Dylan couldn't argue with Hermione.
Every Gryffindor wanted their house to come out on top.
It meant the Great Hall would be decked out in Gryffindor banners.
If he didn't care about that kind of pride, he'd be letting down Professor McGonagall, who'd given him extra lessons.
Of course, Dylan felt that pride for other professors too.
"Totally agree," he said.
"Harry, you've got the genes of a stellar Seeker. As for Ron…"
"You're not even on the Quidditch team yet. Talk when you make it next year."
Dylan's bluntness hit Ron like a bucket of cold water.
Hermione burst out laughing, while Ron's face turned beet red.
He knew neither of them was on his side.
The group messed around, joking until Harry and Ron finished their homework by nine.
When Ron's snores filled the dorm, Dylan slipped out, heading for the Forbidden Forest.
"Where're you off to?" Harry's voice came from behind as Dylan packed up.
Blimey, why wasn't he asleep?
"Bathroom," Dylan said casually. "Shouldn't have had that pumpkin pasty. Wanna come?"
Harry shook his head and flopped back onto his bed.
He'd rather stay cozy than trek to the common room loo.
Night fell.
Dylan melted into the shadows, entering the Forbidden Forest.
The forest was risky at night.
This wasn't a secret meet-up with Hagrid.
He just wanted to poke around, maybe snag some herbs or creature bits—blood, fur, whatever.
If he got lucky, he might spot a unicorn.
Or maybe a centaur could guide him.
Plenty of creatures knew Dylan by now.
Unicorns were special—their blood could extend life, but killing one cursed you.
A haunting curse from a beautiful creature, turning you half-human, half-ghost.
Terrifying, yet some still hunted unicorns out of greed.
Dylan was curious why unicorns vanished from the forest now and then.
Last time he saw one, it couldn't explain much.
He half-wanted to extract a unicorn's soul to understand their language.
Suddenly, a shadow darted behind him. Dylan's wand twitched.
"Lumos."
A flickering light sprang up, cutting through the dark.
To his surprise, a humanoid creature perched high, staring at him.
Before Dylan could get a good look, it bolted.
The light vanished.
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
What was that ugly thing?
To avoid attention, he didn't recast the spell, letting his wand go dark.
Soon, he reached the forest's far side.
Towering trees blocked out the sky, even in daylight.
The air was damp, thick with the smell of earth and decay.
"Guess this is what Harry meant," Dylan muttered, recalling Harry's description of a foul-tasting Bertie Bott's bean.
"Little wizard, you shouldn't be here."
A voice came from behind.
Dylan turned to see a centaur standing opposite him.
He knew centaurs were split into factions.
With tensions unclear, he wasn't sure which side this one was on.
He'd been hoping to meet a centaur for ages.
And here one was.
"Planning to shoot me?" Dylan asked.
The centaur narrowed its eyes, raising its bow.
Dylan smirked.
Centaurs and their tempers—always so touchy.
Rumor had it you didn't cross them because of their numbers.
But one centaur? No threat to a skilled wizard.
Especially not to a master like Dylan.
"I don't want to hurt you, but you could use a lesson."
With a flick of his wand, a rope appeared, binding the centaur.
The more it struggled, the tighter the rope got.
In under a minute, the centaur's face turned purple.
Dylan loosened the rope just in time.
Gasping, the centaur fled.
"Runs pretty fast," Dylan muttered.
He didn't kidnap it—letting it go might lure more centaurs.
Waving his wand, he cast, "Protego Totalum. Repello."
An invisible barrier formed to keep the centaur from doubling back.
As he stood by a lake, the water began to freeze rapidly.
The air grew chilly—something was happening.
Tonight's trip was worth it.
Just as he turned to leave, the lake thawed, and something approached.
A mermaid leaped from the water, lunging at him.
Dylan dodged just in time. A mermaid in such shallow water?
He wasn't scared. A grin spread across his face.
This meant Galleons—and research materials.
The next day, Transfiguration class.
Harry and Ron hadn't seen Dylan all morning.
Harry half-thought he'd gotten lost in the bathroom.
But when they rushed to class, Dylan was already there.
"Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "I should turn you both into pocket watches to remind each other."
"Maybe then you'd stop being late."
She was used to their tardiness.
Last time, it was getting lost. What was it now?
McGonagall waited for an excuse.
Ron hesitated. "We were waiting for Dylan."
His voice shrank—he knew it was a weak excuse.
Dylan was right there.
"Mr. Weasley, I hope you can do better than that," McGonagall said. "Twenty points from Gryffindor—each."
The class grumbled.
Dylan blinked. That was steeper than Snape's deductions.
Hermione's face darkened.
She'd nagged them about homework to avoid this, and now—forty points gone.
Harry felt the room's glares.
Some savior—he was Gryffindor's curse.
"So, when'd you get up?" Ron asked, a bit whiny.
"We were waiting for you."
Dylan couldn't say he'd been treasure-hunting.
"Don't remember the exact time, but I called out before I left."
"Some people sleep like the dead."
Ron couldn't argue—he did sleep heavily.
Once, Harry thought he'd stopped breathing, he was so out.
The whole dorm crowded around until Neville timed his breaths and confirmed he was fine.
Turned out, Ron had eaten too many chocolate liqueurs.
"Fine, but it's not all my fault. Harry didn't hear you either," Ron said. "Maybe you were too quiet."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Even Harry couldn't take it.
Dylan was in class—they were the late ones.
"Blame you," Harry said. "Spending too much time with you messed me up."
Ron's snoring had oddly improved Harry's sleep.
"Page 186," McGonagall said. "Today, we're continuing with turning objects into living things."
Under Hermione's watchful eye, Harry and Ron focused.
After class, Dylan approached McGonagall.
Ravenclaw had sparked his interest in the connection between souls and physical forms.
Turning objects into living things was tough for most students.
For Dylan, it was a breeze.
"Professor McGonagall," he said.
She looked up, smiling. "Yes, Dylan?"
"About that portrait we discussed—any progress?"
He'd asked her before the term started, expecting it soon.
Still no portrait.
Maybe something delayed it.
McGonagall frowned. "The Christmas gift? Didn't you get it?"
Christmas gift?
Dylan realized he'd sent Harry and Ron's gifts but hadn't opened his own.
He'd been too busy to sort through them.
"Oh, haha, I got it! I'll check when I get back."
Between his parents' gifts and others, he hadn't bothered unpacking.
He'd even forgotten house gifts.
Rushing back, he found boxes under his bed—Christmas presents from friends and teachers.
He hadn't expected so many.
"Took you long enough to remember," Harry teased as he and Ron followed.
They watched Dylan unpack.
"That's mine," Ron said, pointing to the smallest box with a simple bow.
Dylan could've guessed—Weasley funds were tight.
But he didn't care.
Ron's pocket money was limited, so the gesture meant more.
"It's gorgeous," Dylan said.
It was a crystal ball with a castle inside, intricate but unclear where it was.
"Not bad, right? Hope you like it," Ron said, pleased.
The sensitive boy was always cautious.
"Ron got us ones too. Mine's got a Christmas tree," Harry said.
Ron had given Dylan the best one.
"Really? It's stunning. I'll keep it by my bed and take it home for break."
"My parents are dying to know about Hogwarts."
Dylan figured his dad, Hubert, would at least get a sense of the school.
Then he spotted a flat box at the bottom.
Like the one he gave Hermione, it screamed "book."
It was the portrait from McGonagall, a smaller version of the corridor ones.
"Looks fancy," Ron gaped. "Is that McGonagall? She gave you a portrait?"
"Yup, I asked her ages ago."
This would help his research on souls and physical forms.
In the common room, Hermione was engrossed in a book.
"Where'd you find this?" she asked, holding the book Dylan gave her, already hooked.
Dylan grinned—he knew she'd love it.
Any book was Hermione's jam.
He'd picked one compiling legends of famous wizards.
Maybe not magically significant, but gripping.
Women loved a good story.
"Found it on the street. There's another, right?"
The other was a Muggle book he'd bought with his parents, written by a new author with beautiful prose.
Ron might not get it, but Hermione would.
"I forgot to unpack with all the rush," Dylan said. "Thanks to McGonagall's reminder—and you guys."
After tidying up, they had Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon.
Honestly, Dylan could skip it.
Watching Harry and Ron study basic spells was almost painful.
At their age, they were stuck on low-level curses and theory.
If they thought that'd fend off dark magic, they were dreaming.
If Dylan taught, he'd say run.
Master Apparition, leg it when the enemy's distracted.
Or be nimble, dodge attacks—better than facing dark magic head-on.
Of course, he kept that to himself.
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