Chapter 40 Malfoy: I'm Going to Teach Him a Lesson!
The conflict between Dudley and Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express was already well known among the Slytherins. Seeking advantage and avoiding harm was a shared trait of them all.
"The oaf actually got sorted into Slytherin. Once we're back in the common room, he's going to pay for it."
Malfoy's face flushed red, his voice full of excitement and urgency. He could hardly wait for the moment to come. Sitting beside him, Crabbe and Goyle cracked their fists together. They had underestimated Dudley on the train, but if given another chance, they were sure they could beat him.
For them, the saying "a scar soon forgotten" fit perfectly.
Around them, the other Slytherin first-years exchanged glances, each understanding the plan without needing words. Malfoy had already arranged it with them the moment the Sorting Hat made its announcement.
Perhaps the only two at Hogwarts truly concerned for Dudley were Hermione and Harry, who kept glancing toward his seat but could do nothing.
Their worries, however, were entirely different.
Hermione, having heard that Slytherin was the worst of the four houses—a gathering of troublemakers—feared Dudley would be corrupted, or worse, bullied. Harry, on the other hand, worried Dudley might knock down the entire Slytherin House and end up punished by the school. As for Dudley being bullied, Harry thought that was impossible; it would be a miracle if Dudley himself wasn't the one doing the bullying.
Dumbledore stood, beaming as he stretched his arms toward the students, as though embracing them all.
"Welcome to Hogwarts!"
"Before the feast begins, I wish to say a few words. They are: 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!' Thank you!"
After his peculiar words, he sat back down. The young wizards stared at one another, baffled. At the same moment, dishes piled high with food appeared on the tables.
There was no denying that food tastes best when one is hungry, and Hogwarts' kitchen far surpassed many restaurants in London.
Starving, Dudley ignored the surprised stares of the surrounding Slytherins and began devouring the nearest food without hesitation.
He had been hungry far too long.
With the system's +1 notification occasionally ringing in his ear, Dudley ate even faster.
The food at Hogwarts—or perhaps food in the magical world in general—seemed to yield more experience than ordinary meals. Dudley had already noticed it back on the train.
Was this the marvel of magic?
'Look at him, eating like a brute. No manners, no elegance, no understanding of table etiquette.'
Whispered voices spread around him.
'I can't understand why the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin. Crude, savage… he doesn't have a single quality that matches.'
'I ought to write to my father and tell him. He belongs in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff—those houses suit his kind better.'
Most of the murmurs came from first- and second-years. Older students refrained from speaking, but they did not stop it either; they only watched coldly.
Dudley, with senses sharpened by years of Ripple training, could clearly hear it all. Still, he chewed steadily, unbothered.
'Why should I, Dudley Dursley, need to explain myself to anyone?'
Food was meant to be eaten however one found most comfortable. What they called "table manners" were nothing more than a waste of time. Eating clean and without waste—that was the truest etiquette.
And so, Dudley alone cleared away nearly half the food laid out on the Slytherin table.
'Good heavens, how many portions has he eaten?'
Thus, on his very first day at Hogwarts, Dudley had already earned mocking titles such as "Slytherin's beggar."
Yet while everyone's attention was fixed on his eating habits, none noticed that Dudley's face and hands never once bore a trace of grease or food stains.
This was more than proof that he wasted nothing—he was cultivating. For Dudley, even eating was a form of training. Just as he refused to waste a morsel of food, he refused to waste a second of time. His time was far too valuable.
He was not simply gorging himself without thought. In his mind, he continued to analyze his earlier exchange with the Sorting Hat.
The Sorting Hat's words could be summed up simply: Slytherin's will had chosen him—he was the chosen one.
Believe it just because it said so? Dudley sneered inwardly. He knew only that, on the surface, he was a Muggle-born wizard. Slytherin detested Muggle-borns. Therefore, he believed perhaps a tenth of the Hat's explanation.
He recalled what Master Xun had once said: "Never trust anything that can think for itself, unless you can see where it keeps its brain."
As for the true reason, there was too little information. It could not yet be analyzed. Perhaps it was nothing but the Sorting Hat's twisted humor, though that possibility was less than one in ten thousand.
It was not paranoia. Dudley was simply applying reasonable suspicion.
After the Hagrid incident, he had no choice but to tread carefully.
He was not truly a wizard in the strict sense. From a pessimistic perspective, he might never be able to learn magic at all—at least not the kind of magic that belonged to the Harry Potter world.
"Strength, wealth, power."
Dudley silently etched these three words into his heart. Strength meant ability, wealth meant resources, and power meant influence. To live well in the wizarding world, none of the three could be lacking.
It had to be said, if Dudley truly were a wizard, some of his traits suited Slytherin quite well.
"I think everyone should be full by now, so let me say a few words and offer some reminders."
Seeing that the students had eaten their fill, Dumbledore spoke. "First, first-years, take note: the Forbidden Forest outside the castle is strictly off-limits. Older students would do well to remember this, too."
As he spoke, he cast a deliberate glance toward the Gryffindor table.
When it came to breaking rules, Gryffindor was always the first house people thought of. But Dudley, who had studied the founders' lives in detail, knew the truth was not so one-sided. Slytherin too had been much the same. Otherwise, how could those two ever have become such close friends?
And Dudley had long since set his sights on the Forbidden Forest. That place was a natural treasure trove of potion ingredients—and best of all, free.
"Second, Mr. Filch the caretaker has asked me to remind you: do not cast spells in the corridors between classes. Third, tryouts for Quidditch players will be held in the second week of term. Anyone wishing to join their house team should speak with Madam Hooch."
"Fourth, and most important: anyone who does not wish to die in pain should not enter the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor."
"And finally, before you retire for the night, let us sing the school song together!"
With Gryffindor voices occasionally inserting their odd variations into the tune, Dudley's first meal at Hogwarts came to an end.
"Slytherin first-years, follow me."
(This chapter ends)
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