Chapter 113: Call the Police? I Can Help
The Dursley family was having dinner. On the table sat Butter Pastry, Fried Cod, Sausage, and Vegetable Soup, while Dudley had a steaming plate of Mashed Potatoes.
“I don’t want this!” Dudley shouted. “I want cheese bread! And roast meat!”
“Just wait till tomorrow, Dudders,” Petunia cooed, gazing fondly at her plump son. “You’ll be nice and fat before school starts.”
She had an uneasy feeling—her son would surely go hungry at school.
“I want roast meat now! Otherwise, I’m not eating!” Dudley stubbornly declared, his eyes instantly filling with tears as if he’d been wronged beyond measure.
Petunia panicked. “All right, all right, just wait a moment. Mom’ll make it for you.”
She stood up to go to the kitchen—when suddenly, everyone heard the doorbell.
“Who could be visiting today?” Petunia asked, puzzled.
“No guests… probably just a delivery.”
Fernon had been about to yell for Harry to answer the door—then he remembered the boy was locked away. He pushed his chair back and went to open it himself.
Outside stood two strangers, a tall one and a smaller one, dressed impeccably, with an air of dignity. They weren’t holding any mail.
“Good evening,” Fernon said, his annoyance fading as he saw them.
He strained to recall—was this man a business partner?
“May I help you?” he asked politely.
Petunia stepped out from the kitchen, drawn by the voice. The moment she saw the man at the entrance, she froze.
“You… you… you’re the best man?” she gasped, her hand trembling as she pointed at Remus Lupin.
“Remus Lupin,” Lupin said, calm but distant. “Twelve years have passed, Mrs. Dursley.”
Fernon narrowed his eyes, unsure why he was letting this stranger enter. Yet he stepped aside, his instincts betraying him.
“Wait—who are you looking for?” Fernon hurried after him.
Petunia suddenly drew in a sharp breath. “You… you’re… the best man from that wedding?”
“Indeed,” Lupin said, glancing around the house before turning to its master. “We were all there at James and Lily’s wedding, weren’t we?”
Fernon stared, stunned. “You’re… you’re the one… with that… wizard?” His voice cracked, as if squeezed from a deflating air tank.
Dudley, mid-bite into his Fried Cod, let out a scream. He dropped his plate, scrambled back, clutched his backside like a terrified animal, spun in circles, then bolted straight to the bathroom and locked the door.
—The last time he’d seen a wizard was Hagrid. The memory of a pig’s tail left behind had cost him a trip to a private clinic to have it removed.
“Oh—poor Dudders!” Petunia rushed after him, but the door slammed shut in her face with a violent bang, nearly hitting her.
Fernon flinched, stumbled back, and grabbed a dinner knife, holding it with both hands toward Lupin. “What do you want? Get out! Petunia, call the police!”
Lupin ignored them and turned toward the stairs.
Petunia lunged for the phone, but the handset was already lifted.
“Call the police, huh? I can help,” Wade said calmly. “999? Or 116111? Either works.”
He reached for the keypad—then froze as a pair of icy hands pressed down on his.
He looked up. Petunia’s face was pale. “Don’t call the police… don’t call the police, Fernon…”
“What?” Fernon shouted. He wanted to rush upstairs to stop Lupin—but couldn’t leave his wife and son behind. He was too flustered to think.
Boom!
A thunderous crash echoed from upstairs—like a small bedroom door had been blown apart.
Then Lupin’s furious voice: “This is what you feed him?”
Fernon glared. Petunia’s face flushed with shame.
But they had no choice but to listen to Wade.
“116111,” Wade explained kindly, “is the hotline for the Child Protection Association. It’s the only charity in the country with legal authority.”
Fernon stared, his small eyes darting wildly.
Upstairs, Harry leapt off his bed, panic-stricken, as the door burst open.
“W-Who are you?” he stammered, grabbing a pillow and holding it up like a shield.
“Come with me, Harry,” Lupin said, breathing deeply. His eyes were red with emotion. “I’m a friend of your parents. I’ve come to take you away.”
Harry hesitated for only a second—then jumped down and grabbed Lupin’s hand.
There was no place worse than the Dursleys’. So many times he’d doubted he’d survive another day without food.
“Wait—Hedwig!” Harry sprinted across the room, lifting his owl cage.
Lupin glared at the nearby bowl—its bottom bare, just a thin film of vegetable soup left. The owl’s feeding bowl held only a few shriveled, wilted vegetables.
Downstairs, in the living room:
“You’re free to call 999, of course,” Wade said calmly. “But I should warn you—under guardianship laws, failing to provide adequate food, clothing, medical care, or accommodation for a minor under 14, when you have the financial means, is illegal.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” he continued, “you’ve locked Harry in a room upstairs. The windows are nailed shut.”
“Child imprisonment, child abuse, child neglect—these are crimes. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, domestic violence—all fall under child maltreatment. Reporting them leads to fines and imprisonment.”
“Your actions have already violated the Child Protection Act, the Child Guardianship Act, and the Children’s Act passed three years ago.”
“You’re welcome to file a complaint. Or call the police and let them decide.”
“But consider this—what would your neighbors think if you were arrested? And what about Dudley? How would he fare at school? Could he survive the bullying? Might he even be expelled?”
“How… how do you know all this?” Petunia whispered, stunned. “You’re… like them… one of those strange ones, aren’t you?”
No ordinary person knew these laws—let alone a wizard.
“My parents couldn’t do magic either,” Wade said, his voice rising slightly. “I grew up just like you.”
He turned to Harry. “So, Harry? If you really want to call the police… I promise they’ll punish these people.”
The Dursleys spun around—only to see, in shock, that Harry had already followed Lupin down the stairs.
They were terrified.
Police. Imprisonment. Dudley being bullied. Expulsion.
Their future was now shrouded in dread—and the source of it was the very child they’d always ignored.
Harry’s hatred boiled over.
In an instant, he wanted to scream “Call the police!” He wanted them locked away, wanted the whole world to know how much he’d suffered.
But he opened his mouth—then closed it. He tried again. Failed. Finally, he just ruffled his hair wildly and said:
“I… we should go.”
(End of Chapter)
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