Dudley,
I'm pretty sure I have perfected the Rhyming Raisins - they aren't really raisins, of course – they just look like one. Also, I can't help the color – I am afraid they're gonna be as purple as Aunt Muriel's handbag. I have tested it on Percy this morning – the only problem is effects start showing after three to four hours – let's hope he'll start rhyming by afternoon. I am positive that they won't cause any special harm to muggles.
And no, we don't have anything in our shop that can cause dogs to start meowing like kittens, but I have included a Mystery Master Prank Kit as you requested – there will be no discounts for being related to The Vanquisher of You-Know-Poo, I'm afraid.
Don't fret about Harry – he's been extremely busy with Death Eater trials and funerals- last day was especially hard- Lupin and Tonks meant a great deal to him, and little Teddy wouldn't stop crying. He somehow found the time to bully Dad into taking his gold – as if being the sole investor of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes wasn't enough!
He'll write back to you soon enough – Ginny is dying to know what prank you are thinking about playing on your Aunt – sorry, she's a nosy brat – walked in while I was reading your letter. Don't worry, we haven't told Harry – he'd lose his mind.
Although, be careful when pranking muggles – keep in mind the Statute of secrecy.
Yours since last week,
George.
Dudley chuckled as he unwrapped the huge package sent from the Weasleys. Mrs. Figg wasn't terribly impressed when two owls almost knocked down her window delivering it in the wee hours of the morning – of course, Dudley couldn't have it delivered right at his doorstep, now, could he?
There was the little box labelled Rhyming Raisins – they were a shocking purple color and smelled faintly like berries. He shook the box, and the raisins rattled inside. There was another huge box, which upon opening produced little sachets of every size and shape he could think about – George claimed instructions to use were in a little piece of parchment inside every sachet, and he pulled the strings on the first one and slid out the little scroll.
'Enchant your doorbells to say something new every time someone walks in! – not always flattering, we're afraid.'
There was a small bottle with a bit of green swirling liquid inside it that seemed to be in perpetual motion, refusing to settle down. He was supposed to spray it on a doorbell, but they had an electronic chime – would that work as well?
Dudley sighed as he realized how different the wizarding world was. Well, it was worth a try.
The next bag revealed a bit of grayish sparkly powder that he was supposed to spread on the flower beds, and another one had a clear solution inside a vial that he was supposed to put two drops of inside any water bottle and 'wait for the splurge.'
Dudley briefly wondered if George would deliberately poison him for treating Harry like crap since childhood, but dismissed the thought – he had apologized, hadn't he?
He decided to try all three jokes that very day.
He started by whining for a bit of blueberry smoothie, that his mum immediately prepared for him, and proceeded to add a little of the Rhyming Raisins into the glasses meant for his parents. He sprayed the Electrical chime with a bit of the greenish spray, anxiously waiting for a short-circuit, and was satisfied when there wasn't even as much as a single spark. Then he put two drops of that clear liquid into the water bottles and jugs – he only managed ten bottles before the vial was empty.
He sipped his smoothie in peace, calling Polkiss to chat for a bit as he waited for the storm.
Unfortunately for the Dursleys, Vernon's clients were coming for a meeting that day.
Fortunately for Dudley, the clients were extremely uptight and serious, who looked like the kind of people that would make a comedian lose his job if they got the front seats to a laughter show.
As soon as the thin lady with tight lips and a handbag that looked like a club walked in, the doorbell instead of playing 'ding-dong' said-
''A hag with a rag and a spiky handbag!''
Mrs. Gunther looked extremely shocked and displeased, as Petunia's welcoming smile died on her lips.
Dudley was surprised at the accuracy – she did look frightfully similar to a hag, and the stylish cocktail dress with numerous artistic cuts and frilly drapes did look like a fancy rag, not to say her handbag was spiked like a troll's club – he had seen a picture in the Daily Prophet months ago when Voldemort was using trolls to frighten people.
Vernon fumbled around for a bit before snapping his fingers together and claiming the next door neighbor's TV might be on.
But just then Mr. Gunther walked in and –
''Good lord Man – tone down the powder, will you?''
He was not pleased – he turned scarlet with anger and said something about rashes and the heat (even though summer was long gone) and the powder is supposed to be antibacterial or something, and huffed as his wife looked down moodily and glanced around with distaste.
Vernon was trying to salvage the situation by praising their wine-tasting party last week and Petunia was laughing very shrilly as she served the tea – both literal and figurative – they gossiped about Vanessa Becker, another client who had a mishap with a teapot a few days ago.
''The red and white wine, were both indeed very fine – the port wine was divine, so was the latest drill design!''
Vernon paused a bit, looking a little startled, as Mr. Gunther frowned at him.
Dudley was impressed at his own self-control – he calmly sipped his lemon tea as he watched the raisins he mixed in the morning start to work their magic – quite literally.
''Vernon? Perhaps we should serve the cake – took all morning to bake! Its red velvet, I remember – you said it was your favorite, Mrs. Gunther!''
''Is this some sort of joke? Think it is funny, do you – insulting people as soon as they walk into your home and start spouting off limericks while conversing?'' Mr. Gunther raged, as his wife huffed and reached for the bottle of water next to the plate of cookies.
Dudley wondered if he should stop her from doing so, but she had already unscrewed the cap and gasped as a stream of water erupted from the bottle and hit her square in the face.
There was general chaos as Petunia ran to fetch a towel and Mr. Gunther spluttered with anger, getting increasingly enraged as Vernon apologized with a very Shakespearian poem –
''Forgive us, esteemed guest - this was but a mistake! The cursed water bottle, has been nothing but a trouble, but we'll fetch you a towel, at your feet we shall grovel, until you forgive our silly oversight – the bottle gave us such a fright!''
The words did not at all match with Vernon's panicked face, which was purple by now, and Dudley thought it best to leave the room lest he burst out laughing.
He tumbled out into the backyard, finally losing it as his sides split with laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes, he looked up to the rapidly darkening sky. He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Gunther leaving – there was a lot of high pitched hysterical shouting – Mum apologizing in rhymes and Mrs. Gunther yelling at her, sophistication forgotten – but he paid no heed to it as he saw a little dot getting closer and closer to him, finally understanding it was an owl.
With a worried glance at the backdoor, he hurried to a corner of the flowerbed, very much hoping the owl would take the hint.
A black owl swooped down over his head and he tried not to flinch – years of that habit, unfortunately – and the owl gingerly landed on his shoulder. Dudley murmured an awkward thanks as he took the letter clasped in its beak and watched the owl fly away to sit on the red-tiled roof, as if it somehow knew entering the house was not a good idea.
The front door was slammed mightily and a car revved up somewhere in the front of the house – the Gunthers, probably – and Dudley hastily hid the letter in the lapel of his coat and turned to face his beet-red father barrelling through the little white backyard door.
''What happened? What the ruddy hell just happened? Why do I keep talking like a fool – it made my clients lose their cool!''
Vernon almost roared with frustration as he rhymed again.
Dudley smoothed his expression. ''I don't know, Dad. You are the one talking.''
''It must be that freak – he must have done a trick! Have you seen him lurking? I tell you, this is his freakish m-magic!''
''Well, if Harry is around, you wouldn't want to run into him – he's not a kid anymore, Dad. He can use his wand as he pleases – I reckon he won't be too pleased to see us.''
Dudley excused himself as Vernon spluttered with rage, and ran into his mother while going upstairs – she was almost in tears over the entire incident.
Dudley locked his bedroom door and threw his coat on the single bed, taking care to put the letter on the small table infront of the window.
He hadn't meant for the prank to go so far – he hadn't known the Gunthers were coming. But then again – isn't this exactly what they deserved?
He thought back to the letter he wrote Harry weeks ago – those were the words he couldn't say to his face.
Harry,
I'm not sure why I suddenly want things to be better between us, but I haven't stopped thinking about the demented. I had no idea what was happening at that time, but I asked Hestia Jones a few months back, and she said Dementors take the happy memories and make us relive our worst memories – the only problem is, I haven't any bad memories! They showed me yours, Harry – I was reliving your worst memories – and – it was horrible. I heard your mum screaming, I heard your Dad telling her to run, heard her begging for your life – those were horrible enough on their own.
But my own parents – me – we were far worse! Dad smacking you about, Mum hissing at you about freaks, locking you in for days, starving you – I ….I don't know what to say anymore! It was normal then, you see – you were the freak, and freaks deserved that and nothing more.
I am not saying you really are – I just…that's what was normal to me – I grew up watching that! Dad would be so proud every time I punched you – he said boys were a little mischievous like that – it was wrong, it was all wrong!
I realize that now, and …well, I am very ashamed. You wouldn't believe it, but Polkiss remembers you – that day he said we both treated you like shite when we were kids, and I couldn't agree more.
I am sorry, Harry, really am, and I wouldn't know what else to say – you are completely right to avoid us – we have been nothing but a menace to you – but – if you ever want, I'll be happy to help you with anything – not that you'd need a muggle like me, but I want you to think of me as something other than your dumb cousin who treated you like shite.
Just…sorry.
Dudley.
The dreams kept him up to this day – he couldn't bring himself to mention Cedric Diggory – that was one of Harry's worst memories. Sometimes he couldn't understand how Harry held up – how he didn't buckle under all that pressure.
He slit open the envelope and fished out the parchment.
Dudley,
Couldn't reply to your letter sooner – there was the Malfoy Trial and the Umbridge trial – both of which were high profile and required much time and security – and numerous funerals, of course.
I'd rather not listen to my own bad memories – thank you for not telling it to my face – would've been very awkward. I offer my apologies, though – those memories are a burden – used to be mine alone, but now…well, I hope you forget them.
Also, being a muggle doesn't stop you from being useful. In fact, I do have a big favor to ask of you, and I would like to meet in person to discuss this – I wouldn't ask you to do this, but, you do fit all the requirements. You are a muggle, and you know about wizards, and you are not directly related to any wizards – I promise it will make much more sense when we talk.
I was thinking we could meet up at that little coffee shop over at Wisteria Walk, on Wednesday around 4 at evening.
I'm afraid that is the only time I have available – there are things going on that doesn't leave me with much free time.
Send a reply back with Meredith – that's my new owl. She knows where to find me.
Harry.
Dudley didn't even think twice – he scribbled a hasty 'yes' on the little white notepad, tore off the page and opened his window to look around for the black owl. As if by magic – although it probably was magic – Meredith flew in, hooting softly as she landed on his desk. She blinked her stormy grey eyes at him, as if approving his answer as he held the page out for her to clasp in her beak.
He didn't know what Harry wanted him to do, but he'd do it. He felt a strange sort of pride knowing that a wizard like Harry Potter wanted him to do something – before feeling very silly for thinking of Harry as some sort of celebrity.
