CHAPTER TWO
The morning of the Diagon Alley trip, two days after Harry's birthday and half an hour after a particularly tense breakfast, Harry cornered Dudley with a glare that reminded him alarmingly of a much older version of his cousin. Hands on his hips, glasses slowly slipping down his nose, Harry said, "Did you know about this?" Caught by surprise, Dudley stared at him blankly, and the small boy waved an arm. "This - this wizard stuff. And my parents."
Dudley shook his head. "No. I mean, I kinda thought there was something different about you, but..." He shrugged helplessly. Anything further would be an outright lie - certainly he hadn't expected any of this the first time around - and Harry in any incarnation, no matter his size, would see right through it.
Fortunately, this Harry didn't press further, fierceness fading away as he looked thoughtfully towards the kitchen. They could still hear Petunia and Vernon talking in tight, quiet voices, and neither was inclined to eavesdrop. After a moment, he said, "I guess we should get ready."
They'd barely finished showering and dressing when the doorbell rang, and Vernon retreated upstairs, his footsteps heavy with anger. He didn't spare either boy a look before shutting himself in the master bedroom, and the boys were too busy shoving the supply lists in their pockets to notice. Finally, they thumped down the stairs and found themselves face to face with a faintly smiling McGonagall. Petunia emerged from the downstairs bathroom a moment later, patting her hair into place, pale but composed. "How shall we be traveling?" she asked, straining for politeness.
"I thought it best to take a private car," McGonagall said. "Some teachers prefer the Knight Bus, but I find it a little too... hectic, for my taste."
The car in question was a rickety old thing that looked as if it would fall apart at the slightest touch, and the man in the driver's seat had such a strange, lumpy face that Dudley and Harry were hard-pressed to figure out whether he was human at all. The four of them climbed into the back seat, which was much roomier than they'd imagined. In fact, there was more on the outside than on the out, and Petunia's eyes were large as she settled tentatively onto one of the plush red velvet seats. As soon as everyone was seated, the car slowly began to move. It wasn't the smoothest ride, especially once they began to go a little faster than was strictly legal, but McGonagall served them fresh, hot tea out of a hidden compartment in teacups charmed not to spill, and, after a bit of searching, biscuits from a tin that had rolled under a seat. Harry and Dudley, fascinated, fought valiantly not to poke at things, and Petunia began to relax a little, soothed by the tea.
McGonagall sat back in satisfaction, sipping her own. "Now, our first stop will be Gringotts," she explained. "We will open Dudley's account, and the account Harry inherited from his parents will be officially handed over to him. After that, we'll see to the school supplies, and you may pick up whatever little things you might like." She looked knowingly at the boys, amusement in her eyes, and they grinned back. "This car will take you home after, though I am afraid I cannot accompany you back to Surrey. Once I am done showing you around Diagon Alley, I must be on my way."
Dudley, accepting this, sat back and gazed out the window as Harry began to bombard McGonagall with questions. Their car seemed to contort itself - on the outside, at least, for he didn't actually feel it moving - and slip through traffic as easily as a knife through butter. None of the Muggles noticed, and Dudley wondered how many enchantments, exactly, were on their vehicle.
An idea occured to him, then, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. Padma had roped him into meditating with her ages ago, and had explained that some magical persons liked to use it to get in touch with their magic. He had always wondered what it would be like to find a little core of power inside yourself, and now, as he slipped into the familiar darkness, he was astonished to find that instead of the gaping emptiness he was used to, there was a tiny spark of something else. It was fragile, but bright, and he touched it gently with his mind, a faint warmth filling him as he did. Struggling to tamp down relief at his letter not being a fluke and a strange sense of loss, Dudley carefully focused his mind elsewhere. He stretched his senses gingerly out into the car, testing to see how far they could go, and the back of his eyelids lit up like a Christmas tree. He had no idea which spells did what, or even how many there actually were, but he could see them, and it was breathtaking. It soon made his eyes ache, however, so he drew back and settled himself before opening them and blinking in the sunlight. He was a little puzzled to find his face smooshed against the window.
"Dudley, wake up, dear," his mother said, touching his arm, and he peeled his face from the glass, rubbing his eyes. "You slept the whole way. We're here." Her voice trembled a little, and Dudley offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile before they climbed out of the car. McGonagall and Harry waited on the curb, and behind them was the Leaky Cauldron. It looked a great deal different than he remembered, shabbier and older, with decades of dirt caked on, and he realized that he was seeing it before the war. With growing trepidation, he wondered if he would still recognize Diagon Alley, and if he would see the destruction in the future.
Not noticing his sudden frown, Petunia and Harry followed McGonagall to the pub. "-not the only entrance, of course, but for many families it's the most convenient one," she was saying as Dudley caught up to them. She pushed the door open and they all entered the noisy building. Dudley smiled - if everything else was different, then the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron weren't. Hadn't he had a pint or two with that wizard in the corner? Though they'd both been older, at the time.
The barman looked up as they entered and beamed. "Minerva! Collecting new students, are we?"
"Quite so, Tom," McGonagall said, smiling, but before she could say more, there was a cry of "Harry Potter!", and the room went still as a grave. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, she laid a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "Yes, this is Harry Potter, but I'll thank all of you to control yourselves." She cast a severe look around the room as excited whispers started up. Despite her words, there was a great scraping of chairs, and Harry soon found himself shaking hands with everyone, even Tom.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back," the old man said, all broad smiles, before he was replaced by another.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" Harry said, surprised, as Diggle's tophat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop." Dudley looked closer at the strange man, and a memory stirred. He hadn't, at the time, paid much attention to the man, but he supposed Diggle could be the fellow from the shop. This memory, like several others, was alarmingly clear for being so old, while more recent memories like the incident at Platform 9 3/4 were strangely faded, and lately he was wondering if his mind hadn't got scrambled when he time traveled.
"That's all very well," McGonagall said at last, sternly cutting into Diggle's rapturous cries that Harry remembered him, "but we must be moving on. Mr. Potter and his cousin need their school supplies."
There was another quick round of handshakes for Harry, who was beginning to look a bit dazed, before McGonagall steered them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
"Will it always be like that?" Harry asked faintly.
McGonagall looked down at him, and her face softened. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter." She lifted her wand and pointed at the wall above the trash can. "Boys, please pay attention. You shall have to tap this brick three times with your wand in order to enter. While we are out today, I will show you to another entrance that Mrs. Dursley can access without need of one." She tapped the brick in question three times, then put her wand away.
The brick quivered, and a small hole appeared in the very middle of it. The space grew wider and wider, forcing bricks apart in a ripple, and within moments there was a large archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Harry let out an awed gasp, eyes huge, and even Petunia looked grudgingly impressed. Dudley, who had seen it before, grinned broadly and stepped through. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," McGonagall said, smiling, then led them down the road. Harry turned his head to watch as the archway disappeared behind them, leaving a solid wall in its place.
The boys gazed around them in wonder, and Petunia, too, looked with interest at the strange and wonderful shops. Everything was bursting with life, warm and colorful and untouched by war. Dudley hadn't realized just how somber Diagon Alley was, even nineteen years after Voldemort's downfall. As they passed the apothecary, they overheard a plump witch shaking her head over the price of dragon liver. "-sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."
Wondering absently what dragon liver cost in 2017, Dudley ambled along, noting differences in the Alley with some consternation and gazing in surprise at the empty shop where Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes should have stood. He knew, of course, that the Weasley twins hadn't set up shop til 1996, but it was still strange not to see George puttering around inside and charming the customers, even if he'd never been particularly close to the man.
Eventually, they reached Gringotts, and once inside, Petunia was given the key to Dudley's account and the two of them were sent off to one of the goblins to open it. The goblin attending them, Gornuk, patiently guided them through the necessary paperwork, of whic there was surprisingly little. He warned them that the allowance was sent to the account only once a year, and the amount would not change. In the end, they were to receive an allowance of eleven Galleons a year, an amount that Gornuk assured them was more than enough. He also said that it would be no problem to exchange Muggle money for Wizarding money, and Petunia took the opportunity to do so. The goblin fiddled with something behind his desk for a moment, then wrote up a receipt and told them the money was now in Dudley's account, and would they like to make a withdrawal?
A long, mildly terrifying cart ride later, they collected the Sickles Petunia had put in and taken all but two of the Galleons, just to be safe, before returning to the lobby. McGonagall and Harry were waiting for them, and Dudley fished the supply list from his pocket as the group exited the bank. He read it aloud as Petunia put the little bag of coins in her purse and Harry attempted to stuff his own in his pocket.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Petunia frowned down at her purse. "Can we afford all that?" she wondered under her breath, and McGonagall reached out to gently pat her shoulder.
"It seems like a great deal," she said, "but it isn't very costly, in the end. Shall we fit the boys for robes, first?"
When they reached Madam Malkin's, they found that there was another customer inside. In the back of the shop, a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth was standing on a footstool while a witch pinned up her robes. Two Muggles, the girl's parents, stood awkwardly in a corner, the man with his nose buried in a magazine. Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, bustled over to the group. "Minerva, good to see you!" she said warmly, pressing the Professor's hand. "Two, then?" She eyed Dudley and Harry, as if already measuring them.
"Yes, thank you," McGonagall said. "Just the usual school clothing, if you please." She looked to Petunia, who nodded before wandering off to have a look at some of the displays. Dudley and Harry were made to stand on two footstools near the bushy-haired girl, who looked at them with interest.
"Hello," she said, a little shyly. "Hogwarts too?"
Dudley, who was trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar, only nodded, but Harry smiled and said, "Yeah, we're first years. Are you Muggleborn too?"
At this, the girl brightened. "Yes, and I'm ever so excited! We thought it was a joke at first, you know, because the letter came before the wizard who explained things. Have you got your books yet?"
Harry seemed a little taken aback by the onslaught, so Dudley came to his rescue. "Er, no, we just got here. We thought it wasn't real too, but Professor McGonagall brought our letters to us."
"Oh!" The girl smiled. "We just got here too. My name's Hermione Granger." She extended her hand so quickly she nearly knocked Harry off his stool, and Madam Malkin tsked at her. Harry gingerly shook her hand, and Dudley leaned past him to do the same, trying not to stare. The Hermione he knew was vastly different from this excited litle thing, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"I'm Harry Potter, and this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley," the small boy said as Dudley settled back on his stool. Harry was obviously braced for another outcry, but none came. Instead, Hermione looked thoughtful.
"Do you know," she said at length, "I think I've heard your name around."
"He's famous," Malkin's assistant said around the pins in her mouth, twitching the fabric of Hermione's robes into place. "Defeated You-Know-Who as a baby, he did."
Hermione's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. "How is that possible?" she demanded. "A baby is just a baby."
Dudley and Harry exchanged a glance as the story was relayed to Hermione, who expressed skepticism at each new development. They hurriedly looked away, fighting grins.
Eventually, the fittings were through, and the three children were dismissed after giving their addresses so that the robes could be sent to them. Petunia paid for Dudley's while Harry paid for his own, and they were both pleasantly surprised at how little the robes cost. The Grangers, relieved not to be the only Muggles in the Alley, gladly accepted Petunia's invitation to shop with them, and they all made their way to Flourish and Blotts. Along the way, Hermione asked McGonagall what Quidditch was, and the witch was happy to explain. While Harry was immediately fascinated, Hermione was not so sure of the sport.
"It doesn't make sense to me," she kept saying. "Why is the Snitch worth so many points?" She could not be convinced that it wasn't utterly silly.
And then there were books. Dudley and Hermione picked up a few extras, eagerly exploring the shelves and making lists of future purchases, and Harry, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, decided he'd just read whatever they picked up. The books were put into special weightless shopping bags that were only a Knut extra before the group moved on, stopping briefly so that McGonagall could show them where the other, more Muggle-friendly entrance to the Alley was. Finally, a few cauldrons, phials, and longing glances at brooms later, they descended on Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, settling gratefully into spindly-legged chairs. When they all had an ice cream or cold drink in hand, McGonagall announced that all they had left was wands and, maybe, pets.
"After that, I shall have to leave you," she said regretfully. Dudley suspected that she rarely escorted new students, and had enjoyed herself almost as much as they had. "Mrs. Dursley, the car will be waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when you exit. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I assume you have a similar vehicle that will be waiting?" Two nods. "Wonderful. Don't worry about getting one confused for the other, you'll need to tell the driver your destination in any case."
Harry, who was doing his level best to put a dent in the massive ice cream he'd bought (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), watched in some confusion as Hermione wrestled one of her new books free from a shopping bag. Careful not to let her blueberry sherbet drip on anything, she thumbed through the pages, fascinated. "Did you know," she said aloud to the boys, "we'll be sorted into different Houses?"
"How many are there?" Harry asked, mildly alarmed by this revelation.
Her little brown nose scrunched as she carefully maneuvered a spoonful of sherbet from cup to mouth, and after swallowing she said, "Four." The spoon dipped into the sherbet again before she continued. "Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff." She stumbled over the words and looked at McGonagall, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. "The book doesn't say how it's done, though. Professor, would you tell us?"
"Oh, it's simple enough," the Professor said. "We place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it looks into your mind and decides which House would be best for you. Each House has a variety of people, of course, but each can be summed up with one word. For Gryffindor, that would be bravery; for Slytherin, cunning; for Ravenclaw, cleverness; and for Hufflepuff, loyalty. There is a good deal more to it, naturally."
Only Dudley seemed to notice the way her voice darkened when she spoke about Slytherin, but Hermione was already asking the important questions. "Which is the best House to go to?" she asked, frowning.
McGonagall looked amused. "There is no 'best House'. All are equal." Which wasn't quite true, Dudley knew, because he'd heard the stories. "And all Houses," she added, looking at Harry knowingly, "have a Quidditch team. Though I should like to remind you, Mr. Potter, that you cannot try out until next year."
Harry drooped, then perked up. "Will there be flying lessons?" At the answering yes, he fairly glowed with delight, and returned to his ice cream with renewed gusto.
Once their treats were finished, the group roused itself and made for Ollivander's. The shop was narrow and shabby, but like the rest of the Alley, in better repair than Dudley had last seen it. The peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion. McGonagall pushed the door open, but there was really only room for the children, Petunia, and Mrs. Granger, so she elected to wait outside with Mr. Granger.
The tinkling of the bell was immediately swallowed by the dusty silence of the shop as the five stepped inside. There was a tiny, rickety chair tucked in a corner, but there wasn't much else until you got past the counter. Behind it, there were rows upon rows of floor to ceiling shelves, all stuffed with narrow boxes and covered in a liberal coating of dust.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, making all of them jump in surprise, for an old man had just appeared in front of them as if from thin air. His pale eyes shone like moons in the dim light, and didn't seem inclined to blink.
"Hello," said Hermione, recovering first. "Are you Mr. Ollivander?"
"Yes," the old man said pleasantly. "Muggleborn, I see, and two of you! Always good to have fresh faces." He peered at Harry, smiling faintly. "And, yes, I thought I'd be seen you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was here herself, buying her first wand." His eyes darted to Petunia, then back to Harry. "Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
As he spoke, he moved closer to Harry, who looked torn between curiosity and discomfort. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, you see. And that's where..." A bony finger gently pressed the skin beneath Harry's scar, and the boy went rigid, clearly shoving down the urge to run. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
He shook his head and, to Harry's immense relief, turned to Hermione. "Well, let me see. Miss Granger-" Hermione started, clearly wondering how he knew her name. "-which is your wand arm?"
"I, er, I'm right-handed," she said, blinking.
"Hold out your right arm, then, that's it." Ollivander measured her from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round her head, the tape measure floating around on its own. As he directed it's movement, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, your will never get such good results with another wand."
He stepped back and added, "That will do for Miss Granger." He drifted away to poke through the shelves, muttering to himself, as the tape measure moved on to Harry.
A wand was shortly placed in Hermione's hand, and at Ollivander's urging, she gave it a tentative flick. A few boxes tumbled from one of the shelves, and the wand was immediately replaced. Only two wands later, however, she waved the one in her hand and bright ribbons of color shot out, twining around her like a shawl. Ollivander clapped his hands in delight, saying, "Vine wood and dragon heartstring, ten and three quarters. Excellent!" He placed the wand back in its box, wrapped it in brown paper, and handed it to Hermione, who looked very pleased with herself. Mrs. Granger paid the seven galleons, and the two of them stepped back so Harry could have his turn. Ollivander was already pushing a wand into the boy's hand.
As for Dudley, he had just finished being measured, the tape collapsing in a tidy coil on the floor. He watched Harry grow more and more frustrated as the pile of discarded wands grew with each increasingly upset hand wave, and thought about saying something when a thoughtful look came to Ollivander's wizened face. "I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry gingerly took the wand, as if afraid it might bite him, but almost immediately his expression turned to one of hesitant delight. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks poured from the wand, hanging in the air like fireworks before disappearing. Hermione cheered, and Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious."
He put the wand back in its box and wrapped it as he had Hermione's, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."
"Sorry," said Harry a little breathlessly, "but what's curious?"
Those pale eyes fixed on him once more, making him fidget uncomfortably. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar."
A chill went down Dudley's back, and everything seemed a little void of color. No one else seemed to feel it - Harry looked troubled, but more confused than anything, probably because Ollivander was still talking, and Hermione only looked thoughtful. Petunia and Mrs. Granger shared a look that said they both thought Ollivanger was being a little melodramatic.
And just like that, it was Dudley's turn to get a wand.
Hermione and Harry watched anxiously as Dudley went through piles of wands, nearly as many as Harry had, and as the number of wands increased, he began to feel uneasy himself. He wasn't Harry, destined for greatness. He was a former Muggle who was only here by accident, and by some fluke had got magic in the process. Despite confirming it for himself earlier, he began to doubt even that, after a while. A glance at the others made it clear that Petunia was worried, too - she was gripping her handbag so tight that her hands were white as bone. Ollivander, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.
"I do so love a challenge," he said and, clucking his tongue, plucked another wand from Dudley's grasp. He disappeared amongst the shelves for a moment, rattling boxes as he went, then brought back an incredibly dusty armful of them to plonk down on the poor chair. He picked through the selection, dismissing some and considering others, until at last he picked up a particularly old and tatty box. "Now, this is an unusual wand - twelve inches, alder, with a core of, well, coral. Used to be a very popular core some years ago and, hmm, alder is a funny wood - but I think..." He pulled out the wand and handed it over to Dudley, who gripped it with some trepidation.
It was surprisingly heavy, with a rough, stony texture, and as he held it, his fingers grew warm and tingly. He lifted the wand and gave it a firm flick, and one of the windows turned a brilliant shade of violet. Ollivander beamed in satisfaction as Hermione and Harry let out cries of delight. Dudley, feeling somehow right, reluctantly handed the wand over to be boxed, then held the package close once Ollivander had wrapped it. Petunia counted out the Galleons, then wrapped Dudley in a tight hug, eyes wet with tears. He wasn't sure if she was proud or upset.
Upon exiting the shop, they discovered that getting their wands had taken longer than they'd thought, for McGonagall, immediately after congratulating the children, regretfully said her goodbyes. After she left in a swirl of cape, the group headed for Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione, who didn't particularly want a pet, helped Dudley pick out his owl. Harry had made a beeline for a familiar snowy one, and was already asking the shop attendant what he should buy to take care of her. Dudley, on the other hand, was having a little more trouble. He knew they couldn't afford any of the more expensive birds, but he wanted to make a good choice. He was staring thoughtfully at a screech owl, which eyed him with clear distaste, when Hermione called his name.
"Over here!" she said excitedly. "I think you might like this one."
This one was a barn owl that was seated on a perch beside its cage. It was smaller than the others, and while it completely ignored the nearby owls and Hermione, it fixed Dudley with the most unsettling stare he'd ever seen. Without thinking, he slowly reached out a hand, and it stepped gently up without a lick of hesitation. They considered each other a moment before the owl walked boldly up his arm and settled comfortably on his shoulder. Hermione beamed, and Dudley couldn't help but grin back. "I think you're right," he said with a chuckle, and was relieved to discover that they could more than afford the bird. He picked up the cage and went to show Petunia, who wasn't terribly interested, but gave him enough money to buy the owl, cage, and some treats.
After, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione excitedly opening the wall for them with her new wand, and soon found themselves on the curb out front, packing their shopping into two cars. Petunia and the Grangers exchanged phone numbers, and arranged to meet at King's Cross the morning of September 1st. Hermione hugged Harry and Dudley, to their mutual surprise, and after cheery goodbyes, they parted ways. On the trip back to Privet Drive, Harry fell asleep, worn out from all the excitement. Dudley, tired as he was, found himself unable to do the same, and sat quietly with Petunia the whole way.
As they pulled up to the house, she grew ever more tense, and once they'd quit the car with their arms full of shopping bags and owl cages, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Harry, yawning and contorting in order to rub sleep from his eyes, didn't notice, but Dudley did, and he soon saw why - the house was dark, and the car was gone. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Dudley followed Petunia to the front door and pretended not to see when her hands shook as she unlocked the house. The inside seemed unchanged, but Dudley poked his head into the kitchen and saw a note on the table, and knew without seeing that most of Vernon's things were gone.
"Dudley," Petunia said in a voice fragile as glass, "I'm afraid I'm too tired to cook tonight, pumpkin. Why don't you order some pizza?" And she pressed a few bills into his hand before taking the note and drifting upstairs. Her bedroom door closed a few minutes later with a quiet click.
Harry was the first to break the silence. "What's happened?" he asked slowly, as if he suspected but wasn't entirely sure.
Dudley rolled his shoulders. "Vernon's left. I reckon they're going to split," he said after a moment. "Here, let's get dinner and go through everything as we eat. What d'you want on your pizza?"
