"He is exceptionally gifted," Snape conceded, his voice a low, impatient drawl. "His talent for Potions rivals even Lily's." He seemed deeply unwilling to discuss the boy with Dumbledore. "Perhaps he will inherit the whole of my knowledge. Perhaps he will surpass it. Perhaps he will become the next Minister for Magic... Tsk. Who can say?"
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "But, Albus, do not indulge him too much. Even an Auror cannot abuse Veritaserum at will, let alone a boy who has not yet completed his first year."
Compared to Snape's severe tone, Dumbledore's was far more buoyant. He popped two more lemon drops into his mouth and winked.
"Severus, you said it yourself—he is just a child. No one would believe a first-year capable of brewing Veritaserum. Besides," he added, his expression turning thoughtful, "I believe he is right. Hogwarts is in dire need of change." A mischievous glint returned to his eyes. "And speaking of indulgence, are you not the one who favors him?"
Snape did not deign to answer. He merely let out a sharp, cold snort and, with a dramatic sweep of his black robes, turned on his heel. "If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."
After Snape departed, Dumbledore remained seated, savoring the echoes of Dudley's arguments.
"A truly novel theory," he murmured to the quiet office. The idea of merging the four Houses was not without merit, but his power to enact such change was, regrettably, limited. He then recalled Dudley's impassioned declaration: Education Without Distinction.
"If not for the oppressive atmosphere in Slytherin," he wondered aloud, "then perhaps Tom might not have..."
But who could ever know such things?
"My dear Headmasters," Dumbledore said, casting his gaze up at the rows of sleeping portraits. "What are your thoughts?"
Instantly, a witch with long, curly silver hair opened her eyes. "A most remarkable young wizard," she praised. "He possesses knowledge far beyond his years." This was Dilys Derwent, a former Headmistress and a celebrated Healer at St. Mungo's.
"Merging the four Houses... a truly audacious idea," mused a thin-faced, white-bearded wizard beside her. This was Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's direct predecessor. "Albus, his ideas are even more fantastical than yours were! And he is bolder still. How did the Sorting Hat not place him in Gryffindor?" His tone was thick with admiration.
"Hey!" another portrait snapped. "You just praised his idea. If the Houses were merged, what Gryffindor would there be to sort him into?"
"He has ambition. I see it burning within him," a cunning-looking man with a neatly trimmed black beard chimed in. "He is a true son of Slytherin!" This was Phineas Nigellus Black, the only Slytherin to have ever been Headmaster and, by most accounts, the most unpopular in Hogwarts' history.
"Oh, do shut up, Phineas!" several portraits grumbled in unison, and the figures in the adjacent frames seemed to physically drag him from view as he continued shouting about the glory of the House of Black.
"He is correct," said another wizard with a pale face and short, black bangs. "I believe a Disciplinary Committee is a sound proposal." This was Everard, another respected former Headmaster. "Albus, you truly should consider it with great care."
"I know, I know," Dumbledore nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. He glanced at the grand clock. "Oh, my goodness. It's grown so late! I do hope the skeleton band has arrived. It is time for the feast."
The Great Hall was a spectacle of festive magic. A thousand live bats fluttered near the enchanted ceiling, while another thousand swooped in low, dark clouds over the house tables, their wings making the flames inside the jack-o'-lanterns dance. The atmosphere was thick with excitement.
One might almost overlook the conspicuous, empty stretch at the Gryffindor table where the first-year boys should have been sitting.
"Dudley! Are you alright?"
Hermione spotted him the moment he entered the Great Hall. She, Harry, and Ron rushed over, their faces alight with relief and surprise. They fussed over him, checking him for any sign of trouble.
"Professor Dumbledore didn't give you a hard time, did he?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with concern.
Dudley just smiled and ruffled her bushy hair. "Of course not. I told you, we were in the right." Being in the right carried its own weight.
He then clapped Harry and Ron on the shoulders. "Ron, thank you. For being willing to stand up when it mattered."
"No, I... I didn't really do anything," Ron mumbled, blushing. Then a thought struck him, and his face lit up. "Mr. Dursley, you... you said my name right."
Nearly everyone, teachers included, fumbled his name. Only Harry ever got it right.
"Don't call me Mr. Dursley," Dudley said warmly. "If you don't mind, you can call me Big D, like Harry does."
For a fleeting second, Harry felt a tiny, possessive pang of annoyance, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Okay, Big D," Ron said happily. "Big D, I think my training needs to be intensified. I don't want to be useless like I was today."
"It absolutely should be," Dudley agreed. "And not just the physical work." A calculating look entered his eyes. "Starting tomorrow, I'll set aside time to teach you Charms."
His theoretical knowledge was more than sufficient to tutor them. Besides, the Disciplinary Committee couldn't just be a committee of one.
"Really?" Harry and Ron exclaimed, their eyes wide with excitement. The memory of Dudley's sun-bright Lumos was still fresh in their minds. It was the coolest thing they had ever seen.
Dudley then turned his head, his gaze finding Neville Longbottom sitting alone on a bench. "Mr. Longbottom," he called out, his voice kind but firm. "If you're interested, meet us at the castle's main gate tomorrow morning. Seven o'clock sharp."
He extended the invitation with sincere warmth, adding, "You have a solid build. You'd be a natural at the training we do."
"Really? Truly?" Neville stammered, his eyes welling up with disbelief.
Dudley nodded. "Of course. If you're willing."
"I'm willing!" Neville said in a rush, his voice filled with more conviction than anyone had ever heard from him. He had wanted to be part of their circle for ages.
After lingering at the Gryffindor table for a few more moments, Dudley returned to his own as the feast began. At the Slytherin table, he was flanked only by Draco Malfoy and his two hulking shadows, Crabbe and Goyle. To be precise, Malfoy had insisted on sitting there, dragging the other two with him. The pair of them sat trembling, their faces pale, looking as if they'd rather be facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"Why are you so afraid of me? I don't eat people," Dudley muttered, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
His words only made them tremble more violently.
Malfoy, sensing Dudley's confusion, leaned in and whispered a quiet explanation. Apparently, a rumor was already spreading like wildfire: Dursley had single-handedly turned the Gryffindors against each other with a single, unspoken spell. The empty bench across the hall was all the proof anyone needed.
The tale had only amplified the awe—and terror—with which the Slytherins regarded him.
Soon after they sat, the professors filed in. With a word from Dumbledore, the feast officially began. Dudley casually speared a lamb chop, stripped it clean in one bite, and placed the perfect bone on his plate.
He chewed thoughtfully before speaking. "You know, if you spent more time with me, you'd realize I'm actually very approachable. Quite refined and gentle, really." He glanced at Malfoy. "Right, Draco?"
Summoned so suddenly, Malfoy forced a strained smile. The words came out, but he looked as if he had just been forced to swallow a Fanged Geranium.
"Uh, yes. Of course, Big D."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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