"I still can't believe you guys actually came to see me!"
The second Vernon was out of earshot, Harry darted in front of Richie and Hermione, his whole face lighting up with pure joy.
"Honestly? Neither can I," Hermione said, grinning as her eyes dropped to the frilly apron tied around Harry's waist.
Harry followed her gaze, cheeks instantly flushing. He yanked the apron off in a frantic bundle and tossed it aside.
"Let's get out of here. Anywhere. Please."
Hermione and Richie traded a quick look and nodded.
"Dad, we're heading out for a bit," Richie called toward the living room. "We'll be back later."
Denton, who had just stepped inside, gave a casual wave. "Stay safe."
From the couch, Vernon's eyes narrowed again. That's right. Freaks stick together. He had zero interest in keeping any "adult friendship" going with these people.
To cover his earlier slip-up, he snapped at Petunia, who was carrying in tea. "Hurry up and serve our guests!"
Petunia shot him a glare but plastered on a smile and set the cups down.
"So, where was I? Ah yes—as the director of Grunnings, the company that manufactures drills—"
Back in the Dursley living room, Vernon launched into a nonstop brag-fest about himself.
---
The moment they left the house, it was like Harry had stepped out of a cage. His whole posture brightened.
He led them through two quiet streets to a small neighborhood park.
"Your whole neighborhood looks exactly the same," Hermione said, plopping onto a swing. "Row after row of identical houses. If I lived here I'd go completely numb."
Harry nodded so hard it looked like his head might fall off. He would've agreed with anything bad she said about this place.
"I wish I could just use magic," he muttered, pulling his wand from inside his jacket and staring at it.
"Harry," Richie reminded him gently. "Traceable. Using magic in the Muggle world is illegal."
"I know," Harry said, eyes lowering. That was exactly why he hadn't turned the Dursleys' house upside down.
"I miss Hogwarts," he said suddenly.
"Me too," Hermione sighed, swinging gently.
"I don't miss it that much," Richie said. "Especially not Snape. Every time I see him I feel like I'm looking at a giant walking bat."
Harry let out a surprised snort of laughter. Snape really did glide around with that greasy hair and those sweeping black robes—like a bat that hadn't discovered shampoo.
Richie clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Two months will fly by. If you get bored, just read something. It'll help pass the time."
Harry nodded seriously. Hermione, still swinging, immediately perked up.
"If you want books, I recommend the complete Gilderoy Lockhart series. He writes the most realistic, spine-chilling adventure stories."
Her eyes sparkled with pure fangirl energy. "I finished Voyages with Vampires and Gadding with Ghouls in the last few days. I can lend you both if you want."
Harry looked curious. "Really?"
"Of course!" Hermione gave the swing another push.
Richie folded his arms. Mention of those books immediately made him think of his dad. Denton had devoured the entire seven-book collector's set in a single week, then turned into a walking encyclopedia of questions.
"What exactly is a troll?"
"Are yetis born live or hatched from eggs?"
"Why would a werewolf be tamed by a smile?"
Richie had been stumped on most of them, but the werewolf one he shut down immediately.
"Dad, if you ever face a real werewolf, a smile might help—but only because it makes you look more dignified right before you die. Werewolves run on pure instinct. To them you're just meat. So if you don't want to be lunch, grab the shotgun."
That little exchange had planted a seed of doubt in Richie's mind. Lockhart's so-called "true heroic adventures" were clearly packed with exaggeration. The fact that no one questioned something as basic as "werewolves can be tamed with a smile" was honestly baffling.
The three of them stayed at the park talking until the sky turned orange with sunset. Only then did they head back to the Dursley house.
---
"…and after my son Dudley received such high praise from his teachers at Smeltings, I decided it was time for him to take up boxing."
Dudley stood in front of the four adults wearing a ridiculous maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers, a flat straw boater, and carrying a knobby cane. At Vernon's command he threw a few awkward punches, his huge belly jiggling with every move.
Denton propped his chin on his hand and nodded along mechanically. Wendell kept glancing at his watch, forcing a stiff smile.
For the entire afternoon Vernon had gone from his job, to his company awards, to his family, and finally to an endless slideshow of Dudley stories—from birth to the present. Every tiny detail.
He clearly adored his son. Too bad no one else in the room did.
If they hadn't been waiting for their own kids, both men would have left hours ago.
Finally—finally—the front door opened and the three kids walked in.
Denton and Wendell stood up at once.
"Sorry to take up your whole afternoon," Denton said smoothly. "Now that the kids are back, we'll get out of your hair."
"You're not staying for dinner?" Vernon asked, the words dripping with fake politeness.
"No need," Denton replied. He walked over to Richie while Wendell ignored Vernon completely and took Hermione's hand, heading straight for the door.
"Hey, Richie, Hermione—see you later!" Harry called, trying to sound cheerful even as his shoulders slumped.
"See you, Harry," they both answered.