I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

The story of the conflict between Dudley and Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express had already spread like wildfire through the Slytherin social network. Seeking advantage and avoiding harm was a common trait among all Slytherins, and a new, unknown variable like Dudley was something to be carefully assessed.

"That oaf actually got sorted into Slytherin," Malfoy whispered to his cronies, his pale face flushed with a mixture of excitement and malice. "We'll teach him a proper lesson when we get back to the common room." He couldn't wait for that moment. Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle rubbed their fists together, convinced that their previous defeat on the train was merely due to carelessness. They were the perfect example of those who forget the pain the moment the wound has healed.

Around the Slytherin table, the other young wizards exchanged knowing glances. The moment the Sorting Hat had made its announcement, Malfoy had already begun to make arrangements.

In the entire Great Hall, perhaps only Hermione and Harry were genuinely concerned about Dudley. They both frequently glanced towards the Slytherin table, but there was nothing they could do. Their points of concern, however, were vastly different. Hermione, having heard that Slytherin was the worst of the four houses, a place where ruffians gathered, was worried that Dudley would be led astray, or worse, that he would be bullied. Harry, on the other hand, was worried that Dudley would beat up all the Slytherins and get himself expelled. As for Dudley being bullied, Harry knew that was impossible. He'd be thankful if Dudley didn't bully anyone else.

At the head table, Dumbledore stood up. He looked down at the young wizards with a beaming smile, opening his arms as if to embrace them all.

"Welcome," he said, "to Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'" He beamed at them. "Thank you!"

After muttering the string of nonsensical words, he sat back down, leaving the new students looking at each other in complete bewilderment. As his words fell, a magnificent feast instantly appeared on the long house tables.

It must be said that when one is truly hungry, anything tastes delicious. But the cooking skills of the Hogwarts house-elves were far superior to those of many London restaurants. Dudley, who had been starving for a long time, completely ignored the surprised and disdainful looks of the Slytherin students around him. He picked up the nearest platter of roast chicken and began to eat heartily. Hearing the occasional "+1" notification from his system, he ate with even more vigor. He had already noticed on the train that food from the magical world provided more experience than regular food. Could this be one of the wonders of magic?

'Look at that oaf, he eats like a barbarian. No elegance at all, completely ignorant of table manners.'

'I really don't know why the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin. Crude, barbaric... he doesn't have a single trait that fits our house.'

'I should write and tell my father to get him moved to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. That's where people like him belong.'

The whispered discussions began to rise around him. Most of those talking were first or second years; the older students didn't participate, but they didn't stop it either, just watched with cold, calculating eyes.

Dudley, who had practiced Ripple for years, had senses far sharper than those of an ordinary wizard. He heard every word, but he continued to eat with gusto, doing as he pleased. Why should I, Dudley Dursley, explain my actions to others? he thought. Besides, food was meant to be enjoyed. The so-called table manners these people obsessed over were pointless affectations. The highest form of etiquette was to cherish food, to eat it cleanly, and not waste a single crumb.

The result was that Dudley alone swept through nearly half the food on the Slytherin table.

'Good heavens, how many people's worth of food did he just eat?'

And so, on his very first day at Hogwarts, Dudley acquired a new, mocking title: 'Slytherin's Beggar'.

However, everyone's attention was so focused on his eating habits that not a single person noticed that his face and hands remained completely free of any grease. This wasn't just a sign that he wasn't wasteful; it was a form of training. For Dudley, even eating was a form of cultivation. Just as he wouldn't waste a single bit of food, he wouldn't waste a single moment of time.

He wasn't just mindlessly stuffing himself; he was constantly analyzing his conversation with the Sorting Hat. The Hat's words could be summarized simply: Slytherin's will has chosen you. You are the chosen one.

Did he believe it? Dudley scoffed internally. He only knew that he was, for all intents and purposes, a Muggle-born wizard, and Slytherins hated Muggle-borns. He would only believe one-tenth of the Hat's explanation. Moreover, he remembered a saying from a wise author in his past life: "Never trust anything that can think for itself, unless you can see where it keeps its brain."

There was too little information to analyze for now. It couldn't be ruled out that it was all just the Sorting Hat's twisted sense of humor, though that possibility seemed remote. Since the Hagrid incident, Dudley knew he had to be more cautious. He wasn't a wizard in the true sense, and from a pessimistic perspective, he might never learn magic, at least not the kind practiced in the Harry Potter world.

'Power. Money. Influence.' Dudley silently wrote the three words in his heart. Power meant personal strength. Money meant financial resources. And influence meant connections and authority. To survive and thrive in the wizarding world, none of the three were dispensable. It had to be said, if Dudley were a true wizard, some of his traits would indeed fit the Slytherin House perfectly.

"I think everyone should be full by now," Dumbledore's voice cut through his thoughts. "So I would like to say a few more words. Firstly, first-year students, please note, the Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds to all students." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Gryffindor table. "Some older students would do well to remember this too."

When it came to breaking rules, people's first thought was always Gryffindor. But Dudley, who had thoroughly read the biographies of the four founders, knew that Slytherin was just as guilty. Otherwise, how could Godric and Salazar have ever become friends? Dudley had already set his sights on the Forbidden Forest; that place was a natural, and most importantly, free, treasure trove of potion ingredients.

"Secondly," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you that no magic is to be performed in the corridors between classes. Thirdly, try-outs for the house Quidditch teams will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested should contact Madam Hooch. Fourthly, and perhaps most importantly, anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death should not enter the corridor on the third floor on the right-hand side."

"And now, before we go to bed... let us all sing the school song!"

Accompanied by a cacophony of strange, off-key notes from the Gryffindor end of the hall, Dudley's first meal at Hogwarts thus concluded. A prefect with a silver badge stood up at the end of the Slytherin table.

"First-year Slytherins," he called out, his voice sharp and commanding, "follow me."

(End of Chapter)

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