Chapter 339: A Discussion with Ollivander
"Because 'Armando Dippet: Master or Madman?' was published in 1992," Dylan slowly explained, with a tone of certainty. "More precisely, the book was officially released two months after Headmaster Armando Dippet's death."
"Two months? No, to be precise, it was seven weeks and three days." Rita's smile could no longer be contained, and her voice rose a few octaves, clearly taking this as something worth showing off. "Honestly, I wasn't satisfied with that speed. I felt I could have been even faster."
"But Headmaster Dippet's life spanned such a long period, from his enrollment to his tenure as Headmaster; it involved decades of events that needed to be clearly organized. There was no way to compress the time further."
Dylan lightly spread his hands, perfectly clear about Rita's writing style.
She had written many celebrity biographies, almost all of which were quickly published shortly after the celebrity's death.
This way, she could capitalize on readers' ongoing interest in the celebrity, significantly boosting book sales.
It also avoided unnecessary trouble, such as the celebrity themselves or their relatives questioning the book's content, or even suing her for libel.
After all, once a person dies, many disputes become moot.
Rita clearly realized Dylan had seen through this, and her smugness diminished slightly, though she still maintained a sense of righteous indignation: "Writing is all about seizing the moment. Should I wait until readers have forgotten the person before slowly publishing a book? That would be disrespectful to the written word."
Dylan looked at Rita's indignant expression and calmly added, "Besides, even if a celebrity's relatives sue for infringement of reputation, the compensation they ultimately receive is usually far less than the amount sought in a libel suit filed by the person themselves. You choose to publish after a celebrity's death, having already factored in these risks."
"Ah!" Hearing this, Rita's eyes widened instantly, her Quick-Quotes Quill clattering onto the parchment. She suddenly reacted, her righteous indignation replaced by excitement. "It seems our magic star really intends to do something!
I'm best at this kind of thing, and I'd be delighted to help!"
The thought of potentially delving into her most skilled areas...
Such as uncovering secrets or writing impactful prose...
Made her significantly more energetic.
Her previously slumped shoulders straightened again, and her eyes shone with surprising brightness, her earlier listlessness completely gone.
"My idea is very simple." Dylan met her gaze, his tone still steady. "I hope to commission you to write a book about Durmstrang. The help I can provide includes contacting knowledgeable people associated with the school, as well as organized written materials—such as its historical evolution, curriculum, and clues behind unconfirmed rumors."
"Written in my style?" Rita immediately grasped the key point, raising an eyebrow, her tone firm and undeniable. "If you can't guarantee me creative freedom, to write in my usual style, then you should find someone else. I don't want to write a bland, unreadable account."
"No problem." Dylan agreed promptly and decisively, without the slightest hesitation. "You can have complete creative freedom, without any restrictions."
"Are you sure?" Rita's voice was full of disbelief, and she even leaned half a step closer, pressing again, "Are you really sure? You don't need me to adjust the content according to your requirements? And you won't review the first draft?"
"Of course, I'm sure." Dylan nodded affirmatively, his gaze unwavering. "Your writing style is precisely suited for this book about Durmstrang. After all, the school itself is full of controversy, and only your writing can fully capture that controversial nature."
"What about the deadline?" Rita didn't dwell on the style issue further, fearing that too many questions might make Dylan change his mind and impose additional restrictions.
She bent down to pick up her quill from the floor, her fingers unconsciously twirling it, her voice tinged with eagerness. "I need to know roughly when the manuscript is due so I can arrange my time to gather more material in advance."
"I will inform you of the specific deadline later; you can start preparing now," Dylan explained. "At least after the Triwizard Tournament ends. As for whether it's one year or two, it's currently uncertain—I need to confirm some key information first to ensure the accuracy of the book's content."
He paused, then added, "However, I can pay you the commission fee in the next few days. As for the subsequent royalties, they will be calculated according to your usual celebrity biography royalty percentage; you won't be at a disadvantage."
"This seems like a good deal." Rita lowered her head, pondering for a moment, her fingers gently tapping the table. "It seems I have absolutely no disadvantage—I have material, remuneration, and creative freedom."
She looked up, her eyes filled with a hint of inquiry, and her expression grew serious. "But I really don't understand your purpose. Why do you suddenly want a book about Durmstrang? That school has been very low-key these past few years; by rights, not many people would pay attention to it."
"Because I believe that before long, everyone will know the name Durmstrang, and they will be eager to understand everything behind that school," Dylan replied calmly, without revealing more details.
"It seems I have a chance to be at the forefront of the times?" Rita raised an eyebrow, a flicker of excited smile playing on her lips. "That statement is far more appealing than simply discussing remuneration."
"So, Ms. Skeeter, have we reached an agreement?" Dylan asked, his gaze fixed on her face. "I noticed you never asked about the specific remuneration amount from beginning to end."
"I don't think you're a stingy person. All these clothes you're wearing are haute couture, aren't they? I've never seen such fabric; it feels quite valuable." Rita grinned, revealing a set of neat teeth, her voice full of certainty. "Besides, you not only don't interfere with my writing but also provide material and informants, and even give such a generous deadline for submission—I can completely treat this as an extra income to fill my free time. Why would I refuse such a good offer?"
As she spoke, she picked up her quill and quickly wrote a line on the parchment, pushing it towards Dylan. "Here's my contact information. Contact me anytime you have news. The sooner you give me the material, the better. I'm already looking forward to uncovering Durmstrang's secrets!"
As the champions from the three magic schools successively entered the classroom, Rita Skeeterimmediately became busy.
Like a nimble butterfly, she flitted through the crowd, and as soon as a champion entered, she would immediately go up to them and start an interview.
However, the interview times were noticeably different.
For the Beauxbatons champions, she only asked a few simple questions—what they expected from the competition.
But when facing Harry, she would pull him aside and ask him all sorts of things, from his preparation to his daily training. The interview time was longer than all the other champions combined, and her Quick-Quotes Quill slid rapidly across the parchment, as if afraid of missing any "scoop."
When all the champions had arrived, a stand for photography had already been set up in the open space at the front of the classroom; it was clearly time for a group photo.
Because there were many champions, they needed to stand in two rows, front and back. As soon as the organizing Professor finished saying, "Everyone stand freely."
Rita retreated to a corner, a faint curve on her lips, her eyes full of a "watching a good show" expression.
She had long heard that a Principal from one of the schools had played tricks during the champion selection.
Now that it was the group photo, which concerned the school's reputation, Karkaroff had no reason not to stir up some trouble.
Things turned out exactly as she expected.
Karkaroff quickly found Viktor Krum, whispered something in his ear, and frequently pointed to the center position in the front row.
That was clearly the most prominent position in the group photo.
But Viktor merely shook his head repeatedly, and without waiting for Karkaroff to say anything more, he turned and walked to the other two Durmstrang champions.
The three of them tacitly stood in the far right corner of the front row, completely disregarding their Principal's hint.
Rita's gaze fell on the center of the front row.
There stood the four Hogwarts champions, with Dylan precisely in the very middle. Harry, Cedric, and Draco on either side instinctively moved aside, clearly yielding the center position to him.
Rita couldn't help but murmur, "He's really popular. To have been so obscure before, he's truly an interesting fellow. Even their standing positions are so coordinated. It seems there's still a lot to dig into!"
Actually, during the interview just now, Rita had never given up trying to get information. Several times she intentionally brought up "whether any unusual circumstances were encountered during the selection," trying to lead the champions to reveal the Principals' little tricks.
But to her surprise, no matter which school the champion was from, they all brushed her off with phrases like "didn't notice," "don't know," or "the competition is important, nothing else matters."
Not a single person was willing to elaborate.
From her many years of interviewing experience, for these champions from different schools, who were originally strangers to each other, to have such "tacit understanding," there must certainly have been some mediation behind the scenes.
Even now, they all, by unspoken agreement, yielded the central position to the Hogwarts people, and deliberately avoided any "Grab a spot" (jockeying for position) behavior that might cause contention.
The group photo was quickly finished, and the champions had just returned to their seats.
Old Barty Crouch stood up from his chair, cleared his throat, and his gaze swept across the room, his tone serious: "Champions, the most important part of gathering you all today is wand inspection."
He paused, emphasizing his words: "Please remember, in the trials of the Triwizard Tournament, your wand is your only weapon, and your most reliable companion."
"Its condition directly affects whether you can safely face the challenges!"
"Out of consideration for everyone's safety and the fairness of the competition, we have invited Mr. Ollivander to conduct a comprehensive inspection of all your wands, to ensure that every wand is in optimal condition and capable of facing the upcoming trials."
At this point, he changed his tone, a rare gentleness appearing on his face: "Before the inspection begins, I have some good news to announce—after deliberation by the panel of judges, the first task will take place on December 1st."
"Additionally, as the panel of judges, we need to give you some guidance," he continued. "Do you remember our previous meeting? At that time, we mentioned that 'courage' is the most important quality you will need when facing the trials."
"I hope that in your preparations, you will not only hone your magic skills but also strengthen your convictions."
No sooner had Old Barty Crouch finished speaking than he took another half-step forward, his tone even more solemn than before: "Furthermore, considering that the difficulty of the first task has been adjusted, the second piece of guidance from the panel of judges is 'cooperation'. The upcoming trials will be very difficult to complete with individual strength alone; champions must work together and assist each other to better face the challenges."
He stepped aside, turning his gaze to Dumbledore: "There is one more thing—Hogwarts, the host of this Triwizard Tournament, Headmaster Dumbledore, has prepared a riddle for you. This riddle will also provide you with guidance."
Dumbledore slowly stood up, his silver-white beard gleaming softly under the lights.
He smiled at the champions present, his voice gentle yet clearly audible throughout the classroom: "My riddle is simple: 'A puff of hot air scatters like smoke, a few whispers enter a dream of magic.'"
The moment he heard the riddle...
Harry instinctively turned his head.
Two answers immediately flashed through his mind, but he needed confirmation.
When he saw Dylan nod slightly, Harry instantly became certain of his idea.
The answer must be two things.
Or rather, two magical creatures!
Dragon and Manticore!
"If you can guess the answer, you will naturally know the content of the first task," Dumbledorecontinued, his eyes full of encouragement. "Mr. Crouch said that champions need to possess the courage to face the unknown, and I wholeheartedly agree with this."
"But I want to add one thing—if one knows the danger they are about to face beforehand, and can still muster the courage to rise to the challenge, that courage is equally precious. I eagerly await your performance in the first task."
Looking at the champions below who were lost in thought, Dumbledore raised his hand and gestured towards Mr. Ollivander at the door: "Alright, now, Mr. Ollivander, please inspect the wands of all the champions to ensure that everyone's 'companion' is in optimal condition."
Mr. Ollivander walked forward, carrying a dark brown wooden box, and inspected the champions' wands one by one.
Dylan noticed that the wands used by the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts champions were quite similar in size and style.
Their shafts were slender, carved with delicate patterns, and their handles were smoothly polished, appearing to be of the agile type.
Durmstrang's wands, however, were completely different. Their shafts were thick, their surfaces retained the original texture of the wood, and even protruding knots could be seen, making them appear exceptionally rugged.
However, Mr. Ollivander showed no surprise at this, evidently having communicated with other wandmakers in other regions before coming to Hogwarts and already being familiar with these types of special wands.
The wand inspection quickly concluded.
Rita Skeeter immediately stepped forward and began to arrange for the champions to take individual photos.
The classroom instantly became lively.
Dylan, taking advantage of this interval, quietly followed Mr. Ollivander, and the two of them went together to an empty classroom next door.
Dylan waved his wand, and a set of exquisite reception table and chairs instantly materialized in the air.
Carved wooden armrests, soft velvet cushions, and even the tabletop was wiped spotless.
Mr. Ollivander sat in a chair, without any pleasantries, and asked directly, "Dylan, what are your thoughts on the wands used by the Durmstrang champions?"
Dylan walked to the window, opened it to let in fresh air, and then said, "Mr. Ollivander, I had collected some relevant information before."
He raised his wand, and a thick notebook immediately flew out of his pocket, landing steadily in his hand.
"Because the Durmstrang champions arrived relatively late, and wands are very personal and sensitive items, I couldn't study them directly."
He handed the notebook to Mr. Ollivander, a hint of apology in his voice. "I could only summarize information little by little by chatting with them during normal times."
"I think I should wait until I've refined my notes a bit more before sending them to you for reference," Dylan asked.
"No need." Mr. Ollivander looked up, gently shook his head, his gaze falling on Dylan's face with a hint of deeper meaning. "I actually think that this 'incomplete' notebook is more suitable for us right now. Do you know why?"
Chapter 340 Non-Existent Spiritual Silk
Dylan lowered his head in thought for a moment, his finger gently tapping on the notebook, his eyes showing a hint of caution.
"I think I understand what you mean."
"So far, we've only discovered some new materials suitable for wand-making and figured out their basic properties. But if we delve deeper, we'll need to study new ideas and concepts for wand-making."
He paused: "But those concepts are the result of many years of accumulation, and they differ too much from our system."
"If we follow their ideas now, we might be limited, and it could negatively impact our own understanding of wand-making."
"Absolutely correct."
Mr. Ollivander nodded heavily, his fingers stroking the edge of the notebook, his eyes full of agreement, "There have always been many debates about wand-making philosophies from different regions."
"For example, we emphasize 'the wand chooses the Wizard,' while some regions stress 'the Wizardmasters the wand'—now is not the time to fully accept their ideas."
He leaned slightly forward, his voice filled with anticipation: "Once we develop an independent understanding of new wands based on our own system, and then communicate with wand-makers from other regions, that's when real sparks will fly, and we'll gain even more!"
"If we get sidetracked by their ideas now, it would be a shame to waste such good material."
No sooner had he finished speaking.
Mr. Ollivander pulled out a deep purple velvet cloth bag from an inside pocket of his robes.
The cloth was smooth, with intricate silver patterns embroidered along the edges, clearly having been carefully preserved for a long time.
He gently unfolded the cloth bag, revealing a walnut wand box, its surface carved with simple vine patterns.
The moment the box opened, a wand came into view.
Its main body was a warm, ivory white, with a delicate texture, and the natural grain of the wood was faintly visible.
The grip was wrapped with a section of purplish-brown material, like thin strips carved from some kind of hardwood.
It tightly spiraled around the wand shaft, both increasing the grip's friction and appearing exceptionally exquisite.
"Elder and Aspen?" Dylan raised an eyebrow. He leaned closer to the box, his gaze falling on the middle section of the wand.
There, a faint silver thread could be seen flowing within.
"Mr. Ollivander, did you use a pinch of non-existent spirit silk as the wand core?"
"Where did you get this?"
Mr. Ollivander smiled but remained silent.
Dylan shrugged, quickly clarifying his thoughts: "You chose elder, likely considering that the non-existent spirit silk comes from non-existence, carrying strong negative energy, and elder can neutralize this energy to prevent it from backfiring on the Wizard."
"As for aspen, it's because of its light texture and low resistance when conducting magic, so it won't suppress the power of the non-existent spirit silk, right?"
"Your observation skills are still as sharp as ever." Mr. Ollivander nodded with a smile, his finger gently touching the wand's grip, "I did indeed make this wand by combining two shaft materials according to that principle."
"My family has a piece of leather passed down through generations." A hint of nostalgia flashed in his eyes, "It's that old leather inscribed with the original Mr. Ollivander's wand-making insights. I've recently finally assimilated the knowledge about 'composite shafts' contained within it."
"This non-existent spirit silk—its magical stability is even better than I imagined."
Mr. Ollivander gently pushed the wand box towards Dylan, then raised his chin, his voice filled with anticipation: "Dylan, you can pick it up and press the tip against your temple."
Seeing Dylan reach out to take it, he added, "Then follow me in reciting an Ancient Runes Charms. Pay attention to keeping your pronunciation steady, don't exert too much force."
"Hmm?" Dylan blinked, and the corresponding Ancient Runes character immediately appeared in his mind.
The symbol shaped like a "?".
He had seen it in an Ancient Runes textbook, and its core meaning was precisely—the injection of spiritual power into a physical object.
He looked up at Mr. Ollivander, his eyes filled with a mix of inquiry and certainty: "Mr. Ollivander, you drew inspiration from the characteristics of the elder wand, didn't you? You want this wand to further align with my magical fluctuations by touching my memories, making it even more compatible with me?"
"Exactly! You're absolutely right!" Mr. Ollivander's eyes instantly lit up, his voice full of gratification, even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out, "This is probably the greatest inspiration the knowledge from that inherited leather gave me—the compatibility between a wand and a Wizard isn't just about material and magic matching, it also requires a spiritual connection."
He then changed his tone, speaking candidly: "Of course, it certainly can't compare to the elder wand; it has many limitations."
"For example, this ability to align through memory can only be effective once, after which it will stabilize."
"Moreover, to trigger this ability, the Wizard must have a certain foundation in mental magic, otherwise, they won't be able to guide the memory to resonate with the wand."
"Dylan, try it quickly!"
Dylan nodded solemnly and reached into the box to pick up the wand.
As his fingers touched the shaft, he felt a perfectly balanced warmth.
The spiral pattern on the grip fit the curve of his fingers, and the weight of the wand was just right.
Clearly, Mr. Ollivander had specifically adjusted it according to his hand size during design, making the grip exceptionally comfortable.
Following Mr. Ollivander's guidance, he gently pressed the tip of the wand against his temple, took a deep breath, adjusted his mindset, and recited the Charms in a steady tone.
"Ah!" Hearing his clear incantation, Mr. Ollivander visibly relaxed, raising a hand to wipe the thin sweat from his forehead, "I almost forgot to remind you just now, you must first adjust your mindset, keeping your mind in a peaceful state, so that the wand can smoothly access memories without causing confusion."
The Charms had just finished.
Dylan felt a gentle force emanating from the wand's tip, seeping into his mind through his temple.
This sensation was somewhat familiar, similar to the magical pull he felt when submitting his name to the goblet of fire, yet even more delicate.
What was even more special was that the memories this wand accessed were extremely pure, focusing solely on the various types of magic he had mastered.
From basic Lumos to complex silent summoning Charmss, and even more profound incantations, it precisely avoided irrelevant content, without involving any life snippets or emotional memories.
Soon, he clearly felt that the resonance between the wand and his memories was complete.
To test the effect, he raised his hand and waved the wand, casting a Charms at a nearby book.
There was no sense of stagnation; the book seemed to be pulled by an invisible force, flying steadily towards him.
He immediately changed his gesture, a Charms shot out, and the book retreated along its original path to its original position. These Charmss flowed so smoothly as if this wand had been with him for many years.
Dylan looked down at the wand in his hand, surprised to find that its appearance had changed.
The originally dull white shaft had now become a soft silver-white, and the wood grain on its surface was tinged with a faint golden hue, as if countless fine gold threads were embedded within, shimmering with a delicate luster under the light, making it even more exquisite and dazzling than before.
He knew very well that he hadn't even had time to use his magic-sensing eye to sort out the magical circuits inside the wand, yet he had already achieved such a perfect alignment, which was enough to prove the success of this memory resonance.
"How does it feel?" Mr. Ollivander leaned closer, his eyes full of anticipation, his hands unconsciously clasped together.
This wand, which integrated new materials and new concepts, was his proudest work recently, and he wanted to know the actual effect more than anyone.
Dylan waved the wand in his hand, his fingers feeling the subtle magical fluctuations emanating from the shaft, his voice filled with awe.
"It's so smooth! Even without sorting out the internal magical circuits, I can clearly feel its perfect alignment with my magic."
"When I cast the Charms just now, there was no sense of stagnation whatsoever. It was even smoother than my old wand, which I've used for many years. The boost to the casting process is too obvious!"
He looked down at the silver-white shimmering wand and smiled slightly: "This is definitely a great wand, Mr. Ollivander. You have created another masterpiece."
"Ahahaha, don't say that, I'm getting a little embarrassed."
Mr. Ollivander smiled and waved his hand, his cheeks slightly flushed, clearly delighted by the praise, but he quickly reined in his smile and his tone became frank, "However, this is still far from enough."
"This wand uses non-existent spiritual silk; its core is too special, and there's currently no way to obtain it in bulk, so it's destined not to be widespread. It can only be considered an experimental attempt."
He paused and continued, "And its limitations don't stop there—because it can only bond with a Wizardthrough a single memory resonance, it can only enhance the magic you have already mastered."
"If you learn new Charmss later, you'll need to use it for a long time to adapt it to the new magicpattern; you won't be able to quickly attune it in the same way as before."
Hmm.
Hehe~
The Charmss he had already mastered were already outrageously numerous.
Saying this, Mr. Ollivander stood up, placed the empty wand box back into the velvet cloth bag, and carefully tied the knot.
He turned to look out the window, where the setting sun hung on the horizon, painting the sky a vibrant red. Light streamed through the glass into the classroom, casting long shadows on the floor.
"It's getting late, and I should be leaving Hogwarts. I need to get back to Diagon Alley before dark."
"Oh! I almost forgot this!" He suddenly slapped his forehead and pulled out a large roll of parchment from another pocket of his robe.
The edges of the paper were slightly curled, clearly from frequent perusal, and several different colored quills were tucked inside, used for marking important points.
"These are my recent research notes on composite wand shafts and special wand cores. They contain a lot of experimental data and ideas."
Mr. Ollivander handed the parchment roll to Dylan, his tone casual, "If you're interested, you can flip through them in your spare time, just to pass the time. Your Professors can't stop praising your abilities. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have thought of coming to you to experiment with new wands; those old Professors wouldn't accept my ideas."
Dylan took the parchment roll with both hands, held it in his arms, and smiled slowly, "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. I won't waste these valuable materials."
"Good, then I'm relieved." Mr. Ollivander nodded, then picked up Dylan's notebook, which he had placed on the table earlier, and carefully put it into his own cloth bag. "I will also carefully study your notes; perhaps I can find new inspiration from them. We can exchange ideas then."
This Dylan is truly worthy of Dumbledore's special attention.
In such a short time, he could proactively research the powers displayed by other Houses.
And he had already made such progress.
Truly impressive!
The two exchanged a few more brief farewells, and Mr. Ollivander, carrying his cloth bag, walked towards the classroom door. The setting sun stretched his shadow long, gradually disappearing down the corridor.
Dylan, holding the parchment roll and his new wand, stood in place, feeling a bit curious.
With this special wand and Mr. Ollivander's research notes, he became even more interested in magic.
Then, on another weekend afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through the clouds, falling upon the Hogwarts lawn.
Cedric, Draco, and Harry followed Dylan along a winding path to a corner of the lawn.
A tall magical plant, the Whomping Willow, appeared before them. Its thick trunk was covered in dark brown patterns, and its branches were as stout as an adult's arm, tipped with sharp thorns. It swayed gently in the breeze, exuding an intimidating aura that warned against approaching.
"So it's the Whomping Willow," Harry said, looking up at the plant that felt taller than the school building, his voice filled with emotion.
When he met Sirius in Hogsmeade last time, Sirius had specifically mentioned this tree.
Beneath its roots lay a secret passage, which, if followed, led directly to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.
Harry also recalled the past Sirius had spoken of.
When Professor Lupin enrolled, every full moon when he transformed into a Werewolf, he would use this secret passage to go to the Shrieking Shack to avoid harming other students.
Later, James Potter, Sirius, and the others discovered this secret and specifically learned Animagustransformation. Every full moon, they would transform into animals and accompany Lupin in the Shrieking Shack to endure the difficult nights.
It was precisely because of the commotion they caused in the shack that the villagers of Hogsmeademistakenly believed it was haunted, and it was even rumored to be—the most haunted place in all of England.
Cedric stared at the thick branches of the Whomping Willow, quickly guessing the purpose of their visit, and turned to Dylan: "Dylan, are we going to train here?"
"That's right."
Dylan nodded and pulled a folded note from his pocket.
Professor Sprout's signature was on it.
"I submitted an application to Professor Sprout earlier, hoping to use the Whomping Willow as a sparring partner. She has agreed."
"However, Professor Sprout also has a request. She said this Whomping Willow is her carefully cultivated 'little darling,' and she hopes we'll be extra careful during training not to hurt its branches."
"Little darling?" Harry couldn't help but repeat, his gaze returning to the Whomping Willow.
Its branches were as thick as hammers, and its twigs were as sharp as whips. A slight swing could create small pits in the ground.
He couldn't help but mutter to himself.
If he were hit by a branch from this "little darling," he would probably be flattened into a meat patty, and one with holes at that.
He suddenly remembered Hagrid always calling Dragons "little darlings."
He instantly felt that Professor Sprout's definition of "little darling" was exactly like Hagrid's.
He couldn't afford such a treasure.
"So the focus of our training this time is reaction ability, evasion skills, and the practical application of the Shield Charm."
Dylan added, his gaze sweeping over them, "After all, the Whomping Willow's branches attack quickly and cover a wide area, which is perfect for simulating a Dragon's attack pattern."
"It's indeed very suitable." Cedric looked thoughtfully at the Whomping Willow, gently tapping his palm with his fingers. "When its branches swing simultaneously, the coverage is similar to a Dragon's wings and claws, and it can train our ability to respond to multi-directional attacks."
Draco also nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes: "And its size is similar to the Dragon we previously estimated. Standing beneath it, we can directly feel that sense of oppression, which is much better than simulating in an empty classroom."
"So how exactly do we train?" Harry was already a bit impatient, his wand unconsciously gripped tighter in his hand—ever since he learned the first task might involve a Dragon, he had been longing for an opportunity for practical simulation.
"First, summon your broomsticks," Dylan said, raising his wand, his voice steady. "I'll need to set up some protective Charmss around us to avoid accidentally injuring others during training."
No sooner had he spoken than several broomsticks flew from the direction of the distant Castle, landing steadily in the hands of Dylan, Harry, Cedric, and Draco.
Harry gripped his broom, the familiar woody feel in his fingers, and his anticipation grew even stronger.
Riding his broom and dodging attacks around the Whomping Willow would surely help him adapt faster to the Dragon's oppressive presence!
Dylan held his broomstick and raised his wand, pointing it around them.
Harry, Cedric, and Draco immediately felt a gentle magic spread through the air, like a transparent film softly covering the surrounding area.
Although they saw no visible changes, they vaguely felt that the scene before them seemed a bit softer.
Cedric immediately raised his wand, its tip trembling slightly, as if sensing the magical fluctuations in the air.
A moment later, he looked at Dylan, his tone confident: "Dylan, you just cast Confundo, didn't you? To hide the commotion of our training?"
Chapter 341 Everyone's Cooperation
"Exactly." Dylan retracted his wand and nodded lightly, his gaze falling on the Whomping Willow's thick trunk.
"Professor Sprout specifically instructed us to take good care of this 'little darling.' Besides not hurting it, we also need to avoid too many people watching and disturbing it—after all, the Whomping Willowis easily startled, and if people frequently approach it, it might trigger its desire to attack."
"Confundo?" Harry's eyes lit up. He had learned the basic principles of this spell in Charms Class and knew it could interfere with others' perceptions, making it very versatile, but its practical application was quite difficult.
He looked around curiously, unable to resist asking, "So if someone walks past here, what will they see? Will they not see us?"
Dylan smiled and nodded, explaining, "The effect of this Confundo is to 'weaken presence.'
"If passersby don't intentionally approach, they will only see a Whomping Willow swaying its branches alone in the wind; they won't notice our presence or feel that anything is out of the ordinary here."
He paused and added, "Moreover, this place is relatively secluded and few students usually come near the Whomping Willow. This spell should provide excellent concealment, enough for us to complete our training."
Harry stood by, his face full of bewilderment.
Cedric and Draco, however, did not share this bewilderment. Cedric even couldn't help but curl his lips, a hint of a smile flashing in his eyes.
Draco, though not smiling, also nodded slightly.
"All right, the broomsticks are in place, and the Confundo is set."
Dylan cleared his throat, breaking the brief silence, "Next, I'll do a demonstration to show everyone the specific training method."
With that, he walked towards the Whomping Willow, carrying his broomstick.
At this moment, Dylan had already walked to the Whomping Willow with his broomstick, flipped onto it, and with a gentle push off the ground, the broom carried him slowly into the air.
Dylan rode his broom in circles around the Whomping Willow, his gaze fixed on the trunk, adjusting his direction, and then flew straight towards the Whomping Willow.
Cedric immediately pointed to the sky: "Look, Dylan is starting his demonstration! Watch Dylan's movements carefully first!"
Harry and Draco immediately looked up.
Dylan was riding a Firebolt, its body gleaming with a silver-blue luster, flying at an extremely fast speed, getting closer and closer to the Whomping Willow.
Just as the front of his broom entered the range covered by the Whomping Willow's branches, a branch as thick as a bowl suddenly swung out, accompanied by a "whooshing" sound, lashing at his waist like a whip.
Dylan's reaction was astonishingly quick. He tilted his body slightly, clamped his legs tightly around the broom, and the Firebolt drew a smooth arc in the air, narrowly avoiding the attack.
But before he could steady himself, another thicker branch struck from diagonally behind, aiming directly at his back.
"Be careful!" Harry couldn't help but exclaim in a low voice.
Dylan's wrist gave a slight turn, and the broom instantly dipped half a meter. The branch grazed the top of his head and slammed heavily onto the ground.
With a muffled "boom," a shallow pit was immediately created in the ground, and dirt splattered.
Upon entering the Whomping Willow's attack range, Dylan's maneuverable space noticeably shrank.
The surrounding branches were dense, like a giant net. The Firebolt's speed advantage couldn't be fully utilized, and every movement had to carefully avoid branches coming from all directions.
Suddenly, dozens of Whomping Willow branches attacked simultaneously, some sweeping horizontally, some smashing downwards, some thrusting diagonally, almost blocking all of Dylan's escape routes.
Harry, Cedric, and Draco all instinctively clenched their fists, their eyes fixed on the sky.
The speed and force of these attacks were even more astonishing than they had initially imagined.
Harry muttered to himself.
If it were him, he probably wouldn't just get hit once; he might be continuously struck by these branches, and whether he could even stay stable would be a problem.
Dylan narrowly dodged a concentrated barrage of attacks. Just as he was breaking through towards the trunk, seemingly about to escape the branch encirclement, a thin branch hidden among the dense foliage suddenly sprang out, heading straight for his broom handle.
This came too suddenly, and there was no space for him to dodge around him.
Harry and the others' eyes instantly widened, and they even held their breath.
But just as the branch was about to hit the broom.
With a soft "thud," the branch seemed to hit an invisible barrier and suddenly stopped in mid-air.
Dylan took the opportunity to kick off with his legs, and the Firebolt accelerated sharply, successfully rushing near the trunk, seemingly intending to pass through the gaps between the Whomping Willow's branches.
Over the next few minutes, similar situations occurred repeatedly.
Whenever Dylan was about to be hit by a branch, a branch would suddenly be blocked by an invisible barrier, giving him a chance to escape.
Finally, he successfully passed through the gaps in the Whomping Willow's branches and flew out the other side.
"It's a Shield Charm!" Cedric was the first to react, his tone certain, "Dylan has been using the Shield Charm to defend him. Every time he's in danger, the Shield Charm precisely blocks the attack, creating an opportunity for Dylan to escape."
"So, Dylan is mainly training his dodging ability, and at the same time practicing the timing of casting the Shield Charm?" Draco asked with a frown, a hint of thought in his eyes.
Harry looked at Dylan, who was slowly flying back, and suddenly remembered the Quidditch training scene: "How does it feel a bit like Wood training the Chasers? Breaking through and covering…"
"It's indeed very similar." Cedric nodded. As the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, he had a particularly deep understanding of teamwork. "Draco is right, Dylan is focused on dodging, and also focused on defense."
"But he is alone, and we can help each other."
"Dodging branches requires quick reactions, and judging when to cast a Shield Charm also requires quick reactions; both are indispensable."
He paused, pointing his finger at Dylan's flight path just now: "Did you notice? When facing a Dragon, we can't stand in a fixed position; we must cooperate while moving. Dylan is doing this to adapt to this dynamic cooperation in advance."
"After all, when the first task begins, we will also be in a similar dynamic environment, and everyone has their own tasks to complete."
Cedric continued to add, his gaze sweeping over Harry and Draco, "This requires our reactions to be fast enough to accurately judge when a teammate is in danger while completing our own tasks, creating opportunities for teammates to escape danger."
"That's roughly it."
Dylan walked over, a gentle smile on his face, "Cedric has explained everything I wanted to say, even more thoroughly than I had thought."
"Actually, I was also inspired by Harry." Cedric scratched his head a little shyly, with a hint of embarrassment in his tone, "He mentioned the covering cooperation in Quidditch training, and that's when I suddenly understood the key to dynamic collaboration."
"But ultimately, trust between the team is the most important. Only with enough trust can we seize those fleeting opportunities for cooperation and not miss the timing due to hesitation."
"Speaking of trust and cooperation, there's actually an advanced version of the Whomping Willowtraining."
Dylan took over, with a hint of anticipation in his tone, "Since Cedric has already explained the basic logic, we can just demonstrate the advanced mode now to give everyone a more intuitive feel."
"Advanced version?" Harry immediately repeated, his eyes full of curiosity, and quickly asked, "How exactly do we do it? Is it more difficult than just now?"
"It will indeed be a bit more complex than just now."
Dylan nodded, patiently explaining, "In the advanced training, all of us will enter the Whomping Willow's attack range, instead of just one person breaking through and others covering from outside."
"Besides helping each other defend and avoid branch attacks, we also need to perform simulated attacks on the Whomping Willow. Simply put, it's using wands to shoot magic light at the branches, without actually causing damage. The main goal is to train the ability to cast spells accurately while dodging."
He paused and added details about the attack requirements: "As for the accuracy of the attack, you can set targets according to your own situation."
"If you want to practice precise strikes, you can aim at the Whomping Willow's thin twigs. Those parts are more slender than the main branches and move faster, making them more difficult to hit, which is perfect for training spellcasting stability."
After speaking, Dylan picked up his broomstick again and swung onto it.
As soon as he entered the Whomping Willow's attack range, this disturbed magical plant reacted immediately.
A dozen thick branches simultaneously rose, accompanied by whistling wind, and slammed down on him like heavy hammers, even more fiercely than when they attacked Dylan earlier.
Dylan tilted his body to both sides, and the broom drew two symmetrical arcs in the air, narrowly avoiding the first wave of attacks.
As he dodged, he had already raised his wand, and the tip glowed with a deep blue light.
With two 'swish' sounds, two beams of light accurately hit the same falling twig, with almost no difference in the points of impact.
"Wow!" Harry couldn't help but click his tongue, his eyes full of surprise, "He's actually that strong!"
Cedric stared in the direction of the Whomping Willow, his voice tinged with emotion, "At this level, he must be a master flyer."
As Dylan fully entered the Whomping Willow's attack range, the plant's attacks became even more dense.
Branches swung continuously, some sweeping horizontally from the front, others striking from below, their whistling echoing constantly in the air, leaving almost no gaps.
Dylan's reactions were astonishingly fast.
He first leaned back, dodging a branch that smashed down from above, then with a slight flick of his wrist, his broom instantly shifted half a meter to the left, avoiding another branch that attacked from the side.
In this brief interval, he had already waved his wand, and another deep blue light flew out, accurately striking the joint where a branch connected to the tree trunk.
That was the weak point where the branch exerted its force, and also the "best simulated attack position" they had discussed earlier.
Harry, Cedric, and Draco stood on the ground, dumbfounded.
Dylan, riding his Firebolt, weaved up and down among the branches, his movements so fluid it didn't look like he was dodging attacks, but rather performing an elegant aerial waltz.
And the 'whoosh' sound of the Whomping Willow's branches now seemed to be the accompanying music, merging wonderfully with Dylan's rhythm of movement.
About ten minutes later, Dylan descended to the ground, landing steadily on the grass.
Dylan exhaled softly and said in a relaxed tone, "That's the general idea of advanced training. You can start by trying the basic mode—don't rush to include attacks, first get familiar with defense and coordinated rhythm."
He pointed to the Whomping Willow not far away and explained the rules in detail: "Two people can patrol on the outside, responsible for observation and defense, and one person enters the attack range, focusing on practicing evasion."
"The key is for the two people on the outside to learn to cast the Shield Charm alternately, to avoid wasting magic by casting simultaneously, and to ensure that every defense truly works and is not in vain."
Harry, Cedric, and Draco all nodded.
They knew very well that when facing a Dragon or a Manticore, the situation would only be more complex than it was now. If team cooperation could achieve "one plus one is greater than two," their chances of dealing with danger would be much higher.
And this required them to make choices when casting spells, finding the best timing to act, in order to preserve enough magic and energy to deal with emergencies.
After a brief discussion, the three quickly determined their division of labor.
Cedric was responsible for entering the attack range first, while Harry and Draco rode their brooms, slowly circling outside the Whomping Willow, ready to cast the Shield Charm for support at any time.
It was only when Cedric, riding his broom, entered the Whomping Willow's attack range and the first branch came whistling towards him that he truly realized.
Dodging attacks was much harder than it looked.
Watching Dylan dodge from the ground earlier had seemed easy, but when facing a branch thicker than his waist, he felt the oppressive force rushing towards him, and his breathing unconsciously quickened.
The moment he entered the attack range, Cedric found that the actual situation was much more complex than expected.
He not only had to quickly control his broom to change direction and dodge branches, but also had to deal with the turbulence created by the swinging branches.
The strong winds stirred up by thick branches sweeping through the air would suddenly alter the broom's flight path, causing deviations from his pre-judged evasion route.
And the slight breezes created by fine twigs passing by would interfere with the stability of wand casting; even the fingers holding the wand had to exert extra force to keep it steady.
What made him even more uncomfortable was that controlling the broom to turn while dodging attacks felt completely different from turning on the Quidditch Pitch during normal times.
Normally, turning only required considering speed and direction, but now, every turn had to simultaneously account for three problems: "avoiding frontal branches," "preventing side attacks," and "reserving space for subsequent evasion."
The information his brain needed to process increased exponentially, and his movements inevitably became stiff.
Just as he was distracted, thinking about his next evasion move, a branch as thick as a bowl suddenly came from diagonally below, whistling through the air straight for the base of his broom.
Cedric instinctively leaned to the side, clamping his legs tightly around the broom, barely avoiding this "heavy blow."
But before he could sigh in relief, a spiky twig swept past from the side.
With a 'rip' sound, the hem of his robe was instantly torn with three cuts, and fragments of fabric fluttered in the air with the airflow.
Cold sweat instantly drenched Cedric's back.
He knew very well that if his evasion had been even one centimeter smaller, that spiky branch would have directly hit his leg, with unimaginable consequences.
He took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, his eyes fixed on the surrounding branches, concentrating all his attention on "predicting attacks" and "quick reactions."
In the next two attacks, Cedric clearly adjusted his state.
Facing a branch smashing down from the front, he no longer dodged in a panic, but first observed the branch's swing trajectory, then precisely controlled his broom to shift backward horizontally.
When encountering fine branches attacking from the side, he would turn his body in advance, allowing the broom to tilt slightly with the airflow, both avoiding the attack and not disrupting the subsequent rhythm, finally no longer getting his clothes scratched by the branches.
But as he gradually delved into the core attack zone of the Whomping Willow, the situation became tricky again.
The Whomping Willow's branches seemed utterly enraged, their attack frequency noticeably increasing. A dozen branches attacked simultaneously from all directions, some sandwiching him from above and below, others sweeping horizontally from left and right, almost compressing his evasion space to the extreme.
Cedric dodged with all his might, his broom struggling to weave through the gaps between the branches, but the corner of his eye still caught a huge shadow descending upon him.
He suddenly looked up, his heart instantly leaping to his throat.
A main branch, thicker than his body, was slowly descending from above, with several smaller branches wrapped around its end, clearly intending to trap him completely.
Just at this critical moment.
A dull 'thud' sounded in his ears, and the main branch seemed to hit an invisible barrier, suddenly stopping in mid-air, even trembling slightly.
Cedric didn't hesitate for a moment, immediately pushed off the ground with his legs, controlled his broom to charge forward, and taking advantage of the brief moment before the branch resumed its attack, he successfully passed through the gaps in the Whomping Willow's trunk, flew out from the other side, and landed steadily on the grass.
"Good thing... good thing you guys helped."
Cedric clutched his chest, panting heavily, cold sweat dripping down his face, his voice full of lingering fear, "That last one, I almost got directly hit."
"Uh... actually, I didn't react in time just now."
Harry's voice carried clear guilt. He scratched his head, his eyes somewhat evasive, "When I saw the branch falling, my mind just went blank, and I didn't have time to raise my wand."
"Me too."
Draco's words were brief, but his ears were slightly red, clearly also feeling a bit embarrassed. He paused, then added, his voice lower than usual, "Sorry, I couldn't help in time."
Cedric then realized that the one who had secretly intervened to block the branch just now must have been Dylan, who was standing on the ground.
He quickly waved his hand and said in a relaxed tone, "It's alright, it's always like this when you start practicing. Let's continue! Let's do a full round of practice first, and then thank Dylan when we're done."
But the subsequent training did not go smoothly.
When it was Draco's turn to enter the attack range, he was simultaneously attacked by several branches. Although Cedric cast the Shield Charm in time, he failed to precisely control the barrier's position due to nervousness.
The barrier was half a meter too far to the left, precisely blocking Draco's evasion route, forcing Draco to forcefully change direction and get hit on the arm by a fine twig, leaving a faint red mark.
And when Harry was caught in a branch blockade, Draco's Shield Charm showed an even more significant deviation.
Not only did the barrier fail to block the incoming branches, but it instead stood directly in front of Harry. Harry, to avoid the barrier, nearly collided with two other branches attacking simultaneously.
In the end, he had to jump off his broom in a sorry state to avoid being caught in a pincer attack.
Chapter 342 Fire Dragons
After a round of training, all three of them looked exceptionally disheveled.
Cedric's robes were torn in several places, Draco had red marks on his arms, and Harry's hair was wind-blown and messy from the frantic activity.
They carried their broomsticks back to the ground, walked up to Dylan, and all sighed in unison, their faces filled with frustration.
Harry, Cedric, and Draco stood on the grass, holding their broomsticks.
A gust of wind made the torn hem of Cedric's robes flutter, revealing trouser cuffs stained with a bit of mud.
Draco occasionally raised a hand to touch the red marks on his arm, unconsciously frowning as his fingertips grazed his skin.
Harry, meanwhile, haphazardly ran his fingers through his wind-blown, messy hair, trying to smooth his fringe away from his eyes.
The chaotic training session had left all three of them looking exceptionally disheveled.
Earlier, watching Dylan effortlessly weave through the branches of the Whomping Willow without even his robes being touched, the three of them had thought, "It shouldn't be too hard."
But when it was their turn to experience it firsthand, they realized that trying to get through the gaps between the branches unscathed was far more difficult than they had imagined!
After calming their breathing for a while, the three of them gathered, brows furrowed.
They looked at each other, beginning to ponder their earlier mistakes.
"Draco, when you were being surrounded in there, I miscalculated the coverage of the Shield Charm.
The barrier was off by half a meter, which forced you to dodge that thin branch, and you got scratched on the arm."
Cedric spoke first, his voice full of apology.
He pointed to the tear in his own robes, "I didn't do well myself; I was so focused on your side that I almost forgot about the attack from behind."
Draco's ears were still a little red.
He shook his head gently, his voice lower than usual: "It's okay, I made mistakes later too."
"When Harry was blocked by the branches on the left, I cast the spell too hastily.
The barrier didn't aim at the attacking branch, but instead blocked in front of him, forcing him to jump off his broom and almost getting caught by two other branches.
Sorry."
"Actually, I had problems too."
Harry scratched his head, his gaze a bit shifty, "When Cedric was targeted by that thick branch overhead, I clearly saw it, but my mind just went blank.
I didn't even raise my wand; it was Dylan who helped block it.
My reaction was too slow."
As the three of them were reviewing with their heads down, a soft laugh suddenly came from behind them.
They turned to look, only to see Dylan leaning against the trunk of the Whomping Willow, one hand in his robe pocket, the other toying with his wand.
"Hahaha, you guys like this, it feels pretty good."
Dylan straightened up and walked towards the three of them, his tone completely free of blame, instead carrying a clear smile.
"Good?"
Harry and Draco exchanged glances, both seeing confusion in the other's eyes.
They had made mistake after mistake during training and almost got injured; what was good about that?
Cedric, however, thoughtfully stroked his chin, his eyes gradually brightening as he somewhat guessed what Dylan was about to say.
"When you were reviewing just now, no one said things like 'It's all your fault for not blocking' or 'You were holding us back.'
Instead, you all looked for your own problems."
Dylan stopped, looking at the three and saying, "Facing so many dangers in the very first round of training, and still being able to avoid blaming each other, only reflecting on your own mistakes—isn't that worth celebrating?"
He paused: "In my opinion, that is the most difficult thing to achieve in teamwork."
"Many people practice a dozen times and still blame others when problems arise, but you, practicing for the first time, are already able to look for reasons within yourselves."
"This shows that you already have a foundation of 'trust' in your hearts, willing to attribute mistakes to your own shortcomings rather than your teammates' problems."
"This is more important than mastering a hundred dodges, and it's the most crucial step in forming a team; you've already taken it."
"Dylan is right."
Cedric couldn't help but agree.
He recalled his experiences as a Quidditch Captain: "When our team first started practicing passing and catching coordination, we always dropped the Quaffle.
At first, some people would blame, 'You passed it too wide,' or 'I didn't catch it because you threw it too late.'
Later, everyone slowly learned to look at their own problems first, and our coordination became more and more tacit."
"Training is inherently a process of continuous trial and error.
One unsuccessful attempt doesn't mean anything; just keep practicing."
He looked at Harry and Draco and continued, "If we blame and shirk responsibility whenever we encounter problems now, without even basic trust, then when we enter the task and truly face a Dragonor Manticore, the situation will only be more chaotic, and that's when accidents are truly likely to happen."
"But now it's different; we are already able to avoid blaming and only reflect.
From now on, as long as we practice more, our chemistry will definitely get better and better."
Listening to their words, Harry felt the sense of frustration in his heart slowly disappear.
He tightened his grip on his wand, his eyes once again becoming firm.
Draco also straightened his back, and the red marks on his arm seemed to hurt less.
Cedric then raised a hand and patted both of their shoulders.
The three exchanged glances, and in unison, picked up their broomsticks and walked towards the Whomping Willow.
This time, there was no hesitation in their steps, but rather a newfound certainty.
In late November, Hogwarts had several heavy snowfalls.
Feathery snowflakes drifted down, blanketing the Castle's spires, the withered grass, and the branches of the Whomping Willow with a thick layer of white frost.
Walking on the flagstone path, the soles of their shoes made a soft "crunch, crunch" sound as they stepped on the accumulated snow.
Their exhaled breaths instantly turned into white mist, which quickly dissipated into the cold air.
This morning.
As soon as Dylan entered the classroom, he saw a letter with a gold-embossed seal on his desk.
The envelope bore the emblem of the panel of judges, and the wax seal was still warm, indicating it had just arrived.
He opened the envelope; inside was only a single piece of parchment with half a riddle written on it.
Dylan picked up a quill and wrote "Dragon" on the parchment.
As soon as the tip of the quill left the paper, the entire letter suddenly burst into pale blue flames.
Strangely, the flames did not burn his fingers or damage the desk.
They extinguished after only a few seconds, and the ashes re-formed in the air, becoming a new letter.
The new envelope had an additional red stamp from the Ministry of Magic.
When opened, it contained only one sentence.
"Please arrive at the hunting ground promptly at 5 PM this Friday."
Almost at the same time, Harry, Cedric, and Draco also received identical letters.
When Harry ran to Dylan with the letter, his ears were still bright red from the cold.
He stomped the snow off his feet and asked, puzzled, "You mean the panel of judges suddenly wants us to go to the hunting ground.
Are they going to organize us to observe Dragons?
But why would they do that?"
Draco followed behind, hands in his robe pockets, constantly exhaling mist as he spoke: "If they wanted to hide the Dragons, the most logical place would be deep in the Forbidden Forest—it's secluded, and few people go there."
"But Beauxbatons' carriages are currently parked next to the hunting ground.
They live so close; the Dragons' movements would easily be discovered, impossible to hide."
"I know!"
Harry clapped his hands suddenly, his eyes lighting up before Draco could finish, "Since it's impossible to hide them anyway, and Headmaster Dumbledore had already given us a riddle hint, why not just stop hiding them and openly let us interact with them early?
Instead of letting us guess blindly, it's better to let us see the real appearance of the Dragons directly, which also counts as early adaptation."
He breathed into his reddened, cold hands, rubbing them together quickly to warm them, his voice full of anticipation: "We've seen Dragon images in the Pensieve before, but those are just memories.
It's definitely not the same as seeing a real Dragon live."
"I wonder how many types of Dragons the panel of judges has prepared this time.
Will there be aggressive ones like the Hungarian Horntail?"
As they spoke, the group walked along the snow-covered path towards the hunting ground.
Before they even got close to the edge of the hunting ground, they caught a strong whiff of pure malt whisky.
The smell was very distinctive, carrying a hint of spicy warmth, yet it was also exceptionally pungent.
Dylan recalled a funny story he had heard from Hagrid.
His Luna used to love playing in the hunting ground but had been made dizzy and unable to flap her wings several times by the smell of alcohol.
Because Luna often rolled around in the grass with Hagrid's dog, Fang, Fang had long recognized her scent.
Whenever Luna was so overwhelmed by the smell that she tumbled into the snow, staggering and unable to stand, Fang would pick her up by her wing and drag her into Hagrid's Hut.
Inside the hut, there was a fireplace where a wood fire burned year-round, making it warm and cozy. Luna only needed to stay by the fireplace for half an hour to sober up and fly away, flapping her wings.
Later, Luna probably became afraid of the alcohol smell and never came to the hunting grounds again, instead moving her activities to Hogwarts Castle.
But with this change of location, Peeves became the one to suffer.
Luna was Dylan's pet, and Peeves naturally knew that.
Every time Peeves faced Luna, he didn't dare to make any moves, nor did he dare to resist.
Then Luna would peck at Peeves's hat with her sharp beak.
If Peeves deliberately made noise to try and scare her away, she would fly onto Peeves's shoulder and scratch his hair with her claws.
Amidst their chatter, the group had already reached the entrance to the hunting grounds.
The champions from the other schools also arrived one after another.
Everyone was dressed in thick winter clothes; some rubbed their hands for warmth, while others quietly discussed the Dragons they were about to see.
However, Ludo Bagman and Old Barty Crouch were not present, nor were the Principals.
Just as everyone was looking around, a tall figure emerged from deep within the hunting grounds—it was Hagrid.
He wore a thick, grayish-brown coat, and his messy beard, lightly dusted with snowflakes, almost covered half of his face, but his round eyes were bright and sparkling with excitement, indicating he was in an excellent mood.
"Is everyone here? Follow me, I'll take you to see the big fellows!" Hagrid's voice was booming and carried far in the cold air.
Seeing Dylan and his group, Hagrid immediately waved enthusiastically and called out gruffly, "Come on! Everyone, come over here!"
Once everyone was closer, he smiled and nodded at the champions from the other schools, then turned and stepped onto a path covered in snow.
The tree branches on both sides of the path were laden with snow, which rustled down with every gust of wind, leaving tiny snow particles on the ground.
"It's wonderful! They're such lovely little creatures!" Hagrid walked at the front, his steps as light as a child's, his voice filled with undisguised delight, his tone drawn out and dramatically modulated, like an aria in an opera house, "I guarantee you'll love them—they're even more charming than what's written in the textbooks!"
As he walked, he chattered on, occasionally turning back to smile at everyone: "Of course, these 'beauties' do have rather loud voices, so don't be alarmed when you hear them later—don't let their roars scare you!"
"In my opinion, a loud voice is a sign of health, it means they're full of energy and in great condition!"
Hagrid did most of the talking along the way.
He talked about "Dragons being the most magical creatures in the magic world" and how "the Triwizard Tournament having a Dragon event is just perfect."
He also praised the "judging panel for having such good foresight" from time to time, as excited as a child sharing his treasures.
Norberta hadn't seen Hagrid for some time either.
However, Hagrid hadn't mentioned this to him recently at all.
Clearly, he had found a new favorite.
Dylan and Harry and the others followed behind.
Listening to Hagrid's words, Harry and their initial tension gradually eased, replaced by a sense of anticipation.
After all, getting to see so many Dragons up close this time was a rare opportunity for anyone.
The group walked along the path on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest for nearly twenty minutes; the snow grew thicker and the "crunch" underfoot became louder.
Just then, a faint clamor reached them from a distance, like the clanging of metal, interspersed with intermittent, sharp roars.
The sound was full of power; even from a distance, one could feel its deterrent force, making hearts tighten.
"Hagrid, you're here!" a familiar voice called from ahead.
Everyone looked up to see a young man in a navy blue coat with slightly disheveled hair waving at them, a cheerful smile on his face.
It was Harry's brother, Charlie Weasley.
He still had some black ash on him, clearly having just finished his work.
"You must be a bit surprised to see me, right?" Charlie walked over quickly, first giving Harry a big hug, then smiling and patting Dylan's shoulder, "To be honest, I'm more surprised than you. Before I came, I only knew one school had three champions. I didn't expect Hogwarts to have an extra one this time. The scene is much livelier than the Ministry of Magic Dragon protection mission I participated in last time."
He chatted with Hagrid about the Dragons' feeding situation, then briefly told Harry and Dylan about the protective charms they had recently been adjusting on the Dragon enclosures.
Then he took over the task of leading the way: "Everyone follow me, watch out for the ice underfoot, ahead is the clearing where we've temporarily housed the Dragons."
Following Charlie through a patch of low bushes, the sight that met their eyes instantly made all the champions hold their breath.
In an open clearing, several Dragons of various forms were separated into different areas by magicfences.
Each one exuded a powerful aura.
The Hungarian Horntail on the far left had black-green scales, and when its wings spread, they almost covered half the sky, occasionally spitting out small bursts of sparks.
Next to it, the Norwegian Ridgeback, with sharp bone spikes on its back, was lowering its head and raking the snow on the ground with its claws.
The Hebridean Black's scales gleamed with a metallic luster, and a low growl occasionally rumbled in its throat.
The Swedish Short-Snout's nose tip had a faint blue tint, as if covered in a thin layer of ice.
The Common Welsh Green on the far right was relatively "gentler," curled up in the corner of its enclosure, occasionally raising its head to glance in their direction, its eyes shimmering with an amber glow.
Walking through the bushes into the clearing, the first thing that caught their eye was not the Dragons, but giant wooden boards standing on the ground.
These boards were two stories high, over half a meter thick, and carved with complex protective runes on their surfaces, dividing the entire clearing into five independent areas, each housing a Dragon.
The gaps between the boards were very small, barely allowing a glimpse of the tail of the Dragon in the adjacent area, clearly designed to prevent the different Dragons from attacking each other.
Looking closer, each Dragon was wrapped in a special restraint device.
Their upper thighs were tightly bound with wrist-thick Dragon hide belts, the edges of which were embedded with silver metal buckles. The buckles were connected to iron chains as thick as a bowl, with one end of the chain fixed to a metal stake at the base of the wooden board.
The other end was wrapped around the Dragon's neck—even with this double restraint, when the Dragons twisted their bodies, the chains would still rattle loudly.
The metal stakes swayed slightly when pulled, testament to the incredible strength of these Dragons.
In the two areas closest to the group, a Swedish Short-Snout and a Common Welsh Green were confined, respectively.
As soon as Hagrid reached the Swedish Short-Snout's enclosure, he stopped. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his usually booming voice softened considerably, his eyes even a little red, and his tone was full of adoration: "Oh… look at this little one, it's so beautiful!"
His speaking tone was still like an aria, but with added tenderness, "Look at those silver-blue scales on its body, gleaming in the snowlight, like it's wearing a magnificent evening gown studded with diamonds, it's simply mesmerizing!"
"If it could understand, it would surely be happy you're praising it like that!"
Charlie Weasley walked over, patted Hagrid's shoulder, and smiled as he gestured towards the Dragonin the enclosure, beginning to introduce it to the surrounding champions.