Dudley Dursley was not known for his astute observational skills. Why would he have to pay attention to anything for too long when there was always some thing else to entertain him right around the corner? If his computer game started to bore him, he could always watch TV. If TV started to bore him, there was more than enough food to occupy him in the kitchen. When he finished that, there was his motorbike, and when that invariably bored him, there was always Harry Hunting. The scrawny little freak could entertain him for a while, dodging and hiding into little nooks and crannies, until he invariably got bored with that and found something else to do.

His cousin was a shy, runty little thing with a hesitant demeanor and a baffling sense of curiosity about everything. Oh, and did he mention freaky? There was definitely something freaky about the kid, which, he guessed, was explained by the strange giant and the letter that had both appeared last summer. It certainly explained why he never fit in with decent, normal people like his family.

Still, when he went with his parents to pick the boy up from the train station after his year at that freak school, he was pretty sure he knew what he was going to get - the same hesitant, out-of-place runt who would resume his normal place in the house (which was now, he thought grumpily, his second bedroom) and all would be normal.

That was until he saw him coming out of the train station. The first thing that struck him was the smile on the boy's face when talking to the kids around him. The little freak was liked - well liked, it seemed from the shouted greetings around him. The shock from that alone was enough to throw him for a loop. He watched, wide-eyed, as the boy approached a frumpy red-haired woman and spoke with no hesitation. Dudley's father made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat and strode towards the family.

"You must be Harry's family," she woman said, as if that were a good thing.

It took a little while longer to to notice the real difference a year had made in the boy. With his friends back to their respective houses and the shock of their existence gone, Dudley was finally able to put his finger on the real difference a year had made. The boy was confident. He didn't outwardly act any different, but it was in his demeanor, in the way he held himself, in the way he moved. He didn't belong - would never belong - in Privet Drive, but the little freak knew he belonged somewhere and it made all the difference. It was bizarre. More than that, it was scary.

The boy didn't cook dinner that night. It was probably fine, it's not like he always made dinner, and his mum had a special roast prepared in honor of Dudley's first night back which must have been cooking all day. His return, Dudley thought smugly, not the freak's.

Dudley's fears turned out all for naught. As the summer went by, he watched his parents bully the little runt in their usual manner. it seemed to roll off his back, but then it always had. If anyone noticed the added confidence and his occasional sarcastic retorts, they didn't say anything. If the Dursleys put up with it slightly more than they usually would, no one commented. Time passed, and the boy didn't put some kind of (shudder) magic spell on them. None of his lot showed up or even wrote, so Dudley figured he must have been mistaken on that first day back about the friends thing. He wasn't a threat.

And what did the skinny git have to feel confident about, anyway? He was the one doing all the chores while Dudley lounged about and did what he wanted. Dudley had friends. In short, all was right in Dudley's world.

Then a cake got smashed during his dad's boring dinner and some stupid bird dropped off a letter saying that the boy couldn't even do magic outside of school and Dudley's glee was only superseded by his dad's. The boy was powerless. Dudley could see it in his face when his dad showed him the letter. The scrawny little git had tricked them into thinking he had some kind of power over them. Ha!

The boy got locked in his room and Dudley was able to go on with his summer without having the scrawny, unnerving little git underfoot, until one night.

SQUAWK

CRASH

Dudley heard the thud of his father's footsteps. "HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

Dudley raced out of bed and found himself in his old second bedroom, panting for breath as the boy escaped with the help of his friends. Friends. With a flying car. Dudley wasn't sure which was more shocking. The boy's laughter echoed back at them as they raced off and he looked at his father, dumfounded. The boy had been powerless... but maybe not so friendless after all.