Chapter 314: Destroying the Slytherin Locket!?
The door was pushed open and Sirius walked in, his face still showing lingering anger.
When he saw the golden locket in Dylan's hand, his eyes instantly turned red.
It was this very object that caused his brother, who had gone astray but ultimately awakened, to pay the price with his life.
"Is this… Lord Voldemort's Horcrux?"
Sirius's voice faltered. He reached out to touch it, but stopped in mid-air.
"That's right."
Dylan nodded, holding up the golden locket engraved with the Slytherin emblem. He gently placed his palm on it and infused a faint trace of magic into it.
Almost as soon as the magic entered.
A low, evil whisper emanated from the locket.
The sound was like countless people murmuring in one's ear, carrying an indescribable chill.
Dylan slowly opened a crack in the locket's clasp.
Strands of black magic immediately seeped out of the crack, twisting in the air as if alive.
As the crack widened, the evil whispers grew louder, filled with temptation.
It constantly stirred the darkest, most greedy desires deep within people, seemingly wanting to completely devour one's reason.
Sirius swallowed hard.
Dylan tilted his head, and the hand hanging at his side lifted slightly. A ball of flame suddenly ignited in his palm.
When the flame first appeared, it was only the size of a fist, but it carried a bone-chilling coldness. The flames twisted upwards, instantly growing to half a foot high.
He held the Slytherin locket, clutched in his hand, beneath the flame.
The snake-like pattern on the locket, which had been faintly glowing with silver light, immediately made a sizzling sound of burning upon contact with Fiendfyre.
The gems in the snake's eyes instantly became covered with a layer of black ash, and the metal casing of the locket twisted and blackened at a visible speed!
"Fiendfyre?!" Sirius next to him suddenly widened his eyes, staring at Dylan warily, "You can actually use this?"
Dylan looked down at the flame in his palm, gently prodding the flame to make it better envelop the locket.
"Professor Flitwick taught me the counter-spell for Fiendfyre. To learn the counter-spell, one must, of course, first learn the spell."
As he spoke, the locket had already been burned beyond recognition by Fiendfyre.
The originally exquisite snake-shaped relief completely melted, and the locket body shrunk into a lump of black metal slag.
Finally, with a crisp "snap," it shattered into several small pieces, gradually turning to ash in the Fiendfyre, leaving not even a wisp of black smoke.
Sirius breathed a sigh of relief: "Well done, keeping this thing would only be a disaster!"
Dylan smiled and nodded, slowly retracting the Fiendfyre in his palm.
His other hand, hanging at his side, put away the real Horcrux.
What had just been left in the Fiendfyre to burn.
It was merely a fake he had created using illusion magic and ordinary metal.
He had other uses for this Horcrux.
He looked up at Sirius, his smile still gentle.
The system's achievements kept ringing, but he didn't look at them directly.
Instead, he looked at Sirius.
"Please write a letter to Professor Dumbledore and them, telling them that the Horcrux has been destroyed by me."
"Alright." Sirius nodded.
He took out paper and pen.
He meticulously wrote down the entire process of finding the locket, confirming Regulus's identity, and destroying the Horcrux.
He then sealed them into two separate envelopes and sent them by owl to Dumbledore's and Moody's residences.
Not long after, Dumbledore and Moody arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Both of their expressions were exceptionally complex.
Dumbledore had been Regulus's Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts.
He had a deep impression of that always silent, yet stubborn, young man.
Moody, in his early Auror missions, had a brief skirmish with Regulus, who had just joined the Death Eaters.
At that time, he had only considered the other party as another fanatic brainwashed by pure-blood ideology, never imagining such a twist.
"Regulus was always a child who knew his own mind."
Dumbledore looked at the relief of Regulus on the House of Black family tree and sighed softly.
But no amount of praise could quell the regret in Sirius's heart.
He stepped forward, clenching his hands tightly: "I want him to come back, even if it's just to bury him in the House of Black cemetery, at least he can be in a familiar place."
"Please, take me to that cave!"
Dumbledore did not refuse.
This journey was far more convenient than the last.
Dumbledore called softly, and the Phoenix Fawkes flew in from outside the window, its golden feathers scattering fragmented light inside the room.
The four of them reached out and grabbed Fawkes's tail feathers.
With a flash of warm firelight, they instantly Apparated into the cave.
The process of finding Regulus was unusually smooth.
Dumbledore walked to the lakeside, raised the elder wand, aimed it at the dark lake water, and solemnly chanted the spell: "Petrificus Totalus Suspendus!"
The next second, an invisible magical force surged from the wand tip, plunged into the bottom of the lake, and lifted hundreds to thousands of Inferi one by one, suspending them densely in mid-air.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, patiently sifting through the decaying and twisted bodies, and finally, near the island in the center of the lake, recognized Regulus.
He still looked young, his figure thin and gaunt, clearly not robust in life.
But after prolonged immersion in the cold lake water, the body had swollen and turned pale.
His originally neatly combed black hair was stuck to his pale cheeks, his black Wizard robe was tattered, and a few strands of water grass were still entwined around the hem, covered in the mud from the lake bottom.
"Regulus…"
The moment he saw his brother, Sirius's tears could no longer be controlled and gushed out.
He remembered when he broke with his family due to ideological differences, he had said harsh words to his brother like, "You will sooner or later be killed by Lord Voldemort."
He recalled that in all these years, he had never actively contacted his brother, even tacitly assuming he was a fanatical Death Eater.
If he had noticed his brother's change a little earlier, if there had been more communication.
Perhaps he wouldn't have had to wait until now to know the truth, perhaps he could have even seen him one last time before he acted!
"Sirius, don't be too sad."
Dumbledore gently patted his back, "Regulus was prepared when he chose this path. What he needs most now is to break free from the Inferi's shackles and get a good rest."
Sirius lay by the lake, his shoulders trembling, crying for a very, very long time.
It wasn't until a chilling wind blew from deep within the cave, carrying the dampness of the lake water and brushing against the back of his neck,
That he shivered and gradually stopped crying.
He wiped away the tears and snot from his face with his sleeve, his eyes becoming resolute.
He looked at his brother's body suspended in the air and said softly, "You're right, he's too tired, it's time for it to end."
As his voice fell, he raised his wand, aimed it at the body, and clearly chanted the spell: "Incendio!"
Blazing purplish-red flames violently enveloped Regulus's Inferi body.
The flames were extremely hot, making a sizzling sound of burning the instant they touched the skin.
The flames spread from the limbs to the torso, then burned towards the head.
First, the flesh contracted and carbonized in the high temperature, then the bones gradually became brittle from the burning, finally turning into a handful of grayish-white ashes scattered on the ground.
On the surface of the ashes, there was still a faint, dull black glow.
That was the residue of Dark Arts that had long been attached to the Inferi, stubbornly clinging to the ash particles, unable to be removed for a while.
Just then, a translucent figure suddenly appeared in mid-air.
The person looked very young, perhaps not yet twenty, with a slender figure, emitting a faint silvery-white soul light around him. The outline was somewhat blurry, but it was clear that the person's features resembled Sirius.
He first nodded slightly towards Dylan, Dumbledore, and Moody, his eyes filled with gratitude.
Then his gaze shifted to Sirius, whose face was streaked with tears, and he moved with a ghostly step.
The white soul slowly floated towards Sirius, a short distance of three meters.
Yet he floated with extreme difficulty; with every inch he moved, his soul light dimmed a bit.
Finally, when he floated in front of Sirius, he slowly opened his arms, wanting to embrace his brother.
But his ethereal arms passed directly through Sirius's body, touching no physical form.
Sirius watched him, tears flowing even more fiercely.
The next second, Regulus's soul, starting from his toes, ignited with a sacred white light inch by inch. The light was gentle yet carried the power of purification.
In that sacred firelight, Regulus's face showed a relieved smile.
He opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but no sound came out.
The firelight gradually consumed his torso, shoulders, and finally, his smiling face was completely enveloped, turning into specks of light and dissipating into the air.
The last spark of fire slowly drifted down onto the ashes on the ground, and as if alive, burrowed into the grayish-black particles.
In an instant.
The black glow on the ashes seemed to meet its nemesis, quickly fading and dissipating.
The originally dull ashes also returned to a pure grayish-white, with no trace of Dark Arts left.
Sirius crouched down, carefully scooped up the ashes, and placed them into a bronze-colored box he had already prepared by his side.
The surface of the box was engraved with the House of Black crest, and its edges were inlaid with fine silver threads.
He knew that the state of Inferi could not be reversed, and allowing his brother's soul to find release and his ashes to return to purity was already the best possible outcome.
"These Inferi should also be released."
Dylan looked at the faint dark shadows beneath the lake, saying in a heavy tone, "The longer they exist, the longer their souls suffer. We might as well help them end this torment completely."
Dumbledore and Moody both nodded.
"Incendio!" Dylan was the first to raise his wand, and orange-red flames erupted, falling onto the lake surface.
"Partis Temporus!" Moody followed with his spell, golden lines of fire spreading across the lake.
"Lightning Storm!" Dumbledore's spell followed closely, purple electric light and firelight intertwining.
Instantly.
Firelight and electric light covered the entire lake surface, and the dazzling glow illuminated the dark cave, making the interior as bright as day.
The hundreds of Inferi in the lake, under the baptism of light and fire, didn't even have a chance to struggle before they directly evaporated into steam, completely disappearing.
What a pity, really.
Actually, these Inferi could all have been used for experiments.
Dylan shook his head secretly.
Having completed all this, the group did not delay further.
Dumbledore summoned the Phoenix Fawkes. Fawkes spread its golden wings, let out a clear cry, and as its wings flapped, a ball of fire enveloped the four of them.
With a flash of firelight, the group vanished from the cave, instantly reappearing in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Thank you…" Sirius tightly held the bronze box in his arms, his voice hoarse from recently calmed emotions, his eyes filled with gratitude, looking at Dylan and the other two with exceptional sincerity.
Dylan noticed Dumbledore's fingers, stroking his beard, moved, and there was a hint of something he wanted to say but held back in his eyes.
Clearly, he seemed to have something he wanted to discuss with Dylan alone.
Seeing that Sirius's emotions were relatively stable, Dylan and Dumbledore exchanged glances, and both offered their farewells simultaneously: "Then we won't disturb you any longer."
Sirius nodded, gently stroking the surface of the bronze box, his voice soft: "Yes, you two go back first.
I want… to be alone with Regulus for a while."
The Hog's Head Pub was filled with the aroma of ale and bread. Dumbledore and Dylan sat opposite each other at an old wooden table by the window, with two unfinished butterbeers on the table.
Moody sat at the other end of the table, clutching a dark brown whiskey bottle in his hand.
He tilted his head back, chugging glass after glass. The liquor streamed down the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his black leather jacket. A considerable amount of the amber liquid even spilled out, splashing into the wood grain of the table, spreading a small wet stain.
"Alastor Moody! Are you trying to empty my cellar with that kind of drinking?"
Aberforth leaned over from behind the bar, his brows furrowed.
He was wiping a pewter tankard, his eyes fixed on the bottle in Moody's hand.
Although Dumbledore had already paid for the drinks in advance, as the owner, he couldn't stand to see good liquor wasted like this.
Moody burped, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes a bit hazy.
He shook the bottle, slurring his words in protest: "I… I've fought Dark Wizards my whole life. Now that a Horcrux of that dog is destroyed, can't I enjoy myself a bit?"
As he spoke, he went to pour more into his glass, swaying and almost falling off the chair, but fortunately, he managed to steady himself by grabbing the table.
Learning today that the Horcrux left by Regulus had been completely dealt with, a large part of the pent-up frustration in his heart had dissipated, and no matter how much he drank, he didn't feel satisfied enough.
"Hmph, enjoy?" Aberforth sneered, wiping the glass with a bit more force, "I heard about you agreeing to Albus's offer to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class Professor at Hogwarts."
"Now you're drinking yourself so tipsy, I wonder if you'll even last through the first semester. Don't get killed by student pranks or Dark Wizard sneak attacks right after you take office!"
This sarcasm instantly ignited Moody's temper.
He slammed his hand on the table, making the glass clatter.
"What nonsense are you spouting, you old geezer! What kind of storms haven't I, Moody, seen? A duel is a duel, I'll show you what a seasoned Auror is!"
As he spoke, he tried to stand up to confront the other man, but he stumbled due to his drunkenness.
Dumbledore sat by, watching the two bicker with a smile, his white beard trembling slightly.
Chapter 315: When Did I Get the Order of Merlin? Why Don't I Know?
It wasn't until he noticed Dylan had been waiting quietly for a while that he cleared his throat, put away his smile, sat up straight, and his tone became serious.
"Ahem, alright, no more fooling around, there's a child here."
He turned to Dylan and slowly said, "My personal advice is that you take advantage of the remaining holiday time to thoroughly research contract magic at home."
"It's best to find some relevant ancient books or spell manuals, focusing on the conditions for establishing a magic contract and the scope of its validity."
"Contract magic?" Dylan was stunned for a moment. "Professor, why are you asking me to research this? I don't quite understand what you mean."
Of course, he had dabbled in contract magic.
But what did Old Deng's mean by this?
"Just keep it in mind for now; you'll use it later."
Dumbledore didn't explain further, merely waving his hand.
"For the next period, I have many important matters to attend to and will be quite busy, so the search for other Horcruxes will have to be temporarily put on hold."
As he spoke, he extended his wand and lightly tapped the almost empty butterbeer glass in front of him. The liquid in the glass instantly rose and refilled the cup.
"Professor, I don't think you can use the Refilling Charm here," Dylan reminded him.
At the same time, he glanced at the bar.
Aberforth was looking over.
"You know, all pubs prohibit the use of such magic in their establishments."
Dumbledore, however, smiled like a child who had successfully played a trick, lowering his voice even further: "Heh heh, as long as Aberforth doesn't see it with his own eyes, it doesn't count as me using magic, does it?"
He winked at Dylan, then picked up his glass and took a sip.
Probably thinking the butterbeer wasn't sweet enough.
Dumbledore pulled out an oil-paper package from the pocket of his wide Wizarding robe.
When opened, it contained several brown cockroach clusters.
He picked up two pieces, put them in his mouth, and chewed slowly, a look of satisfaction on his face, as if savoring some delicacy.
After swallowing the cockroach clusters in his mouth, he spoke again, his tone returning to seriousness: "Alright, let's get down to business."
"Yesterday, I submitted an application to the Ministry of Magic, requesting that the Wizengamot accept you as a representative of young Wizards."
"The day after tomorrow morning, you need to go to Courtroom Ten. The Wizengamot will hold a special meeting to review whether you are qualified for this position."
Dylan instinctively raised his hand and dug at his ear with his fingertips, his eyes somewhat astonished, as if he doubted he had heard correctly.
"What did you just say? A young Wizard representative for the Wizengamot? Is it the Wizengamot I understand?"
He didn't quite get how he would be involved with that supreme court composed of the most senior Wizards in the Wizarding World.
Not to mention, Old Deng's actually wanted him to become a member representing young Wizards?
Was Old Deng's crazy?
Dumbledore looked at his shocked expression, nodded gently, his tone very firm: "Of course, it's that Wizengamot."
"And I believe you are fully qualified for this position. You are the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in the Wizarding World in the past century. This alone is enough for many Wizards to recognize your abilities."
Dylan tilted his head.
"When did I get the Order of Merlin? Why don't I know?"
Old Deng's smiled slyly: "In your first year, you dealt with the Troll and saved your companions' lives. Your talent is outstanding, and you are benevolent. You helped us capture Peter Pettigrew, and you faced Lord Voldemort's Horcrux without fear, even managing to destroy it. So, from today, you are a recipient of the Order of Merlin."
He paused, then added, "I also mentioned in the application that you participated in destroying Dark Arts objects left by Lord Voldemort. These are all solid achievements."
At this point, Dumbledore picked up his butterbeer and took a sip: "Although Minister Fudge strongly denies the possibility of Lord Voldemort's return and tries to suppress related news."
"But the riots after the Quidditch World Cup final, after continuous reporting by The Daily Prophet, have spread throughout the entire Wizarding World. Although the newspaper didn't explicitly state the meaning of the dark mark, Wizards aren't stupid; everyone knows what it represents."
He pointed to The Daily Prophet posted at the pub entrance.
The headline was still about the ongoing discussion of the riots.
"Now, the entire Wizarding World's sentiment against Dark Arts and boycotting Dark Wizards is very high. Everyone hopes that there will be people who dare to stand up and fight against the dark forces."
"Although I didn't explicitly state in the application that you destroyed a Horcrux, just mentioning that you confronted Dark Arts objects left by Lord Voldemort will make those in the Ministry of Magic who truly care about the safety of the Wizarding World fully support you as a young beacon against Dark Arts."
"After all, a young, capable, and accomplished representative is more inspiring than those old fuddy-duddies who only talk."
"Of course, I highly recommend you. Some people may not be familiar with you, but I will quickly make them familiar."
Dylan's mouth twitched as he listened.
Are you sure it's 'some people I'm not familiar with'?
I'm afraid no one would even recognize a little wizard like me, right??
What did Old Deng's mean by suddenly wanting to push him forward?
He was already confused when the other party suddenly wanted him to help find Horcruxes.
Now he wanted to give him a bunch of titles?
Come on, he was Karthus!
"Haha, after I proposed this to the Ministry of Magic, a Wizard who had just been promoted from Aurorat the Ministry also spoke highly of you. You actually know this person."
Old Deng's winked at Dylan, "You used to frequently go to her father's ice cream shop for free ice cream."
Dylan also figured out who this person was.
Florin's daughter, Vera.
She got promoted already?
Dylan had no reaction to this.
Or rather, he had no particular reaction to anything Old Deng's said.
Whatever Old Deng's wanted to do, it didn't have much to do with him.
Could someone really jump out and accuse him of being Karthus?
He knew that his frequency of using Dark Arts was probably higher than anyone in the Wizarding World except for dedicated Dark Wizards.
This situation of being recommended as an "anti-Dark Arts beacon" made him feel rather interesting.
And on second thought, becoming a young Wizard representative would allow him to participate more directly in the fight against Lord Voldemort.
The convenience of this made it impossible for him to refuse.
Wasn't it because Old Deng's got some news from who knows where, and inexplicably acted early, that he got Slytherin's locket?
So he immediately suppressed that slight discomfort and firmly agreed, "Okay, I will be prepared and attend the review on time."
Dylan bid farewell to Old Deng's.
He returned home.
This time, his parents had finally come back.
Dylan didn't think about other things but spent the whole day with them.
He also made some Potions for strengthening the body and gave them a little from time to time.
Now, it wasn't too early until the end of the summer holiday.
Dylan didn't directly claim the achievement reward.
He hadn't decided whether to accept Slytherin directly entering his world.
He would wait a bit first.
Time flew by.
In a blink of an eye, it was the last day of the summer holiday.
Dylan opened his wardrobe and took out a formal robe custom-made from Transcendent Garments.
The black velvet fabric felt soft and smooth to the touch.
The collar and cuffs were embroidered with intricate silver thread patterns, and a matching silk sash was tied around the waist.
He put on the formal robe, adjusted his collar in the mirror. The black fabric accentuated his sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, making them even more defined. His posture was as straight as a pine, exuding a steady and handsome aura.
If anyone were to see him at this moment, they would surely praise him as a handsome young man.
In the relatively small Wizarding World of Great Britain, Dylan's appearance and abilities combined made it no exaggeration to call him an "outstanding and distinguished young man from the surrounding areas."
"Mirror, mirror, tell me, who is the most handsome man in this world?"
Dylan deliberately stood in front of the mirror, striking an exaggerated pose to admire himself.
"Of course, it's Lord Dylan!"
He looked left and right, smiled, then turned and picked up his wand from the table, ready to head to the Ministry of Magic.
This time, he specifically chose to use Floo powder through the fireplace to travel.
His last experience made him never want to try it a second time.
It must be said that the invention of Floo powder was a major creation in the history of Wizarding civilization.
It built cross-space passages through fireplaces, greatly shortening the distance between Wizards.
It made the already not-so-large Wizarding World even more closely connected.
Whether for daily travel or urgent matters, it made things much more convenient.
Dylan stepped into the fireplace, sprinkled Floo powder, and stated the address.
After a dizzying sensation, he successfully arrived at the Ministry of Magic's Floo Network Atrium.
He stepped out of the fireplace, and although not a speck of dust touched him, he habitually raised his wand and cast a Scourgify Charm on himself.
As a prospective Wizengamot young Wizard representative, maintaining a neat and elegant demeanor at all times was a basic requirement.
Dylan walked out of the Floo Network Atrium and took the magical elevator to the ninth underground level.
The elevator slowly descended, and with each floor passed, an indicator light would flash, accompanied by a soft "ding-dong" sound.
Upon reaching his destination.
He stepped out of the elevator and instinctively glanced at the Department of Mysteries at the end of the corridor.
The door there was tightly shut.
Two Ministry of Magic Aurors in dark uniforms stood guard at the entrance, their expressions serious, their breathing even very light.
The entire ninth underground level was unusually quiet; even the sound of air moving could be heard clearly. This stillness was somewhat suffocating.
The clock at the end of the corridor ticked, each sound like a knock on one's heart.
Dylan took a deep breath, his left foot stepping first into the door of Courtroom Ten.
The courtroom was already full of people.
The circular seats were densely packed with figures in Wizarding robes.
Seeing Dylan walk in, all eyes focused on him, carrying scrutiny, curiosity, and a hint of probing.
In fact, Dylan's first appearance was when he came to testify for Sirius.
Dylan didn't know how Old Deng's introduced him to the Ministry of Magic people.
However, looking at these people's reactions to him now, Dylan thought that Old Deng's probably wanted to do something.
Perhaps he needed a young and trustworthy Wizard to cooperate, or perhaps he wanted to cultivate a successor?
Don't joke, even if Old Deng's dropped dead on the spot, the successor should be Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape.
Dylan quickly scanned the crowd and soon saw Moody's figure.
He was sitting near the front row, his magical eye constantly rotating, clearly observing everyone present.
As a seasoned Auror and an iconic figure in fighting Dark Wizards, Moody becoming a Wizengamotmember was indeed reasonable.
Many Witches, seeing Dylan in his custom formal robe, looking young but with a tall and straight posture, a hint of admiration flashed in their eyes, and they unconsciously nodded.
Clearly, this handsome and steady appearance made them feel that he indeed seemed capable of taking on the role of a young Wizard representative.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please be quiet."
Minister Fudge stood up, holding a document in his hand, his tone clearly reluctant, even his brows furrowed.
"Today, the motion we are voting on is whether to agree to Dylan Hawkwood becoming a Wizengamotyoung Wizard representative and formally joining our ranks."
He was always unwilling to believe that Lord Voldemort might return.
He even vehemently denied the existence of Dark Arts objects left by the other party in the Wizarding World.
Naturally, he had no interest in this young representative recommended for "fighting against Lord Voldemort's lingering forces."
"Next, let Dylan Hawkwood's nominator—Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore—explain his reasons for the nomination."
After Fudge's voice fell, the courtroom became quiet.
Dumbledore immediately stood up with a smile, and a round of warm applause erupted.
As the most respected Wizard in the Wizarding World, his prestige was beyond doubt.
Dumbledore waved slightly to the Wizards around him in greeting.
Then he turned and symbolically shook hands with Fudge.
Finally, he looked at Dylan, his eyes filled with encouragement, and then nodded gently.
He walked to the podium in the center of the courtroom, cleared his throat, and his voice, aged yet powerful, carried a natural persuasiveness that echoed throughout the courtroom.
"Thank you all. I am deeply honored to be Dylan Hawkwood's nominator."
"First, I must state that Dylan is currently a student in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts. My recommendation for him to serve as a Wizengamot young Wizard representative is absolutely not out of personal bias, but a fair judgment based on his abilities and achievements."
Dumbledore paused, then continued: "As you all know, becoming a Wizengamot young Wizardrepresentative requires fulfilling a series of conditions, one of which is the ability to skillfully cast the Patronus Charm."
"Dylan not only can do so, but his Patronus is also a magical entity, which is extremely rare among young Wizards."
At this point, he suddenly looked at Dylan, a smile in his eyes, and teased in a light tone: "However, it's a pity, Dylan, that like me, you also seem unable to learn Animagus Transfiguration."
Chapter 316: Joining the Wizengamot as the Youth Wizard Representative!
"Yes, it's a pity, but I think I might be able to become an Animagus later on." Dylan said with a calm expression.
He hadn't let anyone know that he could transform into a Dragon.
However, Old Deng's words broke the solemn atmosphere of the courtroom.
The Wizards present all smiled knowingly, and even Fudge, who had been stern-faced, couldn't help but curve his lips.
Once the laughter subsided, Dumbledore's expression turned serious again: "Years ago, when Dylan first enrolled at Hogwarts, I discovered he was a brave and wise little wizard."
"In his first year, he displayed astonishing talent, single-handedly defeating a Troll! He saved his companions, and recently, Lord Voldemort's forces have resurfaced. I think we need to make some changes."
The moment the name "Lord Voldemort" was uttered,
A buzz of discussion immediately erupted in the courtroom.
Most of the Wizards present had experienced the First Wizarding War.
The white terror brought by that name was still fresh in their memories.
Moreover, Dumbledore had directly called out the forbidden name, which made many people's faces turn solemn.
Dumbledore's voice continued to echo in the courtroom, steady and powerful: "In his second year, Dylan, along with Minerva, co-authored a paper titled 'Rapid Transformation Techniques in Practical Transfiguration,' which was successfully published in the magical world's most authoritative Transfiguration journal, Transfiguration Today."
"The editor-in-chief specifically praised this paper in the foreword as 'opening new paths for the practical application of Transfiguration.' More importantly, this paper has now even been incorporated into the Auror training's compulsory curriculum. Through the techniques proposed within it, the Ministry of Magic Aurors' practical Transfiguration efficiency in combating Dark Wizards has increased by at least 30%! This has made a tangible contribution to resisting Dark Arts forces!"
Dylan blinked again.
When did he publish a paper?
But after a moment's thought,
Dylan remembered that in his second year, during a discussion with Professor McGonagall, they did talk about the practical application of Transfiguration.
And, for one week, he hadn't received Transfiguration Today that Professor McGonagall usually sent him.
Could it have been that time?
Did Professor McGonagall compile their discussion into a journal and publish it?
Dylan paused.
But why didn't anyone around him mention this to him?
That's not right; little wizards usually don't read these things.
Even if someone did read it, they probably wouldn't come up to him and tell him to his face.
As for Harry…
His roommates, there's even less to say; none of them liked to read.
And Hermione? She did like to read newspapers, but even if she knew Dylan had published a paper, she would probably just brood to herself, wondering why she couldn't be as powerful as Dylan.
This led to Dylan himself not even knowing that he had published a paper in Transfiguration Today.
Could Professor McGonagall have wanted to give him a surprise?
It was unbelievable; he had already graduated from his third year and still hadn't discovered this.
Dumbledore's azure eyes turned to the right side of the circular seating.
A man with thick golden hair and shoulders as broad as a lion stood up, his voice loud and firm: "I can vouch for that."
He was Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office. He pressed his hands on the edge of the table, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"Since incorporating this paper into our training system, our Aurors have been able to more quickly transfigure everyday objects into defensive tools when facing surprise attacks from Dark Wizards. The success rate of Dark Wizard arrests in the latter half of last year increased by nearly 40% compared to the same period in previous years, and this is all thanks to Dylan's research."
After Scrimgeour sat down, Dumbledore continued: "Not only that, but Dylan recently successfully destroyed a Dark Arts artifact left by Lord Voldemort. It was an object that could amplify negative emotions, and if left unchecked, it would undoubtedly cause very serious consequences."
"And in his third year, he even found the Ravenclaw's diadem, lost for nearly a thousand years, allowing Ravenclaw's sacred heirloom to see the light of day again!"
On the left side of the courtroom, several rows of seats, a few Wizards clearly sat up straighter.
One Witch with glasses leaned forward and whispered to her companion, "So this is the child who found the ravenclaw's diadem!"
Her companion nodded, her eyes full of pride.
Several Wizards from Ravenclaw exchanged glances, and their gaze towards Dylan held a genuine sense of approval.
"I believe everyone still remembers the trial of Sirius Black two months ago."
Dumbledore's tone suddenly became serious.
"At that time, Dylan attended as a key witness. Not only did he present evidence that Peter Pettigrewwas a Death Eater, but he also pointed out that Pettigrew had been lurking in the Weasley home for years in Animagus form, as a brown rat, passing messages right under our noses."
He paused, tapping his fingertips lightly on the podium. Although his voice was not loud, it carried clearly into everyone's ears as if with some magic.
"Without his discovery, a Death Eater serving Lord Voldemort would still be hiding among us."
As these words fell, the courtroom instantly fell silent.
Many Wizards' faces turned slightly pale, some instinctively gasped, and their previously relaxed postures became tense.
The thought of a Death Eater having been lurking among them sent shivers down everyone's spines.
Dylan listened silently.
Actually, he hadn't really given Harry many warnings about Pettigrew; he had just seen him on the map himself.
How did it become his discovery of Peter Pettigrew again?
Never mind, they were all just titles. What truly mattered was what Old Deng's said, wasn't it?
"Alright, those are roughly my reasons for the recommendation."
Dumbledore bowed slightly, "Now, please cast your votes on whether to approve Dylan Hawkwoodjoining the Wizengamot as the Youth Wizard Representative."
Dylan's face was calm, showing little emotion despite the gazes of others.
With Old Deng's stepping forward to put him in this position, there shouldn't be much of an issue.
The only unknown was Lucius's attitude.
He looked towards Lucius's seat. The other party seemed to sense his gaze and immediately shifted his eyes elsewhere, unconsciously caressing the ballot in front of him. His face was expressionless, with only a hint of undetectable coldness in his eyes.
A moment later, the staff began collecting the ballots.
Dylan clearly saw Lucius tick "abstain" on his ballot, then fold it and hand it over.
Seeing this, several pure-blood Wizards close to the House of Malfoy also hesitated, with some ultimately voting in favor and others, like Lucius, choosing to abstain.
Dylan had no reaction to seeing Lucius select "abstain."
In fact, he was even a little surprised.
This guy actually didn't object?
Had he forgotten how he had cursed him at the bookstore?
His current behavior was truly strange.
Due to Dylan's existence, the plot would certainly no longer unfold as it originally did, step by step.
Now, several Horcruxes were in Dylan's hands.
Would Lord Voldemort appear earlier?
This was very possible.
So... had Lord Voldemort already started contacting Lucius?
Otherwise, it would be difficult to explain his unusual behavior.
Dylan's face was calm, his mind pondering repeatedly.
According to his understanding of the original work, Lucius should only switch allegiance again after Lord Voldemort was fully resurrected and demonstrated absolute power.
Before that,
He would only adopt a wait-and-see attitude and would never easily show his stance.
Dylan mused to himself.
Since he came to this world, he had made many changes to the original plot.
These changes might have disrupted the original timeline, causing some things to deviate from predictions.
However, what did it matter?
Dylan didn't care whether Lord Voldemort was alive or not.
"Alright, let's start counting the votes now."
Fudge's voice interrupted Dylan's thoughts.
He motioned to the meeting recorder standing by.
A young Wizard in a grey uniform with round-rimmed glasses began to sort the collected ballots.
The young Wizard quickly flipped through the ballots, softly counting aloud: "Votes in favor: 1, 2… 4, 5; Votes against: 1… 6; Abstentions: 3."
He double-checked, confirmed it was correct, then looked up and nodded to Fudge.
Fudge cleared his throat, picked up the tally sheet, and his voice echoed through the courtroom: "There are 54 Wizengamot members present at this meeting. According to the count, 45 people are in favor of Dylan Hawkwood serving as the Youth Wizard Representative, 6 are against, and 3 abstained. The number of votes in favor has exceeded two-thirds of the total number, which complies with the Wizengamot charter."
He paused, forcing a perfunctory smile onto his face. Although still reluctant, he announced as per procedure: "I declare Dylan Hawkwood officially the Seventh Wizengamot Youth WizardRepresentative!"
As his words fell,
A round of enthusiastic applause erupted in the courtroom.
Especially from the Wizards of Ravenclaw and Dumbledore's supporters, the applause was particularly loud.
Fudge took a crimson silk robe from an assistant behind him.
The robe's collar and cuffs were embroidered with golden patterns, and the Wizengamot crest was embroidered on the chest, along with an exquisite silver badge.
The badge was engraved with a capital "W" representing the identity of a Wizengamot member.
Fudge stepped forward and solemnly presented the robe and badge to Dylan. His tone was stiff but proper: "On behalf of the British Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot, I extend my congratulations to you."
"This is the exclusive robe and badge for Wizengamot members, and this contract of rights and responsibilities. You need to sign and confirm the contract, clarifying the duties and obligations of a representative."
Dylan reached out and took the robe and badge. The moment his fingertips touched the silk robe, he could feel the fine smoothness of the fabric.
He looked down at the silver "W" badge on his chest, a mix of emotions in his heart.
There was the joy of becoming a representative, but also worry about the future situation.
Dumbledore, sitting below, saw this scene, narrowed his eyes, and smiled with satisfaction, his white beard curling slightly.
He didn't applaud like the others, but gently patted the back of his left hand with his right, his unique way of congratulating, his eyes full of recognition and encouragement for Dylan.
Moody, sitting next to Dumbledore, also smiled for once, his magical eye rotating as he nodded at Dylan.
Dylan returned home, casually putting away the crimson Wizengamot robe and the silver "W" badge.
He walked to his desk, sat down, and picked up the silver contract paper bearing the Wizengamot seal. It still had his blood print from earlier, and the contract had officially taken effect.
He read it carefully, word by word, and found that as a Wizengamot member, he enjoyed quite a few privileges.
Not only could he apply for a reduction in some magical item transaction taxes, but wearing the badge also allowed him to Apparate directly within the Ministry of Magic, without needing to use designated fireplaces.
When he saw the clause about being able to Apparate within the Ministry of Magic, Dylan's eyes suddenly lit up.
This privilege would greatly improve his efficiency!
That was quite good.
Especially considering Lucius's unusual attitude during the day, he was even more certain that Lord Voldemort had begun secretly contacting his old followers.
Let them contact each other, let them gather, and then he would catch them all in one fell swoop.
Dylan smiled.
Many of the Dark Wizards now revered him again.
He wondered if Lord Voldemort would be enraged to death again if he found out about this.
Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind.
Dylan went directly to the laboratory in his suitcase space.
Then he opened a wooden box.
The surface of the wooden box was carved with anti-theft magical runes, and inside, lined with black velvet, was a transparent crystal glass bottle.
The bottle contained a pitch-black heart, its surface covered with protruding blood vessels, beating at an irregular rhythm.
"Thump, thump."
Dense black magic swirled within the bottle, constantly rolling and hitting the bottle walls like a living thing, so agitated as if it would burst free in the next second.
This was the heart of an Obscurial, which Dylan had previously pilfered from Borgin and Burkes.
Dylan took the glass bottle to the window, letting the sunlight shine through the glass onto the heart.
The blood vessels glowed with an eerie black magical light under the sun, clearly long permeated by the power of the Obscurus. The essence of the entire heart had completely changed, becoming a "bomb" containing destructive power.
Dylan raised his wand and injected a trace of his magic into the bottle.
As soon as the magic touched the heart, its beating instantly became violent, the black magic surged even more fiercely, and the bottle walls even developed a faint white frost.
Dylan returned to his bedroom, glancing out the window. The clouds in the sky were growing thicker.
He decided to act when night fell, already planning to give Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters an unexpected surprise.
Night quickly enveloped the land.
Tonight should have been a full moon, but a full moon was completely obscured by layers of thick dark clouds, not a single ray of moonlight could penetrate, and the world was dim.
Mentioning the full moon, Dylan couldn't help but think of Professor Lupin.
Since Borgin had him work at the XY Potion factory, Dylan had specifically added an extra flexible holiday day per month for all employees, in addition to weekends.
Employees could choose their holiday time freely.
At this moment, Lupin was probably using his holiday to go out, and Dylan couldn't control him anyway.
Chapter 317: Lord Voldemort Reappears! Dylan: I Have a Good Idea
To avoid potential trouble, the XY Potion Workshop is being transferred abroad in batches.
Most of the workshop's workers chose to move with it.
Dylan and Borgin had already prepared dormitories for the employees near the new foreign location in advance.
The rooms, designed for four people each, all featured bunk beds with desks below, and each was equipped with an independent bathroom, Muggle water heaters, and ventilation systems. The conditions were even better than many Muggle university dorms.
Many workers were moved to tears upon seeing these arrangements.
Oh my goodness, for them, Dark Wizards with no special abilities, to have a place to settle down was simply blissful!
Thank you, X.Y. Potion!
Although they didn't know who the boss behind X.Y. Potion truly was,
they did know Borgin.
A benevolent merchant!
The person behind him must also be an exceptionally kind individual!
Dylan glanced down at the magic watch on his wrist.
The hands pointed precisely to 1 AM.
At this hour, most Ministry of Magic employees had already left, with only a few on duty.
It was the perfect time for action!
Peter Pettigrew had recently been abducted.
Without a doubt, it was clear that Lord Voldemort had already begun to act.
This indicated that he had probably temporarily revived.
Dylan suddenly had a good idea.
The Ministry of Magic had been in an uproar for days, unable to catch anyone, and was now searching everywhere for Pettigrew.
This was their most vulnerable moment.
Besides, since he was already at the Ministry of Magic, how could he not take a look around other places?
He took a deep breath, concentrated, and a faint blue shimmer of Apparition flashed around him.
The next second, he appeared at the entrance of the corridor on the ninth underground floor of the Ministry of Magic.
This was the jurisdiction of the Department of Mysteries.
The entire corridor was filled with a cold, musty smell.
The walls were made of heavy gray stone, and even the lighting was dimmer than on other floors.
As the Ministry of Magic's top-secret organization,
no one knew exactly what the Unspeakables did.
They only knew that all the tasks they handled were top-secret, and not even the Minister of magiccould inquire about them freely.
At the end of the corridor stood two Aurors on duty, dozing against the wall at this hour.
Dylan lightened his footsteps, quietly circled behind them, and quickly tapped his wand: "Stupefy!"
The two Aurors instantly went limp, falling silently to the ground.
He didn't stop, but cast an Obliviate spell as well.
After ensuring that they wouldn't remember their recent encounter upon waking, he continued into the Department of Mysteries.
This was his first time here, and Dylan was completely unfamiliar with the layout.
Not long after, he entered a circular room.
Everything here was pure black.
The walls were matte black ebony paneling, and the ceiling and floor were polished black marble.
Twelve unmarked ebony doors without handles were evenly distributed around the walls.
At regular intervals, a brass candelabra was embedded in the wall.
The candles on them burned with a faint blue flame, which flickered quietly.
The dim light reflected on the marble floor, like shimmering dark blue ripples.
Dylan tried pushing open the doors one by one, passing through the Planet Room.
Inside, miniature planetary models orbited along their celestial paths.
And the Brain Room.
Gray brains, still wriggling, floated in glass jars.
Finally, behind the innermost door, he found the Hall of Prophecy.
This was a room as towering as a cathedral, with a biting chill in the air.
Dark oak shelves lined all four walls.
The shelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling.
They were densely packed with dusty small glass orbs.
Below each orb, a yellowed parchment label was affixed to the wooden shelf, most of the writing on it faded.
Some glass orbs glowed with mysterious colorful light inside, like containing a small piece of the starry sky.
Others were murky and black, like extinguished light bulbs, lifeless.
More glass orbs lay quietly on the shelves, showing no abnormalities.
Every three shelves, a candelabra was embedded, also burning with a faint blue flame, its cold light casting long shadows of the glass orbs.
Each of these glass orbs corresponded to a prophecy, and outsiders could not glimpse their contents.
Only those related to the prophecy could recognize their own.
Dylan walked directly to the oak shelf marked "97."
The metal number plate was fixed to the side of the shelf with copper nails, its edges already oxidized black.
His gaze swept across the middle shelves and quickly locked onto a half-glowing crystal ball.
It was slightly larger than the surrounding glass orbs, covered with a thin layer of dust, and the date was written on its label in faded ink.
"July 31, 1981"
Below, the name "Harry Potter" was faintly visible.
Dylan took out the transparent glass bottle from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and carefully removed the Obscurial's heart from inside.
The heart was still faintly beating, its black blood vessels clearly visible.
He raised his wand and whispered, "Shrinking Charm!"
As the spell fell, the heart slowly contracted, eventually becoming about the same size as the crystal ball, and the blood vessels also thinned, clinging to the heart's surface.
Immediately after, Dylan waved his wand, and a black halo enveloped the shrunken heart.
Within the halo, the heart did not burn, but gradually softened and liquefied, then turned into a viscous black liquid, slowly flowing out.
It seeped into the crystal ball's surface.
The light inside the crystal ball instantly dimmed.
Then it returned to its original half-glowing state.
However, upon closer inspection, one could notice a subtle, almost imperceptible black pattern inside.
Dylan carved a symbol of holy light at the bottom of the crystal ball with his wand.
This was a temporary magical mark he had thought of, whose specific function was that he could sense its location whenever he approached it.
Having done all this, he put the crystal ball back in its original position, gently adjusting its angle to ensure it aligned with the surrounding glass orbs, leaving no trace of being moved.
He knew very well that he was setting a bait.
To lure Lord Voldemort, who was out of his sight, he had to make him feel that this prey was something he absolutely had to have.
And this seemingly important prophecy orb, in reality, concealed a deadly trap!
As long as Lord Voldemort or his Death Eaters dared to touch this crystal ball, the violent magiccontained within the Obscurial's heart would instantly erupt!
Having completed all this,
Dylan confirmed that no traces were left at the scene, then turned and walked out of the Hall of Prophecy.
He looked around, not venturing into some places with strong magic.
The Ministry of Magic had many interesting places.
He felt that next time he could come fully prepared and explore properly.
Subsequently, Dylan concentrated in the shadows of the corridor, performed Apparition, and instantly left the Ministry of Magic.
Meanwhile, inside the Riddle family's ancestral home outside Little Hangleton, it was pitch black, with only a few broken windows letting in faint moonlight.
The entire building, in the night, resembled a dormant beast, exuding a deadly gloom.
In the darkness, an old man with silver hair carried a kerosene lamp, slowly ascending the creaking wooden staircase.
The old man was Frank Bryce.
He was also the old gardener of the Riddle family.
Decades after the death of the owners, he had never left.
He even came every day to clean the empty house, keeping a semblance of order in the dust-filled rooms.
The crystal chandelier overhead had long been in disrepair, its iron chains rusted, and it swayed with Frank's footsteps, emitting a creaking sound.
"Creak—creak—"
The sound was as sharp as cat claws scraping glass, echoing back and forth in the empty hall and stairwell, gradually fading after a long time.
Frank frowned, unconsciously quickening his pace.
The sound always made his skin crawl.
As he went upstairs, he couldn't help but recall the gruesome deaths of the three Riddle family members decades ago.
When he pushed the door open, all three lay stiffly on the living room floor, their eyes wide open, pupils filled with terror, as if they had seen something extremely terrifying before they died.
When the bodies were discovered, they were already cold and stiff, clearly having been dead for a long time.
But strangely, there were no wounds on their bodies, and the clothes they wore before dinner were perfectly neat.
Forensic examination also found no signs of poisoning.
The police investigated for half a month without any clues, and in the end, they could only hastily close the case, citing sudden illness as the cause.
Somehow, the atmosphere in the ancestral home tonight inexplicably reminded him of that day.
The same biting cold, the same suffocating stillness, as if even the air had solidified.
The chandelier overhead was still swaying, and the sound of the iron chains grew increasingly grating, as if they would snap and fall at any second.
Frank clutched the kerosene lamp in his hand, the flickering flame of the wick illuminating his wrinkled face as he limped onward.
Just then, a faint rustling sound entered his ears, like someone rummaging through things, or something whispering, coming from Old Riddle's bedroom at the very end of the top floor.
Frank's footsteps halted, and he pricked up his ears vigilantly.
No one came to this house except him, could it be a thief?
But he had just checked around the house, and the doors and windows were intact, with no signs of forced entry.
He tightened his grip on the wooden cane in his hand, the metal trim on the head of the cane polished bright.
This was his only weapon.
Reaching the landing, Frank turned right and immediately noticed something amiss.
The previously tightly closed door at the end of the corridor was now ajar.
A faint light emanated from the crack, casting an orange-yellow shadow on the dark floor, in stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.
He held his breath, pressed his side against the wall, and slowly approached step by step, making sure that the floorboards under his feet made no sound with each step.
When he was still three or four steps away from the door, he stopped and peered through the crack.
Although he could only see a narrow strip of the room's interior, it was enough for him to see clearly.
The light was coming from the fire in the fireplace.
This surprised Frank greatly.
When he came to clean yesterday, the fireplace was empty, with no kindling.
He pricked up his ears and listened carefully, and soon caught a man's voice coming from the room, full of timidity and fear, as if pleading with someone, the voice very low and indistinct, but it instantly sent a cold sweat down Frank's back.
"There's still some left in the bottle, Master, if you're still hungry, you can always have more."
A timid voice came from the room, with obvious fawning.
"Later," another voice rang out, also a man's voice, but eerily high-pitched, like the biting cold wind scraping across an icy surface in the dead of winter.
As soon as the voice fell, the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stood on end, a chill shooting from his spine to the top of his head.
"Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail," the cold voice commanded.
Frank immediately pressed his right ear tightly against the door, wanting to hear more clearly.
First, a clanging sound came from the room, like a glass bottle being placed on a hard stone surface.
Then came the grating scrape of heavy chair legs being dragged across the wooden floor.
"Screech—creak—"
The sound was exceptionally clear in the silent house.
Through the crack in the door,
Frank glimpsed a short man with his back to the door, laboriously pushing an oak armchair.
The man wore a long black cloak, and there was a noticeable bald patch on the back of his head.
As he bent down to exert force, the hem of his cloak swept the dust from the floor.
Soon, he pushed the chair to the fireplace, and his figure disappeared from the view of the door crack.
"Where is Nagini?" the cold, hoarse voice rang out again, with a hint of impatience.
"I... I don't know, Master," the timid voice became even more nervous, stammering slightly, "I think... she's probably patrolling the house..."
"Master, we followed your instructions and went to Alastor Moody's residence, but it was empty, and we found nothing."
The man's voice trembled even more violently, "There was only a Two-Way Mirror constantly beeping, and Barty and I waited there for two whole hours, but in the end, we came up empty-handed!"
It was Peter Pettigrew speaking.
He hung his head, his hands tightly clutching the hem of his cloak.
Failing to complete Lord Voldemort's command filled him with fear.
He would never forget what the other party had done to him when he was rescued this time.
The excruciating pain of Crucio could tear his nerves apart!
He would even rather die immediately than experience such torment again!
"Idiot!"
Lord Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, full of rage, "Such a crucial opportunity, and you messed it up!"
He trembled with anger, his already weak body heaving violently due to emotional agitation.
"My carefully planned scheme, all ruined by you, you useless wretch!"
"The boy's blood!"
Lord Voldemort roared, his voice filled with greed and ruthlessness, "I must have his blood, that damned protective magic! I must break it!"
"Wormtail, you disappoint me greatly..."
After venting his anger, Lord Voldemort's voice noticeably weakened, carrying an undisguised fatigue.
His current temporary body was too weak to withstand intense emotional fluctuations.
Despite his burning rage, he ultimately did not harm Peter Pettigrew.
Currently, the servants willing to follow him were few and far between.
Wormtail was one of the few he could command at will.
Rescuing him this time, only to kill him, would only leave him more isolated and helpless.
Chapter 318 Hermione: When did you become the Wizengamot Youth Wizard Representative?!
Damn it, that Karthus!
He actually intercepted a bunch of his former followers!
These damned dog-tails!
I should have killed them all earlier!
"Come here."
Lord Voldemort suppressed his anger and commanded coldly.
He picked up the wand beside him.
When Peter Pettigrew tremblingly approached.
He pressed the tip of his wand against Peter's left arm and slowly channeled his magic.
As magic surged in, the dark mark, a skull and snake, on Peter's arm instantly glowed with a dark red light. The gray-black snake-like pattern in the Mark seemed to come alive, writhing and twisting under the skin, occasionally flicking out its forked tongue.
Just then, Frank heard a whooshing sound from the room, as if something had pierced the air.
This was followed by a soft thud.
A strange male voice spoke, neither the previous timidity nor coldness, but a respectful low tone.
"Master, did you summon me?"
"It is I who called you, Barty."
Lord Voldemort spoke, his pale hand gripping the woolen blanket beside him, wrapping his frail temporary body more tightly.
The coldness of his body made him shiver involuntarily.
"You've been at Malfoy Manor for so long, what is Lucius's attitude now?"
Barty stood by the fireplace, his hands at his sides, his eyes flickering. He hesitated for a few seconds before answering truthfully.
"He... still seems to be hesitating, Master. I mentioned your request, and he said he must see you in person and confirm that your power has recovered before he is willing to truly exert himself."
Tonight was the last night of the Hogwarts students' summer vacation, and the new school year was about to begin tomorrow. Lord Voldemort's heart was filled with urgency.
He couldn't wait to use the school's resources to advance his resurrection plan.
Hearing Lucius's reply, he let out a cold snort from his nostrils.
"I knew it, the cunning old fox, never lets go of a hawk until he sees a rabbit."
He paused, his voice suddenly sharp, "Go to Malfoy Castle now and bring him here, immediately!"
"Yes, Dark Lord!"
Barty bowed, turned, and walked quickly out of the room, his footsteps so hurried they almost raised a wind.
For Malfoy Castle, this was destined to be a sleepless night.
"Hmm, go... go." Lord Voldemort watched Barty's back disappear outside the door, then leaned back in the chair, exhausted.
He had spoken too much tonight, and his already weak body felt even more fatigued. He gazed at the gradually shrinking flames in the fireplace, hoping to snatch a moment of rest with its warmth.
But no sooner had he finished speaking than his ears suddenly twitched. His previously relaxed body instantly tensed, and his voice abruptly became high-pitched and dangerous: "Peter, didn't you hear? Nagini is signaling."
A cruel smile played on his lips: "Oh, it brings interesting news. Outside our room, an old Muggle is pressed against the door, listening to our every word."
Frank's hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up, and a chill shot from his feet to his head.
He was about to turn and run when he heard a "rustling" sound of scales rubbing behind him. The sound was fragmented but clear, making his scalp tingle.
He stiffly turned his head, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest!
A golden snake, as thick as a bowl, was coiled on the stair railing. Its body gleamed coldly, and its blood-red vertical pupils, like two solidified rubies, were fixed on him. Its forked tongue kept flicking out, emitting threatening hisses.
Frank's mind went blank; his only thought was to escape back to his small room, hug a hot water bottle, and lie in his warm bed.
But his legs felt as heavy as lead, his knees trembled uncontrollably, his blood seemed to freeze in his veins, and even breathing became difficult. He could only watch as the snake slowly crawled towards him.
"Creak—"
The room door was pushed fully open, and a bald, short man stepped out.
He wore a tight black top, the muscles on his arms bulging against the fabric, and in his arms, he held something wrapped in dark purple cloth.
Upon closer inspection, it was a tiny infant, but the infant's appearance sent shivers down one's spine.
The infant's skin was an eerie reddish color, as if scorched by fire, covered in fine, dark scales that clung tightly to the skin, without a single hair.
Its round head gleamed greasily, like a peeled braised egg. What should have been a tender infant's face had adult features.
Its brow bones were prominent, its eye sockets deep, its lips thin as a line, and its blood-red vertical pupils were identical to the large snake's. Where its nose should be, there were only two small slits that would slightly open and close when it breathed.
In its arms, it clutched a yew wand longer than its own arm. Because its hands were too small, it could only hold it tightly with both tiny hands, the tip of the wand steadily aimed at Frank.
A hoarse voice, as if squeezed from rusted tin, carried the icy breath of death, echoing in the empty corridor.
"Avada Kedavra!"
On Platform 9 3.
Steam billowed, and the Hogwarts Express blew a long whistle on time, its wheels slowly turning.
Dylan put away his wand.
The umbrella that had suddenly popped out of the wand's tip was still wet with raindrops. He gently waved his wand, and the umbrella surface instantly vanished, leaving only the smooth shaft.
Then, he picked up the suitcase at his feet, its surface damp with the platform's humidity.
He cast a drying spell on the suitcase, and the dampness immediately disappeared, before he tucked the suitcase under the seat.
Harry sat opposite him, clutching his wand with both hands, and after some hesitation, spoke: "Dylan, I had a particularly strange dream last night."
His eyes were somewhat dazed, as if he hadn't quite escaped the vividness of the dream. "In the dream, I seemed to turn into a large python, crawling along the ground, and then I saw Lord Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew... They were talking about killing me, and they also mentioned attacking someone named Alastor Moody, but it seemed to fail in the end."
Harry recalled as he spoke, his words coming faster and faster, his hands even gesturing unconsciously, as if the dream scene was happening right before his eyes.
"The feeling was so real, I could even feel the sensation of snake scales rubbing against the ground, and that cold voice when Lord Voldemort spoke..."
"It's just a dream, Harry, don't think too much about it."
Dylan interrupted him, but secretly noted down the content.
It seemed that this year's Moody hadn't been swapped yet, but Lord Voldemort would definitely find other ways to lead Harry into the Goblet of Fire trap.
Go, go.
Let the righteous child deal with the evil Dark Lord.
Dylan looked at Ron beside him: "By the way, how was the Quidditch World Cup for you guys?"
Hermione, sitting next to Dylan, holding a History of magic textbook, also looked up at Harry and Ronupon hearing this.
"It was absolutely amazing!" Ron instantly became excited, leaning forward and describing it with animated gestures, "I was originally supporting the Ireland Team, and their teamwork was indeed impressive, but Krum... he's a genius!"
At the mention of Krum, Ron's eyes lit up, and he excitedly mimicked the Quidditch moves.
"When he flew in the sky, his movements were more agile than any Seeker, he was simply an aerial artist!"
"If I could meet him up close, I'd be willing to be single for ten years!" Ron grew more and more excited, even slapping the table, "If he could come to Hogwarts, even if it meant taking ten years off my life, it would be worth it!"
Dylan looked at Ron's fanatical expression and couldn't help but eye him strangely.
From Scabbers suddenly turning back into Peter Pettigrew last year, to now casually saying he hoped Krum would come to Hogwarts.
Ron's words always seemed to "come true" inexplicably, almost as if they were blessed.
Ron noticed his gaze, scratched his head, and asked in confusion: "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?"
"Nothing."
Dylan picked up the pumpkin juice on the table, took a sip, then turned to everyone, "By the way, Professor McGonagall said earlier that she would arrange a placement test for us at the start of school. How are you all prepared?"
Hermione immediately frowned and closed her book: "I've only reviewed the textbooks twice, I don't know if that's enough. Dylan, do you think Professor McGonagall will make the test particularly difficult?"
Her fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the book pages, clearly a bit worried.
Harry immediately lowered his head and averted his gaze when he heard the words "test."
He had been worrying about the dream all summer and hadn't really reviewed much, so he was speechless for a moment.
"Oh my goodness! How could I forget about this!" Ron suddenly yelled, his face instantly turning pale, as if he had seen an Acromantula, filled with fear, "If I fail, my mum will definitely hit my head hard with her wand when she finds out my grades!"
"Relax, Ron, it's just a placement test, isn't it?" Harry tried to comfort him, but it had little effect.
Ron slumped on the table, his voice utterly dejected: "I can't relax! I haven't memorized the spells for Charms Class, I can only Transfigure a teacup into a mouse, I can't even brew a basic antidote in Potion Class, I've mixed up half the plant names for Herbology Class, I can't understand the star charts for Astronomy Class at all, and I completely slacked off in Divination Class..."
He looked up, despairingly at the three of them: "Do you think Professor McGonagall will kick me out of Hogwarts if I do too badly?"
"Let's not talk about this." Harry spoke, his voice a bit muffled.
He lowered his head, picking at the cuff of his school uniform.
He was reflecting on his summer days.
Every day he either played Quidditch with the Weasley children or went exploring the edge of the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. He played and had fun, and in a blink, the holiday was over, and he hadn't even opened his textbooks more than a few times.
He couldn't help but think to himself.
If he had another chance, he would definitely... have even more fun!
After all, studying isn't as interesting as flying on a broom.
Harry pulled a perfectly packaged pumpkin pasty from his backpack and handed it to the still sighing Ron, instantly silencing his complaints.
"Look, your Pigwidgeon is here." Harry pointed out the window. A brown and white owl was flapping its wings, clutching a rolled-up newspaper in its talons, and landed steadily on the compartment window sill.
This was Ron's new pet after losing Scabbers, and it had a lively personality.
Most importantly, it was just an ordinary owl, not an Animagus.
Ron could finally hold it in his arms and sleep peacefully.
Pigwidgeon gently pecked Ron's finger and placed the newspaper on the table.
"May I see it?" Hermione put down her History of magic textbook, her eyes on the newspaper.
Ron was taking large bites of his pumpkin pasty, too busy to speak, so he just nodded vigorously and mumbled a vague "Mmm."
Hermione carefully unfolded the newspaper, and the headline on the front page instantly caught her eye.
"Dylan Hawkwood Elected Seventh Wizengamot Youth Wizard Representative, Setting Records for Youngest and First Muggle-Born"
Below the headline was a photograph.
Dylan, dressed in a well-tailored custom suit, stood in the center of the Ministry of Magic's atrium, holding a silver "W" badge, a confident smile on his face, looking spirited.
"Dylan? When did you become the Wizengamot Youth Wizard Representative?!" Hermione's voice was filled with shock.
She put down the newspaper, looking at Dylan with disbelief.
"What? What representative?" Harry was stunned.
Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione understood the weight of this title.
Hermione subconsciously explained: "Leaving aside the power this position brings, just looking at the history shows how rare it is. Before, there were only six youth representatives, and each one was a top figure among underage Wizards."
"And of the past six, four later became British Minister of magic or Chief Wizengamot Wizard, and the other two's achievements in magical academia are even worthy of being recorded in history!"
She paused, her tone becoming more serious, "It can be said that as long as you become this representative, it's equivalent to pre-ordering a Chocolate Frog card; you will become a figure known to all Wizards in the future!"
"It was just a few days ago. Dumbledore was my recommender, and the Wizengamot members were quite agreeable."
Dylan shrugged: "I still haven't figured out why Professor Dumbledore arranged this for me."
Harry and Ron, however, looked bewildered, completely unaware of the significance of the title.
In their eyes, they probably just thought it "sounded impressive," but didn't know exactly why, so they just nodded along.
Just then, the compartment door was suddenly pushed open forcefully, hitting the wall with a loud bang, making a harsh sound.
Dylan frowned, stood up to see who was so impolite, and as soon as he stood, he saw a head of light blonde hair peek in.
It was Draco Malfoy.
Behind him were Crabbe and Goyle, two burly figures. All three wore well-tailored Wizard robes, with arrogant expressions on their faces, looking as if they were looking for trouble.
A hint of confusion flashed in Dylan's eyes.
Had Draco not learned his lesson?
After being taught a lesson a few times, this guy usually avoided him. Why was he suddenly daring to confront him today?
He looked at Draco.
Draco met his gaze, his heart suddenly tightened, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his back.