Dinner at 4 Privet Drive

As night fell, the front garden of the house at 4 Privet Drive was brightly lit.

The Dursleys, a tall, fat man and a tall, thin woman, bustled about inside their own hedge.

At the same time, they loudly discussed why they were so busy...

"Pochis made the right decision."

Mr. Dursley strained his nonexistent neck. "The Riddle Consortium once invited me to join, but I recommended Pochis instead."

"That's right."

Mrs. Dursley agreed, craning her long neck to peer at the neighbors' houses and observe the people next door. She hadn't seen a soul, but suspected they were all hiding behind their doors, eavesdropping.

"Now Pochis is doing well. Yes, he's doing very well."

Mr. Dursley's voice remained booming. "He wants to repay me. He wants to invite me to work with him."

"Are you going to go?" Mrs. Dursley called, adding charcoal to the barbecue.

"Of course not. I like it here, and I like my current job."

Mr. Dursley set up the dining table and spoke loudly. "But I have to turn him down politely, because he's my friend—and because it's the Riddle Consortium."

"My goodness, the Riddle Consortium, a rising star in the City of London! And you actually turned it down."

Mrs. Dursley came over to her husband and cupped his face, his neck nowhere to be seen. "Darling, you're simply wonderful."

Mr. Dursley kissed his wife proudly, then took a deep breath, ready to continue bragging...

"I want red meat sausages! Piers likes them too, but there aren't any on the table. Why aren't there any red meat sausages..."

Their precious son Dudley roared angrily, looking ready to flip the table. The two of them immediately abandoned their boasting.

"I made some, Dudley, I made some."

Mrs. Dursley promptly left her husband and went into the dining room, bringing out the red meat sausages she'd prepared earlier.

Only then was the crisis averted. Not long after, a gleaming silver Rolls-Royce slowly drove onto Magnolia Crescent and stopped outside the Dursley family home.

"Piers, what took you so long?"

Dudley, who had been shouting for red meat sausages, cried out and rushed through the garden gate.

"My father had a meeting. We came over as soon as it ended."

Piers got out of the car, but didn't hurry into the familiar 4 Privet Drive. Instead, he led out a purebred poodle.

"Is this the Jeffney you told me about?"

Dudley roughly picked up the poodle and asked as he played with it without restraint.

Piers paid no heed to the poodle's pleas for help. In fact, he had no interest in owning a dog at all. It had been his father's idea.

"That's her, Dudley. I'm hungry. I want red meat sausages." The skinny Piers covered his stomach as he spoke.

"Everything's ready. Come on in, Piers, and bring my friend Pochis and his wife." Mr. Dursley came out and greeted them warmly with kisses on both cheeks.

The group entered the garden, and the barbecue dinner began.

The men talked about work, the women chatted about everyday matters, and the two boys played with the dog. Everything seemed so happy, until Mr. Pochis raised a question...

"I heard you have another child, Harry, I think his name is. Is that right?"

Mr. Pochis's words brought Mrs. Dursley's conversation to a halt.

"Uh... yes, I mean... he might... probably..."

Mr. Dursley glanced toward the cupboard inside the house. He nervously rubbed his hands together, unsure how to answer.

"He's an ill-mannered child," Mrs. Dursley said. "Rachel can vouch for that. She's met Harry."

"Yes."

Mrs. Pochis immediately backed her up. "It's best not to let him out. He caused a terrible commotion at Dudley's last birthday."

"He talked to a snake and made it bite me," Piers cried, his mouth full of red meat sausage.

"If that's the case, then there's certainly no need to let him out."

Mr. Pochis's words put the Dursleys somewhat at ease. But his next words took them completely by surprise. "However, in the long run, it would be better if I met him."

"Keen," Dursley asked in confusion. "What's the point of meeting him?"

"Vernon, you know I get along well with the consortium's owner. He's interested in working more closely with me—for example, bringing me into the consortium's management and making my family one of its core families."

Mr. Dursley's small eyes widened. If that were true, the Pochis family was sure to prosper.

"But my family is small, and you were the one who recommended me to the consortium."

Pochis looked at Dursley earnestly. "Vernon, I owe you a lot."

"Keen, don't say that," Mr. Dursley replied modestly, though excitement colored his face. He eagerly awaited what Pochis would say next.

Sure enough, Pochis spoke again, and didn't disappoint him.

"I want to bring you into the consortium, and our children and nephews will join one day, too."

Seeing that Dursley was about to speak, Pochis stopped him and continued earnestly, "The consortium is huge. We need more of our children and nephews in it if we're going to control more of its wealth. And Piers told me that boy listens to Dudley..."

"Vernon, this will give us an advantage. We have to make the most of our resources."

Pochis's words persuaded Mr. Dursley. He looked toward his wife—

Mrs. Dursley, who had started out as a typist, didn't know how to make the decision. She simply gave Mr. Dursley a look that said, "It's up to you."

"Bring Harry out. He should meet Mr. Pochis and learn to show him respect."

Mr. Dursley gave the order, and Mrs. Dursley immediately set off.

"We can share our food with him," Pochis said with a wink. "Assistants should be trained from a young age."

Mr. Dursley nodded with a knowing smile. He was already beginning to make plans, but said firmly, "I won't leave Groning. You know how hard I've worked to get where I am."

"Then do even better. When the right opportunity comes, I'll suggest the consortium acquire it. Someone will have to take charge of Groning Company then, won't they?"

Pochis raised his wineglass with a smile. After his surprise passed, Dursley raised his own glass, excitement plain on his face. Their glasses clinked together.

"Clink..."

It was the sound of gold coins colliding.

In an apartment two blocks from Magnolia Crescent, Voldemort sat in a rocking chair, playing with the Yew Wand in his hand.

Of the dozens of television sets before him, the one in the center showed the barbecue in the garden at 4 Privet Drive. The audio was being recorded as well.

"Dark Lord, is it really necessary to be so cautious?" asked Danylis, a Vampire wizard.

"Of course. This child was..." Voldemort's voice cut off abruptly. He leaned forward sharply, staring at the frail boy who had appeared on the screen.

He was much smaller than Dudley, with a gaunt face, bony knees, black hair, and a pair of emerald-green eyes hidden behind battered, round glasses.

And, in the blurry footage, there was the scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. It was hard to see, but it had to be there.

"Harry Potter... Is he the Child of Fate, or the Child of the Plane?"

Voldemort couldn't help murmuring to himself.