Chapter 277: Who Should I Experiment on? Cedric?
Neville stood opposite Dylan, his hands gripping his wand tightly.
It was a memento left to him by his father. The wand was made of chestnut wood, covered in small scratches, and had a unicorn hair core.
He took a deep breath, trying to relax his expression, stared into Dylan's eyes, and clearly enunciated the spell.
Suddenly, a small, faint cluster of silver sparks erupted from the tip of his wand, only to vanish instantly as if blown away by the wind.
Dylan's expression didn't change at all; it was still his usual calm, collected self.
"You look very unfocused."
Neville's shoulders slumped. He put down his wand, a bit dejectedly, and said in a low voice, "Maybe I'm just not capable enough."
His voice was tinged with uncertainty and a great deal of self-doubt.
Dylan raised an eyebrow and answered truthfully, "No, you are capable."
He could clearly feel the faint magical fluctuation as the spell made contact with him.
It was just too weak and completely unable to stir his emotions.
Neville pursed his lips, raised his wand again, and tried a second time, but the result was the same.
He lowered his wand and sighed, trying to comfort himself. "Maybe it's because you're already very happy, so you can't feel it."
Dylan was noncommittal.
He, of course, knew the problem wasn't with him.
Neville's magical talent wasn't bad, but this wand, which belonged to his father, could never truly bond with him.
Unicorn hair cores were the most loyal; once they recognized a master, it was difficult for them to fully submit to anyone else.
Even if that person was the original master's son.
Dylan looked at the way Neville held the wand, knew exactly what the issue was, but couldn't say anything.
He knew what that wand meant to Neville.
It was one of the only remaining connections he had with the father he had never known.
Furthermore, Neville himself probably didn't fully understand why he always struggled with magic.
But Dylan did.
Neville's grandmother had used a Memory Charm on him when he was a child, erasing the memory of him witnessing his parents being tortured by Death Eaters with the Cruciatus Curse.
That forcibly stripped-away pain might have unconsciously affected his perception of magic, making him seem a little forgetful and timid.
Dylan shrugged and graciously took the lead in the practice.
He raised his own wand, the tip pointed steadily at Neville, and clearly said, "Cheering Charm!"
A pale golden light flowed from the tip of the wand, like a thin veil enveloping Neville.
A feeling of pure, unprovoked contentment instantly filled Neville's heart.
The frustration from his failed spells was swept away.
He couldn't help but smile, a light shining in his eyes, and he even began to hum an off-key tune.
"Whoa..." Neville blinked in surprise, looked down at his wand, and then up at Dylan, his eyes full of envy.
Carrying this good mood spurred by magic, Neville seemed encouraged and threw himself back into the practice.
For the rest of the half-hour class, he raised his wand again and again, his incantations becoming more and more fluid, and his expression more and more focused.
Although most of the time, Dylan could only feel an extremely faint, fleeting joy.
The emotional fluctuation was as rough as a dull, broken knife cutting through cloth.
It was nothing like the precise and subtle spells he cast himself.
But it was a marked improvement from the beginning.
Watching Neville finally manage to make him feel a small emotional ripple, a fascinating thought suddenly popped into Dylan's mind.
He remembered back in his first year, in Potions class, he had audaciously proposed an idea to Snape.
Since emotions can affect the effectiveness of magic, could a potion be used to simulate a specific emotion to aid in spellcasting?
At the time, Snape had dismissed his idea with a single, cold word: "Absurd."
The reason was that fake emotions created by a potion could not truly resonate with the caster's magical core.
But now, seeing the effect of the Cheering Charm on Neville, Dylan suddenly thought of his own Nightmare Weaving.
Nightmare Weaving could precisely evoke or even create a specific emotion.
Its intricacy was far beyond that of a simple emotional spell like the Cheering Charm.
What if...he wove the required emotion using Nightmare Weaving?
Could it be used to aid spells that require strong emotional驱动?
Once this idea came up, it spread through Dylan's mind like a vine.
He couldn't help but begin to seriously consider it.
But if he were to do this experiment, who should he use as a test subject?
Dylan first thought of himself.
But he quickly dismissed the idea.
He never needed emotional aid to cast dark magic.
Those spells were more like a form of precise energy manipulation for him.
And as for the Patronus Charm, he had long since mastered it and could cast it with ease.
It seemed there were no spells that required strong emotional aid that were suitable for him to experiment on himself.
So...Peter Pettigrew?
Dylan's eyes lit up.
That cowardly and cunning fellow.
If he could use Nightmare Weaving to weave a strong enough positive emotion for him, could he successfully cast a Patronus Charm?
However, the persuasiveness of this experiment didn't seem quite strong enough.
After all, even a villain could, in theory, cast a Patronus Charm.
As long as there was a single shred of true courage or love deep within him, or if he purely believed that what he was doing would bring himlove.
Maybe...after he gets the results from Peter Pettigrew, he could try with Cedric?
Dylan's thoughts continued to wander.
Cedric was a gentle and righteous person.
He was the type of wizard who would need to draw on real emotion to cast dark magic.
If he used Nightmare Weaving to weave enough hatred or pain for him, could he successfully cast the Cruciatus Curse?
This thought had no sooner surfaced than Dylan cut it off himself.
"Let's stick with Fiendfyre," he told himself mentally.
The Cruciatus Curse was an Unforgivable Curse. If Cedric was caught using it, he would be sent straight to Azkaban, no questions asked.
That was no joke.
And even if he succeeded, how could he explain why he had thought of experimenting with an Unforgivable Curse?
No matter how you looked at it, such a thing would seem far too suspicious and dangerous.
Thinking about this, Dylan unconsciously ran his finger over the carvings on his wand.
The smooth, warm feeling of the wood made him realize a fact that even surprised himself.
He could now calmly consider experimenting with an Unforgivable Curse as if it were just an ordinary spell.
When had he become so used to this dark magic, which was expressly forbidden by the entire wizarding world?
Well, it had been a long time, it seemed.
Dylan couldn't help but reflect for a moment.
He wasn't born with a complete lack of qualms about these dark powers.
It was just...over the years, the shadow of Voldemort had hung over the wizarding world like a massive storm cloud.
The lurking Death Eaters, the conflicts that could erupt at any momentthey were constantly reminding him that if he wanted to survive in this environment, or even protect the people he cared about, he couldn't afford to have any illusions or weaknesses.
Every step he took, every type of magic he learned that wasn't accepted by the mainstream, seemed to have been pushed forward by this harsh reality.
"Yes, that's right." Dylan nodded slightly, easily convincing himself. "It's not my fault, it's the world's."
"If Voldemort weren't so terrifying, why would I be so desperate to master all kinds of spells and acquire more knowledge?"
"Speaking of which, Voldemort isn't even in a hurry to come out and do something stupid, so I can get my third test subject."
The sunlight outside the window had now moved to his book page, illuminating the dense annotations of the spells.
The tall bookshelves in the library stood like silent giants.
Hermione weaved between them, her eyes scanning one thick file after another.
Her brows were knitted into a knot.
For several days in a row, she had spent almost all her free time here.
And what annoyed her even more was the Divination professor.
In addition to searching for files, she had also looked for many books on divination.
From Ancient Divination: A Historical Overview to Commentary on the Prophecies of Sybill Trelawney.
She had even gone through dusty, illegibly handwritten notes.
All to find evidence to prove that Professor Trelawney's divination was baseless.
But the confrontation this afternoon had completely broken her resolve.
Professor Trelawney had stared at her with her misty eyes and shrilly declared that her eyes were clouded by ignorance.
She also said that Hermione would never be able to see through the mists of the future.
This made Hermione furious.
When it was time for dinner, she walked into the Great Hall quickly.
"I've had it!"
She slammed her bag onto the table, making a few drops of pumpkin juice slosh out of her cup.
"I'm going to go tell Professor McGonagall that I'm dropping Divination! Dylan, you were right, I'm just wasting my time! Those fraudulent theatrics aren't worth my effort!"
Harry, who was sitting opposite her, looked up. His eyes, however, seemed a little unfocused.
His fingers were unconsciously stroking the buttons on his sweater.
The scene of Professor Trelawney calling him aside during class today reappeared in his mind.
In the dim classroom, the crystal ball glowed eerily in the candlelight, and the professor's voice slid into his ear like a snake.
"The shadow of the Dark Lord is drawing near to you, Potter. After the Easter holiday, disaster will arrive as foretold..."
Professor McGonagall had comforted him in the corridor last week, saying that Professor Trelawney had predicted "major disasters" over a hundred times since she began teaching, and not one had ever come true.
But Harry still felt like there was a weight on his chest, especially with the Quidditch final looming.
He looked down at his hand; the arm that had been hit by a rogue Bludger last year still seemed to ache faintly.
But compared to being chased by an out-of-control Bludger in his second year or his broom mysteriously malfunctioning in his first year, he was more afraid of the invisible dangers from off the field.
Like those ugly, dark things.
Lately, Wood had been yelling in the locker room every day.
"We have to win the championship this year! We've waited seven years!"
Thinking of this, Harry sighed quietly and pushed the two lines of his History of Magic essay forward.
The Easter holiday was approaching, but it didn't bring any relief to the third-year students.
On top of Wood's constant urging, he had been dragged back to practice just a few days after the last match.
Now he even had to do his homework while he ate.
He was almost as "studious" as Hermione.
Dylan shrugged without speaking.
And so, the Easter holiday began.
In the common room, the red Gryffindor cushions were pushed into a corner by a mountain of parchment.
The fire in the fireplace flickered, illuminating tired faces.
Seamus slammed his quill down on the table.
"What kind of holiday is this?"
His voice was full of complaint, causing several students around him to nod in agreement.
"Exams are still ages away! Professor Flitwick wants us to write a ten-inch essay on the 'advanced applications of the Hover Charm,' and Professor Sprout wants us to observe the growth cycle of Mandrakes and record it three times a day!"
Hermione had her Time-Turner hidden inside her robes. The cool metal casing against her skin reminded her of how her day was split into three parts.
From seven to nine in the morning, she practiced the Patronus Charm in the Charms classroom.
From nine to twelve, what should have been Arithmancy class, she was in the library writing her Herbology report.
From noon to two in the afternoon, she would rush back to class.
Now that it was a holiday, she could also split her time to get her homework done.
But even with this constant back and forth, the dark circles under her eyes looked like they had been drawn on with ink, and even the Wake-Up Sweets Fred and George secretly gave her didn't work anymore.
No one had the energy to keep researching the files anymore.
This task had fallen to Ron.
He now spent every free moment buried in these books, which were even thicker than A History of Magic. He even had Beast or Monster? beside his plate while he ate, flipping through a few pages from time to time.
Ron had A Hippogriff's Guide to Etiquette spread out on his knees, its pages filled with countless sticky notes.
He ran his finger along the page titled "Hippogriff Behavioral Rules," muttering to himself, "Must maintain eye contact when approaching, bow at a ninety-degree angle, and absolutely never turn your back on them..."
"Look at this part," he suddenly said, nudging Harry's arm. "The book says a Hippogriff's aggression is just a self-defense mechanism. Malfoy was deliberately provoking it, so Buckbeak was just protecting himself!"
Harry mumbled an acknowledgment, the Quidditch strategy drawing in his hand now a crumpled mess.
Wood had announced this morning that from today on, they would have an extra hour of practice every day.
From dawn to dusk, they were practically living on the Quidditch pitch.
(End of Chapter)
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