"Success!"
A wave of excited cheers erupted from the Squibs gathered around.
Clifford stared in disbelief at the faint glow, then at the wand in his hand.
Did I actually cast magic? Twice?!
"How did you do this?!" he exclaimed, turning to Dudley. "Esteemed Mr. Wizard, this is unbelievable!"
It was beyond magical, beyond comprehension.
The magic was weak, barely a flicker, but it was real!
Clifford could feel something flowing within him just moments ago.
Was that magic?
He wasn't sure, but he needed that wand. He'd trade anything for it—even his soul.
Only a Squib could understand the depth of their longing.
Casting magic was their lifelong dream.
Even if it was incomplete, even if the effect was faint, it proved they weren't worthless, not a disgrace to the wizarding world, not scraps unworthy of existence.
Dudley didn't speak right away. Instead, he extended his hand to Clifford.
Despite his reluctance, Clifford handed the wand back, his heart aching.
Dudley raised the wand high, drawing the attention of every Squib in the room before speaking slowly. "I'm sure you've all noticed—this special wand allows you to cast spells."
"No need to doubt it. It's real. Any one of you here, as long as you get the wand movement and incantation right, can cast magic."
The Squibs' eyes burned with a fervor like red-hot iron.
Only those who'd never had something could cherish it so fiercely.
Casting spells and becoming a wizard was the lifelong wish of every Squib.
This wand that lets Squibs cast magic—it must be a divine artifact.
Absolutely, it has to be.
Nearly every Squib in the room thought the same.
In truth, this "special" wand was just a little side project Dudley had whipped up in his spare time. Its design was based on the same principles as his own wand, though the craftsmanship was far less refined.
But to these Squibs, it was life-changing. With this wand, they could cast magic!
"I can provide you with more of these special wands," Dudley said.
He pulled out another wand, then a third, and a fourth.
They were mass-produced, practically worthless in terms of cost. But in the wizarding world, no one else could replicate them—not even if Nicolas Flamel himself came back from the dead.
The Squibs were beyond shocked, unable to find words for their awe.
So many of these divine artifacts?
"So… what do you want?" Clifford, as their leader, was steadier than the others, though his voice trembled.
As Grommash once said, "So, Gul'dan, what's the price?"
Having scraped by in the underbelly of society for years, the Squibs knew there was no such thing as a free lunch or unconditional kindness. What price would they have to pay for these wands?
Anything they had, they'd give.
"Do you believe in the light?" Dudley asked softly, his voice carrying clearly to every Squib.
Believe in the light?
They didn't before, but they could start now.
Seeing the growing resolve in their eyes, Dudley gave a satisfied smile.
If they could believe in the light, what couldn't they do?
"I need your loyalty. Can you give me that?" Dudley continued, then, as if worried they might not understand, he added, "I need absolute loyalty."
He emphasized the word "absolute."
"Loyalty that isn't absolute is absolutely disloyal."
"And I don't like that."
Dudley slowly pulled out an aged-looking parchment scroll.
"I won't force you. This is a fair trade."
"If you agree, sign this contract. But let me be clear—once you sign, you can never betray me."
"Or your souls will never find peace, for all eternity."
Dudley placed the parchment on the table, setting a quill beside it.
The Squibs rushed forward, signing their names without hesitation.
Betrayal? That wasn't even a consideration.
They were the lowest of the low in the wizarding world—forgotten, neither wizard nor Muggle, despised by all. With nothing left to lose, this was their chance to rewrite their fate. They wouldn't let it slip away.
Dudley knew that desperate hunger for magic. He'd felt it himself once. If he were in their shoes, he'd make the same choice.
Every single Squib signed the contract, and each received their own wand.
The first thing they did was test their spells.
Hearing and seeing weren't enough—only casting for themselves made it real.
In an instant, the cramped hall burst with fountains of water, sparks of fireworks, and flickers of light.
Their spells were weak, barely stronger than a first-year's, and many were rusty despite knowing the incantations by heart. But that was to be expected.
This was a new beginning—a rebirth.
Squibs embraced one another, tears streaming down their faces. Even those who'd been strangers moments ago were united in their overwhelming joy.
Dudley watched quietly, letting them vent their long-suppressed emotions. It wasn't a bad thing.
As expected, Clifford was the first to regain his composure—proof of why he was their leader.
"Esteemed… no, My Lord, please forgive our excitement. It's just too much," he said, slipping into his new role with ease.
"No matter," Dudley said with a slight shake of his head.
He opened a suitcase and tipped it over.
Clifford, who'd just calmed down, nearly lost it again.
It wasn't gold, as he'd expected, but a suitcase full of gleaming Galleons.
"This is your startup fund. Find a proper place," Dudley said. "For now, I need you to do two things: recruit more Squibs to join us, and practice your spells diligently."
Money wasn't an issue for Dudley—what he lacked were loyal followers.
The third-year term was nearing its end, and summer break was approaching fast.
The fairy-tale phase of their story was almost over. Time was running short.
In the Harry Potter series, the tone shifts after third year, becoming darker and more mature.
Everything Dudley was doing now—building his own team, forging ties with the wizarding elite, placing older students in Ministry roles, and recruiting these Squibs—was preparation for what lay ahead.
His opponent was the wizarding world's greatest threat.
Voldemort.