Alliances and Arguments
Morning hit Dudley like a truck. Bruises were screaming all over him and the harsh light from the lamps on the wall had wormed their way through a gap in the curtains. They must shine brighter during the day to make up for the lack of windows. The other boys were already up and murmuring as they got dressed. Dudley lay there for a few minutes, trying and failing to pick out what they were saying. His eyelids drooped as the warmth of the bed pulled him back towards sleep. So what if classes started today. It wasn’t like his mum was here to get him up. All there was was a bunch of jumped up posh boys who–
Posh boys. Draco Malfoy. The duel.
Dudley bolted upright and regretted it. Draco had clearly picked his friends well; his whole body twanged with the memory of last night’s fight. But that was beside the point. He, Dudley, had agreed to fight in a formal duel with the blond brat. And though he was confident he would win it, he knew he would have to actually learn how to cast spells to do it. Which meant, regrettably, he would have to actually study. Dudley had never done that before. Why would he? Mum had always been there to do his homework for him. But it couldn’t be too hard could it? Besides, primary school hadn’t been teaching him the secrets to beating up his rivals.
It did mean getting up though. Dudley sighed inwardly and pulled back the hangings on his bed just as he heard the door to their dormitory slammed shut. Blaise and Theodore were still fastening their robes and chatting, but the others must have just left.
“You snore, you know.” said Theodore, without even turning around.
Dudley grunted as he buttoned up his shirt, “Can’t help it.”
“Eh, Crabbe and Goyle were worse. I’m pretty sure Malfoy threw a pillow at one of them.”
Dudley paused, unsure if he should laugh, “He did?”
“Yeah, it didn’t work though. Hey, are you going to go through with this duel?”
Dudley shrugged. This definitely felt like a trap. Theodore crossed the room and leaned against Greggory’s bedpost. He looked… excited? No. curious.
“Only,” He said with a slight laugh, “Noone in their right mind would actually want to do that. He’s… Well… Y’know”
“What?”
“A Malfoy.”
Dudley pulled a set of robes out of his trunk, “I’d figured that one out myself, thanks.”
“What he means is that the Malfoy family knows a lot of dark magic,” Blaise said. He had also come over to Dudley's corner, comb in hand. “By the end of the year, he’ll have trained up and you won’t stand a chance.”
Dudley squinted at them, “Why are you telling me this?” He asked.
They looked at each other and then at him. Then Blaise said, “Because Draco Malfoy is an insufferable git.”
“We’ve known him since we were little,” Added Theodore, “And, unlike Crabbe and Goyle, we’d quite like to see him taken down a peg or two. His dad’s been making moves against mine and he was making the most of it on the train. Anything to wipe that smirk off his face would be great.”
“So if you’re going ahead with that duel, one of us should be your second – that's someone who takes over in a duel if you get too hurt. Theo’s dad can give us some good curses.”
“So long as I say they’re for using on you.”
Dudley’s head was spinning. Ten hours ago, these boys were staring at him like he was a piece of chewing gum they found under the desk. Now, ignoring the comment about Theodore’s family's attitude to curses, they were offering him some sort of alliance.
Well, if wizard duels had seconds, then he was going to need one. And he didn’t want any more enemies.
“Alright. Where do we start?”
“Class.” Blaise said flatly, “Can’t curse him if we can’t even light our wands.”
“But…” Theodore muttered as they all filed out of the dormitory, “to be clear. We’re not buddies. And we can’t let people think that we are. If word gets back to my dad that I’m friendly with you… He won’t like it and we won't get those curses.”
But Dudley didn’t care. He wasn’t looking for friends right now. He had a plan, and as gruelling as it sounded, it was solid.
Theo was serious about not being seen together. He and Blaise hurried ahead, leaving Dudley to fumble his way through the dungeons towards the stairs by himself. After the second wrong turn, he finally spotted a knot of older Slythrins who he could follow, so he only lost about five minutes. And yet almost as soon as he sat down, pointedly ignoring the dark looks from all sides, the hook-nosed teacher swept along the row of new first-years with a stack of timetables.
“For the uninformed amongst you,” he drawled, getting a snigger from Draco, “I am your head of house, Professor Snape. If you have any serious issues whilst at Hogwarts, you come to me.” Although his expression made it clear that if said issue was anything less than life-threatening then they needn’t bother.
Everyone took a timetable with a polite thank you, but when Professor Snape reached Dudley, he didn’t hand one over.
“Ah. Dudley Dursley. One of my more… unique… students.”
More snickers rippled around the table. Dudley tried to ignore them. He raised his hand to try to take his timetable, but Snape made no effort to hand it over.
“I hope you won't embarrass Slytherin, we've had a good track record with the house cup. It is one of the few things that makes my conversations with Professor McGonagall tolerable. I wouldn't want anyone to jeopardise that.”
His black eyes glittered menacingly. Maybe it was his imagination, but Dudley thought they flicked over to one of the other house tables behind him. If so, it had only been for a moment before the professor finally handed over the sheet of parchment and stalked away.
What was wrong with these people? Were wizards really okay with teachers who loomed and sneered like that. He was used to sappy, colorful kindness charts and smiley stickers. Snape looked like a smiley might make him melt into a screaming puddle.
“Urgh, we've got transfiguration first.” Draco was scanning his timetable with theatrical annoyance.
“And history of magic second! That's ridiculous.”
“Wednesday’s worse.” grunted Vincent, “Astronomy theory and history right after. And DADA after that. What's the point in ‘defence’ anyway?”
“Yeah, that's a pretty useless day isn't it.”
Dudley scanned his own timetable, he didn't have a clue what any of these subjects actually were or why they were all complaining. Well, history of magic seemed pretty obvious, but transfiguration? He chewed his toast in silence as the other first-years all moaned about what they deemed to be inconvenient scheduling (Apparently herbology and defence against the dark arts were taught in places that couldn’t be farther away from each other, giving them an annoying dash on Thursday afternoons.)
Eventually, people started to get up and drift away from the table and, realising that he probably couldn’t find his way anywhere without some sort of guide, Dudley trailed after them. Only to find himself in the foyer face to face with his scrawny cousin being flanked by a gangly redhead. He’d almost forgotten about Harry, but from the thunderous look on his friend's face it was clear that Dudley had been discussed at length. Time slowed for an instant as they sized each other up. The way the ginger kid was glaring at him felt just as bad as the looks from Dudley's housemates. Harry, thankfully, had that apprehensive look he usually did whenever Dudley walked in on him unannounced. He was watching him carefully, eyes wide and knees bent. Like he was ready to spring for the doors. Dudley snorted,
“What are you looking at?” He growled, enjoying the way Harry’s eyes narrowed in thought. Come on then. Why not have a go at him. Harry had probably had the exact same thought as he had in the sorting; if they were in separate houses they could ignore each other. But if they were realistic, there was no real chance that they could avoid bumping into each other for seven years. Only for Dudley, that was a plus. He was glad he wasn’t living with the runt, but he didn’t want him to be enjoying himself here. And he'd need someone to practice his spells on.
Eventually, Harry replied, “Nothing worth seeing.”
That got a snort from his friend and a flash of anger in Dudley, “Want to say that again?”
“What? Didn’t understand it the first time? I’d repeat myself, but it might take a while for you to get it.” Harry grinned and skirted around him, “C’mon Ron.”
Ron, however, was still glaring at Dudley. Another challenging glance loosened his tongue.
“How did you get into Slytherin?”
“The… Hat. How else?”
“Yeah, but–” Ron stepped back as he noticed Dudley's hands curl into fists, but he plunged on, “Harry says you’re muggleborn, so you’ve got to be really–”
“Powerful?” Dudley suggested, his chest swelling with confidence.
“Dark. Like a really dark wizard. Like the worst dark magic kind of wizard. There's no way the hat would let you in there otherwise.”
Dudley frowned at him. A couple people had mentioned dark magic by now. Blaise and Theo had spoken about it without any trepidation, so he’d assumed it was just a weird term for combat magic. But the way Ron sneered when he said that…
“What’s so bad about this ‘dark magic’ stuff.” He asked.
Ron gaped at him. “What d’ya mean? It’s dark magic. Curses and torture spells. It’s what Slytherins are known for.” Then he turned a worrying pale, “God you don’t even think that’s bad… Alright, let's go Harry. I don’t want to get cursed.”
And he practically ran up the great staircase. Dudley stared at him, confused. Harry looked barely any wiser, and with a fleeting glance he chased after his friend. Dudley stood, thinking. Harry didn’t throw punches. He preferred to make his little snide comments and run away. It made sense that he went in a house with other wimps like him. So maybe he was right and ‘dark magic’ was just a term for stuff that was used to hurt physically. It wasn’t automatically evil – just powerful. Yes, that would be right.
But as he descended the steps to the dungeons, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was probably a bit more complicated than that.
Transfiguration was every bit as annoying as Draco’s moaning had made it sound. Professor McGonagall was as fierce as she first appeared and, though she turned her desk into a pig as a demonstration, it was soon made clear that they were not going to be allowed any fun. As Dudley prodded his lamentably wooden matchstick he was only slightly cheered to see his classmates having as much trouble as he was. It didn’t make sense; at home, the weird things he now knew were unconscious magic seemed to happen all the time. He had assumed that, even if they couldn’t get the spell completely right, most people would manage something. A silver sheen at least.
He squinted at the untidy notes he’d scribbled from the blackboard. Bad handwriting wasn’t helping him. The scant collection of latin phrases and supposedly helpful acronyms was nearly illegible. After all, Dudley had never needed to read his own writing before. That was his teacher’s problem, not his. Having to use a quill wasn't helping - several words were obscured by large inkblots. Trying not to mumble as he read, he traced the letters scrawled across the top of the page. Three wobbly I’s;
“Intention. Imagination. Incantation.”
“You know, real wizards know to use the actual spell.” Draco hissed, “Or can you not read without mumbling to yourself?”
Dudley felt his face burning. Had he actually said that out loud? The pale boy was smirking at him from across the small aisle between their desks. His wand sat untouched next to the match. To Dudley’s horror, it seemed to have lost the red splotch at the end and had a definite taper.
“Admiring my handiwork? Mother always said I had talent. It’s quite simple, but I suppose for you it must be a marvel.”
“Yeah, well…”
Dudley had used all the energy he had for good comebacks the previous night. Something which was taken as a victory by his opponent. Draco leaned back in his chair and quietly drawled, “You know, if you get transferred to a different house, I’ll let you back out of the duel.”
“You wish.” Dudley growled.
“No. I’m quite looking forward to it. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with a squirt myself. Normally I have the others deal with your lot. I always thought it was beneath me.”
“Yeah,” Dudley muttered, looking his spindly form up and down, “you look like the sort to hide behind your mates.”
“What does that mean?”
Dudley snorted, his overtaxed brain had finally caught up to the occasion, “You weren’t too good in a fight last night.”
Draco’s nostrils flared with anger, “I was caught off guard!”
“So?”
“So that doesn’t count.”
What a weird way of looking at it. All that mattered was whether you won – prepared or not.
“Tell that to your cheek.” Dudley muttered, “Or maybe your dad? I’m sure he’d love to hear how you lost a fight with a mudblood on your first day.”
Draco actually picked up his wand as if to point it at Dudley, but before he could say anything they were accosted by Professor McGonagall.
“Is something the matter, boys.” she asked.
“No, Professor.” They chorused.
“I thought not. Let’s see what you have managed.”
She peered at their matches, offering only the mildest humph of approval at Draco’s pointy stick and nothing for Dudley’s perfectly normal one.
“Try the spell Dursley. I want to see your technique.”
Great. Just his luck that he gets picked on by the teachers as well. Now the whole class had turned to watch him. Blaise and Theo were craning their necks as if hoping to evaluate his abilities themselves. If he didn’t pull this off, would they take back their offer? Scrunching his face with concentration, he jabbed his wand at the match and said, “Acusio.”
Nothing happened. Draco snickered loudly and pulled a mocking face, getting guffaws from Greggory and Vincent. Professor McGonagall simply gave Dudley a strange look. Was that meant to be encouraging?
“Try again,” She said softly, “but relax your wand hand. Spellwork is precise, but tension will often cause you trouble.”
He tried to, but his hands were sweaty and the snickers were echoing in his head. He wasn’t thinking about the spell as he repeated the incantation and promptly dropped his wand. Now Draco wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter. His screeching cackle echoed around the classroom. Panic twisted in Dudley’s stomach. He picked up his wand and quickly jabbed at the match again. This time there was an exhilarating rush of power in his chest. He tried to catch it, failed, and the match caught fire.
It wasn't just Draco's gang laughing now. McGonagall silenced most with a stern glance while Dudley smothered his blazing match with the sleeve of his robe. This earned him his own reproaching look.
“Don't fret Dursley.” The professor said, returning both his match and sleeve back to their original states with a flick of her wand, “Most young wizards take a while to grasp wandwork.”
This did not cheer Dudley up much. He glared at his newly reformed match with impatience. It felt like defeat. He wanted to crush the stupid thing under his fist. Could you win a wizard's duel with your fists? Probably not.
Professor McGonagall turned around to glare at Draco, who was still sniggering.
“Mr Malfoy. Your laughter has been nothing but disruptive. That will be one point from Slytherin for your inconsiderate attitude. Imagine,” she ranted, waving away his sudden protestations, “having someone ridicule you whilst you try to perform complex magic.”
Draco was clever enough to shut up, but when she mentioned complex magic he looked down at the needle on his desk with theatrical disbelief. Dudley nearly laughed himself. That was probably the last thing anyone should do in front of this teacher. Professor McGonagall bristled and pointed her wand at the needle.
“If you think it's so easy, then you won't mind demonstrating for the class, Mr – What is this?”
Her wand was still pointed at the needle which, unlike Dudley's botched attempt, had not turned back into a matchstick. She tried again, this time speaking the incantation, to no avail. After a third attempt she pointed her wand at Draco who now looked terrified. For a wild moment it looked as if she were about to attack him, but the professor simply cried “Accio matchstick!”
And a different match burst from the pocket of Draco's robe and landed in her hand.
The reaming that Draco Malfoy got was spectacular. By the time the bell rang he had been docked another five points and assured that his parents would be informed of his cheating. It was so good that Dudley almost forgot his own disastrous demonstration. Almost, but not quite. They were all expected to practice the spell in their free time and were supplied with a box of matches as they left the classroom. Dudley's felt like a lead weight in his hand. He hadn't counted on needing to practice magic. He had never actually studied for school before and didn't like the idea of starting. He wondered if he could get by without. Could he coast on some natural talent? He didn’t think he knew how to study. That lead feeling was in his gut now.
He shoved the tiny box into his bag. Then he paused. His fingers had brushed something at the bottom. Dudley tried to grope around whilst walking down the bustling corridor, but now the foreign object had disappeared.
“Can you believe he did that?”
He paused in his rummaging and looked up. Tracey Davis had fallen back from the rest of the Slytherin group and was now walking beside him. He frowned at her and she rolled her eyes.
“Draco Malfoy.” she said as if it had been obvious, “I mean, bringing a needle just to pretend you could already do the spell. It's kind of pathetic.”
Dudley found himself laughing, “Don't let him hear you say that. Or see you talking to me.”
“Why should I care what he thinks?” she scowled at the group ahead of them.
Dudley frowned at her. Why was she talking to him so obviously? At the feast it had been obvious that she didn't know the other Slytherins like him, but he'd assumed that like the other wizard children, she'd want nothing to do with him. Especially considering the company she now had to keep.
Tracey glanced at him and, misreading his expression, launched into a long winded and apparently much needed rant.
“So what if his dad has titles? If he's anything like I've heard (and I think he is) then he's not worth knowing. And the rest of the girls couldn't stop talking about him last night.” she shuddered at the thought, “And I don't like them either. Pansy was going on and on about how we were in the right house and how she ‘couldn't bear the thought of being elsewhere.’ Honestly! And then they were talking all about you. None of them like that you're here, except Daphne of course, but she's more obsessed with wand lore and divination than anything real. I mean nobody’s that into that stuff. And when they were talking, all I could think was I wish I hadn't been sorted into Slytherin and I reckon you won’t be too happy about it either, but I couldn't say that to them could I? And the rest of the school will think we're both natural dark wizards because we were put here. God. I haven't even written home yet.” she seemed to lose steam. To Dudley's horror, she started sniffing like she was holding back tears. “What'll I tell dad? He'll think I did something wrong.”
Dudley didn't know what to say. This all felt a bit full on for their first conversation. He'd never even had a conversation like this with a friend. What would be the point? Either you got over it or you were a wimp. Worse, was the implication that he was now one of the outsiders. That really rankled him. Sure, he knew he wasn't at the top of the pack like he was used to, but to think that the only person who thought he was approachable so far was this sniveling welp was horrifying. However he ended up, he didn't want to be put in the same box as her. Dudley reached back into his bag for the mystery object, glad to have a distraction, and finally found it. As he pulled the plastic-clad object free, Tracey stared at it.
“What is that?”
Dudley stared at her.
“Do wizards really not have phones?”
His mum had gotten the mobile for him during the summer. She made him promise to call her the first moment he'd gotten. Dudley hadn't cared much about that at the time, he'd just chucked the thing into the bag and gotten on with his video game. Now, he realised he probably ought to call home soon. If his mum worried she might listen to his dad and pull him out. He flipped open the phone, ignoring Tracey's curious stare, and squinted at the screen.
“No signal.” He was starting to get very annoyed.
“That's one of those lectic things muggles use.” Tracey said slowly.
“Electric,” he grumbled, wondering why she was still here and asking such annoying questions, “But it's useless without a connection. Woah!”
The phone had made a sudden popping sound and the screen had flickered, gone snowy, then died.
“It's a magic school.” Tracey explained slowly as if it were obvious, “It messes with muggle stuff. All the ambient magic in the air, y'know.”
Dudley wasn't listening. This was ridiculous. Rage bubbled up inside him. He couldn’t do magic and he couldn’t call home normally. What was the point then? Perhaps he should have gone to Smeltings after all. No! Dudley didn’t quit. He growled at the broken phone and crammed it back into his back with such ferocity that Tracey jumped. Her dark eyes widened in shock.
“Are you okay? That thing's for talking right? You can always borrow an owl. The school has loads.”
“Leave me alone!” Dudley snapped.
She took a step back. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to say something. Dudley stopped walking and glared at her.
“I'm not your friend. Got that? I don't need your help. If I did I wouldn't ask some crybaby like you. Go find someone else to complain to.”
Tracey dropped her gaze. He kept glaring at her for a while. Eventually, she mumbled a quiet “Right, sorry.”
Dudley humphed and started down the corridor where the other Slytherins had stopped to watch him shouting.
“And just lie to your dad if you're that worried about the house thing.”