"Everyone, I've got to say this right here—Happy Valentine's Day!!"
Lockhart's voice boomed through the Great Hall, his heart-shaped bow tie glimmering under the magical candlelight with a waxy, almost corpse-like sheen. His words echoed off the stone pillars, startling the carved reliefs embedded in the walls.
Dylan glanced over, genuinely baffled at how this guy had the guts to wear something so obnoxiously bright.
That kind of mental toughness? Even Voldemort would probably struggle to possess his soul and live in that body.
If it hadn't been Quirrell teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts last year but Lockhart instead, maybe there wouldn't have been so much chaos.
—Wait a sec. If Voldemort *did* latch onto Lockhart, could he even handle that level of narcissism?
Dylan suddenly found the idea pretty amusing.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were reluctantly dragged by Lockhart to stand in front of the staff table. They couldn't exactly give him the cold shoulder—not like Severus could. Plus, with all four Houses watching, they had no choice but to force stiff, awkward smiles.
Those smiles were painfully strained—eyebrows twitching, eyelids lifting, nostrils flaring, and mouths pulled into tight, thin lines.
Compared to their "cooperation," Snape didn't even bother playing along. He stayed rooted in his seat, brows furrowed into deep trenches, his whole vibe icy enough to chill the room.
—It reminded Dylan a bit of the look Snape gave him last time he accidentally swapped a Shrinking Solution for an Aging Potion and dumped it into the cauldron.
Of course, Dylan figured Snape's disgust for Lockhart was on a whole other level. That little glare made it seem like Lockhart might just be the most hopeless idiot Snape had ever encountered in his life.
"So far, forty-six people have sent me Valentine's cards, and I'd like to thank them all! That's why I've decked out the Great Hall with decorations—I hope my setup brings you all a nice surprise!"
Lockhart waved a hand dramatically, raising his arm and clapping lightly.
"And now, let's welcome our friendly little cupids, armed with cards and love!"
As he finished speaking, the doors behind the hall creaked open, and twelve grumpy-looking dwarves shuffled out. Their faces were sour, draped in white cloths with golden wings strapped to their backs and harps slung over their shoulders—looking like they were about to collapse under the weight.
Dylan took one quick look and immediately turned away. Even that brief glance made his eyes feel like they were protesting.
"Give them a warm round of applause, everyone! They'll be roaming the school today, delivering Valentine's cards to all of you! And colleagues, I'm sure you'll be eager to join in on the fun!"
"How about we start by asking Professor Snape to teach you all how to brew a love potion?"
Dylan winced, shooting a glance at Lockhart up at the staff table, then over at Snape, still seated and unmoving.
"…You're really not afraid to die, are you?"
Dylan could practically *feel* Snape's expression darken even more.
Would anyone actually dare ask Snape? Dylan didn't know. But he was pretty sure if someone did, there was a 99% chance Snape would grab them and melt them down into potion sludge right then and there.
And that last 1%? Snape might just flick his wand and hit them with an *Avada Kedavra*.
A killing curse that'd definitely be fatal.
"Ho ho ho~"
Lockhart let out a loud, self-satisfied laugh, tossing out what he clearly thought was a clever quip.
"Or maybe you think Snape's a bit prickly? Well, you could always ask Professor Flitwick to teach you some enchantment spells instead."
"—I'd wager no wizard alive is better at it than him!"
"What a sly old fox~ Ho ho ho~"
Flitwick squeezed his eyes shut, like he couldn't bear to face the scene unfolding. Listening to Lockhart's obnoxious cackling, the head he'd held high for decades slowly drooped.
Faintly, Dylan could almost see two words hovering over the little whirl of hair on Flitwick's head: *"I'm done."*
The other professors' faces weren't much better. Only Dumbledore sat there calm as ever, completely unfazed by Lockhart's nonsense.
—Oh right, this guy's a bit of a mischievous old coot himself.
He looked like he was just waiting to see the drama unfold, maybe even hoping one of the professors would actually take Lockhart up on his ridiculous suggestions.
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Breakfast was a total bust. Everyone shoveled down their food and bolted out of the Great Hall, racing to their classrooms.
—Never before had the students been so eager to get to class.
Too bad for them, it wasn't over yet.
Those dwarves Lockhart had roped into playing Cupid—looking more like they'd crawled out of a sewer—didn't let up, even during lessons. They'd barge in and out of classrooms nonstop, shoving cards into everyone's hands. Sometimes they'd even rip open their raspy throats and recite—or worse, *sing*—the messages, strumming along on their harps.
Pretty much every student was miserable, suffering through a whole morning of ear-piercing torture.
The professors weren't thrilled either, but they couldn't exactly hex the dwarves on the spot.
Dylan, of course, wasn't about to show off in front of the teachers. So after the first dwarf waddled into his classroom, he just turned the door into a massive iron slab that'd take ten people to budge.
The Hufflepuffs in the first half of the morning class were stunned, and even the Slytherins who showed up for the second half looked at Dylan like they wanted to call him "Dad" on the spot.
After lunch, hardly anyone lingered in the hall. They all dashed back to their classrooms.
—Sure, the dwarves were running wild everywhere, but with so many rooms, the odds of getting ambushed weren't *that* high!
Before Charms class started, Dylan waited until everyone was inside, then tapped the door with his wand.
*"Vera Verto!"*
The door instantly thickened into something even sturdier.
*Clang!*
Right then, something slammed into the front door, like it was trying to get in but got blocked by the sudden iron barrier.
Flitwick, standing at the podium, had already spotted the dwarf outside. Dylan's quick move left him visibly relieved, letting out a heavy sigh.
Dylan grinned sheepishly. "Sorry for casting a transfiguration spell in your class, Professor. Hope you don't mind."
Flitwick waved it off instantly. "Not at all! I mean, you did great! Feel free to use spells whenever you need to!"
His smile looked genuine. He even raised a hand, nearly adding ten points to Gryffindor on the spot. But after a second thought, he figured it wasn't quite justified and held back.
"Now, if any of you sent a card to your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, feel free to step outside and hear what Professor Lockhart has to say about your Valentine's note before coming back."
"No one? Perfect! Then let's just keep this iron door right where it is—don't touch it."
No way he'd risk a dwarf sneaking in.
Flitwick scanned the room, saw no hands, heard no replies, and nodded, satisfied. "Alright then, let's get started with today's lesson!"
As they flipped open their books, Neville, sitting next to Dylan, couldn't hide his grin. He shot Dylan a big thumbs-up.
"Nice one, as always!"
Dylan smirked, opening his textbook and pulling out his notebook. While Flitwick lectured, he could review his old notes too.
Time flew by, and without Hermione around, April rolled in.
Nothing major happened at school during that stretch. Dylan got a letter from Gringotts, asking him to swing by when he had time to finalize some property stuff in person. Afterward, the goblins would wipe their own memories of it.
But Dylan didn't have the bandwidth for that right now.
He was juggling new studies—the library's books felt endless no matter how much he read. Plus, he was breaking down spells layer by layer, digging into how they connected, and keeping up with potion research. He even had ideas for new spells he wanted to test out on subjects.
Maybe it was all the new knowledge piling up on top of what he already knew, but lately, his inspiration had been exploding like crazy. It pushed him to speed through his magical projects even faster.
—Inspiration waits for no one; it's gone in a flash.
He could only jot it down as it came. Sometimes, once he started writing about a single idea, he couldn't stop—it ate up huge chunks of his time.
So, the property thing? He decided to shove it off to summer break.
—The house wasn't going anywhere. As long as he didn't sign off, the old goblin couldn't pocket his commission.
Dylan wasn't worried about the goblin ditching him after getting paid either. The magical contract was crystal clear.
"Things have been pretty calm lately, huh, Dylan? Do you think whoever opened the Chamber just took off?" Neville asked one day after class, walking with Dylan toward the Great Hall.
Dylan just smiled, brushing it off. When Neville pressed, he'd toss out a vague reply to keep him happy.
—Truth was, even walking around, his brain kept spitting out random ideas. He didn't have much mental space for chit-chat.
Neville knew Dylan was swamped—meals were a rushed affair these days. So he didn't bug him too much, just the occasional random question like that.
Seamus wasn't super tight with Dylan, so they didn't talk much. Harry and Ron were off doing who-knows-what lately, barely showing their faces, so they weren't pestering him either.
With all that time and energy, Dylan could split his focus across his projects and still make solid progress in his magical studies.
Honestly, he felt like his research was breaking into new territory, even for him. But he also thought he should probably cut back on experimenting a bit and carve out more time for reading.
—Research never ends.
One breakthrough just leads to another angle. Lately, his crazy pace had paid off big-time, but he was starting to feel like his current knowledge wasn't quite enough to keep pushing forward.
He kept hitting walls.
So, reading more, learning more, building a stronger foundation—that became his main focus for now.
On top of all that, he still had to squeeze in time every day to practice flying as a Norwegian Ridgeback.
Couldn't skip that either.
Luckily, he had Norbert around. Flying with her every day had seriously leveled up his skills. And ever since he'd figured out how to turn into a dragon himself, Norbert had gotten way more cheerful—and clingy. Well, clingy to her fellow dragon, anyway.
That packed schedule carried him straight through to the Easter holidays.
First off, the Quidditch team had training camp lined up. The professors also dumped a ton of homework on everyone.
But with the school staying quiet—no more Chamber or monster attacks—things felt almost normal. Professor Sprout even had good news: one more repotting, and the Mandrakes would be fully mature.
Once they were ready, Snape could brew the restorative potion, and no one would have to worry about getting petrified anymore.
Worst case, they'd just stick together in groups while walking around, so the monster couldn't gobble them up.
Though, after a few attacks with no one getting eaten, Hogwarts students weren't as freaked out about the Chamber or its supposed monster anymore.
Some even joked it might just be the size of a booger—why else wouldn't it come out and snack on someone?
Ron had let slip to a few people that they suspected the Chamber's monster was a basilisk, but when folks asked Harry, he clammed up. So the rumor didn't spread too far.
That meant, even with the break, not many little witches and wizards went home. They stayed at school—cramming homework and reviewing a whole year's worth of material.
—Final exams weren't far off.
Plus, since Dylan was in second year and about to hit third, it was time for them to pick electives.
Figuring out *how* to choose? That had a lot of second-years stumped.
In the common room, a big group stared at the course list, faces full of worry, chattering away about which ones to pick.
Every little witch and wizard was on edge.
They were scared of picking a bad class—or a good one that'd make finals brutal.
They didn't want to mess up their choice—or see their friends pick something better and feel left out.
Caught in that tangle, most second-years scrambled for advice. Some asked friends or older students; others wrote home to family.
Having a wizard in the family really paid off here—at least they could point you in a rough direction when you were lost.
Dylan, though? He didn't care much.
When it came to picking electives, he'd already made up his mind ages ago.
Kids make choices. Him? He was taking *everything*.
If he only picked one or two, he'd have way too much free time in class.
But Dylan had been curious about the Time-Turner for a while now.
So, back in first year, he'd decided: third-year electives? He was taking them all.
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Four electives would clash on the schedule, no question.
For other students, they wouldn't want to waste that much time on so many classes. Picking one meant they had to pass its final exam, after all.
Dylan was different.
For one, he could handle the fallout of taking on that many courses.
For two… it gave him a legit excuse to snag a Time-Turner from Professor McGonagall.
—In the story, that's exactly what Hermione did.
Too bad she was still stuck in the hospital wing.
Dylan wondered if she'd lose it when she woke up, realizing she'd missed months of classes.
He still didn't get it—why wait for the school's Mandrakes to mature? Couldn't they just buy some fully grown ones from outside and start brewing the potion now?
Only one theory made sense to him: Hogwarts might be strapped for cash.
Student tuition probably just covered food and lodging. Big expenses relied on the school board, and maybe the Ministry had cut back on funding lately.
How else could Hogwarts be too broke to buy a few Mandrakes?
At least get some to brew the potion and wake up the petrified kids already!
"Also, how do you even survive when you're petrified? Does it mean you're dead? Hermione's been out for so long without eating—does waking up fine mean her whole body just freezes in that moment?"
Dylan's brain kicked into overdrive with new questions.
He was dying to grab some test subjects and experiment.
It made him itch for little Tom to regain his strength, sic the basilisk on Harry, and kick off their showdown.
When that happened, he'd swoop in and nab both the basilisk and the Horcrux in one go!
"Dylan, my gran says electives are optional but still tough. What do you think I should pick?"
Neville stood next to him, clutching a stack of letters, his face just as stressed as the other second-years.
He peeled off the top letter, glanced at the rest, and let out a heavy sigh.
"It's not just Gran—tons of my relatives sent me advice, but half of it contradicts the other half. My head's spinning! Who should I listen to?"
Seeing Dylan casually check off all four electives, Neville's panic spiked.
—Some relatives had told him picking everything was a great idea, that it'd make his next year a magical adventure.
Would it be magical? Neville wasn't sure. But he *was* sure that if he copied Dylan, he'd lose his mind first.
"Each elective has its perks. Once you learn it, that skill sticks with you, whatever you want to do later. So, pick what interests you. If it doesn't, skip it. Simple."
Dylan tossed out some advice, seeing Neville so worked up.
But Neville just looked *more* miserable.
"…Problem is, I'm not interested in any of them. I don't really want to take any."
Dylan: (_)
Fair point, actually.
Neville didn't exactly need elective skills for a career—he ended up taking over from Professor Sprout as Hogwarts' Herbology teacher anyway.
Rubbing his chin, Dylan offered another idea. "How about Divination? It's hit-or-miss. Some witches and wizards just don't have the knack for it—can't help that. The professor won't fail you for it at the end either."
He was basically saying: *It's an easy class. Finals are a breeze.*
Neville's eyes lit up.
"For real? Then I'll go with Divination!"
He grabbed his course list and checked off Divination with a grin.
Harry and Ron, stressing over their own choices nearby, overheard Dylan and exchanged a look. They quietly marked Divination too.
Neville glanced at the crowd. "Percy's nuts—he picked everything. What's he even aiming for?"
Dylan shrugged. "Maybe he just wants to be a blind lackey or something."
"Huh?" Neville blinked.
Dylan waved it off. "Nothing, I don't know either."
"Uh…" Neville scratched his head. "Percy did say we could pick based on what we want to do later, though."
"I'm only into Herbology. Might do something with that eventually. So I'll just take one elective and call it good."
—As long as he didn't flunk, he was fine.
Harry and Ron hovered near Percy, listening for a while.
Truth was, they had no clue what they wanted to do either—no real goals. So they just picked what mildly interested them, including Dylan's "easy" Divination tip.
Anyway, the whole elective thing finally wrapped up.
Harry shoved it out of his mind fast—Quidditch practice was ramping up.
With the match nearing, Wood was up even earlier than Dylan. Every dawn, when Dylan stepped out before sunrise, he'd run into Wood waiting at the door like clockwork.
Gotta give it to him—Wood was hardcore about drilling Harry, the guy who'd clinched so many wins for Gryffindor.
But waking up too early without enough sleep? Training would tank.
Dylan was a 4 a.m. riser himself, but with so much on his plate lately, he needed solid rest to stay sharp. No energy, no learning.
*Sharpen the axe, don't dull the cut.* Spot on.
So he'd been sleeping in a bit—still not past 5 a.m., though.
After bumping into Wood a few times and noticing his worsening eye bags, Dylan gave him some advice.
"At least sleep till six, seven if you can. Training won't suffer."
Maybe Wood took it to heart, or maybe Harry's Quidditch slump forced his hand. Either way, he agreed.
After that, Dylan stopped seeing him at dawn.
Until the day before the big match.
Dylan hit the library for a bit, then slipped into the Room of Requirement to practice spells. When he got back to the dorm, Harry was flipping out, rummaging through his stuff.
Turned out Tom's diary was gone.
After practice, Harry came back to find his things tossed around—and the diary missing.
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
Guess he'd be chilling in the library all day tomorrow?
With the diary lost, the attacks were bound to start again. Quidditch would be off the table.
And yeah, he was right.
The next day, as Gryffindor and Hufflepuff lined up on the pitch, right before Madam Hooch's whistle—
Professor McGonagall came sprinting in, shouting, "Match canceled—!"
She even used a Sonorus charm to blast her voice across the field.
The stands erupted in confusion.
"What?"
"Canceled? Why?"
"No way, it was about to start!"
Boos rained down.
Wood, already straddling his broom, saw McGonagall's grim face and hopped off, rushing over to ask what was up.
She ignored him, shouting again, "All students! Everyone! Back to your common rooms *now*!"
"Prefects, lead your Houses out immediately! Go!"
Her voice hit every ear on the field. Prefects jumped into action.
Then McGonagall marched over to Harry, grabbed his arm, said something to him, and hauled him off.
Ron blinked, then jogged after them.
Dylan had been in the library, reading.
He'd figured the match was doomed, so he hadn't bothered going. But he didn't get much time there either—Madam Pince got word and shooed everyone out.
—Well, "everyone" was just him.
So it was basically a one-on-one eviction.
Sighing, Dylan packed up and headed back to the dorm.
The castle was buzzing now, packed with students milling around.
Near the Gryffindor common room, a chubby figure darted up to him—Neville, fresh from the Quidditch pitch, looking rattled.
"Dylan! No clue what's going on—McGonagall even stopped the match! Oh man, did someone get hit again?"
His voice shook, his face pale with panic.
With a commotion this big, what if the Chamber monster didn't just attack someone—what if it *ate* them??
"Harry says it's a basilisk! A freaking *basilisk*! That thing eats people! Dylan, do you know what's in the Chamber?"
Neville gulped, staring at him.
Dylan stayed chill, shrugging. "Not many creatures can petrify. A basilisk fits, so yeah, could be."
"(∧) Oh no!"
Neville's face crumpled further.
They stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Seamus spotted Dylan and hurried over, looking grim. "We're in trouble! Big trouble!"
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
Neville jumped at Seamus's tone. "What? What happened?"
"My amulet! It's gone! What if the Chamber monster was coming for me and the amulet took the hit?"
"…" Dylan's mouth twitched.
"What kind of amulet?" Neville asked, patting his own chest in a panic.
Feeling something solid, he relaxed. His was still there.
"The one the Weasley twins sold me… I heard from a few people it actually works."
Dylan: (.)
Hearing it was from Fred and George, he blinked. "You know I'm the one who enchanted those, right?"
To his surprise, Seamus nodded. "Yeah, that's why I bought it. Figured your spells would be solid."
"…"
Dylan opened his mouth, then closed it. What do you even say to that?
They treating him like some kind of saint now? Praying to him for protection?
Even wilder, Neville nodded along like it made perfect sense.
"Last time someone said the twins' amulets were fake, they tested one right there—said you made it. People lost it and ran to buy them like crazy."
"Huh?"
(Chapter End)