Petunia quickly set the thought aside. After all, her sister and that greasy little bat had fallen out years ago.
Still, every time the memory of Snape surfaced, she could not help grinding her teeth.
The most vulnerable letter she had ever written—the one she least wanted anyone to see—had been read by that same greasy bat and her own sister. They had torn her pride to shreds without a second thought.
Later she heard that her brother-in-law had once given the little bat a thorough thrashing at school. Petunia had secretly approved—arrogant, stuck-up James Potter though he had been.
"I've already prepared your room upstairs," Aunt Petunia said, clearing her throat and adopting a more formal tone. "When your letter arrived a few days ago… I must say I was surprised you didn't simply telephone. Sending an owl instead…"
"I'm sorry, Aunt," Harry replied with a helpless smile. "There are no telephones there. It's rather backward."
Uncle Vernon's eyebrows shot up.
"Exactly! You're quite right!" he boomed. "A lot of old stick-in-the-muds, the lot of them. Good that you've realised it—good indeed. All those years under this roof haven't been wasted."
Harry privately thought that his "years under this roof" had taught him precious little worth knowing, but he kept the smile on his face.
His mind was entirely occupied with Vivi and Cassandra. All he wanted was to pull them free of time as quickly as possible; he had no energy left for quarrelling with the Dursleys.
"Your birthday's coming up, isn't it?" Vernon continued. "The thirty-first, if I remember correctly—at least that's what the letter said. Your aunt will bake a cake at midday by way of celebration. In the evening I have a very important business meeting."
"What sort of business?" Harry asked, taking a sip of milk.
"If it comes off, it will be the biggest deal of my life." Vernon's small, beetle-like eyes gleamed. "With a bit of luck, by the first of August we'll be looking at villas in Majorca!"
He turned a stern look on Harry.
"So I hope you'll… keep that owl of yours under control. No noise. I'll see you get a decent room of your own."
"Thank you," Harry said, doing his best to sound sincere.
"As for you, Dudley, my boy," Vernon went on, "your cousin's job is simply to stay out of sight. You, on the other hand, are so charming, so delightful—I'm certain the Masons will take to you at once."
Charming?
Harry glanced at Dudley, whose substantial backside already overflowed the sides of the chair, and silently hoped the Masons were devout members of the Church of England. At least that denomination might not object too strongly to a pig in a wig.
"Cousin Dudley *is* very likeable," Harry agreed, draining the last of his milk. "I admit it."
Vernon looked pleased.
"You're a good deal more agreeable than your father ever was, boy."
Harry considered that for a moment.
Years of life with the Dursleys… years of being singled out by Snape in Potions…
He said nothing.
Sometimes he wondered whether things might have been easier if his father had made fewer enemies.
After breakfast Dudley tried to slip away with Harry, only to be intercepted by Vernon. Looking distinctly disappointed, the larger boy was forced to practise, over and over, exactly how he was to greet the Masons when they arrived.
It was nearly midday before Dudley finally escaped.
"I thought I was going to suffocate," he groaned, dropping heavily onto the front step beside Harry. "You have no idea—Dad's been making me rehearse this for a whole week…"
"Is that why you've lost weight?" Harry asked, his tone pure honey.
"I never knew wizard school taught people how to talk like that." Dudley flung an arm around his cousin's thinner shoulders. "Honestly, if you'd only been a bit less sarcastic when we were kids…"
"Would you have stopped bullying me?" Harry asked.
Dudley thought about it, then answered honestly.
"No."
"Then neither would I," Harry replied with equal honesty. "But I've grown up. I've learned that adults have to be a little hypocritical sometimes."
"So you don't like me?" Dudley looked almost forlorn.
"It's all right. I don't exactly hate you." Harry patted the thick shoulder—thicker, he noted, than a pork knuckle. "You know how it is. Wizards don't believe in much except Merlin."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dudley was fairly certain it was not a compliment, but he had no proof.
"Nothing important. If you ever want to lose a bit of weight, I can mix you something." Harry gave the rolls of fat around Dudley's middle a gentle tug. "Look—they're already hanging over."
The touch found a ticklish spot. Dudley dissolved into breathless laughter.
"Dad… Dad thinks it looks manly… and Mum's always saying I'm too thin…"
"And what about the girls at school?" Harry asked, delivering the final blow.
Dudley's mouth opened, then closed again as understanding slowly dawned.
"I'm pretty good at boxing, though," he said at last. "Anyone who laughs at me gets one good punch and shuts up."
Harry briefly pictured the scene.
If Dudley ever met Draco Malfoy, the result would be spectacular. Imagine Dudley arriving at Hogwarts, being called a Mudblood… He might not even understand the insult at first, but once he did, that punch would certainly follow.
The mental image was oddly entertaining.
"Some things you have to decide for yourself, Dudley." Harry rested an elbow on the ample shoulder. "Parents aren't always right. You've got to learn to tell right from wrong. This… is rather a big problem. It's all right now, but later on you might have trouble finding a girlfriend."
He gave the soft middle another light pinch for emphasis.
"Then get me some of that medicine, Harry," Dudley said seriously. "I don't want to end up without a girlfriend. That would be *terrible*."
A second later a more pressing matter returned to him.
"Hang on—where's my present?"
Harry had almost forgotten. Dudley's passion for gifts was legendary. One year, after receiving two fewer presents than expected, he had overturned the entire dining table and nearly caused Harry to choke on a piece of bacon.
"Your presents are upstairs—all wizarding sweets. I brought you a bit of everything." Harry stood and dusted himself off. "Come on."
At the mere mention of food, Dudley's eyes lit up. He followed Harry upstairs without a word of complaint.
Inside the bedroom Harry opened the trunk and began producing parcels.
"Cauldron Cakes!" Dudley crowed, seizing one and tearing at the wrapper at once.
They really were delicious—especially the sharp-sweet raspberry filling. Before he quite realised it, Dudley had polished off seven.
"You eat fast," Harry observed, already reaching for more.
He failed to notice Pobby slipping quietly out of the trunk and coming to stand silently behind them, as ghostly as a true spirit.
"Try these as well." Harry handed over a selection of Honeydukes sweets. "Open this jar."
Dudley, blissfully unaware of danger, twisted the lid—
"Oh my *God*—"
He nearly flung the jar across the room.
Inside, a dense mass of cockroaches writhed and scrambled over one another, long antennae already probing toward the rim.
Even Dudley's robust nerves were severely tested. He slammed the lid back on with admirable speed.
"What *is* that?" he demanded, voice high with horror.
"Sweets," Harry answered calmly. "Cockroach Clusters. They look like cockroaches, but the centres are cream. Quite tasty, actually. You should try one—"
Without hesitation Dudley screwed his eyes shut, opened the jar again, and shoved a Cluster into his mouth.
A moment later he opened his eyes, beaming.
"It's sweet! Really good!"
"You and my Headmaster would get on famously," Harry said, regarding his cousin with the respect due to a true warrior. "He's very fond of them. Most of the school thinks he's mad."
"I don't." Dudley held the jar and suddenly produced a distinctly wicked smile.
"What's that look for?"
"What if I took these to school?" Dudley's eyes gleamed. "I'd challenge the other lads—anyone who dares eat a cockroach is the bravest of the lot. Then I'd eat one myself and prove *I'm* the bravest. Brilliant, eh?"
"If you don't want to spend the rest of your school career known as 'Dudley the Cockroach-Eater,' I strongly advise against it," Harry said with genuine concern.
Dudley considered, then nodded slowly.
"Fair point."
"And tighten that lid properly," Harry added. "You wouldn't want a real one getting mixed in."
"Sound advice," Dudley agreed. He sealed the jar carefully and reached for another box. "What's this?"
"Fizzing Whizbees. They make you float a few inches off the ground."
"Nice." Dudley set it aside. "And this?"
"I really wouldn't—"
Harry never finished. Dudley had already bitten into the dense, greyish biscuit.
"Hagrid's Rock Cakes," Harry sighed. "I forgot to take those out…"
"They're not bad at all," Dudley declared cheerfully, crunching away as though the infamous hardness of Rock Cakes simply did not apply to him.
Harry looked from the cake to his cousin and wondered whether some people truly were built differently.
Then a white equine head appeared over Dudley's shoulder.
"What are you eating? Break me off a piece!"
Dudley froze.
He was absolutely certain the only two people in the room were himself and Harry. There was no woman.
He turned his head—and let out a full-throated yell.
Pobby's face was inches from his own.
A horse. An actual *horse* was standing in Harry's bedroom.
Fortunately Harry had cast a Silencing Charm the moment they entered, or the entire household would already be charging up the stairs.
"Holy Mother of God!" Dudley gasped.
"Not Mary," Pobby corrected politely. "Pobby."
Dudley stared from unicorn to cousin and back again.
"Pobby?"
"She's a unicorn, Dudley," Harry explained. "A friend of mine. You should feel honoured—unicorns only approach those with the purest of hearts."
"His heart *is* rather pure," Pobby observed, studying Dudley. "I suspect the only thing that has ever truly mattered to him is food."
"I have to admit, Miss Unicorn," Dudley said, still pale, "you're not wrong."
"All right, calm down." Harry patted the edge of the bed. Pobby settled herself gracefully; Harry leaned comfortably against her side. "Unicorns are sacred creatures. You ought to be pleased, not frightened."
"Really?" Dudley swallowed and took a longer look.
Even someone as straightforward as Dudley could sense the quiet, radiant purity that surrounded her.
"Dudley! Dudley!"
Uncle Vernon's voice floated up from below.
"I'd better go," Dudley sighed. "The Masons are coming. More rehearsing…"
He added, with genuine irritation, "I still don't understand why Dad insists on making me go through this over and over…"
"There is another way," Pobby remarked suddenly.
"What way?" Dudley's interest was instantaneous. Anything that might spare him further rehearsal sounded like pure salvation.
"You could ask Harry to brew a little Euphoria Elixir," Pobby suggested, tilting her head. "It fills a person with happiness. Imagine—if the Masons arrived and tasted something laced with it, they would be so cheerful that your father's business would practically arrange itself."
Dudley's eyes grew brighter with every word.
By the end he let out a joyful whoop and bolted for the door.
"I'm telling Dad right now!" he shouted over his shoulder, and vanished down the stairs.
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