Rated K+
Description: These are small little stories of Harry and Dudley.
Dudley Dog:
A fat blobish figure named Dudley Dursley sloppily munched on a hot dog. Spitty sounds of slurping and chewing echoed throughout the sunny kitchen located at Number 4 Privet Drive. A slightly smaller, yet equally hungry Piers Polkis watched with wide eyes as his friend horked down the long, smoked sausage. A skinny, leggy child appeared in the doorway, round glasses askew, black hair in a mess and brow sweaty. "Dudley," whispered the young Harry Potter. "Do you happen to know where-" Harry knew he shouldn't have asked when the bits of chewed up meat flew from his cousin's mouth and hit his face. "WHAT?" Asked the dumbfounded Dursley. Piers was breaking out in giggles at the messier, pelted Potter. Harry did not replied; he just pointed silently at the fridge before strolling over to it. His vivid green eyes knew what to expect to see here: the stale Hawiian Punch that his cousin did not want to finish, and his caretakers generously set away just for him. He poured some weird-looking Fruit Juicy Red and sipped it anxiously to relieve all his sweats. He practically choked as the somewhat quiet kitchen became loud as Piers encouraged his friend with yells of, "Eat his butt! Eat his butt!" Dudley packed the end of the dog in his mouth, smiling and throwing his chubby arms up in victory. The "champion" of the Dursley kitchen laughed maliciously at his cousin's look of disgust. Puny Potter picked off the mash of meat. "Woo," he breathed, speaking for the first time in about a half hour. "Dude," Piers smiled, "That was so cool!" Dudley held up a fat finger. "And delicious," he added. The two Privetians high-fived happily before going off to torment a certain black-haired boy. Mrs. Petunia Dursley burst through the kitchen doors holding bags of groceries. "Hello, Piers. Hey, Dudders," she greeted, not bothering to aknowledge her awkward, no-good nephew. "How are my little honeys?" She asked. The two boys held up their thumbs as if to actually speak, and assure Mrs. Dursley of their okay-ness. She unpacked bunches of snacks, including crackers and cookies. Immediately, Dudley rushed to the table, clearing his paper plate to make room for goodies. He flung his plate to Harry, who, used to it, caught it quickly and threw it in the trash. Dudley's fast fingers flew to the brown plastic bags, ready for dessert. Now, Mrs. Dursley knew rather well how you should not give your child a cookie within an hour of dinnertime, so she gave him two.