I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

"No, you can't!" one of the young wizards let out a shrill, terrified scream.

"No," Dudley replied, his voice a low, chilling murmur that cut through the whimpers in the room. "I can. You offended me, so you must accept my punishment."

He smiled cruelly, a slow, deliberate twisting of his lips that held no warmth. His palm slapped down without mercy, the sharp smack echoing off the cold stone walls, followed by another, and another. Annoying children, he believed, deserved to be spanked. Hard.

Fortunately, he controlled his strength. The punishment was painful and humiliating but not enough to cause serious injury. At most, the recipients would be confined to their beds for a day or two. A few slaps from his full strength would have turned their backsides into a bloody mess. In any case, with the magical potions available at Hogwarts, they would probably be up and walking by the next day.

After finishing with one, he calmly moved on to the next. One after another, no one was spared. Those who tried to crawl away were caught by Dudley and spanked first, their futile attempts only seeming to fuel his methodical approach. In a short while, the only sounds in the Slytherin common room were the pained groans of the young wizards littered across the floor.

This was Ass Destroyer Dudley.

After dealing with every last one of them, Dudley turned his gaze to the final target: Draco Malfoy, who had already collapsed in a quivering heap of fear.

His light footsteps on the stone floor felt like heavy hammers, pounding on Malfoy's fragile heart.

"Don't come any closer!" Malfoy shrieked, scrambling backward.

— — — — — — — —

In a hidden room off the main common room, several older Slytherin students sat around a circular table. Slytherin not only had private rooms for its Prefects but also a multitude of spare, unused chambers. This was partly because Slytherin had the fewest students of the four houses and partly because the common room, a converted dungeon, was much larger than it appeared.

Malfoy's heart-wrenching scream of terror made one of the older students, a tall boy with a buzz cut and prominent buck teeth, stand up.

"Marcus, what are you doing?" a cold voice reprimanded from the head of the table. It was the seventh-year Slytherin Prefect. The student who had stood, Marcus Flint, was the current captain and Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"I want to go out and see," Marcus said, his head bowed.

The Prefect simply waved a dismissive hand, his tone similar to Malfoy's but far more natural, stripped of the boy's greasy awkwardness. "It's just a low-grade conflict, nothing worth our time. We don't need to interfere."

"But that's Draco," Marcus insisted. "Lucius Malfoy's only son." The Flint family had a good relationship with the Malfoys, even some distant kinship.

"So what?" the Prefect replied, his voice devoid of emotion. Under his cool, unwavering gaze, the slight momentum Marcus had gathered completely dissipated.

"He's being bullied!" Marcus said weakly.

"So? What does that have to do with us? What does it have to do with you?" the Prefect questioned.

"I..." Marcus's face turned red, and he stammered for a long moment. "I think we should help him..."

Before the Prefect could speak, another Slytherin at the table chimed in. "Haven't we helped him enough? We didn't stop the second or third years from joining in. Do you know how many of them there were? We even put a soundproofing charm on the common room so he could make a good fuss without the whole castle knowing." He paused. "And what was the result?" Malfoy's screams told them everything they needed to know.

"Malfoy is a Slytherin, after all," Marcus tried again, his voice weaker this time.

"The other one is also a Slytherin," the Prefect snapped, his tone suddenly rising a few notches. "Listen, Marcus, Malfoy gathered the people, and Malfoy started the trouble. If he can't win, what does that have to do with us? We are not the families of Crabbe and Goyle, and we are certainly not his family's dogs. We don't need to clean up his messes." He leaned forward. "Besides, the other one is Potter's cousin. You know what that means."

In the British wizarding world, all pure-blood families were more or less related. The name Harry Potter was taboo for them, especially those who had been Death Eaters. It carried a sense of awe and fear. Until they figured out how he had defeated the Dark Lord, they would show him a certain respect, or at least, they wouldn't stop others from testing the waters for them.

"Malfoy has so many resources," the Prefect continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "If he can't handle this little thing, what right does he have to ask for our help? Because he's arrogant? Or because he has a good dad?" Malfoy's childish habit of constantly showing off his father irritated many of the older students from equally prominent families. Is he the only one in the world with a father?

"Remember, we are Slytherins, not kindergarten nannies. We don't have time to play house with them," the Prefect said, his voice softening slightly as he tried to speak earnestly to Marcus. "Do you still remember the Slytherin motto?"

The question seemed to stump Marcus. He thought for a moment before stammering, "Pure-blood supremacy?"

"It's 'Interest above all, Ability above all, the winner is king, the loser is a bandit.' How many times do I have to tell you, you idiot?" the Prefect hissed, mentally cursing the entire Flint family. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Marcus, you're in your fifth year. We'll be graduating soon. We don't have the time or energy to teach you anything more. From now on, you can only rely on yourself. You already failed to become a Prefect. Don't make me regret choosing you as Quidditch captain. And don't bring shame to your family."

Seeing that Marcus was still glancing towards the door, clearly not listening, the Prefect's blood pressure rose. He shook his head helplessly. "If you really want to help Malfoy," he said with a sigh, "then go and notify Professor Snape. But if I were you, I wouldn't do that. Someone who can defeat so many people is not simple. At least, you, Marcus, couldn't do it. If I were you, I would choose to befriend him." He had done enough.

In the common room, Dudley had reached Malfoy, who was curled up in a ball on the floor. Ignoring the boy's continuous cries of "Don't come any closer," he pressed one hand on Malfoy's small head, turned him around, and leaned in. His face grew closer and closer until they were nose to nose. Malfoy could hear the other boy's heavy, rhythmic breathing.

In that moment, he recalled the abject terror he had felt at Madam Malkin's, the feeling of being about to be eaten.

Dudley slowly opened his mouth, revealing two rows of white teeth that looked eerie and predatory in the faint, green light of the common room.

At the sight, Malfoy let out a small, gurgling sound, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

(End of Chapter)

***

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