The oak floor of Flourish and Blotts creaked under the strain of the shoving crowd.
Dylan deftly slipped between two chattering witches and stuffed a stack of textbooks, still carrying the faint scent of ink, into Harry's arms.
—He still ended up shoving the books onto Harry.
After all, once school started, these books would serve as textbooks—required for class—so it saved Harry the trouble of buying them again.
Meanwhile, Dylan gleefully stashed all of Harry's signed copies from Lockhart into his own space.
—Probably to show off in front of the reporters, Lockhart hadn't just given Harry the textbooks they needed to buy.
He'd gone further, gifting an entire set of his complete works, all bundled up and handed over.
And with ten signatures per book, that added up to nearly a hundred!
Even if he only visited the Restricted Section once a day, he could keep it up for over three months!
That was almost half a semester!
"Sweet!"
Dylan was thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Dylan, why do you want Lockhart's signed books? Don't tell me you're a fan of his too?" Ron asked, eyeing Dylan's cheerful expression with confusion.
"I don't think he's handsome at all. Plus, he always gives off this slick vibe—I don't like him one bit."
At that moment, Hermione, who had just gotten her own signature from Lockhart and stepped back, overheard Ron's comment.
She immediately frowned and hurried over to Dylan and the others, ready to defend Lockhart and explain how talented he was. But before she could, Dylan suddenly spoke up in a hushed tone—
"Whether he's handsome or not doesn't matter. Didn't you hear what he just said?"
Ron blinked. "What?"
Hermione and Harry both turned their attention to him.
Dylan lowered his voice even more. "He's going to be our next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"
"Oh! I can't believe it—this is so exciting!" Hermione's eyes lit up. "You have no idea how shocked I was when I heard that earlier!"
Harry blinked. "So you're collecting his signed books because…?"
He paused for a couple of seconds. "To sell them for a good price?"
Dylan shook his head. "How much could that even make—"
"A single book could probably fetch dozens or even a hundred times its original price," Hermione chimed in.
"What?!"
This time, it was Dylan's turn to be stunned.
Lockhart's lousy signed books were actually worth *that* much?
One book was about five Galleons. If it could sell for a hundred times that…
That'd be 500 Galleons!
For a brief moment, Dylan almost considered becoming a reseller.
One book might not earn much.
But what about ten books? Fifty? A hundred?
Still, he quickly calmed himself down.
First off, being a reseller wasn't exactly easy work.
Second, there wouldn't even be that many signed copies available for him to snatch up.
And finally, rarity drives value—if too many signed books flooded the market, the price would naturally drop.
So, after reining in his thoughts, Dylan lowered his voice again. "Actually, I've got another use for his signatures!"
Hermione tilted her head. "What are you planning?"
"You know how you need a professor's handwritten signature to get into the Restricted Section, right?" Dylan said with a soft chuckle.
Ron and Harry both widened their eyes. "You're already scheming to get in there?!"
Dylan shot them a look. "Why do you make it sound so bad? 'Scheming to get in there'—really?"
"Didn't you two sneak in there yourselves when you were trying to figure out who Nicolas Flamel was?"
Harry gave an awkward smile. "Yeah, but without a professor's signature, we got chased out by Madam Pince with her feather duster."
Ron smacked his lips. "I still don't think Lockhart's signature will do much good—I don't even like reading anyway."
Dylan rolled his eyes. "Fine, go play somewhere else then."
"Are you sure about using those signatures as a pass for the Restricted Section? What if you get caught?" Ron poked at the stack of hardcover books in Harry's arms with his wand, startling the tiny Lockhart portrait on the title page into blowing him a kiss.
Harry suddenly found the gilded edges of his new textbooks digging uncomfortably into his hands. The little Lockhart portraits, blinking and peering out at him, sent a shiver of cold sweat down his neck.
—He really wanted to chuck all these books away.
"Don't worry, I've got it covered," Dylan said with a casual smile.
After learning what Dylan planned to do with Lockhart's signatures, Ron and Harry—though they had no intention of visiting the Restricted Section themselves—decided to help their friend by going back to get another signature from Lockhart.
Hermione, who'd already gotten hers, stood by Dylan's side.
The cover of her copy of *Travels with Trolls* bore crescent-shaped dents from her fingernails, and the bronze-gold embossed title glinted strangely under the chandelier light.
After a moment's hesitation, she quietly asked Dylan, "You don't seem to like him much, do you?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow in surprise, turning to look at Hermione.
This girl was sharp—she'd even picked up on that?
He chuckled. "What makes you say that?"
Hermione looked at him earnestly. "You're a really polite person. You've never shown impatience with any professor before, let alone…"
She glanced over at Harry and Ron, who were now lining up behind Mrs. Weasley to get another signature from Lockhart for Dylan.
"…use a professor purely as a tool—especially since he hasn't even started teaching yet."
So that's what she meant.
---
---
Dylan instantly understood what Hermione meant.
He had to admit, her attention to detail was truly impressive.
It was Hermione who first noticed how indifferent he was toward Quirrell.
And now, his attitude toward Lockhart—while not as extreme as it had been with Quirrell and even tinged with faint hostility—lacked any trace of respect.
Even with Professor Binns, he would greet him politely and attentively.
Dylan shook his head with a smile. "I just divined some things. This soon-to-be Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is a complete fraud—you'll see what I mean soon enough."
Hermione's expression froze.
A fraud?
What kind of fraud?
Her first reaction to Dylan's words wasn't doubt but confusion.
After all, Dylan's accuracy in divination was undeniable—everyone had witnessed it.
Still, having read Lockhart's books and admired the overflowing talent in his writing, Hermione couldn't help but struggle a little.
"His writing is captivating, so… I mean, what exactly did he lie about?"
Dylan blinked. "I don't know. I only saw a scene where his deception gets exposed."
Hermione fell silent.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
But then—
"Hey! Stop arguing!"
"Wait, don't start fighting!"
Shouts mixed with the sound of footsteps. Dylan's ears twitched, and he looked up.
Ahead, a crowd had gathered, pushing and craning their necks. Heads bobbed as people tried to peek in, but it was impossible to see what was happening inside.
Dylan, however, recognized one of the voices. "Mr. Arthur?"
Just as he and Hermione stood there puzzled, about to push through the wall of people—
*Bang!*
The bookshelf jolted violently, shaking so hard that the books on it teetered precariously.
"What's going on? Are they actually fighting?" Dylan frowned.
Hermione didn't hesitate. She darted forward. "Don't just stand there—let's go see what's happening!"
Inside the crowd, Arthur Weasley's faded leather boots were tangled in a pile of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*. His flushed face, illuminated by the cold glint of Lucius's snake-headed cane, made him look like an enraged Hungarian Horntail.
Lucius brushed off his sleeve and tilted his chin slightly upward, his nostrils practically aimed at the ceiling.
Hagrid's massive, fan-like hand hovered between the two men, crumbs of gingerbread frosting still stuck between his fingers.
By the time Dylan and Hermione finally squeezed through the throng, they saw that it was indeed Mr. Arthur and Malfoy locked in a confrontation.
With Hagrid standing there, though, Lucius—who'd nearly come to blows—clearly wouldn't have the upper hand, at least not without magic.
Mrs. Molly, Harry, and the others rushed over. Seeing the scene, they gasped. "Good heavens, what are you doing? Alright, I've got the autograph—let's get out of here!"
Molly had no desire to tangle with Malfoy and tried to pull her husband and the kids away, but no one budged.
Hermione hurried to her parents' side, checking they were alright before frowning at the younger Malfoy standing next to Lucius.
Dylan's parchment boot crunched over a sliver of gold foil on the floor, producing a faint crackle. His gaze settled on Draco Malfoy, calm and steady.
Draco's face still carried the usual Slytherin arrogance, but when he caught sight of Dylan stepping out from behind the *Curses and Countercurses* bookshelf, his body stiffened. A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes, barely noticeable, and the tip of his dragonhide boot instinctively shifted toward the exit.
"Father!"
Lucius's platinum-blond hair gleamed coldly under the chandelier. The emerald atop his snake-headed cane suddenly flared with an eerie light, casting Dylan's Gryffindor crest in a ghostly glow.
He caught his son's odd reaction and followed his gaze, locking onto Dylan instantly.
Lucius studied Dylan for a moment, his eyes narrowing with a cold, appraising glint. "Who are you?"
Draco whispered, "Father, that's Hawkwood."
Lucius shot him a sidelong glance. "Did I ask you?"
Draco swallowed the urge to grimace and fell silent again.
Lucius gave a soft snort, returning his attention to Dylan. "So you're the little Dylan the Hogwarts professors are so fond of?"
He sized Dylan up, his gaze sweeping over him like he was inspecting merchandise.
"Hmph. From the way the professors talked, I thought you'd be something impressive."
He glanced at Hermione, the Weasleys, and the "oaf" beside them, his lip curling into a sneer.
"Mixing with this lot? Seems you won't amount to much in the future."
Dylan's gaze shifted from Draco to Lucius, meeting his eyes calmly. His tone was even, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.
"You're right. I only managed to get perfect scores in every subject last year and earned Gryffindor at least three hundred points, crushing the other houses."
"Unlike certain disobedient students who lost their house a ton of points and ended up in detention. Honestly, waking up to that news was shocking."
Dylan sighed. "I thought I'd taught that classmate enough lessons, but it seems I couldn't straighten him out. Maybe that's my fault."
Draco suddenly erupted into a violent coughing fit. His pale cheeks flushed an unhealthy red, and his hands clenched into fists, gripping his robe sleeves so tightly that the silver mandrake embroidery crumpled under his knuckles.
What did he mean by that?
Couldn't straighten *him* out?
Who did he think he was?
Did he think he was his *father*?!
"Oh, and even in Potions, my brews always outshine those of certain less-gifted classmates—or rather, I'm the best student. To me, everyone else is just average."
Dylan tilted his head up, running a hand through his hair with a smug little smirk.
"Sometimes, I wonder why I'm so exceptional. Maybe it's just natural talent—no need for any fancy lineage to back it up."
As his words landed, Harry and Ron winced.
Mate, why does it feel like you just roasted us too…?
The Weasleys stared in disbelief, gaping at Dylan as he spoke confidently, occasionally flashing that self-satisfied grin.
Was this the same polite, well-mannered kid they knew?
Had something possessed him?
Lucius's face darkened. He hadn't expected this Muggle-born brat to dare talk back like that.
And to be even more insufferable than *him*!
A spark of anger flickered in his eyes.
But Lucius, ever the poised aristocrat, refused to let himself lose composure again after nearly doing so earlier.
With a cold huff, he fixed Dylan with a steely glare. "I'll remember you."
---
Dylan maintained his usual smug demeanor. "Sigh~ I get it. I'm just so outstanding that anyone who meets me can't help but remember me."
"…"
Lucius choked on his words again.
Where did this little brat pick up these lines?!
He took a deep breath. "Real magic goes far beyond what's taught in the classroom! Don't get too full of yourself!"
With that, Lucius flung his robe aside, the tip of his cane scraping sharply against the floor. As he turned to leave, his dark green cloak swept over a stack of *Selected Medieval Witchcraft*, knocking it down. The demon portrait on the gilded cover let out a pained roar.
"Let's go!"
The father and son duo's retreating figures somehow looked a bit flustered.
*Gulp.*
Ron swallowed hard.
Mr. Weasley snapped out of his daze and couldn't help but grin. "Unbelievable—Lucius actually got driven off in a huff?"
Mrs. Weasley's mouth opened slightly. "And by—a child, no less?"
For a moment, everyone present turned their eyes toward Dylan.
Unlike Harry, who'd squirm uncomfortably under attention, Dylan didn't mind. After Lucius left, he glanced away from the system prompt notifying him of an achievement and slipped back into his shy, innocent persona.
"Sorry for making a scene, everyone. I'm not *that* outstanding, really."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione: "…"
The Weasley family: "…"
Only Hagrid let out a hearty laugh. "You're really something, lad!"
…
"When Malfoy and my dad got into it earlier, I noticed Lockhart was still chatting with the *Daily Prophet* reporter, asking if they could publish the story—and include his name, of course!" Ron whispered, leaning in toward Dylan, Hermione, and the others.
Hermione paused, recalling what Dylan had said to her earlier, and stayed quiet.
After everyone finished their shopping, they said their goodbyes.
At that moment, Dylan mentioned that he planned to head home and wouldn't trouble the Weasleys any longer.
"Oh, dear, is there something uncomfortable about staying with us?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking at Dylan with concern.
Dylan smiled warmly. "No, ma'am. You've taken such good care of me these past few days—I've been very comfortable. It's just that my parents are back from their vacation, so I'd like to spend some time with them."
"Oh, well, this is so sudden! I was planning to make a big dinner before you left—we haven't even had a proper feast together yet," Mrs. Weasley said with a hint of regret.
"It's alright, ma'am. I'll come visit again next holiday—if Ron invites me, that is," Dylan replied.
"He'll definitely invite you!" Mrs. Weasley said confidently.
Ron nodded eagerly. "I'll write to you as soon as the holidays start!"
"…No need to rush that much," Dylan said, his eyelid twitching slightly.
The holidays were his chance to make a name for himself as "Karthus."
—Even if he wanted to keep a low profile, he'd have to step into the spotlight every now and then, right?
"Thanks again. I've really enjoyed my time here—you all feel like another family to me. And you, Harry—don't be late when school starts."
Dylan hugged Mrs. Weasley and the others one by one, gave Harry and Ron a quick reminder, then turned to leave.
Fred's voice called out from behind—
"Come stay with us again next time! George's bed is always open for you!"
"Hey! Why not mine?"
"Mine's fine too!"
"No, Dylan should sleep in *my* bed!"
The twins bickered as usual.
Dylan chuckled and waved. "Hope you guys won't keep setting off explosions at night next time."
"Of course we won't—"
George and Fred's voices had barely started when Mrs. Weasley cut in sharply. "You two were setting off pranks in the middle of the night? With explosions? Why didn't I see any damage when I cleaned your room?"
She grabbed George by the ear.
"Ow! Oh no, we slipped up!"
"Mum, listen—we only fixed it because Dylan helped us clean up the room after he woke up!"
"Good heavens, you made a guest clean up after you? Get home, both of you—I need to teach you a proper lesson!"
Dylan listened to the commotion behind him, the corners of his mouth curling up further.
"A big family sure is lively."
He didn't use Floo Powder to get home.
—Floo Powder wouldn't get him there anyway.
After leaving the Leaky Cauldron, Dylan hopped on a bus and leisurely made his way back.
His parents greeted him at the door.
It had been a while since the three of them had seen each other, so they sat down and chatted for quite a bit. Dylan told them about his time at the Weasleys' and what a wizarding house was like.
His parents listened, utterly captivated. "I wonder if your mom and I will ever get a chance to learn magic," his dad mused.
---
Dylan blinked. "For now, no."
Hubert and Maeve both showed a hint of disappointment on their faces.
"But once your son advances further in his potion research, he might be able to create a potion that lets even those without magic use magical effects."
Thinking of Ron's dad, Dylan added, "And a lot of Muggle items can be enchanted to become magical objects. In the future, you might be able to use them too."
"Really? Then we'll look forward to that."
After escorting Dylan back to his room, the two left again, off to do who-knows-what.
Dylan had already told them in advance that they didn't need to call him out today—he'd be working on something special and couldn't be disturbed.
For this reason, the Hawkwood couple once again dismissed the servants.
Then they, too, vanished without a trace.
Back in his room, Dylan glanced around the still somewhat unfamiliar bedroom. He pulled out his suitcase, opened it, and climbed inside.
After some time training, Dylan had raised another batch of cockroaches. The squirming mass of them looked a little stomach-churning.
Besides the cockroaches, even the spiders had produced plenty of offspring, forming a small spider nest.
Right now, the air was filled with the faint rustling of silk as a group of spiders tore into the food Dylan had left earlier.
Seeing that their meal was running low, Dylan casually tossed a handful of minced meat onto the web, causing a ripple of disturbance.
Aside from these two types of insects, the others had mostly been wiped out during Dylan's first round of practice.
Those species bred too slowly and weren't worth the time for Dylan to nurture.
"Not bad. Keep multiplying."
Dylan sprinkled a generous handful of minced meat and vegetable scraps over the cockroach swarm.
Looking at the dense, wriggling cluster of cockroaches and spiders he'd confined, Dylan smiled.
With plenty of food available, whenever the population of these critters exceeded a certain limit, Dylan would cull them. As a result, they coexisted relatively peacefully.
Dylan wasn't in a rush to start grinding refinement tasks just yet. Instead, he first checked the achievement notification he'd earned while tearing into the Malfoy father and son.
---
**[Notification]: Congratulations on unlocking a new achievement!**
---
Dylan tapped the small icon, opening the achievement page.
A newly unlocked achievement glowed brightly, drawing his attention to its presence.
*(Chapter End)*