On his way home, Dudley had a great deal to think about. Obviously, everything in the Fantastic Beasts book was real. What more in life were his parents wrong about? He started to think about their rabid, unreasonable hatred of magic. They hated anything that wasn't what they considered to be normal. Every time Vernon saw someone with dyed hair or tattoos, he muttered 'Freak' from behind his bushy, walrus mustache and hurried Dudley and Petunia away from the offending person. Several times the punk smiled cheekily and made offensive gestures that made Dudley choke back a snort of laughter despite himself.
He got off the trolley and walked a few blocks home, feeling the weight of the books in his bookbag. He had learnt the name of his teacher, Miss Ivy Scamander.
"Mum, I'm home!" he yelled as he came through the door. He heard noises coming from the kitchen and went down the hall, stopping momentarily to lay a hand on the cupboard door under the stair. He briefly thought 'I'm so sorry, Harry,' then entered the tidy kitchen.
"Your snack is on the table, Diddykums," Petunia chirped as she bustled around the kitchen getting dinner together.
"Please, Mum. Call me Dudley. Diddykums makes me sound like a stupid child," Dudley complained, trying not to whine. He grabbed one of the cakes, shoved it in his mouth and put three more on a plate. "I've got homework to do, so I'm going to my room."
"Homework? You've never brought schoolwork home before," Petunia said with concern coloring her voice. "I hope things aren't becoming too difficult at school for you."
"Oh, no, no," Dudley said quickly. "My work is usually so easy I get it all done during my free period, but I've got something really interesting to do, so I'm putting extra effort into it."
Once upstairs, Dudley invaded Harry's space, hoping that he had forgotten some of his school books. To his great delight, he found Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot and Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, all stuffed behind a pile of dirty mismatched socks in Harry's wardrobe. He wrinkled his nose because his cousin, despite his fastidious yet unkempt nature, had some seriously stinky feet. Still, the magical pull of the forbidden literature was too strong. Ever since he'd found reading thanks to his weightlifting magazines, he'd abandoned the telly and had practically locked himself in his bedroom, reading voraciously. It didn't necessarily need to be weightlifting, either. He just let everyone believe that he was to save face.
He opened the spell book and flipped through it and wistfully wished that he had a wand so he could try some of the spells. He then got out pen and paper and began writing about his favorite beast, which happened to be the niffler. He liked how it appeared in the sketch and the description. He figured a beast that was a treasure seeker would be something useful. He then quantified his reasoning that each and every beast was useful in its own way, however. Every one of them had their own unique merits, even those that weren't quite so lovely, although he wasn't sure what use a Lethifold would be in any situation and he would be terrified to meet one because it would remind him too much of his encounter with the dementor.
He ate dinner in silence, History of Magic disguised in one of his weightlifting books as a replacement for the inane drivel of the telly as his father droned on and on about his boring job at Grunnings. If Dudley thought drill bits were a bore before he discovered magic, now he thought they were absolutely petrifying.
"Dudders, why don't you go upstairs and study more so you can impress your teachers?" Petunia suggested with a sickly, indulgent smile. She whisked away the plates from the table. Vernon smiled at his wife and child, but it looked more like a crazed grimace, and Dudley hoped he hadn't seen his reading material.
"Yes, mum," he said obediently, scooting off before he could get caught out. There was no need to tempt fate. He remembered only too well the fits his father threw when Harry accidentally practiced magic. Yes, no need to tempt fate at all.
Dudley fell asleep reading, book splayed open across his chest when he was startled awake by a cold chill filtering into his room. He sleepily blinked open his eyes to see a tall, shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bed and leaning over him. He jerked fully awake when he realized that he could see through him. "Who are you?"
Long robes brushed along the floor as the ghost hovered, not quite touching ground. The man reminded him of Gandalf the Gray from The Lord of the Rings movie, right down to the long staff that he was leaning on. He chuckled. "I am Wigbertus Wulfgard, wizard to the king. I perished after the king, all because The Norman didn't trust a Saxon wizard to tend to his affairs."
"Why are you just now coming around? Why didn't you show up when Harry was here?" Dudley asked sharply, making sure his book was safely stowed away.
"I died on this very spot. Have you forgotten how many battles were fought on Surrey soil? No, I will take that back. Sorry, I lied to you. I ran from battle after the king was slain because I was a coward and feared death. I was killed afterward when William the conqueror performed one of his marches through the area searching for those who were disloyal. My body lay and rotted for several years before anyone found it and buried it. I should have listened to Helga and gone to Scotland with her when she told me she was starting that school of hers. I might have lived a little longer. Oh, well. I was a very young man then. What did I know?" He had been floating to and fro the entire time, pawing at his long flowing beard nervously.
Dudley smiled softly. "Is that one of those 'youth is wasted on the young' type of things? I've heard a lot of that these days. Listen to your elders, Duddy. Your elders have a lot to teach you. I'm bloody sick of hearing them spout off when they've closed off their minds and are so full of hate."
"Yes, yes, I suppose it is. Now, let's get down to business. There is something in your attic crawl space that is just begging to get out. I suggest you find a way to get it down without your parents' knowledge," Wigbertus told him quickly. "I don't have much time."
Dudley opened the hatch that was located in his room and a brisk wind whistled through the attic, sending a package bumping down the steps and landing at his feet. He quickly pushed it under his bed and released the hatch door, sending it sailing back into place. He heard his father lumbering down the hall and grumbling sleepily all the while.
"Dudley! What on earth was that racket?" he roared as he flung open his door and came into his room. The entire bedroom looked as if it had been tossed. The window was open and curtains still flapped in the breeze. Weights were scattered about on the floor and papers were still aloft in the air.
"I dunno, Dad," Dudley said convincingly, still stunned by the aftermath of Wigbertus's temper tantrum. "There was a blast of wind from the window and it trashed everything in the room. I think I'm gonna shut my window now." He moved over to the open window and began closing it.
"Well I should think so," Vernon grumbled. "It's a good thing that tomorrow is Saturday. "Go back to sleep. It's two am. It's far too early for such nonsense. You'd almost think Harry Potter was back, but you're far too normal for such stuff and nonsense."
"It was just the wind, of course," Dudley said to appease his father. It did wonders to ease Vernon's mind and he trundled back off to bed, grumbling all the way.
"Vernon, what was all that about?" Petunia asked anxiously as Vernon heaved his considerable girth back into bed.
"Foolish boy left his window open and a wind tossed everything around in his room," Vernon grumbled. "Everything's ok, Tuney. Go back to sleep."