Dudley didn't expect the ambush. He moved to dodge, but he was half a beat too late. He twisted his body, but not completely.
The red light still struck him, hitting his firm and solid backside with a sickening, magical thud.
Stereotypes are deadly. One should never judge a person's actions based on a preconceived notion. Dudley's impression of Hagrid was of a kind, honest, and easily bullied man. So, after fairly disarming him, he had taken no further action. It was a grave miscalculation.
Hagrid was simple, yes, but so simple that his subconscious actions were unpredictable and dangerous. Reality had just delivered Dudley his first harsh lesson: humans are complex creatures. At a specific time, in a specific place, they can do things that are utterly beyond expectation. Never judge a person's threat to you based solely on your own impression.
Dudley's trousers suddenly burst open at the back. At a speed visible to the naked eye, a curly, slender pig's tail sprouted from his tailbone. It grew on his backside, swinging back and forth, a comical and humiliating appendage.
It was, without a doubt, a Transfiguration spell. Fortunately, it was an incomplete and imperfect one. Otherwise, it wouldn't have just been a tail; he would have been turned into a pig.
"Oh, my goodness!" Petunia and Vernon cried out in shock. Harry felt his aunt's body sway as if she were about to faint and quickly moved to support her.
He didn't play fair.
The moment Dudley saw that small, twitching pig's tail, his pupils contracted into pinpricks. A hot flush spread across his cheeks, his heart hammered against his ribs, and his muscles tensed. A fire erupted in his chest, an inferno of rage that threatened to consume his reason.
It wasn't just anger. It was fear. He was furious about the ambush, but he was terrified by the thought that he had almost been turned into a pig.
Having read many magic books, Dudley knew that Transfiguration was an incredibly dangerous branch of magic, capable of causing irreparable harm to even the caster. He had read stories of wizards crushed to death by the cattle they'd transfigured, or permanently turned into animals by failed spells. One must always maintain a healthy reverence for magic.
He didn't know the potion to reverse the spell. And he would never, ever beg his attacker to lift the curse.
He would use his own body to burn this lesson into his memory, a constant reminder. This wasn't a children's fairy tale. This was reality, a reality where, as one of his favorite authors once wrote, "when people are killed, they die."
So, Dudley did something that shocked everyone in the room.
With a guttural roar, he reached behind him, grabbed the still-swinging tail, hardened his heart, and pulled. With all his might. The sound of tearing flesh was sickening. Blood instantly soaked the back of his trousers, trickling down his thighs.
The tail, along with a small piece of flesh, came away in his hand.
"My father's essence, my mother's blood," he growled, the words a sacred vow. "It cannot be wasted."
(TL: Cringe. Yes. Couldn'd really find words to replace them….😬😬😬)
Then, he brought the bloody mess to his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp.
The action stunned the Dursleys and Harry into silence. It stunned Hagrid. They hadn't expected such an intense, visceral reaction. For a moment, the room was eerily quiet, the only sound the flickering of the firelight.
The firelight illuminated Dudley's face into harsh relief, carving away its softness. His cheeks were now tight, angular planes, and thick veins pulsed at his temples like straining ropes. His eyes, wide and unblinking, reflected the flames like chips of wet stone. His mouth hung open, his teeth a grim line of white stained with his own blood. With each ragged breath, a pale mist plumed from his lips. In the silence, the only sounds were the fire's crackle and the harsh, sawing rasp of air tearing from his lungs, a sound that made the hairs on everyone's arms stand on end.
He looked like a demon clawed up from the depths of hell.
Harry suddenly shivered. He had seen Dudley like this once before, and only once: the night he was rescued from the kidnappers. This was that Dudley. The Dudley feared by countless thugs, a shadow that would forever haunt the memories of every criminal in Surrey.
Ghost Man Dudley.
Harry knew that his cousin was truly, dangerously angry.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Hagrid waved his hands frantically, completely disregarding the fresh wound on his own shoulder. He didn't know why he had done it; he'd just wanted to teach the boy a small lesson, to stop him from interfering. He never thought he would actually injure him.
With a guttural heave, Dudley moved. His speed was a blur. Vernon and Petunia only felt a gust of wind as he shot past them, already in front of Hagrid.
He threw a straight punch at the half-giant's chest.
Level 3 Boxing!
Hagrid, caught completely off guard, was knocked to the ground. He fell like a small mountain collapsing, shaking the entire dilapidated shack.
Dudley immediately repositioned himself. As expected of a half-giant, he thought, his physical defense is incredibly high. A full-force, skill-enhanced punch had only managed to knock him down. Dudley's own right fist throbbed with pain, as if he had just punched a steel plate.
But his attack was far from over.
As Hagrid was just beginning to push himself up, Dudley's eerie voice came from behind him.
"Throat, spine, liver, lungs, carotid artery, subclavian artery, kidneys, heart," he whispered, listing the eight vital points. "Where do you want me to strike?"
The murderous intent in his voice made Hagrid freeze. In that moment of hesitation, a piercing pain shot through his right hand, and the hand holding the pink umbrella immediately went limp.
This time, the umbrella was not just dropped. It was snatched from his grasp by Dudley, who threw it far across the room.
First, disable the wand.
Now, Dudley thought, his eyes glowing with an eerie blue light, we can continue our fight.
***
(End of Chapter)
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