Hogwarts : Max Level Unforgivable Curse

Ron blinked, clearly puzzled. 

"I mean, you've been hanging around that girl quite a lot lately… Ginny told me she's seen you both heading off to the Owlery early in the morning, feeding the owls together." 

Dylan glanced at him, a bit confused. "I like giving my owl special treats, and so does Luna. So we run into each other there. Isn't that perfectly normal?" 

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. 

"It's just—just a feeling I get!" 

Dylan turned his gaze away and took a small sip of his creamy mushroom soup. 

"Luna's a Ravenclaw. She's a year below us." 

"I know," Ron replied quickly. "Ginny told me that too. She said Ravenclaw's got this weird girl—must be her. Even Hermione said people think she's a bit off." 

"You also once said people thought Hermione was odd. Do you think Hermione's weird?" 

Dylan looked over Ron's shoulder just then. 

Ron, oblivious to the presence behind him, scratched his chin and fell into a mock-philosophical daze. 

"Well, she is a bit odd sometimes. Like, she says I always leave my wand behind my ear—or that I never read enough." 

Then, out of nowhere, a cold voice rang out behind him. 

"Oh, really?" 

Ron jumped like he'd been hexed. He whipped around and found Hermione standing there, staring at him with a blank expression. 

"H-Hermione?! When did you get here…" Ron's eyes went wide. 

"Right around the time you said I was 'not normal,'" she said frostily. 

Ron gave a nervous little chuckle. "Er…" 

Before he could think up an excuse, Hermione cut him off. 

"I don't recall ever saying how little you read." 

Ron opened his mouth again. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "If you're such a reader, why don't you greet me with a literary quote?" 

Ron's lips trembled. 

After a long, awkward silence, he finally blurted out— 

"As Shakespeare once said…" 

Hermione tilted her head, curious. 

"…Hello?" 

Hermione: ? 

Harry, trying to ease the tension, quickly cut in. 

"Uh… come on, let's eat. Weren't you walking in with us just now? Then you vanished the moment we entered the Hall." 

Hermione shot him a glance but decided to let Ron off the hook, sitting down beside Harry with an annoyed huff. 

"You were talking about Luna again?" 

Ron jumped in, eager to shift the topic. "Yeah, I just think Dylan's been spending a lot of time with that silver-haired girl. Thought maybe they were dating or something." 

Hermione froze mid-scoop of food. "And what made you think that?" 

"Er…" 

Ron hesitated at the strangely familiar tone. 

"It's just what Ginny told me. She's seen them together in the Owlery, and sometimes around school too." 

Dylan set down his spoon. "We just run into each other and chat a bit. That's all." 

Ron scratched the back of his head. "Alright, maybe… maybe Ginny misunderstood." 

Hermione gave a light snort. 

Ron wisely shut up. 

After a while, as they quietly tucked into their meals, Ron couldn't resist looking up. 

"I guess… that girl's not as weird as people say." 

Dylan smiled. "Of course not. What people call 'weird' is usually just what they don't understand." 

"Luna's not strange. Like I said before, she has an incredible spiritual sensitivity. She sees a world most people miss." 

"It's like with Mandrakes. You might think they're just ugly, screaming plants. But Luna? She might see the ripples of magical energy when they cry." 

Ron stared into his soup, spoon hovering mid-air. 

After a moment, he muttered, "Ripples… from a crying Mandrake? Uh… now she sounds even weirder." 

Dylan rolled his eyes. 

"How do you define weird, exactly?" 

"If we're being honest, you and Harry are the weirdest ones around." 

"Think about it—how many school rules have you two broken since first year?" 

"Hundreds? Maybe thousands? And it's only your third year." 

"What normal person breaks school rules with such flair?" 

Dylan gave him a pointed look. "So really, the weird ones are you." 

Ron was being roasted, but somehow Harry got caught in the crossfire too. 

Harry cleared his throat. "Well… we have broken a lot of rules. But it's not like we've harmed the school or anything." 

Ron jumped to support him. "Yeah! Don't forget—Dumbledore awarded Gryffindor tons of points because of us!" 

Then he paused and glanced cautiously at Dylan. 

"…And if we're talking about breaking rules, haven't you done your fair share too?" 

Dylan narrowed his eyes into slits, sending a chill down Ron's spine. 

Ron promptly shut his mouth and dug into his roast potatoes. 

The little episode passed. 

Later that afternoon, after dinner, Harry and Ron accompanied Dylan to the library—a rare sight. 

They had piles of homework from Transfiguration, Charms, and their electives. Thankfully, they hadn't picked many electives, but their workload still felt like a mountain. 

Dylan read for a while, then helped the two with their assignments and guided them through some difficult questions before returning to the dorms. 

He had plenty of things on his plate. 

Back in the dorm, he slipped into his enchanted pet-storage trunk and began practicing the Gubraithian Fire that Dumbledore had taught him. 

Once he improved slightly, Dylan paused. 

Gubraithian Fire—ever-burning flame that didn't rely on a wizard's magic to stay alive—was no easy spell to master. 

Sure, Dylan had maxed out his Fiendfyre skill, giving him a head start with unusual flames, but truly mastering Gubraithian Fire would take time. 

He couldn't yet conjure a full flame, only faint flickers. 

And those flickers, no matter how many, wouldn't combine into something larger. 

He set his goal: by Christmas break, he'd summon something stronger than mere sparks. 

True mastery could come later. 

"I don't need to max it out. Level seven or eight would be enough," he told himself. 

After feeding his pets, Dylan resumed some of his long-paused magical experiments: 

– Improving the Obsidian Recovery Elixir. – Developing new potions. – Studying Horcrux soul separation. – Testing complex spell theories. 

He wasn't in a rush. There was time. 

After a few hours, he stopped. 

Before him lay a battered notebook, barely holding together, scorched and torn. 

A slow, croaky voice came from within. 

"You're cruel…" 

Dylan smiled slightly. "Cruel? I'm just a kid passionate about magic research. Calling me cruel is a bit much, isn't it?" 

The diary fell silent. 

After wrapping up his work, Dylan climbed out of the trunk. 

A few more days passed. 

One evening, just after dinner— 

"Dylan, Wood says he wants to meet you on the seventh floor," Ron said. 

"Huh? Wood?" Dylan blinked. 

As Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, wasn't Wood busy planning practice sessions? 

Why look for him now? 

Not that the others weren't busy too. Harry was juggling homework, studies, and Quidditch. 

Dylan often saw Wood outside their dorm in the early mornings. 

"I got it," Dylan nodded. 

Ron, meanwhile, wolfed down the rest of his food to join Harry on the pitch. 

Dylan raised a brow. 

Harry had a reason to train—he was on the team. 

But Ron? 

Dylan suspected it was just to avoid homework. 

When he'd asked Ron directly, he'd been told: 

"I'm just cheering Harry on! Totally not skipping homework!" 

Dylan shrugged. Fair enough. 

Kids not liking homework wasn't unusual. 

Eventually, they'd panic-finish everything last minute anyway. 

Later, Dylan made his way to the seventh floor. 

Most students were still finishing dinner or wandering the halls. 

He found Wood near the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. 

"Hey! Dylan, you made it!" Wood beamed and quickly approached. 

"Ron said you needed to see me?" 

"Yeah, come with me. It's… private." 

They turned into a quiet corridor. 

Dylan watched Wood closely. The guy looked tragic, like he was about to duel a Dementor. 

"What's going on?" 

"Dylan!" Wood suddenly spun around—and burst into tears. 

Dylan flinched backward. 

What in Merlin's name— 

Wood was sobbing. 

"Seven years—seven whole years! That Gryffindor Quidditch Cup display is practically growing cobwebs!" 

His nose was red. "Harry's injuries… the canceled games… You know what it's like passing the trophy case every day, seeing those empty shelves?" 

Dylan shook his head. "Nope." 

Wood froze mid-sniff, snot dangling precariously. 

Dylan coughed. "Okay, I can sympathize. Go on." 

Wood wiped his face with a wrinkled handkerchief—only to smear snot on his hand. 

Dylan winced and silently handed him tissues. 

"Thanks," Wood sniffed. 

"I swear, every night I dream of holding that Cup. But I'm graduating next year… This is my last chance!" 

He blew his nose loudly. 

Dylan nearly recoiled but patted his shoulder—then thought better of it and withdrew his hand. 

"Alright, tragedy over," Dylan said. "I'll cast a silencing charm around Harry's bed. I'll also set his alarm to 'storm mode'—make sure he's up at five sharp." 

He waved. "If I sleep in, just knock. As long as Ron's okay with it, I don't mind." 

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