"Yes, Professor," Harry said, his eyes welling with genuine, fat tears that streaked through the blood smeared on his cheek. "Not only did he hit me, but he… he insulted my parents…" His voice cracked, a perfect performance of a wounded, grieving child.
Dudley watched the scene unfold and gave an imperceptible nod of satisfaction. Harry and Ron were quick studies.
"Harry, are you alright? Let me see your injuries," a deep, concerned voice said. A tall, black wizard with a gold earring—one of the men from the "Out of Service" compartment—stepped forward, his face etched with unbearable pity.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, it's just a minor injury," Harry said quickly, stepping back. He couldn't let anyone examine him too closely. Aside from his broken glasses, he was completely unharmed. The blood on his face was Malfoy's. He couldn't help but marvel at Dudley's cunning. If he had thrown the first punch, he'd be the one facing punishment right now. Dudley had not only won the fight but had also won the narrative.
"Professor, I can testify for them," Hermione Granger said, appearing at the edge of the crowd. Her voice was trembling, but her eyes were firm. "I did hear Malfoy call Dudley a 'mudblood' and insult Harry's parents. I was about to come out and intervene, but then Malfoy just started throwing punches. It was terrifying." The round-faced boy who had lost his toad, Neville, nodded vigorously beside her.
A wave of angry murmurs rippled through the gathered students.
"How could he do that? Hitting someone on the train?"
"And cursing them like that… I wouldn't want to be in the same House as someone like him."
"It's disgraceful! Is that what pure-bloods are like?"
No one spoke up for Malfoy. He was friendless here.
"QUIET!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the chatter like a whip. "Everyone, return to your compartments. Now." The students, though reluctant, obeyed immediately. She turned her furious gaze to the three groaning boys on the floor. "Get them back to their compartment," she ordered the wizard beside her.
"My pleasure, Professor," the black wizard, Kingsley Shacklebolt, replied with a grim smile. He drew his wand, and with a flick, the three boys were lifted into the air. What followed was a masterclass in passive aggression. Crabbe's foot "accidentally" slammed into a doorframe. Goyle's levitation charm "faltered," causing him to drop several feet before being caught again. Malfoy's head "unintentionally" bumped against every single railing on the way back to his compartment. Their intermittent whimpers of pain provided a satisfying soundtrack to their journey of shame.
"Kingsley, be careful!" Professor McGonagall called out, though there was a distinct lack of conviction in her voice.
"I'm trying my best, Professor!" Kingsley's voice drifted back, followed by another pained yelp from Malfoy.
McGonagall turned her stern gaze back to the three boys in the compartment. She had already surmised that Harry, despite the blood, was largely unharmed. The Malfoy boy and his thugs, on the other hand, looked as if they had been trampled by a hippogriff.
"Professor McGonagall, I was the one who acted," Dudley said, stepping forward to take responsibility. "If you want to blame someone, blame me."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. She had held a considerable prejudice against this Dursley child. A family that despised magic could not possibly raise a decent wizard. But his name had appeared in the Book of Admittance, a fact that had surprised her and Dumbledore both. Now, seeing him stand here, calm and composed after such a violent altercation, she had to admit, there was something extraordinary about him. And she was not just referring to his strength.
"Professor, don't blame Dudley," Harry interjected. "It was my fault, too. I retaliated."
"Oh, so you're already trying to share the blame, are you?" McGonagall said, though her stern expression was softening. She looked deeply at the three of them. "Alright. I will report this matter to Professor Dumbledore. I trust he will handle it fairly. However, punishment for you three is unavoidable. As for Mr. Malfoy and his friends, rest assured, their punishment will be far more severe. I will inform you of my decision after the Sorting Ceremony." She paused at the door. "Now, clean yourselves up. We will be arriving at Hogwarts shortly."
"Wait, Professor!" Ron cried, his expression one of pure, innocent confusion. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I wasn't involved in this matter at all." He hadn't even had the chance to punch Malfoy.
McGonagall gave him a rare, thin smile. "As a classmate, Mr. Weasley, you failed to intervene in a timely manner. Therefore, you must also bear some responsibility." She gave his shoulder a light, final pat and left, closing the compartment door behind her.
Ron stood there, his neck outstretched, his arms spread wide in a gesture of utter bafflement. He looked like a silly, indignant owl.
"Hahaha!" Harry was the first to break, his laughter filling the small compartment. Dudley let out a soft chuckle. Finally, Ron's expression cracked, and he joined in, a helpless, resigned smile on his face.
"Oh, it seems I can't escape," he sighed. "I heard my dad say Malfoy's father is a powerful man at the Ministry. I thought we'd be in real trouble. But hearing Professor McGonagall… our punishment shouldn't be too severe, right?"
"She's maintaining a superficial fairness," Dudley explained, wiping the blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief. "But she's still siding with Harry. If she weren't, she would have insisted on a full injury assessment, not just let us go like this."
"Why?" Harry asked, still a bit confused.
Dudley smiled and tapped Harry's forehead gently. "My foolish brother, your scar is your get-out-of-jail-free card."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you going to make fun of me, too?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Dudley said, his demeanor shifting back to one of elegant composure as he picked up his purring cat. He seemed a world away from the boy who had just brutally dismantled three others.
"You know," Harry said thoughtfully, "I think the kids in our neighborhood calling you 'Big Brother D' wasn't for nothing."
Dudley looked up, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "When language fails to persuade," he said, "one must resort to physical persuasion."
***
(End of Chapter)
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