"If you're not around, am I supposed to go to class all by myself?"
Hermione pouted slightly. "You know I don't know anyone else in some of those electives. Harry's not there, so I end up just sitting alone."
"If you were still going to class, we could sit together."
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
"Hold on a second—what do you mean, 'if I'm not around'? I'm just not going to those classes anymore, not dead or anything."
"That's exactly what I meant!"
"…('-'\*)"
She really was impossible sometimes.
"Alright, alright. I just won't be showing up in those classes anymore. I've already explained why."
Hermione's face fell a little.
"Fine…"
Honestly, she had no say in it—and no right to make Dylan go.
They were just… friends. Maybe a bit closer than average classmates, but still just friends.
More often than not, Hermione saw Dylan as a rival.
Not an enemy—just someone whose pace she tried to match, especially when it came to studying.
She knew very well just how much he read.
—Far more than even she did!
So she knew Dylan had a clear plan for his future, and he was charging toward it with single-minded focus.
Some classes just weren't necessary for him anymore.
In fact, he probably already *knew* the material, so why waste time relearning it?
"Ugh…"
Hermione sighed softly.
Even though she understood, Dylan's sudden change of plans still unsettled her.
—Weren't they supposed to be taking these classes together?
Maybe what bothered her most… was how she thought they were on the same path—at least for now. They had started these electives together, but it had only been a few days before Dylan made up his mind to change course entirely.
He had decided these classes didn't fit into his vision of the future.
But her?
In truth, Hermione didn't *have* a clear path yet.
Just like Harry.
Harry didn't know what he wanted to do, so he chose his electives with a kind of "whatever works" attitude.
He and Ron picked a few courses together based on suggestions from others.
Even if they didn't do well in them, at least they had each other to commiserate with.
—It's a lot easier to deal with mistakes when you're not alone.
Hermione had chosen *every* elective.
On the surface, it was the opposite of Harry's casual approach. She seemed eager, hardworking, and driven.
But wasn't she really just lost, too? Unsure of what her future would hold—so she chose everything, just in case.
If you don't know what you want, the next best thing is to try everything.
That way, whatever direction you eventually choose, you'll have a bit of knowledge to help you along.
Harry and Hermione… they were more alike than they realized.
Hermione walked forward in silence.
The group headed to the Great Hall, had a quick meal, and returned to the Gryffindor common room.
Dylan went through his usual evening routine:
* Alchemy practice
* Feeding his pet
* Feeding the basilisk
* Feeding the increasingly incoherent Gilderoy Lockhart
—Dylan was genuinely puzzled by how much worse Lockhart's mind was getting.
He'd only been hit with a single Memory Charm. It should've caused memory loss, not… this level of mental decline.
Still, Dylan didn't dwell on it too much.
After finishing his routine, he fell asleep quickly.
The next morning, Dylan was the first to wake.
He went through his morning rituals—getting ready, reading, eating breakfast, feeding his owl.
With class time approaching, he made his way toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
On the way, he ran into Hermione again.
She looked a bit glum, clutching a huge stack of books almost up to her chest.
"Morning," Dylan greeted her.
"Morning," Hermione mumbled back.
"What's wrong?" Dylan asked.
"Nothing," she said, pausing briefly before glancing up at him.
"So, you dropped Arithmancy and some of the other electives… and you're only sticking with the one class taught by that professor who doesn't even seem to have real Divination powers?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Yeah."
"You're even skipping Hagrid's class?"
Dylan nodded again.
"Well, with Malfoy getting hurt, I imagine Hagrid's class will be paused for a while. Plus, that elective doesn't really benefit me, so I dropped it too."
He shrugged.
"Phew—alright then. As long as you've got a plan."
Hermione exhaled slowly.
Just then, Harry and Ron rushed over.
They spotted Hermione and paused, surprised.
"Hermione?"
"What're you doing here?"
Hermione looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"
Ron scratched his head and looked over his shoulder.
"I mean, you were just walking behind me and Harry… and then we stepped ahead to say hi to Dylan, and suddenly—you were already here?"
Ron looked baffled.
Dylan caught on immediately.
Hermione must've gone to another class earlier and then used the Time-Turner to come back and make it to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Hermione seemed to realize what had happened too, and started stammering.
"Oh, uh—that's… well…"
Harry and Ron stared at her, waiting.
She didn't come up with anything.
So Dylan spoke up.
"Alright, class is about to start. Let's head in before the professor arrives."
Hermione nodded quickly.
"Yes, yes, let's go!" she said, hurrying toward the classroom.
Ron watched her run off with a stack of books like she was fleeing the scene of a crime.
"That's *really* suspicious. Like, nine-out-of-ten suspicious."
Dylan tilted his head. "And the other one part?"
"Super suspicious!"
Ron whispered, "I think Hermione's hiding something."
Dylan considered it. He had either been with Hermione when using the Time-Turner, or alone, so no one else had noticed anything off.
Ron continued his guesswork. "There aren't *that* many classes today, right? And not that many books are even needed. But did you see the stack Hermione was carrying? It was *huge!*"
He gestured with both hands.
Dylan chuckled. "Maybe it's just because you're short?"
It's often said girls grow faster than boys at that age.
Hermione *was* a bit taller than Ron now—though maybe that was just because she was slimmer, which made her look taller.
"Well, you *know* how much Hermione loves reading. Maybe she just wants something to read over lunch?" Dylan offered casually, making up an excuse for her before heading into the classroom.
He ignored Ron and Harry whispering behind him.
Inside, Professor Lupin hadn't arrived yet.
He was late.
When he finally walked in, Dylan glanced up—he was wearing the same old robe from the Welcoming Feast.
—Tattered and patched.
Lupin smiled gently, with a calm presence, holding an old, beat-up suitcase that somehow looked even worse than his robes.
Still, his face was slightly flushed, and he looked healthier than when term began.
His cheeks had even filled out a bit.
"It's a pleasure to be your teacher," Lupin began, voice warm but firm. "I'll do my best to help you understand the true nature of the Dark Arts—and the horrors they can unleash."
He didn't put the suitcase down, just held it firmly in one hand.
Clearing his throat, he addressed the class.
"Close your textbooks. Put away your parchment and quills. Today, you'll need only your wands."
The class fell into stunned silence—then broke into excited chatter.
No wonder.
Last year, Lockhart had tried "practical lessons" too… unleashing a swarm of Cornish pixies that turned the classroom into total chaos.
Now Lupin was saying they'd be doing practical magic again?
Everyone was curious—if a little nervous.
"Follow me."
The room filled with the sound of rustling parchment and shuffling feet. Students quickly stuffed their books into their bags and clutched their wands.
When everyone was ready, Lupin turned and led them out of the classroom.
His old leather shoes tapped rhythmically against the stone floor.
The students' footsteps followed behind in a scattered shuffle.
As they rounded a corner—
A familiar figure appeared: Peeves the Poltergeist.
—Wide-mouthed, grinning, and upside down from the ceiling.
He was trying to shove a wad of chewing gum into a keyhole.
Wearing bright clothes that stood out in the dim corridor, Peeves narrowed his round eyes at Lupin and burst into song with his usual shrill voice:
**"Loony Lupin, loopy old bat,
Teaches Dark Arts like a blubbering prat,
With a brain full of owl poo—imagine that!"**
The rhyme was terrible. And loud.
Peeves gleefully jammed the slobbery gum deep into the lock, spinning it in for good measure.
As a poltergeist, Peeves was a magical entity formed from centuries of chaos, mischief, and disobedience within Hogwarts.
He thrived on causing trouble.
Lupin, having once been a student here—and a Marauder at that—knew Peeves well.
In fact, he had *contributed* to much of the mischief Peeves fed off of.
So Lupin didn't seem angry—just a little exasperated.
"Old friend," he said, "how about finding somewhere else to cause trouble?"
**"PTHBBT!"**
Peeves spat rudely, making a wet splat on the stone floor.
Still upside down, he made a face and wiggled his ears.
Lupin sighed, then calmly drew his wand.
"Watch closely," he said to the class. "This is the first spell I'll teach you. It forces objects to shoot out quickly."
He flicked his wand.
**"Waddiwasi!"**
There was a sharp thrum in the air.
The gum shot out of the keyhole like a bullet—
—and *right* up Peeves's nose.
"ARGH! You nasty old git!" Peeves howled.
He somersaulted through the air, screeching curses, and vanished around the corner, his voice echoing faintly:
**"Rotten old Lupin!"**
The students were stunned.
Then—cheers.
For the first time in *years*, they were witnessing a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who actually knew what he was doing.
Lupin's quiet confidence calmed them.
Dylan raised an eyebrow in the crowd.
"Waddiwasi… Not a common spell," he murmured.
After crossing a few more corridors, Lupin stopped outside an unremarkable wooden door.
The sign read: **Staff Room**.
He opened the door—
And inside, lounging in an armchair, black robes trailing the floor, was Professor Snape.
He stared at Lupin—and at the students behind him—with cold disdain.
"So," he drawled, "you've brought class *here* now? Planning to take over the staff room as well?"