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Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 362
🕑 Added 2025-12-21 22:00:50 +0000 UTCChapter 362: Forced Purchase
The moment Dudley spoke, every head in the room turned towards him.
The innkeeper of the Hog’s Head narrowed his eyes slightly. After giving Dudley a cold look, he said, “You’ve got the wrong person.”
With that, he turned and headed back towards the counter.
“Aren’t you Dumbledore?” Dudley asked.
The innkeeper’s body stiffened for the briefest moment, but he did not answer.
He didn’t deny it.
So the guess was right.
Dudley’s instincts told him this man was definitely connected to Dumbledore.
He claimed Dudley had mistaken him, yet he never actually denied being Dumbledore. That could only mean one thing. He was related to Dumbledore by blood.
Judging by his age, he was probably Dumbledore’s younger brother.
Dudley suddenly remembered the first year, when he had questioned Dumbledore. If you had a brother you didn’t get along with, and one day that brother dropped dead and left his son on your doorstep, what would you do?
Dudley still remembered the complicated look that had crossed Dumbledore’s face back then.
Now it seemed that kind of thing really had happened to him.
The man in front of him was almost certainly that estranged younger brother.
There was no proof, not a shred. But Dudley’s intuition told him he wasn’t wrong.
Several of the patrons nearby glanced at Dudley, their eyes gleaming with something that felt loaded.
Dudley did not bother responding. He simply sat there, relaxed, enjoying this rare quiet moment.
He had no interest in the butterbeer in front of him. The glass was filthy enough to destroy any urge to drink.
Still, from the smell alone, it did not seem terrible.
Thinking that, Dudley took out the Mirror of Erised and pulled a delicate crystal beer mug from within.
“Sorry. Could you pour me another butterbeer?” Dudley asked.
The innkeeper glanced at him and gave no reaction.
With a light flick of Dudley’s right hand, the crystal mug floated over to the bar.
Several gazes sharpened.
It wasn’t just Dudley’s effortless control of magic. It was that mirror.
It looked like a rare enchanted object with storage space inside, the kind that would be worth a fortune.
All at once, a figure wrapped head to toe in a black cloak stood up and walked over, then sat down at Dudley’s table.
“Shouldn’t you ask whether anyone’s sitting here first?” Dudley said, looking at him.
The cloaked man’s body stiffened.
“You’re a Hogwarts student?” the man asked.
“Obviously,” Dudley replied.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a student this arrogant,” the man said. “You don’t fear me at all. You don’t even know how to show respect to a wizard you don’t recognise.”
Dudley’s gaze turned slightly cold.
He hated that this stranger had interrupted the pleasant nostalgia the Hog’s Head had stirred up, memories of Backlund and old nights spent drinking with his team.
The man spoke again. “That mirror you used just now. I want it.”
“Name your price.”
Bang.
The butterbeer in front of Dudley exploded. Yellow liquid burst upward, but it did not splash down. It hung there in the air, suspended.
Across from Dudley, the cloaked wizard was controlling it with a finger, deliberately showing off his power.
People around them frowned.
It was obvious what was happening. This wizard had taken a liking to Dudley’s mirror and planned to buy it by force.
Dudley was only a Hogwarts student, and he looked young. A little intimidation should have been enough to make a child hand it over.
And the Hog’s Head had no Hogwarts students or professors present, which made the man even more brazen.
“Ten thousand Galleons,” Dudley said flatly.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.
The mirror was valuable, yes, but it was not worth ten thousand Galleons. The price was clearly a refusal, and more than that, a deliberate insult.
“Do you not understand me?” the wizard snapped. “This isn’t school.”
Clack.
He tossed a single Sickle onto the table.
“Hand it over.”
He reached out.
Everyone in the pub watched.
Some cowards quietly stood and left the Hog’s Head at once.
But more remained, eager to see where this went.
“This is the Hog’s Head. If you want to start trouble, get out,” the innkeeper said coldly.
He had already taken Dudley’s crystal mug and was filling it with butterbeer.
“Hmph.” The wizard grunted, but seemed wary of the innkeeper interfering further.
Instead, he lunged for Dudley, trying to drag him outside.
In the next instant, Dudley sprang up.
Before the man could even react, Dudley had seized the hand reaching for him.
Crack.
Dudley wrenched, folding the wizard’s arm back on itself. The sound of bone snapping rang out clearly in the otherwise quiet pub.
The entire Hog’s Head went dead silent.
But it still wasn’t over.
After breaking the man’s right arm, Dudley’s hand slid up smoothly and closed around the wizard’s throat.
Thud.
He slammed the wizard down into the floor with brute force.
Centuries of ground-in filth spiderwebbed with fresh cracks, grimy fragments breaking loose under the impact.
“Still want the mirror?” Dudley asked with a smile.
He was smiling, but to everyone watching, he looked more terrifying than a devil.
This was a fully grown wizard, completely helpless in Dudley’s hands.
More importantly, was this really the kind of strength a thirteen-year-old could have?
It made people wonder if Dudley had giant blood, but with his height, he did not look like a half-giant at all.
The wizard stared at Dudley in shock.
He had never imagined he would be slammed to the ground by a student, and without even getting time to cast a spell.
His arm was broken. Dudley’s grip was on his throat. With the slightest pressure, Dudley could crush his windpipe.
The strength coming through Dudley’s fingers did not feel human.
“I said troublemakers get out,” the innkeeper barked loudly, seeing the situation spiral.
Just as everyone thought Dudley was about to let the wizard go, Dudley nodded instead.
“All right. Put the butterbeer on my table. I’ll come back and drink it in a bit.”
Then, with one hand, he hauled the wizard up and dragged him towards the door, heading straight out of the pub.
