"Those cowards on the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures are nothing but a bunch of spineless old fools!"
Hermione, who was nearby working on her Arithmancy homework, glanced up at him. Seeing him still lost in thought, clutching a book with a dreamy look, she shook her head and went back to her work.
"Dylan's been like this a lot lately," she thought. "No one knows what kind of fun he's getting out of staring at that Charms book."
Dylan, however, didn't notice her glance. His attention was already following the two figures in his mind's eye as they walked to a stream in a valley.
Young Dumbledore was leaning down, scooping water with his hands, the sunlight filtering through his red hair and casting flecks of gold on the water's surface. Grindelwald stood behind him, suddenly reaching out to brush his fingertips through Dumbledore's hair. In a low voice, he said, "Once we topple those idiots, the entire wizarding world will remember our names."
Dumbledore straightened up, water droplets trickling down his jawline and dripping onto his collar. He didn't respond, just turned to look at Grindelwald, his eyes shining brighter than the stream.
"So, the grand plan's got a lot of personal stakes mixed in, huh?" Dylan muttered, covering his face with the book as he let out a muffled chuckle.
The Quidditch World Cup was still a ways off, and there was no point stressing about those experimental subjects yet. Besides, it wasn't time for his meeting with Aurelius either. Might as well enjoy this little drama to the fullest while he could. Exploring ancient history? Dylan was definitely intrigued.
That afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the fire in the hearth crackled steadily, the pine logs occasionally popping softly. The warm glow lit up the tapestries on the stone walls, making their colors pop.
Dylan was still curled up in the deepest armchair in the corner, now even more relaxed than before. His legs were crossed and propped up on a footstool, the book he'd been reading now casually tucked behind his back as a makeshift cushion. His Divination vision hadn't yet left the scene in Godric's Hollow.
In his mind, he saw Dumbledore and Grindelwald by a moonlit graveyard, speaking in hushed tones, standing so close he could see the glint in each other's eyes. The subtle tension in their interaction made Dylan's lips curl into a faint, amused smile. He was completely immersed in this private "show."
But then, a soft, stifled sob broke the quiet of the common room. It wasn't loud, but it pierced through Dylan's focus like a needle. Frowning slightly, he snapped out of his vision and followed the sound.
There was Hermione, sitting at a nearby desk, her shoulders trembling slightly. She clutched a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. Her homework was spread out in front of her, a small blot of ink smudged by a tear.
Dylan blinked, sighed, and sat up a bit straighter. "What's going on, Hermione?" he called out, his eyes flicking to her scattered papers. "Did you hit a snag with your homework? Get chewed out by a professor?"
Hermione looked up, her eyes red and lashes wet with tears. She quickly shook her head, wiping her face with the handkerchief. Her voice was thick as she choked out, "Oh… no… it's not that…"
She sniffled, her words muffled by a stuffy nose. "It's got nothing to do with you… just keep doing your thing, don't let me ruin your mood…"
Before she could finish, the common room door burst open with a loud bang. Harry and Ron stormed in, both looking grim. Ron's brows were knitted into a tight knot, and Harry's lips were pressed into a thin, tense line, like they'd just been through something awful.
The moment they saw Hermione crying, they froze, exchanging a startled glance.
"Hermione, why are you crying?" Harry asked, hurrying over, his voice full of concern.
Ron trailed behind, scratching his head awkwardly, clearly unsure how to handle the situation.
Hermione took a deep breath, rubbed her red eyes, and stood up. She pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket—its edges worn, stained with dried tear marks. Handing it to Harry and Ron, her voice wavered. "Hagrid lost the case… He just had this sent over…"
Dylan, listening from the side, thought for a moment and quickly pieced it together. Buckbeak's trial. Hermione had been working tirelessly, gathering evidence for Hagrid's case. While Hagrid had won his own legal battle, the one for Buckbeak had fallen through.
Dylan wasn't surprised.
Harry carefully unfolded the parchment, with Ron leaning in to read. The writing was blurred in places from tears, making it hard to decipher.
When Harry finally made out the words, his eyes widened in disbelief, his voice rising. "They can't do this!" His fingers crumpled the parchment as he gripped it tightly. "Buckbeak isn't dangerous! Anyone with half a brain can see that!"
"It's Malfoy's dad pulling strings," Hermione said, wiping her eyes again, her voice a mix of anger and frustration. "You know how Lucius Malfoy is. He must've leaned on the Committee to get his way."
She paused, her tone dropping. "The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures is just a bunch of spineless old fools too scared to stand up to the Malfoys. We can still appeal, though—in theory, at least." Her voice faltered. "But… I just don't see any hope. It feels like we can't change anything."
"We can change it!" Ron snapped, snatching the parchment from Harry and crumpling it into his pocket, as if that could erase the bad news. He looked at Hermione, his voice firm. "This time, you're not doing it alone, Hermione. I'm helping too. We'll figure something out together!"
"Oh, Ron! Buckbeak's so sweet!" Hermione's emotions burst out at his words. She took a step forward and threw herself into Ron's arms, sobbing loudly.
Ron froze, completely caught off guard. His face turned as red as a boiled lobster, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure where to go. After a moment, he gingerly patted the top of Hermione's head, his movements stiff and puppet-like.
Dylan, watching from his corner, caught every second of it. His lips twitched into a delighted grin. This little scene was even more entertaining than the drama he'd been "watching" earlier.
After a while, Hermione's sobs quieted. She pulled back, sniffling, and said sheepishly, "Ron… about Scabbers, I'm really, really sorry…"
She knew Crookshanks had always gone after Scabbers, and she'd always assumed cats just did that to rats. Even though she now knew Scabbers' disappearance had nothing to do with her or her cat, she'd still felt guilty for disliking Ron's "ugly rat" pet.
At the mention of Scabbers, Ron stiffened, his face still flushed but now layered with a complicated expression. He grimaced, clearly recalling something awkward and hard to talk about. Scratching his head, he mumbled, "Er… actually… about him… we haven't told you everything yet…"
He'd been too embarrassed to admit the full story of how Scabbers went missing, only vaguely assuring Hermione it wasn't Crookshanks' fault. Now that she'd brought it up and apologized, he felt it wasn't right to keep her in the dark.
Harry nodded, stepping in. "Scabbers wasn't just a rat. He was… Peter Pettigrew."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock, tears still clinging to her lashes as they slid down her cheeks. She froze for a few seconds, then suddenly recalled the conversation they'd overheard at the Hog's Head. Without needing more explanation, she connected the dots, her expression shifting from shock to realization.
But then her eyes narrowed, and her tone turned sharp. "Why are you only telling me this now?" She let go of Ron's arm and swatted the back of his head before turning to glare at Harry.
"Uh…" Harry faltered under her stare, his eyes darting away. He couldn't exactly say it was Ron's pride that kept them quiet, could he? Betraying a mate like that wasn't an option. So, he just pressed his lips together, at a loss for words.
Ron quickly jumped in to diffuse the tension. "Alright, alright, let's focus! Buckbeak's case—what do we need to look into? We're not giving up."
Hermione's anger softened at the shift in topic, though her mood was still heavy. She sat back down, flipping through the case files on the table, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "Honestly, I don't know." She sighed. "Based on the files, the evidence and testimonies I put together should've been enough. Hagrid won his own case, but I don't know how to make those stubborn old Committee members change their minds now."
The three of them huddled around the desk, talking in low voices. Though they weren't trying to be quiet, Dylan, sitting in his corner, could hear every word. But they never once glanced his way, probably because, as Hermione said, this didn't involve him, and they didn't want to drag him into it.
Dylan was perfectly fine with that. He leaned back in his armchair, settling into a comfortable position, closed his eyes, and prepared to dive back into his interrupted "show." The fire in the hearth flickered, casting his shadow long across the room. The common room gradually returned to its quiet hum, broken only by the trio's discussion.
In the days that followed, the Gryffindor common room was less lively than usual. Harry, Ron, and Hermione poured all their free time into trying to overturn Buckbeak's case. Their Care of Magical Creatures lessons became a regular chance to comfort Hagrid.
The classes were now held in a paddock at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid still wore his well-worn moleskin coat, but his usual booming laugh was rare. His voice was quieter as he explained creature habits, and his gaze often drifted toward the forest, where Buckbeak was temporarily staying.
Harry would find excuses to sidle up to Hagrid, pretending to ask about creature care while quietly mentioning new leads they'd found. Ron would bring up embarrassing stories about his family to try and make Hagrid smile. Hermione, ever thoughtful, would help organize Hagrid's scattered lesson plans, slipping him notes filled with newly discovered legal clauses when he wasn't looking.
The trio avoided directly mentioning the trial's outcome, instead using these clumsy but heartfelt gestures to ease Hagrid's gloom.
Meanwhile, after news spread of Sirius Black's latest attempt to break into Hogwarts, the school beefed up its nighttime security. Faculty and portrait guards patrolled the corridors in far greater numbers after dark, making it impossible for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to leave the castle at night, even with Hagrid escorting them. This forced them to shift their casework to daylight hours.
The library's long table near the Restricted Section became their unofficial headquarters. A towering stack of case files, borrowed from the office, sat on the table, their edges curling from constant handling. The yellowed pages documented past rulings by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.
Hermione had already combed through them three times, word for word. But Harry and Ron refused to give up, poring over the files again, their eyes scanning the dense handwritten notes for any overlooked loophole. Even a vague clause would spark a moment of hope, only to fizzle out after closer scrutiny.
Time passed in this cycle of effort and fleeting pauses. Outside, the hawthorn trees sprouted new leaves, and the suits of armor in the corridors clinked occasionally from students' playful jostling. Everything seemed to move forward as usual—except for the heavy stack of files and the weight in the trio's expressions, a constant reminder of the unresolved case pressing on their hearts.
But it only weighed on them. Others might've been concerned, but it wasn't their burden to carry.
One morning in Charms class, sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting patches of light on the floor. Professor Flitwick stood at the front, his squeaky voice explaining the nuances of the Cheering Charm.
"Remember, children, the key to Euphoric Elation lies in the caster's own emotional energy. You must feel the joy yourself to make the other person feel it too…"
Dylan and Neville were paired up to practice.