Chapter 295: Dumbledore: Good Child!
Peter Pettigrew's appearance was already repulsive. Paired with his current state a sniveling, constantly shaking mess it was truly nauseating. Dylan couldn't bear to watch and shifted his gaze to Professor Dumbledore.
"Speaking of which, there's one thing I never quite understood," he said, raising a hand to gently stroke his chin, his brow slightly furrowed with genuine confusion. "Why didn't you choose Professor Dumbledore as the Secret-Keeper back then? Was it... a lack of trust?"
He paused, then continued, "Given the situation at the time, if even Professor Dumbledore had sided with Voldemort, then your so-called resistance would have been meaningless. You might as well have surrendered outright."
"Dylan, you mustn't speak like that." Professor Dumbledore's voice held a note of seriousness mixed with a touch of helplessness. "No matter how powerful evil forces become, one must always hold onto one's principles and bottom line."
Although Dumbledore knew Dylan was essentially speaking the truth that reality was often harsh as a mentor, some things couldn't be stated so bluntly.
He then turned his gaze to Peter Pettigrew. The usual warmth in his eyes instantly vanished, replaced by sharpness and authority. "Peter, Dylan's previous words were not wrong." Dumbledore's voice was steady and powerful. "You were not without a chance to turn back. Over the past year, those opportunities were plentiful."
"Even if Voldemort initially coerced you, the path you ultimately took was your own choice... Prepare to spend the rest of your life in Azkaban."
Sirius Black stared intensely at Peter Pettigrew's terrified face, the fire in his eyes threatening to reduce the man to ash. He remained silent for a moment, then finally squeezed out a furious "Hmph" from his throat. He abruptly let go, letting Peter Pettigrew fall heavily back into the chair with a thud.
Dylan watched the scene and couldn't help but sigh softly. Why is the wizarding world like this? Committing such a massive crime, and they don't get the death penalty, but just locked away? They might as well be locked up in my world, he mused. Even those who spilled a lot of blood, once captured, only ended up in Azkaban. Since the prison's inception, the number of Dark Wizards who were actually killed upon capture was pitifully small. Frankly, if the wizarding world had a law stating that murder must be repaid with death, Voldemort probably wouldn't have been able to gather so many devoted followers when he returned.
Professor Dumbledore picked up his quill and began writing a letter to Fudge. He knew that Fudge wouldn't easily accept something that publicly slapped the Ministry of Magic in the face; subsequent negotiations would be necessary. Thus, he first dismissed Dylan and Harry.
"Go unfreeze your Professor Lupin first." As Dylan prepared to leave, Professor Dumbledore looked up at the full moon outside the window, its light already less intense. He smiled gently at Dylan. "Don't worry about him losing control. Keeping him frozen like that probably isn't good for his health."
It was a good thing Professor Lupin was huddled in the corner and frozen in such a strange posture. Otherwise, Madam Pomfrey would surely have been shocked again.
"Finite Incantatem." Dylan uttered the incantation, lifting the Freezing Charm and the Confundus Charm he had placed on Professor Lupin.
The moment the spell was cast, Professor Lupin's body began to tremble violently. The ice quickly melted into water, dripping from his fur. Almost simultaneously, he let out a non-human snarl, filled with pain and wildness.
Seeing this, Professor Dumbledore gave his wand a slight flick. A decorative bronze flower branch on the wall suddenly came to life, rapidly shooting out countless vines that grew wildly, tightly wrapping around Professor Lupin to form a dense, spherical cage. The vine-cage, with Professor Lupin inside, slowly moved to the window and flew out through the open pane. Dylan guessed he was being sent to the Shrieking Shack.
"I'll take my leave now, Professor." Dylan said.
Professor Dumbledore smiled warmly at him and nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. "I'm delighted to see such great progress in you, Dylan, and also..." Professor Dumbledore suddenly adopted a slightly playful expression and winked at Dylan. He then leaned in closer and spoke in a lowered voice: "At Filius's insistence, the House Cup this year will likely go to Gryffindor."
"But you might have to give a speech then. You can start preparing now and by the way, don't tell anyone about the House Cup just yet."
A... a speech?
Dylan paused, blinking. He, too, lowered his voice, his tone a mix of surprise and reluctance. "Professor, I didn't actually do anything noteworthy for this. I just ran a few errands and showed the way. I really don't deserve the opportunity to give a speech. Let's just forget it."
"Hmm..." Professor Dumbledore clearly hadn't expected Dylan to say this. He blinked in surprise, a flicker of astonishment in his eyes behind the spectacles. But this quickly morphed into deeper satisfaction, and his smile became even more gentle. "Of course, if you truly don't want to."
Courage, righteousness, friendship, kindness, and this rare humility... The qualities Dylan displayed perfectly matched everyone's imagination of Hogwarts' finest student. Although Voldemort had once presented a similar image exceptionally talented and outstanding Professor Dumbledore had secretly had Dylan look into the Mirror of Erised. Judging by the image reflected there, he was convinced that Dylan would never become like Voldemort.
Two people with extremely high magical talent: Voldemort was eventually consumed by ambition and went astray, while Dylan grew up to be such an upright and good child. This made Professor Dumbledore even more certain that the power of love was far greater than any powerful magic! What a good child! So humble, and so eager to learn. He was already excited to see what kind of wizard Dylan would become when he grew up.
"Right, Professor, one more thing." Dylan had reached the door, his hand already on the doorknob, but he paused as if suddenly remembering something. He turned back, his expression somewhat grave.
"Hmm? What is it?" Professor Dumbledore, who had just turned to deal with the documents on his desk, stopped what he was doing and looked at him gently, his eyes inquiring.
"That diadem." Dylan deliberately lowered his voice, his tone cautious, using vague language. "According to Miss Helena that is, the Grey Lady Tom once had designs on it."
Professor Dumbledore's previously relaxed brow instantly furrowed. The warmth left his face, replaced by deep contemplation. He was silent for a moment before asking, "Are you saying...?"
"I suspect that Tom purposefully collected relics of the four Founders." Dylan's voice was even lower, his eyes full of seriousness.
Professor Dumbledore was sharp; he immediately grasped Dylan's intent. Using "Tom" to refer to the name that must not be spoken clearly wasn't due to fear, so it could only relate to the diary. Thinking this, the look in his eyes deepened.
"...I understand." Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly, his voice solemn. "That information is extremely valuable. Thank you, Dylan."
Professor Dumbledore lowered his gaze and contemplated for a moment, his finger unconsciously tapping on the desk, making a faint thump-thump sound. His deep eyes shimmered behind his spectacles as he rapidly processed the information Dylan had brought, connecting it with various past clues.
After a moment, he looked up, the gravity on his face gradually fading, replaced once more by a gentle expression. He stood up, walked slowly toward Dylan, and gently patted his shoulder. The warmth of his palm radiated through Dylan's clothes, carrying a comforting strength.
"Alright, it's getting late. The castle clock should be chiming midnight soon." Professor Dumbledore's voice held a trace of subtle fatigue, but was still gentle. "Go back and rest now. Too much has happened tonight. You should get some sleep."
"Yes, I'll head back now. Goodbye, Professor." Dylan nodded, gave a slight bow to Professor Dumbledore, and turned toward the door. As he reached the doorknob, he glanced back at Dumbledore, who was still standing there, gazing out at the moonlight, lost in thought.
Dylan gently pulled the door open and silently closed it, leaving the stillness and contemplation behind in the office.
Dylan had never mentioned to anyone that the diadem was a Horcrux. Helena hadn't revealed it either, and she wouldn't have the chance to say anything in the future. In other words, he didn't have to worry about his story being exposed. This allowed him to confidently conceal the crucial information, only informing Professor Dumbledore that Voldemort had once coveted the diadem. By the time Professor Dumbledore truly learns my true nature, he'll probably be just an image in a portrait, right?
Thinking this, Dylan pushed open the door to the Headmaster's office and was surprised to find Harry waiting outside.
"Harry?" he said, slightly surprised.
"I was waiting for you. Let's walk back together." Harry's voice was calm. He didn't ask what Dylan and Professor Dumbledore had discussed. He just glanced up at the now completely dark sky and spoke softly.
Just walking together? Dylan looked at Harry's eyes. Something seemed hidden in those green irises. He blinked but didn't ask. "Alright, let's go."
The two walked down the empty corridor. The stone floor echoed hollowly with their footsteps. Harry's pace was erratic, and he seemed on the verge of speaking several times, his lips moving, but he ultimately said nothing. They walked in silence all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower, and he never asked a question. Dylan had no interest in guessing the convoluted thoughts of a teenager. Since Harry wasn't speaking, Dylan was happy with the quiet.
Upon returning to the dormitory, he walked straight to his bed, slipped under the covers, and drew the curtains. Let the world sleep, regardless of the wind or moon outside.
The next morning, at breakfast, Harry and the others were summoned by Professor Dumbledore, but this was of no concern to Dylan. He planned to go to the Forbidden Forest first to soothe Sequel and deal with some personal matters.
When Dylan returned to the castle, it was just in time for dinner. As soon as he sat down at the table, he felt a gaze fixed on him. He didn't even need to look to know it was Harry. So, after serving himself a small portion of stew, Dylan looked up at Harry and asked simply:
"What is it?"
"Dylan..." Harry's voice was hesitant, as if he was mustering a great deal of courage to finally speak. Harry's fingers slowly tightened, gripping his knife and fork tightly. The metal utensils trembled faintly in his palm, making a slight clinking sound. His Adam's apple bobbed as if he was trying to steady himself, and his eyes clearly showed tension.
"Did you see what happened today?" His voice was slightly strained, carrying an almost imperceptible hint of a test.
"What? What happened today?" Dylan's brow furrowed slightly, his eyes full of confusion. He put down his spoon and looked directly at Harry, waiting for him to continue.
Did Fudge ignore the truth and insist on locking up Sirius Black? Or did Dumbledore call them to use the Time-Turner to go back in time and save Buckbeak and Sirius Black? Or did the Ministry of Magic "accidentally" let Peter Pettigrew escape during his transport? He didn't know anything about those possibilities.
"..." Harry stared fixedly at Dylan for a long moment, trying to find a flaw in his expression. But Dylan's face was as calm as deep water; nothing could be discerned. Dylan's disguise is too good! Even when Hermione had used the Time-Turner, they had been able to spot the flaw in her story. But Dylan showed no trace of anything unusual.
I wish I could tell when people are lying, Harry muttered inwardly. With no other option, Harry sighed softly, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Professor Lupin resigned because Professor Snape revealed that he's a werewolf today." He knew this sounded forced, clearly an attempt to change the subject, but he managed to circle back to the topic of Professor Lupin, avoiding Dylan's gaze somewhat evasively.
"Oh, really? Well, that's not bad, is it?" Dylan didn't press the strange shift in Harry's conversation. He simply nodded knowingly, picked up his spoon, and scooped up a mouthful of mushroom soup. The warm broth slid down his throat, rich with savory flavor.
.......
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