Chapter 255: The Portrait of Professor McGonagall
Hermione's words resonated with Dylan.
A Gryffindor, naturally, wants their house to win.
That way, the banners hanging in the Great Hall would all be Gryffindor red and gold.
If he lacked even that much house pride, it would be a disservice to all the extra attention Professor McGonagall had given him. Of course, this sense of pride extended to all the other professors as well.
"I feel the same way," Dylan said. "Harry, you've got excellent Seeker genes. As for you, Ron..." He couldn't resist pouring a bucket of cold water on him. "You're not even on the Quidditch team. Talk to me again when you've been chosen next year."
Hermione immediately burst out laughing. Ron's face, however, turned a deep shade of red. He knew it. Neither of them was on his side.
The three of them joked and laughed for a while, and by the time Harry and Ron had finished their homework, it was already nine in the evening. As soon as Ron's snores began to rumble, Dylan quietly got up, intending to slip into the Forbidden Forest.
"Where are you going?"
Just as Dylan was ready to leave, Harry's voice came from behind him. Seriously? he thought. Isn't this guy supposed to be asleep?
"To the loo," Dylan said, feigning a groggy voice. "I shouldn't have eaten that pumpkin pasty. Want to come with?"
Harry shook his head and lay back down. He'd rather stay tucked under his blankets than venture to the communal restroom.
Night had fallen. Dylan, a dark shadow, arrived at the Forbidden Forest.
The forest was especially dangerous at night. He wasn't meeting Hagrid tonight; he simply wanted to wander through and see if he could gather more herbs or perhaps some creature blood or hair. And maybe, just maybe, he'd run into a unicorn. Of course, if he happened to encounter any centaurs, they might even help guide him—plenty of the creatures already recognized him.
Speaking of unicorns, their blood could prolong life, but anyone who murdered one was immediately cursed—a curse from an ancient and beautiful creature, turning the killer into a half-ghost. It was a terrifying curse, yet some people remained so greedy that they'd still hunt for unicorns. Dylan had always wondered why unicorns seemed to vanish from the forest for periods of time. What was happening to them? The last time he met the unicorn, it couldn't explain the situation at all. Dylan was truly tempted to just snatch a unicorn's soul to learn their language.
Just then, a dark shadow flashed behind him. Dylan's wand gave a slight twitch. Lumos. A bright, dancing light burst forth.
The sudden glare in the darkness was blinding. To his surprise, he saw only a vaguely humanoid figure crouched high up on a branch, staring down at him. Dylan didn't have time to make out its face before the creature fled. The light vanished in an instant.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. What in the world was that ugly thing?
To avoid drawing attention, Dylan didn't cast another spell. He simply extinguished the light on his wand. In a short while, he had reached a different part of the Forbidden Forest. Here, the trees were colossal, their branches so tightly interwoven they seemed to touch the sky, leaving no room for light to filter through. It was perpetually dim, even in the daytime. A damp air, mixed with the scents of dirt and decay, washed over him.
"So this is what Harry meant," he murmured to himself. He finally understood what flavor that "strange-tasting" Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean was.
"Young wizard, you should not be here."
A voice suddenly spoke from behind him. Dylan turned to see a centaur standing opposite him. As far as he knew, the centaurs were split into two factions. He didn't know which side this one belonged to. He'd been hoping to run into a centaur for a while now, and here he was.
"Are you going to shoot me with an arrow?"
The centaur's eyes narrowed, and he raised his bow, ready to fire at him. Dylan just chuckled. These centaurs were always so short-tempered. They never listened to a word of reason. Wizarding lore said not to cross centaurs because of their sheer numbers. But there was only one centaur here, a mere nuisance to any wizard with a decent education. Especially in front of a powerful wizard like him.
"I don't want to hurt you, but I think you need to learn a lesson."
With that, his wand appeared. A rope materialized out of thin air, binding the centaur completely. The more it struggled, the tighter the rope became. In less than a minute, the centaur's face had turned purple. Seeing he had made his point, Dylan loosened the rope. The centaur didn't hesitate for a moment, turning and running away.
"Quick on your feet, aren't you?"
Dylan didn't capture the centaur. Letting it go might draw more centaurs to him. Dylan waved his wand through the air.
" Protego Totalum, Relashio."
An invisible, colorless barrier appeared, preventing the centaur from returning for revenge. With that done, Dylan looked at the lake before him. Its surface was rapidly freezing over. The surrounding air suddenly turned cold. Everything was happening so fast. It seemed his trip tonight was far from pointless.
Just as Dylan was about to leave, the lake behind him thawed instantly, and something began to approach. The next second, a mermaid leaped from the water, lunging at Dylan.
He was lucky he dodged quickly. He hadn't expected to find a mermaid in such a shallow lake. Yet, he felt no fear toward this mermaid. On the contrary, a smirk spread across Dylan's face, as if he could already see a flood of galleons and even more experimental materials.
The next day, during Transfiguration class.
Harry and Ron hadn't seen Dylan all morning. Harry even wondered if he had gotten lost on the way to the lavatory yesterday. To their surprise, when they rushed into the classroom, Dylan was already sitting at his desk.
"Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, her voice sharp. "I should turn the two of you into pocket watches so you can remind each other. Perhaps that would teach you how to be on time."
Professor McGonagall was used to their tardiness. Last time, they couldn't find the way. What was their excuse this time?
She seemed to be waiting for an explanation. Ron hesitated. "We were trying to wait for Dylan to come with us," he said, his voice trailing off. Even he knew it was a lame excuse. After all, Dylan was sitting right here.
"Mr. Weasley, I hope you can find a better reason than that," Professor McGonagall said. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Each."
Professor McGonagall's words were met with grumbles of discontent from the rest of the class. Dylan blinked, thinking that was a bit harsh—even Snape didn't take that many points at once.
Hermione's face instantly hardened. She had spent all of yesterday nagging them to do their homework so they wouldn't lose more points. Now they'd lost forty points in one go. Harry felt like everyone's eyes were on him, and their expressions had changed. He wasn't the "Boy Who Lived"—he was the bane of Gryffindor!
"So, what time did you wake up?" Ron asked with a hint of a complaint in his voice. "We really were waiting for you."
Dylan couldn't very well tell them he was out hunting for interesting things. "I've forgotten the exact time. But I called out to you guys when I left. It's not my fault some people are such heavy sleepers."
Ron never argued with this point; he was indeed a heavy sleeper. One time, Harry had tried and tried to wake him, but he wouldn't stir. Harry had even thought he was dead, and everyone in the dorm had gathered around in a panic. It wasn't until Neville used a stopwatch and confirmed that his breathing was steady that they knew he was fine. Later, they found out he had eaten too many Chocolate Frogs.
"Alright, but it's not entirely my fault," Ron said. "Harry didn't hear you either. Maybe your voice was too quiet."
Hermione simply rolled her eyes. Even Harry couldn't stand to listen to them anymore. Dylan was sitting right there, after all. They were the ones who were late.
"It's all your fault, Ron. I've been in the same dorm as you for so long, I'm starting to be affected," Harry admitted. He even had to admit that his own sleep quality had improved because of Ron's snoring.
"Turn to page 186," Professor McGonagall said, continuing the lesson. "Today we will continue to learn how to turn objects into living creatures."
Under Hermione's watchful eye, Harry and Ron studied diligently for the rest of the class.
Afterward, Dylan sought out Professor McGonagall. Ravenclaw's recent studies had piqued his interest in the connection between souls and physical matter. While turning an object into a living creature might be difficult for other students, it was simple for Dylan.
"Professor McGonagall."
She looked up and smiled when she saw he hadn't left. "Is there something I can help you with, Dylan?"
"I was wondering, Professor, about the portrait frame we discussed. Have you made any progress with it?"
He had asked her to commission the portrait before the term started and had expected to receive it quickly. He assumed something must have delayed it.
Professor McGonagall looked confused. "It was your Christmas gift. Didn't you receive it?"
A Christmas gift? Dylan suddenly remembered that besides the gifts he had given to Harry and Ron, the others were still in his trunk. He had been so busy after returning to school that he hadn't bothered to sort through his things.
"Oh! Haha, yes, of course, I received it! I'll go check right now."
He'd had so many gifts, especially from his parents, that he hadn't even felt like opening them. He'd forgotten to open the gifts from his friends and teachers as well. Realizing his mistake, Dylan ran back to the dormitory. Sure enough, he found several boxes under his bed—gifts from his friends and teachers. He hadn't expected to receive so many.
"I thought you'd finally remember in a few days," Harry said. He and Ron had followed him, watching eagerly as he opened his gifts.
"This one's from me," Ron said, his eyes on the smallest box with the simplest bow. Dylan would have guessed it was from him, even if he hadn't said anything. He knew the Weasleys' financial situation, but it didn't bother him. He knew that Ron didn't have much pocket money to begin with. The sentiment behind a gift mattered more than its price, and he hoped Ron understood that, too.
"This is really beautiful!"
Ron's gift was a lovely crystal ball with a tiny, delicate castle inside.
"It's not bad, I guess. Hope you like it," Ron said, clearly pleased with Dylan's reaction. The sensitive boy was always so cautious.
"Ron gave us gifts too," Harry chimed in. "Mine had a Christmas tree in it."
Dylan could tell Ron had given him the nicest one. "Is that so? It's really beautiful. I think I'll keep this one by my bed, and I'll take it home next time we have a holiday. My parents are very curious about Hogwarts."
Dylan meant it. He hoped that when Hubert saw it, he would finally have a concrete idea of what his school was like.
Just then, Dylan finally saw a flat box at the very bottom of the pile. The frame was thin, just like the one he had given Hermione. It was clearly a book.
After tearing off the wrapping paper, he revealed the portrait Professor McGonagall had promised. It was just like the ones hanging in the corridors, only smaller.
"That's pretty neat. Is that Professor McGonagall? Merlin, she actually gave you a portrait?" Ron's eyes were wide.
"Heh, yeah, I asked her for it a while ago." With this portrait, Dylan's research on soul, life, and matter would become much easier.
After opening his gifts, Dylan headed to the common room. Hermione was already there, engrossed in a book.
"Where did you find this book?" she asked, looking up from the book Dylan had given her. She had only read a few lines but was already captivated.
Dylan smiled. He knew Hermione would love it. In fact, Hermione loved all books, so he had chosen a specific one: a collection of fascinating records compiled by several famous wizards. It might not contain any particularly useful spells, but the content was absolutely riveting. After all, he thought, every woman loves a bit of gossip.
"I found it in a shop on the street. There should be another one, too."
The other book was one Dylan had picked up in the Muggle world when he was out with his parents. It was written by a new author with a beautiful writing style. Ron might not get it, but Hermione would.
"I was in such a hurry to get back that I completely forgot about my gifts. Thanks for reminding me, Professor McGonagall. And thank you all," Dylan said, tidying up his things.
In the afternoon, the three of them had Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Honestly, it was a class Dylan didn't even need to take. It was a little amusing to watch Harry and the others so dedicated to learning the subject. At their age, the spells they could learn were still quite basic, and they only had a theoretical understanding of Dark Arts. Relying on those spells to defend themselves against true Dark Magic was a pipe dream.
If Dylan were the teacher, his first piece of advice would be: just run. Learn to Apparate perfectly, and when an enemy isn't looking, just get out of there. Or be nimble enough to dodge attacks, which was far better than facing an enemy head-on.
Of course, he only thought this; he would never actually say it out loud.
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