In the wizarding world, almost everyone feared Voldemort. Sure, some called him a madman and looked down on him, but disdain didn't cancel out fear. His madness, cruelty, and disregard for rules—paired with a loyal band of equally unhinged followers—made him terrifying.
"Professor, relax," Dudley said calmly, his eyes fixed curiously on the Boggart in front of him. "Letting everyone meet him early isn't a bad thing. We're bound to face him eventually."
Though the wizarding world believed Voldemort was dead, Dudley knew better. That "truth" wasn't quite accurate.
He'd be back.
Turning the Boggart into Voldemort wasn't just a whim. Dudley and Voldemort were already mortal enemies—whether because of Dudley's connection to Harry or the times he'd destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes. Voldemort would stop at nothing to kill him.
So why not weaken the enemy and rally some allies? Voldemort's petty ego wouldn't tolerate anyone mocking him, even a young wizard like Dudley. And no matter how powerful the noseless creep was, could he really withstand the spells of thousands of wizards?
Decades ago, Grindelwald—Dumbledore's equal and once dubbed the most dangerous Dark Wizard in history—had been brought down by a united front of wizards. Voldemort's threat came partly from the hype around him and his brutal methods, which scared people into submission.
The greatest fear stems from the unknown.
Dragging Voldemort out early for a "preview" would familiarize everyone with him, stripping away some of that fear when the real confrontation came.
"Professor, don't worry. I created this Boggart, and I can control it," Dudley assured.
Until it absorbed enough fear, the Boggart might look like Voldemort, but it was still just a Boggart. It lacked Voldemort's memories, and its abilities were capped. Even its attacks were drawn from Dudley's own mind.
If anything, Dudley could've conjured a whole army of Boggart-Voldemorts if he wanted.
"You don't understand how dangerous he is," Lupin warned. "You're playing with fire."
It wasn't that Lupin doubted Dudley—it was just that this was too risky.
He couldn't take the chance.
"Riddikulus!" Lupin cast, but the Boggart was faster. With a flick of its wand, Lupin's own wand was knocked from his hand, clattering to the floor and rolling to the Boggart's feet.
"So I'm playing with fire, and you thought it needed a bit of petrol?" Dudley quipped.
Lupin froze, speechless.
As Dudley spoke, the Boggart snatched up Lupin's wand.
"Everyone, get out!" Lupin shouted. "Go tell Professor Dumbledore!"
But not a single student moved. They weren't scared—not really. Even if the professor had failed, Dudley was still there.
Years of experience had taught them one thing: professors might falter, but Dudley? Dudley was reliable. With Mr. Dursley around, there was nothing to fear. As long as the Disciplinary Committee was there, they were safe.
Dudley's reputation at Hogwarts outshone even the Heads of House.
"Come on, then. Attack me," Dudley said, pulling out his wand and beckoning the Boggart with a taunting gesture. "Let's give them a dueling demonstration."
He turned to the class. "Everyone remember how to duel?"
As he spoke, the Boggart fired a green jet of light. Dudley caught the movement, casually deflecting it with a wave of his wand. "Not bad," he commented. "Stronger than most wizards."
The Boggart didn't speak, launching another spell. Predictably, Dudley blocked it. Several more attacks followed, each swatted away like an annoying fly.
Then Dudley paused, as if struck by a thought. "Oh, right. The first rule of dueling is to bow. You haven't bowed yet."
With a gentle flick of his wand, he forced the Boggart to bend at the waist, its body moving against its will. Even using only this world's magic, Dudley was an elite wizard. The Boggart's abilities were drawn from his mind, making it entirely under his control.
In theory, Lupin shouldn't have lost to this Boggart. If he'd stayed calm and taken it seriously, it wouldn't have stood a chance—let alone disarmed him. But the sight of Voldemort had rattled him, throwing him off his game.
Reputation carries weight. When someone's fame—or infamy—reaches a certain level, it creates a psychological edge. Even a fake Voldemort could wield 120% of its power because of that.
"Your bow's pretty ugly," Dudley remarked offhandedly before turning to the class. "Listen up. If you're ever in a fight with another wizard—especially a Dark one—forget about dueling etiquette. No need for bowing or any of that nonsense. Like this."
He spun his wand behind his back and pointed. "Expelliarmus!"
The Boggart, just straightening up for a sneak attack, was caught off guard. Its wand—Lupin's—flew from its grip before it could react.
The Boggart crashed to the floor, dazed and seeing stars.
"Forget wizarding rules," Dudley said. "Beat them first, then worry about manners."
The students nodded eagerly, soaking in his words.
What's going on? the Boggart thought, confused. Isn't he supposed to fear me? Why isn't he scared at all?
Dudley's goal was clear: defeat "Voldemort" in front of the class. Even if it was just a Boggart, it would chip away at the real Voldemort's terrifying mystique in the students' minds.
He planned to do this more often.
Unlike the Ministry of Magic's bumbling efforts—failing to diminish Voldemort's influence after years of absence, hyping him up with titles like "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," and making people even more afraid—Dudley wasn't about to let that continue. The Ministry's actions were practically free publicity for Voldemort.
Doing nothing would've been better than that. A few years of silence, and people would barely remember who he was. Like some world-destroying Dark Lord from another realm—how many people still talked about him after a decade?
"Professor Lupin," Dudley said, pulling out an empty red-and-white ball from his belt, "I don't think you'll be needing this Boggart anymore."
With a toss, the ball flashed white, and the Boggart—now blurring at the edges—was sucked inside.
"I'll just take it off your hands."
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