Visiting Aunt Petunia

After the ship arrived in London, England, the family did not stay in a hotel for long. Altair had already arranged for someone to purchase property in the heart of London in advance, choosing a duplex on the 3rd and 4th floors of Building 3, Wickham Court, Charing Cross Road.

Charing Cross Road. This was another name that sounded familiar to Julien. Even on the way, Julien had seen the dilapidated sign tucked between a row of old bookstores and record shops: The Leaky Cauldron.

The family actually disliked living in the bustling city center; they all preferred the tranquility of the Bordeaux countryside – the vineyards, the oak trees, the wine cellars in the morning mist. However, it was indeed convenient for family business dealings.

Once settled, Altair busied himself with connecting with Black Vine Winery's distributors in Britain and preparing the preliminary matters for the red wine's entry into the British market. Clara, meanwhile, helped manage household affairs and business while taking time to contact Petunia.

Clara quickly got in touch with her distant cousin, Petunia Dursley, and arranged to visit in two days.

Two days passed in the blink of an eye. When all the minor tasks were temporarily concluded, Clara took Julien to buy a delicate pastry box from "Madeleine Patisserie" – not far from that record shop. The box contained cream puffs, raspberry truffle chocolates, and rainbow macarons specially prepared for children. They then drove to Little Whinging in County Surrey.

As the car drove out of central London, the scenery outside gradually changed from bustling city streets to tranquil suburban landscapes. Little Whinging was indeed a typical Muggle community.

The streets were spotlessly clean, lined with detached houses of similar styles. Every yard was planted with neat flowers and plants, and the sunlight fell on the off-white walls from a uniform angle.

Everything here was completely different from the wineries in Bordeaux. Little Whinging was exactly as described in books: suffocatingly tidy, with even the trash cans arranged like a military parade.

Even a cat probably wouldn't dare to run around here, Julien thought, No wonder Harry could only make friends with spiders as a child.

The car stopped in front of a slightly old house. The monotonous off-white exterior wall was already slightly yellowish. The lawn in the yard was trimmed very neatly, as if every blade of grass had been measured for length.

The lawn was dotted with some plants whose names Julien couldn't identify. Although it wasn't the blooming season, it was evident that the yard had been meticulously cared for. A small plaque hung by the door, engraved with "Dursley."

Clara turned off the engine and said to Julien, "This is it, Aunt Petunia and Mr. Dursley, this should be their home."

Julien took a deep breath, suppressed the turmoil in his heart, and got out of the car with his mother.

Clara carried the pastry box and rang the doorbell. The "ding-dong" of the doorbell echoed crisply in the quiet yard.

A moment later, the door opened. A slightly plump woman with a ruddy complexion appeared at the entrance.

She wore a floral print dress, her hair permed into neat waves, and her eyes held the shrewdness typical of a Muggle housewife.

Seeing Clara standing at the door, a look of obvious surprise first appeared on Petunia's face. She quickly composed herself and put on a polite smile.

"Clara?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising, then lowering. "Twenty years... you look... you haven't changed much."

Her gaze then swept over Julien – an expensive suit, silver buttons, a polite nod – she quickly assessed: a respectable family, worth associating with.

"Petunia, long time no see, it has indeed been many years," Clara replied with a smile, her tone gentle. She moved aside, pushing Julien forward. "This is my son, Julien Black. Julien, quickly say hello to Aunt Petunia."

Julien looked up, his gaze politely falling on Petunia. He nodded slightly. "Hello, Aunt Petunia." Even as a child, he appeared very polite.

His voice was clear, with the gentle tone characteristic of a young boy, but his eyes subtly observed the activity inside the house.

He could faintly hear the sound of the television from inside, a somewhat gruff male voice, and... an extremely faint sound, like someone walking on tiptoe.

Petunia's eyes lingered on him for a few seconds. She seemed unfazed by the surname "Black." She nodded slightly but adopted an enthusiastic tone. "Come in, it's windy outside. Vernon, Clara's here! I told you about her."

She stepped aside, making way at the doorway, and called into the house.

Julien followed his mother inside. The living room was decorated simply and ordinarily. The sofa was dark velour, and the coffee table held several newspapers and a glass jar full of candy. A Muggle comedy program was playing on the television.

A tall, stout man with a fleshy face stood up from the sofa. He wore a loose shirt, his belly bulging it out. This was Petunia's husband, Vernon Dursley.

Vernon's gaze fell on Clara, and he put on a polite smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. He eyed Clara's wool shawl – pure cashmere? How much did that cost?

"Hello, Mrs. Black. Petunia mentioned you. Welcome, welcome."

When his gaze swept over Julien, he also looked him over with a scrutinizing eye.

"Dudley! Dudley! Come down!" Petunia called from the top of the living room stairs. "We have guests, Aunt Clara and cousin Julien are here!"

"Thump, thump, thump, thump..." Heavy footsteps sounded from the stairs.

A smaller version of a Dursley bounced down the stairs in a way that made them groan in protest.

His pale blonde hair, like faded straw or his mother's over-bleached tablecloth, was plastered wetly to an unusually large forehead.

This little boy named Dudley had a broad face with two small, sharp blue eyes set in it. They were slightly narrowed from the effort of coming downstairs, flashing with his usual impatience.

His neck was almost non-existent, making the collar of the black T-shirt emblazoned with a rock band logo stretch tightly.

His expensive, spotless sneakers landed heavily on the stair treads, exuding an undeniable, space-filling presence.

When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the entire space seemed to shrink.

Like his shrewd parents, his gaze first fell on Julien with scrutiny. Seeing Julien in his expensive suit, a smile naturally spread across his face, contorting his features.

"You must be my cousin Julien. I'm Dudley," he said, extending a thick arm.

After everyone was seated, the adults had their own conversation. Upon learning that Clara and her husband were in the wine business in Britain, Petunia and Vernon became even more enthusiastic.

Meanwhile, Dudley led Julien to a corner of the living room.

"So, about that match last week, Arsenal's offside goal was just terrible refereeing..." Dudley waved his chubby arms, nearly spitting on the lemon cake in front of him.

His small eyes were fixed on Julien, with a rare eagerness to connect.

As shrewd as the Dursleys were, upon seeing the well-dressed, articulate Julien and his elegant mother Clara, they had already reached a consensus through exchanged glances – this was a relative "worth continuing to associate with."

Dudley immediately picked up on this signal and brought out the only "topics" he had, gleaned from television and boasts from classmates, trying hard to appear like a worldly and respectable boy.

"Indeed, it was very controversial. But Dudley, I appreciate their counter-attacking strategy more; it's very methodical."

Julien nodded slightly, his voice steady, agreeing with the discussion about football. He then skillfully steered the conversation towards boxing, which Dudley was more passionate about, mentioning the names of a few famous boxers, which immediately made Dudley's eyes light up even more.