"Yes," Malfoy declared, his voice firm, though his pale face still bore the faint bruising of Dudley's fist. "He was the one who first said that pure-blood wizards were trash. I merely retorted." He had meticulously rehearsed this version of events with his father. All he had to do was maintain his facade, and his father would handle the rest. The truth was irrelevant.
"No!" Ron interjected hotly, his face flushing with indignation. "Malfoy was the one who insulted Harry's parents first, and our family! That's what started it!"
"Hmph," Lucius sneered, polishing the silver head of his cane with a silk handkerchief. "The Weasley boy and Potter are friends. His words cannot be trusted."
"You—" Ron sputtered, red-faced, unable to form a coherent retort against such blatant dismissiveness.
"We have other witnesses," Harry said, his voice calmer than Ron's, though a tremor of anxiety ran beneath it. "There were other students in the compartment who can testify for us."
"Is that so?" Lucius's cold eyes narrowed. "I took a look. Those children are mostly from Gryffindor. They are in the same House. One can only assume they have colluded. Their words, therefore, cannot prove anything." His tone was dismissive, utterly devoid of any pretense of fairness.
"Lucius," Professor McGonagall began, her voice sharp with indignation, "if that is the case, then by your own logic, Mr. Malfoy's words cannot be proven either, can they?"
"I think Crabbe and Goyle, as children from pure-blood families, their words are enough to prove the truth of the matter," Lucius replied indifferently, his gaze sweeping over the two hulking boys, who stood stiffly beside him, still nursing their aches.
What a double standard, Dudley observed, his mind analyzing the power dynamics. The Malfoy family had not come here for justice or truth. They were here for dominance.
"Father," Malfoy cut in, his voice taking on a carefully calculated magnanimity. "Ron and Harry insulted me, but they did not lay a hand on me. This… this boy from the Muggle family is the true culprit. I am willing to let bygones be bygones for the others, but he… he must be expelled." He fixed Dudley with a vicious, triumphant glare.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was too famous. Expelling him would be a public relations nightmare, a direct challenge to Dumbledore's authority, and likely opposed by a significant portion of the Wizengamot. Ron, despite his family's modest standing, came from an old wizarding family, and his father worked at the Ministry. Expelling him would be an unnecessary bureaucratic headache. But Dudley? Dudley Dursley was a Muggle-born, a completely unknown quantity, without status or connections. He was the perfect scapegoat. For the Malfoy family, expelling such a student would be as simple as snapping their fingers.
"Dumbledore," Lucius drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, polishing his cane with a flourish, "you see how magnanimous my son is. We will not demand the expulsion of Potter or the Weasley boy; some other punishment will suffice. But this… this Dursley must be expelled. We cannot allow children with such violent tendencies into Hogwarts. The Board of Directors, I'm sure, will agree." He smiled faintly, clearly believing the matter was settled.
"No!" Harry cried, his face pale with horror. "Professor Dumbledore, Dudley only acted for my sake! If you're going to expel him, then expel me too!"
"Me too!" Ron added, though he knew the dire consequences of such a declaration. He wouldn't abandon his friend.
"Heh," Lucius sneered, a cold, triumphant glint in his eye. "What touching brotherly affection. Unfortunately, it is quite useless."
Dumbledore, who had been listening in silence, finally turned his gaze. His blue eyes, magnified by his spectacles, fixed on Dudley. "Dudley," he said, his voice soft, "do you have anything you wish to say?"
"Professor Dumbledore, I…" Professor McGonagall began, stepping forward, her face etched with anxiety. Dumbledore merely raised a hand, silencing her.
Dudley met Dumbledore's gaze. After a moment's consideration, he spoke. "I wish to confront Malfoy. Alone."
A ripple of surprise went through the room. Dumbledore merely nodded, making a gesture for him to proceed. Malfoy looked at his father, and upon receiving a subtle nod of approval, stepped forward.
"What, still want to make a dying struggle? It's useless," Malfoy said, a cruel smirk on his face.
Dudley offered him a small, polite smile and walked towards the very center of the room. Dumbledore's office was generally dim, with only a few pools of brighter light. "Let's stand over here," Dudley suggested, gesturing to the most brightly lit area. "The lighting is better."
Malfoy, eager to bask in the perceived spotlight, strode confidently into the illuminated circle. He puffed out his chest, reveling in the attention. Dudley, meanwhile, actively retreated, positioning himself just outside the brightest light, in the relative shadows.
As a result, every eye in the room was now fixed directly on Malfoy, who stood alone, exposed, in the harsh, central glare. His position was also the furthest from Dumbledore and the other adults.
"Very good," Dudley said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. This was so much like an interrogation room, with the bright lights on the interrogated and the interrogator hidden in the shadows, controlling everything.
"Mr. Malfoy," Dudley's voice was calm, unhurried, but imbued with a strange, undeniable authority. "I am going to ask you a few questions. You only need to answer: yes, or no."
His extraordinary characteristics, the Lawyer and the Arbitrator, were already fully engaged. He could feel the spiritual power surging within him, rapidly digesting his Beyonder Characteristics. This might just be an excellent opportunity, he realized. The Judge Pathway's Sequence 7 was the Interrogator. This was acting.
Malfoy looked around, an instinctive wave of discomfort washing over him. The light felt too bright, too harsh, almost dazzling. Everyone else was shrouded in shadow, their expressions unreadable. A knot of nervousness tightened in his stomach.
"Okay," Malfoy managed, clenching his fists to feign composure.
Lucius frowned. His son was being far too compliant. He should have scoffed, demanded to know who this boy thought he was. But the moment was too critical. All eyes were on his son. He could only watch and hope Malfoy stuck to their rehearsed script.
"First question," Dudley's voice echoed through Dumbledore's office, calm and even, yet to Malfoy's ears, it was imbued with an indescribable, compelling authority. "Did you say that Harry's father and mother didn't know what was good for them and that you hoped Harry would die just like his parents?"
(End of Chapter)
***
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