Dudley rang Mrs. Figg’s doorbell. After a moment, the elderly woman opened the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Figg,” Dudley said politely. “Do you remember me?”
“All too well, Dudley,” Mrs. Figg said, obviously not pleased to see him. “What do you want?”
“I was wondering if you have an address for Harry,” he asked.
“An address?” Mrs. Figg echoed, looking at him blankly.
“It’s been a year since I’ve seen him, and I‘ll be going away to college soon. I wanted to write and ask if he’d like to get together.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “You never had a kind word for him all the years he lived in your home.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. My parents--well, you know how they are. I was too young to know any better.”
Mrs. Figg looked at him in disgust.
“Dudley, I’ve stood at my window and watched you laugh while your gang of thugs knocked the stuffing out of that boy! You did know better, and don’t try to tell me differently. I wrote to Professor Dumbledore several times, begging him to remove Harry from your parents’ care, if you could call it that. I don’t have an address for him, and wouldn’t give it to you if I did. He’s moved on with his life. If he wants to get in touch with you, he will. But don't count on it.”
“If you see him, would you at least tell him I came by?” he asked pleadingly.
She closed the door without answering. Dudley slowly walked home, thinking of Harry and wishing it all could have been different.