Chapter 152: Voldemort’s Lack of Culture - Hogwarts: Muscles are MAGIC Power!

"Damn it! Isn't Granger just the same?" Madison fumed, her voice dripping with frustration.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. Why was this guy completely immune to her charms? And how could she possibly lose to a plain, buck-toothed witch like Hermione, who barely gave her the time of day and wasn't exactly a standout in looks or figure?

Dudley, of course, wasn't about to tell her that Hermione's buck teeth and slightly tanned complexion were exactly his type.

"She's not even fully grown yet," Dudley said matter-of-factly, a hint of smugness in his tone.

That casual confidence only made Madison more irritated.

"I'm not fully grown either!" she shot back, puffing out her chest. Her utterly flat pajamas, without a single wrinkle, did little to back up her point.

"Oh," was all Dudley said, unimpressed.

Madison felt her blood boil. This guy was infuriating.

Why couldn't he be like the other young wizards, falling over themselves for her Veela charm?

"You took it, didn't you?" Dudley asked, pointing at a bare shelf in the most prominent spot in the room. Something important had clearly once sat at the top.

Say what you will about this Tom Riddle fellow—he was an odd one. Terrified of death, yet he couldn't resist showing off. His Horcruxes? Obvious choices like Ravenclaw's diadem or Slytherin's locket. You didn't even need to guess to figure that out.

If Dudley were in his shoes, his first Horcrux would've been a random pebble tossed into a lake or river. Good luck finding that. It'd take years of effort just to track it down.

As for the second? Tom died in 1981. Voyager 2 launched in 1977. If Tom had been smart enough to stick a Horcrux on that probe, it'd be floating outside the solar system by now.

That's true immortality—assuming you don't give up on thinking altogether.

So yeah, Tom Riddle suffered from a serious lack of imagination. No culture.

If he'd been that clever, the Harry Potter series wouldn't have ended at seven books. We'd probably have an eighth: Harry Potter and the Interstellar Quest.

"I threw it out," Madison snapped, flopping down onto a chair in the Room of Requirement.

"A dark magic artifact with a mind of its own and no brains to speak of? Only an idiot would trust it."

"Besides," she thought bitterly, "what kind of advice was that? I asked it how to win over a wizard, and it kept trying to trick me into giving it my body. Only a brainless troll-goblin hybrid would fall for that nonsense."

"You're smarter than that," Dudley said, offering rare praise. "If you see it again, let me know."

It seemed Tom Riddle's Horcrux wasn't doing too hot. Even its tricks were getting dumber.

Dudley winked at Madison, his expression practically screaming, Why are you still here?

Madison was tempted to deck him, but she knew she'd only end up hurting herself.

Then an idea sparked. "I think some young wizard picked it up," she said slyly. "Who was it again? Oh, I can't quite remember…"

Want to know? Beg me, and maybe I'll tell you if I'm in a good mood.

"Audrina, right?" Dudley said almost immediately, his voice calm but certain, as if he'd seen it happen.

Madison's eyes widened. "How'd you know?"

"You just told me," Dudley replied, shrugging with a smirk. "Like, a second ago."

There weren't many people who had a real grudge against Hermione, and even fewer who hated her enough to act on it. Audrina, a fellow Ravenclaw, was one of them. And Madison's tone had given her away.

"Thanks for the tip," Dudley said, standing up and heading for the door of the Room of Requirement. He turned back to Madison. "I'll leave you to it, then."

As he stepped out, he paused and added, "Oh, and a personal suggestion—strawberry patterns look better on a white background. Pink doesn't suit you."

Pink was a tricky color to pull off. In a room drenched in it, like this one, it could feel downright oppressive.

The door slammed shut with a thud, leaving Madison alone.

Tch. If Dudley had been interested, he could've charmed her into bed seven times in one night with that brain of hers. But no, Hermione's bookish vibe was more his speed.

"Jerk!" Madison glared at the closed door, her anger boiling over.

With a crack, she crushed a table leg in her hand. Her delicate palm briefly took on the shape of an eagle's claw.

Rumor had it that when a Veela got truly enraged, they'd transform into a sharp-beaked, fire-breathing bird monster. Madison wasn't full Veela, but in her fury, her body showed hints of change.

"I'll have you under my thumb, I swear!" she shouted, not caring about her ladylike image. There was no one else here to hear her anyway.

If Dudley was some kind of prodigy, he'd need more than charm to keep up with her. Unless he was made of pure stamina, he'd be useless.

Now that he knew who had the Horcrux, things got easier.

But Dudley wasn't in a rush. For one, it was nighttime—sneaking into the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, even as head of the disciplinary committee, would take some serious nerve.

For another, not long after leaving the Room of Requirement, Dudley received an urgent tip from a house-elf.

That night, he sat down, scribbled a letter, and sent it off with Hedwig.

The next morning, Hogwarts was thrown into chaos.

At the crack of dawn, a group of adult wizards stormed into the Great Hall, startling the students mid-breakfast.

Leading the charge was none other than Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy.

Draco's face soured at the sight, letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

"I know him," Ron whispered, nodding toward a short, stout, oddly dressed man among the group at the professors' table. "My dad's boss."

"Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic!"

He lowered his voice even further, so only those nearby could hear. "A complete idiot."

"Lucius, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, his tone calm but laced with barely concealed anger. "To what do we owe this visit?"

Their arrival had frightened the younger students.

"Dumbledore," Lucius began, "we've heard reports of a terrifying attack at Hogwarts. Is there any truth to this?"

Chapter 150 - Chapter 152: Voldemort’s Lack of Culture