Week 14: A Quick Cappuccino with Dudley
Years after the War, Harry Potter receives a message from his cousin Dudley, requesting a meeting.
Harry left his address in the London city book for this exact reason. It became a popular pastime in recent years to do things the “Muggle Way”, much like how Arthur preferred to whisk his eggs by hand, or light a fire with a match. Harry would receive bucket loads of mail, hand written in pen or pencil with Muggle stamps, asking for his thoughts or a quote for their school paper.
Over the years the amount dwindled down, but every year the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts would bring an influx of notes, some novel-thick and tear-stained, all recounting one of the hardest days of his life.
He usually took holiday during this time period, but this year he came down with a cold right before.
“Harry,” Ginny clucked at him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, “You have a fever. You can’t possibly expect us to go all the way to Cornwall with you sweating through your sweater.”
He was sweating, profusely, so he nodded along with his wife and conceded.
“Alright, we’ll stay in town this year. But we’ll have to board up the mail slot.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at her husband’s dramatics, and went to go make him some tea.
The anniversary came, and much as he expected, the letters kept coming. Some arrived by owls, their white and grey wings fluttering by, leaving enough feathers to stuff a mattress. Others came the Muggle way, the approach still popular with the wizard youths.
Harry noticed one letter, as he was idly sorting through the stacks. The postmark was written in vaguely familiar handwriting, in boyish chicken scratch.
“Oi, Ginny! Come look at this one,” he shouted when he read the return script. “It’s Dudley. He wrote me-us a letter.”
She popped her head around the corner, the soft wails of their third born could be heard from behind her. “Harry I’ve got to finish feeding Lily. Think you can manage?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled back, thumbing the letter open.
The letter was short and to the point, his boyish cursive barely legible- he wanted to meet Harry for a meeting. And since he didn’t have a phone - “Bollocks,” Harry mumbled - he printed off their meeting place and time.
Irritated, Harry pinched the spot between his eyes, shaking his head.
“Like I have nothing better to do!”
It was true; it couldn’t have come at a better time. He was smack dab in the middle of paternity leave and going a little stir-crazy. Maybe a meeting tomorrow in the middle of the city wouldn’t be so bad.
The next morning Harry got up earlier than usual and went to shave, wanting to appear clean cut lest Dudley make a nasty remark about his stubble.
“He will,” Harry mumbled to himself, “He always does.” Not always his facial hair, but every time they met, Dudley had to make a remark about his pants being too short, or his glasses were dirty, something of the like. He wondered why he even wanted to go see his cousin.
It was a morbid curiosity, he supposed, ever since the death of his aunt and uncle. He wanted to see how Dudley would fare in a world without the two coddling him, and so far he’s managed to stay alive much to Harry’s surprise.
He hopped on the Tube since it was too far to walk, and he didn’t think arriving on a broom or apperating would be appreciated.
He could see his sturdy cousin from behind as he approached the cafe. His bulging stomach drooped over the two sides of the wicker chair; Harry was worried that it might break as it creaked when Dudley adjusted his large rump.
Dudley looked up from his steaming tea when Harry rounded the table.
“Ah, Harry,” he said, reaching out his hand for a shake. “Nice to see you.”
Harry raised his eyebrows and shook his cousin’s hand. “Ah - nice to see you too?”
Dudley nodded again, seemingly oblivious to the questioning inflection in Harry’s voice. “Come on, have a sit.”
Harry sat, and a waitress came by and took his order. He shrugged off his thick coat and settled back. “Well,” he started. “What do ya have for me Dudley? Why the meeting?”
Dudley wiped the foam off his lip from the last sip of his cappuccino. He signaled for another as he steadily refused to meet Harry’s eyes.
“See now, I’ve gotten into a little pickle.” He began, finally meeting his eyes to Harry’s before flitting away.
Harry couldn’t resist a smile breaking out on his face at his cousin’s misfortune. He tried to keep the glee out of his voice. “Sorry to hear that mate. What kind of pickle?”
“Running out of money, see. My unemployment hasn’t yet kicked in and Mum and Dad’s fund…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Well now Dudley, you know I can’t help you. I don’t have any Muggle money,” Harry replied. He resisted the urge to pat the back of his cousin’s plump hand that lay on the table between them, he did truly look miserable.
“You think you can help out at all? You know, ah, put a charm on my ex-boss or something so I could get my job back?”
Harry was dumbfounded. He’d never heard Dudley wanting to use magic, even for his own profit.
“I can’t do that Dudley, it’s against the rules. No meddling in Muggle affairs.”
“Got it,” Dudley replied bitterly, biting off the words. “So you can’t help me at all.” He got up, panting a little at the effort, and nodded at Harry. “Well, see you around then.”
Harry gaped at him. “Really? That’s all you wanted? I came clear across town-“
“Come on, Harry, you really think I’d want a chat with you? I needed help and you can’t give it to me. I’ll see you later. Have a good life in the meantime,” he replied scornfully, his tone indicating the opposite of his words.
Harry shook his head and watched Dudley waddle away, a clear sweat mark darkening the back of his shirt.
The waitress came by and set the cappuccino Dudley had ordered down in front of Harry, walking away quickly.
He sighed, and reached forward to sip the hot drink, wiping the foam off his lips. He looked back and his cousin was no where to be seen. Feeling slightly guilty, he dropped a Galleon on table and apperated home.