No one knew what Petunia and Vernon had discussed the previous night, but by the next morning, Vernon was like a changed man. He no longer complained about magic; in fact, he was now extremely interested in their upcoming trip to Diagon Alley. If Dudley hadn't known for a fact that his mother wasn't a witch, he would have suspected she'd performed some kind of mind-altering spell.
"How much longer until that Professor McDuck arrives?" Vernon asked, leaning forward on the sofa, his face flushed with excitement. "I can't wait to see that magical world."
"It's only eight-thirty, Dad. Still thirty minutes to go," Dudley said, looking at the clock on the wall. He had just finished his morning workout and was wiping sweat from his brow as he headed for the bathroom. "And it's Professor McGonagall," he corrected gently. "Calling someone by the wrong name is very impolite."
"Oh, Vernon, come and see how I look in this dress!" Petunia's anxious voice called from the bedroom, and Vernon hurried to her side.
Ten minutes later...
"No, this dress isn't suitable... The color is too bright."
Another ten minutes...
"No, this one won't do either, it's too flashy. I heard Lily say that wizards' clothes are generally plainer."
Looking at the wardrobe overflowing with clothes, Petunia cried out in despair, "Oh, my goodness, I have nothing to wear!"
Vernon just stood there, his expression blank.
Five minutes later, Dudley emerged from his shower, and Harry came out of his cupboard, yawning and scratching his belly. He'd been too excited to sleep well, and now he was paying the price. Petunia had finally, reluctantly, chosen a suitable outfit.
As the clock struck nine, the doorbell rang. Professor McGonagall was impeccably punctual.
"Are we taking a flying carpet, or are we just going to fly there directly?" Vernon asked, peering curiously behind the professor.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dursley," Professor McGonagall explained, a faint, amused twitch at the corner of her lips. "Flying carpets were banned by the Ministry of Magic in the 18th century, at least in Europe. We usually use broomsticks for flying."
"Why are flying carpets banned?" Dudley asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Because flying carpets are considered Muggle artifacts," she replied simply.
"So, the wizarding world is resistant to using things made by ordinary people?"
"More or less," she admitted. "For example, electronic products like televisions and computers are not permitted at Hogwarts."
"Then what do you use for lighting?"
"Candles, oil lamps, and torches," Professor McGonagall listed matter-of-factly.
Isn't that like going back to the Middle Ages? Dudley's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Even if the items were magical, their function was the same, and they were far less effective than a simple lightbulb. A sense of extreme exclusivity, a self-imposed isolation, seemed to permeate the wizarding world. The thought of losing all modern conveniences, of having to navigate by oil lamp at night, made him briefly reconsider his decision to attend Hogwarts. Of course, the feeling was fleeting.
"It's getting late," Professor McGonagall said, pulling a piece of parchment from her robes. "We still need to pick up another young witch. Let me see... She lives a bit far from here, but we can use the Floo network to travel to the nearest wizard's house, the Johnsons', and walk about two kilometers from there. I do hope the Johnsons are home today; otherwise, we'll have to walk five kilometers."
"You can't go through if they're not home?" This shocked Dudley. What kind of system is that, just walking through someone else's house?
"Of course," she explained patiently. "If no one is home, the fireplace is closed." Apparition was an option, but not for Muggles or first-timers; it was not a pleasant experience.
Dudley leaned over and caught a glimpse of the address on the parchment. It was a high-end residential area, one of the best in London. It might seem remote to wizards, but it was actually near the city's most prosperous commercial district.
"St. John's Wood," he said. "That's only about a thirty-minute drive from here. Why don't we just take our car? It's much more convenient than walking."
Professor McGonagall seemed a bit moved by the suggestion. Driving was undoubtedly more convenient than the alternatives. So, the group of five piled into the largest of Vernon's three cars. Vernon and Petunia were a bit disappointed—they had been expecting some amazing magic, not a mundane car ride.
Less than half an hour later, they arrived at St. John's Wood and pulled up in front of a three-story house with a red-tiled roof and a lovely courtyard. Dudley felt a strange sense of déjà vu. This place... it seems familiar.
"Mum... Professor McGonagall is coming soon, hurry up!" A bossy and unusually familiar voice drifted from inside.
The main door was pushed open, and a young couple and a little girl with bushy brown hair walked out.
The two groups stared at each other for a moment, stunned. Then the husband's face broke into a wide grin, and he rushed forward to embrace Vernon. "Oh, my goodness, isn't this my dear old brother Vernon?"
Vernon affectionately patted the other man's back. "Hey, old brother Wendell, long time no see!"
Wendell Granger and his wife, Monica, were a well-known dentist couple in London. Vernon had met them after a particularly painful bout of pulpitis brought on by too much ice cream. They had bonded over a shared love of fishing. They often went on trips together, and though they always returned empty-handed, their friendship had only grown stronger. It was Wendell who had recommended Oxford Dragon Primary for Dudley.
And their daughter's name was Hermione Jean Granger.
***
(End of Chapter)
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