Harry went downstairs for breakfast that morning.
The three Dursleys were already sitting around the dining table, eating breakfast and watching television. Vernon occupied the largest chair, with Petunia beside him, delicately cutting up the food on her plate. Dudley was piled into his chair like a small mountain, the food in front of him almost spilling onto the table.
Perhaps it was because greater mass meant greater gravitational pull.
Harry's gaze was drawn involuntarily toward Dudley.
He couldn't help it. Over the past year, Dudley had grown several sizes larger and was practically a walking ball of flesh.
His chins were stacked one on top of another, and his T-shirt stretched so tightly that it dug furrows into his flesh. Even his chair creaked under his weight.
Harry sat down at the table. A fairly decent breakfast awaited him at his place: fried eggs, bacon, and milk—though naturally, it was nowhere near as "lavish" as Dudley's.
On his last visit, Lucien had instructed the Dursleys to make sure Harry's meals were up to the same standard as Dudley's. Harry was grateful for his help, but honestly, he had no desire to eat as much as Dudley. He was terrified he might turn into a ball himself and develop five chins like Dudley's.
He had just picked up his fork when the presenter's voice came from the television:
"...Black is armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone who spots him should report it immediately by calling XXXXX."
Harry glanced up. Beside the presenter was a wanted picture of a gaunt, haggard man with long hair that looked filthy and tangled. His eyes were deeply sunken, and he looked as though he had crawled out from underground.
After watching for a moment, Harry lowered his head and went back to eating. Criminals like