Inside the small villa at Number 4, Privet Drive.
"Dudley, dear! They're almost here!" Petunia said, smoothing down her pale orange cocktail dress.
Vernon and Dudley, both wearing stiff suits and bow ties, hurried into the living room. They watched as a stretched luxury car pulled up at the door, followed by several smaller escort vehicles.
"I hear the dear Mr. Potter is very interested in sothing called 'Quid-球'... Next, I'll tell the joke about the Japanese golfer..." Vernon muttered nervously to himself.
Several people stepped out of the cars. They looked quite young, but no one would dare slight them, especially given the seven or eight bodyguards in suits surrounding them.
"Last ti, let's go over it again. After welcoming them, we...?" Vernon prompted.
"I open the door imdiately and say," Dudley's fat face crinkled into a smile, "'May I take your coats, Mr. Green, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, and Mr. Potter?'"
"Then I shall lead them to the lounge to introduce you, Petunia, and serve drinks. At a quarter past two—"
"I announce that dinner is served," Petunia finished.
"And Dudley, you say—"
"'May I lead the way to the dining room, gentlen?'" Dudley said, extending a chubby arm to guide his invisible guests.
"What a perfect little gentleman!" Aunt Petunia said, sniffing emotionally.
"Exactly! Then, at the table, we should offer so complints. Petunia, what will you say?"
"Mr. Potter, Vernon tells you are marvelous at ball sports... Mr. Green, do tell where you bought your suit..."
"Excellent... Dudley?"
"How about this: 'Mr. Potter, the teacher asked us to write about the person we admire most, so I wrote about you.'"
They were all very satisfied.
Only Sean, waiting behind the door, had a strange expression on his face. Justin was doing his absolute best to stifle his laughter. Harry, anwhile, was covering his mouth, terrified that the sound of his laughter would leak out.
Soon, the doorbell rang.
Vernon wore a warm, fawning smile as Dudley opened the door, exactly as they had rehearsed countless tis.
"Welco!" Petunia said.
Then, a poised, fair-skinned boy walked in.
"Oh! You must be Mr. Green!"
Sean nodded expressionlessly.
Petunia was overjoyed—a handso and wealthy young master... and reportedly the owner of the largest manufacturing workshop in all of England.
"Mr. Finch-Fletchley, this way please—"
Vernon was enthusiastic yet cautious. This boy's reputation needed no introduction. His family history could be traced back to the Civil War in the 17th century. His ancestor, Sir Thomas Finch-Fletchley, was a commander-in-chief of the Parliantary forces and a key ally of Oliver Cromwell.
Though the family had briefly lost power after the Restoration, they regained it through shrewd marriages and a pivot to the Royalist side. In the early 18th century, Queen Anne had granted them the title of Earl of Finch-Fletchley in recognition of their financial support during the War of the Spanish Succession.
Upon seeing the silhouette of the last person, Vernon gave a quick wink. Dudley took the cue and stepped forward. He began his planned speech:
"May I take your coats, Mr. Green, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, and Mr. Po-Po-Po-Po—"
Dudley froze stupidly on the spot, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, before his lips began to tremble.
"Apologies, sir, Dudley must be feeling ill," Petunia said, unsure of what had happened. She hurried to pull Dudley behind her, putting on a bright smile to welco the guest.
"Potter!" she shrieked.
"Ah! Ah! My deepest apologies—" Vernon pulled Petunia behind him in turn.
Then he, too, let out a shout: "Harry Potter?!"
Harry rembered the arrangents Justin had made in the car and said nothing.
"Surprised? The elder Mr. Potter was a good friend of my father's. Sadly, he had no direct heirs, and we only recently managed to find a distant relative, Harry Potter," Justin explained with a casual air.
Vernon and Petunia were utterly speechless. Dudley shrank back, hiding behind Petunia.
The al that followed passed in an eerie atmosphere. Watching their smiles, which looked more painful than crying, and listening to their stamring praise for Sean and Justin, Harry knew his life with the Dursleys had been completely transford. Although Uncle Vernon, who now needed sothing from him, still couldn't find the words to speak to him, the days of living in the cupboard under the stairs were undoubtedly gone forever.
During the al, Justin glanced toward the cupboard area and remarked with feigned curiosity:
"It seems the treatnt of your servants isn't very good. Seeing this reminds —my butler ntioned a family around here that habitually mistreats children. The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children is already looking into it; I expect they'll be here shortly..."
This caused the faces of the Dursley family to turn deathly pale.
This was, of course, the plan Sean and Justin had discussed, though the final choice remained in Harry's hands. He could have sent the family to prison or subjected them to a massive fine.
Harry's expression remained troubled. After the initial joy of triumph, he began asking himself many sharp questions. He had no answers and only wanted to escape.
Sean watched as Vernon ate like a walking corpse and Petunia's spoon rattled against her bowl from her trembling. Harry's face was a mask of conflict and pain...
Sean's gaze grew deeper.
Every mber of this family was preoccupied with their own world. In their life together, not one person had truly stepped into the heart of another. They were lonely—intertwined in appearance, but in reality, nothing more than several profoundly isolated individuals.
"If a temporary escape would make you feel better, Harry, we can leave this place," the brooch said after the al ended.
Harry looked up blankly, seeing Sean's face, which held a touch of gentleness.
In the end, Harry chose not to tell the truth to the arriving NSPCC officials. From that mont on, the Dursleys seed both shaky and incredulous.
They returned to Diagon Alley.
Hermione, Ron, and Neville had stayed in the car, watching the whole farce through the window Justin had left open. They were now discussing it heatedly; Hermione and Ron both felt that Harry's decision to let them off the hook was unwise.
Harry said nothing.
At Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, no one crowded Harry, choosing instead to let him have so quiet ti to himself. Harry stared at the blurry gray horizon, watching an owl flap its wings with a listless energy.
Occasionally, the black rooftops of the shops obscured an eagle flying through the fiery sunset clouds. Before he knew it, the lted ice cream in his cup had begun to overflow.
A person sat down across from him.
"You chose to forgive, but that doesn't an you've forgotten... Harry, you stayed true to yourself. That is a remarkable thing."
Sean's green eyes reflected the fire of the sunset. Harry suddenly felt his nose go very, very red.
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