| Chapter Four: The Raggedy Hat |
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When they arrived at Hogwarts, Dudley was taken with the other first-year students across the lake and into the entrance hall. An old woman with black hair addressed the group.
"You are about to be sorted into your Houses," she explained. "Each of you will try on the Sorting Hat, which will then announce your House. The welcoming feast will take place immediately afterwards."
Dudley's heart gave a horrible jolt. He suddenly realized that he would be eating meals prepared for wizards. What if they were all like Ron? What if the food consisted entirely of soggy corned beef sandwiches and an occasional slice of liverwurst?
His mind racing with thoughts of second-rate food, Dudley filed into the Great Hall. He barely noticed Ron whispering to a pair of red-haired twins (probably his brothers) while pointing back at Dudley. Then, they had to wait while the Sorting Hat sang a song describing the four Houses. Dudley felt that Ron's explanation had been adequate. He knew that Gryffindors were brave, Ravenclaws were smart, Slytherins were ambitious or pureblooded, and Hufflepuff...
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil; sang the Hat.
Patience gave Dudley an unpleasant shock. But it was that last word, toil, that drove all thoughts of food from Dudley's mind. He knew what toil meant and he certainly did not like it.
The song finished and the sorting began. Two girls were sentenced to toil almost immediately. Dudley became nervous. The sorting was taking place alphabetically, which meant that Dudley would be up soon, whether it was alphabetized by first name or last (Dudley had never bothered to keep track, thanks to his parents' foresight in naming).
"Dudley Dursley!" called the old woman with black hair.
The entire hall went quiet. Dudley took his seat and the woman placed the Hat upon his head.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult... So where shall I put you?"
Dudley gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Hufflepuff, not Hufflepuff.
"Not Hufflepuff, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You're not too bright... a bit of a coward, I might add, and certainly no ambition. Hufflepuff is really all that's left -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be SLYTHERIN!"
The last, much to Dudley's relief, was shouted to the entire hall. There was clapping all around. The loudest cheers came from the Slytherin table, but a knot of people surrounding Ron's brothers seemed just as pleased. Ron must have told them what a great guy Dudley was, and they were happy to seem him get into a first-rate House.
Dudley was shortly joined by Gregory Goyle, who took the seat next to him. Dudley recalled the alliteration in the name of his closest friend, Piers Polkiss, and decided that this foreboded well for the friendly-looking Goyle (not that Dudley thought in precisely that terminology).
The sorting continued through the remaining students. Dudley's friend Ron got sorted into Gryffindor, unfortunately -- but Ron seemed content. The feast began afterwards, and the food was excellent. Dudley was halfway through his second helping before he remembered to forget worrying about the quality of food.
| Chapter Five: Getting Lessons |
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Dudley's first week at Hogwarts was the worst of his life. The fame and celebrity bit was starting to wear thin and he wanted to watch T.V. But when he unpacked the television from his magical trunk, he could find neither a power outlet nor a cable connection. He figured to get by with his portable PlayStation, but for some reason it wasn't working either -- and, once again, there were no outlets to charge the battery.
Worse, Dudley had vaguely assumed that the process of learning magic would be -- well, magical. But he still had to attend classes, read books and do homework.
The classes weren't all bad. Potions was easily Dudley's favorite, because they got to mix strange things inside their cauldrons, usually over a fire. He managed to excel during his very first lesson.
"Excellent, Mr. Dursley," said Snape, standing over Dudley's cauldron, where acid green smoke was hissing upwards from the mixture. "I see you have already advanced to the cauldron-melting potion. Five points for Slytherin. And what have we here?" he asked, turning to the bushy-haired girl. "A cure for boils. How mundane. I suppose it was the recommended assignment, but I must say I'm not impressed."
Professor Quirrell was nice, affording Dudley the recognition due to the Hero who Conquered the Dark Lord. He was awfully nervous around Dudley, but that would pass in time. Professor Flitwick was only a notch below. Dudley didn't like Professor Sprout, but Herbology was tolerable, because Dudley enjoyed the typical assignment of violently yanking a robust magical plant out of its pot.
But there was no getting around the fact that Transfiguration was simply awful. In their very first lesson, Professor McGonagall announced that they would be transfiguring needles into matches. As Dudley already owned a pack of matches, he knew the exercise was pointless. When he politely pointed this out to McGonagall, however, she reacted badly.
"This is pretty worthless!" explained Dudley, lighting a match. "See? How hard is it to get a match?"
"Mr. Dursley, you will kindly put those away and focus on the lesson," growled McGonagall.
"What's the matter?" asked Dudley, lighting another match. "Am I making everyone else look bad?"
"I said put those away," she screeched. "Evanesco!" Dudley's matches disappeared.
"Hey!" protested Dudley, standing up. "Those are mine! Give them back!"
"You will not speak to me in that tone of voice, Mr. Dursley. Five points from Slytherin. Any further outbursts this lesson and you will receive detention."
Dudley slumped back into his seat. She definitely had it in for him.
When the lesson ended, McGonagall added injury to insult by assigning homework to the class. As they filed out, Dudley spoke to his friend Greg. "Can you believe her? Man, she's a total witch!"
"Of course she is," agreed Pansy Parkinson, as if this were not an insult at all.
Then Dudley remembered. Wizard. Witch. He wanted very much to explain to Pansy and Greg that he intended the word to have different connotations, but the term 'connotations' was simply not in his vocabulary. He settled for grinding his fist into his palm. Greg, at least, understood that.
| Chapter Six: Giving Somebody a Lesson |
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Dudley's parents sent him two new PlayStation batteries the following week, but his portable system still did not work. He was too disappointed to bother asking for more -- meaning he was so disappointed that he smashed the system into pieces against the wall of his dormitory.
The lack of any video interactive (or preferably video passive) entertainment began taking its toll as the weeks went by. Dudley supposed the same was happening to Draco Malfoy, because his spirits were also low.
Meanwhile, Dudley mastered his first spell in Charms class. Now matchless, he put some effort into the Incendio Charm. He was careful not to set his own homework on fire -- after all, they shared the class with Hufflepuff for a reason.
Professor-Witch McGonagall continued her vindictiveness. Most recently, she had taken ten points from Slytherin because Dudley was eating in class. Worse, Dudley had been given only two warnings.
"What does she expect, with all these stairs?" complained Dudley afterwards.
"Cheer up," said his friend Greg. "We get to start flying lessons this week. That'll be fun."
Sure enough, the first-year Slytherins found themselves out on the grounds that Thursday, standing in front of twenty broomsticks. They were to be taking lessons from Madam Hooch, along with Gryffindor.
Dudley was working on hovering when things got exciting. Some loser in Gryffindor lost control of his broom and shot off into the air. At last, Dudley found something in the wizarding world that he truly enjoyed -- watching another kid get hurt.
Madam Hooch left the class in order to take the loser (Neville something) to the hospital wing. While they were waiting, Draco Malfoy noticed a shiny object on the ground. "Hey, look, everybody! Stupid Longbottom lost his Remembrall!"
"Give it back," said Ron firmly. But Crabbe and Goyle were now flanking Malfoy in what Dudley recognized as a very professional bullying posture.
"Yeah? Why don't you try and take it?" taunted Malfoy.
Ron did. He lunged for Malfoy and managed to get one hand on the ball. Two other Gryffindor boys jumped into the scuffle, and eventually the ball shot loose up into the air. Some Irish kid caught it.
Dudley felt his pulse racing. True, he was not normally a brave boy. But if there was one thing that gave rise to his courage, one thing he truly couldn't stand, it was to see somebody standing up to a bully. Dudley completely forgot that he was still hovering on a broom. He simply kicked forward, knocked down several people on the way, and swung a vicious right hook at the Irish kid's jaw, sending him to the ground.
"DURSLEY!" came a voice from the castle. It was Professor Snape.
"Never in all my years at Hogwarts have I seen an incident such as this," declared Snape in a cold, oily voice. "Come with me, Mr. Dursley."
Dudley's heart sank. He dismounted his broom and followed Snape towards the castle. He had forgotten the first rule of effective bullying: always check for authority figures before throwing a punch.
They did not go to Snape's office, but instead to the Charms classroom. "Professor Flitwick," said Snape, opening the door. "May I borrow Flint for a moment?"
Flint? Was Snape was going to set him on fire as punishment? But no, Flint was a person, a tough-looking Slytherin sixth-year, or maybe fifth-year -- that was hard to keep track of. Snape led both of them back to his office in the dungeon.
"Dudley Dursley, this is Marcus Flint," said Snape by way of introduction. "Flint, I have found you a Beater."
"What, really?" remarked Flint. Dudley was confused.
"Oh, yes," said Snape, his eyes half-closed in rapture. "I have never seen a lad his age show such pure... joy... in the act of striking another human being. He's a natural."
"Well! This is good news!" agreed Flint, eyeing Dudley appreciatively. "He's got the right build for it, too. Ever play Quidditch, Dudley?"
"Er, no," answered Dudley. "But I am the Hero Who Con--"
"Flint will instruct you in the finer points of the game," interrupted Snape. "And I expect you to perform well. Slytherin House has been quite successful in Quidditch these past years, and it's time to step it up. I want injuries, Dursley. I want to see people get hurt. Or else I may change my mind about not punishing you for fighting."
And so began Dudley's training in Quidditch. Flint took him out to the pitch that afternoon, where Dudley had a good time striking at Bludgers. It reminded Dudley a bit of baseball, except the Bludgers returned on their own rather than requiring Harry to chase after them.
The only drawback was that Dudley did not yet fly very well. "You'll come along eventually," said Flint. "Besides, it's not as important as hitting things."
continue with
Dudley and the Philosopher's Stone chapters 7-9
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