Chapter 3: "I Don't Eat Pudding"
For Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, today was the most important day of their lives.
Firstly, it was their darling son's birthday. But more importantly, Mr. Dursley was on the verge of landing the deal of a lifetime.
The client was from a formidable company out of Birmingham, a firm with terrifying financial backing and an immense need for industrial drills. Best of all, this wonderful new client had specifically requested that the company director, one Vernon Dursley, personally handle the account.
It was manna from heaven!
"I expect one of my old clients put in a good word for me with the big man from Birmingham," Vernon Dursley boasted, standing proudly by the front door in a dinner suit that was stretched taut across his considerable frame. "That's the only way to explain a deal this big landing in my lap."
He glanced at his wife, Petunia, and his son, Dudley, and was pleased with what he saw.
Petunia was wearing a tasteful lilac evening dress, her face carefully made up for the occasion. His precious son, Dudley, was his spitting image in a matching black dinner suit. It was, perhaps, a little too tight; Dudley was currently tugging at his bow tie, trying to get a bit of air.
"When our guest arrives, I shall greet him elegantly at the door, and then, Dudley, you will...?" Petunia looked at her son, her pride impossible to hide.
Dudley squeezed out a smile so fake it was almost impressive and gave a theatrical, gentlemanly bow. "May I take your coat, Mr. Shelby?"
"Oh, wonderful! Mr. Shelby will be so charmed by him!" Aunt Petunia was ecstatic.
Uncle Vernon patted Dudley's head, then his face soured as he spun around. "And you?"
"I'll be in my cupboard under the stairs, making no noise and pretending I don't exist," a skinny, bespectacled boy answered quietly, scratching at the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
"See that you do," Uncle Vernon growled, his eyes filled with menace. "This is the most important night of my life. If you dare make a single sound, I swear you'll regret the day you were born."
Taking a deep breath, he checked the clock on the wall. "Now, take your dinner and get back in your room! And remember what I said!"
Harry said nothing, simply picking up his pitiful meal and retreating into the cupboard under the stairs.
Time crawled by as the Dursleys waited with bated breath. Finally, the appointed hour of eight o'clock arrived.
A long convoy of black cars appeared at the end of Privet Drive, gliding silently towards the Dursleys' house before coming to a smooth, coordinated stop.
Several large men in black suits emerged from each vehicle, quickly and silently fanning out, their eyes scanning the quiet suburban street for any sign of trouble.
After a few minutes, once they had deemed the area secure, the man in charge strode to the lead car and respectfully pulled open the rear door.
"Good Lord..." Vernon Dursley swallowed hard.
He had expected their guest to be important, but it was clear he had still grossly underestimated the situation.
As the Dursleys watched in awe, a single, small shoe was placed on the pavement. It was followed by the face of a child.
Leon met their three incredulous stares as he walked, flanked by his bodyguards, to the front door of Number Four.
"Mr... Mr. Shelby! Thank you so much for coming!" Vernon was the first to recover, stammering his greeting. "I didn't realize you were so..."
"Hmm?" The bodyguards behind Leon all turned their heads in unison to stare at Vernon. The unspoken threat was clear: if he chose his next word poorly, he would be sent to meet his maker.
"Accomplished for your age! Yes, young and accomplished!" Vernon's voice cracked, and a thick sheen of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Beside him, Petunia and Dudley snapped out of their stupor. Petunia managed a strained smile, playing the part of the gracious hostess as she stepped aside to let Leon in.
Dudley, meanwhile, nervously reached out his hands. "M-May... May I take your coat, Mr. Shelby, sir...?"
Leon gave the family a cursory glance and, out of a sense of propriety, gave a slight nod. He then stepped inside, his bodyguards following him into the house. For a moment, the owners of the house were left standing on their own doorstep while their guest made himself at home.
Once inside, Leon's eyes swept the room, lingering for a moment on the cupboard under the stairs before he moved noiselessly to the dining table.
He glanced back at the doorway and, in a perfectly natural tone, addressed the home's actual owners. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Sit wherever you like."
The Dursleys forced their smiles back on and tiptoed nervously into their own home.
And so, the most bizarre dinner party in the history of Privet Drive began.
Leon ate with a slow, methodical grace, sampling the surprisingly decent food without saying a word. He looked the very picture of a well-mannered young gentleman. Behind him, his black-suited guards stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their hard eyes scanning every corner of the room.
The Dursleys, in contrast, were like terrified quails, too scared to even pick up their knives and forks for fear of making a wrong move. All they dared to do was take occasional sips of orange juice.
Vernon, however, had not forgotten his big order. After draining two full glasses of juice for courage, he finally dared to speak.
"Mr. Shelby... is it true that you're interested in purchasing some drills from our company?"
Leon frowned. He disliked being disturbed while he was eating.
He thought for a moment, then crooked a finger at the bodyguard behind him and pointed to the man's hip. The guard understood immediately, drawing the pistol from his holster.
Leon took the gun and placed it gently on the table. The muzzle was, quite deliberately, pointed directly at Vernon Dursley.
"Gun! He's got a gun!"
Dudley's voice, forced through his fleshy throat, came out as a high-pitched shriek. Without a moment's hesitation, he scrambled under the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were frozen in terror, their faces pale as they slumped back in their chairs. The confident, ambitious couple from moments before had vanished completely. Vernon, feeling all the strength drain from his body, could not make any sense of what was happening.
Didn't he come here to buy drills? Why did he bring a gun?
Good heavens, was he planning on not paying?
Whatever the reason, the table was quiet now. Leon could finally finish his meal in peace. He had to admit, Petunia's cooking was commendable. The steak was done to perfection, and the soup was excellent.
"The main course was very satisfactory," Leon said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He gestured for his men to drag Dudley out from under the table. "Is there a dessert?"
Dudley no longer had the courage to meet his eyes and could only stand there, trembling and speechless.
Finally, Petunia took a deep breath and stammered, "There's... there's pudding in the kitchen. I'll get it for you now, Mr. Shelby."
She suppressed her terror, rose unsteadily to her feet, and made her way to the kitchen.
Watching her leave, Leon leaned forward and lowered his voice, speaking to Vernon. "Mr. Dursley, let's make a little wager. If you guess correctly, I will give you an order of unparalleled size."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But if you guess wrong, I'll have to test the accuracy of this firearm."
Meeting Vernon's terrified gaze, he laid out the terms of the bet. "Tell me... when she brings out the pudding, will it have sugar sprinkled on top?"
"Yes!" Before Vernon could answer, Dudley, who had been paralyzed with fear, found his voice. "Mum always puts lots of sugar on the pudding..."
Leon straightened up, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Very well. Let us see who is right."
A few moments later, Aunt Petunia returned from the kitchen, walking on unsteady feet. In her hands, she held a large bowl of mango pudding.
And on top of the pudding was a thick, generous layer of white sugar.
Vernon and Dudley almost jumped for joy. They both let out a huge, simultaneous sigh of relief, celebrating their narrow escape from death.
Seeing the smiles on their two fat faces, Leon shook his head, his expression one of deep regret.
"I don't eat pudding."
And then, he picked up the gun.