"If I'm alone with Dumbledore, will he notice something?"
Putting the letters away, Dylan thought to himself.
For the first two weeks of term, he had been running in and out of the professors' offices every day, yet no one had noticed that he had already fully mastered six major Dark Arts spells.
Dylan figured this was probably thanks to the effects of his achievement rewards.
He had completed two achievements before.
One of them made it impossible for others to indirectly track him through magical traces he left behind.
The other allowed him to cast Dark magic without releasing any negative emotion—clearly including the three Unforgivable Curses.
That meant he could smile while casting Avada Kedavra,
and because there were no negative emotions at all, even if someone wanted to suspect that he had mastered Dark Arts, they would first start doubting themselves.
After all, how could someone with not a hint of darkness in them possibly know max-level Dark magic?
To anyone who saw him, Dylan was just a hardworking, studious, positive, and upbeat good kid.
That was the impression almost every professor had of him.
So naturally, no one questioned whether he knew Dark magic, which had made him a lot bolder lately. He was no longer as nervous as when he first arrived.
But the other professors were one thing; Dumbledore was another.
So far he had never been alone with Dumbledore.
He had no idea whether this legendary wizard, the greatest alive, would notice something if they spent time together at close range.
"Forget it. Dumbledore probably doesn't need me to thank him in person, right?"
To be safe, Dylan decided that if he could avoid direct contact with old Dumbles, he would. Especially one-on-one.
The man was so old and still had not retired. Day after day he was busy with everything, playing mind games with Voldemort, taking care of a whole castle full of troublesome brats, and even having to think about whether to raise teachers' salaries.
How could Dylan justify bothering him on top of all that?
For the sake of setting an example in showing kindness to the elderly, Dylan decided to focus his time and energy on studying.
"There's still one more chapter of Potions I haven't read today, and I need to start looking into Divination too. On top of that, I've just reached the part about similarities between Transfiguration and Summoning Charms, so I need to finish that as well."
Dylan felt there were far too many books waiting for him to "dote on" them.
If he did not push himself, he could never satisfy them all.
"Ah!"
Just then, Neville suddenly let out a yelp.
Dylan's train of thought was cut off, and he turned to look.
Neville was holding a red-glowing Remembrall in his hand.
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
A glowing Remembrall meant Neville had forgotten something important.
But seeing Neville's furrowed brows and pained expression, Dylan knew that even with the reminder, he probably was not going to remember what he had forgotten.
"Who gave you that Remembrall?" Ron asked beside him.
"My gran sent it," Neville said, one hand gripping the ball, the other rubbing his chubby cheek. His brows knit, his eyes squinted, and his head tipped back a little as he dug frantically through his mind.
"But what did I forget…?"
Seeing Neville's face turning red from the effort, Dylan pressed his lips together, took the Remembrall from his hand, and shoved it into his bag.
"All right, Neville. If you really can't remember it, it must not be that important. If it is important, you'll remember when it actually happens."
Neville blinked. "Uh… but what if something happens and I wasn't prepared ahead of time?"
"How do you know whatever happens will be the sort of thing you even can 'prepare for'?" Dylan countered. "You've forgotten it anyway, haven't you?"
"Uh…" Neville's face went a bit blank.
Dylan patted his shoulder and pushed a glass of milk into his hand. "I know exactly what homework every professor has set. Other than that, nothing is more important."
Neville tilted up his round face and nodded in agreement. "That makes sense."
He soon tossed the whole matter aside and started eating his breakfast in earnest.
After they finished, they got up to head to class.
When Dylan sat down in the front row, a thought suddenly stirred at the back of his mind.
"Wait, the thing Neville forgot, could it be…"
Before he could follow the thought through, the professor had already entered.
Dylan immediately snapped into learning mode.
After class, he went straight into his usual routine of chasing the teacher down with questions.
By the time flying class rolled around in the afternoon,
Dylan and Harry made their way to the open area by the front doors of the castle.
The Slytherin first-years had gathered there as well.
Looking ahead, Dylan saw nearly thirty brooms laid out in two neat rows on the ground.
"Huh? I feel like I'm forgetting something…"
Madam Hooch walked over from the distance.
The moment Dylan saw a professor, his brain automatically shifted into study mode again.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Now, stand to the left of your brooms. Quickly, quickly!"
Madam Hooch had short gray hair, combed sharply back. Her features were strong, her eyebrows thick and slightly arched.
As soon as she reached the students from the two Houses, she briskly began barking orders, snapping everyone into lesson mode.
The two clumps of first-years quickly split into two lines.
Once the first person stepped up to a broom, their housemates immediately followed.
Dylan stood with Neville, Harry, and the others.
He let his gaze drop to the broom at his feet.
The wood was dark and dull, the bristles uneven, some charred and broken, the binding cord loose, and several slats at the end of the handle were missing.
"…"
He strongly suspected that if he tried to fly on this thing, something was going to go wrong.
Like the broom breaking apart halfway through the ride.
Or even…
"Can this broom even get me off the ground?"
What if it could not even lift him?
"Good. Now, stretch out your right hand over the broom and shout—Up!"
"Up!"
Voices rang out one after another as the first-years shouted at the top of their lungs.
Almost everyone succeeded on the first try.
When Dylan called out once, the battered broom at his feet bounced straight up, and he grabbed it by the tail.
"To learn to fly, posture is the first key! But before that, I need you to remember the important points of flying, and more importantly, to keep all the safety rules firmly in mind!"
Madam Hooch's voice was hoarse but strong, cutting cleanly through the air.
(End of Chapter)
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