"WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?!" Cornelius Fudge screamed at the top of his lungs and slammed the newspaper on the table. "Summon her! Summon the Chief Editor! Quick!"
Dolores Jane Umbridge hurried out of the room with a furious face. Even she couldn't believe the article and the photos that were printed along. They were not fake, but they couldn't be real either… they had to be fake.
"It's him! I know, it's Dumbledore's work." Cornelius fumed in rage alone, pacing back and forth across the room. "H… He crossed the line."
####
"Ummh… Five more minutes…"
Dudley chuckled and got out of bed in his private jet, a massive airliner. Beside him, under the sheets, was Tonks, as nude as the night before, her body marked with his harsh fingerprints and kisses, looking utterly satisfied in her sleep, and her loins probably sore. She asked for it, and he'd delivered. A bonus for her for a job well done.
Getting out of bed, he walked into the shower, took a quick bath, wore the bathrobe, and went out to the massive living area that was a part of his private living space at the back of the plane. Half of the plane was designed like his personal apartment and the other half was designed like an executive office lounge for executives to sit and talk. It was just him and Tonks that day, and the staff, of course.
Four stewardesses, two chefs, one permanent aircraft mechanic, and three pilots. A crew of ten was permanently on his plane. It was a comfort that money provided him, and he felt no shame in having it. He was moderately successful in his previous life, but now, with so much money, he wanted it all.
"Mr. Dursley, your breakfast." A beautiful, black-haired Korean stewardess came with a tray of healthy breakfast. "We're three hours from Heathrow."
"Thanks, Yoon-suh." Dudley perfectly pronounced her name and received his breakfast. He remembered the names of most of the staff that interacted with him that closely. It was a decent tactic to instill loyalty, as having their names remembered by their boss and one of the world's super-rich was a privilege and honor to them.
No, he didn't fuck them. He probably could, and they'd probably not mind. He was a young, twenty-year-old boy, pretty handsome and tall, he liked to believe. He didn't even make the stewardess wear any revealing clothes. He reckoned it was best to be professional with his direct employees, nor did he feel any excitement towards them. How could he when he had so many other options to choose from?
Once she left, Dudley unfolded a fresh copy of the Daily Prophet. He'd received it before taking off, but never got the chance to read it as Tonks kept him occupied.
"Let's see—Hah! Rita did well."
Smoke Reveals The Fire! Voldemort And Death Eaters Photographed!—For years we sipped tea under the delightful delusion that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had perished, undone by a mother's love and a lightning-scarred infant. But recent revelations—shocking, scandalous, undeniable—have cracked the Ministry's porcelain mask.
During the Triwizard Tournament, tragedy struck. Young Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's golden boy, was murdered. Not by misadventure. Not by accident. But by Lord Voldemort himself—risen, wrathful, and very much alive…
The Ministry's response? A clumsy cover-up and a deafening silence.
The Daily Prophet brings you irrefutable proof of the Dark Lord's return, and—perhaps even more alarmingly—evidence that his most loyal Death Eaters still walk freely among us. Ten photographs, printed right here on page two, show familiar faces: Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Avery, Macnair, Jugson, Mulciber—need I continue? These men were exonerated after the last war, and now we ask: Why?...
Wake up, Cornelius Fudge. Wake up, Ministry! Clinging to your thrones while darkness gathers once again is not governance—it's cowardice.
We demand answers.
And make no mistake—the Ministry will try to bury this. But the Daily Prophet will not bend. We write for the people, not for power.
Support real reporting. Subscribe today—both the morning and evening editions. Because the war may have begun again, and knowledge is our first defense…
"So she turned it into an advertisement." Dudley chuckled, sipping orange juice. He turned the page and looked at the photos. "Came out great. Their asses must be on fire… Except one, of course."
Dudley reminisces about what he did to Lucius Malfoy. But whenever the thought of leniency arose, he remembered Vernon's face. The fat man was complete trash, but he had changed, accepted magic, and had started to live a good life. What Lucius did wasn't justified.
No mercy to his kind. He reminded himself.
The Death Eaters and Purebloods can never be reasoned. They can only be subjugated, as done by Voldemort, who wasn't even a full human anymore, let alone a half-blood.
Eventually, he turned the page to read other news. There were many things, even an advertisement from his company, looking for wizards to hire. It wasn't said why he needed them, nor the fact that he was only interested in Muggle-born and half-blood wizards who could be vetted.
####
While Dudley watched enviously as Tonks apparated away, he had to travel like good, simple Muggles. Although he no longer lived like common Muggles. His big luxury van was there for him as soon as he stepped down from the plane. Then, the van, guarded by his Muggle private security, who was in secret foreign wizards from Vanguard, headed home.
After more than an hour, the luxury van finally stopped in front of his house. But it was crowded there, a big camper, many vans, and a lot of people were walking around with all sorts of equipment related to filming.
What the hell's going on here?
Confused, he got out of the van and walked towards his house.
"Stop! Where's your ID card?"
"..."
Dudley froze in front of the door and looked behind. There was nobody but him. He looked back at the two policemen in uniform, blocking the door to his own damn home.
"Come off it—why would I need an ID for my own place?"
The two policemen mumbled something on their radio and raised their hands to stop him. One of them grabbed his baton to threaten him.
"This is Mrs. Drusley's house. Seems you've got the wrong address. Off you pop now—let's not go making a fuss, shall we?"
What the fuck is this? Wait, is this a joke? A prank maybe? Cameras must be filming me.
"Hah! You got me. Nice prank, buddy. Now move away, I'm tired."
"..."
Wait, they're for real? I paid your fucking department five million in donations. You bastards should have my photo on every wall and patrol car.
Of course, he couldn't say that out loud. There were too many cameras around him.
"Any idea who Mrs. Dursley's son might be? Take a wild guess—I'll give you five seconds."
The officers looked at each other's faces, which slowly contorted. Then, they hurriedly stepped aside, even opening the door.
"Fuck me—I'm sorry, Mr. Dursley." One of them said.
Dudley shook his head and walked in. He went straight to the large kitchen area that had been modified to be a cooking show studio. And once he reached inside, he understood why there was so much security.
There were men dressed in black suits, standing as security guards behind the cameras. The crew was small but professional, most of them being old fogies. The lights were perfect, the faces came out beautiful, both Petunia and her cooking show's guest of the day.
Princess Diana? Dudley gawked at the guest. He had never planned for the show he bankrolled to keep Petunia employed would become such a big hit. Petunia was pretty much a celebrity at that point, heck, she was more known than him when it came to non-business folks.
Wait a moment! It's the year two thousand! W-Why is she… Shouldn't she be dead? What happened? Dudley froze in the moment, pondering deeply.
He knew the butterfly he had forced to flutter never stopped after he woke up as Dudley. But this was one of the biggest changes he was seeing caused by it.
Did I cause this? But how? I don't think D&D was involved with the royals in any way.
"My pumpkin?!"
"..."
Come on! Even in public?
Petunia stopped whatever she was doing and ran past the cameras and hugged Dudley tightly. She showered kisses on his cheek as if he were still a little plump boy.
"Alright, alright, calm down, Mum. They're turning cameras at us." Dudley stopped her with much effort and saw the Princess walk up to him. She looked every bit as proud and tall as the tabloids described her as.
"Your face is shrouded in more secrecy than the matters of the royal household, Mr. Dursley." Princess Diana said, smiling warmly as she extended her hand.
Dudley unashamedly took her hand, shook it, and only gave a gentle nod of his head, seemingly a courtesy bow. Being an American at heart, he wasn't a fan of royalties. But he didn't hate them either, especially not the beautiful sort.
"Your Highness, it's a pleasure to meet you. I didn't know you were interested in cooking."
Her hand's grip tightened on his, and she gave a sly smile, her eyes narrow. "I suppose we all have secrets, don't we? And Petunia is lovely company."
Yeah, she knows I'm a wizard. Understandable.
"Secrets do add a bit of excitement to otherwise dull days, don't they? Either way, I'm grateful you took the time out to come here. Mum is probably giggling like a little girl inside."
"Hey! That's not how you speak to your mum," Petunia protested from the side.
"That's what you get for calling me pumpkin, Mum," Dudley cheekily replied and pulled his hand from the Princess' grasp. It felt as if she was trying to read his pulse. "I'll go take a bath."
"Because you are, my dear. You're my precious plump pumpkin."
"..."
Don't, mum. Don't remind me of my failures.
Dudley sighed and left, hearing both women giggle behind his back.
Over the years, all his attempts at gaining a chiseled, shredded body had failed. Sure, he had all the muscles on his chest, arms, back, the whole package, except for the abs. But they were bulky, making him look chubby when wearing clothes.
Sigh… Those mythical abs.
Standing naked in front of the mirror in his bathroom, he looked at his body. He didn't hate the bulky sets of muscles, but he chased for abs, and the closer he got, the further away they felt.
At least I'm not fat anymore.
With that, he jumped into the shower, a proper one this time, and he soaked in the bathtub afterward. He also used a telephone nearby to call Edwin and discuss some business matters. D&D Bank, both the Muggle and magical side were soon to open for the general public. A lot of work needed to be done.
Done bathing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out into his room to put on some comfortable clothes. He had no plans that night, nowhere to go. He was going to eat dinner with Petunia, whatever she was making with the Princess.
Knock! Knock!
"Yes?"
Instead of a response, the door opened. Dudley tightened the towel around his hips, frowning. But it wasn't Petunia who had come.
"Ah! I'm sorry."
"Lily? What are you doing here?" Dudley gripped his towel tighter around his waist, but still, he was mostly naked above. He expected her to shut the door and wait outside. But instead, she walked in.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Surprising Dudley, Lily rushed towards him, her green eyes flickering beautifully, emotionally. Then, she raised herself on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, and her lips… landed on his.
"Ummmh~"
______________________
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