"If I stay alone with Dumbledore, he won't notice anything, will he?"
Dylan put away the envelope in his hand, deep in thought.
During the first two weeks of school, he had visited various professors' offices every day, yet no one had realized he had completely mastered six forms of dark magic.
Dylan assumed this was due to the effect of his achievement rewards.
He had completed two achievements before.
The first ensured that no one could indirectly track the magical traces he left behind.
The second allowed him to cast dark magic without relying on negative emotions, which apparently extended to the three Unforgivable Curses.
This meant he could perform Avada Kedavra while smiling.
Since he had no negative emotions, even if someone suspected him of mastering dark magic, they would first doubt themselves.
After all, how could someone without any malice be proficient in high-level dark spells?
To anyone, Dylan was simply a hardworking, studious, and positive student.
That was the impression nearly every professor had of him.
Naturally, no one questioned whether he had mastered dark magic. This realization emboldened him, and he was no longer as fearful as he had been at the start.
However, professors were one thing.
Dumbledore was another.
Dylan had not yet had any private interactions with the legendary wizard.
Would Dumbledore notice something unusual if they were alone together?
"Forget it. I doubt Dumbledore expects me to thank him in person."
To be safe, Dylan decided to avoid personal contact with the headmaster as much as possible.
The old man hadn't retired yet, despite his age. He was busy every day—contending with Voldemort, overseeing a school full of troublesome kids, and even managing the faculty's salaries and benefits.
Dylan figured the last thing Dumbledore needed was an additional distraction.
In the spirit of respecting his elders, Dylan decided to devote all his energy to self-study.
"I still have one more chapter of Potions left to read today, and I need to study Divination as well. Besides that, I just came across an interesting connection between Transfiguration and Summoning spells, so I should read up on that, too."
There were too many books waiting for him.
If he didn't put in the effort, they would go unread.
Just then, a startled cry interrupted Dylan's thoughts.
"Ah!"
He turned to see Neville holding a red Remembrall.
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
The Remembrall had turned red, meaning Neville had forgotten something important.
But judging by Neville's distressed expression, Dylan knew that even with the magical reminder, he wouldn't be able to recall what it was.
"Who gave you this?" Ron asked.
"My grandma sent it," Neville replied, frowning as he rubbed his chubby cheek. He tilted his head back slightly, squinting as he tried to remember.
"But what exactly have I forgotten?"
Seeing Neville's face turn red from the effort, Dylan sighed, took the Remembrall from him, and stuffed it into his schoolbag.
"Alright, Neville, if you can't remember it, then it probably isn't that important. If it is, you'll recall it when the time comes."
Neville blinked. "But what if I need to prepare for something in advance?"
"How do you know it's something you need to prepare for?" Dylan countered. "You forgot it, didn't you?"
Neville's face went blank.
Dylan patted his shoulder and handed him a glass of milk.
"I keep track of all the professors' assignments, and I don't think there's anything more important than that."
Neville looked up and nodded. "That makes sense."
He soon forgot about the matter and focused on eating breakfast.
After finishing their meal, the students prepared for class.
As Dylan sat in the front row, a thought crossed his mind.
"Wait, could what Neville forgot be—"
Before he could finish the thought, the professor entered the room.
Dylan immediately switched into learning mode.
After class, he even stayed behind to ask additional questions.
By the afternoon, it was time for their flying lesson.
Dylan, Harry, and the rest of the first-years gathered on the open field in front of the castle gate.
The Slytherin students joined them shortly after.
Dylan looked ahead and saw nearly thirty flying brooms arranged in two neat rows.
"Huh? I feel like I'm forgetting something."
Just then, Madam Hooch approached.
As soon as he saw the instructor, Dylan refocused on the lesson.
"Good afternoon, little wizards. Now, everyone stand to the left of your broomstick. Quick, quick, quick!"
Madam Hooch had short gray hair slicked back neatly. Her face was sharp, with thick eyebrows that arched slightly.
She swiftly organized the two houses into their respective rows.
The Gryffindor students lined up first, followed by Slytherin.
Dylan stood next to Neville and Harry.
He glanced down at the broom in front of him.
The wood was dark, its bristles uneven—some even charred and broken. The binding ropes were loose, and a few planks at the back were missing.
"...This broom looks like it might fall apart midair," Dylan thought.
Would it even be able to fly?
"Alright, now extend your left hand over your broom and say—Up!"
"Up!"
The students shouted in unison.
Most of them got their brooms to rise on the first try.
Dylan's broom jumped up instantly, allowing him to grasp the handle.
"If you want to learn how to fly, posture is key! But before that, you must remember the fundamental principles of flying and take safety precautions seriously!"
Madam Hooch's voice was hoarse yet commanding, carrying easily across the field.
Dylan took a deep breath and refocused.
Flying was just another skill to master—one more step toward his goals.
But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something important.
(End of Chapter)
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