Chapter 278: Luna's Sudden Approach
In the corner of the common room, Dylan was half-reclining on the sofa, his posture relaxed.
The book Ron had just finished, A Study of Hippogriff Habits, was levitated over to him.
Its pages rustled on their own, stopping at the chapter titled "Hippogriff Breeding Cycles."
He stretched out his hand, and the grapes in the plate nearby flew into his mouth, one by one, like they had wings. The sweet juice burst on his tongue.
Neville sat on a small stool beside him, clutching a Tarot card whose "Death" motif was worn pale from handling.
He was one of the few students, like Dylan, who had chosen only Divination.
Under Dylan's "tutelage," Neville could now expertly read his various impending deaths from tea leaves: being bitten by a werewolf, drowning in a bog, or having his soul sucked out by a Dementor, among others. The forms of death were diverse, allowing Neville to choose.
"Dylan."
Neville's voice was low. He glanced at the surrounding students who were diligently scribbling, his fingers gently twisting the hem of his robes.
"Is this really alright? Dean just handed in his Muggle Studies essay, Parvati is reviewing Arithmancy, everyone is busy... Is it a bit wrong that I only chose one subject, Divination?"
After all, unless they took on all available courses, students were always encouraged to pick one or two extra to discover what they were most suited for and what they might do in the future.
Dylan turned his head, looking at Neville's ears, which were red with tension from being overly relaxed, and couldn't help but smile.
He tilted his chin, gesturing to the window: "Look at the Whomping Willow in the grounds. It buds in spring and loses its leaves in winter. It never cares when other trees bloom."
"Neville, choosing subjects is like planting a tree. If you choose too many, it won't grow well."
Neville craned his neck, then paused. "But, I don't think I can see the Whomping Willow from here?"
Dylan closed the book.
"I was just using a metaphor. Don't be so literal. Not being able to see it doesn't mean the Whomping Willow isn't growing the way I said, right?"
Dylan leaned forward slightly.
"Or do you honestly think Arithmancy is useful? Do you plan to rely on those numerical tricks to find a job? Or will Muggle Studies help you grow better Mandrakes?"
Neville shook his head.
"Exactly! Herbology is your strength," Dylan continued, his voice becoming a bit more earnest. "Didn't Professor Sprout compliment you last week for having the best Devil's Snare growth?"
"You could work at a herb garden in Hogsmeade someday, or join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or even open your own apothecary—none of those things require you to calculate star charts or study how Muggle televisions work."
"I told you before, I still think you might even teach here at Hogwarts."
At these words, Neville's brow slowly relaxed.
He looked down at his fingers, which were developing thin calluses.
—These hands could now accurately tell whether a Mandrake's cry meant it was hungry or sick.
But he couldn't touch a crystal ball and instantly know the future's trajectory, like Dylan could.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, reflecting the growing smile on Neville's face.
"Maybe you're right, Dylan. I shouldn't worry about useless things. They won't bring me anything helpful."
Dylan chuckled lightly. "I'm glad you see it that way."
Listening to Dylan, Neville's recently anxious heart was gently soothed, and his tense shoulders relaxed.
He looked down at the plate in front of him. A cluster of plump grapes lay there, purple and shiny, with a fresh sheen on their skin.
He picked one up, felt its cool skin, and popped it into his mouth without thinking.
The sweet juice burst on his tongue, carrying a warmth that felt like sunlight.
It was a strange way to describe it, but that's what it felt like.
"I wonder where Dylan got these grapes," Neville thought, squinting comfortably, the corners of his mouth curving up unconsciously. Even his earlier anxiety vanished.
However, Dylan's gaze was fixed on the hand Neville used to take the grape, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He remembered clearly that Neville had been wandering around the dormitory that morning with his fat toad, Trevor.
At the time, those hands had directly cupped Trevor's belly.
Ha!
Neville's fingertips might still be tacky with toad slime.
—He hadn't seen Neville wash his hands.
"You just..." Dylan was about to remind him, but the words caught in his throat.
He watched Neville swallow the grape, smacking his lips with a satisfied look.
He had to forcibly swallow his comment.
He silently shifted his gaze, never touching the plate of rather tempting grapes again.
However, on second thought, Neville practically carried Trevor around every day, even sleeping with him, and never seemed to get sick.
In that case, Trevor was probably non-toxic.
Dylan secretly consoled himself.
Oh well, let him be.
Neville ate several grapes. Noticing Dylan wasn't having any more, he looked confused.
"Dylan, why aren't you eating? Your grapes are really delicious. So plump and juicy."
Dylan's mouth twitched. He forced a smile. "Oh, are they? Then you have some more. I've had enough. You can have the rest. Just remember to clear the plate when you're done."
"Really? Okay!" Neville brightened and pulled the plate closer.
The day of the Quidditch Final arrived, and the atmosphere throughout Hogwarts was exceptionally heated.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team was met with thunderous applause as they entered the Great Hall.
The Ravenclaw students at their long table cheered and clapped.
The Hufflepuff students pounded the tables so hard their plates rattled slightly.
Only from the Slytherin table came unconcealed boos, interspersed with a few mocking whispers, but they were quickly drowned out by the applause from the other Houses.
"Slytherin is still a hundred points ahead of us!"
Wood stood by the Gryffindor table, his voice frantic.
His gaze swept over the team and finally settled on Harry, his tone solemn.
"Harry, remember, you have to catch the Snitch, but you must wait until our team is at least fifty points ahead! Got that straight? Only then can we overtake the score and win the Cup!"
Afterward, he unceremoniously added a roasted potato to Harry's plate.
"Eat up. You'll need the energy later."
"Uh, I know," Harry replied.
Looking at the roasted potato, Harry picked up another piece of roast beef and put it on his plate.
Wood didn't notice. After instructing Harry, he turned to the other teammates, patting each of their shoulders and whispering something, his face a mask of do-or-die determination.
When the Gryffindor team rose to leave the Great Hall, the applause started again, louder than before.
Cho Chang stood with the Ravenclaw contingent. Seeing Harry pass by, she smiled and waved, her voice bright. "Good luck, Harry!"
Harry's cheeks instantly flushed crimson.
His eyes darted away from her gaze in a panic, but he couldn't resist sneaking a look back, his hand mechanically waving.
Cedric, who had been clapping nearby, slowly lowered his hands and narrowed his eyes when he saw this.
On the way to the stands, Cedric quietly approached Dylan, lowering his voice, but his tone was absolute.
"I'm telling you, Dylan, Potter is definitely interested in Cho! The way he just went red, he can't hide it!"
Dylan followed his gaze to Cho Chang not far away.
She was talking to a friend, her smile quite radiant.
"What does it matter?"
He said casually. "You like her, and she likes you. That's enough."
"Are you going to try and stop other people from liking her? Besides, you have such a beautiful girlfriend; isn't it normal for other people to fancy her? You still have plenty of girls who like you too, don't you?"
"Uh..." Cedric instinctively glanced in Cho Chang's direction, afraid she might overhear.
He defended himself quietly, "That's not what I meant..."
"What?" Dylan saw through him and teased, "Just because the one who likes her is the 'Boy Who Lived,' you've lost your confidence?"
"No way..." Cedric stubbornly denied it, but his resolve lasted less than two seconds, and he scratched his head awkwardly.
"Okay, maybe...just a little bit. I'm just...not quite sure what Cho thinks—about Harry, the Savior."
"Stop overthinking, mate. You need to be more confident in yourself," Dylan suggested, nodding toward Cho Chang. "Maybe you should just go talk to her directly."
"Huh? Are you crazy?" Cedric was startled, his eyes wide. "How can I ask her something like that directly?"
"Who told you to ask her, 'How do you feel about Harry liking you?'" Dylan rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Just chat with her about the Quidditch match. Talk about the teams' strategies. Then, when you get to the part about Harry chasing the Golden Snitch, listen to her tone."
"You'll be able to tell her attitude if she's just talking about the game or if she's carrying other emotions, won't you?"
"Does Cho...know that Harry likes her?" Cedric was momentarily stunned, asking uncertainly.
"Anyone can see what Harry is thinking. He definitely has a little crush on her, right?"
Dylan shrugged. "Every time he looks at Cho, he might as well write, 'I think I'm slightly in love with you,' on his forehead."
Cedric frowned, feeling like Dylan's words had a hidden meaning, but couldn't quite figure it out right away.
"Fine, I'll try!" He gritted his teeth, stopped thinking about it, nodded, took a deep breath, and jogged over in Cho Chang's direction.
Watching Cedric's slightly stiff back, Dylan couldn't help but inwardly laugh.
This guy is usually quite clever. Why does he become so utterly daft when it comes to matters of the heart?
His IQ practically drops by half.
He truly didn't know how Cedric had managed to start dating Cho Chang at the speed of light.
Was it just because of destiny?
Dylan shook his head and continued walking toward the stands.
Madam Hooch stood in the center of the pitch, her hand holding the silver whistle raised high.
The stadium instantly fell silent. Even the wind seemed to pause for a moment.
The next second:
"BEEEEEP—!!!"
The sharp, clear whistle cut through the sky.
The most anticipated Quidditch Final of the school year had finally begun.
"Look! Gryffindor has possession now!"
Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the Quidditch pitch through the magical amplifying charm, filled with unconcealed excitement. Every word shot out of his mouth like a burning spark.
"Alicia Spinnet is carrying the Quaffle, darting towards the Slytherin goalposts like an arrow! Clean moves, astonishing speed—Alicia! Oh no! Damn it! The Quaffle was intercepted by Warrington of Slytherin!"
A wave of disappointed groans swept through the Gryffindor stands.
Some people angrily slapped their thighs, while scattered cheers rose from the Slytherin side.
Dylan leaned on the railing of the stands, casually observing the match.
This was the umpteenth Quidditch match he had seen.
Although he still hadn't managed to ignite the same fanatic interest as others, he could at least understand the players' tactics and movements.
—Who was chasing the Quaffle, who was intercepting, and who was watching out for Bludgers was all clear at a glance.
His gaze swept casually over the spectators beside him, but suddenly stopped when it landed on a figure. He almost thought he had misread the situation.
"Luna?!" he couldn't help but gasp. "Why are you sitting here?"
"Hi~" Luna slowly turned her head, wearing her signature, slightly ethereal smile.
She was wearing an exceptionally eye-catching hat today.
—It was a lion's head hat, nearly the size of a real lion's head.
The mane was bushy, the fangs exposed, and it was crafted lifelike.
At first glance, Luna's entire head looked like it was being held in the mouth of a male lion.
Dylan stared at the hat.
He suddenly remembered seeing a similar object when he was "catching up on the plot" with his scrying.
However, the animated lion-head hat in his memory should only appear in a few years.
By then, Luna would be skilled enough to use a Transfiguration spell to make the hat move more realistically.
This hat, however, was clearly still a sophisticated piece of handiwork.
He unconsciously drew his wand, tapped the lion-head hat, and quietly muttered a simple animation charm.
The lion's eyes suddenly blinked, its amber pupils rotating.
Then it opened its mouth and let out a fierce roar that made the people nearby instinctively pull back their necks.
"Oh!"
Luna reached up to smooth her light hair, which had been slightly ruffled by the roar's airflow. Her smile didn't fade at all.
In fact, it was mixed with a hint of surprise.
"Thank you~"
(End of Chapter)
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