Chapter 45 – The Brutal Dudley
Thud, thud, thud.
Marcus and the others slowly walked out, just in time to see Dudley pressing Malfoy's head down, leaving Malfoy unconscious.
There was only one way out of Slytherin, and if they wanted to alert Snape they had to pass through the common room.
But the scene before them shocked everyone. The older Slytherin students had not expected such carnage. The common room floor was littered with collapsed young wizards, not one able to stand.
They had assumed Dudley had simply subdued Malfoy among a group of students. Instead, he had defeated all of them, leaving only Malfoy.
What spell could have caused this?
A powerful Stunning Charm?
Or some special incantation?
And why were they all clutching their backsides? Was that some strange side effect?
The older Slytherins privately raised Dudley's danger level several degrees.
This Dursley was no simpleton. And Potter was no simpleton either. Clearly the tale of Harry Potter growing up as an ordinary Muggle was nonsense.
If the cousin was this strong, how much weaker could Potter be?
Countless thoughts raced through their minds, and their gazes toward Dudley grew more complicated.
The seventh-year prefect thought even further.
Why would the two cousins belong to different Houses, one in Gryffindor and one in Slytherin?
Surely there was a deeper plan.
Could it be that Potter—no, Mr. Potter—intended first to conquer Gryffindor, then subdue Slytherin?
Once this terrifying idea arose, it would not fade.
Unconsciously, he even began addressing Harry with respect.
Perhaps the only one not overthinking was Marcus, whose brain lacked the capacity.
Well, not entirely—he was focused on Malfoy.
"Stop! Let Malfoy go!"
Marcus whipped out his wand, firing a spell at Dudley: "Stupefy!"
A greenish light shot from his wand, but Dudley instinctively yanked Draco up as a shield.
From the moment these upper-years appeared, Dudley had kept his eyes on them.
Poor Malfoy. At first only scared into unconsciousness, now he had been hit with a Stunner as well.
That settled it—he would not wake for a long while.
"Damn it!" Marcus cursed, firing again. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Dudley hoisted Malfoy like a shield, once more blocking the spell with him.
Marcus refused to relent, launching spell after spell, some even Dark Curses, all absorbed by Malfoy's limp body.
For a moment Dudley wondered if they were trying to save Malfoy or finish him off.
One incantation he vaguely caught sounded like something about intestines tying into knots.
Poor Malfoy—oblivious, yet struck by over ten spells in a row.
A bargain for him, in a sense.
While fending off spells with his "Malfoy-shield," Dudley snatched up Goyle, gripping him tightly, and stared warily at the older students. "Enemy?"
Fighting lower-years was one thing, but against older students who knew many more spells, Dudley was less certain. Unless he could land a single fatal strike, he could not afford to hold back.
He hesitated only because, aside from Marcus, the others simply stood watching.
This was magic?
Using Malfoy as a shield was one thing, but swinging Goyle around like a weapon shocked the older Slytherins. Their minds reeled at such brutality. Hearing Dudley's question, they instinctively stepped back from Marcus, silently showing they were not on his side.
"We understand," Dudley nodded, cooperative.
It was like old friends with an unspoken agreement.
Only Marcus failed to grasp it.
"Put down your weapons—no, put down Malfoy and Goyle!"
Marcus again aimed his wand, at a loss for what to do. He had never seen anyone wield classmates as weapons before.
His uncertainty did not mean Dudley would wait. Dudley hated having a wand pointed at him. He tossed Malfoy aside, hefted Goyle like a club, and moved to grab Crabbe as well.
With both in hand, he felt far less uneasy.
Malfoy, lying on his side under the Petrification Curse, was unsuitable as a weapon—besides, there was an odd smell about him.
But simply seeing Dudley lift Crabbe as well sent Marcus into a panic.
By reflex, he cast another spell.
"Expelliarmus!"
This spell, taught to second- and third-years, would usually disarm an opponent, knocking the wand into the caster's hand.
For a wizard, it was very practical—lose your wand, and you lost your power.
But Dudley had no wand—only Goyle and Crabbe.
So the question arose: did they count as weapons?
Dudley, who had studied spells intently, knew this charm relied on perception. If you believed a wand was a weapon, it targeted wands. If you thought a bow or a gun, it would work on those.
But the spell could not target living beings.
Otherwise, could it strip an opponent's fists? Their heads? Expel their skulls into your hand? That would be more gruesome than Avada Kedavra.
Would Hogwarts really teach "Expel Your Skull" to children?
So Dudley made no attempt to dodge, letting the spell hit him. As expected, nothing happened.
The disarming charm failed.
Normally, Expelliarmus could also fling the target backward.
But Dudley had undergone six rounds of meditation training, strengthening his magical defenses, and combined with his constant physical conditioning, he was rooted solidly. The spell only made him sway slightly.
Yes, he had done it deliberately—to frighten Marcus.
All according to his plan.
"He struck first."
"I already spared him three times."
Dudley grinned, speaking not to Marcus but to the other Slytherins.
Then, while Marcus was stunned with confusion, Dudley swung Crabbe like a hammer and knocked him unconscious.
Poor Marcus collapsed without even a groan.
This scene in the eyes of the older students was far from simple. The cousin of the Potter family could resist the Disarming Charm, could turn people into weapons, and fought in such a brutal manner.
It was simply too savage!
"Potter has hidden himself too deeply."
The prefect slowly closed his eyes, forcing his mind to go blank, trying not to think further. Knowing too much was not always a blessing.
That Dudley had done all this by sheer physical strength never even crossed their minds. No normal wizard would fight like this.
He strolled over to the unconscious Marcus, hefted Crabbe once more, and with a seemingly casual but deeply wary look at the others asked, "Something you want?"
The atmosphere, paired with Dudley's presence, shook the soon-to-graduate students to the core.
Not one dared speak.
"If not, I'll be going."
"Please wait a moment."
Seeing his companions were useless, the prefect was forced to step forward.
Dudley halted, turning to look at him silently.
The prefect raised his head, but at the instant his eyes met Dudley's, he looked away.
What a terrifying gaze—it was not like facing a man, but a beast in human form.
Even as a seventh-year who had seen many wizards, including dark ones, he had never met such a gaze.
"Fortunately, I didn't let Marcus that fool come alone," the prefect thought with relief.
"A wizard like this must never be made an enemy."
He bowed slightly with a gesture Dudley did not recognize, then spoke.
"I sincerely apologize for Marcus Flint's rudeness. He was far too rash."
In truth, he need not have apologized. This matter had nothing to do with him, and could have been resolved with a few words. But Marcus was his man, and Marcus had attacked three times.
If he did not make his stance clear, this could grow worse.
Dudley was surprised by the apology, but did not let down his guard.
Was this courtesy before violence?
Not only Dudley, but even the other Slytherin upper-years were taken aback. Still, the prefect had his reasons—he was their leader.
"Leave the apology aside for now. Do you have anything else to say?"
Dudley's voice was unnervingly calm.
The prefect exhaled lightly.
Though his apology had not been accepted, dialogue was possible.
"Please understand, Marcus acted on his own. It has nothing to do with the Flint family."
The Flint family was close to his own—an ally. Otherwise, he would never have invested in Marcus.
By saying this, he separated Marcus from the family. After all, Flint had more than one child; another would be enrolling next year.
"Flint? You mean the family that produced a Minister of Magic a century ago, and before that served in…"
Dudley recited what he knew of the Flints, every detail he had memorized.
To live peacefully in the wizarding world, he made sure to learn anything useful.
Not only spells, potions, and herbology, but wizarding history and the records of great families.
The upper-years were shocked. How could a Muggle-born wizard know such things better than pure-bloods themselves? Only the prefect found it natural—Mr. Potter must be playing a grand game indeed.
The truth was simpler: all of it was written in History of Magic. They just never studied.
So the conversation flowed smoothly. The prefect treated Dudley warmly, never mentioning the fight again, and promised to handle the rest himself as apology. He even offered to purchase the confiscated wands at a high price as compensation.
His manners were impeccable, almost humble, giving Dudley all the face he could.
To judge the situation clearly was the mark of a mature Slytherin.
The younger ones had much to learn.
"Mr. Dursley, I have one request."
The prefect measured his tone carefully before continuing: "If possible, I hope you can overlook Draco's behavior this time. His father has long been a kind elder to me."
Lucius, kind? Hardly.
Their families were not especially close, but appearances had to be kept. One could act in secret, but in public one had to protect the younger generation, at least for show.
Such was the etiquette of pure-blood families—unless relations were completely broken.
"Mr. Carrow, if anyone else said this, I would tell him to 'get lost.' But for you, I will gladly give this face."
Never strike a smiling face—since the man had asked so politely, Dudley granted him this favor.
But then his expression darkened, making Carrow's heart skip a beat.
"Only this once, and never again. If I find another chance…"
"Of course."
Carrow nodded quickly, understanding well.
Face must be given both ways.
Anyway, Dudley had already beaten them, taken their wands, and earned money. Malfoy was the only one left untouched.
As for letting Malfoy go?
Dudley knew Malfoy's type—he would provoke again, unable to let go of his pride.
At this age, pride was an obsession.
And when he did, no one would shield him. Carrow would not—he had done enough already.
If Malfoy did not provoke, Dudley would create the opportunity.
And when everyone else had suffered but Malfoy had not, what would they think of him?
Why was Malfoy spared?
Isolation would be inevitable.
Dudley would never admit it was pettiness.
Offending Dudley and expecting to walk away? Impossible.
In fact, he had overestimated Malfoy. There was no need for schemes—he would stumble into trouble on his own.
"Mr. Dursley, thank you sincerely for your understanding. For things to turn so unpleasant on the first day of term was my failure as prefect. I've prepared a token of goodwill, which I will deliver to your room tomorrow along with the payment for the wands. I assure you, you will be satisfied."
The meaning was clear: you have shown me face, so I will repay you properly.
Malfoy, of course, had been marked for a special role in the story.
As for Dudley, his favorite character was that old man from JOJO (in his youth), though he possessed the physique of Jotaro.
(End of this chapter)
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