I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

In the Slytherin Common Room, under the dim, greenish light filtering through the underwater windows, Draco Malfoy was holding court.

"He's finished," he announced to his small circle of first-year companions, his voice buzzing with excitement. "That muscle-bound oaf is done for this time. You know, Professor Snape is a good friend of my father's, and my father spoke to him before I came to Hogwarts..."

Malfoy had seamlessly slipped into his daily 'dad-bragging' routine. He leaned in, lowering his voice to what he imagined was a sinister whisper. "Professor Snape will teach him a harsh lesson, punish him, and then humiliatingly kick him out of Slytherin, out of Hogwarts." He giggled, a high, unpleasant sound. "Hehe, this has nothing to do with me, of course. Professor Snape is the one doing it. I'm just..."

He spoke smugly, lost in a fantasy where he could already see Dudley being thrown out of the castle gates. "My father said that Slytherin is a place only for those with noble blood..." It was the same old, tired talk about blood purity.

Malfoy was so lost in his own world that he didn't notice the drastic, panicked change in the faces of the young wizards around him. He didn't see Pansy Parkinson repeatedly, frantically winking at him, nor did he notice that Crabbe and Goyle's lips had turned white, their bodies trembling.

Until...

"Talking badly about people behind their backs isn't very gentlemanly," a low voice rumbled from behind him, "though there are no true gentlemen left in all of England." The voice was dangerously pleasant. "Mr. Draco, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I won't be leaving Hogwarts anytime soon."

The voice made the hairs on the back of Malfoy's neck stand on end. In that single, terrifying moment, he felt his hands and feet turn to ice, as if he had been plunged into a frozen hell. Like a goose whose throat had just been squeezed, his smug monologue abruptly stopped.

A large hand descended from the sky and pressed down firmly on Malfoy's head. He felt his scalp tighten, and then his entire body was lifted off the ground with one hand.

Dudley truly didn't understand the obsession some wizards had with blood purity. In his experience, only pets, like dogs or horses, were so concerned with their bloodlines. It was a strange, almost laughable, point of pride. Incidentally, Dudley thought with grim amusement, Malfoy, who prides himself on his pure blood, has platinum blonde hair, a common trait of the Germanic and Viking peoples who invaded Britain. The Weasleys, whom he looks down on, have red hair—the mark of the Celts, the original inhabitants of these islands. Tracing their origins, the Weasleys are more 'pure-blooded' than any of them. There was simply nothing for Malfoy to boast about.

"I think," Dudley said, his voice a low growl, "we should have a good talk. Before I lose all my patience." He roughly held Malfoy by the hair and strode with large, purposeful steps towards the interior of the Slytherin common room. The perfect excuse to deal with Malfoy had just arrived.

"No! You can't do that!" Malfoy screamed, his voice shrill with terror. He struggled, kicking his short legs and swinging his fists wildly, but it was completely useless. He couldn't even reach Dudley.

The other Slytherins just watched, frozen, as Dudley carried Malfoy away. In the huge, cavernous common room, not a single person dared to step forward to stop him, including Malfoy's two loyal bodyguards. The two poor, portly boys had fainted the moment they saw Dudley, and it was unclear if they were truly unconscious or just faking it.

"Not a single person is helping you. Your character is really poor, Draco," Dudley mused aloud, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Tsk, and I thought I could have some fun today, too."

His words caused the faces of the young Slytherin wizards around him to change drastically. They quickly retreated as if he were a plague god, creating a wide, empty zone around him. Even Crabbe and Goyle, still lying "unconscious" on the floor, seemed to turn several shades paler. After the disaster of their first night, Malfoy's reputation among the Slytherins had plummeted. He had led them into a humiliating defeat and had shown no remorse.

"Please wait..."

It wasn't that there was no one. At least there was one.

"Hmm? Do you have an opinion on what I'm doing, Miss Parkinson?" Dudley slowly turned his head, his eyes, as big as copper bells, staring directly at Pansy. He wondered how long she would last before bursting into tears if he so much as looked at her the wrong way.

At that moment, Pansy felt as if she were being targeted by a fierce, predatory beast. Even though he hadn't done anything, she felt her breathing stop. "I mean," she stammered, her voice shaking, "you must be hungry. How about a cup of tea and some dessert?"

What Malfoy? Who was Malfoy? He had nothing to do with her.

"Tea without sugar, and please prepare some biscuits," Dudley replied, his tone surprisingly mild. "I'm a bit hungry." Since someone was offering to treat him, it would be impolite to refuse. "I'll be back to drink it in a while, before the tea gets cold. Thank you."

Saying that, he continued to carry the struggling Malfoy towards the rooms in the depths of the common room. The young Slytherin wizards watched them go, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

"He... he shouldn't eat Draco, right?" Pansy murmured to the empty air. Unfortunately, there was no one in the entire Slytherin common room who could answer her.

It wasn't until the two of them had disappeared from sight that Crabbe and Goyle sprang up from the ground as if their backsides were on fire. Clearly, they had been faking it.

"I'm going to tell my father..." Malfoy whimpered, seeing that force was useless. It was his last resort.

"If I were you, I wouldn't," Dudley said, roughly maneuvering him through a doorway. Malfoy felt as if his scalp was about to be ripped off.

Dudley went all the way inside, to the depths of the Slytherin common room. He casually found an empty chamber—by coincidence, the very same one where the Slytherin seniors had held their meeting—and 'gently' pushed open the door before closing it firmly behind them. The room was larger than expected, with a large, circular table in the middle. Without the lights on, the only illumination came from the faint, green glow filtering through a high window.

Throwing Malfoy to the floor like a sack of potatoes, Dudley slowly bent down, looking down at him. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice a low, chilling whisper. "Now it's just the two of us. No one will know what I do to you."

He put extra emphasis on the words 'no one will know'.

Dudley's chilling promise sent a wave of pure terror through Malfoy's body, a deep, bone-aching cold that started in his heart and spread to his fingertips.

(End of Chapter)

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