"Draco's father," Dudley said slowly, his voice calm but commanding.
Unlike the other Slytherins who called him Lucius, Dudley referred to him as Draco's father. He didn't even bother standing, remaining seated at the table.
The implication was clear: I'm only acknowledging you because of Draco.
"I don't want you bringing your outside schemes into this school," Dudley continued. "Conspiracies, frame-ups, twisting the truth—it's despicable."
His piercing gaze seemed to see right through Lucius, striking at his core. Lucius felt a shiver run through him.
This was the first time he'd locked eyes with Dudley, the first time they'd faced each other directly. Sure, they'd crossed paths at Flourish and Blotts, but Lucius had been too busy brawling with Mr. Weasley to pay much attention.
"This school is a place for learning, a sacred place. I won't let it be tainted."
Dudley's eyes flicked briefly toward the professors' table.
"If any professor feels insulted, disrespected, or even attacked," he said, emphasizing the word attacked, "they're welcome to step forward."
"I'll give them a chance to prove themselves."
Lockhart shrank back, trying to blend in with the other professors, desperate to avoid attention. If only I hadn't blabbed so much to Lucius, he thought. He loved the spotlight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew his limits.
Prove himself? That'd just get him humiliated. Those Aurors wouldn't even stand a chance against these kids.
"As for your claim that it's illegal," Dudley said, leisurely pulling out a parchment identical to the one in Lucius's hand.
"I think you should take a look at this."
"It's signed by eleven members of the Board of Governors, which means the disciplinary committee is completely legal and above board."
Dudley's voice rang clear, reaching every ear in the hall. With each word, Lucius's face grew darker—first pale, then flushed, like he was transfiguring on the spot.
His gray eyes glared daggers at Dudley.
He hadn't known about this. Not one of those eleven governors had told him!
Fudge, meanwhile, was wiping sweat from his brow, quietly relieved that his slow reaction had kept him out of the fray.
Dudley's verbal onslaught had dismantled Lucius's entire plan.
Call it childish nonsense? The whole of Slytherin was backing Dudley, with sky-high support.
Say he disrespected the professors? He'd offered to face them head-on, and Lucius couldn't make a single professor step up.
Claim the disciplinary committee was illegal? Dudley slapped him with irrefutable proof of its legitimacy—and Lucius, a governor himself, had been left out of the loop.
Even Snape, who was on decent terms with Lucius, looked at him with something like pity.
This was Lily's heir, Snape thought. His heir, too. Not only had Dudley inherited Lily's knack for potions, but also her cleverness and preparedness.
What? Lily wasn't like that? Impossible! Lily was perfect!
Dudley tapped the table lightly. Slytherin got the hint immediately. Someone quickly brought him a cup of tea and a small plate of biscuits.
The one delivering it made Lucius's eyes narrow.
Daphne Greengrass, the eldest daughter of the Greengrass family. A pure-blood supremacist through and through.
And yet, she was gazing at Dudley with near-fanatical admiration.
Dudley took a sip of tea, his expression softening slightly. "Not bad," he said.
Dumbledore might be easy to push around because he played by the rules. Dudley? Not so much. If you broke the rules first, don't expect him to play nice.
You want to flip the table? He'd go one better.
Dursley by name, reason by nature.
"Mr. Lucius," Dumbledore said, the anger in his eyes now gone, "I think it's time we left. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I can assure you, if we delay any longer, we'll be stuck here until tomorrow. They clock out far earlier than Hogwarts professors."
Seeing Lucius take hit after hit, Dumbledore's lips curved into a rare smile. He even offered a gentle reminder.
His eyes flicked to Dudley, a flicker of nostalgia passing through them. Capable, charismatic, brimming with talent… so much like that person in their youth.
Most importantly, Dudley's moral compass was true.
Lucius let out a grudging grunt through his nose, his gaze darting between Dumbledore and Dudley. Finally, with great reluctance, he said, "Hmph. Let's go."
The Aurors exchanged glances. They weren't exactly Lucius's lackeys.
"Mr. Lucius," Fudge said, a touch of indignation in his voice, "I believe I'm the Minister of Magic."
Even if Lucius looked down on Fudge, he couldn't make it too obvious. Fudge might not be the sharpest wand in the shop, but he'd held the Minister's post for twelve years. Lucius could manipulate him, but that was about it.
"Minister Fudge," Dudley interjected, "please take these Aurors and leave. I believe Hogwarts can handle this matter on its own."
His tone wasn't asking—it was stating, commanding, leaving no room for doubt.
A stronger personality might've bristled, maybe even clashed with Dudley. But Fudge? He showed no sign of displeasure.
Dudley's presence was overwhelming. Charisma was a strange, intangible thing, but some people just had it—like they were born with it. For someone like Fudge, whose personality leaned softer, it was almost instinctive to follow Dudley's lead. He even seemed happy about it.
"Professor Dumbledore," Dudley said, turning to the headmaster with a serious look, "I'll make sure this is handled before you return. I promise no one else will get hurt—except, of course, the one responsible."
Dumbledore could focus on the Wizengamot. Hogwarts was safe in Dudley's and the professors' hands.
"Hearing that puts my mind at ease," Dumbledore replied.
Never judge a wizard's ability by their age.
When he'd first met that person, they weren't much older than Dudley was now.
Dumbledore's brow smoothed, and he gave Dudley a wink. "If you fancy some sweets, feel free to visit my office. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for. And if you don't mind, feed my bird. She's quite fond of your treats."
Dudley caught the hint.
Dumbledore was telling him to seek out Fawkes—or something else—if needed.
What was in the headmaster's office?
Fawkes? Check.
The Sorting Hat? Check.
Gryffindor's Sword? Check.
Aside from that useless hat, the other two were lethal to a Basilisk.
As for complaints about me dragging things out—fine, it's because I don't update enough. If I could update more, no one would call it filler. Trust me, I'd love to, but you'd need to deal with my workaholic boss first!