Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM

"Dum… Professor Dumbledore… Ha… Hagrid…" The man in the purple turban stammered, his hands clasped tightly in front of his chest, his eyes darting nervously around the hut.

"Professor Quirrell, you're here," Dumbledore said with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Professor Quirrell, a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest was attacked," Hagrid explained, his voice grim. "We suspect it's related to the Dark Arts, so I asked you to come and take a look."

Quirrell listened, but his gaze didn't fall on the wounded unicorn. Instead, his eyes, wide and nervous, flickered from Harry to Dudley, then back again.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce them," Hagrid said. "This is Harry Potter, and also Dudley and Ron."

"It's… it's an honor to meet you all," Quirrell forced out, his stammer more pronounced.

"The honor is ours, Professor," Harry replied politely.

Quirrell managed an awkward, jerky smile, then turned and shuffled over to the unicorn. He knelt down, his movements stiff, and began to examine the unicorn's wound. "Un… undoubtedly, it's Dark Arts… who on earth would attack such a pure creature?" he stammered, his eyes still wide with a feigned horror.

"My conclusion as well," Dumbledore said, stepping closer. The two began to discuss the nature of the dark magic that had injured the unicorn, their voices a low murmur of technical terms.

At the same time, Dudley felt it. From the moment Quirrell entered the small hut, a faint, yet distinct, evil aura had emanated from him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to an untrained sense, but to Dudley's refined spiritual perception, it hummed with an unnatural, discordant energy. He had learned to trust these feelings.

While Quirrell's back was turned, seemingly engrossed in conversation with Dumbledore, Dudley quietly activated his spiritual vision. He focused intently on the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

What he saw made his pupils contract.

Professor Quirrell, under spiritual vision, was not the nervous, pale man he appeared to be. He was shrouded in a dense, roiling black mist, an almost impenetrable shroud of darkness. The vibrant, multi-colored aura that normally surrounded living beings was almost entirely absent, consumed by this suffocating blackness. And then, his gaze fell upon the back of Quirrell's head. It was a void. A place of absolute, inky blackness, so deep that it seemed to absorb all light, all presence.

Dudley concentrated, pouring his spiritual power into his eyes, trying to pierce the veil of the black mist.

Then, his blood ran cold.

Deep within that abyssal blackness, a face began to condense. It was twisted, distorted, its features squeezed together, almost noseless. And its eyelids trembled, as if it were about to open its eyes to meet Dudley's gaze directly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dudley snapped his spiritual vision shut, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at Harry, feigning a sudden discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, noticing Dudley's sudden pallor.

"Nothing," Dudley blinked rapidly. "My eyes are a bit uncomfortable."

"Did something get in?" Harry asked, ever concerned. "Do you want me to blow it for you?"

"No need, I'm fine now," Dudley said, forcing a casual tone. He blinked hard, hoping to clear the terrifying image from his mind.

Harry shrugged, accepting the explanation, and returned his attention to Dumbledore and Quirrell's discussion, even though he understood little of it.

Dudley let out a slow, careful breath. Quirrell has another soul inside him, he confirmed, the realization settling like a block of ice in his stomach. And it's utterly evil. He wasn't sure if the soul had detected his scrutiny, but his brief, intense focus must have drawn its attention.

What is the deal with this Quirrell? Dudley's mind raced. Is it a soul fusion, like the Red Priest? Or parasitism? Or something else entirely? He couldn't discern the specifics. Based on his knowledge from that other world, such a situation was incredibly rare, even among the most bizarre Beyonders. The only truly analogous case he could recall was the King of Angels, Medici, the Red Priest—an evil spirit formed from the fusion of three powerful souls.

Too many details I can't recall, he mused, a familiar frustration building. Many of his deepest memories of the mystical arts were sealed, a protective mechanism. With his current strength, too much knowledge could lead to corruption or loss of control. Yet, the glimpse of that soul in Quirrell had triggered fragments of his past.

That soul seems incredibly weak, but its aura is so profoundly evil. It's definitely not a simple entity.

Should I report him? Dudley pondered. But was soul coexistence unusual in this world? He wasn't sure. In the Black Magic World, as in the Beyonder world, an evil aura wasn't always a direct indicator of evil intent. Quirrell's situation, however, felt unique. He could be possessed, or perhaps he had willingly bonded with an evil entity.

This school is far more dangerous than I expected, he realized. Surprises and frights around every corner.

"Harry, Dudley, Ron," Dumbledore's voice cut through his thoughts. "It's getting late. You should return to the castle now. We will handle things here."

"Okay," the three boys agreed. It was already dark outside, and the castle lights beckoned.

"I'll see them off," Hagrid offered, his massive frame reassuring. Given the recent unicorn attack, Dumbledore clearly approved.

"See… see you later. You'll be taking… my class very soon," Professor Quirrell stammered, offering a nervous, twitchy smile. His gaze swept over Harry, lingered on Dudley for a fraction of a second, then quickly returned to Dumbledore, resuming their low, intense discussion of Dark Arts.

A cold wind brushed their faces as they left Hagrid's hut. Under the vast, star-strewn night sky, Hogwarts Castle glowed with warm, yellow light, its massive silhouette looming like a benevolent giant in the comforting darkness.

(End of Chapter)

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