Before Peter could finish his spell, a blinding white light flashed before his eyes.
Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut, but then a brutal blow slammed into his stomach, sending waves of gut-wrenching pain through him. Before he could even clutch his belly, a sharp slap cracked across his face.
"What's that?"
Slap!
"Oblivi—what?"
Slap!
"Obliviate—what?"
Slap!
A few more slaps left Peter dizzy, his cheeks swollen and red, looking like he'd been transfigured into a pig.
Then, he felt his limbs tighten as countless vines wrapped around him, binding him in place.
"I really don't like people pointing wands at me," Dudley said coolly.
Dudley hadn't moved from his seat, but he was now holding a wand—Ron's wand, to be precise.
He hadn't even left his chair. The punch and slaps that had walloped Peter were conjured with a flick of alchemy.
If Dudley had thrown those punches himself, Peter would probably be nothing but a rat's pelt by now.
What was it that Sirius used to say?
"One punch from me, and you might not make it."
"Don't let someone snatch it again," Dudley said, tossing the wand back to Ron. Then, with an odd look, he turned to his friend. "Seriously, Ron, your tastes are weird."
He added, with a hint of disgust, "I mean, sleeping with an old man? You might want to keep that quiet. Could hurt the Prefect's reputation."
"I didn't! I don't! Stop saying that!"
Ron's face turned as red as a baboon's backside, his freckles standing out like stars.
Sleeping with an old, ugly man—for years?
Merlin's beard.
Ron felt like he was going to be sick.
Especially after all the sappy things he'd just said.
The more heartfelt he'd been earlier, the more horrified he felt now.
Thankfully, only Dudley knew about this. If anyone else found out, Ron would probably die of embarrassment on the spot.
"Ron, help me! I'm your precious Scabbers, remember? We slept together!" Peter's voice piped up from the floor, right on cue.
Ron's face turned green with rage. He wanted nothing more than to march over and kick Peter senseless.
"Dudley, please, stop talking about it," Ron pleaded, practically ready to drop to his knees. If this got out, forget finding a girlfriend—he wouldn't even be able to look at anyone without cringing.
No, that wasn't the point.
The point was, it was mortifying.
"From now on, you tell me to go east, I won't dare go west. Whatever you say, I'll do it," Ron swore.
"What about Scabbers?" Dudley asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ron straightened up, all business. "Scabbers? Who's that? Never heard of him."
Dudley smirked and pulled out a familiar Niffler from his pocket.
"No, from now on, this is your Scabbers."
Ron grabbed the Niffler—now dubbed Scabbers—and bolted out of the Room of Requirement, leaving Dudley alone with the bound Peter.
"I think it's time we had a chat, Mr. Peter Pettigrew," Dudley said, his tone darkening. "Or perhaps I should call you Wormtail, dear friend of Uncle James."
With every word, Peter's face grew paler. By the time Dudley finished, he was white as a ghost.
He thought no one knew his secrets, but Dudley seemed to know everything.
Every detail, as if he'd seen it all with his own eyes.
"There are no secrets in the wizarding world," Dudley said, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Peter's. "Not from these eyes."
Peter felt utterly exposed, like Dudley could see straight through him.
"Don't worry, I won't send you to Azkaban," Dudley continued.
That would be too easy, and besides, Peter would probably escape in a few years anyway.
"And I won't kill you either."
Not yet. That privilege belonged to someone else.
For now, Dudley would keep Peter alive—until he'd squeezed every ounce of usefulness out of him.
"Oh, and dear Mr. Wormtail," Dudley added, leaning in. "As a former Death Eater, you're familiar with the three Unforgivable Curses, aren't you?"
---
Dudley stood atop Hogwarts' highest tower, gazing out at the endless sky, the breeze brushing against his face. In the classroom nearby, Divination class was in session. Since Dudley had only picked two electives, he had a free period and was waiting for Hermione to finish so they could head to Care of Magical Creatures together.
Crash!
The door flew open, and Hermione stormed out, fuming.
The moment she spotted Dudley, she grabbed his arm and dragged him down the stairs.
"That was the worst class I've ever been to," she ranted as they descended.
In her agitation, she didn't even notice she was holding Dudley's hand.
Feeling the softness of her hand in his, Dudley stayed quiet, letting her pull him along.
It had been a while since he'd seen Hermione this worked up. Normally, she was all about respecting professors.
Divination, with its airy-fairy nonsense about "inspiration" and "inner sight," was completely at odds with Hermione's love of logic.
"She actually thinks she can read the future in tea leaves," Hermione scoffed. "It's absurd, ridiculous—there's no logic to it! Just a pile of soggy leaves, and she's scaring Hufflepuffs with her nonsense. Honestly, how does someone like that become a professor? She's as bad as Lockhart was last year."
"Oh, and she predicted Harry's going to face some ominous doom," she added, still seething.
"Maybe it's because she's descended from Cassandra Trelawney," Dudley offered.
Cassandra Trelawney was a legendary seer in the wizarding world.
"I don't believe in prophecies," Hermione declared. "They're just superstition."
"Like 'right eye twitching means disaster'?" Dudley teased.
Hermione blinked. "Right eye twitching? What about the left eye?"
"Left eye twitching means good luck, obviously," Dudley said with a straight face.
Hermione stared at him, unimpressed.
Dudley shrugged. His take on prophecies was simple: Believe in them, and they might come true. Don't, and they won't. Once you buy into a prophecy, you're already caught in its web.
If prophecies could perfectly predict the future, someone with that kind of power wouldn't be "voluntarily" locked away in a tower.
---
Dudley and Hermione made their way down the tower and toward the castle grounds, where Care of Magical Creatures was held.
At first, everything was fine. Then Hermione noticed the odd glances from other students and realized she was still holding Dudley's hand.
She tried to pull away on reflex, but Dudley held on tight.
You grabbed my hand first, and now you want to let go?
Hermione's strength was no match for Dudley's, and deep down, she didn't really want to let go. Blushing furiously, she lowered her head and let him lead her toward the Forbidden Forest.
They waited a while for the rest of the class to gather. Most students were buzzing with curiosity about the lesson, though a few noticed Dudley and Hermione's clasped hands and wisely kept quiet.
Nobody wanted to mess with Dudley.
The first Care of Magical Creatures lesson was about Hippogriffs, XXX-classified magical creatures.
Hagrid had somehow wrangled twelve of them.
For the record, Hippogriffs were hybrid creatures, born from a Griffin father and a regular horse mother.
Dudley had a sneaking suspicion there was a Griffin in the Forbidden Forest, and these Hippogriffs were its offspring.
Yup, definitely Hagrid's doing.