Chapter 273: You're Going to Collapse If You Keep This Up
"Pretending to be Dementors? Do you have any idea how much psychological distress this can cause the players? Especially Potter, he was attacked by Dementors before! How could you do such a thing?"
Just as she finished, four heads suddenly popped out from under the three black cloaks. On top was Malfoy, his blond hair a mess and his face stained with grass. It was clear that he had stood on Goyle's shoulders to appear taller than his two companions. Crabbe and Goyle crawled out of the cloaks, looking dazed, and mumbled, "It wasn't our idea." Flint, the Slytherin captain, was the last to emerge. His cloak was torn at one corner. He looked unwilling, but he didn't dare to look Professor McGonagall in the eye.
"A shameful and disgusting trick!" Professor McGonagall's voice got louder. "Despicable and cowardly! I hereby deduct fifty points from Slytherin House for your actions! Each of you will serve detention until I feel you have reflected enough!" She paused, her gaze sweeping over the four dejected students, her tone still very stern. "I will report this to Professor Dumbledore immediately oh, it seems I don't need to. He's already here."
Professor Dumbledore was walking slowly from the direction of the castle, his silvery-white beard gleaming in the sun. He had no expression on his face, but there was a knowing look in his blue eyes, as if he had known all along that these "Dementors" were fake. After all, the previous Dementor attack was still fresh in everyone's minds.
Fudge would not dare to ignore Dumbledore's warnings. No matter what, he would do his best to restrain the Dementors, even if it meant throwing a few more death row prisoners to those ugly creatures to suck their souls. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to bear Dumbledore's anger.
Dumbledore clearly knew this as well. Therefore, he had probably already figured out that these Dementors were fake. Dumbledore walked to Professor McGonagall and gently patted her on the shoulder, whispering something. Professor McGonagall's face softened a little.
Dylan had watched enough of the spectacle. He let out an exaggerated sigh, shook his head, and turned to leave. When people are determined to court death, there's nothing others can do to stop them.
But he hadn't even walked a few steps when he saw Professor Lupin walking toward him with Harry. There was still a blush of excitement on Harry's face. He was clutching the Golden Snitch tightly. When he saw Dylan, his eyes lit up. Dylan smiled and nodded at him, not going over to bother him. After all, Harry probably had a lot of joy to share with his teammates right now. And he couldn't be bothered to go say hello to Lupin.
When he returned to the Gryffindor common room, Dylan yawned. It wasn't because he was sleepy. He was just a little tired. But at this moment, the entire Gryffindor House was in an abnormal state of frenzy. The noise from the Quidditch victory celebration in the common room was almost enough to lift the stone arches. Dylan's ears were aching.
The fire in the fireplace was burning fiercely, and the wood crackled, casting dancing orange-red light spots on the lion flags hanging on the walls. The manes embroidered with gold thread seemed to be trembling with the cheers, looking lifelike. Dylan went into his briefcase space to escape the noise. While he was there, he also brought a rose pastry to Rowena Ravenclaw and asked her to find time to study the ingredients.
Although Rowena wasn't as knowledgeable about food as the Hufflepuffs, her vast knowledge still covered this area. Rowena took the rose pastry and, as Dylan requested, began to research how to make a better flower pastry. At the same time, she was looking into whether she could create a food-related spell.
Late that night, when Dylan came out of his briefcase space, he found that the party still hadn't ended. He couldn't help but step outside to see. Just then, Fred and George had just returned from a secret passage. Their robes were still covered in grass from outside the village of Hogsmeade. As soon as they entered, they brought in a gust of cold air.
When the two opened the wooden box they were carrying, the malty scent of butterbeer, the sweet smell of pumpkin juice, and the rich sweetness of Honeydukes' candy rushed out, mixing into a warm, sweet aroma in the air.
Dylan leaned back in an armchair, watching Alicia Spinnet clink her bottle of pumpkin juice with Katie Bell, making a crisp sound. He looked down and glanced at the glass of pumpkin juice at his feet that had only been sipped once. There were still beads of water on the clear glass.
Fine bubbles floated in the orange-yellow liquid. The mix of pumpkin sweetness and carbonation made his throat move, but he didn't have the courage to take another sip. To him, this drink was a blasphemy of pumpkin juice. It was like throwing good pumpkin juice into a swamp full of bubbles!
But when Fred handed him a glass of butterbeer, Dylan accepted it without hesitation. This butterbeer was not the kind without alcohol. It was real butterbeer. He didn't know how George and the others had brought it back from the pub. He gently swirled the glass. The amber liquid swirled in the glass in a gentle arc. The foam was delicate and stuck to the rim of the glass.
Dylan took a sip. The rich malty flavor, wrapped in a hint of buttery aroma, slid down his throat. A warmth spread from his stomach, and even the noisy laughter around him became a little more bearable. He had originally planned to go out and see when these people would quiet down. If the party didn't end soon, he would go back to his dorm and cast a Silencing Charm to get some sleep. But now, this free butterbeer had stopped him in his tracks.
Dylan clinked glasses with Seamus, who was in the same dorm. He then watched him and Dean argue passionately over Harry's dive in the match. It wasn't until the wood in the fireplace had burned down to a pile of red embers and the moonlight slanted into the common room that he realized it was almost midnight. Dean was now waving a Honeydukes licorice wand, imitating Harry's stance when he summoned his Patronus, making everyone around him burst into laughter.
Dylan took the opportunity to grab another unopened glass of butterbeer from the table. He pushed his way through the younger students crowding around the table for candy and walked toward the desk in the corner that was almost swallowed by the shadows. Hermione was sitting there. Harry had been chatting and laughing with her just a moment ago, sharing a huge Chocolate Frog. He had probably been pulled away to play wizard's chess, leaving her alone. But Hermione hadn't intended for him to stay by her side.
In front of her lay a thick book, Advanced Potion-Making. The edges of the pages were curled from being flipped through so many times. A few pieces of parchment were scattered beside it, covered with dense writing. Her quill was still hovering in the air, and there was only a thin layer of ink left in the ink bottle. Her hair was messier than usual.
A few strands of brown hair hung in front of her forehead, stained with a bit of ink. She held her quill in her right hand and unconsciously pressed her left hand on her temple, gently rubbing it. It was clear that the complex potion recipes were giving her a headache.
"You're going to collapse if you keep this up." Dylan's voice was lower than usual, so it wouldn't be drowned out by the distant laughter. He gently placed the new glass of butterbeer on the empty spot next to Hermione's hand. The bottom of the glass made a soft thud as it touched the desk. It was just within her reach and wouldn't touch the parchment she was writing on. Dylan noticed that the glass of butterbeer in front of her was already half-empty. The foam was gone, and there were faint brown marks on the glass.
Hermione looked up at the sound, her eyes still a little dazed from being so engrossed in her book. After a few seconds, her gaze focused on Dylan's face. She paused for a moment, then forced a tired smile and raised a hand to brush the strands of hair from her forehead behind her ear, not even noticing the ink stain on her fingertip.
"I know… thank you." Her voice was a little hoarse, probably from not talking much all night. She picked up the new glass Dylan had given her and took a big gulp. The warm liquid slid down her throat, and her furrowed brows relaxed a little. But after she put the glass down, she immediately picked up her quill again, and the tip fell onto the parchment, leaving a clear line of writing. "Professor Snape said he'd deduct ten points for every word missing from the essay for tomorrow's Potions class. I don't want Gryffindor to lose any more points." As she spoke, her eyes didn't even leave the paper. The tip of her quill paused under the title "Twelve Improved Recipes for the Wolfsbane Potion" and then quickly continued writing.
Dylan didn't bother her anymore. He just leaned against the bookshelf beside her, watching her focused profile outlined by the soft glow of the fireplace. When he looked at her like this, Hermione was actually very pretty. But compared to Luna, she was a little less so.
At that moment, not far away, Fred and George had somehow gotten a bundle of fireworks and were secretly stuffing them into the fireplace, causing a commotion among the crowd. But Hermione seemed completely oblivious to the noise. Only when the fireworks exploded with a "bang" in a burst of golden sparks above the fireplace did she quickly look up, only to immediately bury her head back in her book, as if there was an invisible barrier between her and the noisy celebration.
Dylan took a sip of his own butterbeer and said, "Your health is definitely more important than a few points, isn't it? Have you forgotten what I told you before?"
Hermione's hand, holding the quill, paused. A familiar warmth spread through her heart. Harry and Ron had said something similar to her not long ago. At that time, Ron was stuffing a pumpkin pastry into his mouth, his words muffled as he told her not to be so hard on herself. Harry also nodded and said it was okay if she couldn't finish her homework. But how could it be okay?
Ron and Hermione's relationship had gotten better after Harry had revealed Scabbers' true identity to Ron. When Ron found out that the pet rat he had for twelve years was actually a human, Peter Pettigrew, he was completely dumbfounded. According to Harry, Ron's hand, holding the Marauder's Map, was trembling non-stop before he ran to the bathroom.
When he came to his senses and remembered all the arguments he had with Hermione over Crookshanks chasing Scabbers, his face turned bright red, and he avoided Hermione for several days. It wasn't until one morning at breakfast that he secretly put a beautifully wrapped chocolate in Hermione's hand and mumbled, "Crookshanks… is actually pretty smart."
Hermione saw the blush on his ears that he couldn't hide and immediately understood. The awkward guy was apologizing. She didn't say anything at the time, she just unwrapped the chocolate and gave him half. Ron's eyes immediately lit up, like a dog who had just been given a bone.
But Dylan's concern at this moment was different from Harry and Ron's, which had a hint of "the slacker not understanding the overachiever." He truly understood her. He understood the highlights she made with different colored inks in her notebook. He understood the small smile that appeared on her lips when she saw the "Outstanding" grade. He understood the feeling of quiet satisfaction after staying up all night to finish a difficult magical theory book. After all, throughout Gryffindor, Dylan was the only one who could solve a difficult non-verbal Transfiguration spell at the same time as her.
"Even so, I will definitely finish them." Hermione looked up and smiled. Her voice was a little more determined. "Ron's brother Bill graduated with twelve OWLs, and Percy took every class he could. If they can do it, there's no reason I can't." She lifted her chin slightly, her brown eyes shining incredibly brightly in the firelight. She knew that she might not be able to match Dylan in the breadth of his knowledge.
Dylan always came up with obscure research notes after class that even the professors were amazed by, and it seemed that he had already planned his future direction. But a direction was a direction. It wasn't like an exam. Those tests with clear scopes and standard answers were like targets drawn on parchment. As long as she worked hard enough, she could definitely hit the bullseye.
Dylan looked at her unyielding expression and suddenly smiled, changing the subject. "Let me guess, you only use your Time-Turner for classes, right?"
"Whoosh!" The quill in Hermione's hand almost fell to the ground. She looked up suddenly, her gaze quickly scanning the noisy common room. Fred and George were demonstrating how to use butterbeer to create colorful foam for the younger students. Dean and Seamus were arguing fiercely over a game of wizard's chess. No one noticed them in the corner.
"Stop looking." Dylan waved his hand at her and lightly tapped the glass in front of him. "Their eyes are only on the Quidditch victory and the candy right now. Who would be staring at you doing your homework?"
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and lowered her voice. "Of course! But we swore, didn't we?" She unconsciously touched the golden chain around her neck. The locket that held the Time-Turner was resting against her skin, a cool sensation. When Professor McGonagall had given it to her, she had repeatedly emphasized that it could only be used for classes.
"Yeah, you swore to only use it for classes." Dylan extended his finger and pointed at the four books spread out in front of her: Advanced Potion-Making, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, A Chronology of Magical History, and a fourth book at the bottom, Unfogging the Future: A Beginner's Guide to Crystal Balls.
(End of Chapter)
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