The days that followed settled into a calm, monotonous rhythm: school, exercise, and a deep dive into the world of potions. But beneath the surface of this routine, a new intensity burned within Dudley. He became more focused, more driven. He pestered Mrs. Figg to help him acquire more advanced books on potions and herbology from the magical world, and his physical training regimen grew even more demanding. It was as if something had been ignited inside him, transforming him into a creature of pure, relentless ambition.
The new year arrived. This one was different. This one was important.
It was 1991. The year he and Harry would turn eleven. The year they might, just might, receive a letter from Hogwarts.
One afternoon after school, Dudley pulled Harry aside. "I have something to do today, so you go on home without me," he said, his tone casual. "If Mum or Dad asks, just tell them I'm playing ball with some friends."
"Okay, Brother D," Harry replied with his usual obedience, heading off towards Privet Drive. After years of living with Dudley, he had learned not to ask questions about things that were clearly none of his business.
Once Harry was gone, Dudley slipped into a deserted alleyway. He quickly changed into a crisp business suit he had prepared, then began applying something to his face. With a few deft strokes, he subtly altered his features, adding years to his appearance. When he emerged from the alley, he was no longer a ten-year-old boy, but a nondescript young man with an ordinary face. Disguise, or rather, makeup, was another of the myriad non-magical skills his system had provided. It was only Level 1, but it was enough.
Keeping a low profile was his guiding principle; he hated unnecessary trouble. Being a child prodigy author was a great gimmick, but it was a gimmick that came with far too much attention.
The meeting was set for a quiet coffee shop. Dudley had told his publisher that he'd written the book in just such a place, nursing a single cup of coffee all day long. It was a story that fit the romantic image of a struggling artist, and they had bought it completely.
"Mr. Jerry, it's been too long!" A man in a sharp suit stood up as Dudley entered, his face breaking into a wide, formulaic smile. This was Jimmy, his contact at the publishing house. He was smiling so brightly because "Mr. Jerry" was the goose that laid the golden eggs.
After the usual exchange of pleasantries, they got down to business.
"The Lord of the Rings Volume Two was, as expected, another massive success," Jimmy said, practically beaming. "The royalties have been transferred to your account. Please let us know if you have any questions."
For the second volume, Dudley had negotiated a profit-sharing model, a deal that was retroactively applied to the first book after its astronomical sales. In a world where Western fantasy was a barren wasteland, The Lord of the Rings had been a cultural atom bomb.
"I was wondering," Jimmy said, his professional smile tightening slightly, "when we might expect the manuscript for the third volume?"
This was the real reason for the meeting. The first two books were a runaway train of profit, and the publisher was terrified of it stopping. They were practically printing money, and no one wanted the machine to shut down.
Dudley paused, letting the silence hang in the air. Jimmy's anxiety grew more palpable. "Are you concerned about the profit-sharing agreement?" he asked quickly. "That is, of course, entirely negotiable." They would make money even with a smaller percentage; the real loss would be if their star author walked away.
Instead of answering, Dudley leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Jimmy, we've been working together for two years now, haven't we?"
"Yes, Mr. Jerry," Jimmy replied, a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Who could have imagined that their initial gamble on an unknown author would lead to this?
"I find you to be a man of considerable ability," Dudley said, his tone shifting. "Have you ever considered working with me, rather than for your publisher?" He got straight to the point. "I want to start a company."
Jimmy blinked, momentarily stunned. He didn't agree, but he didn't refuse either. "Doing what?" he asked, his voice cautious.
"Selling merchandise."
Dudley laid out his vision. You didn't need complex technology to make a fortune. Once a brand was established, the real money was in licensing and derivatives. He spoke of the massive, world-spanning IPs from his previous life, empires built on stories that turned into cultural touchstones. Writing the novel was just the first step. The path was clear: establish the brand, sell the merchandise, and then sit back and watch the money roll in. It was the plan he'd formulated from the beginning, his safety net in case the magical world rejected him.
And even if I can't get into Hogwarts, he mused, I will achieve financial freedom. His mind drifted. With the dawn of the technological age, the Muggle world was developing its own kind of power, one that wizards seemed to foolishly ignore. He thought of stories from his past life, of men with bombs and sniper rifles bringing powerful mages to their knees. He'd always been curious: could a bullet kill a wizard? He made a mental note to find a way to test that theory someday.
Jimmy, a practical man, didn't agree on the spot. "Mr. Jerry," he said respectfully, "could you give me some time to consider this?"
Internally, however, his mind was already made up. Working for the publisher meant a small bonus while the higher-ups got rich. Working with "Mr. Jerry," the creator of the biggest cultural phenomenon of the decade, meant a chance to build an empire.
Dudley nodded, graciously giving him the time he asked for. He knew Jimmy would agree. No one turns their back on a river of gold.
With that settled, the two engaged in a heated but friendly negotiation over the profit-sharing for the third volume. In the end, they reached a deal that left both parties smiling.
"A pleasure doing business with you," Dudley said, extending a hand.
"The pleasure is all mine," Jimmy replied, shaking it warmly.
As Jimmy left, Dudley picked up his glass and drained the contents. He'd never liked coffee. He'd ordered a tall glass of cold milk.
"I'm still growing," he'd told the waitress with a straight face. "I need my protein and calcium." She'd looked strangely at the man who was nearly six feet tall but, according to him, still in his growth phase.
A few days later, Jimmy's call came. He was in.
With one providing the capital and the other the expertise, they moved quickly. They acquired a factory and began producing merchandise for The Lord of the Rings. The result was just as Dudley had predicted. Within a month, it was a massive success. The most popular items were figures of the hobbit protagonists, though the Elf Prince was, unsurprisingly, a huge hit with the female demographic.
The book fueled the merchandise, and the merchandise fueled the book. They fed off each other, a perfect feedback loop that propelled The Lord of the Rings from a simple bestseller into a true cultural phenomenon.
***
(End of Chapter)
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