Harry knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably his cousin,
Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.
Dudley was as vast as ever, but a year's hard dieting and the discovery of a new talent had
wrought quite a change in his physique. As Uncle Vernon delightedly told anyone who
would listen, Dudley had recently become the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing
Champion of the Southeast. The noble sport', as Uncle Vernon called it, had made
Dudley even more formidable than he had seemed to Harry in their primary school days
when he had served as Dudley's first punchball. Harry was not remotely afraid of his
cousin any more but he still didn't think that Dudley learning to punch harder and more
accurately was cause for celebration. Neighbourhood children all around were terrified of
him - even more terrified than they were of 'that Potter boy' who, they had been warned,
was a hardened hooligan and attended St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal
Boys.
Harry watched the dark figures crossing the grass and wondered who they had been
beating up tonight. Look round, Harry found himself thinking as he watched them. Come
on… look round… I'm sitting here all alone… come and have a go…
If Dudley's friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him,
and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn't want to lose face in front of the gang, but
he'd be terrified of provoking Harry… it would be really fun to watch Dudley's dilemma,
to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond… and if any of the others tried
hitting Harry, he was ready - he had his wand. Let them try… he'd love to vent some of
his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell.
But they didn't turn around, they didn't see him, they were almost at the railings. Harry
mastered the impulse to call after them… seeking a fight was not a smart move… he
must not use magic… he would be risking expulsion again.
The voices of Dudley's gang died away; they were out of sight, heading along Magnolia
Road.
There you go, Sirius, Harry thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clean. Exactly the
opposite of what you'd have done.
He got to his feet and stretched. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed to feel that
whenever Dudley turned up was the right time to be home, and any time after that was
much too late. Uncle Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he came home
after Dudley ever again, so, stifling a yawn, and still scowling, Harry set off towards the
park gate.
Magnolia Road, like Privet Drive, was full of large, square houses with perfectly
manicured lawns, all owned by large, square owners who drove very clean cars similar to
Uncle Vernon's. Harry preferred Little Whinging by night, when the curtained windows
made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness and he ran no danger of hearing
disapproving mutters about his 'delinquent' appearance when he passed the householders.