Стоит отметить одну важную особенность рассматриваемого жанра. Школа, дом, детство-отрочество-юность, кондуит-швамбрания - это все внешнее, пустой антураж. Суть дела, то самое жемчужное зерно, ради которого про это стоит писать и читать, в другом: в описании интереснейшего процесса взросления, процесса решения незрелым персонажем стоящих перед ним "на вырост" задач. Инициация, господа мои, архетип из архетипов, вот она перед вами во всей красе - в наиболее концентрированном виде. Сумел автор это расписать - успех гарантирован. И ведь даже Роулинг, кем и за что только ни руганная, хоть тушкой, хоть чучелой, хоть концевыми сносками, а ухитряется это изобразить. За что честь ей и хвала.

"Ready, Duddy?" asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry altogether.

Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.

"Come along, then," said Uncle Vernon.

He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Petunia looking up at her son.

Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.

"Why isn't he coming with us?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.

"What?" said Uncle Vernon loudly.

"Why isn't he coming too?" asked Dudley.

"Well, he doesn't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and adding, "You don't want to, do you?"

"Not in the slightest," said Harry.

"There you are," Uncle Vernon told Dudley. "Now come on we're off."

He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.

"What now?" barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.

It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, "But where's he going to go?"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

"But... surely you know where your nephew is going?" she asked looking bewildered.

"Certainly we know," said Vernon Dursley. "He's off with some of your lot, isn't he? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry."

Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter.

"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It doesn't matter, honestly."

"Doesn't matter?" repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.

"Don't these people realize what you've been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?"

"Er no, they don't," said Harry. "They think I'm a waste of space, actually but I'm used to "

"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. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.

"Well... er... thanks, Dudley."

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..."

He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence.

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry. "S-so sweet, Dudders..." she sobbed into his massive chest. "S-such a lovely b-boy... s-saying thank you..."

"But he hasn't said thank you at all!" said Hestia indignantly. "He only said he didn't think Harry was a waste of space!"

"Yea but coming from Dudley that's like 'I love you,'" said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building.

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…”

...казалось, что Дадли борется с мыслями, слишком громоздкими для выражения, однако тот пробормотал:
— Ты спас мне жизнь.
— Вообще-то говоря, не жизнь, — ответил Гарри. — Дементоры забрали бы только твою душу.

Гарри смотрел на двоюродного брата с удивлением. Ни в это лето, ни в прошлое они почти не разговаривали друг с другом, поскольку Гарри возвращался на Тисовую улицу ненадолго и большую часть времени проводил в своей комнате. Теперь же до него вдруг дошло, что чашка холодного чая, на которую он наступил нынче утром, была, пожалуй, вовсе не миной-ловушкой.