`"D, can I just touch that treasure? Just for a second, I promise I won't break it."
On Platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station, while waiting for his parents, Ron whispered his plea.
"Here you go," Dudley said, casually tossing something he'd pulled from his pocket to Ron. It was the Order of Merlin, Third Class, that Dudley had received at the feast. Honestly, he wasn't impressed by it. The Order of Merlin is an award given out by the Order of Merlin, the oldest magical organization in the wizarding world, founded by the legendary wizard Merlin. It's much, much older than the Ministry of Magic. But for such a storied organisation, all they really do now is hand out medals to show they still exist.
The Order of Merlin is a purely honorary award; its symbolic value is far greater than any practical one. It's not that big of a deal. If you donate enough money, it's not uncommon to get a First Class medal—some pure-bloods, like members of the Black family, have done just that. So, while it's not actually worth a lot of money, it's very impressive to outsiders. Just look at the way Ron was staring at it like it was the rarest thing in the world. Even Malfoy came over to have a look. You'd think the Malfoy family, with their "long history," wouldn't be impressed by an Order of Merlin, but the truth is, the Malfoys have never had one.
Dudley waved goodbye to Malfoy, Ron, and Neville. Ron's family was a distinctive group of redheads, Neville was met by a very strict, commanding-looking witch, and Malfoy's ride was a tall, pale-skinned wizard with long, light-blond hair, who looked just like him. When he left with Malfoy, he gave Harry a long, considering look.
Soon, all the young wizards had departed the station. Looking up at the darkening sky, Dudley turned to Hermione and Harry. "I reckon... our parents might have forgotten to pick us up."
Sometimes, a parents' devotion to each other can be a bit of a burden on their children.
Meanwhile, back on Privet Drive, the Grangers and the Dursleys were in the garden, having a celebratory barbecue. Suddenly, Petunia seemed to remember something and turned to Vernon. "Vernon, did we forget something important?"
"My dear Petunia, that's the ninety-ninth time you've asked," Vernon said, happily swallowing a slightly burnt sausage. He loved the taste. "We haven't forgotten a thing. Dudley and them aren't due back until the 9th. Today is only the 6th. We have a full three days to go."
Mr. Granger, who was a little tipsy, chimed in. "No, you've got it wrong. Hermione said they were coming back on the 6th."
"Wait a minute... is it the 6th today?"
Vernon: ...
Petunia: ...
Mrs. Granger: ...
After a brief silence, Petunia broke it. "It's fine. With Dudley there, they'll find their way back."
Yeah, with Dudley around, what was there to worry about? Besides, it was too late to go now anyway. The music and dancing resumed, with barbecue and beer flowing freely.
In the end, Dudley and his friends made it back to Privet Drive just fine, by taxi, of course. All the young wizards had received a notice before leaving Hogwarts—no magic use during the holidays. Dudley, however, didn't care one bit. He figured if they could catch him using magic, more power to them.
Seeing Vernon and Mr. Granger lying on the floor, drunk and shirts unbuttoned, the trio exchanged a look of pure exasperation. Their fathers were proving to be quite unreliable. As for their mothers, Petunia and Mrs. Granger were in the living room, teary-eyed in front of the television, watching a romantic drama. They gave Dudley and the others a warm welcome, asked a few questions about their time at Hogwarts, and then told them to go entertain themselves so they wouldn't interrupt their show.
Well, they were definitely their parents, all right.
While most people's holidays were for relaxation, Dudley's were busy. Not a second was to be wasted; every moment was planned. He had to manage the company he'd started in the Muggle world. Even if he only had to keep the IP popular to make a steady stream of money, it still needed to be managed.
Harry was used to it by now. After all, it was Dudley. So, Harry started reading even more diligently; he wanted to be Dudley's assistant. He still remembered Dudley promising him a position. He spent his days reading, since young wizards weren't allowed to use magic willy-nilly.
But of course, the Muggle money was one thing, and the wizarding money was another. He had to handle both with equal gusto. Nobody knew the benefits and convenience of money better than Dudley. Money can't buy everything, but it can probably buy about 9,999 out of 10,000 things.
Ever since the holidays began, Harry's owl, Hedwig, had become Dudley's personal messenger, spending her days either flying or on her way to fly. However, with Dudley's special treats, Hedwig had no complaints.
Dudley was in contact with Mr. Carroll, not to write the second book of the Dragonlance Chronicles or a new novel. Why rely on just one field to make money? After having Ron gather information on wizarding entertainment, Dudley had a new idea to address the lack of recreational activities in the wizarding world.
Mr. Carroll, who had already taken over the family business, was very interested in Dudley's idea. The first book of the Dragonlance Chronicles had not only saved the Witch and Poison Publishing House but had also earned a tidy sum, which made the already impressed Mr. Carroll even more eager to work with Dudley. No one, especially a pure-blood, would turn down more money. They hit it off immediately and were now working out the finer details.
Everything in the wizarding world seems new and magical at first, but after a while, it's not that different from the Muggle world, and it has its own inconveniences. For example, sending letters by owl is definitely not as convenient as a phone call. After five days of back-and-forth with Mr. Carroll with no solid results, Dudley picked up his quill.
"To the esteemed Mr. Carroll," he wrote. Dudley arranged to meet Carroll in Hogsmeade in three days. He couldn't stand the thought of waiting hours for a reply to a single message. The efficiency was painfully slow.
Just then, Petunia called up from downstairs. "Dudley, your phone! It's Hermione."
"I'm coming," he shouted, his footsteps thudding on the stairs. They "chatted" on the phone pretty much every day. Dudley thought he should try to use magic to speed up communication. Being able to talk instantly, like on a phone, and maybe even in real-time would be much better.
Otherwise, what was the point of his new abilities?
"Killed Voldemort's wraith once, reward: Magic Item Remodelling LV1."
"Prevented Gryffindor from winning the House Cup, reward: Magical Creature Domestication LV1."