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Everyone else was surprised.
Only Harry thought it was completely natural.
So far, he had never seen Dudley fail with a cat.
Dudley was 100% effective with cats.
Whether it was his petting technique or his natural affinity, everything about him worked perfectly.
As long as it was a cat, it would always end up at Dudley's feet, showing its belly.
As for Dudley talking to a cat, Harry found that normal.
He could talk to snakes himself, so Dudley talking to cats wasn't strange at all.
Dudley being able to communicate with Mrs. Norris wasn't because he was some kind of "cat speaker".
It was because of the language of magical creatures.
Mrs. Norris wasn't an ordinary cat.
A normal cat wouldn't live as long as she had.
She had been with Filch for twenty years, without showing any signs of aging.
There was some kind of magical creature blood in her body.
And in a significant amount.
At the very least, Dudley could roughly understand what she was saying.
After playing with Mrs. Norris for a while, Dudley reached toward the small pouch at his waist.
From it, he took out a small bottle.
The moment the bottle appeared, Mrs. Norris jumped up from the ground.
Her eyes locked onto the bottle in Dudley's hand.
Inside were dried small fish.
Delicious dried fish (Perfect), as shown by the Data Eye.
This was something Dudley made when he had nothing to do after brewing potions.
The fish were caught from the Black Lake after his training sessions.
Maybe because it was near the Forbidden Forest, the fish there had exceptional quality.
There weren't many cats in the castle.
Most of them belonged to Ravenclaw girls.
Dudley wasn't used to that.
Until one night, after training, he ran into Mrs. Norris.
Since then, most of the dried fish ended up in her stomach.
When she was beside Filch, Mrs. Norris always maintained that cold demeanor.
But when Filch wasn't around, she behaved like this.
That description felt a little strange.
"All of these are yours."
"I'll bring you fresh ones tomorrow."
Dudley rubbed Mrs. Norris's small head firmly.
Meanwhile, she focused entirely on eating the dried fish.
She devoured them in no time.
After eating, satisfied, she licked the residue between her paws, shook her body, and let out a few soft meows at Dudley.
"Let's go."
"Mrs. Norris said she'll take us back."
"We won't be discovered."
With Mrs. Norris leading the way, it would be impossible to run into Filch.
The young wizards behind them exchanged glances.
Did this count as switching sides?
Dudley raised an eyebrow slightly and looked around.
He wanted to see who was behind all of this.
Why they insisted on leading them to the fourth floor.
And what else had been prepared along the way.
Even if Filch showed up, Dudley was confident he could take him down before he reacted.
Physically, if necessary.
With Mrs. Norris guiding them, the rest of the journey was extremely smooth.
Nothing unexpected happened.
Soon, they arrived at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
Filch didn't appear.
Peeves didn't appear.
Even Professor McGonagall didn't show up.
As if everything that had happened was just a coincidence.
But Dudley didn't believe that.
Once coincidences start piling up, they stop being coincidences.
After watching Hermione and the others enter, Dudley took Malfoy back to Slytherin.
Again, without any trouble.
It was even faster than the previous route.
Dudley nodded slightly, as if he had understood something.
The next morning, Dudley woke up early as usual.
After completing fifty sets of push-ups, thirty sets of barbell rows, twenty sets of squats, and fifteen sets of dumbbell flyes, Harry and Malfoy arrived as agreed.
Hermione came right after.
Even Ron showed up.
"It's still early."
"Start with a warm-up."
For ordinary people, Dudley's "warm-up" was already high-intensity training.
Malfoy finished first.
Then Harry.
Hermione was last.
As for Ron, he didn't even finish the first set.
"The rules are simple."
"One-on-one."
"You can use any method to knock your opponent down."
"Until one of you gives up or I declare a winner."
"Any objections?"
Harry and Malfoy nodded.
Both drew their wands and stared at each other.
"Are they really going to fight?"
"Isn't that… bad?"
Hermione spoke softly.
She wanted to stop them, but didn't know how.
"Guys fight all the time."
"When they don't get along, they settle it with a fight."
"After that, it's fine."
Dudley shook his head.
A lot of friendships between guys start this way.
Sometimes, a good fight is what builds friendship.
"Don't worry."
"We've got plenty of potions."
Hermione fell silent.
Boys were truly strange.
What spells did first-year students learn at Hogwarts?
So far, Flitwick had taught three spells.
Lumos.
Alohomora.
And—
"Aguamenti!"
Malfoy attacked first.
A small spark flickered at the tip of his wand.
Then a few cloudy drops dripped out.
It looked completely ineffective.
For first-years, casting magic properly was still difficult.
Not everyone was Hermione Granger.
Harry didn't miss the opportunity.
He raised his wand and pointed it at Malfoy.
"Aguamenti!"
A thin stream of water shot out.
It traced a clean arc through the air.
And hit Malfoy straight in the face.
Malfoy didn't fall behind.
He gathered strength and tried again.
This time, he actually managed to produce water.
And splashed it directly onto Harry's face.
The two were basically on the same level.
Even though Malfoy grew up in the wizarding world, he didn't know many more spells than Harry.
Lumos and Alohomora weren't combat spells.
Aguamenti was all they had.
They kept exchanging attacks.
Back and forth.
Each spell cast with effort.
But in Dudley's eyes, it looked like a water gun fight.
Soon, both realized their spells wouldn't cause real damage.
At the same time, they dropped their wands.
And charged at each other.
They started fighting hand-to-hand.
At that moment, the difference in training became clear.
Harry had grown up with Dudley, but never trained seriously.
Malfoy, even though he started later, had been training.
After a clumsy exchange of punches, Malfoy won by a narrow margin.
And from that day on, Harry officially joined Dudley's training routine.
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