I am Harry Potter's Cousin, Big D

"You can't," Malfoy stammered, trying to stand but finding his legs shaking too uncontrollably to support him. He could hear his own teeth chattering, a loud, rattling sound in the tense silence of the room.

"Oh? Why can't I?"

Dudley gently tapped his fingers on the large conference table. Each soft tap was like a heavy hammer blow against Malfoy's heart, making him tremble involuntarily. Dudley stretched out his large, fan-like hand and said slowly, "You should know, you've offended me. Many times."

"I think I should have told you," he continued, his voice dangerously low. "I'm not a good guy, Mr. Draco."

"The students outside saw you take me," Malfoy suddenly shouted, his rarely-used intelligence kicking in as he grasped at a life-saving straw. "If you dare to hurt me, the professors will know! They'll expel you!"

At the mention of expulsion, a jolt of energy shot through Malfoy. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to. His teeth stopped chattering, and his body stopped trembling. For a fleeting moment, he was full of spirit.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dudley lowered his voice, interrupting the boy's fantasy. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

With just that one look, the courage Malfoy had just mustered deflated like a punctured balloon.

"What makes you think I care if I get expelled?"

Did Dudley care about being expelled? Honestly, he did. He had genuinely looked forward to spending these next few years peacefully at Hogwarts. But... why on earth would Malfoy be the one to get him expelled? Because of his family name? Or because of his father, the school governor?

If it were somewhere else, having a school governor for a father might really allow someone to do whatever they wanted. Unfortunately, Hogwarts wasn't some private school. The power of the governors was surprisingly limited. They couldn't even decide what was for dinner. Dudley had specifically researched this and was one hundred percent certain. Just as the Sorting Hat had said, he was always well-prepared.

These words confused Malfoy. With his current brain capacity, he couldn't figure out why a student wouldn't be afraid of being expelled.

The art of verbal warfare lies in who holds the dominant position. Whoever breaks down first, loses.

And now, it was Dudley's turn.

Under Malfoy's terrified gaze, Dudley slowly spoke a single word.

"Wiltshire."

That was his home. The location of Malfoy Manor.

"How do you know that?!" Malfoy shrieked, his voice cracking with fear, high and sharp like a strangled bird. His heart hammered against his ribs so loudly that Dudley could hear it clearly from where he stood.

Why did Dudley know the address? It was a good question. The answer was Lucius. Malfoy's father was too flamboyant, too high-profile, and too ostentatious. He had never hidden the location of his ancestral home, nor had he cast a Fidelius Charm to protect it. Many people in the wizarding world knew where it was. Even the Ministry of Magic would occasionally conduct surprise inspections of Malfoy Manor, searching for dark magic artifacts. With Dudley's intelligence, combined with the analytical ability of his Data Eye, it hadn't been difficult to deduce the specific location.

The problem was that Draco didn't know any of this. He was truly, utterly frightened by Dudley's words, his mind filled with a regret so profound it was painful. What could be more intimidating than 'I'll be waiting for you at your doorstep'? At least for a student, nothing.

By the way, Dudley mused, I recently discovered something interesting while studying the history of magic.

According to the Malfoy family's own records, their ancestor was one Armand Malfoy, who founded the family in the eleventh century. At first glance, it sounded like a distinguished, thousand-year-old noble family. However, this claim was not recognized by the wider wizarding world. According to every other reputable history of magic, the Malfoy family first appeared in the sixteenth century, and the recorded founder was Lucius Malfoy I. There was a six-hundred-year gap. Even more interestingly, their own family records didn't go back before the sixteenth century. The only "proof" was a pair of brief sentences in their family annals. Besides that... nothing. The Malfoy family history was a masterclass in fabricated prestige.

"Oh, I heard your family also keeps a nice flock of white peacocks," Dudley began, his voice a soft, conversational murmur. Staring directly into Malfoy's terrified eyes, he began to describe the Malfoy estate, bit by bit, as if he were walking through its halls. "Portraits hanging on the walls... marble fireplaces and gilded mirrors... luxurious carpets..."

Listening to Dudley reveal these details one by one, Malfoy felt as if his heart was being squeezed in a vise. How could he know? How does he know?

His intuition screamed at him that if this boy was really expelled, his threats would absolutely come true.

"If I get expelled," Dudley mused, leaning closer, "what do you think? Should I come to your house for a little chat?" His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "Mr. Draco, I don't think your father, Mr. Lucius, can protect you at all times. There are always times when he's not there, right? Like this week, for example. I hear France is a very nice place."

Dudley's words were slow and deliberate, each one a drop of ice water on Malfoy's terror. With every detail Dudley revealed, the color drained from Malfoy's face, until it was as pale and thin as parchment.

He believed him. He believed every word. His father had gone to France this week.

Dudley had used the simplest language to tear down Malfoy's psychological defenses, piece by piece. How did he know so clearly? A high-profile man like Lucius announced his every move. This week's Daily Prophet had published the news of his trip. Malfoy didn't have the habit of reading newspapers; few young wizards did. But Dudley did. Having made a small fortune from the wand business, he subscribed to the Daily Prophet and other wizarding newspapers every week. Insight, he knew, was an essential element of becoming a powerful wizard.

The important thing was that Malfoy believed him. And that was enough.

It's really, really easy to fool children.

(End of Chapter)

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