Diagon Alley at night was far from quiet. A gentle breeze carried a hint of dampness through the air.
Borgin turned around and nearly jumped when he saw a figure in a black robe sitting behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.
Startled, he quickly poured a glass of butterbeer.
"Had no idea you'd grace us with your presence, sir," he said, sliding the frothy mug across the counter.
Dylan didn't refuse the drink.
He rarely showed his face, so his sudden appearance made Borgin a bit nervous. Meeting Dylan felt like a rare privilege, one that came with a certain prestige.
And, well, Borgin was happy to bask in it—especially since it usually meant good business, even if it cost him a few Galleons every time.
Dylan just smirked at Borgin's flattery, not bothering to respond. No amount of sweet-talking would lower the price.
"No need to get all worked up, Borgin," Dylan said casually. "I was just passing through."
He glanced around the shop. "Business looks… about as lively as usual." Which was to say, dead quiet.
"As you can see, sir," Borgin replied, handing over this month's rent with a humble nod.
He was being modest. His shop might not draw crowds, but it held treasures rare enough to keep someone like Tom, a Hogwarts graduate, here instead of taking a cushy Ministry job. The odd trinkets Borgin sold could cover the Weasleys' expenses for months.
"Delphini hasn't brought anything good lately?" Dylan asked.
Good stuff was rare, but it did show up now and then.
"Don't get me started on that one," Borgin grumbled. "Haven't seen her in ages. Happy Christmas, by the way, sir."
Borgin's nerves were clear, though there was a touch of awe in his voice. Dylan, with his unmatched magical talent, was the kind of wizard who never lacked followers.
Dylan didn't reply, just gave him a faint look before pulling a 20-milliliter glass vial from his Extendable Bag.
"What's this? Another batch?" Borgin's eyes lit up as he took the vial, filled with a dark liquid that shimmered faintly. Even through the glass, its power was palpable. "Quality's top-notch, as always."
"Acromantula venom," Dylan said. "Not easy to come by."
Borgin let out a nervous chuckle. "Not easy? That's an understatement."
A whole vial this size? A single drop could kill a wizard. This was beyond rare—priceless, really.
Borgin clutched the vial tightly, quickly tucking it into a box for safekeeping. The last batch Dylan brought had earned him a fortune, even after kicking back a cut to Dylan. It had also connected him with some valuable contacts. Acromantulas were nearly extinct, except for that one in the Forbidden Forest. A tiny bit of this venom, slipped into Hogwarts' kitchens, could wipe out an entire house.
"Make good use of it," Dylan said before leaving, vanishing into the street.
Back home, Dylan found the house empty. No surprise there—his parents, Hubert and Maeve, were probably thrilled he'd been out. Sure enough, a note on the table read, "Staying out tonight. Don't wait up."
Figures. They were probably avoiding him. He was starting to feel like a third wheel in his own home.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, warming Dylan's face. Noises from downstairs drew him to the kitchen, where he found Hubert and Maeve being insufferably affectionate.
"Looks like I need to head back to Hogwarts early," Dylan said, rolling his eyes.
Kids staying home too long clearly got on their nerves.
"Christmas is over, anyway," Maeve said brightly, not even pretending to want him to stay. "Got your things packed?"
She glanced upstairs, noticing the lack of luggage.
Dylan sighed. Time to go.
"His holiday's almost over anyway," Hubert chimed in. "Why don't we hit that restaurant again? There's a new Muggle film playing, too. A little family time."
Maeve perked up at the idea, probably because it meant skipping cooking. Housework was clearly not her favorite thing.
They headed to a Muggle restaurant they all liked. Even Dylan had to admit, the food was better than some magically cooked dishes. On the way back, he spotted a bookmark made of nylon cord and a metal charm with a stylish "R" on it. Luna would probably love it. He'd already gotten her one gift, but one more couldn't hurt.
"Alright, love, want some popcorn?" Maeve asked after buying movie tickets. "And grab us two lemon sodas while you're at it."
Typical. She always sent him on errands.
By the time Dylan returned with the snacks, Hubert and Maeve were already in the theater, whispering and giggling like teenagers. He should've known—they were more entertaining than the film. He barely caught the second half, and he doubted Hubert did either. The couple behind them complained a few times, but it didn't stop the lovebirds.
That evening, back home, Maeve made a half-hearted attempt at dinner prep. Dylan wasn't surprised when he came downstairs to find the ingredients still untouched. With a flick of his wand, he sent a purple onion soaring, tomatoes rinsing themselves, and the spatula and knife getting to work. Thank Merlin for magic.
Maeve appeared behind him, smiling. "I've got a question I've been dying to ask."
Dylan braced himself. Her questions were never good. "What's that?"
"Isn't there some spell at Hogwarts to store magic? Or maybe leave behind a little helper for me? So I don't have to worry about dinner when you're gone." She grinned. "Your cooking's way better than mine."
Dylan groaned. Of course, she wasn't going to miss him—just the convenience of his magic.
"No need to worry, love," Hubert cut in, wrapping an arm around her. "I've got you covered when he's back at school."
Right. They'd be fine with their wine and their two-person world.
"My Godric," Dylan muttered, catching them in another embrace. "Can't you two wait until I'm gone to get all mushy?"
He wasn't a prude—Hogwarts boys talked about girls all the time. But romance at school was kept low-key. Even at the Yule Ball, everyone was discreet, except maybe Snape, who'd been caught rummaging around the carriage lot like a lovesick weirdo. Hubert's antics would've cost Gryffindor points for sure.
"They're just jealous," Hubert teased, pulling Maeve closer.
That night, Dylan packed his trunk, including gifts for his friends, and headed to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The station was packed, but he found an empty compartment—until Neville showed up.
"Look who it is!" Neville grinned, sliding in. "Didn't expect you back so soon. Good Christmas?"
"Happy Christmas to you too, Neville, even if it's a bit late," Dylan said with a shrug. "Holiday's short. Figured I'd come back early."
No way was he admitting it was to escape his parents' PDA.
"Same here," Neville said. "Gran wouldn't stop talking. I'd rather be at school with you lot."
Back at Hogwarts, Dylan ran into Luna at the gates. She was wearing carrot-shaped earrings and clutching a copy of The Quibbler.
"Nice earrings," Dylan said, at a loss for better words. Luna wasn't crazy, just… unique.
"Happy Christmas, Dylan," she said dreamily. "Have a good holiday?"
"Pretty good," he replied, sticking to his standard answer. "You?"
They walked toward the castle, its towers glowing gold in the sunset.
"It was nice," Luna said. "Dad threw a party, just the two of us. He made turkey—better than Hogwarts', honestly. And he got me these shoes." She showed off silver boots with tiny winged charms.
"They're great," Dylan said, noting her small smile. Her dad clearly meant the world to her.
In the Gryffindor common room, Harry was popping a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth as Dylan walked in.
"Don't!" Ron warned, too late.
Harry gagged. "Sheep dung. Why do they even make these?"
Dylan laughed. "How do you even know what sheep dung tastes like?"
Harry and Ron tossed him the last bean. "Your turn."
Dylan hesitated but popped it in. Chocolate. Lucky him.
"Ugh, as bad as Harry's," he lied, faking a grimace. The room erupted in laughter.
He handed out gifts—Hermione's book would have to wait until tomorrow.
The next day, the Great Hall's Christmas decorations were gone. First period was Potions with Snape, which didn't thrill Harry or Ron.
"Snape shouldn't teach Potions," Ron grumbled. "He'd be better as the dummy in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's a good teacher. If you two paid attention, you wouldn't get detention so often."
"Yeah, right," Harry muttered. "He's never praised you, Hermione, and you're top of the class."
"I'd rather muck about in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid," Ron added.
Dylan stifled a laugh, remembering Ron fleeing from spiders.
"Quiet," he warned as Snape swept in, slamming the windows shut and filling the room with the scent of herbs.