"Did I say something wrong? A mudblood is a mudblood," Malfoy sneered arrogantly. "Potter, if you keep company with these people, it won't be long before you fall just like them—just like your parents."
Malfoy's words ignited a fire in Harry's chest, his rage boiling over.
Ron, equally furious, saw Harry about to lunge forward and didn't hesitate to join him.
Swish.
At that moment, Dudley sprang into action, grabbing Harry and Ron, one in each hand.
"Dudley, he's insulting you! It's vile!" Ron protested, struggling against Dudley's grip.
But Dudley's hands were like iron vices, holding Ron fast, impossible to break free from.
Harry, on the other side, flushed with frustration. Didn't Dudley always resort to fists? Why was he holding back now?
Dudley ignored Harry and Ron, tilting his head slightly to glance at the corridor's end.
Through his Spirit Vision, he saw a blurry figure there, radiating a powerful spiritual aura—a formidable wizard, no doubt.
His gaze then shifted to the adjacent compartment, marked with a "Temporarily Out of Service" sign. Heavy curtains obscured the interior, but Dudley sensed spiritual energy seeping out, signaling more powerful wizards inside.
From the moment they boarded the train, Dudley's observations had painted a clear picture: this seemingly ordinary train hid many powerful wizards.
He didn't know their purpose—perhaps they were there to ensure safety, or maybe for something else.
Regardless, in such a situation, caution was paramount. This was a survival lesson Dudley had learned in that strange world.
"Is your bloodline so noble?" Dudley asked, stepping forward.
His Spirit Vision locked onto Malfoy and the two lackeys behind him.
"Hmph, far nobler than a mudblood like you," Malfoy retorted, frowning.
For reasons he couldn't pinpoint, Malfoy felt an unsettling pressure emanating from Dudley.
"A person's worth isn't defined by their bloodline," Dudley said calmly. "Your so-called nobility is nothing but delusion. Beyond your lineage, you're utterly worthless."
"You, with your supposedly noble and pure bloodline? All I see is noble, pure—trash. No matter how 'noble,' trash is still trash."
Dudley's gaze bore into Malfoy, his voice steady and deliberate.
His spiritual power rippled outward with his words, his extraordinary ability already in motion.
As Dudley's aura of authority radiated, his lawyer-like persuasiveness and eloquence took hold. Simultaneously, he wielded his ability to subtly guide and distort the thoughts and emotions of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
"What did you say?" Malfoy's face contorted in fury.
Crabbe and Goyle's anger surged alongside his.
Their revered bloodline, dismissed as worthless by Dudley—and worse, his words rang with an uncanny truth in their ears.
This realization fueled their rage, an overwhelming, seething fury.
"Get them!" Malfoy roared, charging forward, not forgetting to command Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy's fist swung toward Harry, the closest target. Harry, ready to retaliate, forgot he was still restrained by Dudley. His punch faltered, leaving an opening for Malfoy's fist to connect with his face.
"Ah!" Harry gasped.
But it wasn't Malfoy's punch that hit him—Dudley had yanked him backward with one hand.
Malfoy's swing wasn't entirely fruitless, though; it sent Harry's glasses flying, clattering to the floor with a crack.
"Malfoy, you dared hit my brother? You're done for!" Dudley bellowed, his fist slamming into Malfoy's face, sending him sprawling from the compartment into the corridor.
"And you two, ganging up on my brother? I'll pound you both!" Dudley roared, his fists flying.
Screams mingled with Dudley's shouts. In mere seconds, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy were all sent tumbling into the corridor, howling as they hit the ground.
Inside the compartment, Harry and Ron stood frozen, as if struck by Petrificus Totalus.
Dudley's speed and ferocity left them no time to react. Each punch landed with brutal precision on Malfoy and his cronies. Even watching, Ron winced, feeling the blows in his own bones.
It hurt—oh, it hurt.
After knocking the trio out, Dudley didn't pursue them. Instead, he swiftly tore Harry's shirt and smeared blood—whether Crabbe's or Malfoy's—across Harry's face.
The actions flowed seamlessly, almost choreographed.
"What are you doing?" a shocked, furious voice rang out from the corridor.
The "Out of Service" compartment door slid open with a whoosh, revealing two middle-aged wizards in robes stepping out.
"Oh, my goodness!" The voice belonged to Professor McGonagall. She first saw Malfoy, bloodied and sprawled, with Crabbe and Goyle writhing in pain. Then her eyes landed on Harry Potter, his face smeared with blood.
"What… what is going on here?" she demanded, stunned.
"This one, Malfoy, and his two goons barged into our compartment and attacked my brother, Harry Potter," Dudley declared loudly. "Look, they broke his glasses, and his face is covered in blood!"
By now, the corridor was packed with students, all catching Dudley's words. They latched onto the critical detail, ignoring the rest.
Someone had attacked Harry Potter—and left his face bloody.
"What? Harry Potter's at our school?"
"Who hit Harry Potter?"
"Who's bold enough to attack Harry Potter?"
The crowd buzzed with agitation. Harry Potter was a legend in the wizarding world, an idol to many. The idea that a young boy, on his way to Hogwarts for the first time, had been beaten was unthinkable.
On the ground, Malfoy nearly fainted from rage. He tried to protest, but his mouth, filled with bloody foam, could only produce garbled grunts.
"Professor, they went too far," Ron chimed in, recovering his voice. "They insulted Harry and his parents, called Harry's cousin a mudblood, and smashed Harry's glasses!" He laid out Malfoy's offenses with conviction.