Chapter 46 – Do Not Provoke Dudley Dursley Again
To be honest, Dudley was short on money when he first arrived at Hogwarts, but he valued this man more than gold.
After all, how many seventh-years would lower themselves to apologize to a first-year?
He was indeed someone of note.
Dudley etched his name into memory—Richmond Carrow, destined to become the head of the Carrow family in the future.
Perhaps there would be opportunities to cooperate one day.
"You must be tired after your first day at Hogwarts. I won't trouble you further," Richmond said warmly.
"By the way, the Slytherin dorms are the largest among the four Houses. You may choose any unoccupied room there. I guarantee no one will disturb your rest.
Good night."
Every word from Richmond Carrow struck home, elevating Dudley's opinion of him even further.
Parting on such amicable terms, Dudley made his way to the Slytherin dormitories.
To have resolved the matter so smoothly was ideal. Dudley Dursley only wished for a peaceful school life.
As long as no one provoked him, he believed he was easy enough to deal with—or so he told himself.
Once Dudley left, Richmond's face hardened. He spoke in a voice colder than ever: "What happened today must never leave this room. If word spreads, especially to Gryffindor, there will be no containing it.
Anyone who speaks of it will be an enemy of Slytherin, in the name of the Carrow family."
Whether Potter was a dark wizard or not, he was certainly powerful, and Dursley was no ordinary boy either.
Better not to make enemies of them.
Slytherin always stood on the side of the victor.
"Clean this place up. No one is to speak of today."
"What about the Head of House?" one Slytherin asked.
"This trifle need not trouble Professor Snape. We will handle it ourselves."
Richmond then cast a look of pure disgust at Marcus lying unconscious on the floor. "When that fool wakes, tell him I will not tolerate another incident from him this year."
His disappointment in Marcus had reached its peak.
"And none of you are to provoke Dudley Dursley again—at least not until after I graduate."
In truth, he needn't have said it. The first-, second-, and third-years already intended to bury this secret. No one wanted the story of their sore backsides to be spread around.
———
The Slytherin dormitories were furnished in green and silver, though fortunately the lamps glowed with normal light. If they had been green as well, it would have been unbearable for reading.
Though he said he was going to sleep, it was still early. Dudley unpacked his trunk, arranged his things, and set about his potion-making plans.
Potions required practice.
Aside from anything electrical, most Muggle-made equipment still worked—such as his old camera and other lab instruments.
He successfully brewed several vials, carefully storing them in his satchel, before lying on his bed with a book.
Dudley never wanted to scheme so much, but he felt too weak. Without strategy, he would either be bullied or forced to endure bullying.
Neither suited him.
Strength was what mattered most.
His current trump card was Ripple Breathing.
From tomorrow, training would double.
The next morning, many early-rising students were surprised to see a vigorous figure on the castle lawn.
Running laps, lifting dumbbells, one-finger push-ups, and swimming.
Swimming was the best, engaging every muscle in the body.
Wearing a vest and shorts, his near-perfect V-shaped physique drew stares from many young wizards.
Dudley's remarkable build, combined with his identity as Harry Potter's cousin, had already made him well known at the feast the night before.
Now even more eyes turned toward him.
"My goodness, is he really a first-year?"
"If someone told me he was seventh-year, I'd believe it."
"What a body…"
"I bet he could lift me."
Many of the older female students found their gazes fixed on Dudley, unable to look away, all full of admiration for his physique, though their voices carried a faintly different undertone.
If only Dudley were a little more handsome, he might have received a flood of love letters by now.
It was not just the girls. Dudley also drew the attention of many boys, especially those from Hufflepuff.
"He's really strong."
"How does he train?"
"I want a body like that too."
Among the boys, it was more envy than anything, with some even wondering if they too should start exercising.
Of course, there were always a few sour voices.
"We're wizards. What use is such a strong body?"
At such times, an older sister or brother would sit beside them, pat their shoulders, and say with great meaning:
"You'll understand in time."
Leaving the younger ones baffled.
Dudley knew nothing of this. After finishing his morning training, he was heading back toward Slytherin when he ran into Hermione, carrying something in her arms, dark circles under her eyes.
"Didn't sleep well?" Dudley asked with concern.
Seeing Dudley with his bright, wide-awake eyes, Hermione gave him a sharp glare, huffed, and turned away, leaving Dudley standing puzzled.
But a few steps later, she returned silently, shoved the bundle into his hands, and left again without a word.
Dudley was left even more confused.
Only after she was gone did he open it.
It was a small, handwoven pouch. From its rough workmanship, it was obvious Hermione had made it herself.
Inside were several identical small bottles.
Pulling one out and opening a crack, Dudley caught the fragrant scent and froze.
Essence of Dittany.
A potion for healing.
She was worried he might get hurt?
What a roundabout little girl.
Dudley chuckled and shook his head.
"What are you dawdling for? Do you want to be late? Our first class is together!"
Her voice carried back from a short distance away, sharp with impatience.
"I'll just change my clothes," Dudley replied.
After completing his first day of study at Hogwarts, Dudley did another round of evening exercise, enjoyed a good bath, and prepared to rest.
But a knock came at the door.
Opening it, he found no one outside—only a fine leather box on the ground, with a parchment letter atop it.
"To Mr. Dursley."
It was the promised compensation and gift.
The first layer was Galleons. As Carrow had said, he bought the confiscated wands for ten Galleons each—a price slightly higher than their original cost, not too much, not too little, just right.
The second layer held a small crystal vial, glowing beautifully in the lamplight.
Felix Felicis.
Liquid Luck.
A rare and precious potion, difficult to brew and nearly impossible to buy.
Dudley quietly stored the items away in his satchel.
It seemed Richmond Carrow had paid dearly to win his favor.
(End of this chapter)
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