined its cover. It had eyes. And it was currently chasing a terrified Mr. Paws and Tufty around the room in a mad, chaotic circle.
***
(End of Chapter)
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