When Harry finished telling Dudley everything he'd heard, Dudley looked a bit puzzled.
The old, tattered black diary lay quietly in the special box Dudley had made for it. He'd been planning to destroy it soon. Since it wasn't a pure soul fragment like Voldemort's Horcrux, the diary's material—though unique—needed to be broken down first. Otherwise, it could taint the purity of the Philosopher's Stone.
Unless, of course, his alchemy skills could level up.
Without the diary's call, shouldn't that giant snake have slipped into a deep slumber?
So why was Harry still hearing its voice?
Could someone else have awakened it?
"It probably wasn't a human voice you heard," Dudley offered, giving Harry a small nudge.
"Not human?" Harry blinked, thinking it over. Suddenly, it clicked. "A ghost?"
"Maybe, but probably not a ghost. Hogwarts ghosts don't need blood or living sacrifices—they reject anything from the living," Dudley explained.
For one, ghosts didn't eat the same things as the living. Even the Bloody Baron, drenched in blood from his final moments, didn't actually need blood or sacrifices.
"Harry, you know I can understand a lot of animals," Dudley continued. "And since you're my cousin, isn't it possible you've got the same gift? Remember last year at the zoo? You talked to that python."
"Yeah, it said it was from Brazil," Harry nodded, realizing he'd come to the right person.
"Next time you hear that voice, Harry, stay away from it and find me," Dudley advised.
After their talk, Dudley headed straight for the Slytherin dorms. He was set on destroying the diary tonight.
As for that giant snake, it needed dealing with too. He'd have to tell Dumbledore.
The Basilisk, also called the Serpent King, was a ferocious magical creature—bloodthirsty, deadly, and worst of all, its gaze could kill instantly. They couldn't rely on luck or let anyone take risks. Dudley hadn't planned to deal with the Basilisk so soon, but if it was awake, it had to be stopped.
Lost in thought, Dudley rounded a corner and collided with someone. The figure bounced off him with a yelp, tumbling to the floor.
"You okay?" Dudley asked, sensing from the impact it was a girl.
"I'm fine… I didn't expect anyone to be here. Mr. Dursley, it's you!" came an excited voice.
Dudley looked down and saw her clearly.
She had shoulder-length blonde hair, a delicate face, and flawless skin. Her figure hinted at early development, but what stood out most were her bright, lively reddish-brown eyes. They were striking.
Stunning, that was Dudley's first impression.
The girl tilted her head slightly, her big, watery eyes gazing up at him, practically sparkling with what looked like admiration.
Plenty of Slytherin girls had given him that look before.
"I don't think you know me," she said. "I'm a first-year Ravenclaw."
Seeing Dudley wasn't offering a hand to help her up, she stood on her own, rubbing her bruised knee and shyly introducing herself. "I'm Madison Roberts Flint."
Her eyes were clear as a lake, her voice sweet like a lark's song. Anyone else might've been charmed by her innocent demeanor.
But this was Dudley. Dudley Dursley.
"Flint?" He paused briefly. The name was all too familiar.
Last year, he'd met another Flint—a young wizard who'd ended up flattened by Dudley's "Crabbe Hammer" spell. That bucktoothed Slytherin Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint, was a sixth-year now. They were likely related, but why one was Madison Roberts Flint and the other Marcus Flint was their family business. Dudley didn't care to dig.
"Yes, sir. Marcus Flint is my brother," Madison said, lightly tucking her hair behind her ear. Despite being only eleven or twelve, the gesture carried a maturity beyond her years, like something a fourth- or fifth-year might pull off. She subtly stepped closer to Dudley.
"I think I owe you an apology for my brother's rudeness last year," she added.
She was too close now. Dudley could smell a faint fragrance on her skin, and his brows furrowed. He wasn't used to this kind of familiarity. Silently, he sidestepped—not retreating, just shifting to the right.
"I didn't take it personally. Besides, that was last year," he said.
After Dudley's rise to prominence, Marcus had made a point of avoiding him. Honestly, it wasn't necessary—Dudley Dursley was a forgiving guy.
Dursley—always reasonable.
"Anything else? If not, I'm heading off," Dudley said.
Madison opened her mouth but said nothing, watching as he walked away.
"I'll make sure you remember me," she whispered softly, her tone perfectly adoring.
But Dudley didn't hesitate or turn back. He kept walking.
Sure, he'd been deep in thought, but he was certain he hadn't heard footsteps earlier. This Madison girl had been waiting there, deliberately staging the collision.
And that faint fragrance? It was laced with a love potion. Amateur work, though. If Dudley had done it, he'd have been far subtler—hundreds of ways subtler.
Everything pointed to her targeting him.
He didn't care about her motives, though. Whatever she was up to, if she crossed him, she'd get a metaphorical slap.
Back in his room, Dudley pushed open the door and frowned. Everything looked exactly as he'd left it—no signs of tampering. But he was certain someone had been inside.
No one could fool Dudley's sharp eyes.
It didn't matter who it was. He'd just have to reinforce his room's defenses.
If it happened once, it'd happen again. He'd catch them eventually.
Closing the door, he clapped his hands, activating an alchemical array that glowed faintly. A black box rose from the floor. He lifted the lid—empty.
Stolen?
Of course not.
Dudley wasn't surprised. The box was just a decoy. He clapped again, and the tattered black diary floated up from the box's hidden compartment.
The "thief" was sloppy—couldn't even get past the first layer of protection.
Some might think the diary could be stolen. But with Dudley? Never.