"Turn your books to page 179. Today, we're diving into Screaming Vines. Who knows anything about them? Anything at all?"
Snape's words were barely out before Hermione's hand shot up.
Harry and Ron were used to this by now. It was no surprise.
Whenever it was Snape's class, Hermione was always eager to shine.
Her hand was practically touching the ceiling, but Snape seemed blind to it.
If this were Professor McGonagall's class, Gryffindor would've already earned points.
Seeing Snape ignore Hermione yet again, Ron leaned over.
"You know, I don't usually side with Snape, but this time, I think he's got a point."
"Her brain's just too rigid."
Ron's comment snapped Dylan back to the moment. Clearly, a lot had happened while he'd been away.
"Sometimes, I'm impressed by your guts," Dylan teased, sharing a grin with Harry.
Ron might seem like a goody-two-shoes, but he was full of mischief.
Paired with Harry, the two were always getting into trouble.
If it weren't for Hermione bailing them out, the trio would be in hot water. Whenever she got mad, Harry and Ron didn't dare utter a word.
If Hermione overheard Ron's comment, she'd probably be fuming.
"I was just… saying," Ron mumbled, catching Dylan's warning look and shutting up fast.
After Potions, they had Divination in the afternoon.
The wizarding world always had mixed feelings about prophecies.
Crystal balls could glimpse the future, but they were just tools to store predictions.
The real foresight came from the wizard themselves.
In magical history, the most famous seer was Sybill Trelawney's ancestor.
That great-grandmother had some real talent—many of her prophecies came true.
Sometimes, Dylan wondered if that's why Hogwarts kept Divination around, not just because Trelawney made one decent prediction.
"Wait, what did you just say?" Ron stopped dead, looking stunned.
Harry and Dylan snapped to attention, sensing they'd missed something.
"How could you possibly take History of Magic and Divination at the same time? That's not logical!"
"Don't be daft, Ron. People can't be in two places at once," Hermione said, brushing him off and heading to class.
Ron stood there, gobsmacked.
"What do you think, Dylan?" Harry asked, a bit calmer.
"It's magic, isn't it? Nothing's impossible," Dylan replied, echoing Harry's thoughts. Neither made a fuss like Ron.
During the lesson, Dylan was distracted, his mind on Gubraithian Fire.
The spell wasn't complex, but casting it silently while maximizing its power took skill.
The curse itself wasn't deadly, but its flames burned for ages.
Normal spells couldn't douse it—you had to wait for it to burn out or for the spell to break.
Or, well, for the target to die.
That was the allure and beauty of dark magic.
Beyond the Unforgivable Curses, plenty of dark spells were even more fascinating.
Regrowing a severed arm, reviving the dead, making rivers flow backward…
If you're already dabbling in dark magic, why fear the Unforgivables?
Dylan didn't need anyone's forgiveness.
"Dylan, let me see your cup."
Neville's voice pulled him back.
Dylan's teacup held a clump of tea leaves.
Neville squinted, unable to make out any shape, let alone divine anything.
"I think I'm hopeless at this. I can't see anything," Neville admitted.
"If you look closely, you might spot something," Dylan encouraged.
"Well… I think your cup's pattern looks like a leaf."
A leaf? Where'd he get that?
Dylan studied it carefully.
No doubt about it—it was a ship.
A sign he'd sail smoothly on his magical journey, right?
What was Neville seeing?
Dylan chuckled, brushing it off.
"Don't rush. Let's take another look," Neville said, flipping through his book.
He found the page with the leaf's meaning.
"Look here, Dylan. It says this leaf means you're feeling anxious, wrestling with something. But it's not as complicated as you think."
"You're about to find your answer."
Dylan wasn't entirely convinced.
"Open your mind, you two. See the future—that's the art of Divination," Trelawney said, gliding over to Harry's group. She glanced at Ron's cup, then Neville's—Dylan's, technically.
One look, and Trelawney tensed.
"Seeking yourself through confusion, breaking free—it means you're transforming, like a caterpillar into a butterfly."
Her words echoed Neville's, which surprised Dylan.
He knew Trelawney wasn't completely hopeless at Divination.
Beyond true prophecies, she was decent at the everyday stuff.
Well, decent at charming people.
It took effort to memorize that entire Divination textbook.
For Dylan, this wasn't bad news, so it didn't matter whose interpretation was right.
Finally, class ended. Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed to the common room.
Snape's homework was brutal—if not for Hermione, Harry and Ron would be sunk.
"Come with us, Dylan. We can eat together tonight," Harry said warmly.
Dylan started to leave but Harry stopped him.
"I've got some things to sort out. I'm going to see Professor Snape. Want to come?"
Harry and Ron's faces screamed no, but with Snape watching nearby, they stayed quiet.
"Nah, we'll wait for you in the common room," Ron said, hustling Harry away.
Once they left, Dylan shrugged, grabbed his books, and darted down the corridor.
Behind him, Malfoy and his cronies were laughing. Then, poof—Dylan vanished.
Malfoy froze, looking around, confused.
"Keep up, Malfoy. What's the holdup?" Crabbe grumbled, eager to eat.
"You'd keel over if you skipped a meal. Look at you, fat as a pig," Malfoy snapped. "Don't act like a Weasley who's never seen food."
Crabbe's chubby face fell, but he didn't dare talk back.
The three were inseparable, but it wasn't friendship.
Crabbe and Goyle were more like loyal dogs than mates.
Not like Harry and Ron, who could talk about anything.
Dylan, in his own hidden space, watched Malfoy's trio disappear down the hall.
He turned to his private world.
A floating picture frame hung in the air, its occupant missing.
"Where are you?" Dylan called.
A shadowy figure appeared—Ravenclaw herself.
"Odd. Shouldn't you be in class?" she asked, unaware Dylan's schedule had changed.
"Class is over, actually."
In his space, Dylan felt at ease.
With a flick of his wand, his homework and quill floated, scribbling away.
This stuff was child's play, an insult to his intelligence.
Unlike Harry and Ron, he didn't stress over assignments.
Energy was better spent elsewhere.
Ravenclaw drifted closer, peering at his notes—pages filled with dark magic.
"Are these notes even useful to you?" she asked.
For someone like Dylan, who knew plenty of dark magic, they seemed basic.
Still, they held tips, like how to maximize a spell's power.
"How were the Unforgivable Curses created?" Dylan asked, curious.
The Unforgivables were genius—powerful, torturous, banned for a reason.
Yet, ironically, everyone seemed to know them.
Ravenclaw's eyes dimmed, her crown fading, then vanishing. She stood in plain robes, a flicker of sadness in her gaze.
"Every curse has a purpose," she said. "Only powerful wizards can unleash a spell's full potential."
"Take the Killing Curse. It curses the caster, too—their soul loses purity."
"I'm off to feed that snake."
She vanished.
Dylan knew she couldn't leave this place—the frame bound her.
He'd thought about finding her a better spot, but Hogwarts was a minefield beneath its calm surface.
He couldn't risk losing her or exposing her existence.
She was too useful.
"So, the Cruciatus Curse's strength depends on the caster," Dylan mused, understanding spellwork better.
Creating a new curse was no small feat.
An untested spell carried risks.
Suddenly, Dylan stood, conjuring a golden goblet in his space.
With a Transfiguration spell, it melted into liquid, forming a woman's shape.
"Gubraithian Fire."
Blue flames erupted from his wand, engulfing the figure.
The fire burned endlessly, but the puppet stood unscathed.
Basic Transfiguration could morph objects; advanced spells could create creatures.
Professor McGonagall could turn into a cat—a high-level trick.
Crafting a stronger curse would take more work.
"Looks like you haven't quite nailed it," Ravenclaw said, reappearing.
"The spell's fine. I just want to make it stronger."
"Rest now. We'll talk later."
Dylan smiled, his form fading.
He hadn't refused Harry, so he'd head back after finishing his homework.
In the common room, Harry and Ron were hunched over their work, Hermione looming over them.
The scene was familiar—Hermione keeping them in line.
If they weren't such troublemakers, things might be easier.
"Where were you?" Harry asked, looking like he'd seen a lifeline.
He was ready to leap at Dylan.
The common room was tense—everyone was tiptoeing around Hermione.
"Just came from Snape's, grabbed some onion rings from the kitchen," Dylan said. "Want some?"
By the time he'd gone, dinner was nearly over, so he'd grabbed what he could.
"Shame you missed dinner. They had creamy mushroom soup," Hermione said, shooting Harry and Ron a look.
"What's going on?" Dylan asked, setting his homework down.
Ron peeked at it, jaw dropping—it was done, and longer than Hermione's.
Dylan had filled it out deliberately, leaving a few intentional mistakes.
Too perfect, and Snape would get suspicious.
"Right after you left, Harry got a Quidditch practice notice," Hermione said. "They tried to skip homework for it."
"I'm just looking out for you. Do you think Snape will let you off for that?"
She was right.
Potions was a struggle for Harry and Ron—they were teetering on failure.
Harry dreamed of being an Auror.
An Auror failing Potions? Unlikely.
"How'd you do all this?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione, fixated on Dylan's homework. "Snape's gonna love you—more than Hermione, even."
Dylan went to hand it over, but Hermione snatched it.
She squinted at Ron, who finally backed off.
Studying Dylan's work, she saw it was thorough, with details she hadn't considered.
"Look at this, you two. This is what students should do," she said. "I'm not stopping you from practicing, but Gryffindor can't afford more lost points."