I know, I know. I haven't uploaded in ages. That makes me sad, cause I just haven't had ideas. For this story, anyway. And nobody's giving me ideas, or responding to my poll! :(

I want ideas from you. Yes, you. You sitting there, on your iPads or computers or whatever. What do you wanna read? Either tell me in reviews, or PM me on the site. It would be hugely appreciated and I'll make sure to mention you in my story. Enjoy!

Smeltings Academy was quite an opulent place. Every building was made of a smooth grey brick, so smooth that there was not a bump nor dent in its surface. Red shingles made up the roof, both elements, along with the pristine lawn and fountain, making such an outstanding display of utter upper-class Britishness that one should be surprised Henry VIII wasn't standing in front of the quartz steps, commenting on the lucidity of the water. The main and biggest building- which teachers referred to as 'The Schoolhall' but schoolboys called 'The Hellhall'- was three stories tall, containing the classrooms of the campus, as well as the library and auditorium. Not a single blade of grass dared to bypass the one-inch line, and not a single leaf strayed from its tree. The picture of perfection.

In other words, exactly the type of place Petunia Dursley dreamed of sending her son to.

"Dudleykins! Look! Here we are!" Petunia squealed as the school came into view. 'Dudleykins' appeared to have much less excitement than his mother- the little he did have probably came from the thought that he'd get to bully kids again- but there was a certain degree of trepidation in his voice when he answered.

"Yes, Mum."

"You'll love it there! Oh, its going to break my heart, my Little Duddy all grown up and at boarding school!"

"Yes, Mum.' Then his face lit up. "You think they'll have good food there?"

"Of course, Ickle Duddy. I read the website. It says they only have the finest meat."

"Of course there's good grub, son." Vernon commented from the driver's seat. "I went there myself. They had the best roast chicken I ever ate."

"But, didn't you say-" Petunia began, only to be interrupted by Vernon insistence that no, he didn't say otherwise and the food really was very good.

They drove up into a large parking lot. Several families were already there, wishing good bye to their sons who were going.

"See. None of them have such good cars as us." Vernon said satisfactorily.

"M-my little Duddykins, all g-grown up. How h-handsome h-he looks in th-that uniform!" Petunia sobbed into her hanky.

"Mum." Dudley hissed. "Please."

She didn't hear. "I'll m-miss you s-so. I r-remember w-when you were just a l-little baby. You were so c-cute!"

Dudley, face flaming with embarrassment, quickly pulled his trunk towards the entrance. Boys were sniggering at him. Ugh. This trunk was heavy. What had he packed?

A makeshift desk had been set up, with a rather old woman behind it. She peered at Dudley from behind her spectacles.

"Who are you, young man?" she asked in a reedy voice.

"Dudley. Dudley Dursley." He replied.

"Yes. Yes. Very well. Here you are. I'll just tick you off…."

"Er, what room am I in?" Dudley asked. The woman looked at him as if berating him for daring to ask a question.

"Room 219, if I'm not mistaken." She replied, handing Dudley a silver key with 219 engraved into it.

"Thanks. And, um, will I have to tug this there myself?"

"Of course, Mr Dursley. What did you expect?"

To be honest, he'd expected a velvet uniformed porter, but that was not the case. Unfortunately. Most of his fat was blubber, very little consisting of muscle. So it was a hard job to lug his case back down the stairs, across the campus, to the dorms.

By the time he reached his room, the boy was huffing and puffing like a discount Big Bad Wolf. Luckily, Malcolm showed up at that point. Malcolm, if you didn't know, was quite a big lad, so he was more than capable to assist Dudley in lugging his trunk up the two flights of stairs. Actually it was more like Malcolm doing most of the work, while Dudley was awkwardly prodding the leather and occasionally giving it a push up. The door to the room was bright scarlet, and the knocker was polished bronze, with a giant bronze number 219 on it. He fumbled the door open ans surveyed the room that was to be his residence for the next year.

Every Smeltings student was lucky/entitled enough to have their own dorm room, bereft of any other people's stinky socks and crisp crumbs. Dudley's room was just as fancy as everything else. Every wall except the one behind the bed was royal red, with gold skirting boards all around the edge. A painting of a fat, ruffle-collared man was on the wall. The bed was thankfully white, though the bed was rather larger than a normal twin bed and the mattress thicker than it should be. The wardrobe was opposite it. Sorry, more like a half wardrobe and half study table that Dudley would probably never use. Who even studied in their room, anyway? A lamp was on the table with a red clock on it, and a drawer below. A set of shelves was at the foot of the bed, probably used for books, but in Dudley's case would most likely be used for storing crinkled crisp packets and one of his many game controllers. The ceiling was slightly domed with the ceiling rose used not for a large diamond-studded chandelier, but an equally fancy plain lamp.

Dudley flopped down on the bed. 'How could Mum and Dad not get a me a bed this big?' he thought indignantly.

No lessons on the first day, to allow students to explore all of the campus in leisure. Dudley wandered around with Piers and Malcolm in tow. The first place they went to was the canteen. It was a low roofed room, with large color prints of various fruits and vegetables on the wall, and a kitchen next to it with a gap to grab your meal. The Schoolhall was big, and housed most of the stuff you'd expect to find in a traditional school. Large classrooms, extensive libraries, a huge auditorium for plays. Dudley expected to be in one of the end-of-year performances, as he'd once been Gabriel in a childhood version of Nativity and his teacher said that he'd performed very well- that meaning that he'd managed to not push anyone off the stage or visibly pick his nose. His mother had been so proud. Then again, to her, every little thing Dudley did in school was a wonder. Dudley had memories of his mother being quite despondent when she called the Pint-Sized Prodigies to enroll her special boy, only to be told that, unfortunately, an IQ of 67 was not in the 'prodigy' range.

It soon became clear that Dudley, to put it bluntly, was an absolute idiot at everything the school offered. It might've been better for Dudley, his family, and the staff if they hadn't sent him to school. Dudley would've gotten to gobble all the fast food and sweets he desired, Petunia would've pampered and spoiled her son till he became a donut on legs, and staff wouldn't have to deal with the utter stupidity emanating from every one of Dudley's pores. He couldn't tell his Pythagorean theorems from his quadratic equations, photosynthesis was deemed 'absolutely useless', and he pooh-poohed the Battle of the Somme and Vimy Ridge. Clearly the boy was wondering why they didn't just start open warfare with dual wielding guns, not realizing that real-life battles were not as simple as video game ones. Sports was out of the question. Smeltings offered many optional activities, such as football, basketball, and rugby, but Dudley did not compete in any of these. It was a wonder that he even decided to roll out of his bed in the morning and grace all the inhabitants of the school with his unwanted presence.

Swimming was one of these things Dudley was trash at. Imagine the horror. Being forced into a set of small changing stalls, and having to switch into a pair of slick black trunks and were too tight for words and felt ridiculously awkward. Joyce Haddock, the teacher, was always by the edge of the pool, annoyed look on her face and whistle being blown several times in a row. Dudley would maliciously think that her name was incredibly appropriate, given that her face was noticeably…fishy looking. Not that he knew any words as big as 'appropriate', anyhow.

Dudley was the worst at swimming. On the very first day, Mrs. Haddock had told them to show her how far they could swim. All the boys had promptly launched off from the wall of the shallow end. Except Dudley. He frantically flailed his arms about. This only served to make his fat self sink deeper into the pool. He was suddenly met with the dense, chloride-intoxicated water of the pool, instead of fresh, sweet air. This only made him paddle more frenziedly, which sunk him deeper, which….well, you get the point. He was steadily sinking lower. His face was only submerged six inches, but it seemed like six feet to our pudgy hero.

"Do you need help, Mr. Dursley?" Joyce Haddock asked, looking slightly concerned. She was met with a loud gurgle.

Joyce Haddock gave a audible sigh, as if obese boys almost drowned in the pool- the shallow end, mind you- everyday. She walked over to Dudley and reached a hand, grasping Dudley's clammy, wet paw with slight reluctance. She pulled him up. Or tried to. Dudley was a good 200 pounds, and Joyce Haddock not much more than 130, being a rather angular woman. Instead, she was pulled into the pool as well, shrieking and screeching as she was dragged under by the flailing boy.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" This banshee scream attracted the attention of everyone else in the class, if it had not been drawn already.

They managed to get out eventually, not with Dudley's help. Piers, being the only one who cared even remotely for Dudley's future(or that Dudley would wallop him if he manuevered his way out), helped with his scrawny little arms.

Dudley looked rather like a beached whale once he was out. His greasy hair clung wetly to his forehead and his limbs were twitching. Joyce Haddock resembled a drowned rat. Her whistle had sunk to the bottom of the deep end, and nobody had the courage to swim down 3 metres to retrieve it. The headmaster, a red-faced, pompous man with a fringe of white whisker about his round face, had turned up. He did not look overly happy about this situation, especially not at poor Joyce Haddock. Dudley had a feeling that Joyce Haddock would be quietly dropped the next day. The thought made him smile.

This was not the only disaster that Dudley got himself into. There was an incident where, when Joyce Haddock- who'd miraculously managed to keep her job- was explaining swimming techniques, Dudley thought it would be good to lean back-back- back- until he toppled over the edge and into the pool. Several unsuspecting students in the back row were drenched in the splash, and many others were drizzled lightly. Then there was the 'inflatable incident'. Let's just say that Dudley had been dared by the boys to flip over in the water, hold his breath for ten seconds, and resurface. Dudley had foolishly agreed and leaned forward to leap into the water. Alas, his obese self did not make it as far as the water and instead fell ungracefully into a shark inflatable. To make it worse, he did true to his word and did flip over. This meant that for a good five seconds, the entire class had full view of Dudley's large bottom, clad in over-stretched black trunks. Dudley, however, got a mouthful of chloride filled pool water, something he did not much like.

"I'll tell my father about this!" he raged, as Joyce Haddock, combined with the Headmaster and all of the class, endeavoured to pull him out. This was a spot-on impression of Draco Malfoy, but since Dudley was not familiar with the bleached blonde, he didn't know this.

Christmas rolled around quick. It was a welcome change for Dudley, except perhaps the fact that he didn't get to bully as many kids as he would at school. But he didn't get presents at school either, and that was a trade off he was willing to take. Petunia fawned over her 'dear Diddy Dinkums'- 'oh how big you've grown Dudders'- and Vernon clapped his 'little tyke' on the back and congratulated him on winning the prize. To be sure, it was not from sheer force- far from it- but he congratulated him nonetheless. Dudley would not take up genuine exercise till fourth year, and even then he would extremely reluctant on doing so. They drove home, Petunia smothering her offspring with kisses, Vernon grumbling under his breath about 'the motorcycling hooligans ruining Christmas' and Dudley whinging that he was hungry, could they stop to get a cupcake, why was it so cold, etc.

They arrived home in an hour. Nobody had draped their house and shrubbery with lighting, or placed several rather disproportionate reindeer in the lawn, as was only right and proper at Christmas. In fact, save for a light frosting of snow, Privet Drive didn't seem to have changed at all. The wallpaper of No. 4 was just as garish, and the sofa just as horrid. The only difference was a tall artificial fir tree, bedecked with shining baubles of Santa Claus and Rudolph, and a beaming angel on the very pinnacle. There were, however absolutely zero presents under the waving fir needles. Seeing Dudley's face screw up in the classic 'I'm going to cry' face, Petunia hastily said, "Don't worry, Duddy, we wanted to give you your presents right on Christmas morning today."

Thus placated, Dudley waddled upstairs to, presumably, blow up some aliens. He'd stashed some food in his duffel for the journey, so could probably sustain himself for precisely an hour before stomping downstairs in a hungry temper.

On Christmas morning, Dudley woke, thinking it was just a normal day. But then he remembered- it was Christmas Day and he was to get presents! So his speed fastened from one step every ten seconds to one every five, and he immediately rushed to the tree for gifts. Lo and behold, there were indeed 10, 20, 30 gifts under the tree for him, patterned in shimmering starry paper and tied up with big glorious bows. He shredded at the wrapping, tearing it apart. His parents watched him proudly as he unboxed yet another gold wristwatch, then a new game for his Nintendo console, then a new bike.

Aunt Marge came soon enough. They heard the loud honk as the car pulled into the driveway, and the slam as Marge shut the door forcefully. The snowfall had increased, to such an extent that Petunia pized begonias were on the verge of disappearing into the snow.

"Ruddy cold, it is out there." She panted as she ripped her coat off. Dudley was crushed into a hug right after. He got paid well for it though, as twenty pounds were slipped into his fat hand.

They sat down for dinner. And what a meal it was. A large, stuffed roast turkey, beige mashed potatoes, rich savoury gravy, luxurious cranberry sauce. For dessert, a positively colossal apple pie, piled with sweet vanilla ice cream and smelling divine. A sort of polite conversation was made, on such inane topics as the weather- 'blizzard out there today. All the snowstorms that didn't come years before came today'- and the state of the city- 'they're all partying and celebrating like there's no tomorrow'.

Marge was thoroughly inebriated on wine by this point, and thus unhampered by the laws of etiquette. She switched the topic from amiable weather chit-chat to a rant on Harry's parents.

"Suppose the boy isn't getting no holiday, eh?" Marge asked in a belligerent tone. Vernon shot a glance at his wife. Things were going downhill.

"Er, no, Marge."

"Good. The boy and his delinquent cronies would probably turn out and vandalize the streets if they were allowed. Best keep 'em locked up." She swigged her glass of wine with abandon.

"Er, yes, yes. It's a very secure school. That's why we chose it."

"What's the name again? Fubster thinks his grandnephew's been actin' up lately and he wants to put the boy into a delinquent school."

"St. Brutus, it's called."

'Suppose his parents were in that sort of school, too?" Marge asked, helping herself to another glass of alcohol.

"Er, yes. That was another school up north."

"Should've known. Only Northerners would be stupid enough to take on those drunks." Dudley did not feel it prudent to mention to his aunt that she was being a huge hypocrite, as she'd already downed no less than five glasses of wine.

A.N I'm not being racist to the people of North England. This is what I imagine Marge would say.

"Where's the little weasel gone?"

"There he is! Get him!"

If you have no idea what is going on here, let me paint the scene. It started when Richard Clow 'cheeked' Dudley in class by saying that he looked as if he'd just been taken out of the pigpen. It was not as much of a cheek than it was stating plain fact, to be honest, but Dudley did not see this and was suitably enraged. Luckily for poor Richard- as Richard was quite a small boy and stood no chance against his opponent-, Dudley could not get him just then, for Mr. Sullivan was quite a strict teacher and hated disruptions of any sort in his class. So Dudley resolved to, in his words, 'lick the stuffing out of', his teaser. He'd cornered the boy in a hallway, but Richard was more agile than his beefy chaser. He'd sprinted off, but Dudley and his gang were hot on his tail.

There was an issue though. Richard had ran into the one place Dudley detested: the library.

Oh, the horror.

Dudley hated the library. It was the abode of the nerds who went to Smeltings. A permanently papery smell hung in the air. You couldn't as much as talk without the librarian shooting you a stern glare. Weedy, ginger-haired, bespectacled boys would roam the aisles, a permanently scholarly and smug look on their faces. Or at least what looked smug to Dudley. They seemed to be gloating all their knowledge. And the crowning injury: no food allowed. It might have been better if food was allowed. Dudley could've munched on a burger while simultaneously beating up someone. But no, even that wasn't okay!

Dudley stepped foot onto the maroon carpet as one might approach a large cockroach- largely disgust, with a few dollops of fear thrown in for good measure. Every weedy nerd in there cast a look of fear at the gigantic walrus coming in. Dudley shot them a glare that plainly said 'If you dare laugh at me, I'll punt you straight to the moon.' Nobody laughed. This probably boded well for their physical wellbeing.

"THERE IS HE!" Piers bellowed. The librarian gave him a death glare, but they didn't listen. Dudley thundered on, after the weedy ginger boy, who'd ducked under a table to escape, and then behind a aisle.

Dudley turned the corner. There was poor Richard, cowering by the shelf holding the Lord of The Rings. The boy had nowhere to go. It was a dead end.

"This is what you get when you cheek me, boy!" Dudley exclaimed as he punched Richard in the stomach.

"OWWWW!"

Five minutes later, an incredibly satisfied Dudley, followed by his 'gang' trooped out of the library. And- thank Lord- it was lunch. Good. Dudley needed some nourishment after all that exercise. A few moments after, Richard scuttled out, one protective hand to his stomach, the other shielding his now purple-black right eye.

It was the end of the year. Smeltings was hosting an end of year bash to send off the students. There was to be a huge amount of fruit punch at the party, and enough cookies and cakes to feed a whole village full of poor African children for two months. At least that was what Dudley saw, on his illicit truants from class, when he'd peeped into the kitchens and saw every kitchen worker hard at work, tossing pizzas high into the air and furiously mixing bowls of cookie dough.

Petunia and Vernon arrived pretty early that day. Petunia spent a good fifteen minutes fawning over her Dear Duddy Dinkums, as was only right and proper, before finally heading in.

At any normal end-of-year celebration, there would be a mix of girls and boys wildly dancing around, cheesy pop music blaring through speakers, and haphazardly placed tables with bags of crisps, cups of juice, and candy bars scattered all over. This was not the case at Smelting's. No, they were too dignified to allow such scruffy, ruffianish behaviour in their school. Oh, no, no. Instead of wild party decorations and a permanently dark atmosphere, there were only a few straggly balloons in the corners, and nothing but a bright orange and maroon( as you can tell, the colors of Smelting's are incredibly tacky) aove the food table. Said table was laid out with every sort of food imaginable. Great cheesy pizzas, calorie-filled cheeseburgers, vats of aromatic curry. And those were just the savoury foods! All sorts of cookies and cream rolls, all sorts of scrumptious pies, great chocolatey cakes. Numerous bowls of pink fruit punch around the room.

Dudley made a beeline for the goodies. He grabbed the largest plate, piling it high with one, two, three four slices of pepperoni pizza. Seeing that there was space left for more, he put two burgers on it next, accompanied with a hot dog and three packets of ranch dressing. Lumbering back to a table with his parents, he practically inhaled the first two slices of pizza, then gobbling up the burger with gusto. His mother and father didn't bat an eye as he stomped off for a large hunk of steak. Petunia was instead nibbling at a anorexic-looking filet mignon, while Vernon was heartily chomping at a colossal turkey. Dudley went back for two more helping after the first, his choices morphing from greasy fast-food to sugar coated confectionary. He reveled in the mound of snickerdoodles and choco chip cookies, lemon and apple pies, dozens of mouthwatering ice cream flavors.

He had his eyes on a particularly gooey slice of chocolate cake. There were three cakes in the table, in three different flavors and all three-tier cakes (three appeared to be the magic number here.) The vanilla cake still had one and a half of its tiers left, the red velvet one was picked to small crumbs, and the chocolate one had only one single slice of cake left. Dudley thundered towards the cake. He'd reached the table….went to the cake plate…..reached out his pudgy hand for the slice. He was going to grasp it…when it was snatched out of sight by another hand.

Dudley stared in anguish at the boy. He was a brown-haired boy, with brown eyes and square glasses. He was also a good deal lighter than Dudley. Not exactly underweight, but not the bulkiest boy on the block either.

"Oi! You stole my cake!" Dudley bellowed.

"Er, no, I didn't. I just took it before you." The boy replied bemusedly.

"No! You stole it! Stealer!"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

'Yes you did."

"What is going on here, Mr. Dursley, Mr. Thompson?" Mrs. Hednut, the Music teacher stepped in.

"He stole my cake!"

"No, I just took it from the plate before you did."

Mrs. Hednut looked at the both of them. "Mr. Dursley, I think you should leave Mr. Thompson alone. You can have a slice of vanilla cake if you want."

Dudley gaped open-mouthed at her, before storming off. He consoled himself by gulping down a tower of profiteroles and macaroons, along with a few eclairs for good measure.

A few minutes, after he'd scoffed the sweets, Piers turned up at the table to talk to him.

"Hey, Big D. How ya doin'?" he asked.

"Not good. Some little nerd turned up and snatched my cake."

"Bad luck. I saw it. Derek Thompson, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Wanna get some Hawaiian pizza? Its pizza with pineapples and ham."

Dudley did not much like fruits, but he did like ham. Resolving to eradicate all traces of pineapple from his Hawaiian pizza, he stood up and ambled towards the table. This was a bit of a challenge, as his belly currently resembled a huge balloon, but anything for food, I guess.

"OWWWWWW!"

That was Dudley, howling because someone stepped on his foot. Really, it was more of a light trod more than a stomp, but to Dudley, it felt as if someone had dropped an anvil on his toes.

"Who was that?!" He scanned the crowd for the perpetrator. All the people around him had moved away except one.

"YOU?!" he gazed in dismay at a brown-haired, brown eyed boy in front of him. Yes, it was indeed Derek Thompson, the Slice Snatcher.

"We meet again." Derek stared at the blonde boy.

"Cake stealer! Stupid idiot! Fat pig( Dudley may or may not have been referring to himself here)! Rude bas-"

"What is going on here?" Another teacher, not Mrs Hednut, thankfully, but probably one even worse. Mr Cole, a man who was known to be one of the most sarcastic teachers ever to walk the halls of Smeltings. He currently looked down at Dudley with those same condescending icy blue eyes.

"He stepped on my foot!" Dudley squawked indignantly.

"I'm sure it was an accident." Mr. Cole drawled. "You are known to overexaggerate pain, a well as being a rather sensitive child." He turned to the trembling Derek. "And you must cure that clumsiness of yours."

Dudley stared blankly at him. "Wha-wha-whaaat….." But Mr. Cole had already swept off.

Piers was waiting at the table. He had a rather bemused look on his face as he put a slice of pizza on his plate. "What happened, Big D?" he asked.

"That little weeb Derek stepped on my foot!" Dudley growled, picking pineapple out of his two pieces of Hawaiian pizza.

"Really? He's getting cocky, isn't he?"

"He is. The little brat."

A few hours have passed since we last saw our favorite pudgy boy. None of the fathers are yet inebriated, which is quite surprising, given how much alcohol is scattered around the room. The people here are much too sophisticated to even consider drinking such a common drink as beer. Only rich red wine for these families, thank you very much! Dudley had drunk about five cans of Coca-Cola, so much that he was now happily floating on a cloud of sugar and fizz.

It was about time to leave now. 7:00 had come and gone, and the hour hand on the clock was looming ever closer towards the 8. Dudley was now longing for the comfortable embrace of his double mattress at home. He was also longing for a snack to eat in the car. The only portable eatables left were a handful of chocolate bars, and a few honey flapjacks and sour onion crisps. He waddled towards the table, now seeing that the chocolate was actually a single bar of luxurious Cadburys', and the rest being Mars Bars. He detested Mars Bars. Why? Nobody knew. He just did. Maybe because he thought nothing could compare to the chewy goodness of Haribos. Or it was just his contrariness.

He lumbered towards the pile, intending to grab the Cadbury's bar as well as a couple flapjacks, as well as another can of soda. But…but….where was his Cadburys'?

Dudley stared incredulously at the boy next to him. There he was. First the boy was Mr. Slice Snatcher, then he was Mr. Foot Stomper, then he was Mr. Cadburys' Carry-Offer. The boy, at the table, clutching the bar of chocolate, was none other than Derek Thompson.

Dudley shook with anger. This boy- this dratted boy- had stolen everything from him. In fact, he was so mad he could just PUNCH HIM!

Thonk!

"OWWWWWWW!"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET, WEEB!"