Dudley Dursley, with blood freely streaming from his mouth and nose, looked up at his eleven year old cousin with a combination of shock and awe. Harry Potter, meanwhile, looked at his shirt which was coated in blood that was, for the first time, not his own. Piers Polkiss, Malcolm McDougall, Gordon Gainsebury, and Dennis Dromshire all had their mouths at various stages of dropped at the four foot nothing, not even one hundred pound sopping wet boy who had just laid out their leader with a single punch. The dust particles thought nothing because, well, they were dust particles and did not really care about the fat boy lying in dirt in the middle of the well-kept playground.

Dudley began struggling to his feet, a feat in and of itself, but was immediately laid out again by a swift kick to his ribs. Dudley was turned over onto his back and landed hard on it, looking up into the blue sky. He could see a few white clouds drifting by and he was jealous of them. They had not just been beaten by a scrawny freak in front of their friends. Thinking was not Dudley's strong suit, but after about twenty seconds, he decided he should get up. Dudley rolled over onto his front and again struggled to get up. When another sharp kick, this time into his cheek, put paid to that ambition, Dudley began to panic.

"Well don't just stand there, you bloody idiots, get him!" The anger in the yell was undermined by the sharp squeak in the middle of it. Dudley then felt a foot kick him onto his back and assert pressure on his chest.

The measured voice of Harry Potter sounded somewhere above Dudley's head. "Yeah? You really want to do that? Your biggest mate tried that and see where he wound up."

Dudley could squint and barely make out his gang standing still and decidedly not getting Harry. Dudley tried again, "Hey there you lot, I'm your leader and I say get him!"

Piers, the de-facto second in command, shrugged and scrunched his face, looking ever more like the weasel he was, and muttered something inaudible to the beached whale lying on the ground.

"What, Piers?" Dudley decided that the ground was definitely not the ideal place to be talking to someone from.

"I said, we don't work for you no more. The freak beat you." Piers looked over his shoulder at the other three boys and shrugged. "Seems to me, this kid may be a freak, but he's a strong freak." He looked back at Harry. "Listen here, freak. I don't care that you're a freak, I care that you're strong."

Potter stepped off of Dudley. "Well Piers, I don't care that you're a weasel, as long as you're a loyal weasel."

While Dudley got up, Piers looked Harry up and down, appraising him. "Yeah. Yeah, I could do that."

Potter smiled. "I guess it's Potter's gang then.

Dudley, remember that thinking is decidedly not his strong suit, sputtered, "B-but. It's my gang! You can't j-just steal it!"

Potter stepped forward, hand curling to a fist and aiming itself at Dudley's face. "Actually, Diddiekins, I think I can."

Dudley, faced with the prospect of another beating, promptly capitulated. "Alright, alright. You win."

Potter smiled. "Good." He placed a hand on Dudley's shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. "First thing's first. You've just got to get into shape, Big D."

Dudley gulped.