Dudley Dursley stretched his plump arms, yawned, and started to settle in his enormous bed once more when he remembered that today was his birthday. He managed to heave himself out of bed and then waddled out the door and down the stairs. He could already smell bacon and eggs frying, and he heard his mother saying, "Don't burn the bacon. I don't want anything to spoil my precious Duddleykin's day."
"I'm not Duddleykins," Dudley muttered to himself, walking into the kitchen. His tall, skinny, long-necked mother was near the stove, supervising a lanky boy with messy black hair and crooked glasses.
The boy, who was about Dudley's age, turned and greeted Dudley, not out of courtesy, but because it was required. "Morning, Dudley. Happy birthday."
"Don't sound so sullen, Harry," a cranky voice said. At the nearby table, a very large man was giving Harry a disapproving look—though that was far from unusual. He always gave Harry a disapproving look.
"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered.
"Is that bacon done yet?" the tall woman said, looking at Harry as if he was some lower class servant.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said dutifully.
The family—in the strictest definition of the word—headed toward the table. Harry had to serve the others before he could eat anything. Dudley was counting his presents as Harry heaped a large amount of bacon and eggs onto Dudley's plate.
"Thirty-six," Dudley counted. "That's two less than last year."
"Darling, haven't counted Aunt Margie's present," Aunt Petunia attempted to placate her son.
"Thirty-seven then," Dudley said crossly. He felt himself turning red. It wasn't fair! It was his twelfth birthday, and he'd only gotten thirty-six gifts! Dudley decided to throw a tantrum, even if it was childish.
"And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today!" Mrs. Dursley said hastily, seeing her a growing scowl on her son's face. "How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"
Dudley struggled to figure out how many presents he'd have then, but his mother answered for him. Thirty-nine presents—well, that was fair! He smirked at his cousin, who had been watching the whole scene.
Harry had never gotten any presents, not that Dudley cared. His cousin was just so strange. Queer things happened to Harry (and sometimes people Harry knew). Dudley's mother and father always seemed to be nervous when talking about Harry, and even Dudley could figure out that there was some secret involved.
Just then, Mrs. Dursley got a call from Mrs. Figg, a batty old neighbor. To Dudley's horror, his mother announced that Mrs. Figg could not watch Harry. Dudley was dismayed. His parents had planned an outing to the zoo with Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss. He didn't want his weird cousin coming along with them!
Dudley waited nervously. Perhaps Aunt Petunia's friend Yvonne could watch Harry.
Dudley's father had asked the same question, but Mrs. Dursley frowned and shook her head. "She's on vacation."
"What about Marge?" Mr. Dudley prodded. Marge was Vernon's sister.
"She hates the boy," Petunia said, right in front of Harry. Dudley paled. His parents couldn't possibly allow Harry to come along! He pretended to cry, demanding that Harry stay behind. Mrs. Dursley tried to placate her son, but there was nothing she could do. Her husband was afraid that Harry would blow up the house, so Harry had to come along.
The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Piers. Dudley stopped pretending to cry, but he shot Harry a venomous look. Harry did not seem fazed.
For the first time in his life, Dudley wasn't getting his way. He relieved his anger by tripping Harry, taking turns with Piers
. After five minutes of Harry-tripping, Uncle Vernon escorted everyone outside, muttering some warning to Harry.
"What's up with your weird cousin?" Piers asked. "Your parents seem almost afraid of him."
"He's not quite right in the head," Dudley said, pretending that he knew everything about his parents' aversion to Harry. "I told them that Harry should go to an asylum, but they don't listen."