Chapter 423 - Ch: 319-322

Chapter 319: The Triwizard Tournament Will Be Held at Hogwarts This Year!

That gaze was too terrifying, like being locked onto by a soaring eagle, as if it would swoop down and tear at him in the next second.

The arrogant air the pretty boy had earlier instantly dissipated by more than half.

"Hmph, don't think you're so great just because you're some kind of Youth Wizard representative!" Draco swallowed, his voice trembling slightly, his face pale, but it was clearly a facade of bravery, "A Mudblood like you will be dealt with one day!"

He spoke harsh words, but after saying them, he unconsciously took half a step back.

"Expelliarmus!"

As soon as Dylan's voice fell, a dazzling holy light quickly flew towards Draco.

His magic strength was very high, even compared to Dumbledore, it might not be much weaker.

So even if he deliberately held back and controlled the force, the spell's speed was still incredibly fast, carrying a powerful impact.

Draco didn't even have time to raise his wand to defend before the holy light hit his chest.

He only felt a huge force strike him, and his body instantly lost balance.

It was clearly an Expelliarmus.

Yet, he flew backward like a kite with a broken string.

With a "thud"!

He crashed into the corridor wall outside the compartment door and slid to the ground.

Crabbe and Goyle behind him were half a beat slow in reacting, but they were also affected by the aftershock of the spell, stumbling and falling, landing on top of Draco.

"Get up! Get up now!" Draco struggled to his feet, licking his somewhat pale lips with his tongue, his face extremely grim.

Crabbe and Goyle quickly got up, then stepped forward, supporting him one on each side.

He glared viciously at Dylan, Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the compartment.

"You all just wait! My father won't let you off!"

Draco left a threatening remark, his voice trembling slightly from anger and pain.

After speaking, he dared not linger any longer, stumbling away down the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle, even his retreating figure looking disheveled.

Ron watched them disappear, couldn't help but shiver, and reached out to touch his arm: "What's wrong with him today? He actually dared to come and provoke us."

Harry also nodded, his tone full of confusion: "Yeah, for the past three years, even if he wanted to cause trouble, as long as Dylan was around, he never dared to be presumptuous."

"But today, not only did he come, he went straight for Dylan? Is he crazy?"

Both felt that Draco's behavior today was unusually abnormal, completely inconsistent with his usual bullying of the weak and fearing the strong.

Dylan, however, didn't pay much attention to Draco's insults, merely sitting in his seat, deep in thought.

He was trying to find a reason for Draco's abnormal behavior just now.

In fact, Draco grew up in the Slytherin environment from a young age.

And was indoctrinated with the House of Malfoy's "pure-blood supremacy" ideology.

He inherently harbored prejudice against Wizards of Muggle origin.

But in the past, no matter how arrogant he was, he understood how to weigh strength and would not actively provoke someone clearly stronger than himself.

Could it be that the riots after the Quidditch World Cup affected him?

Or… has Lucius already met Lord Voldemort?

Dylan gradually formed a guess in his mind.

If Lucius had truly rejoined Lord Voldemort, he would certainly reveal something to Draco, making him feel that the House of Malfoy had a backer again, which would give him the audacity to provoke him so recklessly.

After all, in Draco's eyes, his father's support was his greatest confidence, enough to give him the illusion that "he's back in business."

Thinking of this, a hint of a smile appeared in Dylan's eyes.

It seems that Lord Voldemort's forces will indeed resurface in the dark, and even the House of Malfoyhas started to make moves. The coming days, for others, might not be peaceful.

However, for him, this meant a lot of resources and test subjects!

The Hogwarts Express gradually slowed down, the sound of wheels rubbing against the tracks becoming lighter and lighter.

Finally, accompanied by a long and deep whistle, it steadily stopped at the platform of HogsmeadeStation.

Outside the train window, large raindrops were falling densely, the sky was covered by heavy dark clouds, and from time to time, a silver-white lightning bolt tore across the sky, briefly illuminating the dim platform.

Students who had gotten off earlier mostly didn't have umbrellas and were drenched, their school uniforms clinging to their bodies, hair dripping water, only able to run frantically under the station eaves, clutching their book bags.

Dylan stood up, walked to the carriage door, raised his wand towards his head and the heads of Harry, Ron, and Hermione beside him, and softly chanted: "Obstacles!"

A transparent, invisible barrier instantly formed, moving synchronously with the four as they moved. Rainwater falling on the barrier immediately diverted to both sides, not even a speck of moisture touching their clothes.

Then, he pointed his wand at the ground.

The muddy and footprint-filled path, which had become impassable due to the rain, quickly solidified and hardened under the spell, transforming into a flat, bluish-grey flagstone path in the blink of an eye.

Although the surface of the flagstones still had a damp sheen, it would no longer get people's feet muddy. Students who got off the train later walked on the flagstone path, unable to help but show surprised expressions.

Outside the station, several Thestral carriages were already waiting there.

Dylan looked at the group of gaunt Thestrals.

Their bodies were covered with sparse black feathers, their wings dry, their eyes hollow, yet they exuded a mysterious power.

He couldn't help but recall how he had previously extracted dozens of tubes of blood from Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest.

The blood was a peculiar silver-grey, much thicker than ordinary animal blood.

At the time, he detected that the vitality contained within it was not much weaker than the blood of long-lived Vampires.

It was a good raw material for Potions.

Dylan looked at the Thestrals, heads down, munching on hay, faithfully pulling the carriages, and smiled slightly.

Those dozens of tubes of blood wouldn't last long, and they were just about used up recently.

It seems he could visit the Forbidden Forest a few more times to borrow some more blood from these little fellows.

The carriage moved forward through the rain.

Soon, the huge silhouette of Hogwarts Castle appeared before them.

Black towers pierced through the clouds, and warm yellow lights shone from the windows.

Dylan got off the carriage and, along with a group of drenched students looking like drowned rats, quickly walked through the Castle gates.

As soon as he stepped into the entrance hall, he saw Old Deng's standing not far away.

He raised his wand and waved it lightly, and a blurry, pale blue light door immediately appeared at the entrance to the Great Hall.

Students passed through the light door one by one, and the rainwater on their bodies instantly disappeared, their soaked school uniforms becoming dry and soft, and even their hair regained its fluffiness.

It felt as if even if they had ten kilograms of rainwater on them, it would all be thoroughly dried by this magic.

Inside the Great Hall, the teachers were already seated behind the long tables.

Snape, wearing his signature black robes, still had a face so gloomy it looked like it was about to drip water, his brow tightly furrowed, clearly in an extremely bad mood.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts Class Professor position he had coveted for years had been snatched by someone else again this year, and he still hadn't gotten his wish.

"That damned old busybody!"

Snape cursed silently in his heart, his eyes filled with resentment, "He'd rather give the position to an outsider than grant it to me!"

He clenched his hands under the table, his knuckles white.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore, whom he called "the old busybody," was sitting smilingly at the center of the teachers' table, his white beard slightly upturned, his gaze gently sweeping over the bustling students in the Great Hall, completely unaware of Snape's complaints beside him.

In fact, even if he had noticed, he would probably just pretend not to see it.

He had long grown accustomed to Snape's obsession with teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.

The real Alastor Moody was not sitting in the usual teacher's seat, but rather directly perched on a high wooden table at the front of the classroom.

His face was covered with crisscrossing scars, one of which extended from his forehead to his chin, looking particularly hideous.

His iconic magical eye rotated constantly in its socket, its silver iris reflecting the candlelight of the Great Hall, sweeping over every corner below the stage, scrutinizing the students of Hogwarts, not even the little wizard hiding in the back rows escaping its gaze.

Seeing him in this state, many students below showed expressions of fear.

A few timid first-years even secretly shrank behind their companions, and others exchanged glances, vying to move to seats further away from the podium.

After all, no one wanted to be stared at by that eerie magical eye for a long time.

Moody saw these small movements clearly but paid no mind to them at all.

He simply rested one hand on the table, while the other toyed with his wand, his eyes containing the sharp intensity characteristic of an Auror.

Soon, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and placed a three-legged stool on the clear space in front of the first-year students.

The stool looked a bit old, with some wood grain stains still clinging to its legs.

She then took out a Wizard's hat from her cloth bag.

The hat was tattered, its brim heavily worn, its surface covered in a lot of dust, and patched with several different colored pieces of fabric, making it look as if it had been discarded for a long time, completely out of place in the magnificent Great Hall.

The first-year students stared blankly at the hat, their eyes full of confusion.

Earlier, on the Hogwarts Express, Fred and George, the Weasley twins, had spread their impromptu "Sorting Conspiracy Theory" everywhere.

They claimed that the Sorting ceremony at Hogwarts held a secret, possibly even related to Dark Wizards.

These words had left the already nervous new students in a state of panic, and they had spent the entire journey worrying about what strange methods the Sorting would use, with some even fearing they would be asked to perform dangerous magic tests.

Now, seeing only an ordinary old hat, the new students all breathed a long sigh of relief, and their eyes were full of resentment when they looked in the direction of Fred and George.

These two red-haired upperclassmen actually tricked them with such a thing, making them worry for nothing the whole way; it was simply too much!

Just then, the Great Hall suddenly fell silent.

Following that, a crack near the brim of the old hat slowly opened, like a small mouth, and then a melodious song emerged.

It was over a thousand years ago, when I was first woven into being,

By four renowned Wizards, whose stories are still remembered today.

Brave and fearless Gryffindor, from that barren marshland,

Intelligent and beautiful Ravenclaw, from that tranquil riverbank,

Kind and benevolent Hufflepuff, from that open valley floor,

Shrewd and decisive Slytherin, from that dark and muddy fen.

They shared a common dream, and held the same wish,

To devise a bold plan, to nurture young Wizards to grow and transform,

Hogwarts School of magic, thus established in the valley.

These four great Wizards, each founded their own House,

They held different emphases and insights regarding students' talents.

Gryffindor always believed that the bravest souls should receive the highest praise,

Ravenclaw firmly believed that the most intelligent minds always find the longest path,

Hufflepuff sincerely felt that the most diligent figures were worthy of entering the House's door,

Slytherin, however, favored young people with great ambition, willing to go all out for their goals.

During the years the four great Wizards were alive, they personally selected their favored disciples,

But when they lay in eternal sleep, how would excellent successors be chosen?

It was Gryffindor who first came up with a method, taking me from his head,

All four founders imbued me with their thoughts, and from then on, I would judge and select!

Alright, now place me firmly on your head,

I have never been wrong about anyone,

Let me carefully look into your mind,

And decide which House you belong to!

As the song ended, after a brief silence in the Great Hall, warm applause erupted, and even Moodyuncharacteristically clapped his hands softly.

In truth, the Sorting Hat's song was not particularly melodious; its tune was sometimes off-key, sometimes drawn out, but no one cared about these things.

Everyone respected it from the bottom of their hearts.

One must know that, in a magical world generally lacking musical talent,

This old hat could manage to compose a new song almost every year, and accurately align it with the history and current situation of Hogwarts; this persistence and creativity were truly rare.

The applause gradually subsided.

Professor McGonagall unfolded a thick roll of parchment from her arm, its edges yellowed, covered with densely written names in ink.

She cleared her throat and said to the first-year students standing in front, "When I call your name, please step forward, pick up the Sorting Hat, put it on your head, and sit on that three-legged stool."

"Once the hat announces your House, you may then go and sit at the corresponding House table."

"Stewart Ackley!" Professor McGonagall called out the first name.

A tall, thin boy immediately stepped out from the line of new students; his legs were visibly trembling slightly, his hands were tightly clenched, and even the tips of his ears were a nervous pink.

He walked to the stool, carefully picked up the Sorting Hat as if afraid of damaging this magical hat, and gently placed it on his head.

Then he slowly sat down, his eyes tightly closed, waiting for the result.

In just a few seconds, the Sorting Hat's voice rang out: "Ravenclaw!"

The Ravenclaw table immediately erupted in cheers.

The boy suddenly opened his eyes, a surprised smile on his face, and quickly ran to his designated seat.

The Sorting ceremony proceeded in an orderly fashion, with new students stepping forward one by one, from Gryffindor to Hufflepuff, from Ravenclaw to Slytherin.

Cheers occasionally erupted from the long tables of each House, until the last little wizard was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall put away the parchment.

Almost at the moment the Sorting ended, flashes of golden light appeared, and the long tables were instantly laden with a sumptuous feast.

Golden-brown, crispy roasted turkeys were still steaming, their skin glistening with oil.

Piles of mashed potatoes were drizzled with thick gravy.

Various vegetable salads were elegantly arranged, with silver pitchers full of pumpkin juice beside them.

The strawberries and blueberries in the fruit bowls were plump and juicy, exuding a sweet aroma.

The students from the four Houses could no longer hold back; the moment they saw the food, they all picked up their knives and forks, eager to feast.

Dumbledore's pre-dinner speech was exceptionally concise; he just smiled and said one word.

"Eat!"

Outside the window, heavy rain continued to beat against the tall black windows.

Raindrops splattered on the glass, making a "pitter-patter" sound.

Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder boomed, and the entire Great Hall seemed to shake.

The glass windows rattled.

A flash of lightning tore through the gloomy sky, instantly illuminating the golden dinner plates inside the Great Hall.

The remaining main courses on the plates instantly vanished.

In the blink of an eye, they were piled high with all sorts of desserts.

A chocolate fountain gurgled with rich chocolate sauce, with fresh fruit skewers arranged beside it.

Cream cakes were layered, adorned with colorful frosting.

There were also crispy biscuits and soft, sticky puddings, an dazzling array.

Under the students' "storm-like" assault, even the desserts were quickly cleared away.

The last bit of biscuit crumbs vanished from the plates, and the plates, which had been covered in food residue, instantly became sparkling clean, gleaming with a silvery sheen.

Just then, Albus Dumbledore slowly stood up.

The buzzing chatter in the Great Hall instantly ceased, leaving only the sound of the howling wind outside the windows and the rain beating against the glass.

"Alright!" Dumbledore smiled as he looked at the students filling the Great Hall, his voice gentle yet clear enough, "Now that everyone has eaten enough, I must once again ask for silence to announce a few important notices."

He first recited a few old, familiar rules.

Students were forbidden from leaving their dormitories without permission after curfew, forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest, and forbidden from using dangerous magic in the corridors.

Then, he turned and pointed to Moody, who was sitting at the teachers' table, introducing him to everyone: "This is Alastor Moody, an experienced senior Auror, and starting today, he will be our Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Class Professor."

Moody stood up and nodded slightly to the students, his magical eye beginning to swivel around again, drawing quiet murmurs from many students.

Once everyone's attention was refocused, Dumbledore's tone suddenly became somewhat serious: "I must also regretfully inform you all that the House Quidditch Cup will not be held this year."

These words were like a stone thrown into a calm lake; a ripple of astonished murmurs immediately spread through the Great Hall.

Students whispered to each other, their faces full of disbelief, especially the players who had already been preparing for the Quidditch match, who showed expressions of disappointment.

Dumbledore waited for the murmuring to subside a little before continuing: "The reason the Quidditchmatch is canceled is because a major event will begin in October and last the entire school year, requiring a great deal of time and energy from the teachers. But I believe the enjoyment this event will bring you will certainly be no less than that of the Quidditch match."

He paused, a look of anticipation on his face, and raised his voice to announce: "I am very pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year!"

Chapter 320: A Ten Thousand Galleon Prize!

As soon as the news of the Triwizard Tournament broke, the long tables of the four Houses immediately showed vastly different reactions.

Some students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw cheered, having clearly heard of the event before.

But many more students looked bewildered, and Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table, was one of them.

As a Wizard from a Muggle background, he knew nothing about this traditional Wizarding Worldevent.

In fact, most of those unaware, like Harry, were Muggle-born or little wizards whose families didn't often interact with the core circles of the Wizarding World.

This was understandable.

They had only been exposed to the magic world for a few years at most.

In terms of magical cultural common sense, they naturally couldn't compare to children who had grown up in Wizarding families, listening to stories of the event since childhood.

This was like an invisible cultural barrier, separating Wizards of two different upbringings.

Professor Dumbledore clearly noticed the differences among the students. He smiled gently and began to explain, "I imagine many of you haven't heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so I will give a brief introduction. I also ask those who are already familiar with the situation to bear with us and allow your minds to wander for a moment."

He paused, his voice becoming distant: "The Triwizard Tournament was founded over seven hundred years ago, originally as a friendly competition between the three largest magic schools in Europe."

"These three schools are our Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy of magic in France, and Durmstrang Institute in Bulgaria."

"The rules of the competition are simple: each school selects its most outstanding student as a Champion, and the three Champions must complete three extremely difficult magic tasks."

"The event is held every five years, hosted in rotation by the three schools."

"Initially, everyone thought this was a good opportunity for young Wizards from different countries to forge friendships and exchange magic, but later, due to the excessively high number of casualties in the competition, the Triwizard Tournament was reluctantly suspended."

When he said "suspended," Professor Dumbledore's lips tightened, and a trace of regret flashed in his eyes.

Clearly, he deeply regretted the discontinuation of this ancient event.

"Deaths?" Hermione immediately gasped in a low voice, her eyes wide as she instinctively looked around to see others' reactions.

But most of the students in the Great Hall weren't as nervous as she was; many were even more excited, whispering to each other about the thrill behind "deaths." Even Harry and Ron's eyes were shining.

Hermione couldn't help but ask Dylan, "Dylan, will you participate in this competition?"

Dylan's expression was not as agitated as those around him; he remained as calm as usual.

He smiled, "Let's hear Professor Dumbledore finish first, and then we'll see the specific arrangements for the competition."

Professor Dumbledore's voice continued, "For centuries, people have tried to revive the Triwizard Tournament, but each time it failed due to safety concerns."

"However, this time, the Ministry of Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation and Department of Magical Games and Sports have assessed that the time is ripe for its re-establishment."

"Throughout the summer, we have been preparing for the safety of the event, precisely to ensure that no Champion will face life-threatening danger."

Upon hearing this, only Dylan and a few Professors in the Great Hall showed knowing expressions.

They all knew that Professor Dumbledore's words were somewhat "nonsense."

Throughout the summer, Professor Dumbledore had focused almost all his energy on searching for Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.

He had little time to manage the event's preparations.

As for Hogwarts' security, it was probably, like the annual Sorting Ceremony, entirely entrusted to Professor McGonagall.

"In October, the Principals of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will personally lead their schools' candidate students to Hogwarts."

"The official ceremony for selecting the Champions will be held on Halloween, where an impartial judge will select the students most qualified to represent their respective schools."

"The ultimate winning Champion will not only bring honor to their school but also receive a prize of ten thousand Galleons!"

"Ten thousand Galleons?"

As these words fell, the Great Hall instantly fell silent, and almost everyone's breath hitched.

Even the students from pure-blood noble families in Slytherin knew the weight of this sum!

One must know that ten thousand Galleons was equivalent to several years' total income for ten middle-class families in the Wizarding World!

For students still in school, it was an absolutely irresistible and immense temptation!

Professor Dumbledore waited for everyone to digest the news of the prize money before continuing with a smile, "I know many of you want to win the trophy for Hogwarts and earn honor and prize money for yourselves."

"But after unanimous discussion among the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic, we have decided to set an age limit for this year's participants. Only students who are seventeen years old, meaning they are already adults, will be allowed to register."

"We believe this will ensure the safety of the participants to the greatest extent."

"That's not fair!" No sooner had Professor Dumbledore finished speaking than the Weasley twins abruptly stood up, their voices filled with excitement.

They were still a few months shy of seventeen, and if this rule was strictly enforced, they would completely lose the chance to compete for ten thousand Galleons.

That was ten thousand Galleons!

This money was crucial for their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!

Even though Dylan had previously expressed his support for them and had indeed provided it, who wouldn't want to have more Galleons?

George quietly leaned towards Dylan, lowering his voice, his tone full of anticipation: "Dylan, just imagine, if we could become Hogwarts Champions and get ten thousand Galleons, Fred and I would never have to worry about funding for our joke shop again! You wouldn't have to always support us. Of course, the share we promised you before will definitely not be less."

"Then, we'll be able to get the best magical materials, develop more new tricks, and we'll definitely become famous throughout the Wizarding World!"

He gestured with his hands as he spoke, his eyes shining.

Professor Dumbledore then slightly raised his voice, his steady tone overriding the whispers and protests in the Great Hall.

"Setting an age limit is very necessary. Even with all our safety preparations, the Triwizard Tournamenttasks are still arduous and dangerous, and students below sixth year simply don't have the ability to cope."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. When it landed on Fred and George, they were frowning, clearly looking unconvinced.

A meaningful glint, however, flashed in Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes, as if he had already seen through their thoughts.

"I can guarantee that no student who is underage will be able to fool the impartial judge and become a Hogwarts Champion."

Professor Dumbledore's tone was firm, carrying an unquestionable authority.

At this point, he deliberately paused, his gaze slowly shifting to Dylan, who remained calm in the crowd, before continuing, "Of course, if you truly have the ability to trick that judge..."

"Then I believe the judges will also approve, because you would have already attained a sufficient level of magic and would be fully qualified to be a Champion."

These words were like a stone dropped into water; the students, who had been agitated by the age restriction, instantly quieted down, and the light in many eyes rekindled.

They began to ponder in their hearts whether their magic level was strong enough, and if they could find a way to circumvent the age limit.

Because of those ten thousand Galleons, a strange confidence swelled in many hearts.

Some even began to fantasize about the scene after becoming a Champion.

Standing on the podium, holding up the Triwizard Cup, clutching ten thousand Galleons in prize money, and receiving cheers from all the teachers and students!

Perhaps they could even win the favor of their beloved, and from then on, reach the pinnacle of life!

Professor Dumbledore looked at the varied expressions of the students below, knowing they were once again "daydreaming." He cleared his throat, interrupting their thoughts.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts in October and will spend most of this school year with us."

His tone softened slightly: "I trust that during the stay of our foreign guests, you will all behave warmly and courteously, and moreover, once the Hogwarts Champion is determined, everyone will wholeheartedly support him or her."

"Alright, it's getting late now."

Professor Dumbledore glanced at the magical clock at the top of the Great Hall, "It's more important than anything else that you all come to class tomorrow morning feeling refreshed and clear-headed. Everyone, go to bed! And quickly!"

In these last few sentences, Professor Dumbledore clearly used magic; his voice carried a peculiar penetrating quality that made the students who heard it instinctively obey his command.

Those who had been lingering finally stood up, gathered their belongings, and headed towards their dormitories. Even the Weasley twins, who had been complaining moments before, could only grudgingly follow the crowd out.

But once the students returned to their respective common rooms or lay down on the soft beds in their dormitories, the thoughts that had been influenced by magic slowly returned.

Someone scratched their head and mumbled, "What exactly did Professor Dumbledore say just now?"

The person next to them frowned in recollection: "He seemed to mention an age limit? And foreign schools?"

Many more couldn't even recall the details clearly, only vaguely remembering keywords like "Triwizard Tournament," "Champion," and "ten thousand Galleons."

But these vague memories did not diminish their enthusiasm in the slightest.

Almost every student silently repeated in their hearts:

"No matter what, I'm going to participate in the Triwizard Tournament! I must become a champion and make a name for myself!"

Some people even started to devise ways to sign up in their minds, and even those lying in bed tossed and turned, too excited to sleep.

On the other side, Dylan was already lying in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory.

He pulled back a corner of the curtain; the heavy rain outside the window had stopped at some point, and a bright yellow moon hung in the sky, its soft light spilling onto the windowsill.

The evening breeze, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, blew in through the gap in the curtains, brushing his cheek and dispelling the lingering summer heat, making him feel exceptionally refreshed.

From the curtains next to him, a strange "giegie" laugh occasionally sounded, and he knew without thinking that it was Harry.

Dylan guessed he was probably still pondering about the Triwizard Tournament, perhaps fantasizing about becoming a champion, which would explain such a laugh.

Dylan stared at the moon outside the window, repeatedly mulling over something in his mind.

What exactly did Professor Dumbledore's gaze at him during the feast mean?

Did he hope Dylan would participate in the Triwizard Tournament?

However, he didn't really want to compete directly; instead, he preferred to be an invisible man, operating behind the scenes.

As for the prize money of ten thousand Galleons, Dylan didn't even pay it any mind.

With the profits from the XY Potion Workshop, he already possessed wealth far exceeding that amount.

For him, the prize money was far less important than the Dementors, Death Eaters, and Lord Voldemort.

His current suitcase space world had also become increasingly vast due to the torrent of Galleons.

The bright moon in the sky slowly moved, gradually moving out of Dylan's window, and the light in the room dimmed.

Without the moon's disturbance, sleepiness slowly crept in.

Dylan closed his eyes and soon fell into a peaceful slumber.

Whenever it was time to sleep, no one and nothing would weigh on his mind.

The next day was Monday; just as dawn broke, Hogwarts Castle was enveloped in a faint mist.

This was the first morning of fourth year.

Dylan had already appeared on the path outside the Castle.

Last night's heavy rain left the path still a bit muddy; stepping on it, he could feel wet earth clinging to the soles of his shoes, yet the air was filled with the unique freshness after rain, mixed with the scent of grass and leaves, which was particularly invigorating.

He first went to feed his and Luna's owls, then left, finally stopping at the Great Hall's main entrance.

Just then, a silver cat-shaped Patronus leaped from the highest tower of the Castle, its movements as light as a breeze, landing on Dylan's shoulder in a few bounds.

The Patronus's mouth slightly opened, and Professor McGonagall's gentle but slightly stern voice came through: "Dylan, if you have time, please come to my office; I have something to discuss with you."

As her voice faded, the Patronus dissolved into specks of silver light.

Dylan tilted his head.

Upon arriving at Professor McGonagall's office, a fire was already lit in the fireplace, making the room warm and cozy.

"Professor, is there something you need?"

"Ah, nothing much, I just haven't had the chance to congratulate you on becoming the youth Wizardrepresentative for the Wizengamot. That's quite an accomplishment."

Dylan was stunned.

So, she called him up just to congratulate him?

"Thank you."

At this moment, Professor McGonagall began to talk about the recently announced Triwizard Tournament.

Her tone carried a hint of anticipation: "To be honest, I wish you would be the Hogwarts champion. With your abilities, the Triwizard Cup would practically be a certainty, and it would ease our worries."

Dylan blinked, and just as he was about to mention Professor Dumbledore's previous attitude, Professor McGonagall interrupted him.

She frowned, her voice a bit angry: "Don't even mention Albus to me! All summer, he dumped all of Hogwarts's affairs, big and small, on me and ran off to busy himself with those nonsensical things!"

She paused, as if remembering something even more infuriating: "The most infuriating thing is Sybill Trelawney! She got drunk a while ago and started talking nonsense, actually claiming that Albus would become very weak, and Albus actually believed her! Can you believe it? He would actually believe the gibberish of a Divination Professor who's always spouting nonsense!"

"—Of course, I'm not saying all Divination Professors are fake, um, anyway, you understand."

Dylan smiled but didn't say much more.

He knew Professor McGonagall was just venting her emotions.

His schedule for today wasn't too packed, but it wasn't light either.

The first class in the morning was Herbology Class, followed by Care of Magical Creatures.

After a brief chat with Professor McGonagall, he bid her farewell.

Dylan walked towards the Herbology Class greenhouses.

Professor Sprout was already there; seeing him, she smiled gently and waved him to find a seat: "Come on in, you're just in time to see the new plants."

As soon as Dylan sat down, he looked in the direction Professor Sprout pointed.

On the planting shelves in the center of the greenhouse, there were several pots of strange "plants."

They didn't resemble common flowers or grasses at all; instead, they looked more like clusters of dark, slimy giant slugs, emerging straight from the damp soil, about as long as an adult's forearm.

Even stranger, these "plants" were slightly wriggling, their surfaces covered with shiny, large bulges, which seemed to contain transparent liquid that gently swayed with the wriggling, looking somewhat eerie.

"These are Bubotuber plants."

Professor Sprout held a small silver knife, lightly tapped the strange plants on the planting shelf, and her tone was as cheerful as if she were introducing a treasure.

"Our task today is very simple: use your hands to squeeze the bulges on its surface and collect the pus inside."

"What did you say?" Seamus Finnigan immediately frowned, his voice full of disgust.

He instinctively stepped back half a pace, staring at the wriggling Bubotuber plants, "Squeeze… squeeze pus?"

In his opinion, no one would like such a black, slimy, moving plant unless they had a special preference, let alone touch its "pus" with their own hands.

"Yes, pus, Finnigan."

Professor Sprout patiently repeated, holding up an empty glass bottle and shaking it, "This stuff is extremely valuable; not a single drop can be wasted."

"Everyone listen carefully: first, put on the dragon-hide gloves on the table. Undiluted Bubotuber pus is highly corrosive and will cause severe injury if it gets on your skin, ranging from redness and blistering to permanent scars."

The students quickly picked up the dragon-hide gloves from the table and clumsily put them on.

The gloves were thick and somewhat stiff, making them difficult to put on.

Once ready, everyone gathered around the planting shelf and began to try squeezing the Bubotubers.

This process was far more disgusting than imagined.

When fingers pressed on the bulges, a slimy sensation could be felt.

With a little force, the bulge popped with a "plop," and a thick, yellowish-green liquid sprayed out, accompanied by a pungent gasoline-like smell that made many people cover their noses.

But strangely, after squeezing for a while, many people developed a strange sense of satisfaction.

Watching the bulges flatten one by one and the pus flow smoothly into the bottles felt like accomplishing something very fulfilling.

Following Professor Sprout's instructions, everyone carefully collected the pus into glass bottles.

By the time class was almost over, everyone had filled three or four bottles, with un-drained yellowish-green liquid still clinging to the bottle walls.

"Alright, today's task was completed very well!"

As class neared its end, Professor Sprout looked at the bottles in everyone's hands, her face full of relief.

"Madam Pomfrey will be pleased now. After dilution, Bubotuber pus is the best medicine for stubborn acne, more effective than any Potion sold in the pharmacy."

After Herbology Class.

Dylan and Harry walked along the moss-covered path towards Hagrid's Hut.

The path was still damp from last night's rain, making it a bit slippery.

The calls of small birds occasionally came from the bushes on both sides, and the air was mixed with the fresh scent of earth and plants.

Every time they had Care of Magical Creatures class, they would gather by Hagrid's Hut.

There was an open grassy area there, large enough to accommodate all students and magical creatures.

Dylan remembered what Hermione had mentioned to him earlier about her discussing suggestions for this class with Hagrid.

Hermione hoped the class would avoid overly dangerous magical creatures while remaining interesting, preferably introducing some rare and docile species.

To this, Dylan could only shrug.

After all, Hagrid's aesthetics were completely different from ordinary people's; he always liked to bring big creatures like spiders and giant pythons before, so how could he prepare the class according to Hermione's suggestions?

Just as they approached the Hut, they saw Hagrid standing on the steps in front of the door, holding Fang's leash.

Fang was a large, light-yellow hound, wagging his tail, his nose sniffing the ground.

Seeing him, Fang seemed quite happy.

On the open ground at Hagrid's feet, there were three cages welded together with thick iron bars, holding several strange-looking chickens.

Their feathers were dark purple, their claws sharp and long, and instead of combs on their heads, they had a pair of small fleshy growths. They were clucking, occasionally pecking at the iron bars of the cage with their sharp beaks.

"Everyone, come here quickly!"

Chapter 321: Who Could Possibly Be Injured by an Akun?

Seeing the students, Hagrid immediately bellowed, his voice shaking the nearby leaves slightly.

"Can you hear me? Come closer, form a circle, but don't get too close to the cages!"

As he shouted, he gestured for everyone to stand in the designated area, his eyes occasionally glancing at the chickens in the cages, afraid they might make a fuss.

Hagrid bent down and pointed at the iron cage at his feet, his husky voice carrying a hint of pride: "Today, we're going to learn about the guinea fowl in this cage. These are exceptionally rare magical creatures in the magic world; you won't find them just anywhere!"

As soon as he finished speaking, all the students' gazes uniformly turned to the creatures in the cage.

If Hagrid hadn't said they were chickens, no one would have associated them with "chickens"; instead, they would have thought they were some kind of deformed bird.

These guinea fowl were about the size of ordinary domestic chickens, but their appearance was truly peculiar.

Their feathers were predominantly black, covering most of their bodies, with only two thick white stripes extending from their rear, wrapping around the base of their wings, then following down their chest, finally stopping at their thighs.

From a distance, it looked as if the chickens were wearing two white shoulder straps, making them particularly noticeable.

Even more special were their combs.

Whether rooster or hen, both had black combs on their heads, and these combs would naturally fork when they reached the middle of the head, splitting into two small fleshy lobes that dangled softly on either side of their heads, like two small black velvet flowers, completely different from the bright red, upright combs of ordinary chickens.

Hagrid squatted down, gently patted the iron cage with his rough palm, and continued to introduce them: "The magical aspect of these guinea fowl primarily lies in their calls."

"Their calls can induce a strong sense of pleasure, far better than a normal Cheering Charm cast by a Wizard."

"If a normal Wizard hears their calls, they often can't help but laugh until their stomach hurts, feeling weak all over, unable to even hold their wand steady."

He paused, then pointed at the iron bars of the cage: "Additionally, their jumping ability is exceptionally strong. A normally developed adult guinea fowl can jump over one person's height with ease. If they're not kept in a cage, they'd be gone in a flash, which is why I specifically welded these cages with thick iron bars."

At this point, Hagrid's tone became a bit more serious: "However, there's a limitation to their calls: they must be at least two and a half years old for their calls to possess this magical power, and the older they are, the stronger the joyful effect their calls bring."

"Before two and a half years, they are just ordinary chickens with strange appearances, without any special abilities."

"It is precisely because of this characteristic that for a long time in the past, many people in the magicworld treated them as ordinary meat chickens. Many guinea fowl ended up on dinner tables, their numbers dwindled, and they nearly went extinct."

Hagrid's voice carried a hint of regret, "Fortunately, four years ago, Mr. Newt Scamander specifically advocated for their protection, submitting an application to the Ministry of Magic. The British Ministry of Magic then officially legislated, writing the prohibition of hunting guinea fowl into the Fantastic Beasts Protection Act, which allowed their numbers to slowly recover."

As he spoke, Hagrid unconsciously gently kicked the base of the iron cage with his foot.

Startled, the guinea fowl in the cage immediately flapped their wings and crashed into the sides.

The few that had been resting at the bottom of the cage also quickly stood up, revealing their black-scaled chicken feet.

Their feet were pointed and sharper than ordinary chicken claws, appearing very powerful.

Startled by Hagrid kicking the cage, the guinea fowl in the iron cage immediately became restless.

They flapped their dark purple wings, their claws scratching at the hay on the cage floor, making a "rustling" sound.

Several of the more agitated guinea fowl leaped upwards with all their might, their heads hitting the thick iron bars with a "thump," some even shaking their bodies before falling back to the cage floor.

The pain made them involuntarily cry out: "Cluck—cluck-cluck-cluck, cluck—cluck-cluck-cluck…"

Their calls were not loud, but they carried a peculiar rhythm, and as soon as they reached the students' ears, a wonderful magic began to take effect.

The students, who had been observing intently, first heard someone let out a suppressed chuckle.

Then, the laughter spread like an infection, and even Hermione, usually so composed, covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Dylan was no exception; the corners of his mouth uncontrollably turned upwards, and the irrepressible sense of joy he felt was much stronger than a normal Cheering Charm cast by a Wizard, making him want to laugh out loud.

"Alright, alright! Stop laughing for now!" Seeing this, Hagrid quickly clapped his hands, his loud voice overpowering the laughter and chicken calls, "Everyone quiet down, listen to me assign the next task!"

Once the students gradually calmed down, Hagrid continued: "For the next few lessons, our main task will be to feed these guinea fowl."

"Don't think this is simple; these little guys are particularly picky eaters. They only eat fresh alfalfa leaves and ground magical oats. If there's a little less moisture or the oats aren't fine enough, they won't touch them."

He deliberately paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire group, with a hint of teasing: "If anyone fails to feed them properly, and the guinea fowl get thin, don't even think about tasting their magical eggs when they lay them! Those eggs, when fried, can keep you energized all day long; miss out and you won't get another chance!"

As soon as he finished speaking, many students showed expressions of anticipation, nodding in agreement that they would complete the feeding task well.

Even those who had previously found the guinea fowl's appearance strange began to seriously examine the chickens in the cage, pondering how to feed them properly.

"Alright, I've prepared special feed for everyone."

Hagrid clapped his hands, and, leading Fang, turned and walked into the hut. He soon emerged carrying three heavy wooden boxes.

The moment the wooden boxes were opened, a faint scent of blood permeated the air.

Inside were chopped frog livers, wriggling black beetles, and mouse hearts wrapped in plastic wrap. These peculiar ingredients made many students frown and instinctively step back.

Hagrid placed the wooden boxes on the ground, completely unfazed by the students' disgusted expressions, and explained: "Guinea fowl indeed have peculiar tastes; unlike ordinary chickens that love grains, their magical eggs taste exceptionally good. Fried, they have a faint aroma and are much more delicious than ordinary eggs."

Only then did everyone understand that guinea fowl were primarily carnivorous.

Although most chickens are omnivores, these magical guinea fowl had an exceptionally strong preference for meat. Perhaps it was due to their long-term consumption of meat that their calls possessed unique magic.

Hagrid divided the feed into several small iron plates and distributed them to the students who gathered around, giving instructions as he did so.

"Today, we'll feed them while they're locked in their cages, mainly to let them adapt to the environment, so they don't jump around everywhere once released."

"After a few more lessons, when they're familiar with your scent, we'll open the cages and let them move around."

He suddenly stopped smiling, his tone becoming serious: "There's another point you must pay attention to: guinea fowl are particularly sensitive to hostility from strangers."

"Before, a Wizard tried to grab and butcher a guinea fowl without warning, and several guinea fowl ganged up and pecked him, directly injuring his eyes."

"Although magic can heal quickly, you certainly wouldn't want to experience that kind of pain."

The expressions of the surrounding students subtly darkened. They had initially thought guinea fowl only brought joy, but now realized they also had an aggressive side, immediately shedding their dismissive attitude.

After receiving the feed, the students carefully handed the iron plates to the edge of the cages.

After several attempts, they discovered that the guinea fowl had a particular fondness for black beetles.

As soon as the black beetles in the iron plate were placed inside, they were eagerly pecked and quickly consumed, while half of the frog livers and mouse hearts remained.

After eating a full basket of black beetles, the guinea fowl in the cage were clearly sated.

They lazily lay on the hay, gently patting their round bellies with their dark wings, emitting satisfied "cluck—cluck-cluck-cluck" sounds.

These magical calls once again made the students laugh, and the discomfort caused by the bloody smell earlier also dissipated considerably.

After feeding, Hagrid began to group them.

"The feeding task is divided into four small groups, two Gryffindor groups and two Slytherin groups. Each day, you'll take turns adding feed to the guinea fowl and cleaning their cages. Everyone remember your group assignments and don't be late."

As he spoke, he took out a list and read out the names of the members of each group.

Dylan, Harry, and Ron were assigned to the same Gryffindor group.

The few of them exchanged glances and nodded, indicating they had no problem.

Not far away, Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were huddled by an iron cage, all three with undisguised expressions of disgust on their faces.

Crabbe held a wooden bucket, which contained chopped frog livers. Green liquid dripped down through the seams of the bucket, leaving dark stains on the ground.

"This thing is so ugly, and what it eats is so disgusting."

Draco wrinkled his nose, poking the frog livers in the bucket with the tip of his wand, his tone full of disdain, "When I get back, I'm definitely writing to Father, telling him to have a word with Hagrid, letting us feed such filthy creatures."

As he spoke, he reluctantly reached his hand into the wooden bucket.

As soon as his fingers touched the slimy frog livers, his face twitched uncontrollably, as if he had touched something extremely terrifying. He finally managed to grab a large handful, his fingertips still stained with green bits.

"Hmph, come and eat!" Draco walked to the edge of the iron cage and shouted at the guinea fowl inside, his tone arrogant and contemptuous.

He stretched his arm between two iron bars, palm open, exposing the frog liver to the guineafowl, his eyes full of provocation.

One of the guineafowl in the cage seemed to sense his malice; its two drooping, forked wattles instantly stood erect, a sharp glint flashed in its eyes, and the feathers all over its body puffed out slightly, showing clear aggression.

But Draco was completely oblivious to these danger signals and continued to smugly wave the frog liver in his hand.

Crabbe and Goyle beside him were even more numb, just standing there foolishly, and when they saw Draco's actions, they let out silly laughs.

"Tsk, come and eat!" Draco shouted again, his voice a little louder.

This thoroughly enraged the guineafowl.

It suddenly bristled the black feathers on its tail, its talons rapidly scratched the dry straw at the bottom of the cage, making a "rustling" sound, and then it lunged forward, fiercely striking Draco's palm with its not-so-sharp beak.

Draco was startled by this sudden impact, subconsciously letting go of the frog liver in his hand, and quickly pulling his right hand back.

But the guineafowl was much faster than him; its beak still pecked hard at his palm, causing a sharp pain.

Draco's hand uncontrollably continued to retract, but the gap between the two iron bars of the cage was only slightly wider than his wrist, so his palm got stuck in the middle, and the end of his wrist hit the iron bar, quickly showing a bruise.

Because it rushed too fiercely, the guineafowl's head also darted out of the iron cage, its entire head exposed, resting right against Draco's arm.

Immediately after, the guineafowl's head moved up and down rapidly, and a dark flash appeared.

A small wound immediately appeared on Draco's forearm; although not deep, blood continuously flowed from it.

Draco grimaced in pain, and just as he was about to scream, another dark flash streaked across, adding another wound to his arm, and the pain instantly intensified.

"What are you two standing around for? Come help!" Draco roared at Crabbe and Goyle, his voice filled with exasperation.

At that moment, he suddenly remembered his father's previous assessment of these two followers.

— Crabbe and Goyle, like their fathers, even if they have brains, they don't have much. Even if they are absolutely loyal to you, you can't completely rely on them.

Damn it, how true that was!

Crabbe and Goyle finally reacted, hastily putting down the wooden buckets in their hands and rushing over to help Draco.

But their method was completely wrong.

Crabbe grabbed Draco's arm and pulled it back hard, without considering that Draco's hand was still stuck in the cage.

"Ah—" The intense pain made Draco let out a miserable scream, the sound echoing across the entire lawn, instantly attracting everyone's attention.

The guineafowl in the cage, however, let out a "cluck-cluck-cluck" sound, as if it had won a battle; the magical sound now sounded particularly jarring to Draco's ears.

"Hiss—" Draco gasped, the wound on his arm still throbbing, more intensely than when Buckbeakscratched him last year.

But the magical clucking of the guineafowl still echoed in his ears; he was clearly grimacing in pain, yet his mouth uncontrollably curved upwards, and his laughter, as if a switch had been pressed, wouldn't stop—it was that kind of urge that he knew he should suppress but simply couldn't control.

Hagrid, not far away, saw the guineafowl's comb stand up again, seemingly about to launch a third attack, and immediately his eyes widened, and he hurriedly shouted, "Aquon, don't move!"

He strode over, grabbed Draco's arm, and carefully pulled him away from the side of the iron cage, fearing that a sudden movement would worsen the wound.

Hagrid's rough, large hand gently supported Draco's arm, carefully examining the wound, muttering, "It's alright, it's alright, the wound isn't deep, just a little blood. Madam Pomfrey can fix it with a healing charm, no big deal."

As he helped Draco towards the direction of the hospital wing, he explained, "Aquon is the oldest guineafowl here, twenty years old. He's much more sensitive to malice than the other little ones. If he senses even a hint of ill intent, his reaction is particularly fierce."

Reaching the edge of the lawn, Hagrid turned back and loudly instructed the remaining students, "You all wait here, don't run around, and don't provoke Aquon. I'll be back after I drop off Malfoy!"

The guineafowl named "Aquon" stood by the cage, watching Hagrid and Draco's receding figures, and shook its head.

It had been so focused on retaliating that it hadn't eaten anything yet, and immediately let out a few dissatisfied "cluck-cluck-cluck" sounds.

This sound reached Crabbe and Goyle's ears, and they instantly broke character.

Even though their "boss" had just been sent to the hospital, they couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Hahahaha..." Crabbe laughed, slapping his thighs, his fat jiggling.

Goyle tried to maintain a serious expression while laughing but couldn't, saying in broken sentences, "I, we don't seem to—gah gah gah gah—should be laughing."

"I know... ah hahahaha... but I... hahahaha—I just can't control it!"

Crabbe laughed so hard he couldn't stand straight, so he simply sat on the ground, his whole body jiggling with his laughter.

Their willpower was already weak, and they had almost no resistance to the guineafowl's magical call, only allowing laughter to control them.

Dylan watched this scene.

"Hmm, I can catch a few to raise when I have time."

On the other side, a faint herbal scent permeated the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey held her wand and gently tapped Draco's injured arm; a soft white light enveloped the wound.

The wound, which had been oozing blood, healed at a visible rate, the bruise gradually faded, and soon it returned to normal, without even leaving a scar.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, your injury is completely healed. You can return to class and not miss any lessons."

Madam Pomfrey put away her wand, speaking in a calm tone.

Actually, she had previously had some reservations about Hagrid's teaching methods.

Around this time last year, Draco was also injured by a magical creature in Hagrid's class.

But this time, she felt a bit disdainful of Draco.

Guineafowl don't even rate an "X" in the Ministry of Magic's danger classification.

For such a docile magical creature to injure him, and for him to act as if he had suffered a severe injury, was simply too cowardly.

"No, Madam Pomfrey, my arm still hurts, and I feel a bit dizzy too."

Draco immediately frowned, deliberately feigning weakness, leaning against the hospital bed, but his eyes were fixed on Madam Pomfrey, "I think I might need to stay for a few days of observation, in case there are any lingering after-effects."

He was hatching a little plan in his mind.

If he could use this opportunity to stay in the hospital for a few more days, he could not only skip the upcoming lessons but also let his father know that Hagrid was "not teaching students well."

Perhaps his father could even intervene to have Hagrid replaced!

After Hagrid took Draco to the hospital wing, a student ran back to relay a message, saying that Dracoclaimed he was severely injured and wanted to stay in the hospital to avoid classes.

Upon hearing this news, Dylan was initially stunned.

He truly couldn't understand.

It was just two pecks from a guineafowl, and the wound had been healed by Madam Pomfrey with a healing charm, so how did it escalate to needing hospitalization?

He subconsciously looked at the iron cage nearby; Aquon was still clucking discontentedly inside.

Its appearance seemed docile and ordinary, making it hard to imagine it could cause Draco to make such a "fuss."

A magical creature that didn't even rate a danger level from the Ministry of Magic could make the Malfoy heir demand hospitalization?

"Oh no, do you think Draco will tell his father about this, like last term?"

Hermione's brows were tightly furrowed, her voice full of worry. She reached out and tugged Dylan's sleeve, "Last term, he was scratched by Buckbeak, and Mr. Lucius went straight to the school, almost causing Hagrid to lose his job. If he complains again this time, Hagrid might really be in trouble."

Dylan looked at Hermione's tightly furrowed brows, his tone calm, and smiled, "No, don't worry. The Malfoy family values their reputation above all else. Last term, Buckbeak was a XXX-level dangerous magical creature, so getting scratched by it could be excused as 'unsafe lessons.'"

"But this time is different. Guineafowl don't even have the lowest danger rating. If Draco complains to his father about being pecked by such an animal, it will only make people think that the Malfoy heir can't even handle a chicken, and they can't afford that embarrassment."

He paused and continued his analysis, "Draco demanding hospitalization now is most likely an attempt to skip a few days of classes, or to deliberately feign pity to embarrass Hagrid."

"If his father really knew the truth, Lucius might be the first to scold him, because in the eyes of pure-blood nobles, making such a fuss over 'minor injuries and pains' is simply too undignified."

Listening to Dylan's analysis, Hermione's tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed, and her eyes softened a little.

"What you're saying seems right; after all, guineafowl aren't really dangerous, and if Draco really complained, he'd just be laughed at."

Harry, beside them, also nodded and echoed, "Exactly, he definitely wants to be lazy and skip class. I saw it coming a mile away!"

Chapter 322 Those evil and despicable Dark Wizards will cruelly use you for experiments!

Wednesday morning sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the Hogwarts corridor, casting fragmented light spots on the flagstone floor.

Dylan had just come out of the library and met Hermione on the way; both were carrying their school bags.

Dylan softly cast a Levitation Charm on his school bag.

The dark brown leather school bag immediately rose about ten centimeters off the ground, as if pulled by an invisible string, following steadily behind him, not even letting the heavy magic books inside shake.

"Oh, right." Hermione suddenly remembered as they walked, her voice a bit low, "This morning I ran into a Ravenclaw with a cold who said Draco was still lingering in the Hospital Wing, occupying a bed and refusing to leave. Madam Pomfrey was looking at him with barely concealed impatience."

Dylan nodded, not too surprised, just thinking that Draco was making too much of a fuss.

The two soon arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class classroom door.

When they pushed the door open, quite a few students were already seated inside.

Almost everyone was crowding towards the back rows; some whispered quietly to their deskmates, while others occasionally glanced at the door with obvious tension in their eyes.

They were clearly intimidated by Professor Moody's scarred face and his eerie magical eye.

Dylan and Hermione, however, walked straight to the first row closest to the blackboard, pulled out their chairs, and sat down.

They took out their books from their bags and laid them open on the desk; the atmosphere in the classroom instantly became even quieter, so much so that even the sound of turning pages was almost inaudible.

Not long after, a "thump-thump" sound echoed in the corridor.

It was the sound of Moody's wooden leg on the floor, mixed with the crisp tapping of his cane, the sounds growing clearer as they approached.

He pushed open the door and entered the classroom, the hem of his dark gray robe sweeping over the threshold. The metal plate at the bottom of his wooden leg glinted in the light, revealing fine wear marks on its surface.

His face was still twisted, crisscrossed with scars of varying depths, and his long, grizzled hair was somewhat disheveled. When it fell before his eyes, he casually shook his head to toss it back.

Moody's gaze slowly swept across the classroom, and when it fell on Dylan, he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

Dylan also gave a slight nod in response.

The two had met before regarding the Wizengamot matter, so they had a certain understanding.

"Put your books away."

Moody's voice was hoarse, carrying the weariness of years spent on the move. He leaned on his cane, walking with difficulty step by step to the podium, sitting heavily on the large wooden chair, and then tapping the edge of the podium with his cane.

"You won't need these textbooks today."

He turned and picked up a piece of chalk, writing "Alastor Moody" in large letters on the blackboard, chalk dust falling onto the wooden surface of the podium.

"I'm sure some of you have heard my name," he began his self-introduction, his eyes suddenly sharp, as if he could see through people's minds. "I am Alastor Moody, a former Auror. After a few years of retirement, Headmaster Dumbledore invited me back to Hogwarts to teach you this subject. Now, let's take attendance."

Moody pulled out a yellowed roll book from an inside pocket of his robe; the edges of the cover were somewhat worn.

He shook his head, tossing aside a few strands of grizzled hair that had fallen into his eyes, and began to call out names.

His normal brown eye slowly moved down the names on the list.

But his silver-gray magical eye seemed to have a mind of its own, constantly darting around.

One moment it would fix intently on a student who raised their hand to answer, scanning their face carefully.

The next moment it would suddenly turn to a corner of the classroom, even peeking under desks, as if checking if anyone was hiding and not answering.

"Draco Malfoy."

When this name was called, the classroom fell silent for a moment; no one answered.

Moody frowned, raised his head, and his magical eye immediately swept rapidly across the entire classroom, his voice rising slightly: "Draco Malfoy, are you here?"

A sudden "creak" of a chair dragging came from the back row, and Crabbe abruptly stood up.

Because of his hasty movement, his elbow bumped into Goyle next to him, who let out a muffled grunt.

Crabbe clutched a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, his face flushed, and he stammered: "P-Professor, Malfoy… he… he's injured. This is a note from Madam Pomfrey, and also… also permission from the Slytherin Dean."

Moody reached out, almost snatching the note, his silver-gray magical eye fixed intently on the writing, his pupils slightly contracting.

After a few seconds, he confirmed it wasn't forged by a student, and his lips suddenly twitched into a short, cold sneer.

He held up the note and read it aloud in a voice loud enough for everyone in the class to hear, the sarcasm almost overflowing: "I, Severus Snape, Dean of Slytherin House, grant student Draco Malfoypermission to recuperate in the Hospital Wing, during which time he may temporarily defer classes."

After reading, he scoffed, tapping the note lightly with the tip of his cane, "Aha, a Snape, a Malfoy, truly 'old acquaintances'."

He paused, deliberately drawing out his words, as if to ensure everyone heard clearly: "Let me think, how was he injured again?

Oh, right—he was pecked by a little chicken. Tsk, tsk, how 'heroic'."

As he spoke, he specifically glanced at the area where the Slytherin students sat, adding, "Speaking of which, I remember that chicken's nostrils were also flat, thin slits, rather like certain people."

A ripple of suppressed laughter immediately went through the classroom; the Slytherin students' faces were all rather displeased, yet no one dared to argue.

Moody's aura was simply too strong; when that magical eye swept over, not even the boldest students dared to look up.

The classroom was so quiet one could hear the faint rustle of chalk dust falling to the floor; only Dylan let out a low chuckle.

He was the only one in the room who understood Moody's dry humor.

After all, he had seen Lord Voldemort's eerie appearance and knew that Moody's "flat, thin slits for nostrils" was a clear jab at the Malfoy family's subservience to Lord Voldemort.

There was a hint of understanding in that smile, the curve of his lips too fleeting to catch.

"Alright."

Moody paid no attention to the brief awkward silence, his hoarse voice sounding again.

He pulled a folded piece of parchment from his robe pocket; the edges were still creased when he unfolded it. "I received a letter from Professor Lupin, detailing the previous teaching situation for this class."

He scanned the contents of the paper, then looked up at the students: "It seems you've already learned a good deal of basic knowledge for dealing with Dark Arts creatures—Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas. You've encountered all these, haven't you?"

The students below nodded one after another, some moving quickly, as if afraid that slowness would draw the attention of Moody's magical eye.

Others were still savoring the earlier sarcasm, nodding somewhat absently, their eyes secretly glancing at the Slytherin seating area.

Moody's cane suddenly struck the edge of the podium.

A "thud" broke the relaxed atmosphere.

His tone abruptly shifted, filled with dissatisfaction: "But this is far from enough! These topics should have been basic knowledge you mastered in your first and second years, but the previous Professor was completely incompetent, not only hindering Professor Lupin's and my teaching pace but also leaving you with no self-defense capabilities whatsoever! You're completely helpless!"

He emphasized the words "completely helpless" particularly heavily, his intonation rising and falling with a penetrating quality, as if it would pass through the walls and reach Draco's ears in the Hospital Wing.

After speaking, his silver-gray magical eye specifically turned towards the door, as if confirming whether the sound could travel far.

"You all must have heard about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, right?" Moody's voice deepened, carrying a hint of gravity. "Those Death Eaters are already becoming restless, and that means you could face danger at any moment!"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the students who looked nonchalant, his tone growing colder, "Don't think this is far from you. Who knows, there might be Dark Wizard spies hidden among us right now."

No sooner had he spoken than his magical eye suddenly spun rapidly, its silver-gray pupil scanning every corner of the classroom.

From Dylan and Hermione in the front row to Goyle, who was hunched in the back, not even under the desks or by the windowsills were spared.

The students all lowered their heads; some instinctively leaned closer to their deskmates. No one dared to meet that magical eye until Moody's gaze finally rested on the always-calm Dylan, where it paused slightly.

"You have no idea how ruthless Dark Wizards are!" Moody suddenly raised his voice, almost shouting, his voice shaking the podium slightly. "They can pretend to be your friends, talk to you with a smile, and then stab you in the back."

"They hide in the dark, waiting for you to fall asleep, to let your guard down. With just one Charms, they can send you to meet Merlin!"

The classroom became completely silent, even breathing grew cautious.

Almost all the students unconsciously lowered their heads, their fingers tightly clutching at their clothes or textbooks; some even rested their chins on their desks, wishing they could hide themselves.

Seeing this scene, Moody's scars seemed to relax somewhat, and he nodded slightly, continuing:

"What you've learned before is only good for small troubles. If you really encounter a Dark Wizard, you won't even have a chance to escape."

His voice dropped even lower, carrying a sinister quality, as if from deep underground: "You're only teenagers; you don't want to be dragged into a dark, sunless laboratory, do you?"

"At that point, having your tendons pulled and skin flayed would be considered light. Dark Wizards will keep you alive, pouring all sorts of strange, colorful Potions into your young bodies."

"Today they drain your blood, tomorrow they give you blood-replenishing Potion, and the day after that they drain it again, making you live through all the pain, unable to even truly die."

As Moody spoke these words, the scars on his face appeared even more grotesque due to his twisted expression, and the coldness in his eyes almost overflowed.

Just imagining the scene made some students in the classroom turn pale; some quietly swallowed, and Hermione clutched her wand tightly, even her breathing becoming shallower, afraid that her movements would attract more of Moody's "attention."

Good heavens, are there still people that perverted?

Upon hearing this, Dylan's mouth twitched.

This should be scolding those evil Dark Wizards; it had nothing to do with him.

He was a very kind Wizard.

"What you've learned so far is still far—far too lacking!"

Moody suddenly raised his voice, which echoed in the quiet classroom with an undeniable power, "But it's a good thing I have an entire year to teach you how to deal with the Dark Arts and how to confront those evil Dark Wizards who cast them!"

His wooden leg stomped heavily on the ground, making a "thump" sound, as if emphasizing his determination.

The students, who had previously bowed their heads, scared by the Dark Wizards' evil deeds he described, now looked up, their eyes filled with rekindled hope.

Some had sparkling eyes, staring intently at Moody.

Some unconsciously sat up straighter, clenching their hands into fists.

Others whispered to their deskmates, their tones filled with anticipation.

Everyone's gaze was focused on Moody, the desire in their eyes unmistakable: "Professor, we want to learn these things from you!"

Seeing the students' reactions, Moody's lips curved slightly upward, revealing a hint of satisfaction.

Leaning on his cane, he slowly walked away from the podium and began to patrol the aisle at the front of the classroom.

Each step of his wooden leg left a faint mark on the floor, and the tapping sound of his cane accompanied the rhythm.

His gaze swept across every row of seats, and his silver-grey magical eye rotated ceaselessly, as if confirming each student's attitude.

Finally, Moody stopped in front of Dylan's seat in the first row.

He leaned slightly, his right hand gripping his wand, the tip gently tapping on the desk in front of Dylan, making a soft "tap" sound.

The classroom instantly fell silent, all eyes shifting from Moody to Dylan, filled with confusion and curiosity.

"Perhaps many of you don't know that among you, there is a Wizard who is highly skilled in magic and has already fought against Dark Wizards many times."

Moody's voice softened a bit, but still clearly reached everyone's ears, "I think he can help me show you firsthand what a battle between real Wizards is like!"

After he finished speaking, his gaze turned to Dylan, his normal eye showing a hint of anticipation, while his magical eye stared intently at Dylan, as if waiting for his response.

The students in the classroom erupted into a buzz, with soft murmurs rising and falling.

Some looked at Dylan in surprise, not expecting that the usually calm-looking boy had experience fighting Dark Wizards.

Others were even more excited, looking forward to seeing a real magical battle scene.

"Quiet!"

Moody tapped his cane heavily on the ground, and the classroom immediately returned to silence, "Everyone follow me, we're going to the open ground behind the Castle, it's spacious enough and won't hurt anyone."

He led the way out of the classroom, his wooden leg stepping on the flagstones of the corridor.

"Thump-thump" sounds echoed in the corridor.

The students picked up their bags and wands one after another, following behind.

Some walked quickly, wanting to see the duel soon.

Others slowed their pace, quietly discussing the Charmss they might see later.

Many stories about Dylan circulated in the school.

However, because Dylan was a very low-key and mysterious person, people didn't usually pay much attention to him.

Dylan followed in the middle of the group.

The open ground behind the Castle was covered with soft grass, and a few tall oak trees grew along the edges, their leaves gently swaying in the breeze.

Moody stood in the center of the open ground, motioning for the students to form a circle around him, leaving enough space in the middle.

"Stand back, keep a safe distance!"

He warned, "Many practical Charmss will be used during the duel later, don't get accidentally injured."

The students immediately took a few steps back, forming a loose circle, their eyes fixed on Moody and Dylan in the center of the open ground.

Hermione stood at the edge of the circle, her hands clasped together, her worry even more apparent.

She knew Dylan was powerful, but this was a retired Auror!

Harry, on the other hand, widened his eyes, even his breathing becoming shallower, afraid of missing any detail.

"Are you ready, Dylan?"

Moody turned around, his right hand raising his wand, the tip pointing at the ground, his tone devoid of any contempt.

"We won't use overly dangerous Charmss, mainly demonstrating reaction speed and Charms chaining in actual combat, understand?"

Dylan nodded, walked about five meters opposite Moody, stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, raised his wand, and pointed its tip at Moody: "I'm ready, Professor."

"Excellent!" Moody shouted.

As soon as his voice fell, a Charms shot from his wand.

"Expelliarmus!" The Charms was extremely fast, with a slight whooshing sound, heading straight for Dylan's wand.

Dylan was prepared; his body quickly moved to the left, while he swung his wand, pointing it at the ground and chanting: "Impedimenta!"

A transparent magical barrier instantly appeared in front of him; the Charms hit the barrier with a soft "bang" and then dissipated.

"Good reaction!" A hint of approval flashed in Moody's eyes, and he immediately shot another Charms.

"Stupefy!"

This time, the Charms was not a straight attack but curved slightly upward, seemingly trying to bypass the barrier.

Dylan did not panic; he quickly adjusted his posture, waved his wand upward: "Finite Incantatem!"

A white arc of light flew from the wand tip, directly hitting the Charms; the two Charmss canceled each other out in mid-air, turning into tiny specks of light.

The surrounding students let out a low gasp of admiration.

Ron's mouth hung open, and he whispered to Harry, "Oh my goodness, Dylan can take ProfessorMoody's Charmss so easily!"

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on the center of the open ground, not even daring to blink too frequently.

Moody did not stop; his footsteps moved quickly, his wooden leg treading on the grass, leaving shallow footprints.

"Good defense, but in actual combat, you can't just defend without attacking!"

As he spoke, he continuously shot three Charmss of different colors.

The three Charmss, in a fan shape, simultaneously attacked Dylan.

Just defend without attacking?

Hehe~

Dylan smiled slightly, his wand drawing a smooth arc in his hand: "Incarcerous!"

A silver rope flew from the wand tip, first coiling around the leftmost Expelliarmus, pulling it towards the ground.

Immediately after, he chanted: "Incendio!"

An orange flame shot from the wand tip, blocking Stupefy.

Finally, he quickly chanted Protego against the yellow Charms of Petrificus Totalus.

An invisible magical armor instantly enveloped his entire body; the last Charms hit the armor and immediately dissipated.

"Beautiful!" Moody couldn't help but exclaim, stopping his attack and retracting his wand, "This is the key in actual combat: not only must you be able to defend, but you must also learn to find opportunities to counterattack while defending, and even more importantly, quickly judge the attributes of different Charmss and choose the most appropriate way to deal with them."

He turned to the surrounding students, raising his voice slightly: "As you all just saw, when facing multiple Charmss, Dylan did not panic, but quickly analyzed and responded precisely. This is what you will learn next. Actual combat is not about rote memorization of Charmss, but about learning to make correct judgments in rapidly changing situations!"

The students nodded one after another, a few more traces of admiration in their eyes as they looked at Dylan.

Dylan put away his wand and walked over to Moody, looking relaxed.

Although the duel just now only used basic Charmss, it didn't cost him any mental effort.

Moody patted Dylan's shoulder, his tone filled with approval: "You performed very well, even better than I expected."

"Next, we will use the duel just now as an example to break down the key points of each step for everyone—"

Moody motioned for the students to gather closer, then walked to where Dylan had stood earlier, drawing a shallow mark on the ground with his cane: "Let's start with the first step, Charmsidentification. When I cast the first Expelliarmus just now, the Charms had a red light effect, and its flight trajectory was straight and fast. This is its most obvious characteristic."

"You must remember that different offensive Charmss have different light effects, speeds, and even whooshing sounds. For example, Stupefy will have a slight arc when flying, and Petrificus Totalus is relatively slow but has strong penetrating power."

"Dylan achieved rapid identification in the first step, which is why he could immediately choose Impedimenta for defense. This is the foundation of actual combat, more important than remembering a hundred Charmss."

As he spoke, he walked back to his previous position, tapping the ground with the tip of his cane: "The second step is the choice of defensive strategy, which cannot be generalized."

"Facing a single linear Charms, building a barrier with Impedimenta like Dylan did is the most direct, but when encountering the Stupefy I deliberately curved upward later, the barrier would be ineffective. At that time, magic like Finite Incantatem, which can directly counteract Charmss, is effective."

"Especially when facing multiple Charmss with different attributes, you must prioritize. Among those three just now, Expelliarmus threatened the wand, Petrificus Totalus threatened the body, and Stupefywas secondary. So Dylan first used the silver rope to entangle Expelliarmus, then used fire to block Stupefy, and finally used Protego to protect himself. This order is crucial; one wrong step could lead to being hit."

Moody's gaze swept over the students, seeing some quickly writing in their notebooks, and he continued: "The last step, and the most easily overlooked."

"Rhythm control!"

"Actual combat is not about who can cast Charmss faster, but who can control the initiative."

"When I attacked continuously just now, I deliberately sped up the Charms intervals, but Dylan didn't let me lead him. Every time he defended, he would slightly adjust his stance, giving himself time to judge."

"This is controlling the rhythm! If you panic and get carried away by your opponent's speed, no matter how many Charmss you remember, you will be flustered."

He paused, looked at Dylan, then turned to the students: "You can ask Dylan if, after each defense just now, he was quickly thinking about what the next Charms might be? This is combat thinking!"

"While defending, you must anticipate the next move, rather than passively waiting for the Charms to come."

"Next, you will pair up, take turns simulating the scene just now, starting with practicing Charmsidentification. I will be watching nearby, ask questions anytime!"

Dylan paused slightly when he heard what Moody said.

Just now, after he defended, was he thinking about what the next Charms would be?

Hmm.

For him, using magic now was as simple as breathing.

He didn't even need specific incantations for spells; he could perform wandless casting directly.

Even wandless casting.