The woman who spoke possessed an undeniable elegance, her lustrous hair cascading like liquid silk over porcelain shoulders. Her figure curved in all the right places, drawing the eye with an almost magnetic pull—particularly to certain... prominent features that, once glimpsed, proved difficult to forget.
If one had to capture her essence in a single word, it would be allure.
Madam Rosmerta.
Proprietress of the Three Broomsticks.
She radiated that intoxicating quality called maturity—a siren song that proved fatally attractive to impressionable young men of seventeen or eighteen.
Take Carrow, for instance. Dudley had caught him more than once stealing glances, his gaze drifting with studied casualness across her décolletage while his Adam's apple bobbed tellingly. The poor boy was practically salivating.
Quite the repressed romantic, Dudley mused with amusement.
Clearly, Carrow had fallen under Madam Rosmerta's spell, though he was the only one present so afflicted. Hermione was, naturally, immune as a girl. Harry remained blissfully oblivious in his youth. As for Dudley himself...
He felt little interest in the barmaid's charms. Despite her youthful appearance, she had to be well past forty. According to his research, she'd been running the Three Broomsticks since the 1970s—over two decades of service.
Mature women simply weren't his preference. He favored the younger ones. Eighteen, perhaps?
"Two Butterbeers, two cherry juices, and one soda, please," Dudley interjected, watching Carrow continue to stare wordlessly.
Madam Rosmerta raised an eyebrow with practiced curiosity. "Four people, but five drinks?"
"I'm having two," Dudley explained smoothly. He and Carrow would sample the wizarding world's signature beverage—if it proved disappointing, he could always share Hermione's cherry juice. The soda, complete with its tiny paper umbrella, was Harry's special request.
Men remain boys until death, Dudley reflected, and Harry's still actually a boy.
Even if Dudley had ordered three Butterbeers, Madam Rosmerta wouldn't have served them. While she sold the mildly alcoholic drink to older students, first-years were strictly forbidden. Fortunately, Dudley's imposing physique proved deceptive—as long as he kept quiet about his age, no one questioned his year.
After Madam Rosmerta glided away, Carrow snapped back to his usual composed demeanor. In truth, he was merely indulging in harmless appreciation. No matter his attraction, pursuit was impossible. Age aside, his family would never approve.
Born to privilege came certain sacrifices—including the luxury of free love and marriage.
Soon their drinks arrived. The Butterbeer proved surprisingly refreshing, while the cherry juice was cloyingly sweet. Dudley discreetly shared some of his Butterbeer with Hermione, who seemed grateful for the upgrade.
Under the pub's warm, amber lighting, the group settled around their small table. The conversation quickly turned to business—Dudley's latest money-making scheme.
A simple entertainment concept, really. A board game unlike anything the wizarding world had seen.
Dudley withdrew a carefully prepared proposal from his enchanted pouch and slid it across to Carrow. As he explained the concept, his partner's eyes grew progressively brighter with each detail.
Dudley's innovative vision, combined with Carrow's family connections and influence—together, they could make this "board game" phenomenon sweep through the entire magical community.
The potential profits were staggering.
Face-to-face meetings truly are superior, Dudley noted. Owl post lacks both security and clarity—too much room for misunderstanding.
"Truly worthy of Mr. Dursley," Carrow murmured with genuine admiration. "Your abilities and ideas far exceed ordinary expectations."
They quickly moved to practical details: development timelines, production logistics, and profit distribution. With their previous successful collaboration as a foundation, negotiations proceeded smoothly.
The final agreement: a fifty-fifty split.
Carrow could have demanded more—Dudley's bottom line was actually thirty-seventy in Carrow's favor. After all, Dudley merely provided concepts and planning, while Carrow handled all operations and production. Their time investments were hardly equal, yet Dudley would claim half the profits.
Just how highly does this boy value me? Dudley wondered, recognizing another calculated investment in their relationship.
With Dudley's intelligence, Carrow's favor-currying was transparent as glass. Still, who refused clean money delivered to their doorstep?
Carrow raised his glass in toast. Crystal clinked against crystal as both young men drained their Butterbeer in a single swallow, sealing their partnership.
Contract signing was scheduled for the following week.
Watching Carrow's barely contained eagerness, Dudley marveled once again at the boy's perfect embodiment of Slytherin virtues: ambitious, perceptive, shrewd, honorable, and politically astute.
Don't assume only certain cultures value personal relationships, Dudley reflected. It's universal—just called by different names. Investment, networking, strategic alliance...
Carrow's cultivation of their friendship was precisely that—a long-term investment.
Soon Carrow excused himself to settle their bill, citing numerous tasks ahead. Making money was always time-sensitive, after all. Just before departing, however, he indulged in one final, lingering appreciation of Madam Rosmerta's figure—particularly her posterior—before reluctantly taking his leave.
Dudley checked his pocket watch, noting the advancing hour. A sudden inspiration struck him.
"Harry," he said, turning to his cousin with a meaningful look.
"Want to visit your home?"
Harry blinked in confusion. "Are we returning to Privet Drive?"
"No," Dudley clarified gently. "I mean your family's ancestral home."
Godric's Hollow—also known as Godric's Valley—housed the Potter family estate along with many other wizarding residences. Even Headmaster Dumbledore had spent his childhood here.
Similar to Hogsmeade yet distinctly different, the village wasn't purely magical. Instead, it represented a unique integration: half wizards, half Muggles, living side by side in blissful ignorance. The Muggles never suspected that legendary magical beings walked among them daily.
The distance from Hogsmeade to Godric's Hollow was manageable—certainly closer than the journey from Privet Drive. This time they traveled via Floo Powder, using the Three Broomsticks' fireplace as their departure point.
While they avoided the Knight Bus's nauseating motion, the experience proved equally uncomfortable in different ways. Soot and ash clung to their clothes like stubborn shadows.
A simple clap of Dudley's hands restored their garments to pristine condition.
Really must develop better magical transportation, he noted mentally.
The trio emerged from a nearby shop's fireplace and made their way to the memorial at Godric's Hollow's heart. The modest obelisk shimmered and transformed before their eyes, revealing three figures: a man with unruly hair and glasses, a woman with flowing locks and a kind, beautiful face, and a baby boy cradled safely in his mother's arms.
The Potter family, immortalized in stone and memory.