It wasn't until Dumbledore noticed Dylan had been quietly waiting for a while that he cleared his throat, wiped the smile off his face, and sat up straighter, his tone turning serious.
"Ahem, alright, enough joking around. We've got a young man here."
He turned to Dylan and said slowly, "My personal advice? Use the rest of your summer break to dive into studying magical contracts. Find some old texts or spell manuals, and focus on the conditions for forming a magical contract and its binding scope."
"Magical contracts?" Dylan blinked, caught off guard. "Professor, why do you want me to study that? I'm not sure I follow."
He'd dabbled in magical contracts before, sure, but what was Dumbledore getting at?
"Just keep it in mind. It'll come in handy later," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand, not elaborating.
"For the next little while, I've got some pressing matters to deal with, so I'll be quite busy. The search for the other Horcruxes will have to be put on hold for now."
As he spoke, he tapped his wand on the nearly empty butterbeer mug in front of him. The liquid inside slowly rose, refilling the glass.
"Professor, I don't think you're supposed to use a Refilling Charm here," Dylan pointed out, glancing at the bar.
Aberforth was looking their way.
"You know all pubs ban that kind of magic in-house."
Dumbledore, though, grinned like a kid who'd pulled off a prank. Lowering his voice, he said, "Heh, as long as Aberforth didn't see me cast it, it doesn't count, does it?"
He winked at Dylan and took a sip from his mug.
Apparently finding the butterbeer not sweet enough, Dumbledore reached into his voluminous robes and pulled out an oilpaper packet. Inside were a few brown Cockroach Clusters. He popped two into his mouth, chewing slowly with a look of pure satisfaction, as if savoring a gourmet treat.
Once he'd swallowed, his tone turned serious again. "Alright, let's get to business."
"Yesterday, I submitted a request to the Ministry of Magic, asking the Wizengamot to accept you as a Youth Wizard Representative. The day after tomorrow, you'll need to go to Courtroom Ten. The Wizengamot will hold a special meeting to review whether you're qualified for the role."
Dylan instinctively raised a hand to rub his ear, his expression stunned, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Wait, what did you just say? Youth Wizard Representative for the Wizengamot? The Wizengamot?"
He couldn't wrap his head around it. How was he suddenly tied to the highest court in the wizarding world, made up of the most senior witches and wizards? And Dumbledore wanted him to represent young wizards? Had the old man lost it?
Dumbledore met his shocked gaze with a calm nod, his tone firm. "Yes, that Wizengamot. And I believe you're fully qualified for the role. You're the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in nearly a century. That alone is enough to convince many wizards of your abilities."
Dylan tilted his head. "When did I get an Order of Merlin? News to me."
Dumbledore gave a sly smile. "Your first year, you took down a troll and saved your friends' lives. You've got remarkable talent, a kind heart, and you helped us catch Peter Pettigrew. You faced Voldemort's Horcrux without flinching and even destroyed it. As of today, you're an Order of Merlin recipient."
He paused, then added, "In my application, I also mentioned you helped destroy dark magical artifacts left by Voldemort. Those are real, tangible achievements."
Taking another sip of butterbeer, he continued, "Now, Minister Fudge is dead-set on denying any chance of Voldemort's return and keeps trying to suppress related news. But after the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup final, The Daily Prophet has been covering it non-stop. The whole wizarding world knows about it. The papers might not spell out what the Dark Mark means, but wizards aren't fools—they know what's up."
He pointed to a copy of The Daily Prophet posted by the pub's door, its headline still discussing the post-final riot.
"Right now, the wizarding world is fired up against dark magic and dark wizards. People want someone who'll stand up to the darkness. I didn't explicitly mention Horcruxes in the application, but just noting your fight against Voldemort's dark artifacts will make those in the Ministry who care about our world's safety rally behind you as a young champion against dark magic. A young, capable wizard with real accomplishments inspires more hope than some stuffy old codger spouting empty words."
He added with a twinkle in his eye, "Of course, I'm a big fan of yours. Some folks might not know you yet, but I'll make sure they do soon enough."
Dylan's mouth twitched. Some people don't know me? More like nobody knows some random young wizard like me.
What was Dumbledore playing at, thrusting him into the spotlight like this? Dylan was already baffled when Dumbledore dragged him into the Horcrux hunt out of nowhere. Now he was piling on titles? Come on, he was Carlsas, for Merlin's sake!
Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, and when I brought this up to the Ministry, a wizard who just got promoted from Auror had nothing but praise for you. You might know her—used to sneak free ice cream from her dad's shop."
Dylan knew exactly who he meant: Florean Fortescue's daughter, Vera. Promoted already?
He didn't react much to that—or to any of this, really. Whatever Dumbledore was scheming didn't feel like it had much to do with him. What, was someone going to jump out and accuse him of being Carlsas? He knew he used dark magic more often than most wizards, aside from full-time dark ones. Being pushed as a "champion against dark magic" was almost amusing.
But then he thought it over. Becoming the Youth Wizard Representative could give him a front-row seat in the fight against Voldemort. That kind of access was too good to pass up. Wasn't it Dumbledore's random tip-off that led him to snag Slytherin's locket in the first place?
So he pushed down his unease and nodded firmly. "Alright, I'll prep and be there for the review."
Dylan said goodbye to Dumbledore and headed home. This time, his parents were finally back. He spent the whole day with them, even brewing some strengthening potions to slip into their drinks now and then.
With summer break winding down, he held off on claiming his achievement rewards. He still wasn't sure about letting Slytherin's essence fully integrate into his world. Better to wait.
---
Time flew by, and soon it was the last day of summer break.
Dylan opened his wardrobe and pulled out a tailored dress robe from Madam Malkin's. The black velvet was soft and smooth, with intricate silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs, paired with a matching silk sash at the waist. He slipped it on, adjusted the collar in front of the mirror, and stood tall. The dark fabric made his sharp features and bright eyes stand out, giving him a poised, striking look.
Anyone seeing him now would probably call him a dashing young man. In the tight-knit British wizarding world, Dylan's looks and skills easily made him "a standout lad from the area."
"Mirror, mirror, tell me—who's the most handsome guy in the world?" Dylan struck an exaggerated pose, grinning at his reflection.
"Why, Lord Dylan, of course!" the mirror replied.
He chuckled, grabbed his wand from the table, and prepared to head to the Ministry. This time, he chose to travel by Floo powder through the fireplace. After last time, he wasn't eager for a repeat experience.
Floo powder was a game-changer in wizarding history, linking fireplaces across distances and shrinking the already small wizarding world. It made everything—daily trips or urgent business—so much easier.
Dylan stepped into the fireplace, tossed in a pinch of Floo powder, and called out the Ministry's address. After a dizzying whirl, he landed smoothly in the Ministry's Atrium fireplace.
Stepping out, he flicked his wand to cast a quick Scouring Charm, though his robes were spotless. As a potential Youth Wizard Representative for the Wizengamot, keeping a polished appearance was the least he could do.
He took the magical lift to the ninth floor. The elevator hummed downward, its indicator light flashing with a soft ding at each level.
When he reached his destination and stepped out, he glanced instinctively toward the Department of Mysteries at the end of the corridor. The door was shut tight, guarded by two stern-faced Aurors in dark uniforms, standing so still they barely seemed to breathe. The ninth floor was eerily quiet, the air heavy, every sound amplified—even the faint ticking of a clock at the corridor's end felt like it pulsed in his chest.
Dylan took a deep breath and stepped into Courtroom Ten.
The room was packed. Rows of witches and wizards in robes filled the circular benches, their eyes turning to him as he entered—some curious, some skeptical, others appraising.
This wasn't his first time here; he'd testified for Sirius Black before. He had no idea how Dumbledore had pitched him to the Ministry, but judging by the looks he was getting, the old man was up to something. Maybe he needed a young, trustworthy wizard to back him up—or was he grooming a successor? Yeah, right. If Dumbledore dropped dead, it'd be McGonagall or Snape stepping up, not him.
Dylan's eyes scanned the room and landed on Moody, sitting near the front. His magical eye swiveled, scanning everyone in sight. As a veteran Auror and a legend in fighting dark wizards, Moody's presence in the Wizengamot made perfect sense.
Several witches nodded appreciatively at Dylan's tailored robes and confident posture, clearly thinking he looked the part for the Youth Wizard Representative role.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down," Minister Fudge announced, standing with a document in hand, his tone dripping with reluctance, his brow furrowed.
"Today, we're voting on whether Dylan Hawkwood should join us as the Youth Wizard Representative for the Wizengamot."
Fudge, ever the skeptic about Voldemort's return, dismissed any talk of his lingering dark artifacts. Naturally, he had little interest in a young wizard nominated for "fighting Voldemort's legacy."
"Next, let's hear from Dylan Hawkwood's sponsor—Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore—on why he's recommending him."
The room fell silent as Dumbledore rose, prompting a wave of enthusiastic applause. His reputation as the wizarding world's most revered figure was undeniable. He waved lightly to the crowd, shook Fudge's hand perfunctorily, and turned to Dylan with an encouraging nod.
Stepping to the center podium, Dumbledore cleared his throat. His voice, rich and commanding, filled the courtroom with an effortless authority.
"Thank you all. It's an honor to sponsor Dylan Hawkwood. I'm recommending him for the Wizengamot's Youth Wizard Representative not out of personal bias, but based on his proven abilities and achievements."
He paused, then continued, "As you know, the role requires meeting strict criteria, including the ability to cast a Patronus Charm. Dylan not only excels at this, but his Patronus is a remarkable one—rare for a wizard his age."
With a twinkle in his eye, he glanced at Dylan and added lightly, "Though, sadly, Dylan, it seems you and I share the same misfortune of being unable to master Animagus transformation."