I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

A cold-faced Slytherin rose from the far end of the long, shadowed table, his voice low but carrying an undeniable command that cut through the lingering chatter. Dudley caught the murmurs around him—this was the Slytherin prefect, a fifth-year student appointed to guide and manage the younger wizards of the house. Prefects were both leaders and enforcers, able to deduct points from their own house, wielding a power akin to a blend of counselor and class monitor.

With the prefect's presence, the first-year students moved with careful, almost fearful, obedience. Even Draco Malfoy, who had been boasting about his father's influence just moments before, fell into line behind the prefect's steady, authoritative stride.

As they made their way through the dim, winding corridors of the dungeons, a small incident broke the tense silence. A Slytherin boy from a higher year, his face a mask of petty malice, deliberately bumped into Dudley's broad shoulder. The impact was weak, almost pathetic, but it was meant to provoke, a test of the newcomer who had dared to cross a Malfoy. Yet, the force was met with an equal and opposite reaction—Dudley's solid, unmoving frame sent the boy sprawling to the cold stone floor.

"Are you alright?" Dudley asked, his voice calm as he helped the boy to his feet and brushed the dust from his robes. "Watch where you're going."

Without waiting for a reply, Dudley turned and rejoined the group, his mind focused on memorizing the route to the Slytherin common room. This was his first day at Hogwarts, his first time in the dungeons, and he was determined not to get lost.

Behind him, the Slytherin students whispered among themselves, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"Fabian, you're so embarrassing," one hissed.

"Why did you hold back?" another scolded. "He offended a Malfoy."

Fabian, known to be the strongest third-year wizard in the house, had been tasked with teaching the new boy a lesson. Instead, he had been the one knocked down. The consensus among the onlookers was that he must have held back.

But Fabian's thoughts told a different story. He hadn't held back at all. He had given it his all, yet it felt like striking a solid steel wall. His shoulder throbbed with a deep, aching pain.

'If only a physique like that could play Quidditch,' he muttered to himself, shaking his head to dispel the thought.

The truth was clear: it was a grave mistake to offend a Malfoy.

The Malfoy family was among the most powerful in the wizarding world, part of the elite upper class. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, wielded immense influence in the Ministry of Magic and held a position as a Hogwarts governor. His wealth was legendary—he was once called the richest of all the Malfoys. To cross him was to cross the powerful, and in Slytherin, a house that prized power and connections above all else, offending the powerful was akin to offending the entire house.

The atmosphere in Slytherin had deteriorated to a cesspool, just as the Sorting Hat had warned.

The group was led deeper into the dungeons. The Slytherin common room lay deep beneath Hogwarts Castle, a cold, damp chamber carved from ancient stone. The heavy humidity clung to the air, a pervasive chill that threatened to sap the strength of any who lingered too long. From a scientific perspective, living in such an environment would be detrimental to one's health, leading to skin problems, eczema, and even rheumatic arthritis. But this was Hogwarts—unscientific, magical, and unpredictable. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, had ways of easing these ailments.

As they followed the prefect through a spiral corridor, Dudley secretly noted his surroundings, committing every twist and turn to memory. He hadn't been able to say a word to Harry or Hermione since the sorting, a fact that filled him with a slight regret. He should have arranged a time to meet with them. He made a mental note to have Hedwig deliver a letter. The rivalry between the four houses was worse than he had imagined, especially between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Everyone seemed to remember that the two founders had different philosophies, but they had conveniently forgotten that they were once the closest of friends.

"Password!" a mechanical voice, devoid of any emotion, emanated from a bare stone wall.

"Purity," the prefect replied in the same cold tone.

The stone wall groaned and slowly parted, revealing a long, low, underground room.

"Remember the password," the prefect instructed the new students. "If you forget it, don't try to come back." He walked in first, and the first-years followed him into the Slytherin common room.

The temperature immediately dropped. It was at least two degrees colder than the Great Hall, a chill that seeped into their bones. A large fireplace blazed in the center of the room, its warmth a small and insufficient comfort against the pervasive dampness.

Dudley's eyes roamed the space. The overall style was Gothic, with a dim, green color scheme that gave the room an air of mystery and inscrutability. The lighting was poor; reading here would be a strain on the eyes. Huge, arched windows looked out into the icy, green-tinged waters of the Black Lake. Fish occasionally swam past, their silvery scales glinting in the eerie light. The windows, he noted, were sealed with a permanent sticking charm, never to be opened. The common room was, in essence, a converted dungeon, and it felt like one—eerie, quiet, and oppressive.

"Boys live this way, and girls live that way," the prefect said, giving a few curt instructions and pointing towards two separate doorways before hurrying away, clearly eager to escape the cold and the company of first-years. None of the older Slytherin students had returned with them; only the younger, more obedient ones had followed the prefect.

The moment the stone door slid shut behind him, dozens of unfriendly eyes fixed on Dudley. The message was clear: he was not welcome.

What they intended to do was obvious.

(End of Chapter)

***

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