Chapter 192: You're Begging for a Beating.
"You learn very quickly."
Old Dumbledore had released Dylan's hand, yet the manipulated flame didn't flicker or lose control. At first, there might have been a slight unfamiliarity, but soon, Dylan's control over the flame grew more skilled, more fluid…
This speed of learning shocked even Dumbledore. The Goblet of Fire wasn't just ordinary fire magic. Its scope was incredibly broad, its content wide-ranging. Burning was merely its most basic ability.
It encompassed divination, prophecy, alchemy… especially eternal combustion. Mastering that alone was exceedingly difficult. Even Dumbledore himself had pondered it for a long time. How could this boy, simply by being guided by him for a moment, have immediately grasped the Goblet of Fire?
Was it logical? Was it even magic?
Once again, old Dumbledore felt a jolt of Dylan's astonishing talent for magic.
"Perhaps… if he were carefully nurtured and guided, even if Tom returned, or if I were to pass on one day, Hogwarts would have a wizard strong enough to stand against those powers."
Old Dumbledore stood to one side, watching Dylan deftly manipulate the blue flame. His movements grew more casual, more natural. A subtle light flickered in Dumbledore's eyes.
"Perhaps I should take a two-pronged approach."
Just then, Dylan, still holding the flame, looked up at old Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, I suppose I've roughly mastered the Goblet of Fire now, haven't I?"
Dumbledore came back to himself and nodded slightly. "Yes, you've mastered it far quicker than I ever imagined."
Dylan chuckled. He had already mastered a max-level Fiendfyre spell. How much harder could the Goblet of Fire be? Did they truly understand the value of learning by analogy?
"You flatter me, sir. It's not that I learn fast, but that you teach well."
Old Dumbledore chuckled too. The old man and the young boy just kept smiling at each other.
"This old man's not done yet…" Dylan cleared his throat. "Headmaster, it's getting late. I have some books to read back in my dorm, so I'll take my leave now. Thank you so much for taking the time to guide me."
Dumbledore nodded. "It pleases me greatly to see a student's progress."
Dylan thought Dumbledore was about to let him go and was about to bow in farewell, when he heard Dumbledore suddenly speak again.
"My boy, may I ask for your thoughts on the school, and indeed, on the professors?"
Dylan paused, surprised. He knew Dumbledore was prone to suspicion. But now… what was this about? Had the previous tests and probes not been enough? Was he directly asking for his opinions now?
Dylan blinked. "Of course, what exactly would you like my thoughts on?"
Old Dumbledore stood beside Dylan, completely devoid of any imposing aura, appearing instead like a gentle old man. "For instance, Severus? If you had to describe him in one sentence, what would your opinion of him be?"
Dylan pursed his lips. Snape? He pondered for a moment, and a sentence popped into his head.
"Professor Snape's excellence is something I've heard about constantly since I first arrived at school."
—It wasn't just Malfoy; the Slytherin students seemed to love proclaiming how outstanding and superb their Head of House, Professor Snape, was.
Dumbledore paused, then laughed heartily. "Indeed, I often hear such pronouncements myself."
Dylan nodded. "So, if you want me to describe my opinion of Professor Snape in one sentence, I'd say…"
Old Dumbledore looked over, his eyes behind his spectacles twinkling.
"Every greasy, non-stick pan was once a spirited youth, full of fire."
"(..)"
Old Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. After a long moment, he smacked his lips, hesitating as he spoke. "Hmm… a most novel description, and yet, somehow… remarkably accurate."
Old Dumbledore tried to hold it in for a bit longer, but he couldn't, bursting out laughing. "You must never let your Professor Snape hear that, or I daresay your time at school might become rather… unstable."
Dylan nodded. "Of course not, sir. I wouldn't have said it if you hadn't asked."
"Hahahahaha!" Dumbledore laughed, his chest shaking.
"And what about… Minerva, your Head of House? What are your thoughts on her?"
Dylan stroked his chin. "Professor McGonagall, you see… I actually find Professor McGonagall to be a very interesting person. It's just that she always presents herself as so rigid—but I know that's not her true self."
"Oh? Why do you say that?" Old Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Transfiguration doesn't just require logic; it also demands a considerable amount of imagination from the witch or wizard," Dylan replied. "If you understand magic too rigidly, one's life would be rather dull, and it would be impossible to master advanced Transfiguration."
Hearing Dylan's words, old Dumbledore paused again.
"My boy, you truly astound me. Your views on the world already far surpass so many others." Stroking his beard, Dumbledore looked at Dylan. "It seems every time I converse with you, I gain insights into things I'd never even considered myself. You are incredibly mature, so much so that it makes me feel…"
"You don't even seem like a young wizard."
Dylan lifted his chin. Even though he wasn't short for his age, old Dumbledore was still much taller.
"Professor, maturity is quite simple, actually. Just read more, and you'll eventually understand what you call 'the adult world'."
"From what you say, it seems you have your own understanding of maturity, too?"
Dylan fluttered his eyelashes. Another thought popped into his head.
"Perhaps."
Seeing Dylan didn't elaborate immediately, Dumbledore pressed on. "Could you share it with me?"
"If you'd like to know… then certainly." Dylan nodded. "Personally, I believe that true maturity can be a bright but not blinding radiance, or a mellow yet not jarring sound."
"At its core, it's an unspoken solidity, a height that isn't steep."
Dumbledore's silver eyebrows quivered slightly, and his blue eyes behind his spectacles glittered, shining like a lake filled with starlight. He put his wand away again and reached out a wrinkled hand, gently patting Dylan's shoulder.
"To hear such wise pronouncements from you, my boy, is like discovering thinking toffee in a sweet shop—both surprising and utterly captivating." Old Dumbledore smiled at Dylan. "Perhaps I should recommend you for a speech at Hogwarts sometime."
Dylan gave a confident smile. "I'd be delighted."
—Giving a speech in front of the entire school might unlock other achievements, after all.
"Do you have anything else you'd like to ask, sir?"
"No, I think that's all." Dumbledore shook his head, then winked slyly at Dylan. "I certainly wouldn't want to hear your opinion of me."
"…You're quite right, then I'll be off."
"Do take care on your way back, and remember to relax sometimes. Don't always focus all your energy on studying. Sometimes you should do things with Potter and Weasley." Old Dumbledore didn't try to keep Dylan any longer, but watched his retreating figure, offering one last piece of advice.
"Headmaster, I'd rather not put my energy into researching how to prank others."
Dylan chuckled, then waved goodbye to Dumbledore.
....
After leaving Dumbledore's office, Dylan returned to his dorm. He'd been incredibly busy lately. Even after dropping some elective courses, he still found it nearly impossible to carve out time for his own research.
Dylan realized that books seemed endless. Reading one point would always lead to several others. If he didn't delve deeper, the initial point wouldn't be fully grasped. But if he went on to study other knowledge, he'd stumble into even more unknown territory.
This cycle continued, making Dylan feel as though, despite mastering so many max-level spells, the magical knowledge he needed to acquire only grew heavier.
"It's still early today. Let's see if I can directly control a Boggart with magic."
He shooed Coal Ball and Norberta aside.
Creak—
Dylan pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the small cabin. It still carried a damp, musty smell, clearly due to its location at the border of the forest and the sea, which made the climate too humid. Dylan waved his wand, and as magic poured out, the air instantly grew fresh. He headed straight for the corner of the cabin, where a box lay, holding a Boggart.
Just as Dylan's fingertips touched the edge of the box, a dark mist slowly rose from a diary on the table in the center of the cabin. Riddle's pale, translucent form appeared next to the table, his eyes fixed on Dylan.
"How long are you going to keep me trapped here? You have so many ways, why don't you just kill me?"
Dylan looked at the spectral figure, waving an impatient hand. "I haven't had time to research you lately. Stop getting in my way."
Riddle's eyelid twitched, and his brow furrowed deeply. "How could you—"
Before Riddle could finish, Dylan flicked out his wand. A burst of holy light erupted. The next moment, Riddle's scream tore through the stagnant air. The shadowy figure instantly dissolved into black smoke, coiling back into the diary.
Dylan glanced at it. He'd had too much to do recently and simply hadn't had time to deal with little Tom. Besides, almost all the Galleons he got these days went into expanding the interior of his trunk. This meant he no longer needed Tom to grind out spell mastery quests. He hadn't expected that after neglecting him for a while, the fellow would pop out like a resentful woman to interrogate him.
—Why couldn't he just stay put in the diary for a few quiet days? He just had to get a Holy Light Killing Curse to the face.
Shaking his head, Dylan carried the box out of the cabin. He placed the wooden box on a patch of short grass.
"Moo?"
Coal Ball, shooed away earlier, hadn't actually left. The moment Dylan emerged, it immediately leapt down from a tree, landing on Dylan's shoulder and staring curiously at the box. Lately, it had been stuck in the dimensional space, utterly bored. Several times it had tried to get Dylan to take it out to play, but its master simply wouldn't pay it any attention! Now, he didn't even call it out to sleep with him at night. It hadn't snuggled into its master's duvet for ages!
"Alright, alright, go play with Norberta. Don't bother me for now, okay?" Dylan nudged Coal Ball, pushing it off his shoulder.
"()Moo!"
Coal Ball stared at Dylan in disbelief. His master had changed! Did he not want to keep him anymore? Lately, it spent every day with Norberta, either eating, wandering around the forest, or swimming in the sea.
This life was just too boring! And there were barely any goblins left in the forest for its master to deal with. The basilisk, which it used to torment, was now incredibly well-behaved. Whatever Dylan told it to do, it did, without any need for supervision!
As for the island out in the sea, its master had expressly forbidden it from going there. It wasn't even allowed to tease those dark, ugly creatures.
—Mooo!
Coal Ball was going mad! It dragged its tail, brushing against Dylan's leg. Bits of grass stuck to its fluffy black fur. Dejectedly, it walked through a patch of bushes to a crooked tree, pressing its forehead against the rough bark, its back to its master in a fit of pique.
Time passed slowly. Coal Ball's perked ears twitched slightly, but all it heard was a series of light swooshes behind it, cutting through the air.
"Moo…"
Was its master not going to comfort it? Its master used to care so much about its feelings!
Coal Ball finally couldn't resist and secretly turned its head. It saw its master wielding a wooden stick. Bursts of light shot from the tip of the stick, wrapping around the black shadow that had emerged from the wooden box.
"(ω)Moo~"
Coal Ball's legs gave out. Its entire body slumped into the pile of dead leaves, its soft tail weakly thumping the ground.
"Owoof?"
Suddenly, a warm breath swept across its back. Norberta, covered in scales, padded over to Coal Ball, tilted her large head, and then gently nudged Coal Ball's head with her own.
"Moo…"
Dylan ignored Coal Ball's plight. In fact, he wasn't paying attention at all. By now, after releasing the Boggart, magic had continuously poured from the tip of his wand. The power of Spirit Eviction enveloped the creature.
The Boggart's form shifted according to Dylan's will. Sometimes it transformed into a fang-bearing werewolf, other times into a body of burning Fiendfyre. The Boggart was like a lump of clay, arbitrarily kneaded and reshaped by Dylan.
"A natural Transfiguration master like a Boggart… from another perspective, isn't it just a creature that can freely use Animagus transformations?"
Dylan observed the Boggart's constantly changing forms and details, feeling the magical aura emanating from it. The result of its transformation was remarkably real.
Even the most basic magical aura was consistent. This made Dylan curious. The creature had probably never even seen the physical forms of some of these things, had it? How could it make them so lifelike?
....
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