Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM

As the three boys entered the Transfiguration classroom, Dudley's gaze was immediately drawn to a silver tabby cat sitting primly on the professor's desk. There was something oddly familiar about it. As he watched, the cat turned its head, and its intelligent, severe gaze met his.

Swish.

In a movement too fast to follow, the cat leaped from the desk. In mid-air, its form began to stretch and reshape, its fur and whiskers melting away into dark green robes. By the time it landed gracefully on the floor, it was no longer a cat, but the stern, imposing figure of Professor McGonagall.

"Bloody hell, that was brilliant!" Ron blurted out, his jaw hanging open.

"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, her voice dry as dust. She cast a withering glare at the three of them. "Perhaps if I were to transfigure you into a pocket watch, you might develop a better sense of punctuality."

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said quickly. "We got lost."

"Then perhaps a map would be more appropriate," she retorted, her expression unyielding. "Now, find your seats. That shouldn't require a map, I hope?"

Harry and Ron scurried to an empty table, but Dudley remained standing for a moment, his mind racing.

"Mr. Dursley," Professor McGonagall said, her sharp eyes fixing on him. "Do you have a question?"

Startled from his thoughts, Dudley composed himself. "Yes, Professor. I was wondering, can all wizards transform into animals like that?"

McGonagall's posture straightened with a hint of pride. "Certainly not. It is an incredibly complex and dangerous branch of Transfiguration. Those who master it are known as Animagi, and the ability is so rare that we are all required to be registered with the Ministry of Magic." A murmur of surprise went through the classroom. "Furthermore," she continued, "an Animagus can only transform into one specific animal, one that is determined by their innermost nature. It is not something one can choose."

"Are there many Animagi?" Dudley pressed.

"Very few," she replied. "As of this year, there are only seven registered Animagi in all of Britain. Myself included."

"Thank you, Professor," Dudley said, nodding respectfully before taking his seat.

"It is good to be interested in the deeper arts of Transfiguration, Mr. Dursley," McGonagall said as he sat down. "But do not try to run before you can walk. Animagus magic is far beyond your current capabilities. For now, you will focus on the basics." She tapped the desk with her wand, and a single matchstick appeared in front of each student. "Today, you will attempt to turn this match into a needle. This is the foundation upon which all other Transfiguration is built. Now, watch carefully."

As she began her meticulous explanation of the incantation, wand movements, and the intense concentration required, Dudley's mind was already elsewhere.

Animagus.

The word echoed in his thoughts, a key turning a lock in his mind. Seeing McGonagall's transformation had forged a connection he hadn't considered before. Ron's rat, Scabbers. The fleeting image he had seen with his Spirit Vision on the train—the faint, humanoid soul superimposed over the rat's own. If that was the mark of an Animagus, then Scabbers was not a rat at all. He was a man.

But why? Why would a wizard spend years masquerading as a pet rat in the Weasley household? What was his purpose? And why had he suddenly chosen to flee? Had he sensed Dudley's own true nature? The questions piled up, a tangled web of conspiracy and deceit. For Dudley, who had survived a world of paranoia and betrayal, the worst-case scenario was always the most likely.

If I ever see that rat again, he vowed, I will catch him.

His gaze then shifted to Professor McGonagall. He remembered a certain tabby cat, sitting on a garden wall on Privet Drive, its intelligent eyes watching the Dursley house. It had been her. Protecting them? Or monitoring them? The thought of being constantly under such unseen scrutiny was unsettling.

This magical world was a minefield of hidden identities and secret plots. A stray cat was his professor. A classmate's pet was a potential enemy spy. A simple trip to the bank ended in a battle for his life. The sheer improbability of it all was staggering. It was so unbelievable, it almost felt… arranged.

The Writer pathway… the Unshadowed Crucifix…

A cold sweat broke over him as a terrifying thought took hold. Could my entire experience in this world be orchestrated? Impossible. No one could do that. Not even a god… right? He glanced involuntarily at the enchanted ceiling, half-expecting to see a pair of cosmic eyes staring back down at him.

"Mr. Dursley, is there something fascinating written on the ceiling?"

Professor McGonagall's stern voice snapped him back to reality. The entire class was staring at him.

"No, Professor," Dudley said smoothly, his composure instantly returning. "This is how I think. I was merely pondering the intricacies of the Transfiguration spell you just explained."

"Oh?" McGonagall raised a skeptical eyebrow, her displeasure evident. "And what results have you pondered?" She began to walk slowly toward his desk. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all seemed to hold their breath, certain he was about to lose Gryffindor points on their very first day.

"Well, I've gained some insight," Dudley nodded calmly.

"Such as?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt.

"Such as this."

Dudley raised his Elder wand, pointed it at the matchstick on his desk, and with a clear, confident voice, said the incantation.

In an instant, under the watchful eyes of the entire class, the wooden matchstick shimmered, shrinking and hardening, its dull brown color shifting to a bright, shining silver. Where the match had been, there was now a perfectly formed, sharp-pointed needle.

(End of Chapter)

***

(End of Chapter)

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