Dudley's Hot Date
Disclaimer: The incredibly handsome heartthrob, with a quite toned and athletic build, if I might add, who is known to the community of Little Winging as Dudley Dursley is no property of mine. And, I am not entirely sure if I would want him.
Dudley's orange polka-dotted bowtie strained under the force of Petunia's fussing before it finally sat correctly along the neck of his pressed dress shirt, barely visible under his multiple chins. Though Dudley hadn't taken much interest to the idea of dating the daughter of his father's affluent and highly snobbish business connection, both Vernon and Petunia had insisted that it was a lovely idea and the arrangement would most certainly bring about a large order of drills for Vernon's company. They had even banished Harry to Mrs. Figg's living room to live among her cats for the day in order for Vernon and Petunia to most effectively concentrate at poking and prodding Dudley and impressing upon him the importance of pretending he was rich until he was sufficiently "ready" for his date with Cynthia to an outrageously expensive French restaurant.
After squeezing his immense body mass into a borrowed Ferrari, Dudley proceeded to drive to Cynthia's mansion of a house in order to pick her up for their date. Stepping up to the door, Dudley nervously straightened his bow tie and tried to flatten his suit, which is an impossible task due to his stomach being anything but flat. Cynthia skipped out the door dressed in what appeared to be the remnants of an elegant floor length gown, but someone had decided that there was no use for the bottom half of the material and had removed everything below the knee, causing the dress to float as Cynthia walked. Such a design made her look like a dying insect in a pond, desperately bobbing up for its last few breaths of air. Along with the outfit, she wore an expression of superiority and flirtatiousness that was almost invisible under a mask-like coating of makeup. Dudley noted that her bobbed hair cut seemed fitting, as it did bob every time she giggled at something he hadn't said.
When they arrived at the restaurant, the couple was ushered to a small table that was topped with a white tablecloth and a set of candles. Dudley excitedly grabbed a menu, confident in his mind that such a renowned restaurant would certainly have an immense selection of his favorite grease-dipped cuisine. Frantically, Dudley scanned the menu, and, though his brain did not function in the most effective of ways, it did not take long for him to ascertain that the entire document was written in French. Dudley Dursley did not speak a word of French.
The waiter soon returned, requested his order, and tempted him with a glass of champagne, which Dudley quickly remembered was an alcoholic beverage, meaning it probably tasted something like beer and would result in a similar effect. He was about to eagerly accept the proposition when his mother's screechy voice intruded his brain and began scolding him about "behaving in the most gentlemanly manner like Daddy and I taught you." Unfortunately, he concluded that accepting drinks underage and becoming drunk on his date would most likely not qualify as "behaving", but the appeal was so overwhelming to Dudley that he stared dumbly at the waiter for several seconds contemplating the paradox. He was eventually interrupted by Cynthia haughtily clearing her throat and jabbing his massive hand so he would ensue and announce what he would like to eat.
"Er—I want the escargots," he said, picking the shortest word on the menu and mutilating its pronunciation, even though he highly doubted it had the preferred amount of fat for him to actually enjoy it. In fact, his rendition of the word sounded something akin to a moose grunting in surprise as it tripped over a tree stump. Luckily, Cynthia was so enamored by Dudley's nonexistent charm that she seemed to overlook the language barrier.
Suddenly, a ringing sound penetrated the awkward atmosphere. Reaching into his enormous pocket, Dudley extracted the cell phone. He had brought the device, hoping he would receive a call and further astonish Cynthia because of his over-exaggerated wealth and privilege. There would be no need to inform her that he had won it in a library poetry contest – no one expected he could have such deep and flowing feelings about argyle footwear. Sadly, he soon realized how disastrous and traumatizing the conversation would be.
"Hey, Dudley! They moved the season finale of "Amor Caliente" from 10:00 to 7:00!"
Dudley hung up, a look of absolute horror spreading across his flabby face as he processed the information he had just received from Phil, his friend and chairman of the Soap Opera Fans' Society. This was, by far, the most horrible news he had been given in his life! How would he find out whom Julio's father was? Would Esperanza leave her boyfriend Fabio and run off to Puerto Rico with Fernando, the salsa-dancing drug lord? Never had such an urgent crisis entered his life since he had to rescue his pair of Christmas-colored argyle socks from the laundry basket. Dudley knew he had to leave; it was already 6:40. His mind searched for an excuse, gathering the most random words he could compile at such a short notice.
"I have to go! My flamingo is in labor!"
And with that, he rushed out the door.
The poor waiter stood there looking flabbergasted and then turned to Cynthia with a questioning look. "Miss, will you be ordering or will you leave now that your date has run off? And what was he talking about?"
Cynthia ignored his question and sighed. "Oh, he is so sexy. He has such a way with animals."
The waiter said, "What was the he talking about anyways?"
Cynthia replied, "Oh, his flamingo is in labor."
The waiter looked confused and asked, "Don't flamingos lay eggs?"
"Oh, no. Flamingos are birds; it's chickens that lay eggs," explained Cynthia, impervious to the several heads that had turned to stare inquisitively at the developing scene. "I admire sensitivity in a man."
***********
Meanwhile, Vernon Dursley cruised down the highway, rather impressed with himself for only exceeding the speed limit by twenty kilometers this time for the benefit of his wife. He was, in fact, quite pleased with his genius: perfect children generate profit in so many fine ways. Surely, all would go well and his career would be advanced to a more desirable level, despite its minor setback due to the mishap with the Potter boy. Vernon doubted the pudding stains on Mrs. Mason's dress would have been removable in even the most expensive laundry machine.
An expensive-looking sports car recaptured Vernon's attention as it swerved around other vehicles at a velocity that would have made him blush, if blushing wasn't such a sissy institution, of course. Furthermore, Vernon was moderately disturbed to witness the nearly out-of-control car come to a screeching halt and pause for a matter of seconds, until the driver resumed his previous degree of hazardous maneuverability. Craning his indecently short neck, Vernon was able to detect a trail of nine fuzzy, hideously cute ducklings scramble into the median of the freeway.
The hotshot who was driving like a lunatic had just nearly jeopardized the lives of those following behind him to save a bunch of dumb birds? Well, that harebrained idiot is not only drunk, but also overly-sentimental and probably a fruitcake, Vernon reasoned. At least his son was not some sort of foolish, girly man. Dudley was respectable and tough; basically, a model citizen. He and Petunia had done such a lovely job raising him.
"Vernon!" shrieked Petunia, her voice rising through at least three octaves. "Was that our Diddykins?!"
***********
The clock in the Ferrari declared it to be two minutes to seven o'clock when Dudley leapt out of it, or, rather attempted to leap without much success, and stumbled up the porch steps. He was going to make it, despite those innocent feathered creatures that had nearly become casualties of his pursuit; however, they might have been acceptable losses. This was a matter between viewing the premiere of the season finale and the horrible alternative: having to watch a rerun a week later.
Breathing heavily, Dudley skittered to a stop in his bedroom. He flicked on the remote just in time to hear the first notes of the Spanish theme song, and such a sweet sound it was. Extremely pleased with himself, he watched the episode with rapt attention. In fact, he was so utterly enthralled with the developing plotline that he failed to notice his bedroom door creak open and his nosy cousin slip inside. Harry remained hidden by the shadow of the door with his mouth agape, but he finally cleared his throat and was met with his cousin's horrorstruck expression.
"You speak Spanish?" asked Harry, and then, snickering, he left the room.
A/N:
Ren: So, what do you have to say for yourself, Ceyl.
Ceyl: I still find it sad that we are so impressed that one or two people author alerted/favorited our story – in the entire world.
Ren: :laughs:
Ceyl: And, I'm trying to think of what's right for the Dumbledore thing. Haven't come up with anything yet. [Side note: Legends of a Lemon Drop Lover will be out published soon, now that exams are finally over].
Ceyl: (after a long, plot-revealing discussion about the aforementioned story) Hmm, do I express myself with words? Does "You idiot!" qualify? I think I am fairly decent with words when I'm angry.
Ren: (I would have to agree, I am very fluent in sarcasm when provoked.)
Ceyl: "I am cheerful!":cackles: I would have to say that I am the antithesis of "cheerful" "I am talkative." Ha!
Ren: You're about as talkative as a rock, Ceyl.
Ceyl: Yeah. In fact, the only person I ever talk to is you. That proves I am not a mute, though some people would think so. So what do you think about this test?
Ren: Surprisingly accurate, or more so than I thought it would be. What would you say is the best thing about Harry Potter?
Ceyl: The character analysis. Is that nerdy?
Ren: Yes, it is. But it's so much fun!
For your clarification, we were taking a personality test to determine which House we would be in. Results: Ren – Gryffindor; Ceyl – Gryffindor (despite the fact that she thought she would be in Slytherin).