The Potter Heir and the Nobody Pig

Sunlight peeked through Harry's four-poster bed curtains, waking him up. He opened the curtains on one side to grab his glasses and instantly regretted it when the sun hit him directly in the eyes. Overwhelmed with excitement and disbelief, Harry couldn't help but pinch himself to ensure he wasn't dreaming. It was surreal. Despite tutoring over the summer, he was actually at Hogwarts, away from the Dursleys. Being surrounded by fellow witches and wizards filled him with excitement and a sense of belonging. He felt like a whole new world had opened up to him. He was no longer just Harry, the poor orphan, but now Harry, the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble house, with a seat in the Muggle House of Lords. This realization filled him with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

After a moment, Harry hopped out of bed enthusiastically; today was his first day at Hogwarts. He looked down at his trunk, having practically collapsed into bed from all the excitement last night. Glancing around at his fellow dorm mates, Harry noticed they were all still asleep and that Ron, in particular, was snoring loudly. Always an early riser, Harry figured he had plenty of time to unpack. As Harry looked around the dormitory, their four-poster beds were covered in red Eiderdowns with red curtains, a wooden nightstand next to them, and his school trunk at the end of the bed. The dorm had stone walls and wooden floors, and wooden furniture was on either side of the bed. A wooden chair and dresser sat on one side of the bed near a nightstand, and a wooden bookcase sat on the other. Dorm windows were draped with red curtains, and a carpet in the middle of the room with the house crest was red and yellow. Once he confirmed everyone in the room had the same setup, he began unpacking his trunk. Harry folded all his school robes, dress robes, and clothes in the dresser; Harry left his shoes in his trunk. The black loafers for his uniform were placed next to his bed, and a pair of school robes and other uniform items were spread across his bed.

From his trunk, Harry unpacked his quills, ink bottles, messenger bag, and parchment, neatly arranging them on the surface of the wooden nightstand to keep everything within easy reach. He organized his underwear into one drawer and his socks into another, placing his first-year potion kit and size two cauldron in the top drawer. Then, Harry removed his textbooks from his trunk and arranged them in the wooden bookcase. Next, he sorted through his toiletries and filled his green mesh shower caddy, leaving the rest in his trunk.

With most of his belongings unpacked, Harry decided to take a shower. He grabbed his shower caddy and underwear before heading to the bathroom. Harry noticed it already had five sets of towels, hand towels, and washcloths, each on its own bar. After a quick shower, he dried himself off, using a tassel to dry his hair, and hung the towel and washcloth back on the bar. He put on his underwear, brushed his teeth, and put everything back into his shower caddy.

Returning to the room, he changed into his uniform. He was thankful for the tutoring lessons with Mrs. Ettington, who had taught him how to properly wear his robes, including tying a tie and cravat. He finished dressing and packed his messenger bag with textbooks, quills, ink bottles, parchment, and his first-year potion kit. Just in case, he packed everything for his classes, not knowing the schedule yet. Before leaving the room, he grabbed his wand and tucked it into his robe's pocket.

Ron was still getting ready, looking like he had just woken up. Harry ended up following Neville down to the Gryffindor common room. Within minutes, Ron and the other boys from their dorm came down. They chatted for a while before heading to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The moment they reached the Great Hall, sat down, and started eating, whispers began.

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the tall kid with the red hair.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did you see his scar?”

Upon waking up, The next morning, Dudley woke up groggily and blinked for a few seconds before freezing. He sat there, frozen for about 10 minutes, before remembering what had happened the day before. He was forced to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After the rude hat told him he didn't fit into any house exactly, he was sorted into Hufflepuff. For some reason, the Hufflepuff common rooms and dorms were in the castle's dungeons.

After hiking to the common room, Dudley had been so exhausted that, as soon as he entered, he headed to the dorms and collapsed on top of the bed without even changing or taking his shoes off, not even going under the covers. As much as Dudley didn't like it, he was attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and likely would be there until he graduated. With that in mind, he looked around the dorm room.

The four-poster beds were covered in yellow eiderdowns with yellow curtains, a wooden nightstand next to it, and their school trunk at the foot of the bed. A wooden chair and dresser were on one side of the bed, near the nightstand. A wooden bookcase was located on the other side of the bed. The walls and floors were made of stone. A plant holder was on the wall with a plant in it on one side of the bed. The dorm had half-circle windows, a yellow and black carpet with what Dudley thought was the house crest in the center, and two spherical lamps on either side. Dudley noticed one of his dorm mates, whom he hadn't even bothered to learn the name of, grabbing a shower caddy with toiletry supplies and heading to the room's second door. When he opened it, Dudley realized it was a bathroom.

Packing hadn't been a priority for Dudley. He left everything they had gotten at Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall in the trunk and hadn't opened any of it except the robes, which he only opened to change into on the train because everyone else was doing it, and he already didn't want to be here surrounded by freaks, as his parents called them. He still refused to accept that he, too, was a freak, but he didn't want to stand out among them. The day before they left for King's Cross, his mom told him and his freak of a cousin to make sure everything was packed in their trunks. After all, if they forgot anything, they would not send it to them because they did not want to interact with the Wizarding World more than they had to.

Dudley had no idea what to pack when it came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which the Freak’s parents attended. The secondhand book that his mother had gotten him, which was the ‘A Beginner’s Guide to What You Need to Know About The Wizarding World for Muggle-borns’, but did not have a detailed list like his mum would make when he went summer camping with his friends. It mentioned bringing dress robes, which he assumed were just the wizarding equivalent of suits, so he packed two. He'd read that he needed to bring white button-down shirts for his school uniforms. He had gotten the sweaters for the uniform and the ties that were supposed to magically change colors to the house he got sorted into, which was weird. Dudley also learned from his freak cousin, who seemed to know more about what was happening than he did, that he needed grey calf socks. He guessed his cousin had always been a freak, so he would know what the freaks wanted for school uniforms, which was relatively normal. Dudley had a pack that his mum had bought him the last time they went clothes shopping before this fiasco began. He hadn't opened it, but his mum said he needed at least several neutral-colored socks. The book also says to bring casual clothing and suggest cloaks and robes for the winter months. He just threw in a couple of his winter coats they bought last year. For casual clothes, he packed all of his favorite new clothes. The book did not go into specifics, but it mentioned that he needed to bring all his toiletries. He also packed his pajamas and slippers.

Dudley had no idea what dorm supplies he would need for the freak school. Since they had already bought supplies for Smeltings, he decided to pack the bags with supplies. The bags were from a shopping trip for his Smeltings uniform, which they had to return since he wasn't attending Smeltings anymore. Dudley hadn't even unpacked the bags, assuming his mum would pack everything for him when his parents dropped him off at Smeltings. He figured it would be easier to leave everything as it was rather than going through or putting it away.

Dudley heard his parents talking a week after the shopping trip to Diagon Alley. His daddy, Vernon, considered returning all the supplies they had bought for Smelting's because he didn't want to spend money on or draw attention to Dudley's enrollment at the “freak’s” boarding school. However, Petunia argued against it, fearing that returning the supplies would only lead to more questions and unwanted attention.

“Also, Vernon dear, we need to discuss the boys' cover story and what school they attended so we have a convincing story to tell our neighbors. We couldn't tell them the boys attended Smelting's because they could easily look up the Smelting's registry and find out we were lying,” said Petunia.

Vernon offhandedly joked, “What lies have your parents told when your freaky sister attended that school?”

Petunia smiled, “Vernon, that's a wonderful idea. My parents' lie was that my sister got into an elite boarding school all-girls school in Scotland, but none of our neighbors knew my sister or my parents. So we can always lie that since my nephew's parents were alumni of these elite school based in Scotland and since I took guardianship of my nephew and that his parents paid his tuition for all seven years of his schooling at the elite school, that they offered a spot to my son since our nephew lives with us.”

“His no-good parents had enough money to pay for all of his years of schooling at this place,” Vernon quipped.

Petunia mused, “Yeah, I had asked the professor when they returned from the school supplies shopping when I noticed that Harry had much nicer supplies than Dudley. Harry's parents set up an account at a freak bank, so the freaks have their own bank. When asked about getting some money to cover all his expenses over the years, the professor responded that his parents had set up an educational fund that covered all his school supplies and paid his tuition for all his years at Hogwarts..”

“I'm pretty shocked to find out that Freak's parents had that kind of money,” Vernon chuckled. “It's a shame that they wasted it on Freak instead of using it for something useful.”

Petunia affirmed, “Yes, a fund exists since school is mandatory. However, it only covers the cost of school supplies and only the items on the list.”

“If a fund covers the cost of school supplies for the freak's boarding school, we should use that for Dudley next year. I don't want to waste any of our hard-earned money on this wizarding nonsense,” Vernon added.

“It's not like he's going to learn anything useful there," Petunia agreed. “Yes, there is a fund to cover the cost of supplies for the freak's boarding school. We should definitely consider it for Dudley next year,” Petunia agreed.

“Of course, but we don’t want him to encouraged to continue with this freakish,” Vernon sneered. “He’s already cost us enough.”

“We should also look into scholarships because my freak of a sister mentioned that they have some scholarships that can cover part of the tuition for that freak of a boarding school. Then we could use the money that it saves for Dudley to get private tutoring in regular classes during the summer so he can get a proper education and not the wishy-washy nonsense at that school,” Petunia suggested.

Vernon agreed, “Yes, we should look at scholarships. While the professor from that freak school did the fees back, most of it covered tuition for that freak boarding school. Petunia, do you know how much the tuition is from when your sister attended that freak school?”

Petunia acknowledged, “Yes and no. Dudley would pay the Muggle-born tuition rate, which reduces fees for students with non-magical backgrounds. I remember my parents asking about the full tuition rate without the Muggle-born discount - several years ago, it was £25,000 per year. For all seven years, it would be £175,000. When my parents asked about witches from poor families, they were told the Ministry offers scholarships to cover their tuition fees at Hogwarts. Children of Ministry workers can also attend Hogwarts for free as long as their parents are employed there. However, it is important to note that Hogwarts is the only school recognized by the International Cooperation of Wizards (ICW). After my sister returned from her first year, I started tuning out most of the information she shared.”

Vernon sighed and uttered, “That’s a lot of money. Freak's parents must have made a lot of money to pay all of Freak’s tuition upfront. Smeltings Academy tuition is £20,000 annually, but alumni can send their children there for £15,000 annually. When I checked my bank account after the transfer, we got back the enrollment fees for Dudley at Smeltings. However, the tuition money we paid was noted as transferred.”

Petunia retorted, “I suppose my no-good sister and her lay-about husband used up most of their savings to pay for the Freak’s tuition in full. They may have just had enough money to pay for his supplies by their death. Even if we tried to recoup the money we spent on him, I wouldn’t even know the full price and amount for all the school supplies in pounds. I don't think it’s possible.”

Vernon laughed, “We don’t even know the total cost of the school supplies. I bet the tuition is the big expense. For Dudley’s supplies, we gave him about £600. I doubt the new supplies would be much more, maybe £800. Your sister and her husband likely had £180,600 in savings; we don't know; maybe it was in their will to use all of their savings to pay for the Freak’s tuition and set aside an account at their freak bank to cover his school supplies. So, at most, we might only get back £4,800. Your freak of a sister and her lay-about husband were much better off than we ever thought if they could afford the full fees—yes, I agree, pet. We need to look into scholarships because I do not want to waste the money I set aside for Dudley going to Smelting's on this hogwash of a school.”

“You're probably right, dear. They probably put in their will use their savings to pay all their son’s tuition and set aside money for his supplies so it wouldn’t stop him from going to Hogwarts, especially since they weren’t sure who would have custody of him,” Petunia remarked.

Petunia looked at the clock. “Well, we've got a sufficient cover story to tell the neighbors, and I need to start working on making dinner if we want it at a reasonable time,” Petunia said, leaving the room.

Thinking aloud to himself, Vernon asked, “How could they pay the tuition upfront?” He decided to investigate further and see what he could find.

After eavesdropping on his parents, it looked like the freaks of a cousin's parents had more money than he thought, but they had already used up most of it on the Freak's tuition; what he thought was a waste, Dudley headed back upstairs as quietly as possible. Dudley didn't understand most of the conversation he had overheard his parents saying, but he realized that the freak did not have a bunch of money and probably only had money for school supplies and the Freak broke as soon as they got out of this freak of a school. Dudley knew one thing: his daddy, Vernon, was adamant that the family should not waste their money on wizarding nonsense. Dudley was upset that his daddy didn't want to spend any money even though he didn't want to go to this school on his supplies. Still, he guessed that the fund would cover only what was on the supply list next year, but that meant new supplies. Hopefully, he can have his trunk replaced and monogrammed this time.

“Hey”

Dudley jumped, startled.

“Why are you zoning out there? You need to take a shower and get changed into your Hogwarts uniform; otherwise, you'll miss breakfast,” the prefect Dudley recognized from the other night said.

Dudley got up quickly. He grabbed a new pair of boxers, socks and the rest of his uniform pieces from his trunk. He also looked in the shopping bags for his shampoo and other toiletries and hurried towards the shower. In his mind, Dudley had never moved so fast in his life, but he was determined not to miss breakfast. In the end, Dudley barely made it in time to the Great Hall to eat breakfast. Dudley heard people whispering and pointing over toward the Gryffindor table, but why? He didn't know, and he completely ignored them. Dudley was starving and quickly scarfed down his food, not paying attention to the whispers and pointing.

Hogwarts was a freaking deathtrap, Dudley thought to himself. There were over a hundred and forty staircases at Hogwarts, some so narrow that he couldn't even fit through them. Is this a the Freak's idea of a practical joke staircase you can't walk up? It's bad enough that his common room is in the literal dungeons of the castle, and don't get him started on the professors.

Dudley almost jumped out of his chair when he realized that the professor for History of Magic was a ghost. What do you mean by saying that Ghost is a professor at this school? What in the world were these Freaks' thinking? Dudley learned pretty quickly that the Freaks’ were opposed to a professor who was a ghost. There were a million complaints, but the Headmaster was a bumbling idiot and decided to let the ghost continue to teach.

The school Headmaster was the Worst of the Freaks and lacked common sense. Professor McGonagall mentioned that many wizards lack common sense but thought it was exaggerated. There was even a class at midnight, where they had to stare at the stars. Dudley struggled to keep his eyes open during that class, and he was planning on skipping it in the future.

Dudley's laughter echoed through the charms class as he couldn't help but find it amusing that the short dwarf was the professor. However, his laughter was abruptly cut short when the professor, with a stern look on his face, immediately deducted points from his house. He threatened him with detention if he didn't stop. From that moment on, Dudley spent the rest of the lesson grumbling.

Dudley couldn't believe Professor McGonagall had become even stricter than when they were in Diagon Alley. Skipping her class was out of the question now, as he didn't want to risk any more points being deducted from his house or facing detention.

Dudley found himself in Potions next, a class that took place in a dark, cold dungeon. Professor Snape was every bit as intimidating as he had heard from the other students. His eyes seemed to pierce through Dudley, making him feel more uncomfortable than ever.

“Mr. Dursley,” Snape drawled, “I expect you to pay attention in my class unless you wish to make an explosive mistake with your potion.”

Dudley nodded vigorously, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. He tried his best to follow the instructions, but the cauldron in front of him seemed to have a mind of its own. His potion was a sickly green colour when it should have been pale blue.

“Pathetic,” Snape sneered as he passed by Dudley's workstation, making Dudley's ears burn with embarrassment.

After the torturous Potions class, Dudley had a break. He found what he thought was a somewhat safe little tucked-away spot that was somewhat secluded. Dudley was still looking around every corner but decided to pop down and rest. He'd never done this much walking in his life.

Dudley was trying to catch his breath, the faint echoes of students' laughter and conversation drifting from the corridors. His legs ached from the seemingly endless stairs and long walks between classes. He wasn't used to this much physical activity, and he was already dreading the next trek to his next class.

As he sat there, Dudley couldn't help but reflect on how drastically his life had changed in just a short period. A month ago, he was looking forward to a comfortable school year at Smeltings, where he was certain to be top dog. Now, he was in a completely different world, surrounded by things he couldn't understand or control.

Dudley grudgingly got up to head to his next class, which was Defense Against the Dark Arts. This class was a literal joke. Professor Quirrell’s constant stutter made it hard to follow the lessons, and Dudley found the subject matter—the idea of defending oneself against dark creatures and spells—absolutely terrifying. Every time Quirrell mentioned a dangerous creature or a dark spell, Dudley's mind raced with fear, imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios.

Dudley began attending lessons at the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a stout witch named Professor Sprout. As he entered the greenhouses for the first time, he was struck by the earthy smell of plants and the organized chaos of pots and gardening tools. Professor Sprout greeted him warmly, her enthusiasm for plants infectious as she began explaining the intricacies of magical herbs and their care. Dudley, still feeling out of place in this magical world, listened intently; his first positive experience in the Wizarding World came from her positive attitude. Besides, she was his head of the house, and he did not want to get on her bad side.

By the time Dudley practically dragged himself to the Great Hall for dinner, he was exhausted. The first few days of classes had been overwhelming. The workload was much heavier than he had anticipated, and he already had homework due by the end of the week. His parchment and quill were a constant source of frustration, and the thought of facing another night of struggling with his assignments was almost too much to bear.

As he sat down at the Hufflepuff table, Dudley noticed his housemates chatting and laughing. They seemed to be adjusting much better than he was, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. As he filled his plate with an extra large helping, he began eating slowly. Hogwarts was utterly awful, and the only thing redeeming it was the huge spreads at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

After dinner, Dudley followed his classmates back to the Hufflepuff common room. He still hadn't fully figured out how to get in on his own and didn't want to risk being locked out and getting a detention in his first week. The prefect explained that if they got detention, a letter was written home about it. His daddy, Vernon, was still grumbling and angry about the fact that Dudley was even attending the school and “putting up with this nonsense.” Dudley was trying to avoid getting into trouble to minimize the number of times the school contacted his parents. His cousin seemed to be doing the same.

Once back in the common room, Dudley didn't start on his homework. Instead, he took a nice shower, put on his pajamas, and hopped into bed. He figured he could bully one of his dorm mates into doing it for him later. His cousin, Harry, wasn't an option either since they were in different houses and only saw each other during class time when professors were watching. Also, his cousin was the only person he actually knew in the wizarding world besides the extremely strict Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall.

Dudley soon fell into a deep sleep. One thing he appreciated about Hogwarts was the comfort of the beds and the quality of the meals. Although the bed was a bit small for his liking, it was always super soft and clean. He never had to make his bed, assuming that Hogwarts had staff to handle that. The prefect had handed out an information packet at the beginning of the term, which Dudley hadn't bothered to read thoroughly. However, he had skimmed enough to know that all he had to do was place his dirty clothes into the wooden laundry basket in his dorm room, and they would be washed and returned, neatly folded, on top of his bed.

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoes to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn’t because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then some doors wouldn’t open unless you asked politely or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept visiting each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armour could walk.

The ghosts didn’t help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop waste-paper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door unluckily, which turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn’t believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and threatened to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch’s. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she’d whisk off for Filch, who’d appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the lessons themselves. Harry quickly found out that there was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Every Wednesday at midnight, they had to study the night skies through their telescopes, learning the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week, they went to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout. There, they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first lesson, he took the register, and when he reached Harry’s name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her first class.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realised they weren’t going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After making a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn’t miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn’t had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn’t have much of a head start.

After a long and exhausting day, Dudley decided to head to dinner in the Great Hall. Afterward, he attempted to bully one of his dormmates into doing his homework, but his plan backfired spectacularly. The target of his bullying was a quiet, timid boy named Ernie Macmillan. Dudley had chosen Ernie because he seemed like an easy mark—someone who wouldn't fight back.

That evening, as they were all sitting in the common room, Dudley approached Ernie with a sneer. “Oi, Macmillan,” he said, towering over the smaller boy. “You’re going to do my homework for me. Understand?”

Ernie looked up from his book, a mix of fear and confusion in his eyes. “But Dudley, that’s not fair. We’re supposed to do our own work.”

Dudley leaned in closer, his expression menacing. “I don’t care. You do mine, or you’ll regret it.”

Ernie’s eyes darted around the room, seeking help, but most of the other Hufflepuffs were busy with their own work. Just as Dudley thought he had won, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the Hufflepuff prefect, Cedric Diggory, standing behind him with a stern look on his face.

“Dudley, we don’t treat our housemates like that,” Truman said firmly. “Hufflepuff is about loyalty and fair play. Bullying won’t be tolerated here.”

Dudley tried to muster a retort, but the firmness in Cedric’s voice and the look in his eyes made him falter. “I was just... joking,” Dudley mumbled, backing off.

Truman didn’t budge. “It didn’t look like a joke to me. Apologize to Ernie.”

Swallowing his pride, Dudley turned back to Ernie. “Sorry,” he muttered, though it was clear he didn’t mean it.

Truman nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now, I suggest you get started on your own homework. If you need help, ask, but don’t try to make someone else do it for you.”

As Truman walked away, Dudley sat down, fuming. He had never been called out like that before, especially not in front of others. But as he looked around the common room, he realized that the other Hufflepuffs were now giving him wary looks. It was clear that if he wanted to get along in this house, he couldn’t rely on his old bullying tactics.

Dudley grudgingly pulled out his books and began working on his homework. It was harder than he expected, but as the evening went on, he found he could manage if he tried. Although he hated to admit it, Truman’s intervention taught him a valuable lesson about how things worked at Hogwarts.

After that incident, the rest of Dudley's housemates started avoiding him, and his dormmates refused to talk to him, keeping to themselves. Dudley was utterly alone and hated it. The loneliness was suffocating, a far cry from the attention and camaraderie he was used to back home.

Dudley, frustrated with his failed attempts at writing with a quill and parchment, decided to tackle another task: organizing his belongings in his trunk. Living out of his trunk for the past few days, Dudley had only taken out essentials like his uniform clothes and a set of pajamas. Other items remained packed away, contributing to making him feel out of place in his dorm room.

The demands of Hogwarts—long walks, the immense size of the castle, and distant classes—had left his uniforms in need of washing due to sweat. Dudley placed two uniforms in the laundry basket, then proceeded to sort through the rest of his clothes. He folded his casual clothes—jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters—and neatly arranged them in the drawers of the dresser. His socks and underwear found a home in another drawer, making it easier to find what he needed each morning. After that, he hung the messenger bag up on one of the hooks next to the bed that his parents had bought for him when they had gone clothes shopping in London. Dudley saw an expensive designer messenger bag for sale and begged his parents to buy it so that he could brag to his friends that he got it; he had never actually planned to use it. Still, he was thankful that he got it now because one of the Hufflepuff students, who was a dorm mate, had tried to bring a backpack to class and got detention for it.

Then Dudley reluctantly began sorting through the rest of the items in his trunk, carefully organizing all his toiletry items into the nightstand drawer. He also began sorting through the supplies they had bought him for Smelting. Mostly it was just typical dorm supplies like extra toothbrushes and toiletries, and that's where he got his toiletries from; there was also a throw blanket with his favorite football team's logo on it that he decided to put on the bed. He rummaged through the various items, pulling out notebooks and pens. These were intended for Smeltings, but they hadn't been returned. Dudley realized these could be useful for his schoolwork at Hogwarts. Finally, Dudley reached the bottom of the trunk and found a Surprising sight—a secondhand book he had never seen before. It was titled ‘A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory for Muggle-Borns.’ Dudley opened it and found a note from his mother. Inside it was A note:

Dear Diddykins, (it said, in a very elegant handwriting)
This book came from your aunt, who had used her small allowance to buy me this second-hand book when she discovered that I had written to Dumbledore asking to attend Hogwarts when Lily was first accepted. I was always jealous of my sister for having magic when I did not, and that jealousy turned into resentment and then later into hatred. I'm still working through a lot of it and didn't know how to tell you. Also, I'm trying to make it up to your cousin for Treating him so badly for it, and I'm happy that I had enough magical blood in me to give you the abilities that I was resentful of. Your father is still angry about you being a wizard, and I'm still not fully processing it. And your father has been very strict on financing one of the receipts for every purchase, so I couldn't risk going to Diagon Alley to get you a new copy. I wish I could, Diddykins. Your father has already, much to my surprise, got into contact with the Ministry of Magic; he got the number from the information packet that Professor McGonagall gave us and has arranged for your school supplies for next year to be paid with the funds which means replace all the items we got you for your first year second-hand with new for your second year. I've been saving a little of Vernon's allowance for personal items. I will hopefully have about £200 by the time we go school supplies shopping next year so that you can get a few extra things and some spending money, but spend it wisely. I do love you, Diddykins. However, I am still working on accepting you are magical, and I will be talking badly and putting down the Wizarding World in front of Vernon to keep up appearances. I hope this helps you, Ickle Dudleykins.

Dudley considered putting his textbooks in the bookshelf but decided against it; he was already not having a great time here. He didn't need to get detention for not having the book; he probably forgot to put it into his messenger bag for when he needed it for class and decided to leave his textbooks and his messenger bag even though it made the messenger back ungodly heavy. He put ‘A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory for Muggle-Borns.’ and ‘A Beginner's Guide to The Wizarding World and What You Need to Know for Muggle-Borns.’ Since he would not use them for class on the bookshelf, he would just read them to understand the Wizarding World better.

Dudley had already been tired when he had started unpacking but now he was absolutely exhausted, and he grabbed his toiletries in his arms; he really needed a shower caddy like his other dormites had them. Then Dudley thought, 'Didn't we just buy one when we went shopping for dorm supplies?' He placed his toiletries on his bed and rummaged through the bags he found that in one of the bags he had thought he'd emptied, there was a dark blue shower caddy with his name embroidered on it. After that, he went through all the other shopping bags, making sure they were empty before throwing them back into his trunk.

Then he grabbed his toiletries off the bed and put them into the shower caddy. After selecting a pair of boxers and pajamas, Dudley walked over to the bathroom to shower. One of his roommates was already there, brushing his teeth in front of the sink with damp hair and pajamas on. His dormmate ignored him, but Dudley refused to shower with someone else in the room. After a few minutes, the dormmate left the bathroom, ignoring Dudley. Dudley wasted no time and immediately hopped into the shower, taking an extra-long time to ensure he got himself completely clean.

After drying off and putting on his boxers and pajamas, he brushed his teeth and headed back to his bed, climbing in and trying to go to sleep.

As Dudley lay in bed, considering his situation, the thought of trying to intimidate his dorm mates lingered in his mind. However, he wasn't sure it would work after the incident with Truman. Dudley was beginning to realize that Hogwarts was vastly different from the world he was used to. The students here had grown up with magic, facing challenges far scarier than anything Dudley had encountered. He doubted they would be easily intimidated or bullied.

Dudley got up the next morning, went down to the great hall for breakfast, and returned to the common room. He had no classes until after lunch, so he decided to work on the homework he had given up the night before.

Trying to at least keep up with his schoolwork, Dudley found some pens and notebooks among the supplies they had bought for Smeltings. He tried to write his assignments on those, thinking it would be easier and faster. However, when he handed in his first homework written with a pen, Professor McGonagall immediately deducted points from Hufflepuff and sternly instructed him to rewrite it using a quill and parchment.

Dudley found using a quill incredibly frustrating. The ink smudged, the parchment tore, and his writing was barely legible. He felt like he was back in primary school, struggling to learn how to write all over again. His classmates' disdainful looks and whispers didn't help. Every mistake was met with another point deduction and a scolding from the professors.

Throughout these classes, Dudley noticed that other Hufflepuffs were often watching him. Some seemed curious, others wary, but none were openly hostile. It was a strange sensation for Dudley, who was used to either being ignored or feared by his peers back in the Muggle world.

Dudley found himself struggling through Potions class next. The dungeon classroom was dimly lit and smelled of strange ingredients. Professor Snape, with his cold, piercing eyes and sarcastic remarks, made it clear that he had no patience for incompetence. Dudley couldn't make heads or tails of the instructions on the board, and his potion quickly turned an alarming shade of green instead of the intended pale blue. Snape hovered over him, sneering, and deducted points from his house with relish. Dudley fumed silently, feeling the eyes of his classmates on him.

Transfiguration wasn't much better. Professor McGonagall's stern demeanor did nothing to calm Dudley's nerves. He was supposed to turn a matchstick into a needle, but his attempts only resulted in a slightly pointy matchstick. McGonagall's lips thinned as she looked at his work, and she gave him a terse nod, which Dudley couldn't tell if it was approval or disappointment.

As the days passed, Dudley realized he was hopelessly behind in almost all his classes. He didn't understand the magical theory behind anything, and his wandwork was clumsy at best. He often found himself daydreaming about his old life, where he didn't have to deal with ghosts, moving staircases, and strict professors.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

“What have we got today?” Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin house. They say he always favours them – we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”

“Wish McGonagall favoured us,” said Harry. Professor McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor's house, but it hadn’t stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the post arrived. Harry had got used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages on to their laps.

Hedwig hadn’t brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. However, This morning, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note on Harry’s plate. Harry tore it open at once.

Dear Harry, (it said, in a very untidy scrawl)
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid Harry borrowed Ron’s quill, scribbled ‘Yes, please, see you later’ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he’d been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Harry – he hated him.
Potion lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”

The class, mostly the Slytherins, chuckled. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

Silence.

“Potter!” Snape snapped. Like Harry wasn't already looking at him. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”

What? He realizes this is first-class, right? I read ahead, but that answer wasn’t in the first ten chapters of our textbook, so it’s clearly above my paygrade. If I knew the entire textbook walking in here, what’s the need for a potion professor at all?

He bit it back, though, because he wasn’t stupid. Both of them ignored Hermione’s hand, which was going wild from the side of the room.

“Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry said cooly, looking directly into the dark tunnel eyes of his professor.

“Which is?” Snape squinted.

“A sleeping potion so powerful that it appears that you're dead, sir,” Harry asked.

If Snape was impressed, he didn't show. He sneered and crossed his arms theatrically.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

“Inside the stomach of a goat, sir. It can save you from the majority of poisons.”

“What's the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“It’s the same plant, Sir. It also has the name of aconite.”

Snape looked him up and down. Finally, he nodded.

“Well, it seems that for bothering to crack a book before coming to class, you do know how to pick up a book once in a while.” he begrudgingly said.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. Snape nodded curtly.

Snape was not nearly as amused, though Harry couldn’t quite remember feeling so self-satisfied. Hopefully, it didn’t show on his face, or he’d be in for it.

“Sit down.” The bat instead snapped in Hermione’s direction, who’d been waving her hand with vehemence since the questioning started, and she did quickly. He sneered back down at the redheaded first year with distain in his eyes. “Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

There was a rustle of papers and quills as everyone hastened to do just that, and Snape finally took his eyes off Harry to scowl at the room at large.

Harry would have been completely lost without his pre-potion classes over the summer. Harry learned his mother had been working on mastering her potion and wrote to Gringott to ask for her potion journals. Harry was still slightly confused as to why the professor of potions asked questions that were definitely owl-level material or higher; he would have only known the answers if he had been reading his mother's Journal so for the summer.

Snap continued to be hard on Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid-green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class were standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

“You – Potter – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered. “I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty.”

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing, and his spirits were low. He’d lost point for Gryffindor in his very first week – why did Snape hate him so much?

“Cheer up,” said Ron. “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

At five to three, they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “Back, Fang – back.”

Hagrid’s big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said. “Back, Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in a corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

“This is Ron,” Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron’s freckles. ‘I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the Forest.”

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An’ as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her – Filch puts her up to it.”

Harry told Hagrid about Snape’s lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it and that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

“But he seemed to really hate me.”

“Rubbish!’ said Hagrid. “Why should he?”

Yet Harry couldn’t help thinking that Hagrid didn’t quite meet his eyes when he said that.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot – great with animals.”

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts’ goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date.

“Hagrid!” said Harry. ‘That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about it: Hagrid definitely didn’t meet Harry’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry reread the story. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse; Harry thought that none of the lessons he’d had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn’t want to tell Harry?