After Dylan brought Harry and the others back to Hogwarts, he buried his nose in a book again.
Before leaving the Gryffindor common room for the library, though, the mood among Harry, Ron, and Hermione—the ironclad trio—was noticeably glum.
Not that it had much to do with Dylan. He carried on as usual, unfazed.
The afternoon slipped by in a blur.
Dylan spent some time studying the properties of his charms, hoping to dig up something about them in the magical texts. To his surprise, he actually found a few mentions—nothing detailed, just brief notes that didn't fully explain his charm's quirks but at least touched on their effects.
It caught him off guard.
"Someone's already had this idea before," he mused.
Ideas were one thing, though. Turning them into reality? That was no small feat. Without his system, even with his maxed-out charms, he doubted he could've stretched their effects this far.
Sitting at a long table in the Hogwarts library, Dylan finished the book he was reading and started packing up. He gently closed the book, slipping it into his bag. The ones he needed to return were neatly stacked, and he tucked away his quill, ink bottle, and parchment notes.
Just as he snapped the metal clasp on his bag, an owl swooped in through the window.
"Luna?"
The snowy owl fluttered onto the table, clutching a letter sealed with red wax in her talons.
Dylan, seeing she was about to hoot, quickly pulled a strip of meat from his system panel and tossed it into her beak.
"Alright, alright, no squawking. This is a library. Eat up."
Luna obediently clamped down on the meat.
Dylan reached for the letter.
"A letter from Mr. Hubert, huh? What's got those two writing to me?" he said, a slight grin tugging at his lips.
He unfolded the letter, and his dad's messy handwriting jumped out at him.
"Following your tip, we made another tidy profit. I used part of it to buy your mum a gem at an auction—she looks stunning in it, but I'm not sending photos. I'm keeping those for my collection. You can see them when you're home."
"The rest of the pounds, after keeping the company running, will be sent to you by owl at Christmas. Merlin's beard, wizards cost a fortune! I'm starting to think those big companies are just slaving away for you lot—am I onto something here?"
"Don't blow all the money on Honeydukes sweets—though you can grab some more for your mum. She's obsessed with them now and turns her nose up at the Muggle candies I get her."
"Everything's fine here, so don't worry about your mum. I'll take care of her. You take care of yourself there, and write to her more often. We haven't gotten any letters from you lately."
"Love, your dad."
The edges of the letter carried a faint whiff of ink, mingled with the frosty scent of Luna's feathers.
Dylan's grin widened.
His fingers brushed over the paper—not parchment, but the rough, Muggle kind. Sure, his parents sometimes forgot they even had a son, but it was clear they loved him.
Luna tilted her head and pecked at his finger.
Dylan glanced over, noticing she'd already polished off the meat and was staring at him expectantly.
"You little glutton, just like Sooty and the others," he teased, folding the letter and tucking it into his inner pocket. He tossed her another strip of meat, then slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.
His boots clicked rhythmically against the stone floor.
Luna gulped down the meat, flapped her wings, and soared just above him.
"Go on, you don't need to carry those pounds for me. You'd get squashed," Dylan said, waving her off.
As he stepped out of the library, Luna let out a soft hoot and flew away.
Dylan glanced at the darkening sky.
"Another chunk of pounds coming in. Time to expand the pet space again," he thought.
Hubert hadn't specified the amount, but if he'd bothered to write about it, it had to be substantial. The catch? Space upgrades required Galleons, and converting pounds to Galleons meant a hefty shrink. Millions of pounds might only get him a few hundred thousand Galleons.
Mulling it over, Dylan made his way to the Great Hall. His stomach was already growling—it was definitely dinnertime.
As he stepped into the hall, he spotted Harry looking utterly dejected, mechanically spooning cream soup into his mouth. Ron and Hermione didn't look much better, their faces pinched like they were constipated.
Whatever had happened between them, Dylan didn't know and didn't ask. He raised an eyebrow but slid into a seat next to Neville instead of joining them.
Neville's eyes locked onto Dylan the moment he sat down, his expression a mix of hesitation and curiosity.
Dylan pulled a sizzling, juicy steak onto his plate—the kind with extra fat that smelled divine. His favorite.
"What's up? Harry and them are like that, and now you are too?" Dylan asked casually, slicing into his steak with elegant precision.
Neville, relieved that Dylan had broken the ice, couldn't hold back any longer. He glanced nervously at Harry's group, then leaned in, whispering, "Dylan, what's going on with them? I was gonna head to the Three Broomsticks to find you all today, but they weren't letting in anyone underage! So I hung out with Seamus and the others for a bit. When I got back this afternoon, I saw Ron and Harry just sitting in the dorm."
He paused, his voice dropping even lower.
"Merlin, I thought they'd gotten into a fight at first!"
Dylan glanced at Harry, shrugging. "If it was just a fight, that'd be simple."
"Huh? What do you mean?" Neville blinked, confused.
Worse than a fight?
Could it be—did Harry and Ron both fancy the same girl?
"Pfft!"
Dylan nearly choked on his broccoli at Neville's hushed suggestion, barely keeping the bits from spraying out.
"Why would you even think that?" he asked, staring at Neville in disbelief.
Neville scratched his head, embarrassed. "Well, you said it was worse than a fight, so I just… assumed."
Dylan chuckled, tapping the table lightly. "Fair enough, but sorry to disappoint you. It's not about a girl. I can't spill the details without Harry's okay, but I'll say this—"
He leaned in, voice low.
Neville, eyes wide with curiosity, scooted closer.
"What?"
"It's way more dramatic than that."
Neville's jaw dropped, and he leaned back slightly.
"More dramatic than liking the same girl?!"
Merlin's pants!
That was already the juiciest gossip he could imagine. What in Hogwarts had happened while he was out?
Neville's curiosity was eating him alive, but he knew better than to pester Dylan about someone else's business.
He finished his dinner, scratching his head in frustration.
Dylan polished off his meal and stood to leave the Great Hall when another owl swooped toward him.
It was Luna again.
He raised his arm, letting her perch, and eyed the letter she clutched.
"Another letter for me?"
This time, he didn't feed her.
"Luna, you're not a dragon or a phoenix. You can't keep scarfing meat at night—you'll get indigestion. Didn't you just have your evening ration?"
Luna nuzzled his head, but Dylan stayed firm.
Realizing her owner was a heartless git, Luna huffed and flew off.
Dylan shook his head. "Ungrateful little fluffball."
He glanced at the letter.
"Huh? From Uncle Florean?"
It was from Florean, the ice cream vendor from Diagon Alley. That was unexpected.
"Why's he writing to me?"
He unfolded the letter and scanned it.
It started with holiday greetings, then chided Dylan for not swinging by Diagon Alley for ice cream lately. But the last bit made Dylan's brow quirk up.
"Vera got hurt by a Death Eater while chasing Karsas?"
What kind of Death Eater could injure a top Hogwarts graduate like Vera?
Dylan reread the end of the letter.
"Oh, how could she go after those criminals alone? So reckless! I've told her not to underestimate any wizard! Even a snot-nosed kid could hit you with a deadly curse if you're not careful. Now she's learned her lesson, but thank Merlin she's okay."
"But I'm going to find that Death Eater. How dare he hurt my daughter? She's so sweet, so kind, so righteous!"
"Ugh, I'm rambling too much. I don't have many folks to vent to, so thanks for reading this far, kid."
"One last thing—could you write to Vera for me? I gave her a bit of a lecture, and now she's cross with me again. Won't visit, probably hasn't even read my letters."
"Please tell her to rest up and—Happy Christmas to her, and to you too."
"Florean."
Dylan's mouth twitched.
He glanced at the letter—half a meter long.
Who could handle this much nagging?
If it wasn't out of politeness, he wouldn't have read a single word. Poor Vera, stuck with a dad like that.
Still, he got where Florean was coming from.
A middle-aged bloke, running a rickety ice cream shop that looked like it could collapse any day, cut off from his family, with a rebellious daughter who barely listened and was off doing her own thing most of the time.
That'd make anyone a bit chatty.
"But if you want me to write to her, at least give me an address. Am I supposed to guess?"
Dylan had met Vera when she came to Hogwarts for an investigation. Since they'd both studied under Professor Flitwick, they'd swapped owl addresses.
But Florean said Vera wasn't talking to him, and she'd been injured chasing Karsas. Was she recovering at the Ministry or somewhere else? How was he supposed to know?
"And getting hurt chasing someone you'll never catch…"
Dylan sighed.
Karsas hadn't shown his face in a while, yet the Ministry was still so fixated.
What, were they done hunting Sirius Black? Had the manpower to spare for this?
Dylan smirked, deciding he'd ask Professor Flitwick later about where to send Vera's letter—whether her old address would still work.
He stood there, letter in hand, about to head off when a voice called out behind him.
"Dylan."
It was Harry.
Dylan turned to see Harry looking nervous and oddly deflated. He tilted his head. "What's up, Harry?"
"There's something… it's about to make my brain explode."
Dylan blinked. "What could plant a Blasting Curse in your head?"
"No, it's not that."
Harry glanced around suspiciously. "It's about what Professor McGonagall and the others were discussing this morning."
Dylan nodded, understanding. "And?"
"I don't know if you'll believe me, but I think you're the only one I can ask." Harry hesitated, twisting his hands. "It's about… the map you gave me."
"How about we find a quieter spot to talk?"
Dylan sighed. "Alright, alright."
Harry pulled him into an empty corridor corner.
Dylan glanced around. "Isn't this a bit bit too secluded?"
"Huh?" Harry looked. "Seems fine to me."
Dylan's eyelashes fluttered.
This was the kind of spot thrill-seeking teens would sneak off to. Were they about to stumble on some young wizards having a passionate snog?
Even if they didn't, if someone saw him and Harry alone in a shady corner like this, who knew what rumors would fly?
What kind of respectable wizard skulked in places like this?
"Harry, what's the deal? You can tell me now, right?"
Harry nodded.
"Dylan, you said the Marauder's Map shows everyone's names at Diagon Alley, right?"
"Yup."
The second Harry said it, Dylan knew exactly what he was getting at.
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