"That's just weird," Dylan said, smacking his lips. "No wonder I haven't seen Wood dragging you off to practice lately."
Harry quickly chimed in, "I'm not even sure if it's true. Fred and George might've been exaggerating. I mean, drowning yourself in a rainstorm? That sounds pretty far-fetched, doesn't it?"
Dylan grinned and nodded. "Oh, absolutely."
The week after the Christmas holidays passed by slowly.
Finally, another Quidditch match rolled around.
And the result? Slytherin won.
Surprisingly, though, quite a few Gryffindors were in high spirits about it.
Dylan was in the dorm, nose in a book, when Wood burst in, buzzing with excitement.
"Harry! This is brilliant! Slytherin beat Ravenclaw, so if we can just take down Ravenclaw, we can forget that last loss and shoot straight to second place!"
Wood dashed to Harry's bed, looking like he hadn't a care in the world.
The guy was practically radiating energy.
Harry blinked, eyeing Wood, who seemed to have sprung back to life. He nodded lightly, flashing a smile. "That's awesome! I reckon we've got a good shot at winning next time!"
Wood grinned like a kid in a candy shop.
He opened his mouth to say more, but then his eyes flicked to Dylan, who was sitting at his desk, expressionless, flipping through his book. Wood froze mid-motion.
Turning back, he swallowed hard and said cautiously, "Uh… Dylan, am I bothering you?"
Dylan glanced over at Wood.
Wood stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move.
For some reason, talking to Dylan always made him feel like he was under a mountain of pressure—like facing Professor McGonagall herself.
Dylan sized up Wood, who, despite being close to graduating, acted like a nervous first-year in front of him. He pressed his lips together, let out a huff through his nose, and waved a hand. "Oh, come on. You just barged in here, yapping away at Harry. How could that possibly bother me?" Dylan said with a smile.
A bead of sweat rolled down Wood's forehead.
That didn't sound like someone who wasn't bothered…
"Go on, say whatever you need to say to Harry. Don't mind me," Dylan said, lowering his head back to his book.
It was just the two of them in the dorm—Harry and Dylan.
Since Dylan didn't seem mad, Wood didn't have to apologize to anyone else.
Seeing that Dylan wasn't about to give him a hard time, Wood let out a relieved breath.
He turned back to Harry, still excited but keeping his voice lower. "You've got a broom for practice now, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, Dylan gave me one. I've been using it for practice, so the confiscated one doesn't really affect me."
Wood nodded eagerly. "Perfect! So you can start training with me again?"
Harry blinked. "I mean, I can, but…" He gave Wood a once-over. "Are you okay? I heard you were in the hospital wing for a while after the last match."
Wood waved it off. "I'm fine! Training's the priority right now—everything else can wait!"
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Wood didn't give him a chance. "Let's start today. After dinner, head straight to the pitch. I'll round up the others."
"We should aim to practice at least five times a week. Six would be better, and seven? That'd be absolutely perfect!"
Harry stared, dumbfounded. "Every single day?"
Wood nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! That's how we go all out and win! You don't want to lose to Ravenclaw and let Slytherin take first place again, do you?"
Harry hesitated. "It's not that I don't want to, but… I've got weekly assignments, plus I'm studying charms with Professor Lupin every week. If I train every day, I won't have time for anything else."
Wood paused. He couldn't exactly demand Harry ditch everything else just for Quidditch.
Sure, this match was about Gryffindor's honor, but deep down, Wood's insistence was partly selfish. He couldn't stand Slytherin winning again while Gryffindor didn't even snag the Quidditch Cup once.
After a moment's thought, he compromised. "Alright, fine. We'll train once a day then. Monday through Friday, you can have two days for your own stuff—one for Lupin's lessons, one for homework. But Saturday and Sunday, we're on the pitch all day. Deal?"
Wood looked at Harry expectantly.
Harry's mouth twitched.
Looking at Wood's eager face, he half-worried that if he said no, Wood might try drowning himself in another rainstorm.
So, he nodded. "Okay… but that means I'll only have one evening to finish a whole week's worth of homework."
Wood's eyes lit up, and he clapped Harry's bed. "Don't worry! If you get stuck on homework—"
His eyes darted sneakily to Dylan, still reading at his desk. "Just ask your roommate for help. I bet someone as kind, helpful, handsome, and righteous as him wouldn't let you flunk and get torn apart by the professors!"
Harry's jaw dropped, and he froze on his bed, eyes wide.
"Uh… yeah, I guess," he mumbled.
"Haha, right?" Wood chuckled.
"Come on, let's grab dinner and head to the pitch!"
Before Harry could protest, Wood yanked him off the bed.
With a resigned sigh, Harry gave in. "Alright, alright, let's go."
He slipped on his shoes, grabbed some clothes, and packed a change of outfit.
Before they left, Harry glanced back at Dylan. "Hey, Dylan, want to grab dinner with us?"
Dylan shook his head. "You guys go ahead. I'll finish this up. Besides, knowing Wood, he'll probably make you scarf down your food in two bites so you can get to training."
Harry's mouth twitched again.
Wood, on the other hand, nodded gratefully at Dylan. "You're too good, Dylan! Next time, I'll bring you some of those cream buns from Hufflepuff. They're new, and they're amazing!"
Dylan shook his head. "Thanks, but no need. I'm the one who taught Hufflepuff how to make those buns."
Wood blinked, stunned. "('-')… Dylan, you're like a bloody perfect hexagon—no weaknesses at all."
Harry laughed from the side. "Dylan's got some serious magical talent."
Wood nodded. "Oh, I know. Alright, let's move!"
He grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him toward the door.
The thought of diving back into grueling training sessions made Harry groan as he trudged after Wood toward the Great Hall.
Practice hadn't even started yet.
And he was already missing the rare downtime he'd had over the past couple of days.
As the two of them left, Dylan shook his head and went back to his book.
It was an ancient tome from Ravenclaw's personal collection, filled with fascinating accounts of magical experiments. Dylan had been poring over it obsessively, barely eating or sleeping.
By the time Neville and the others had finished dinner and returned, Dylan finally made his way to the Great Hall.
Time flew by.
Another Friday rolled around.
Dylan was in the library, nose buried in a book.
Harry and Ron were seated nearby.
Ron's desk was cluttered with several homework assignments, and he was scribbling furiously.
Harry's situation was worse.
His pile of assignments was twice the size of Ron's.
Ron, for all his reluctance, usually managed to chip away at his homework bit by bit.
But Harry? Thanks to Wood dragging him off for Quidditch practice all week, he hadn't touched a quill until tonight.
And now, he had to finish everything by the end of the evening.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Harry's quill moved so fast it practically sparked against the parchment.
When he finally scribbled the last word, he let out a small sigh of relief, though his face still looked like he'd just swallowed a fly fresh from the dung heap.
"Dylan…" Harry said, gently sliding his parchment toward him.
"What's up?" Dylan glanced up from his book.
"Er…" Harry hesitated, looking sheepish. "Could you maybe take a look at this essay for me?"
Ron peeked over. "Blimey, that's a lot! Is that for Snape's class? I thought you'd just scribble something quick—how'd you write that much?"
He glanced down at his own parchment, where the writing was messy and sparse.
"Don't leave me to face Snape's wrath alone! He'll tear me to shreds!" Ron pleaded.
Dylan took Harry's parchment and gave it a quick scan.
"You've already written this much—what do you need me to check?"
Harry sighed. "I'm not aiming for top marks. I just don't want Snape giving me a T. If he does, he'll make me rewrite it, and I really don't have time."
Dylan chuckled.
Harry was clearly self-aware these days.
He knew his work was bound to get a tongue-lashing from Snape, no matter how hard he tried. Even if the content was solid, the arguments clever, or the perspective fresh…
Snape would still find a reason to criticize.
Some people could always pick fault, no matter how perfect the work.
Harry seemed to have accepted this. Getting chewed out? Fine, let it happen. Snape would probably dock Gryffindor a few points in the process, as usual.
And if the essay was truly awful, Snape wouldn't even need an excuse to slap a T on it and demand a rewrite.
With Wood dragging Harry to practice every day, he was exhausted. A rewrite would mean pulling an all-nighter.
As for the scolding and lost points?
Let Snape rant. Someone else would earn those points back eventually.
Harry glanced at Dylan, then over at Hermione, who was scribbling furiously nearby.
"Can you take a look? If there's anything I need to fix, maybe jot it down on another sheet so I can add it later," Harry said, his voice almost pleading.
Dylan nodded. "No problem. Your essay's decent enough. I'll add a few paragraphs to give it a boost. That way, even if Snape wants to mark you down, he won't be able to justify a T."
"Really? Brilliant!" Harry said, gratitude flooding his voice. He grabbed his next assignment and got back to work.
Ron pouted. "Dylan…"
"Hold on," Dylan said without looking up. "Once I'm done with Harry's, you can take a look and rewrite it in your own words. Just borrow a few bits."
Ron wasn't Harry. Snape wouldn't go out of his way to make Ron's life miserable.
Ron's eyes lit up. "Cheers, mate!"
Then he turned to glance at Hermione, who hadn't joined their conversation.
Her desk was buried under a mountain of books, practically hiding her.
And it wasn't just one desk—she'd taken over two more nearby.
Because of that, she wasn't sitting with them. Instead, she was tucked away in a corner of the library.
Ron nudged Harry with his elbow.
"Oi! Watch it—you nearly made me mess up!" Harry snapped.
"Sorry, sorry! I just wanted you to look at her. What's going on there?" Ron said, nodding toward Hermione.
Harry turned his head.
He was swamped, sure, but Hermione looked even busier.
"Didn't she take every single elective?" Harry said. "Makes sense her homework load's bigger than mine."
"No, that's not what I mean," Ron said, frowning. "I mean, what's up with her?"
"What do you mean, what's up?" Harry asked, confused.
"Look!" Ron pulled his crumpled timetable out of his bag and pointed at Thursday's schedule.
"See? There wasn't even an Arithmancy class yesterday. But at lunch today, I passed Hermione talking to Professor Vector, and they were going on about what they covered in class yesterday."
"If there wasn't a class, how'd they have a lesson?"