"Manipulating genes... I can't shake the feeling that I'm sprinting headfirst into something extremely dangerous."
Dylan smacked his lips.
Regardless, with his current skill level, there was no way he could achieve such a feat yet.
"That's why I need to study harder and learn more!"
He hadn't even finished reading everything in the Hogwarts library.
Even with his mastery of top-level spells, spells were spells—knowledge was knowledge.
The two could complement each other, but they were by no means interchangeable.
In fact, the differences between them were quite significant.
Mastering high-level spells meant Dylan possessed formidable offensive and controlling abilities—but those were simply the effects of the spells.
Advanced spells gave him insight into the essence of magic, the flow of magical energy, and the rules that governed spells. This deep understanding allowed him not only to wield magic proficiently but also to improve existing spells or even create entirely new ones.
However, no matter how powerful magic was, other fields of knowledge each had their own unique value. By absorbing new knowledge, Dylan could even reevaluate the spells he had mastered—perhaps unlocking new possibilities hidden within them.
Being at the highest level didn't mean being omnipotent.
In simple terms, mastery allowed Dylan to maximize the power of spells while using the least amount of magic.
But if he knew nothing about other areas of knowledge, he'd simply be a brute with advanced spells—smashing everything in sight.
Not that such an approach wouldn't work.
Still, Dylan wanted to understand how spells would react in different scenarios or whether they could be refined into something entirely new. To pursue that, he needed a solid foundation of magical knowledge to support his experiments.
—Theory always comes before experimentation.
Lockhart never returned for the entire class, leaving the students to either bury themselves in books or chat quietly.
When the bell finally rang, everyone scattered.
Rumors about the lesson spread like wildfire, and the once-celebrated magical celebrity Gilderoy Lockhart's reputation plummeted overnight.
Many students ridiculed him, but others remained loyal, defending him by claiming it was all a test—an elaborate plan to make students appreciate the importance of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Surely someone who had survived countless adventures wouldn't run from a bunch of Cornish Pixies?
The discussion inevitably involved Dylan, since he was the one who had stepped in to save the day.
Having already made a name for himself the previous year, Dylan's star only shone brighter.
He, however, couldn't care less.
By the end of the first week, Dylan had fallen back into his old rhythm—flitting between professors' offices like a honeybee buzzing from flower to flower.
There was always something to be filled—some question to be answered.
During the summer, in addition to his own experiments, Dylan had accumulated a long list of questions while reading.
Every night, he dragged the professors into late-night discussions.
By Friday evening, as the sunset bathed the Hogwarts corridors in warm light, Dylan walked side by side with Professor Flitwick toward the Great Hall.
Even while walking, Dylan's mouth never stopped moving—firing off magical theory questions one after another.
Professor Flitwick, who was shorter than Dylan now, had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his gaze. His smile was forced, tinged with both helplessness and exhaustion, his eyes reflecting a looming dread of the inevitable late-night Q&A session.
—Merlin help me... Why would a student ever *voluntarily* keep a professor past hours?
Yet despite his inner complaints, Professor Flitwick answered every question with care.
When they reached the Gryffindor table, Dylan beamed, "See you tonight, Professor."
"See you..." Flitwick replied, his legs already carrying him swiftly toward the staff table—though his pace seemed weighed down by invisible chains.
Neville watched Flitwick's retreating figure, his small frame slumped as if crushed by an unbearable burden.
He glanced at Dylan, then back at the professor.
"Dylan... did you schedule something with Professor Flitwick tonight?"
Dylan smiled brightly. "Yes. I'll give him some time to rest after dinner, then head to his office."
Neville swallowed hard, lowering his head and focusing entirely on his meal, not daring to comment further.
Meanwhile, at the staff table, Professor Flitwick finally collapsed into his chair.
"That boy is like a Niffler hunting for gold!"
Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses, a playful glint in her eyes. "Looks like you're the unlucky one tonight."
Flitwick forced a bitter smile and nodded with a deep sigh, as if the simple motion drained all his energy.
"Minerva, surely you could teach him some spells as well—your magical knowledge is quite profound, after all."
McGonagall's lips curled. "I stayed with him until ten last night—he's never kept me that late before. The curfew was about to start!"
Flitwick's expression darkened.
Ten o'clock?
Merlin's beard!
Magic wasn't going anywhere—what was the rush?
He hadn't lectured that much during *all* his classes combined!
"The boy's curiosity is insatiable... but he's so bright—I simply can't say no." Despite his exhaustion, a hint of pride colored Flitwick's voice.
McGonagall sipped her tea, smiling. "He's exceptionally talented—even Severus has agreed to tutor him personally once a week."
Professor Snape shot her a withering glance. "Drinking strong tea at night... how very wise of you."
McGonagall's smile deepened.
Clearly, Snape was just as exasperated.
"As long as he doesn't waste too much time on that ridiculous Divination nonsense and turn his already dull mind even duller, he *might* learn something worthwhile," Snape remarked coolly.
He sat straight-backed, his black robes buttoned tightly, moving with practiced elegance as he speared a small piece of food with his silver fork.
Few people at Hogwarts took Divination seriously, but voicing such opinions aloud was another matter entirely.
McGonagall hesitated before responding. "Don't underestimate him—Dylan seems to have quite a knack for it."
Flitwick nodded in agreement.
Several professors glanced toward the Gryffindor table, where Dylan suddenly looked up as if sensing their attention.
They quickly averted their gazes.
McGonagall cleared her throat and took another sip of tea, hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup.
---
Professor Flitwick picked up a piece of bread.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape kept a stern expression, seemingly adjusting the plates in front of him as if nothing was wrong.
—Even though his plate was already empty.
Dylan tilted his head slightly, looking puzzled.
"Were the professors just looking at me?"
Neville nodded vigorously. "Yeah! I just noticed it, which is why I warned you—but why did you have to look up right away? That scared me!"
Neville hunched his shoulders, stealing a glance at the teachers' table out of the corner of his eye.
Only after confirming that the professors hadn't heard him tipping Dylan off did he finally relax.
—He felt just like when you're whispering about someone in public with a friend, and then that friend immediately repeats what you said out loud for everyone to hear.
Neville swore—he had been seriously afraid the professors would notice him.
"Well, didn't you say they were looking at me? Of course, I had to look up and acknowledge them," Dylan said, not quite understanding Neville's concern.
"…Alright, alright, maybe I was mistaken," Neville quickly ended the conversation and turned toward Seamus.
At the moment, Seamus was still complaining to Dean about Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"I just don't get it! It's been a whole week since school started—are those people blind, or did a troll smash their heads in with a club?"
Dean huffed. "Lockhart is all talk! He's not even as good as Quirrell!"
Seamus tried to comfort his friend, but hearing that, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward himself.
"Where do you even learn to say stuff like that…"
"Oh, I overheard Dylan giving a few Slytherins a piece of his mind once. Those are all things he's said."
Seamus instantly broke into a cold sweat. He carefully glanced at Dylan, but seeing that he was just quietly drinking his soup, Seamus quickly turned back to try and calm Dean down.
But Dean was still fuming. "You have no idea how unreasonable my roommate is!"
"I swear, did he look into a Foe-Glass before leaving the dorm and accidentally pluck his own eyeballs out like boogers? Lockhart is nothing but an empty shell!"
"…Uh…" Seamus grimaced. He genuinely had no idea what to say at this point.
How was it that, as Dylan's roommate, he hadn't picked up this kind of savage way of speaking?
—This was at least ten times—no, a hundred thousand times—more vicious than the Slytherins!
Dean stabbed at his shrimp with a fork. "I can never get along with my roommates. I wish I could just stay in your dorm instead."
Seamus scratched his head. "Well, there's not much we can do about that… unless someone gets expelled."
Dean shook his head. "I know, I know. I just can't wrap my head around how my roommates think sometimes."
"I can even predict exactly what Lockhart is going to say in class now." His voice grew louder.
"Oh! Do you all know about that award I won? Yes, that one!"
"—But don't worry about it. These awards are so easy to win, I never even bother mentioning them."
Dean's over-the-top impression made the surrounding Gryffindors, all of whom had actually witnessed that ridiculous scene in class, burst into laughter.
"I'll vouch for him—he's telling the truth!"
But a few of Lockhart's fans frowned and spoke up in protest. "What do you know? His awards are real! And he's been through so many thrilling adventures in his books—there's no way he's a fraud!"
Dean scoffed. "Stories can be made up! There's barely any real knowledge in those books, and even when he does mention something useful, he just glosses over it!"
"Don't talk nonsense! He's faced werewolves head-on and tamed dangerous creatures!"
"Yeah? And last year, the merpeople in the Black Lake asked me for an autograph!" Dean sneered, his exaggerated impression making Ginny stifle a laugh.
"Where's the proof? Who actually saw it happen? I could write a book called *My Journey with Merlin to Expose That Fraud Lockhart* if I wanted!"
"We have tons of made-up novels like that where I come from. All you need is an imagination!"
He turned to Dylan. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Dylan, knowing that "where I come from" referred to the Muggle world, nodded in agreement.
After reading a few of Lockhart's books, he had to admit—some parts were entertaining, but overall, Muggle fantasy novels were far more compelling.
—What really intrigued him, though, were the little bits of knowledge Lockhart skimmed over.
It was obvious—Lockhart had picked up some information from others but, unable to fully understand it himself, could only include vague, brief mentions of it in his books.
If he had tried to elaborate, anyone would have immediately seen through the deception. So instead, he had no choice but to keep things vague.
Even so, Dylan found that he could expand on those brief mentions, forming his own insights from them.
### After Dinner
Dean was in the Gryffindor common room, locked in a heated debate with a group of Lockhart fans.
Seamus and Neville were trying to play peacemakers.
As for Ron and Harry—well, they were still serving detention.
Dylan, however, had no interest in arguing with a bunch of kids.
He arrived punctually at Professor Flitwick's office and knocked on the door.
*Knock, knock.*
No response.
Dylan knocked again.
*Knock, knock.*
Still nothing.
He knocked harder.
*BANG BANG BANG!*
"Creeeeak—"
The door finally opened.
Inside, the glassy eyes of a mannequin on the shelf reflected the moonlight, casting an eerie glow through the doorway.
Professor Flitwick furrowed his brows.
"Were you trying to break my door down?"
The professor sounded exasperated.
Dylan immediately withdrew his hand and flashed a polite smile as he stepped inside.
"Of course not. I was just worried something had happened to you, Professor."
"…I'd almost rather you had broken the door."
Flitwick shot Dylan a glare, but seeing that the boy remained completely unfazed, he sighed in defeat.
"Alright, alright—what do you want to ask today?"
Dylan unhurriedly pulled a thick notebook from his satchel, dragged a chair over, and sat down beside the professor.
"Professor, I have a few questions about the energy fusion in compound spells."
"Go on…"
Flitwick adjusted his seat by placing a *Defense Against the Dark Arts* textbook underneath it, then traced a spiral in the air with his wrinkled fingers.
"The first thing to consider is how the lunar phases affect elemental affinity."
Once they got into the discussion, he didn't find answering Dylan's questions as exhausting as he had anticipated.
After all, the boy's questions were still within his ability to answer. He could respond with ease—though a few points did require careful thought.
**Scratch, scratch, scratch.**
Dylan's quill flew across the parchment, recording notes as inspiration struck during their discussion.
It wasn't until nearly ten o'clock that the candlelight flickered and the conversation finally died down.
Dylan set his quill down at last, though the gleam of curiosity still shone in his eyes. He politely suggested, "Professor, it's getting late. Perhaps we should call it a night?"
Flitwick, who had been deep in thought, blinked in surprise. Then, his expression turned to one of sheer relief—he was practically glowing with joy.
He straightened his slightly hunched back, adjusted his glasses, and laughed. "Yes, yes! Let's end it here for today."
The professor's voice startled a Bowtruckle dozing on *The Complete Book of Charms*, making it flick its scaly tail and knock over one of Lockhart's signed photos.
Flitwick sighed and glanced at Dylan, who still sat perfectly upright. He shook his head.
Ah, youth… He could sit like that for hours without getting tired.
"Well then, I'll be off. See you next week, Professor—good night."
Flitwick's smile faltered for a second. "…Yes, yes, see you next week. Your dedication is truly admirable."
"You flatter me," Dylan said with a faint smile before stepping out into the hallway.
The corridors were empty. Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting patches of shimmering light on the floor.
"All my basic questions are answered. Now I just need to figure out the best time to visit the Restricted Section."
Dylan quickened his pace, deep in thought.
"Dark magic—I mean, *irresistible magical knowledge*—here I come!"
(End of chapter)