"Harry, go on, slap him twice!"
"Alright, cousin!"
In a narrow alley's dead end.
A boy with messy black hair, a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, round glasses, and a healthy, well-proportioned build, named Harry Potter, aged eleven.
His emerald eyes flickered with pity and resolve.
Responding to his cousin's command, he strode forward, one hand gripping the collar of a cowering, trembling young thief slumped against the wall, the other delivering two sharp, resounding slaps.
Then, amidst the young thief's pitiful sobs, he silently retreated to his cousin's side.
Dressed in a Smelting's school uniform, holding a bag of stolen beef jerky in his left hand and a Smelting's cane in his right, stood Dudley Dursley, nearly five feet seven inches tall, robust and muscular, with visible muscle definition even through his clothes, also aged eleven. He calmly observed the scene.
Only after ensuring the thief had completely lost the will to resist did he turn to his younger cousin, who was five weeks his junior, and say:
"Harry, you could've been quicker! And tone down the pity in your eyes. Showing mercy to an enemy is being cruel to yourself and your allies!
This thief here is a notorious bandit in our Little Whinging area, having robbed five residents, even snatching beef jerky from schoolkids. He doesn't deserve your pity!"
Dudley's earnest words brought a flush of shame to Harry's face, but he couldn't help asking:
"But... cousin, you've already punched him over ten times and whipped him more than thirty times with your cane. Isn't that enough?"
"Hmm, it's about enough!"
With that, Dudley tossed the bag of beef jerky to Harry and, wielding his cane, advanced once more toward the bruised and battered thief, now sporting minor injuries.
Feeling the overwhelming pressure again, the thief stifled his sobs.
"I... I was wrong! Please..."
"Stand up!"
Dudley barked, raising his cane high.
At the sight, the thief's weak legs miraculously regained strength, and he scrambled to his feet, wincing in pain but standing obediently before Dudley, head bowed, fearing another strike from the cane.
Dudley scrutinized his defeated foe with satisfaction, slowly lowering the cane.
Just as the thief began to relax, Dudley swiftly reached out, expertly rifling through all the thief's pockets, overt and hidden, confiscating over a hundred pounds and thirty-odd pence.
His nimble fingers moved with a skill that outclassed even the thief, leaving the latter gaping in astonishment.
What he thought were just tough little brats turned out to be seasoned pros, far surpassing his own thieving skills!
"Close that gaping mouth!" Dudley sneered. "Since you didn't target the poor, I'll let you off this time! But if you dare mess around in Dursley Gang territory again, the outcome won't be so pretty! Now scram!"
The thief, snapping out of his daze, nodded and bowed, thanking Dudley profusely before cautiously sidestepping him and Harry, limping toward the alley's exit.
"Hold it!"
Dudley's commanding voice halted him in his tracks.
The thief froze, his face twisting in dread as he forced a smile and turned back to Dudley.
"Here's some advice: you're not cut out for this line of work. You're clumsy and have lousy luck, always running into dead ends.
Better use the money hidden in your shoes to start an honest small business!"
The thief's heart skipped a beat. He glanced down and saw the edges of bills peeking out from his shoes. Cursing his misfortune, he quickly tucked them back in.
A wave of despair washed over him. Maybe the kid was right; perhaps he wasn't meant for this life. Turning over a new leaf might be his only way out.
Resolved, he looked back at Dudley and Harry, wanting to say something, but they had already passed him and were heading out of the alley.
The words stuck in his throat.
...
Dudley had no interest in smelly money.
Not just the shoe-stashed cash, but even the meager amount on the thief held no appeal for Dudley, a wealthy Muggle heir.
His actions were primarily to hone his skills, train his cousin, and solidify his gang's loyalty.
As Dudley and Harry walked home, they reached a crossroads where Dudley handed the stolen money to the third-in-command of the Dursley Gang, his top lieutenant—the scrawny Piers Polkiss.
"Piers, arrange to return the money to the victims. Any leftover, split it among the gang!
As per the usual rules, if the victims offer thanks or gifts, ask if they have any odd, mysterious items they don't know what to do with. If they do, bring them to me.
If anyone takes our help for granted without so much as a nod, jot their names down. I'll make sure they pay up!"
Dudley laid out his instructions clearly, and Piers nodded, committing them to memory.
After Dudley finished, Piers hesitantly asked, "What about our classmate's bag of beef jerky..."
"Buy a new one to replace it! Harry and I are keeping this one; it's quite tasty!"
Dudley said, taking the jerky from Harry and savoring it with relish.
"Yes, boss!" Piers acknowledged, then turned to carry out Dudley's orders.
In the early hours of Little Whinging, Surrey, the streets were mostly empty.
Having spent his summer vacation engaging in meaningful social activities with his beloved cousin, Dudley Dursley was in high spirits.
But his cousin, the famous Harry Potter of the wizarding world, harbored unusual worries.
"Cousin, will wizards really come to take me to Hogwarts to learn magic? Aunt Petunia says I should go to Stonewall High..."
On their way to 4 Privet Drive, Harry, eyeing Dudley's Smelting's uniform, hesitated before voicing his concerns.
He needed his seemingly omniscient, omnipotent cousin, who always had a solution for everything, to dispel his doubts.
Without breaking stride, Dudley replied with certainty:
"Harry, trust me, they'll come to notify you about your enrollment!"