The characters on the sign were not letters, but intricate, square glyphs painted in bold red strokes. To the others, they were just exotic decorations. To Dudley, they were a key that unlocked a floodgate of memories he fought daily to keep sealed.
Chinese.
His mind was instantly thrown back to a dusty, candle-lit room in that other, mad world. He remembered the shock, the confusion, the sheer, heart-stopping disbelief of his first encounter with the diary of the famed Emperor Roselle. The pages had been filled with these same characters. At the time, he had been stunned. It was a script from his home world, a tangible link to a past he thought was lost forever. But the link was a torment, for he couldn't read a single word.
It was like having the secrets of the universe laid bare before you, only to find they were written in a language you couldn't decipher. The frustration had been immense.
The diary's existence had also been a profound revelation: he was not the only transmigrator. Another soul from Earth had been thrown into that bizarre world, hundreds of years before him. And what a soul he had been. Emperor Roselle had established the Intis Republic, amended the very laws of society, and single-handedly propelled the world's historical progress. He was a legend, a name known across both the Northern and Southern continents. His eventual assassination was a mystery shrouded in countless conflicting accounts. Dudley had always suspected Roselle hadn't truly died, but was lurking somewhere, waiting for the right moment to act.
But the most incredible part of his past life was the organization he had joined: the Tarot Club. It was a secret gathering of powerful Beyonders, presided over by a mysterious, god-like entity they called The Fool. And The Fool, to Dudley's initial astonishment, could read Roselle's diary with perfect fluency.
That was when he knew. The Fool is a transmigrator, too. And it was obvious that both he and Roselle hailed from China. The realization had left Dudley speechless with a strange mixture of jealousy and frustration. He had longed for a diary left by a fellow Brit or an American, someone whose language he could understand. The insights Roselle must have recorded—into the Sequences, the pathways to godhood, the very nature of the Outer Gods—would have been invaluable. Roselle had written in Chinese precisely so others couldn't read it, meaning its pages held the world's most dangerous secrets. The Fool, by virtue of his literacy, had access to it all. It was how he maintained his mysterious, all-knowing facade. Dudley had never exposed him, sensing an unspoken understanding between them—two displaced souls navigating a world of horrors.
Of course, Dudley's own rise to a High-Sequence had not been solely his own effort. The Fool had his opportunities, and Dudley, in turn, had his.
"Dudley? Dudley, darling…"
Petunia's worried voice pulled him back to the present, to the mundane London street.
"Oh, what is it, Mum?" he asked, a light chuckle masking the turmoil in his mind.
"Are you alright, dear? Are you feeling overwhelmed? If you want to give up on that… that place, it's still not too late." She had seen him staring blankly at the restaurant sign for several minutes, his expression distant and strange.
"I'm fine, Mum. I just thought of some past things," he said with a reassuring smile.
"Thinking about the first time I took you for Chinese food?" Uncle Vernon asked, a rare moment of pleasant reminiscence in his voice.
"Yes," Dudley said, playing along. "I still remember how you made fun of me because I couldn't recognize a single word on the menu." He turned and handed the menu to Harry. "You order, Harry. Today's your birthday. I'm sorry I didn't get you a proper present. This meal is on me."
Harry took the menu, a look of genuine surprise on his face. Petunia and Vernon exchanged another one of their now-frequent baffled glances.
"Dad, Mum," Dudley began, adopting a tone of mature reason, "after we go to Hogwarts, we won't have you to look after us. We're brothers, after all. We'll have to take care of each other. It's much better than fighting, don't you think? If I get bullied, Harry will help me, won't you?" He gave Harry a subtle, meaningful look.
"That's… right," Petunia said, slowly nodding. "Yes, that's how it should be. You boys need to look out for each other." Vernon, surprisingly, seemed to be convinced as well.
The meal was a quiet revelation. It was the first time Harry had ever eaten food so delicious, his eyes wide with every new flavor. For Dudley, it was a taste of a long-lost past. The cuisine of the Intis Republic was influenced by Chinese cooking, he mused, savoring a bite of stir-fried tomato and egg. It's a familiar taste. I almost miss those little restaurants in Trier.
After dinner, Vernon drove them home to Number Four, Privet Drive. As he lay in bed that night, a new resolve formed in Dudley's mind. Perhaps I can learn Chinese. And other languages, too. The thought of being forever locked out of Roselle's secrets, of having to watch The Fool hold all the cards, was an irritation he could no longer tolerate. There was still a month until Hogwarts started. With his enhanced cognitive abilities, he was confident he could master the basics of the language, even if it was reputed to be one of the most difficult in the world.
"I'll sign up for a class tomorrow," he decided.
In the quiet of his room, Dudley began to pore over the books he'd bought in Diagon Alley. The hours melted away as he immersed himself in the history and theory of this new world's magic. When he finally looked up from the pile of books, the bright morning light was already filtering through his curtains.
"Magic spells are truly amazing," he murmured, a sense of genuine wonder filling him. He took out his new Elder wand, the dark wood feeling cool and familiar in his hand. He gave it a gentle flick.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Spiritual power flowed from him, through his arm, and into the wand. A piece of parchment on his desk lifted gracefully into the air, floating higher and higher as he directed it with the tip of his wand. It was effortless.
With my control over spiritual power, these simple spells are almost trivial, he thought with satisfaction. I can even do it without a wand.
He placed the Elder wand on his desk, raised a finger, and whispered in the arcane syllables of Hermes, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The parchment, which had drifted back to the desk, rose once more, hovering silently in the air.
Thump.
A soft but distinct sound came from just outside his bedroom door.
Dudley's expression changed instantly. His senses flared. Someone was there.
***
(End of Chapter)
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