Author's Note: I really don't have much to say, except to thank everyone that has been reviewing. I do appreciate it. Oh, and I should mention that I got the Shakespeare line off of a television show called The Nanny. I've taken to watching it lately for no apparent reason. I hope none of my fellow Americans take offense at the joke. And forgive me for poking fun at the French language as well. I happen to speak some French and find it to be an absolutely amazing language. Many thanks to Nitya, as always, for being my beta. Although, the icons she made in regards to this chapter have really unnerved me. Well, enjoy and I hope you get a laugh out of this.
CHAPTER THREE
DUDLEY'S GIRLFRIEND
Much to Harry's chagrin, he discovered the next day that Dudley's new girlfriend, Rhonda Benson, was going to be invited over to dinner. Apparently it was all Uncle Vernon's idea, which told Harry one thing: he was sniffing around for yet another way to make a lot of money.
What was worse was when Dudley arrived back home that day to announce that his girlfriend had accepted the invitation and would be coming over the next day. Aunt Petunia went into a frenzy, pulling out cookbooks and deciding what recipe she wanted to use before whisking away to the market to buy the ingredients she needed.
It also meant that the Dursleys were finally forcing Harry to do some work around the house. Uncle Vernon immediately went to work on the sun room once again and ordered Harry to help him. That was the reason why Harry, on a Sunday afternoon, was holding the base of a ladder while his overweight uncle stood on the fourth rung, hammering away.
The ladder wobbled a little bit. "Hang on to it, Potter!" Vernon snapped, grabbing onto the top of the ladder to steady it.
"I am," Harry replied in a bored voice. He watched angrily while Dudley sat in the living room, watching television. "Maybe you could get Dudley to hold the ladder for you and I can start spackling," he suggested.
Vernon grunted. "You'd just screw it up," he muttered. Then he peered into the living room. "Dudders! Come in here and start spackling this wall over here!"
Harry watched his porcine cousin's lips mouth a curse before he turned off the television and got up. Then, muttering under his breath, he waddled over to help his father. Harry grinned in satisfaction.
Fifteen minutes later, when Uncle Vernon finally got down off the ladder, he turned to look at Dudley's work. It took every piece of Harry's will not to laugh as Vernon gaped at his son.
"Dudders! What are you doing!" he shrieked.
"Spackling," Dudley said.
Vernon stared. "Spackling," he repeated. "Dudders, I thought I told you how to spackle?"
"Yeah," Dudley replied.
"Then what the devil are you doing?" Vernon cried.
Dudley looked at his father as though he were the most ignorant creature alive. "Spackling," Dudley said.
Vernon closed his eyes. Harry wondered what his uncle was thinking exactly, but he had an idea that it dealt with Vernon wondering how he could ever have raised such a mechanically inept son.
He opened his eyes. "You know what, Dudders? I think you should go back and watch the telly. But first, could you get me a Phillips screwdriver?"
Looking relieved, Dudley waddled over to Uncle Vernon's toolbox and fished out a screwdriver before handing it to his father. Harry got a good look at it and stifled a snicker. Vernon, once again, stared at his son.
"Er-Dudders? I said a Phillips screwdriver, not a flathead."
Dudley looked at him. "Huh?"
Grinning, Harry walked over to his uncle's toolbox and grabbed the correct screwdriver. "Here you go," he said, handing it to Uncle Vernon. "See that, Dud? That's a Phillips screwdriver. Even non-normal folk like me know that."
Dudley scowled at him. "Whatever," he muttered and walked back inside the house.
Vernon watched his son go before he turned to Harry. "Er-erm-" He frowned. "Thanks."
"No problem," Harry murmured.
Harry continued to help Uncle Vernon until dinner, when they took a break. Then Aunt Petunia ordered him to go outside and pick the weeds in her garden. At one point, while grumbling under his breath about Aunt Petunia's perfectionist tendencies, he pulled a rather thorny weed that cut the palm of his hand. He swore violently, examining his bleeding hand. Carefully, he pulled the weed up with his left hand before venturing back inside the house for something to clean his cut with.
"Done?" Aunt Petunia asked him.
"Not exactly," he said, holding his bleeding hand palm up.
She glanced his way and scowled. "What happened?"
"Thorns," he muttered, walking over to the kitchen sink.
"No! Not in my kitchen sink!" she cried.
He glared at her. "And where do you suggest I clean this at?"
"Not in my kitchen sink-I just scrubbed it!"
"Have you scrubbed the bathroom sink?"
She shifted irritably. "This morning." She frowned. "Go before you start dripping blood on my freshly mopped floor."
He nodded and left the kitchen. Up in the bathroom, he cleaned his cut the best he could before searching around for some sort of bandage. Suddenly someone started pounding on the door.
"Whoever's in there, get out!" Dudley yelled.
Harry ignored him and soon he heard the doorknob jiggle.
"Come on!" Dudley yelled.
Again, Harry ignored him. There was more pounding on the door.
"If you don't open up, I'll break down this bloody door!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "That's definitely not the wisest thing to do, Dud," he called back. "After all, it could be either your mum or dad in here doing something besides finding a bandage. How much trouble would you be in if they heard you talk to them that way?"
"I'm not dumb!" Dudley said. "I knew you were the one in there. Mum's downstairs in the kitchen and Dad's reading the newspaper in the living room!"
"Oh, congratulations Dudley. You've just accomplished deductive reasoning," Harry said, finally finding a bandage.
"What?"
Harry rolled his eyes again as he started to wrap his hand. "Never mind."
"Come on, Potter!"
"Give me thirty seconds and you can have the bathroom all you want. Just remember to turn on the fans while you're smoking," Harry said, finishing off and opening the door. "There. Happy?"
Dudley pushed right past him and into the bathroom without comment and slammed the door in Harry's face.
"Aren't we the grumpy one," Harry murmured and headed back downstairs.
He walked back outside and continued to weed his aunt's garden. He hated the work and wished he could be doing something else-playing Quidditch with Ron at the Burrow, snogging Hermione…
His hand slipped right off the weed he was trying to pull and he mentally chastised himself. You said you were going to wait and see what happens. It's best not to think about that until things are official. Still, though, he couldn't help but admit that he'd like nothing more than to spend time with her.
Patience, said Hermione's voice in his head. Just be patient.
Harry sighed. Why did he have a feeling that it was going to be a long summer?
An hour later, he found himself back in his room and he couldn't have been happier. After he got done pulling the weeds, Aunt Petunia had tried to get him to trim the hedges, but he had somehow reasoned with her that it was too late to trim anything and that he'd do it in the morning.
He now sat at his desk flipping through the old photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year at Hogwarts, looking down at the smiling faces of his parents. He wondered what they would have thought about the current war with Voldemort, about the mayhem and destruction he had caused. He wondered whether or not his mother and father would have approved about the man he had become; granted, he had a few weeks left before he was officially declared "of age."
He flipped the page. There was his father with Sirius, Remus, and Wormtail. He wished he could speak to Sirius, but he'd never be able to do so again. He sat back and imagined what he and Sirius would talk about. Voldemort, obviously, but also Hogwarts, Quidditch, the days of the Marauders, Ron, and perhaps-Harry wasn't sure he'd have the spine to do it, though-they'd talk about his developing relationship with Hermione. He could sure use some advice about it. He really didn't know what to do.
He closed the photo album. He needed a distraction, one that would keep him from thinking about the past or the possible future. He jumped up and strode over to his trunk. Inside were his school robes, spell books, scales, potions ingredients, and everything else that he needed for Hogwarts. He rummaged around until he found his Charms book. Professor Flitwick usually set easy assignments during the summer, so why not start with his homework assignment first? He'd have to get his homework done sooner or later. Plopping on the bed, he opened his book and read the chapters required until he fell asleep.
The next morning, Harry woke up to a soft hooting sound coming from the top of his chair. Opening his eyes, he saw a blurry white form until he put on his glasses and saw it was Hedwig.
He grinned sleepily. "Trying to tell me that that's the proper way to wake somebody up?"
Hedwig hooted haughtily and stuck out her leg. Harry noticed that clutched in her talons was a dead mouse. "Got yourself some breakfast before you came back?" he asked, untying the letter. She hooted again and flew over to the top of her cage, where she started to enjoy her snack.
Harry yawned and stretched before opening up the envelope and pulling out a piece of parchment. Immediately he figured out who the letter was from-the emerald ink gave it away. It was Professor Dumbledore's reply.
Dear Harry,
Thank you very much for sending me your letter. I shall see to everything. In the future, however, I do ask that you don't make it so lengthy. It makes it so much easier to read when they are of that length. I'm sure you'll understand.
I hope this letter finds you well.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry cringed. "Nice going, Potter," he muttered to himself, tossing the letter onto his desk. He could have screwed up everything had his letter to Dumbledore been intercepted. He glanced at Hedwig, who was picking a piece of mouse off its bones. "I suppose I almost blew it, didn't I?" Hedwig merely looked up at him with her amber eyes and blinked.
He sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. He'd have to be smarter about things from now on. If not, a lot of horrible things could happen to not only him, but his friends and everyone associated with him.
"POTTER!"
He groaned. What did he do wrong now? Mentally cursing his uncle, he snatched up a dirty shirt and put it on before adjusting his slightly large gray sweatpants. Running a hand through his hair again, he opened the door and went downstairs to see what Uncle Vernon wanted.
He was in the kitchen with Aunt Petunia, who was making breakfast. She looked up at Harry and eyed him up and down, a revolted look on her face.
"What are you wearing?" she gasped.
"The clothes I slept in," Harry said. "I just got up."
Uncle Vernon was staring at him. "Go mow the lawn and trim the hedges."
"Then afterwards take a shower, shave, and get dressed!" Aunt Petunia added.
Harry nodded. "I'll just go get my trainers."
He took his time finding his shoes and putting them on. Soon enough, he was outside pushing the lawnmower, purposely making sure he got close enough to Aunt Petunia's garden so that the lawn clippings showered over her flowers. While he mowed the front yard, Aunt Petunia kept looking out the front window, looking frantically up and down the block. Harry knew she was doing it because she didn't want anyone to see him out there in a t-shirt and sweatpants, looking rather grimy.
When he finished mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges, it was after noon. Aunt Petunia had just finished making sandwiches. When Harry reached for once, she snapped, "Absolutely not, Potter! I told you to go get dressed!" He scowled and walked away, but she called after him, "And make sure it's something nice, not those ragged jeans with holes!"
He spun around. "Why?"
"I don't want Diddy's girlfriend seeing you in such a poor state," she said, her nose in the air.
He stared at her incredulously. "I'm eating dinner down here tonight?"
"Mum, no!" Dudley whined.
"I remember exactly what happened when the Masons came over five years ago-my pudding all over the floor!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "You won't be leaving my sight the entire evening!"
Harry frowned. "That wasn't me. That was a house-elf named Dobby."
Uncle Vernon turned purple. "Don't you speak of that rubbish!"
"It's the truth!"
"Oh, shut up, Potter!" Dudley yelled, turning back to his parents. "He's not eating dinner with us!"
Aunt Petunia, for once, seemed to be putting her foot down, overruling everyone-even Uncle Vernon. "He will be eating dinner at the table this evening and that's final. Your father and I will be able to keep a closer eye on him that way and I'm sure he's not foolish enough to try something then."
Dudley looked as though he were about to have a temper tantrum. "But what if he-"
"I can't," Harry growled. "I'm not seventeen yet. And I don't give a damn about your girlfriend anyway. She's not worth my bloody time."
"Watch your mouth!" Uncle Vernon yelled.
Harry fumed. "I'm going to take a shower. Settle this amongst yourselves." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off.
*****
When he got out of the shower and shaved, he walked back into his bedroom to find something decent to wear. However, there was quite the surprise waiting for him on his bed. Lying on top of a pair of black pants was a navy blue, green, and khaki stripped button down, collared shirt. Sitting next to his bed were a decent pair a black shoes.
Harry stared. How? Who? When?
He shook his head to clear it. It must have been Aunt Petunia. She must have bought them for him while she was out shopping the previous day because she wanted him to look presentable at dinner that night. Was that why she was fighting so hard for him to be at dinner, so she hadn't spent her money for nothing?
He started dressing. To his great surprise, both the pants and the shirt fit him perfectly, as did the shoes when he finally put them on. Since when did his aunt know his sizes? Shrugging, he searched around for a comb to run through his still partially wet hair. It didn't do him any good. His hair still stuck up at odd angles no matter how hard he tried to comb it down. Frustrated, he tossed the comb aside.
Wait a minute…why am I trying to look nice for this? It's not like Hermione's coming over, he mused.
He sat down on his bed and pulled out a gold chain from underneath his shirt. On it was the small Snitch pendant Hermione had given him the previous year for his birthday. Carefully, he traced the edge of it with his fingertip. He missed his friends.
"Potter!" he heard his uncle call from downstairs. "Get down here!"
Harry scowled and placed the necklace back underneath his shirt. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses before going to see what Uncle Vernon wanted.
"Yeah?" he asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Uncle Vernon looked at him up and down, his face turning purple. "Petunia wants your help in the kitchen."
Harry cast his eyes towards the kitchen doorway, frowning.
"Well, don't just stand there," Vernon barked. "Go help her!"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he murmured tonelessly, turning towards the kitchen.
The scent of ham fluttered to him as he entered the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was bent over with her apron on, rummaging through a cupboard, looking for a pan. She looked up when Harry walked in and stood up straight, examining him with scrutinizing eyes.
"Tuck in your shirt," she ordered. "I bought those clothes for you so you wouldn't look like a sloppy hoodlum tonight. The least you can do is tuck in your shirt!"
Glaring at her, he obliged. "What do you need help with?" he asked.
"I want you to peel and cook the potatoes," she replied, returning for her search of the pan. "Do you know how to make gravy?"
"Not really," Harry replied, walking over to the pantry to find the potatoes.
"Then I'll have to do it," she muttered. "How about putting together a tossed salad?"
"I guess," he said, pulling the potatoes out.
"Good."
Harry set to work. He found it incredibly dull. Neither he nor his aunt attempted to initiate conversation-that's just not how things worked at the Dursley household. They only talked to Harry when they wanted something out of him or to yell at him and he only spoke to them when he was required to.
Dudley waddled in, his plum shirt slightly crumpled. Harry noticed potato crisp crumbs on it. "Mum, my shirt got wrinkled again."
"Oh dear. I'll just have to iron it again," Aunt Petunia said. "Go take it off and set it in the laundry room. I'll take care of it, Diddy-dums."
"Dad's going to take me out for another driving lesson before I go get Rhonda," Dudley told her, unbuttoning his shirt. Harry turned away. The last thing he wanted to see was Dudley's lard-filled stomach.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Aunt Petunia said, smiling fondly. "I'm sure you won't go over any curbs today."
"Or nearly sideswipe a stop sign," Harry added, unable to resist.
"Shut up," Dudley spat, scowling.
"Get back to those potatoes," Petunia snapped. Harry rolled his eyes behind their backs and continued working. "Don't worry, Popkins, you'll be fine."
Dudley continued to scowl at Harry. "Does he really have to come to dinner tonight? Can't we keep him in his room?"
"Now, now, we don't want a repeat of the Masons, do we?" she said, smoothing down his hair.
"Lock him in there, then," Dudley muttered.
"Don't worry, Diddy, everything will be perfect tonight, even if he's there," she told him.
He huffed. "Whatever. Come on, Dad, let's go!" he yelled, waddling out.
When she heard the front door shut, Aunt Petunia rounded on Harry. "Don't you dare ever criticize my Diddy's driving again. He's just learning, after all!"
Harry bit back his retort. Instead he said, "Dudley forgot to leave you his shirt for ironing."
She frowned. "So he did. I don't see why you care, though."
"I don't. I just thought I'd point it out," he replied, peeling the last of the potatoes. "I need a pot."
"You know where they're at," she said, moving aside so he could access the cupboard.
"Right," he murmured, and got to work again.
*****
Dudley and Uncle Vernon did return with enough time for Aunt Petunia to iron Dudley's shirt again. By the time Dudley announced that he was going to go retrieve his girlfriend, Harry was just putting the finishing touches on his tossed salad. Aunt Petunia was still busy with the ham and she had also taken on the task of cooking another vegetable for the meal. All in all, Harry thought the food smelled good, but he wasn't sure he wanted to eat any of it, not with Dudley's girlfriend over. He had a feeling that the night would go badly.
Dudley returned about a half-hour later, shouting, "Mum, Dad, we're home!"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia jumped up to go greet them. "Come on, Potter," Vernon growled quietly.
Harry got up and lagged behind his aunt and uncle slowly. Leaning against the doorframe, he got his first look at Dudley's wealthy girlfriend.
Rhonda Benson was not a pretty sight to see. If Dudley was the size of a huge wild boar, she was the size of a large pig. Her dark brown hair was lank with blonde streaks in it. Her makeup, specifically her eye shadow and mascara, was overdone. Her maroon dress was a tad too short and much too tight.
Harry frowned and looked into her bland gray eyes. If she were willing to date Dudley, then she couldn't have been very smart.
"Ah, Miss Benson," Vernon greeted, holding out his hand for her to shake, "welcome to our home. I'm Vernon Dursley and this is my wife, Petunia."
Petunia smiled. "Hello, dear."
Rhonda took Uncle Vernon's hand and shook it gruffly. "Good to meet you, Vernon," she said, her voice loud and unpleasant. She shook Aunt Petunia's hand too. "What's that I smell?"
"Oh, that's the ham I'm cooking," Aunt Petunia replied, releasing the girl's hand.
Rhonda's nose wrinkled. "You're cooking the ham?" She turned to Dudley. "You should have told me you don't have a cook! I could have brought Rosetta."
"Mum likes to cook," Dudley said lamely.
"Indeed I do," Petunia said. "Would you like some tea, Rhonda?"
"Yeah, okay, Petunia," she said, looking around the house and taking it in. Her eyes came to rest upon Harry and suddenly sparkled. "Who're you?"
"Oh, that's nobody," Dudley assured her. "Let's go to the living room."
She didn't move. "Who're you?" she asked again.
"Harry," Harry replied, watching Dudley scowl. "I'm Dudley's cousin."
She smiled, showing off slightly yellow teeth. "Well, Harry, it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."
Both Dudley and Uncle Vernon were turning purple. "Get the tea, Potter," Vernon ordered, then smiled at Rhonda. "Come, my dear, to the living room and tell us about yourself."
Harry headed off to the kitchen and started to make the tea. He leaned back against the counter and listened to the conversation in the living room.
"I go to an all girls' school," Rhonda was saying. "Ever heard of Kent College Pembury?"
He heard Aunt Petunia gasp. "That's one of the finest boarding schools in Britain!"
"Bloody hell, yes!" Rhonda said with a chortle. "My dad pays for the best."
"So you travel to Kent each term?" Uncle Vernon asked.
"Yeah. I hate doing it, really. The trips aren't any fun," she told them. "Where's that cousin of yours, Dudley?"
"Er-still making tea, I guess," he said.
"So how did you two meet?" Aunt Petunia asked quickly.
"Ah, that's a funny story," Rhonda said as Harry noticed the tea was done. He quickly poured some cups, set it on a tray, and took it out to them. "See, not too long ago, this girl had a party-she wants to get in well with my family, I think-and I got a bit rat-arsed." Aunt Petunia gasped, but she didn't take notice. "I felt a bit knackered too, so I left. I was walking down the street and ran into Dudley and some of his friends, having themselves a smoke. Well, you know how the craving goes, so I asked if I could bum one and Dudley here was nice enough to hand one over. We've been seeing each other ever since."
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sat, aghast. Dudley sat, mortified. Harry wanted to laugh, but instead sat down and said, "That's a nice story."
Rhonda beamed at him. "Yeah, it is."
"Erm-Petunia dear, how about I help you set the table?" Vernon said when he found his voice again.
"Yes, dear, that'd be nice," she agreed and they quickly got up and left the room, their tea untouched.
"So Harry," Rhonda began, grinning, "do you go to the same school Dudley does?"
"Er-no," Harry said, not liking the attention being focused on him.
"Oh, where do you go then?" she asked.
"St. Brutus's," Dudley told her before Harry could attempt to lie. "It's a center for juvenile delinquents."
Rhonda looked at Harry in surprise. "Oh, so you're quite the bad boy," she said, her eyes taking on a predatory look. Harry gulped. "What did you do that was so bad?"
"Nothing," Harry said.
"He trapped me in a zoo exhibit," Dudley said, his face turning red when he realized what he had just said.
"How'd he manage to do that?" she asked, looking at Harry critically. "He doesn't look strong enough to take you on, Dudley."
"Looks are deceiving," Harry said. "Besides, physical strength means nothing when you can outwit somebody as stupid as Dudley."
She laughed while Dudley went from red to purple. He jumped up. "I should grind you into-"
"Oh stop, Dudley. Can't you see it was just a joke?" Rhonda said, laughing again. "Your cousin's kind of funny."
"You brought it up," Harry reminded him.
"Shut up," he muttered, scowling.
Aunt Petunia stuck her head back in. "Dinner's ready. Let's eat, shall we?"
Rhonda got up. "Great! I'm so hungry I could eat a whole pig!"
Petunia gave a nervous little laugh and guided them into the dining room. Dudley plopped down in his chair, scowling at his plate. Uncle Vernon stared at him for a few moments before pulling out a chair for Rhonda. "Here you go, dear," he said and then rushed around to pull out his wife's chair.
Harry sat down across from Dudley and Rhonda. Uncle Vernon grabbed a large knife and a fork. "How big a slice would everyone like?" he asked.
"Make mine thick, Vernon," Rhonda said. "Is there any champagne in the house?"
"Vernon and I keep a bottle of Merlot for special occasions," Petunia said, glancing at her husband.
"Well, isn't this a special occasion?" Rhonda asked gruffly.
"Well, yes, of course it is," Petunia said. "But…"
"But what?" she demanded.
"But aren't you only seventeen?" Aunt Petunia asked.
Rhonda scowled, making her features extremely ugly. "Your point, Petunia?"
"Well, you aren't old enough, dear," she said.
Uncle Vernon, however, seemed to be thinking more about the deals that could be made with Rhonda's father. "Oh Petunia, let's not be prudish. I think we can bend the rules once in awhile."
Aunt Petunia sighed. She wasn't about to go against her husband. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I'll go fetch it."
She left while Vernon continued to cut everyone a generous slice of ham, even for Harry. "May I dish you up some potatoes?" he asked Rhonda.
"Sure, Vernon," she said, handing over her plate. "Don't be skimpy with them."
"Of course not," he said, giving her an extra helping. "Anything else?"
"Everything else," she replied, looking at the food. "I certainly hope Petunia's a good cook. Rosetta is amazing! I've been bloody spoiled by her."
"I found the Merlot," Petunia announced, returning with a bottle and five wine glasses.
Vernon stared at her as she set the wine glasses in front of everyone's plates. "You're going to give Potter some of that?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon mutter to her.
"We don't want to look bad," Petunia whispered back fiercely.
Vernon frowned. "Fine." He took the bottle from Aunt Petunia and poured everyone a glass.
"Excellent," Rhonda said when she got hers and immediately took a large gulp of it.
"Er-how about a little prayer?" Aunt Petunia said as she and Uncle Vernon sat down.
"We aren't very religious in my house," Rhonda said. "So, no thanks." Then, without hesitation, she started in on her meal.
"Well, then," Aunt Petunia said, eyeing the girl warily, "tuck in everyone."
They ate in silence for a few moments when Uncle Vernon tried to initiate conversation once again. "So, Rhonda, tell us about your father's work," he said pleasantly.
Harry rolled his eyes as he took a sip of Merlot and nearly gagged. He swallowed it quickly and set it aside, deciding that Merlot was definitely not his drink of choice.
Rhonda chewed thoughtfully-with her mouth open. "Well," she said loudly, not finished chewing, "Dad's quite the important man. He's a banker or something like that. I really don't care what the hell he is, just as long as he keeps the money coming in."
"I see," Vernon said.
Harry stood up. Vernon glared at him. "Where are you going?" he demanded.
"I'm going to get myself a glass of water," he replied. "I don't much like Merlot."
"Well hand it over, Harry-I'll take it!" Rhonda said enthusiastically.
Harry gestured to the glass. "Take it if you want it," he murmured, walking away from the table to get his glass of water. When he arrived back at the table, he noticed his glass was now sitting next to Rhonda, who had drained her other one.
"…so then Dudley tells me he'll take me to France before the holiday's over with. Of course, I really don't like the French. Par-lez voose fran-sais, ha! I'd rather go over to the bloody States where those surfer blokes are. And I'll be taken in right away because you know how those stupid Americans are about the way we talk. They think every bloody word we say is Shakespeare!"
Uncle Vernon and Dudley chuckled while Aunt Petunia gave a short laugh. She was staring at the girl in sheer horror as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before rubbing it on the white tablecloth.
Harry sat down. "I've met a couple French girls and they were alright," he said. "Plus my friend has gone to France on a few occasions and really enjoyed it there."
Rhonda's eyes went flat. "Think the French are alright, do you? What, did those two French girls snog you or something?"
"No," he murmured. "At the time, I had another girl on my mind."
"What, that bushy haired number at the train station?" Dudley demanded.
Harry gave his gigantic cousin a hard look. "No, I wasn't referring to her."
Dudley sneered. "She rejected you flat, didn't she?"
"No, she didn't. It didn't work out."
"Poor Potter," Dudley mocked.
Rhonda belched. "Damn, that's some fine Merlot!"
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at her in amazement. The Dursleys may have been blind to their own son's rudeness, but it was apparent that they could not escape hers.
The dinner wore on with Dudley's girlfriend continuously talking with her mouth full of ham. When it was finally over, Uncle Vernon ordered Harry to wash the dishes as he and the others entered the living room. Harry took his time washing the dishes, not wanting to go in there.
"It's getting late," Rhonda said later. "I'm going to call for the car."
"Certainly, dear," Vernon said. "The telephone is right-"
"I don't need your telephone," Rhonda said loudly. "I've got a mobile."
Harry finished drying the last of the dishes when she walked into the kitchen, picking her teeth and dialing home on her mobile phone. He quickly exited, but lingered around the doorway to hear exactly what the girl would say to her family.
"Hey Lucy, tell Mum or Dad to send the car for me. I just about had enough of this small house and pathetic family. Remind me tomorrow morning to telephone stupid Dudley and break up with his sorry arse. And here I thought he was rich, with an inheritance and everything. Oh, and tell Dad that whatever he does, don't work with-what's his name again-oh, Vernon Dursley. Be quick about that car, Lucy. Bye."
Harry bit his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh. No matter how awful he thought this girl was, the fact that she was going to dump Dudley over the phone made him want to snicker. Of course, they were both using each other; they really did belong together.
With a bit of a spring in his step, Harry walked back into the living room and waited with both Rhonda and the Dursleys until her parents' chauffeur arrived for her. She then gave them all a short good-bye and left, promising to call Dudley in the morning. That time Harry really did snicker.
He turned his attention to his aunt and uncle when the door closed. His aunt was sitting rigidly, staring at a spot on the wall, while his uncle sat lost in thought.
Dudley turned and beamed at his parents. "So, what did you think of her?"
Uncle Vernon focused on his son. "Erm…"
Aunt Petunia frowned. "She was-er-okay, I suppose."
Dudley stared incredulously at his parents. "What do you mean by that?"
"She wasn't exactly what we expected," Vernon said.
"She was a little rough around the edges," Aunt Petunia muttered. "Did any of you count how many glasses of Merlot she had? Five!"
Dudley stood up. "You didn't like her," he said slowly. "You don't like my girlfriend."
"Now, Dudley, it's not that we don't like her-" Uncle Vernon started.
"But she's a spoiled brat who smokes," Harry finished for his uncle, trying to hide how much he was finding this entertaining.
Vernon looked over furiously at Harry. "Stay out of this, Potter!" Then he flashed his eyes back upon his son. "Speaking of smoking, she was lying about her bumming a cigarette off of you, wasn't she?"
"Yes," Aunt Petunia seemed to plead. "Wasn't she just joking?"
While Dudley tried to find the proper way to answer their questioning, Harry got up and walked over to the coat rack where Dudley's leather jacket was. He quickly searched the pockets and fished out half a pack of cigarettes. "Doesn't look like it," he said, tossing them to Uncle Vernon. "Sorry to tell you that your son has one nasty habit."
Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley stared, horrified, at the cigarettes. Aunt Petunia's lip trembled. "Diddy? No, not my Diddy!"
Uncle Vernon turned purple, unable to ignore his son's behavior any longer. He crumpled the cigarettes as his enormous hand made a fist. "You will stop this nonsense right away, Dudley. You are not to smoke another one of these death sticks," he said in a deadly calm voice.
"Good luck with that one," Harry muttered.
"SHUT UP!" both Uncle Vernon and Dudley roared while Aunt Petunia started weeping.
Dudley rounded on his father. "You can't tell me what I can and cannot do! You don't own me!"
"I'm afraid for the next year, Dudders, I do," Vernon said, cringing.
"You can't make me do anything! You can't stop me! I don't need you people anymore!" He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. "If you can't accept me for who I am or the people I'm with, then fine! I'm gone!"
"Diddy, wait!" Aunt Petunia sobbed as Dudley marched towards the door and opened it.
"Good-bye," he spat. Then, with great force, he stepped out the door and slammed it shut.