Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7)

by J.K. Rowling

“I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it.

Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life.” “Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the dementor would have taken. . . .”

Dudley gently released himself from his mother’s clutches and walked toward Harry, who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his large, pink hand. “Blimey, Dudley,” said Harry over Aunt Petunia’s renewed sobs, “did the dementors blow a different personality into you?” “Dunno,” muttered Dudley. “See you, Harry.” “Yeah . . .” said Harry, taking Dudley’s hand and shaking it. “Maybe. Take care, Big D.” Dudley nearly smiled, then lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.

An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.