Dudley had lost quite a bit of weight.
The childhood bulk that once made him look like a baby whale had turned into solid muscle.
In a way, it even made him more handsome.
Rumor had it he'd gotten himself a girlfriend at school.
John could only think—these people really had no concept of waiting until they were older to fall in love.
It was the first time Dudley had ever visited the Wick household on his own.
The last time he'd come over was when he'd eaten a Ton-Tongue Toffee and nearly choked—John had been the one to save him.
Mrs. Wick let him in, and Dudley looked unusually nervous, nothing like the school bully he was known to be.
Then again, that only applied here—in school, Dudley's boxing skills made him a veritable king among his peers.
When John appeared, Dudley instinctively stood up—like a subordinate seeing his boss.
John gestured for him to sit and asked, puzzled, "You were looking for me?"
Dudley hesitated, fidgeted, then finally gathered the courage to ask, "My mum said… that murderer got out?"
"Murderer?" John repeated.
"Vol—Voldemort," Dudley stammered after thinking for a moment, finally recalling the name.
It seemed he'd picked up bits and pieces of information from Harry and his friends.
John gestured for him to go on.
"That man… he kills people like us, doesn't he?" Dudley asked.
"Harry's parents were killed by him."
Dudley's voice trembled. "He won't spare people like us either, will he?"
"Mum didn't say much, but she's terrified," he added after a pause, gritting his teeth. "Can I ask you to protect us?"
When John fell silent in thought, Dudley hurried to add, "We can pay you if you want—we can afford it."
He was trying to use money to persuade him.
Dudley didn't believe Harry could protect them. Though their relationship had improved somewhat, it still wasn't enough for him to trust Harry with their lives.
Those dangerous people—those who could turn someone into a pig just for fun—were beyond anything he could understand. The only people he trusted were the Wicks, his neighbors.
As for everyone else, he couldn't bring himself to rely on them.
John thought for a moment, then said, "I still have to attend school, so I can't guard you all the time."
Dudley's face fell.
"But," John added, "I have another way."
The situation took a turn as John went down to the basement and brought out three items: a small dog figurine, one of Watson's wizard chess pawns, and a wooden shield.
"Place these in your house. If anyone tries to break in, they'll protect you," John said, handing the items to Dudley.
These weren't ordinary objects—the dog figurine and the chess soldier were enchanted with Transfiguration and Enlargement Charms, powerful enough to deal with most wizards.
The wooden shield was inscribed with the Shield Charm and a Repelling Spell, capable of instantly creating a barrier to drive away intruders.
Anyone not invited into the house would automatically be treated as a hostile outsider.
They were originally prototypes for a new household defense line—meant to deter intruders or unwanted guests.
The products hadn't been released yet, but the Dursleys could serve as the first to try them out.
Dudley was overjoyed and thanked John repeatedly.
"Dudley," John called out just before he left, speaking seriously, "you've grown—you've learned to protect your family."
Dudley froze for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected recognition.
He walked back home in a daze.
Petunia Dursley, seeing her son so absent-minded, immediately assumed he'd been bullied at school.
She walked over, concern written on her face. "Dudders, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Mum." Dudley's gaze drifted to the family photo on the table.
It had been taken earlier that year after he'd won the boxing championship—the three of them were all smiling brightly.
Vernon Dursley, especially, had shouted from the audience that day, swelling with pride. That's my son!
"Mum," Dudley suddenly asked, "do you think I'm a good kid?"
"Of course," Petunia said with a gentle smile. "You'll always be my good boy."
For the first time, Dudley felt he should start acting more mature—stop hanging around with troublemakers at school.
He went upstairs and glanced toward the room at the end of the hall.
It was Harry's room.
Harry looked like an anxious ant on a hot pan, pacing by the window, waiting for something—or someone.
Perhaps it was Dudley's sudden maturity, but even Vernon Dursley, reading his newspaper in the living room, noticed something unusual.
"What's gotten into him?" Vernon muttered, glancing toward the objects on the table. "Is he in some drama club now?"
He picked up the wooden shield, examining it with interest.
...
That night—
After dinner, the Dursleys watched as Harry hurried upstairs.
By now, they'd practically learned to treat him like air—it had been their way of living for years.
"Son, did you make this?"
Vernon picked up the small dog figurine, ready to praise Dudley for his craftsmanship.
"I got it from the Wicks' place," Dudley said after swallowing a bite of chicken breast. "It's supposed to protect us."
"What?" Vernon's hand trembled as he stared wide-eyed. "You mean that Wick boy gave you this thing?"
Petunia set down the dishes she'd been washing and came over to look. The three of them gathered around, studying the items intently.
Time ticked by, minute after minute.
Upstairs, Harry sat waiting, his anticipation growing.
Three days ago, Dumbledore had written to him, saying he would come to pick him up tonight at eleven to take him to the Burrow.
Harry had been sitting by his bedroom window since seven o'clock, where he could clearly see both ends of Privet Drive.
Every few minutes, he would glance outside again. He'd already memorized every word of the letter.
Despite what had happened at the Ministry, Dumbledore still chose to believe in the prophecy.
And Harry had now heard the full version of that prophecy directly from him.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.
The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not.
And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
Dumbledore had told him that there had been two boys born at the end of July—one of them was Neville Longbottom.
But the prophecy wasn't about who it could have been—it was about whom Voldemort chose.
Voldemort had chosen Harry Potter, and so Harry had become the Chosen One.
As for Horcruxes, even Dumbledore wasn't completely certain.
John claimed he understood souls better than anyone else, but to Harry, Dumbledore had always been the very definition of invincible.
The waiting was getting to him. He started to worry that his owl hadn't delivered the reply properly—or that this might all be a cruel joke, or maybe Dumbledore had been delayed by something else…
The minutes crept by until the clock's hand struck twelve.
At that exact moment, the streetlights outside suddenly went out.
The abrupt darkness jolted Harry awake as if an alarm had gone off.
He pressed his nose against the glass, squinting down at the pavement below.
A tall figure in a long cloak was walking up the garden path.
The figure paused briefly as he passed one of the houses.
Harry jolted upright as if struck by lightning, accidentally knocking his chair over.
He hurriedly shoved everything he could grab into his trunk.
But he wasn't fast enough—the doorbell rang downstairs.
Uncle Vernon's puzzled voice echoed through the hall. "Bloody hell, who's knocking at this hour?"
Harry froze. He had completely forgotten to tell the Dursleys that Dumbledore would be coming tonight.
He scrambled over his trunk, flung open the bedroom door, and dashed down the stairs—
—just as the front door opened.
A deep, calm voice greeted them. "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley, I presume? I believe Harry must have mentioned that I'd be coming to fetch him, hasn't he?"
Vernon stood stiffly, staring at the visitor.
Long silver hair and beard fell to his waist, a pair of half-moon spectacles rested on his crooked nose.
He wore a black traveling cloak and a pointed hat.
Even without a word from Harry, the stunned expression on Vernon's face was enough for Dumbledore to realize that Harry had not, in fact, mentioned anything.
"From that astonished look on your face, I take it Harry hasn't told you I'd be coming," Dumbledore said pleasantly.
"But let us assume you've already invited me inside," he continued in his usual calm, genial tone. "Times are unsettled, and it's unwise to linger on the doorstep for too long."
With that, Dumbledore stepped forward to cross the threshold—Beep beep beep!
—but at that very moment, the wooden shield that had been placed inside the house earlier that day burst into a blinding flash of light.
Intruder detected.
Expel!
...
John had only just returned home that evening after visiting the Weasley twins. Now, finally with a bit of time to himself, he climbed up to his attic.
Basil fluttered his wings and landed on his designated wardrobe perch. John noticed a handful of letters stuffed through the narrow window gap.
He opened the window and gathered them inside.
Just as he was about to close it, he caught sight of a brilliant white glow emanating from the Dursleys' house.
"...?" John frowned, thoughtful.
He'd given them those items that very afternoon—so why were they activating already?
Could it be that Harry had suddenly decided to murder the Dursleys?
________
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