The Potter Heir and the Nobody Pig

Dudley's first week at Hogwarts was pretty miserable. The wizarding world was a Nightmare, everything was completely opposite then it had been his whole life. His entire world had been turned upside down ever since Professor McGonagall told him he was a wizard and took him and his cousin to Diagon Alley. However, it wasn't until his first week at Hogwarts that the reality of the situation truly hit him. Before Hogwarts, he had still lived at home, with some sense of normalcy despite his father's disinterest. Now, he felt out of place and overwhelmed. Meanwhile, his ‘freak’ cousin seemed to be doing just fine, basking in his fame and the attention it brought him. For the first time in his life, Dudley felt like a nobody.

Dudley woke with a sense of dread, but a small surprise awaited him: his uniforms were already cleaned and neatly folded on top of his trunk. He quickly took a shower and grabbed a freshly cleaned uniform, tossing his dirty one into the wooden laundry bin. Though he was skeptical about how quickly the uniforms were cleaned, he figured Hogwarts had amazing methods—probably magical ones and avoided thinking about it.

He also learned that all the towels were washed together, with no guarantee of getting the same one back. The thought of sharing towels with his dormmates made him uncomfortable, as he didn't like the idea of using the same towels to wash his face and to dry his body as ‘the freaks’ in his dorm. Dudley resolved to beg his mum to buy him his own set of monogrammed towels for his next year to Hogwarts, so there was no risk of his dormmates using them.

After his shower, Dudley hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast. While he found Hogwarts breakfast less lavish compared to lunch or dinner, he was still pleased to see options like pancakes, French toast, beans, sausages, and an abundant amount of bacon.

It is Wednesday halfway through the second week, and Dudley is a bit nervous about his first flying lesson today. As a Hufflepuff, he found himself sharing the lesson with the Ravenclaws. The lesson took place on a Wednesday, a day earlier than Freak’s, and Dudley was already dreading it.

Dudley hadn't been looking forward to flying classes, and the first class of the day—Herbology—shared with his Freak of cousin, Harry, didn't help. The class went as expected, with Dudley struggling to keep up with the magical plants and the constant reminder of how different this world was from his own. At lunch in the Great Hall, however, Dudley found a silver lining. Though he had been disappointed to learn that the lavish welcoming feast wasn't the norm, the variety of foods available was still impressive. He happily discovered some dishes he liked, such as shepherd's pie and roast chicken. There were also several desserts, including pies, cakes, and puddings. Delighted, Dudley realized he could indulge as much as he wanted, which boosted his spirits.

After lunch, Dudley had Potions lessons, which he found tedious and confusing. The dungeons were cold and the atmosphere tense, especially under the watchful eye of Professor Snape. Dudley couldn't wait to get out of the castle and back to his Muggle home, where things were simpler and more familiar. But before he could even go back to his common room, he had to face one more ordeal: flying lessons.

At three-forty-five that afternoon, Dudley and the other Hufflepuffs hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds from the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

Most of the Ravenclaws were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. As Dudley reluctantly approached the broomsticks, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread. The brooms looked old and worn, with twigs sticking out at odd angles. Dudley had overheard other students complaining about them, saying they needed to be replaced. Apparently, the flying instructor, Madam Hooch, had been requesting new brooms for years, but the Headmaster always claimed there wasn't enough money in the budget.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived, her short, gray hair and yellow eyes giving her a fierce, hawk-like appearance. “Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Dudley glanced down at his broom. It was old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. It looked really worn out, as if it could snap in half. He felt a surge of anxiety.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch from the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” everyone shouted. The brooms flew into the hands of most students. Dudley, sweating with anxiety, watched as the others managed to control their brooms. When it was his turn, Dudley hesitated, feeling a mix of fear and embarrassment.

He muttered, “Up!” half-heartedly, and nothing happened. His broom remained stubbornly on the ground. He tried again, louder this time, “Up!” but the broom barely twitched. The Ravenclaws around him snickered, and Dudley felt his face burning with humiliation. He gritted his teeth and tried once more, shouting “Up!” as loudly as he could, but the broom only wobbled slightly before settling back on the grass.

Madam Hooch noticed Dudley's struggle and walked over. “You need to speak with more confidence,” she advised, her voice not unkind. “Try again, with more authority.”

Dudley nodded, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Up!” with all the force he could muster. This time, the broom jumped into his hand, but it felt unstable and wobbly. Madam Hooch gave a curt nod of approval and instructed the class to mount their brooms.

As Dudley mounted his broom, he felt a wave of nausea. The ground felt so far away, and he wasn't sure if the broom could hold his weight. Madam Hooch walked among them, making sure everyone was positioned correctly. “On my whistle,” she called, “three... two... one…”

She blew her whistle, and the students kicked off from the ground. Dudley's broom jerked upward, and he clung to it desperately, his knuckles white. The broom seemed to struggle under him, and he only managed to rise a few feet off the ground. The Ravenclaws around him soared gracefully into the air, while Dudley hovered awkwardly, wobbling from side to side.

Seeing his difficulty, some Ravenclaws couldn't resist making comments. “Maybe the broom can't handle you, Dursley!" one of them called out. "Or maybe you just need to lay off the desserts,” another snickered. The Slytherins, who had been watching from a distance, joined in with mocking laughter.

Dudley's face turned beet red. Furious and humiliated, he tried to maneuver the broom closer to the Ravenclaws to retaliate, but the broom seemed to have a mind of its own, veering off course. In his frustration, he accidentally lost his balance and slipped sideways, almost falling off. Panicked, he clutched the broom tighter, managing to stay on, but his precarious position only drew more laughter.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply. “Everyone down!” she shouted. The students descended back to the ground, some gracefully, others a bit more clumsily. Dudley landed with a thump, his legs shaking. Madam Hooch approached him, her expression stern.

“That was... an interesting first attempt,” she said diplomatically. “But remember, flying requires a calm mind and steady control. We'll work on it.”

Dudley nodded mutely, feeling utterly defeated. As the lesson ended and the students began to leave, Dudley could hear the whispers and snickers behind his back. He kept his head down, trying to ignore the humiliation burning inside him.

As soon as Dudley made it into the corridor after the flying lesson, he was greeted with a chorus of snickers from a group of Slytherins. It seemed like just his luck that some of the Slytherins had free time and had come to watch the flying lesson. Among them were first-year students and older ones who couldn't resist the opportunity to mock Dudley.

Everyone had laughed at him when his broom barely lifted off the ground, and the Slytherins had taken the teasing a step further. They joked about him being “Piggy,” saying not even a broom could carry his weight. Their taunts cut deep, and Dudley felt a surge of anger and humiliation. Unable to control his temper, he lashed out, attempting to punch one of the older students. However, before he could make contact, he was hit with a hex that made his nose swell and turn a bright, unnatural color. The Slytherins laughed even harder as Dudley stumbled, trying to regain his balance.

In his fury, Dudley managed to land a few blows on some of the younger students who had been mocking him. Unfortunately, this attracted the attention of Professor Snape, who happened to be nearby. Snape was known for his strictness and his particular disdain for rule-breaking. He quickly intervened, pulling Dudley away from the scene and dragging him to Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House. Professor Sprout looked at Dudley with disappointment as Snape recounted the incident. She gave Dudley a stern lecture about the school's policy on violence, emphasizing that physical altercations were not tolerated at Hogwarts. As punishment, Dudley was given detention for two months and warned that any further incidents could lead to a home visit. The idea of his parents being informed, especially his father, terrified Dudley. His father had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with "this freakishness" or this school, preferring to ignore it entirely. The thought of his father finding out that Dudley had gotten into trouble serious enough to warrant a home visit terrified him. The thought of his father learning that "freaks" were going to enter his home was a nightmare. Dudley dreaded the consequences and the potential outburst from his father if that ever happened.

Feeling angry, embarrassed, and scared, Dudley trudged back to the Hufflepuff common room. He grumbled to himself, fuming over the day's events. He was worried about the possibility of a letter being sent home. If his parents found out about his behavior, he knew there would be severe consequences, particularly from his father. Dudley could only hope that, with the incident happening so early in the school year, his father might forget about it by the time he returned home. But deep down, he knew that was unlikely, and the fear of facing his father's wrath loomed over him like a dark cloud.

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Herbology and Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, so Harry didn’t have to deal with his cousin, Dudley, much. Fortunately for Harry but not for the other Gryffindors, they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that quickly caught the attention of many students. Groans of dismay erupted almost immediately as they read the announcement: Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

“Typical,” Harry said darkly. “Just what I always wanted—making a fool of myself on a broomstick. At least it’ll be just Gryffindors and Slytherins together, since Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have their own flying lesson that day. So, I won’t be embarrassing myself in front of Dudley.”

Despite his frustration, Harry had been eagerly anticipating flying more than anything else.

“You don’t know you'll make a fool of yourself,” Ron said reasonably. “Besides, your cousin hasn’t been bothering you since you got to Hogwarts. He knows as much about flying as you do.”

“You’re right,” Harry admitted. Although Harry couldn't help but think about how Dudley had always been the first to pick for any teams, and when it came to sports, Dudley had talked about joining the boxing team when he was going to go to smelting before Professor McGonagall came to tell them about the magical world flipping all of that on its head. Harry had also heard through the grapevine that Dudley had already made several attempts to bully other students. Yesterday, Dudley had tried to pick a fight with some older Slytherin students, which landed him two months' worth of detention. The incident resulted in a letter being sent home, which terrified Harry was worried he might be blamed for Dudley’s trouble, despite being in different houses. Because of that Harry learned that every time he got detention, a letter would be sent home about it.

Harry hadn’t directly told anyone besides Ron that Dudley was his cousin. When Ron had asked about Dudley after their shared Transfiguration class, Harry explained how Dudley had bullied him relentlessly while they were growing up. They’d reached a sort of truce at Hogwarts, but Harry wasn’t interested in making an effort to hang out with Dudley. He mentioned to Ron how Dudley tended to call him a freak and pretended he didn’t exist when he wasn’t actively bullying him.

Harry had planned just to ignore Dudley for the most part during their time at Hogwarts and made Ron swear not to tell anyone about his cousin. Harry hadn't been thinking about when introducing Dudley as his cousin on the train and now regretted it, as he didn't want the news to spread, as it might lead to questions about his home life with the Dursleys which was abhorrent. He also didn't want his cousin to take advantage of his fame to bully other students. Dudley had already been shunned by his housemates for trying to bully one of them, and it was only in their second week at Hogwarts.

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: Seamus Finnigan said he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument about soccer with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of the West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl swooped down and delivered a small package to Neville. He eagerly unwrapped it, revealing a glass ball the size of a large marble, filled with swirling white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall!” Neville said proudly. “Gran knows I tend to forget things, so she sent this to help me out. It tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. See, you hold it tight like this, and if it turns red—”

Neville’s excitement faded as the Remembrall suddenly glowed a bright scarlet. His face fell as he stared at it, his mind racing to recall what he might have forgotten. “Oh no, what have I forgotten?” he murmured, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. His friends watched sympathetically, understanding all too well the pressure of remembering every detail in their busy lives at Hogwarts.

“Don’t worry, Neville,” Harry said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s probably nothing too serious. Just make sure you double-check your schedule or your notes.”

As Neville tucked the Remembrall away, the sound of the bell signaling the end of breakfast rang through the Great Hall. The students began to rise, and the group made their way out, chattering excitedly about their upcoming lesson.

Today’s flying lesson was a big event for first-years, and everyone was buzzing with anticipation. Thursday afternoon arrived with a perfect clear sky for Harry's flying lesson. At three-thirty, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds, making their way towards the Quidditch pitch. The grass rippled under their feet as they walked down the slope to a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds, near the dark, swaying trees of the Forbidden Forest.

The Slytherins were already at the pitch, and a line of twenty old broomsticks lay neatly arranged on the ground. Harry had heard from Fred and George Weasley that some of the school brooms had peculiar quirks—vibrating if you flew too high or veering to the left. He hoped his broom wouldn’t have any such problems.

Their flying instructor, Madam Hooch, soon arrived. Her short, gray hair and hawk-like yellow eyes gave her a commanding presence.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry glanced down at his broom. It looked old, with some twigs sticking out at odd angles. Madam Hooch instructed the class, “Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” everyone shouted. Harry’s broom jumped into his hand smoothly, while Hermione Granger’s broom simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s didn’t move at all. Harry noted Neville’s obvious fear. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could sense apprehension.

Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount the broom without sliding off and walked up and down the rows, correcting grips. Harry and Ron snickered when she told Draco Malfoy that he’d been mounting his broom wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle,” Madam Hooch said, “kick off from the ground hard, keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”

Before Madam Hooch had finished counting, Neville, already nervous and jumpy, pushed off hard from the ground. His broom shot upward, and he quickly lost control, ascending far too high. The other students gasped as Neville flailed, trying to grab onto the broom, which was clearly getting out of control.

Harry saw the commotion and noticed Neville’s small glass ball, the Remembrall, which Neville’s grandmother had sent him. The ball, which was the size of a large marble and filled with white smoke, suddenly turned scarlet in Neville’s hand, indicating that he had forgotten something crucial.

Harry’s instincts took over. He kicked off the ground, maneuvering swiftly through the air towards Neville. With a combination of skill and bravery, Harry reached Neville just in time. The Gryffindor head of house, Professor McGonagall, happened to be in her classroom and saw Harry’s heroic rescue through the window. Harry managed to grab the Remembrall and stabilize Neville’s broom, guiding them both safely back to the ground.

The students erupted in applause as Harry landed. Madam Hooch’s eyes were filled with approval as she approached him. “Excellent work, Potter! You’ve shown remarkable skill and bravery today.”

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

“Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –” Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “– how dare you – might have broken your neck –”

“That's enough, Mr. Potter, follow me, now.” Professor McGonagall

Harry, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwicles class looking confused.

“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

“In here.”

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker.”

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

“Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

“He grabbed hold of another student's broom and stabilized it when it started going crazy,” Professor McGonagall told Wood, clearly impressed. “He also managed to catch a Remembrall that fell out of the other student's pocket, all while still keeping the broom under control. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it better.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. “Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

“Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall explained.

“He's just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say.”

“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks....”

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

“I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Then she suddenly smiled.

“Your father would have been proud,” she said.

“He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

“You're joking.”

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

“Seeker?” he said. “But first years never -- you must be the youngest house player in about a century,” said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. “Wood told me.”

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

“I start training next week,” said Harry. “Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

“Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We're on the team too -- Beaters.”

“I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Dudley.

Dudley approached Harry with a scowl, his frustration evident. “How?” he demanded, his voice tinged with anger and jealousy. “How are you adjusting to all this? How are you just going with the flow here? How is all of this normal for you? It’s... freakish! How are you doing so well while I’m just... a floundering?”

Harry looked at him, puzzled by the intensity of Dudley’s emotions. “What do you mean?”

Dudley’s eyes were wide with a mixture of disbelief and envy. “I don’t want to be here! I want to go home, pretend this is all a nightmare. But I’m stuck in this place, and you— you just seem to be taking it all in stride. How can you be so calm and accepting of it all?”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to understand Dudley’s struggle. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’d always felt different. When Professor McGonagall came and told us about the Wizarding World, I also felt out of place and unwanted at Privet Drive. At first, everything about the Wizarding World was so strange and overwhelming.”

He paused, searching for the right words. “I understand that your life was perfect, or at least it looked that way. Nothing really shook things up for you, and maybe you didn’t notice the little strange things around you. I was always confused and felt alone, thinking they were just weird coincidences. But Professor McGonagall explained that it was accidental magic, which every witch and wizard experiences. It’s perfectly normal. I struggled with it too, especially when I didn’t know what was happening. But once I learned about magic, I realized it wasn’t freakish—it was just different. And I’m not doing as well as you think. I have my own challenges.”

Dudley’s eyes widened slightly, as if he was seeing a different side of Harry. “So, you’ve felt out of place too?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding. “It’s like those odd things that happen around me, things I can’t quite explain. For me, it was always happening at Privet Drive, and it made me feel even more out of place. It wasn't until I learned about magic and understood that it was part of who I am that I started to find my place.”

Dudley looked away, wrestling with his own feelings. “I guess I just don’t know how to start accepting any of this.”

Harry offered a small, encouraging smile. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s a big change, and it takes time. Just try to give yourself a chance and take it one step at a time. Things might not be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find your own place in all of this.”

With that, Harry gave Dudley a sympathetic look before returning to his dinner. Dudley stood there, mulling over Harry’s words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own way in this strange new world. With a sigh, he slowly made his amble over to the Hufflepuff table, still deep in thought.

Later that night, Harry and his friends were in the Great Hall when Draco approached them. “Potter, Weasley,” he said, nodding to each of them. “There's something you should know. There's talk of a midnight duel. Some of the older students are planning it, and I thought you might want to watch.”

Harry’s curiosity was piqued. “A midnight duel? Where?”

“In the trophy room,” Draco replied. “Midnight. Be there.”

As Harry, and Ron, exchanged excited looks, Dudley overheard the conversation from his seat at the Hufflepuff table. Despite his struggles, the idea of a midnight duel intrigued him. Maybe this was his chance to see a different side of the wizarding world—one that might not be so terrible after all.

It was Hermione Granger. "Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. “I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –”

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered. “–and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you.”

“And it's really none of your business,” said Harry.

“Good-bye,” said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, this would be the first time he'd ever get to witness a real wizard duel. He couldn't miss it.

“Half-past eleven,” Ron muttered at last, “we'd better go.”

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, “I can’t believe you're going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

“You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped, “Percy – he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this.”

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

“Come on,” he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away.” “All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –”

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly.

“That's your problem,” said Ron. “We’ve got to go, we 3 re going to be late.”

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You are not.”

“D’you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.”

“You've got some nerve –” said Ron loudly.

“Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.”

It was a sort of snuffling.

“Mrs. Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

“Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere.”

“How's your arm?” said Harry.

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later –”

“Don't leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet, “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already.”

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

“If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness.

As they arrived at the trophy room, Harry’s eyes quickly took in the scene. A group of students had already gathered, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of their wands. At the center of the room, two older students stood facing each other, wands drawn, clearly preparing for their duel. The tension in the room was palpable, with every student eager to witness the spectacle.

Harry’s heart raced with anticipation. The duel was about to begin, and the sight of the older students poised for action filled him with both excitement and apprehension. The atmosphere crackled with energy, and he could sense Dudley’s mixture of fear and fascination beside him.

When midnight came, the group, including Dudley, snuck out of their dormitories and made their way to the trophy room. The air was thick with anticipation, and the castle was eerily quiet. As they crept through the halls, Dudley felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.

When they arrived at the trophy room, a small group of students was already gathered, wands at the ready. The duel began, and Dudley watched in awe as spells flew back and forth. The scene was chaotic and thrilling, a far cry from anything he had ever experienced.

Just as Dudley began to appreciate the excitement and power of the duel, Filch’s intrusion cut it short. Despite the interruption, Dudley felt a flicker of curiosity ignite within him. Perhaps there was more to this world than he had initially believed, and maybe, with time, he could find a way to belong in it.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.” Filch’s voice echoed through the room.

As Filch’s voice echoed through the room, chaos erupted. The students around Dudley scrambled, including the older ones who had been preparing for the duel. In the midst of the frenzy, Dudley hastily tried to follow them, his heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing echoed through the castle, making their predicament even more precarious. Other students who had been fleeing in different directions also dashed past them, their hurried footsteps and muffled cries adding to the chaos.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we've lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

“I – told – you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, “I – told – you.”

“We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.”

Harry nodded, still catching his breath. “Let’s go.”

The situation took a turn when Dudley, struggling to keep pace with the other fleeing students, found himself lagging behind. As he tried to keep up, he glanced back and saw Filch gaining ground. Desperate to avoid capture, Dudley pushed himself harder, but the fatigue was catching up with him.

Suddenly, a hand shot out from a darkened corridor, grabbing Dudley’s arm. It was Filch, his face twisted with grim satisfaction.

“Gotcha!” Filch snarled. Despite Dudley’s frantic attempts to pull away, he was quickly seized and dragged toward the trophy room.

As they trudged back through the shadowy, echoing corridors, Dudley’s initial thrill had evaporated, replaced by a heavy sense of disappointment and embarrassment. The adrenaline of the night’s escapades had faded, leaving him with the stark reality of their predicament.

The other students, also caught in Filch’s net, murmured among themselves, their faces a mix of frustration and resignation. Dudley, however, felt a pang of isolation, as though he was an outsider not only in this strange world but in this very moment of failure. The excitement of the duel and the sense of adventure were now distant memories, overshadowed by the harsh light of consequence.

As they neared the dungeon where Filch would no doubt prepare the appropriate punishment, Dudley glanced around, trying to gauge the reactions of his fellow students. He saw a few faces he recognized, but most were unfamiliar, their expressions mirroring his own mix of dread and regret. He wondered if they were feeling the same way he was—lost, out of place, and uncertain about their future in this magical world.

Just his luck, Dudley lamented, as Filch dragged him and the other students into a dimly lit office. It was none other than Professor Pomona Sprout, the head of his house, who stood waiting. Her stern expression was softened only slightly by the dim light of her lantern.

“Ah, Professor Sprout,” Filch said, his voice dripping with smugness. “Caught a few more miscreants.”

Dudley’s heart sank further. As Professor Sprout’s gaze fell upon him, he felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment. He had hoped to explore the magical world and perhaps find a place for himself, but now, as he stood before one of the most important figures in his house, all he could think about was how much further he had to go to make things right.

As Filch left to track down the remaining students who had ventured out to watch the duel, the tension in the room remained palpable. Professor Sprout’s gaze swept over the gathered students, her disappointment evident. The dim light from her lantern cast long shadows on her face, highlighting the gravity of the situation.

“Students,” Professor Sprout began, her voice stern but tinged with weariness, “this behavior is unacceptable. Sneaking around the castle at night, breaking rules, and engaging in unauthorized duels not only endangers yourselves but also disrupts the safety and order of Hogwarts.”

The room was silent, save for the occasional shuffle of feet and the soft crackle of the lantern. Each student stood with bowed heads, absorbing the weight of her words.

“Now, you will each receive a detention for your actions tonight,” Professor Sprout continued. “Detention will be served in the greenhouses, where you’ll assist with various tasks until the headmaster deems it appropriate to lift the penalty. Given the severity of tonight’s escapade, you will also each receive an additional assignment to complete over the weekend.”

Dudley, who had been shifting nervously, felt a chill as Professor Sprout’s gaze landed on him. “As for you, Mr. Dursley,” she said, her tone softening slightly but remaining firm, “you will serve your detention after you’ve completed your other assigned detentions or when we can arrange an appropriate time for a night detention. This is to ensure you fully grasp the importance of following the rules and the consequences of your actions.”

Dudley nodded, feeling a mix of relief and resignation. He knew that this was just the beginning of a long series of consequences and challenges. The duel, which had sparked a glimmer of curiosity and excitement, now seemed like a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of his situation.

As the students began to leave, their expressions a blend of fatigue and apprehension, Dudley shuffled along, reflecting on the evening’s events. The thrill of the duel was overshadowed by the looming detentions and the growing realization that fitting into this new world would be a far more complicated process than he had initially imagined.

Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. “Let's go.”

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“Shut up, Peeves – please – you'll get us thrown out.”

Peeves cackled.

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.”

“Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

“This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, “We're done for! This is the end!” They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.”

“Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right -please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we'll be okay -- get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. “What?”

Harry turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads: three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fell backward -- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

“Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout,” panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

“What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?

“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I wasn’t looking at its feet; I was too busy with its heads.”

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something.” She stood up, glaring at them. “I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

“No, we don't mind,” he said. “You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?”

But Hermione had given Harry something else to consider as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.