"No, you can't!" the little wizard shrieked, his voice utterly miserable.
"Oh, but I can," Dudley said with a cruel grin. "You lot crossed me, and now you'll be punished my way."
He didn't hold back, his hand delivering a series of sharp smacks that echoed through the room. A good spanking was exactly what these annoying brats needed. Thankfully, Dudley was holding back just enough—it stung horribly, but no one would be seriously hurt. They might need a day or two in bed, but with magical potions, they'd likely be up and about the very next day. He dealt with one after another, and no one was spared. Anyone who tried to flee was caught and given an extra helping.
Before long, every single first-year Slytherin was sprawled on the floor, groaning. Dudley was a true "Bum-Annihilator," as they would surely call him in the dungeons.
After finishing with everyone, Dudley turned his attention to Malfoy, who was already huddled on the floor, terrified. The faint sound of his footsteps was like a series of heavy blows to Malfoy's heart.
"Get away from me, you beast!" Malfoy wailed.
---
Meanwhile, in a hidden room within the Slytherin common room, a few older students had gathered around a circular table.
The Slytherin dungeons were much bigger than one might think. Besides the individual rooms for prefects, there were countless spare chambers. This was partly because Slytherin had the fewest students of the four houses, but also because the dungeons themselves were immense, making it the largest common room by far—it might even have more rooms than Gryffindor and Hufflepuff combined, even though Hufflepuff had the most students.
The Slytherins had repurposed many of these empty rooms into meeting places for their secret gatherings. This group of upperclassmen occupied one of them.
Malfoy's terrified shrieks were so loud that they made a tall, ordinary-looking student with a buzz cut and a rather prominent overbite get to his feet. He was the kind of person who would get lost in a crowd.
"Marcus, what are you doing?" a cold voice from the head of the table demanded. It was the seventh-year Slytherin Prefect. The student who had stood up was Marcus Flint, the current captain and a Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"I thought I'd go check it out," Marcus replied, his head bowed, unable to meet the Prefect's gaze.
The Prefect simply waved a dismissive hand. His tone was smooth, much more natural than Malfoy's affected drawl. "It's just a squabble among the younger years. Nothing worth our time. Let's stay out of it."
"But it's Draco," Marcus insisted. "Lucius's only son." The Flint family and the Malfoys were quite close, even distantly related.
"And so what?" the Prefect said flatly, his expression unreadable. He just stared at Marcus until all the fight seemed to drain out of him.
"He's being bullied!" Marcus said weakly.
"So?" the Prefect countered. "What does that have to do with us? Or with you?"
"I...I think we should help him," Marcus stammered, his face red.
Before the Prefect could speak, the Slytherin to his left chimed in. "Haven't we helped him enough? We didn't stop the second and third years from getting involved, or the first years. Do you know how many of them there were?" He gestured vaguely. "We even put a Silencing Charm on the common room so he could deal with it without a fuss."
"And what happened? We all just heard Malfoy's scream. It's perfectly clear what went down."
"Malfoy is a Slytherin, after all," Marcus tried again, his voice even softer.
"The other one is a Slytherin, too," the Prefect snapped, his tone suddenly sharper.
"Listen, Marcus. Malfoy gathered them, and Malfoy started it. If he couldn't handle it, that's not our problem. We aren't the Weasleys or the Carrows; we aren't his family's lapdogs. We don't need to clean up his mess."
"Besides," he continued, "the other boy is Potter's cousin. You know who I'm talking about."
In the British wizarding world, all the pure-blood families are related one way or another. Harry Potter's family, for instance, could trace connections to almost every pure-blood line. The name "Harry Potter" itself was practically taboo for pure-bloods, especially those with ties to the Death Eaters. It commanded a certain awe, much like Voldemort's name did for ordinary wizards. Until they knew for sure whether he was a powerful, dark wizard, they would be polite and friendly, but they would happily let others test his power for them.
"Malfoy has plenty of resources. If he can't handle something this simple, what makes him worthy of our help? The fact that he's got a big mouth? Or a rich father?"
Malfoy's constant boasting about his father was tiresome, especially for those whose families were just as powerful as his.
"Remember, we are Slytherins, not nannies in a nursery. We don't have time for their children's games," the Prefect said, his voice softening, a note of serious wisdom creeping in. "Do you remember the Slytherin motto?"
Marcus was stumped. He thought for a moment before stumbling out, "Pure-blood supremacy?"
"It's about self-preservation, ambition, and power. Winner takes all, loser gets nothing. How many times do I have to tell you, you blithering idiot?" The Prefect was getting annoyed. He took a deep breath, calming himself down.
"Marcus, you're in your fifth year. We'll be gone in the next two years. We don't have the time or energy to teach you anymore. From now on, you're on your own. You've already failed at becoming a prefect; don't make me regret choosing you as Quidditch Captain. And for Merlin's sake, don't bring shame to your family."
Marcus still glanced toward the door, clearly not listening. The Prefect sighed, his blood pressure rising. He couldn't help but think, I chose this idiot; what else can I do?
"If you really want to help Malfoy, go tell Professor Snape. But if I were you, I wouldn't. Anyone who can beat that many people isn't someone to cross. You couldn't do it, Marcus. If I were you, I'd try to befriend him."
The Prefect felt he had done all he could. If Marcus was still an idiot after that, it was no longer his problem. He'd be gone soon enough.
Back in the common room, Dudley had reached Malfoy, who was now a trembling, curled-up mess on the floor. Dudley ignored his repeated pleas to stay away, grabbed his head with one hand, and slowly pulled him in, getting closer and closer until he was face to face with the petrified boy. Malfoy could hear Dudley's heavy breathing.
In that moment, he was reminded of the time in Madam Malkin's when he felt like he was about to be eaten alive.
Dudley slowly opened his mouth, revealing a row of shockingly white teeth that looked menacing in the green light of the dungeons. And just like that, Malfoy let out a small, gurgling sound and fainted dead away.
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