I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

With a few quick, decisive movements, Dudley snatched the wands from the hands of the nearest young wizards. Without their wands, they were no different from ordinary Muggles, stripped of their power. None of them had mastered the advanced art of wandless magic; even elite Aurors struggled with such techniques. He knocked them down one by one, a single, precise blow to the head for each.

'Data Eye, it's really useful,' Dudley thought.

The ability he'd gained from the Sorting Hat task was proving to be a true fighting artifact. It not only constructed a 3D image of the room in his mind but also displayed a wealth of useful data. As he fought, it highlighted the most painful places to strike, the points that would induce unconsciousness, and even the spots that would cause intense pain without leaving a visible injury. This was only its lowest level; he could only imagine what it could do when upgraded. It might even display the complete stats of every wizard he saw.

The young Slytherins had clearly not expected Dudley to fight back against such overwhelming numbers, and they were caught completely off guard. They were just a mob, relying on their numbers to bully a single opponent, utterly unfamiliar with the brutal realities of a real fight. In just over ten seconds, several of them were on the ground, their wands confiscated and casually stuffed into Dudley's pockets.

"What are you running for?" someone shouted in panic. "He's only one person, and there are so many of us!" A moment later, he too was disarmed and punched to the ground.

One punch, one person. Even when dealing with the girls in the group, Dudley didn't hold back. When they chose to stand against him, gender was no longer a consideration. Their numbers, which should have been an advantage, had become a liability. The crowd of untrained wizards was just that—a crowd. Dudley moved through them like a fierce tiger let loose in a flock of sheep, an unstoppable force of nature.

"Spells! Attack him with spells!"

Slytherin wasn't entirely made up of good-for-nothings. There were a few excellent young wizards among them; otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to compete with Gryffindor for the House Cup, which they had won for the last seven consecutive years.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

After the initial panic, someone finally managed to cast a spell that could cause Dudley real harm. Facing the incoming curse, Dudley didn't flinch. He casually grabbed a nearby student and used him as a human shield.

Except for a few special cases, most spells were traceable. As long as you could see their trajectory, they were easy enough to dodge. Straight-line spells were child's play for Dudley's reflexes. The curving spells mastered by adult wizards were far beyond the abilities of these low-grade students.

Hit by the spell, the young wizard's face instantly turned a pale, waxy color, his body and limbs becoming rigid. This unfortunate human shield was none other than one of Malfoy's two followers, the chubby Goyle.

For Dudley, who was well-versed in standard spellcasting theory, reacting to different curses was simple. He understood the spells they were casting better than they did themselves. When faced with a Body-Bind Curse, the answer was obvious: grab someone and put them in front of you. In a crowded room, there was no shortage of shields.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Another curse shot out from a third-year student, trying to ambush Dudley while he was distracted. Dudley simply grabbed another student to block it. With one hand holding the makeshift shield, he snatched the wand from the caster's hand with the other. The movement was as smooth as silk, a perfectly rehearsed, fluid motion. Having more people was not always an advantage.

This time, the one hit by the curse was Malfoy's other follower, Crabbe.

Dudley then pulled a handful of potions from his pocket and hurled them into the crowd. The glass vials shattered, and a light-yellow gas enveloped the young wizards. Slowing Potions. These were not half-giants like Hagrid; they had no natural resistance. The effect was immediate, reducing their mobility by more than fifty percent. Their reactions and speed, already no match for Dudley's, were now crippled. The threat from the Slytherin mob was reduced to its lowest level.

Dudley took the opportunity to walk over to the petrified Goyle and Crabbe. Amidst the terrified stares of the remaining students, he picked them up, one in each hand.

What kind of monster is this? He can lift someone hit by the Petrificus Curse with one hand?

What kind of demon did that bastard Malfoy make us provoke?

Didn't he say he was just a slightly stronger Mudblood? Didn't he say he could be easily flattened?

The cleverer Slytherin students had already lost their will to fight and wanted to scatter, but the Slowing Potion made any attempt at escape futile.

Dudley weighed the two petrified boys in his hands. They were neither too light nor too heavy. Just the right weight. They felt quite handy.

"Hey," he said, turning his head to show the remaining Slytherins a "friendly" smile. But the smile, forced onto his tense, straining facial muscles, was not friendly at all. It was the creepy, uncanny grin of a poorly carved wooden puppet.

With Crabbe as a bludgeon in his left hand and Goyle in his right, Dudley swung the human weapons, charging into the terrified crowd. With one sweep, he cleared a large area, the impact sending students flying and tumbling, their cries of pain and fear filling the common room.

'Brutal!'

The ferocious image, the sheer, raw violence of it, deeply shocked the young wizards of Slytherin. But the key, the detail that would haunt their nightmares, was that he maintained that same stiff, half-smiling, half-not-smiling expression throughout the entire ordeal. It added a touch of eerie, psychopathic calm to the brutality.

The older Slytherin students, who had been watching from the doorways of their dormitories, had initially considered intervening. But after witnessing Dudley's brutal side, they didn't dare cast a single spell. They quietly closed their doors, pretending they hadn't seen a thing. They wanted no part in this, especially not against such a brute.

In no time, the entire Slytherin common room was empty of anyone standing except for Dudley himself. The floor was littered with the groaning, defeated forms of the young wizards, their wands all confiscated.

After confirming that everyone except Malfoy had been disarmed and incapacitated, Dudley did something that surprised them all. He casually grabbed a nearby student, pressed them onto a table, raised his large, fan-like hand, and slammed it down hard onto the boy's buttocks.

(End of Chapter)

***

[Check Out My Patreon For More Chapters On All

Of My Fanfics!!] [www. [email protected]/meowthtl]

[+300 Power Stones = +1 Bonus Chapter]

[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[Thank You For Your Support!]