Julien looked like he was genuinely hanging on Dudley's every word, nodding at all the right moments. In truth, his eyes were quietly sweeping every corner of the living room and every closed door.
Harry Potter. The name kept turning over in his mind. The legendary boy—the Boy Who Lived—should be right here, at Number 4 Privet Drive.
"By the way, did you catch last week's heavyweight title fight? Tyson's left hook was textbook," Julien said, keeping the small talk alive.
Dudley's eyes lit up even brighter. "You actually know boxing?! I'm telling you…"
(Julien's inner monologue: I know jack shit about boxing. I just know you're going to piss yourself next year when the Dementors show up.)
The living room was filled with nothing but Dudley's loud boasting and the Dursleys' painfully dull conversation about stock prices and suburban property values. There wasn't the slightest trace that another boy even lived in this house.
Until—
Tea time. Clara gently tapped the rim of her delicate porcelain cup against the saucer with a soft clink. She turned to Petunia, who was serving second helpings of cream scones, and asked in a soft, curious tone, as if it were the most casual thing in the world:
"Petunia dear, I seem to remember you had a sister… Lily, wasn't it? We played together a few times when we were little."
The second the name "Lily" left her lips, the air in the room turned to ice.
Uncle Vernon choked violently on his tea, his face flushing a deep, angry purple.
Aunt Petunia's hand froze mid-air while passing a scone. Her long neck went rigid, lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. The gold necklace at her throat trembled slightly.
Even Dudley stopped describing knockout power and stared at his suddenly petrified parents in confusion.
After several excruciating seconds of silence, Petunia snatched her hand back, nearly dropping the scone. She forced her voice into something that almost sounded normal:
"Lily? Oh… her." She paused. "That was years ago. Car accident. She and that husband of hers. Both dead."
Clara covered her mouth with a soft, apologetic gasp. "Oh my God… I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. That's terrible. I heard… she had a child?"
Petunia's face went even paler. Her sharp eyes flicked across Clara's concerned expression, searching for any hint of curiosity tied to that world she wanted nothing to do with.
Finally, she drew a deep breath and squeezed the words out through clenched teeth, clinging to her icy composure with visible effort:
"Yes. There's a boy. Harry. Harry Potter." She practically spat the surname. "We're… raising him now."
She didn't say "he lives with us." She said "we're raising him," like it was an unpleasant legal obligation.
Vernon gave a loud grunt, trying to drag the conversation back to safer ground. "Enough of that depressing nonsense! Dudley, why don't you show Julien that new Nintendo you got!"
But Julien's eyes had brightened. Keeping a perfectly sympathetic expression, he said gently, "This Potter cousin… is he here too? Maybe Dudley could introduce us? Since we're the same age—"
Dudley's face immediately fell. "Him? He's always hiding in the cupboard under the stairs like some weirdo."
Petunia looked like she'd just swallowed a fly. Extremely reluctant, she turned toward the staircase and called out in her shrill, emotionless voice:
"Harry! Come down! We have guests who want to see you!"
A moment later, a small, thin figure appeared hesitantly at the top of the stairs. Julien knew he should be the same age as him and Dudley, but the boy looked noticeably smaller and frailer.
He was wearing an oversized, faded old T-shirt and baggy jeans that clearly weren't his. Thick, broken glasses held together by multiple layers of tape covered half his thin face. Beneath a messy fringe of black hair, a faint lightning-shaped scar was just visible on his forehead.
But what stood out most were his eyes—bright, almost luminous green, like emeralds after rain. They held a mixture of wariness and quiet stubbornness. They looked remarkably similar to Julien's own.
It was Harry Potter.
Julien's breath caught for the briefest second.
The boy standing before him didn't yet look like the brave, determined savior he would become at Hogwarts. Right now he looked more like a startled little animal—cautious, guarded, clearly uncomfortable in his own home.
Harry had noticed Julien too. He paused on the stairs, green eyes widening with surprise and curiosity. He seemed unused to visitors, especially ones his own age.
"Oh, this is Dudley's cousin, Harry," Petunia introduced him dismissively, her voice dripping with impatience, as if even mentioning him was a chore. "Harry, come say hello. This is Aunt Clara, and her son Julien."
Harry pressed his lips together, walked down carefully, and stopped a respectful distance away. He kept his head slightly lowered. "Hello, Aunt Clara… Hello, Julien," he said softly, fingers nervously picking at the hem of his oversized shirt.
Julien pushed down the complicated rush of emotions and gave Harry a warm, genuine smile. He deliberately softened his posture so he wouldn't seem intimidating. "Hello, Harry. I'm Julien. It's really nice to meet you."
The smile was clean and kind—no trace of the Dursleys' arrogance or Dudley's cruelty.
Harry blinked, startled. He looked up, green eyes flashing with surprise, before quickly dropping his gaze again. The corners of his mouth lifted—just a tiny bit—as if the unexpected friendliness had caught him off guard.
"We brought some pastries for the children," Clara said, handing over the box with a smile. She seemed to have noticed Harry's situation but didn't comment, not knowing the full story. "Julien, Dudley, and Harry are all around the same age. They can play together."
Petunia took the box with a curt "Thank you," then shot Harry a cold glance. "Yes. The children can entertain themselves."
Julien ignored Petunia's attitude, his attention fixed on Harry.
He could feel it—a faint but pure magical aura radiating from the boy. An innate gift that even years of suppression in the Muggle world couldn't completely hide.
Harry seemed to shrink further under Petunia's tone, head dropping lower.
Julien lightly touched his arm and spoke quietly, his voice warm and conspiratorial. "It's fine. Want to go for a walk in the garden? The sunlight's really nice out there."
Harry's head snapped up. His green eyes were wide with disbelief, as though he couldn't believe someone had actually invited him. After a few seconds of hesitation, seeing the sincerity in Julien's expression, he gave the smallest nod. "Okay," he whispered.
"Dudley, you coming?" Julien asked, turning to his other cousin.
"Nah," Dudley grunted. "I've still got my Tank Battle game paused."
He clearly had zero interest in hanging out with "that weirdo" Harry—unless it was to use him as a punching bag.
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