I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

"Hey, Dursley, you big oaf."

The voice was followed by a familiar, self-important sneer. "I told you I'd get you."

Before Dudley could even turn to locate the speaker, Draco Malfoy couldn't help but emerge from the crowd, his pale face a mask of unconcealed smugness. He was still using that greasy, pompous tone he seemed to think made him sound powerful. In reality, he hadn't said anything of the sort on the train; he had fled in embarrassment without managing a single coherent threat.

Crabbe and Goyle, his two hulking bodyguards, followed closely behind him. They were flanked by a crowd of other young wizards—first, second, and even third years—who had formed a menacing circle around Dudley. Not all the Slytherins had joined Malfoy's little gang, but none of them stood with Dudley either. They simply watched from the sidelines, their expressions cold and calculating.

Malfoy was quite satisfied with the scene. He had gathered dozens of followers, while his target stood alone. He loved the feeling of leading the pack. If Dudley had been sorted into any other house, this would have been much more difficult. But here, in Slytherin, Malfoy had the absolute advantage in both location and numbers. He couldn't imagine how he could possibly lose.

"I'm a very magnanimous person," Malfoy began, lifting his chin arrogantly. "If you're willing to be my lackey, let us beat you up a bit to vent our anger, and then help us teach that Potter a lesson, I'll consider forgiving you."

At the mention of Potter's name, several pairs of older eyes, not belonging to the immediate crowd, fixed on Malfoy for a fleeting moment. The upper-year Slytherins hadn't returned with the prefect, but that didn't mean they weren't present, watching from the shadowy corners of the common room. Even with Dumbledore's reassurances, many pure-blood wizards still stubbornly believed that Harry Potter was, in essence, a Dark Wizard—the one who had somehow vanquished the Dark Lord. This strange, contradictory notion had been passed down to their children, which was why Slytherin's attitude towards Harry was so complex and subtle. If it were Harry standing in Dudley's place, at least ninety percent of them would have chosen to observe from a distance, waiting to see how he handled himself before choosing a side. Since Malfoy was willing to be the one to stick his neck out, that was naturally for the best.

Malfoy's offer was, of course, complete nonsense. The "lackey" part was just an excuse. If Dudley refused, Malfoy could righteously order his followers to attack, posturing as if he had offered a merciful choice. If Dudley agreed, the outcome would be even worse. It was the best, most cunning plan Malfoy's small, arrogant brain could concoct.

Dudley simply folded his arms across his chest, the solid wall of his pectoral muscles a silent reassurance.

"What if I don't?" he asked, his voice calm.

Malfoy stared at him, the memory of his humiliation on the train still fresh in his mind. He would never forget the terror that had almost made him wet his pants. "Then we'll give you a night you'll never forget," he sneered.

The young wizards exchanged looks, and a round of malicious laughter echoed through the cold, stone room.

"No, every day," a voice full of cruel instigation called out from the crowd. "We need someone to practice our spells on."

Malfoy frowned slightly at the suggestion but said nothing. He hadn't thought of that. He just wanted to teach Dudley a simple lesson, to reclaim the face he had lost. Taking him on as a lackey to humiliate Harry would have been the perfect bonus. It was all Harry's fault for ignoring him and making friends with that blood-traitor Weasley.

Dudley stroked his smooth chin, a strange expression on his face. This scene suddenly brought a word to his mind.

"Are you guys trying to bully me?"

Back at St. George's Primary School, a similar group had surrounded him, making similar threats. And what happened then? Oh, right. They all ended up getting beaten into the ground. His reputation had been built on such encounters. And now, they were doing it all over again.

"I just want to get along peacefully with my classmates and live a quiet school life," he said with a sigh. "That's all." To sum it up in one sentence: I, Dudley Dursley, just want a peaceful life.

"Those who don't want to get hurt," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "can leave now."

It was a final warning. Unfortunately, it fell on deaf ears.

"Look, what nonsense is he talking?"

"No way, does he think he's so great just because he's big? We're wizards!" The young Slytherins laughed and mocked him, his words going in one ear and out the other.

Whoosh!

A fluorescent green light shot out from the crowd. Dudley, who had been keeping a close watch on the situation, easily dodged it. It wasn't from Malfoy, but from someone on his side.

"A sneak attack?"

The spot where the spell hit the stone wall began to corrode, a small, sizzling hole appearing in the rock. It was some kind of curse.

"I hate sneak attacks," Dudley said, his voice flat. The memory of the pig's tail, the feeling of his body being forcibly, unnaturally changed, flashed through his mind. His face, which had been placid, gradually turned cold. His somewhat 'kindly' round features began to look 'ferocious,' the muscles in his face tightening into a hard mask.

Just that simple change in expression sent a jolt of fear through the crowd. Malfoy, who was standing at the front, felt a shiver run down his spine. It was the same look from their first "greeting."

Dudley's gaze swept over the group of young Slytherin wizards. No one dared to meet his eyes for more than a second. If Harry were here, he would have known instantly.

Dudley was angry.

At the same time, a crisp system prompt sounded in his ear.

Four Great Houses Quest Series: Rectify the House.

Objective: Transform Slytherin House into a true Slytherin.

Time Limit: Seven years.

Quest Reward: Issued in stages.

Hearing the system's voice, Dudley forced a smile onto his tense face, a chilling sight to behold. "You guys started this," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "And you attacked first. Originally, I just wanted to get along with you as an ordinary wizard, but it seems that's not possible now..."

At that moment, a three-dimensional image of the entire Slytherin common room appeared in his mind, a construct of his Data Eye. He had already plotted several attack and defense routes, which was why he had offered them a chance to leave. He quickly assessed the threat. First-years were no different from the elementary school students at St. George's. Second-years knew a few simple spells, but they were manageable. The only real trouble was the handful of third-years. They would know spells that could cause him real harm. They had to be dealt with first, before they could even react. The best method was to take away their wands.

He leaned forward slightly, the veins on his feet bulging with contained power.

The next second, like a leopard spotting its prey, he exploded into motion.

His first target was the third-year Slytherin student still holding a smoking wand.

The entire common room instantly erupted into chaos.

(End of Chapter)

***

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