The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station right on time, and the young witches and wizards spilled out one by one. Ron, Malfoy, Neville, and the others said their goodbyes to Dudley, Harry, and Hermione before heading off.
Dudley and his crew grabbed their luggage and made their way out of King's Cross Station. This time, the Granger parents and Vernon weren't late. They were already waiting at the entrance, bright and early.
Hermione hopped into Mr. Granger's car, while Dudley and Harry climbed into Vernon's. Dudley and Hermione made plans to meet up in two weeks. The cars were practically identical, save for their colors—clearly bought together as a matching set. Oh, and the trunks were stuffed with fishing gear, a dead giveaway that Vernon and Mr. Granger had been hitting the lakes together.
Side note: Vernon's gut had shrunk quite a bit.
"Where's Mum?" Dudley asked the moment he got in the car.
Normally, Petunia wouldn't let Vernon come alone. She'd always tag along. If she wasn't here, something was up.
"You'll see soon enough," Vernon said with a mysterious grin. "It's a surprise."
No matter how much Dudley and Harry pressed, he wouldn't spill a single detail. But the smug, unstoppable smile on his face gave it away—it had to be something good.
Soon enough, they pulled up to the familiar old spot: Number 4 Privet Drive.
They hauled their luggage inside. Thanks to the Extension Charm, their bags looked deceptively light. But as soon as Dudley stepped through the door, something felt off. The house was different—little changes here and there that he couldn't quite place.
Petunia wasn't in the kitchen.
She wasn't in the living room.
She wasn't upstairs either.
Just as Dudley was about to ask Vernon what was going on, Petunia emerged slowly from the downstairs bedroom.
Dudley froze, jaw dropping.
Petunia's usually flat stomach was now massively round, like she'd swallowed a few quaffles. It was unmistakable.
"Is that…?" Dudley stammered, staring at her. Harry was equally gobsmacked.
You'd have to be thick as a troll to miss it. Unless Petunia had grown a tumor the size of a bowling ball, there was only one explanation.
"She's pregnant?"
"Congratulations, Dudley, Harry—you're going to be big brothers," Petunia said softly, gently rubbing her belly.
No question about it—this was Vernon's doing.
"When's the due date?"
Dudley and Harry rushed to help Petunia to a chair, hovering like she might break.
"About two weeks," she replied.
Two weeks. That meant she'd gotten pregnant not long after they'd left for Hogwarts.
All Vernon's fault.
"See? Told you it was a surprise!" Vernon said, strolling in after parking the car. "So, kids, what do you think of that?"
It was a surprise, alright. A massive one.
I'm gonna be a big brother again, Dudley thought, genuinely thrilled. But his mind was already racing—maybe it was time to move Vernon and Petunia to a new place. Privet Drive was nice enough, but it was a bit far from the city. Not exactly convenient for hospital trips.
"Hey, kids, you must be starving. I'm cooking tonight!" Vernon announced, tying an apron around his waist and grabbing Petunia's usual spatula.
Vernon cooking? This was a first. The man could barely be bothered to heat up bacon.
Could his food even be edible?
Catching their skeptical looks, Vernon huffed. "Don't underestimate me. Who do you think handled the cooking before your mum and I got married?"
"Tonight, I'm pulling out all the stops."
"We're having a feast!"
Which begged the question: why'd he stop cooking after they got married?
Dudley and Harry soon found out why.
Vernon shooed everyone out of the kitchen and got to work, banging pots and pans around for ages. Finally, he proudly presented the evening's meal: slightly burnt fried eggs, a soupy mess of overcooked sauerkraut and sausages, a mysterious black lump of something, and a tin of smoked fish.
"…"
Dudley and Harry stared at the tragic spread on the table, unsure where to even start. Harry glanced at Dudley. Dudley looked at Petunia, who shook her head, signaling she wasn't hungry.
With a sigh, Dudley picked up a fork and tried a tiny bit of the sauerkraut. He chewed, then went quiet.
It was like a flavor explosion—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, all at once. But one critical ingredient was missing: salt.
Harry, seeing Dudley survive, grabbed his fork. He wisely avoided the black lump, the sauerkraut, and the fish tin, going straight for the fried eggs. Surely, eggs couldn't be that bad, right?
Wrong. Horribly wrong.
The eggs were loaded with sugar—so sweet they made his teeth ache.
"Not bad, eh?" Vernon beamed, misreading their silence as awe. "Bet you're stunned by my skills."
Stunned, yes. By how awful it was.
Vernon's enthusiasm for taking on chores was admirable, but cooking clearly wasn't his forte.
No wonder Mum never lets you near the stove, Dudley thought. Eat this every day, and you'd ruin your stomach.
Wordlessly, Dudley got up and headed to the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with plates of steaming, mouthwatering dishes.
Petunia and Harry didn't need to be told twice. They grabbed their utensils and dug in, savoring the food.
Vernon, meanwhile, grumbled under his breath, clearly miffed. But after one bite of his own cooking, followed by a bite of Dudley's, he shut up and started wolfing it down.
As Xunzi once said, "Without comparison, there's no pain."
Dudley made a mental note: until Petunia had the baby, he'd handle the cooking. Otherwise, the kid's development would be at risk.
Stick with Vernon's food, and you'd starve nine meals out of three days.
After dinner, they took a break before heading to the backyard for their nightly routine—exercise.
"Don't think your old man's just a glutton," Vernon said proudly. "I've been working out every day." To prove it, he stripped off his shirt and flexed his beefy arms.
To be fair, Vernon's training wasn't for nothing. His muscles were denser, and his body fat had dropped. He still looked hefty, but "sturdy" was probably a better word than "fat."
Vernon was still basking in his own glory when Harry took off his shirt. The scrawny kid was hiding some serious muscle under his clothes. Two years of training with Dudley had paid off—anything less would've been embarrassing.
Then Dudley peeled off his shirt.
Vernon went quiet, slipped his shirt back on, and said nothing more.
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