"If I'm alone with Dumbledore, won't he notice anything?"
Dylan pondered, putting the envelope away.
For the first two weeks of school, he'd been running around to various professors' offices, but no one had noticed he'd mastered all six Dark Arts.
Dylan suspected this was due to his achievement rewards.
He'd previously completed two achievements.
One prevented others from indirectly tracking his magical traces.
The other allowed him to cast Dark Magic regardless of negative emotions, which obviously included the three Unforgivable Curses.
This allowed him to cast Avada Kedavra with a smile.
Because he had no negative emotions, anyone who suspected he'd mastered the Dark Arts would first doubt themselves.
After all, how could someone without even a hint of negative emotion possibly master the full Dark Arts?
To everyone, Dylan was a diligent, studious, and positive kid!
This was the impression Dylan had of him from almost every professor he met.
Naturally, no one questioned his mastery of the Dark Arts, which had emboldened him recently, less fearful than at first.
However, other professors were different, and Dumbledore was Dumbledore.
He hadn't yet had any one-on-one contact with Dumbledore.
He wasn't sure if this legendary wizard, living in close proximity, would notice anything.
"Never mind, I don't think Dumbledore needs my personal thanks, do I?"
To be on the safe side, Dylan decided to minimize contact with Dumbledore, avoiding any one-on-one time with him.
He was such an old man, still a man, and he was busy all day, battling old Fuzi, caring for a bunch of troublesome kids, and even considering salary increases for his teachers.
How could he continue to disturb his peace?
Dylan decided that, to lead the charge in promoting kindness towards the elderly, he would focus his energy and time on his own learning.
"I still have a chapter left to read in Potions today, and I need to study Divination too. Besides, I just recently read about the similarities between Transfiguration and Summoning spells, so I need to get through that soon."
Dylan felt like there were too many books waiting for him to indulge.
He couldn't satisfy them if he didn't make an effort.
"Ah!"
Just then, Neville suddenly cried out.
Dylan's thoughts were interrupted, and he turned to look.
Neville was holding a glowing red Remembrance Ball in his hand.
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
The red color of the Remembrance Ball indicated that Neville had forgotten something important.
However, looking at Neville's distressed frown, Dylan knew that even with the Remembrance Ball's reminder, he wouldn't be able to remember what he had forgotten.
"Who gave you this Remembrance Ball?" Ron asked from the side.
"My grandmother sent it to me." Neville held the Remembrance Ball in one hand.
He gently rubbed his chubby cheek with one hand, his brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed into slits, his head tilted back slightly, searching his mind.
"But what exactly did I forget?"
Dylan saw his face flush, pursed his lips, took the memory ball from Neville's hand, and stuffed it into his schoolbag.
"Okay, Neville, if it's something you can't remember, then it can't be important. If it was important, you'd remember it when you really encountered it."
Neville blinked. "Well, what if something happens and I haven't prepared anything in advance?"
"How do you know you'll encounter something that requires you to prepare in advance?" Dylan asked back. "You forgot it anyway, didn't you?"
"(υυ)..." Neville's expression was slightly dull.
Dylan patted his shoulder and then pressed a glass of milk into his hand. "I know every professor's assignment very well. I don't think there's anything more important than this." Neville raised his round face and nodded in agreement. "That makes sense."
He quickly put the matter behind him and began to eat breakfast.
After lunch, everyone rose to prepare for class.
As Dylan sat down in the front row, a thought suddenly struck him.
"Wait, Neville forgot something. Could it be..."
Before he could even process his thoughts, the professor walked in.
Dylan immediately fell into study mode.
After class, he even chased the professor around, asking his usual questions.
Then came the afternoon flying lesson.
Dylan and Harry walked to the open space in front of the castle gates.
The young Slytherin wizards had gathered there.
Dylan looked ahead and saw nearly thirty broomsticks, arranged in two rows, spread out in the open space.
"Huh? I think I forgot something,"
Madam Hooch said, approaching from a distance.
Seeing the professor, Dylan once again fell into study mode.
"Good afternoon, young wizards! Now, everyone, stand to the left of your broomsticks! Quick!"
Madam Hooch, with her short, neatly combed gray hair and sharp features, had a defined face and thick, slightly raised eyebrows.
As soon as she reached the young wizards from the two houses, she quickly and decisively directed everyone to get into class.
The freshmen, who had been grouped together, quickly split into two rows.
As the first person approached their broomstick, the others from their house quickly followed.
Dylan joined Neville and Harry.
He lowered his eyes and glanced at the broomstick at his feet.
The wood was dark, the bristles uneven, some even charred and broken. The ropes were loose, and several planks were missing from the end.
"..."
He seriously suspected that something might happen if he took to the air on this broomstick.
Like it falling apart mid-ride.
Or even...
"Can this broomstick still carry me?"
It couldn't even fly, could it?
"Very good. Now, extend your left hand, place it just above the broom handle, and shout—RISE!"
"RISE!"
A group of young wizards shouted in unison.
Almost every new student passed the test on the first try.
After Dylan shouted, the tattered broom suddenly jumped up on the spot, allowing him to hold the end of the broom.
"If you want to learn to fly, posture is the most important thing! But before that, I need you to remember the key points of flying, and you must keep the safety precautions firmly in mind!"
Madam Hooch's voice was hoarse but powerful, with a penetrating texture.
(End of this chapter)