Lucius finished speaking, casting a deliberate glance toward the Slytherin table, locking eyes with his son, Draco.
'Draco, do you see? This is the power of influence.'
'Your little Disciplinary Committee is nothing in my eyes. With a flick of my wrist, I can have it disbanded.'
But what Lucius never could've anticipated was that his words were like tossing a lit match into a barrel of Blast-Ended Skrewts. The reaction was a hundred times fiercer than when he'd pushed for Dumbledore's dismissal.
The entire Great Hall fell into an eerie silence.
From Gryffindor to Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw to Slytherin, every student from all four Houses went quiet, staring at Lucius in stunned disbelief.
The Disciplinary Committee's reputation was legendary at Hogwarts. Whether it was academics, dueling, or anything else, they were the best of the best.
'Father, you've done something incredibly stupid. Monumentally stupid!' Draco thought, rubbing his temples in exasperation. He didn't even know how to describe the sinking feeling in his chest.
'I warned him! Why didn't he listen?'
'Why did he have to pick a fight with the Disciplinary Committee?'
Draco scanned the Slytherin table, catching the increasingly icy glares of his housemates. Then he glanced at Dudley, whose face was unreadable.
It was too late.
"Slytherin, stand!" a voice roared.
In unison, every Slytherin—first-years to seventh-years—shot to their feet. All eyes were locked on Lucius.
The sudden move left Lucius bewildered, completely out of his depth.
'What in Merlin's name are the Slytherins doing?'
He wasn't the only one confused. Cornelius Fudge, standing nearby, was equally clueless.
'What even is this Disciplinary Committee? Why haven't I heard of it?'
'What else has Lucius been keeping from me? What's he scheming now?'
Fudge snapped out of his earlier panic about Dumbledore. The idea that Dumbledore would want to be Minister for Magic was laughable—he'd have taken the job years ago if he wanted it. Now, Fudge was just angry, feeling played by Lucius. But he hid it well. No one noticed. Or rather, no one paid attention to him in the first place. After all, most saw him as a slow-witted, mediocre fool.
"Lucius, Uncle," a voice broke the tension.
It was a sixth-year Slytherin, a member of the Bosted family—pure-bloods through and through. He was the sole legitimate heir to the family, his siblings having lost their inheritance after joining Voldemort as Death Eaters and landing in Azkaban. He'd dealt with Lucius before, alongside his father, on family business.
His face was deadly serious as he looked at Lucius and said, word by word, "Please take back what you just said."
"What?" Lucius blinked, his mind a whirl of question marks.
Had the Bosted heir lost his mind? How dare he speak to a Malfoy like that? Questioning him in public? Even the current Bosted patriarch showed Lucius nothing but respect.
But before Lucius could snap back, another voice rang out.
"Uncle Lucius, take it back!" This time, it was the eldest son of the Yaxley family, another future heir from a powerful pure-blood line—one of the few that could stand toe-to-toe with the Malfoys.
"Take it back, Uncle Lucius!" Pansy Parkinson, the Parkinson family's little princess, stepped forward next.
As more and more voices joined in, Lucius' face grew darker by the second. It was as if he'd uttered some unforgivable sin.
Finally, in one thunderous chorus, the Slytherins shouted, "Take it back!"
Their unified voices echoed through the Great Hall, shaking the very walls. The scene stunned not just the other three Houses but every adult wizard present.
'Since when are the Slytherins this united?'
Lucius racked his brain but couldn't make sense of it.
Hufflepuff was known as the most cohesive House, though some sneered it was just the "weak" banding together. Gryffindor and Slytherin were about equal in unity, coming together only under specific circumstances. Ravenclaw? They were a scattered bunch, too individualistic to rally. After all, they were the "smart" ones.
Lucius had seen Slytherin unite before, but that was years ago, and never with this kind of fervor. How could a mere Muggle-born wizard like Dudley Dursley command such loyalty from Slytherin?
As a Slytherin himself, Lucius knew his House's mindset. They followed strength and ambition, bowing only to those who offered clear benefits or overwhelming power—like that man from years ago.
Then it hit him. Draco had warned him: "Never cross Mr. Dursley."
Could it be…?
No. Impossible. How could a wizard from a Muggle family compare to him?
Lucius shook his head, banishing the thought, though doubt lingered. Unbeknownst to the self-proclaimed pure-blood elitist, his old master—the one who preached blood purity—was himself a half-blood, born from a tragic love potion.
Lucius wasn't the only one reeling. Fudge and the Aurors with him were equally shocked. They'd never seen Slytherin so united during their school days. Could this Dursley be the heir of some great wizarding family?
Surely only noble blood could inspire such devotion from Slytherin.
Fudge silently thanked his lucky stars he hadn't jumped in to back Lucius. That would've tanked his already shaky approval ratings.
At the center of it all, the target of Lucius' jab, Dudley calmly wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was the only one in the hall who'd kept eating through the chaos, elegantly but swiftly devouring lamb chops and chicken legs. Now about sixty percent full, he raised a hand slightly.
Instantly, the Slytherins fell silent. The entire hall went quiet again.
The Slytherin students turned their fiery gazes to Dudley's back—eyes filled with respect, admiration, obsession, and… fervor.
A myriad of emotions intertwined, all directed at one person.
Dudley Dursley, the King of Slytherin.