The humid air of the greenhouse was thick with the distinct, earthy scent of manure.
For the first lesson, Professor Sprout simply instructed the students to review how to repot mandrakes.
Harry returned quickly and joined Ron's group.
Mandrake roots were still as ugly as ever, and their cries remained ear-piercingly loud. However, with last year's experience under their belts, the students managed the task fairly smoothly.
Last year, even though the exams required them to repot mandrakes, they had done it in groups of four.
Now, however, Professor Sprout insisted they work in pairs.
—By the end of the term, they were expected to master repotting a mandrake on their own.
"Be careful, everyone. Even though these mandrakes aren't fully grown yet, their cries won't kill you, but they *will* knock you unconscious."
Professor Sprout reminded them sternly, "And I don't want any of you missing the first day of school."
Dylan wore his earmuffs securely, his gloved hands glinting in the morning dew.
He was paired with Neville. Surprisingly, Dylan barely had to do anything—Neville smoothly transferred the mandrake from one pot to another with practiced ease.
Once Neville was done, Dylan took his turn. The mandrake's roots wriggled in protest, but he held them firmly in place.
—He even took the opportunity to snip off a few of its root tendrils.
This made the mandrake wail even louder, its hoarse screeches nearly piercing through the padding of their earmuffs.
Professor Sprout glanced over and, seeing the mandrake struggling wildly while Dylan held it effortlessly in place, gave a satisfied nod.
"Looks like he hasn't lost his touch over the summer!"
The lesson flew by quickly.
—Practical lessons always went by faster than theory ones.
By the time class ended, Dylan removed his earmuffs and tapped his wand lightly. *"Scourgify!"*
With a flick of magic, the dirt vanished from his robes, as well as from Neville, Harry, and the others.
Ron, who had been trailing beside them, looked dazed. "Merlin, I swear it takes at least four people to handle those things properly!"
Harry, who had been paired with Ron and endured a rather chaotic class, nodded in agreement.
"I bet for the year-end exams, Professor Sprout will make us repot a mandrake on our own! I'm seriously worried I won't be able to hold onto it!" Ron groaned.
Then he turned to Neville. "Wait—weren't you repotting them solo last year? How'd you do it?"
"Uh… you just have to take it slow, like handling a Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Neville explained.
"If you yank it out too fast, it'll scream its head off. But if you do it gradually, it struggles less."
As they chatted, they made their way out of the greenhouse and headed to their next class: Transfiguration.
"Ah, the classic rush between classes," Dylan remarked as they strode briskly through the castle corridors.
Professor McGonagall's lessons always balanced theory and practice. The first half of the class was dedicated to discussing the key principles of transformation.
For the second half, she assigned them a practical task: turning a frog into a gemstone.
—Dylan simply waved his wand, barely enunciating the incantation.
A flash of emerald-green light enveloped the frog perched beside an ink bottle. The creature stiffened with a startled croak—
Then, before their eyes, its slimy green skin crystallized into a shimmering, faceted gemstone. Its webbed feet transformed into diamond-cut edges that refracted sunlight into dazzling rainbow hues.
Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze landed on him. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips. "Well done, Mr. Hawkwood. Quick and precise—ten points to Gryffindor."
Bored, Dylan started reshaping the gemstone in front of him.
—He was attempting to turn the crystal into a living, moving frog while keeping its gemstone form.
The surrounding students, upon noticing his experiments, immediately lowered their heads, pretending not to see.
Then—
*BOOM!*
A sudden explosion rang out.
Without even turning around, Dylan flicked his wand and cast a cleaning spell in Seamus's direction.
But when he looked over, Seamus was standing there, blinking in surprise.
His frog was still alive and croaking.
Seamus raised his wand, staring at Dylan in confusion.
"Huh? That wasn't Seamus?" Dylan tilted his head and realized the explosion had come from Ron's direction.
Ron stood there, covered in soot, clutching his wand—which was held together with spellotape. A wisp of smoke curled from its tip.
—His wand was broken.
That was also why he'd been in such a foul mood the day before.
And in front of him, the frog that was *supposed* to have turned into a sapphire was now sporting a charred, blackened crown and croaking miserably.
"Poor little guy."
Dylan cast another cleaning spell on Ron before returning to his work on the crystal frog.
The transition between inanimate and animate states involved some ancient knowledge from *The Book of Abraham the Jew.*
—Dylan was particularly interested in how to make the crystal frog move while retaining its gemstone form.
Professor McGonagall noticed his experiments and walked over, watching closely.
As her emerald-and-silver robes brushed past his desk, a subtle scent of mint and cedar lingered in the air.
Then, under Dylan's focused efforts, the transparent gemstone frog twitched one of its hind legs. Its agate-like eyes flickered.
"Not quite there yet. It still needs more refinement."
Even so, McGonagall's normally stern expression softened ever so slightly. She offered a small nod.
"Try using the *living transfiguration* technique I mentioned."
Dylan followed her instructions, and soon, a lifelike, bouncing crystal frog was hopping across his desk.
"Excellent." McGonagall's smile widened as she tapped the hourglass keeping track of house points. Golden-red gems tumbled down with a pleasant chime, adding to Gryffindor's tally.
The rest of the lesson was fairly straightforward.
Once class ended, Dylan joined Neville and Harry for lunch.
From a distance, Dylan spotted a small boy with a camera hanging around his neck.
He greeted Harry before heading to another table with Neville.
Harry hesitated for a moment before sitting with Ron and Hermione. The three of them huddled together, whispering about Ron's broken wand.
As Neville took his seat, he pulled out his class schedule. "Dylan, we have Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon… That Lockhart guy… He seems *off*. I just can't bring myself to like him."
"Yeah, he's definitely *something*," Dylan replied, cutting his steak into small pieces.
He wasn't expecting to learn much about dark arts defense from Lockhart.
—But that didn't mean he intended to distance himself from the man.
After all, Lockhart was *exceptionally* skilled at memory charms. If Dylan could get him to teach the technique, he was more than willing to play along.
After finishing his meal, Dylan pulled out *The Daily Transfiguration* and caught up on the articles he'd missed over the holidays.
—He needed to stay up to date.
When afternoon classes began, Dylan didn't sit at the front, nor did he hide in the back. Instead, he chose a seat in the middle.
Neville blinked and followed suit, sitting to Dylan's right.
He trusted Dylan's instincts.
And judging by last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts class… Dylan had *definitely* made the right call back then.
As the students settled in, the bell rang.
Lockhart strode into the room, right on cue.
"Now, everyone, place your books on your desks."
Seeing the rows of books bearing his smiling, winking face, he grinned.
"Let me introduce myself—Gilderoy Lockhart."
"Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League; five-time winner of *Witch Weekly's* Most Charming Smile Award—but—"
"I assure you, I did not drive away the Bandon Banshee *just* by smiling at her."
And with that, he flashed an exaggerated grin at the class.
And that was just the beginning.
Dylan looked at the magic test paper handed out by Lockhart and twitched the corner of his mouth.
Neville, sitting beside him, looked even more distressed.
The test in front of them was packed with fifty questions, filling the entire page.
Just picking a few at random was enough to make someone's vision go dark.
**Question:** What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest ambition?
**Question:** What is Gilderoy Lockhart's most impressive magical achievement?
**Question:** How does Gilderoy Lockhart rank in terms of influence in the wizarding world?
…
**Question:** What kind of gift would you like to give Gilderoy Lockhart?
Dylan's temple throbbed as he read the last question.
Good heavens, he simply couldn't comprehend it.
How deranged did someone have to be to come up with such a test—during the very first class—at a prestigious school, just to quiz students about themselves?
Dylan gritted his teeth and cast a sidelong glance at the man standing at the podium, grinning like an idiot.
**What the hell is this nonsense?**
Was this even in the original story?
Dylan filled in a few answers absentmindedly, ignoring the rest as if he had no idea.
The truth was, after skimming through several of Lockhart's books—though not reading them in depth—he had already been subjected to far too much of Lockhart's self-praise.
So, if he wanted to, he could probably answer most of the questions correctly, if not score full marks.
But since there was no benefit in doing so, Dylan certainly wasn't going to waste energy writing the kind of answers that would please Lockhart.
Compared to Dylan's indifference, Hermione took the test seriously.
Even though Dylan had already warned her, and despite Lockhart's over-the-top behavior raising some red flags, she still chose to fill out every answer diligently.
—And she ended up scoring 90 points.
The highest score in the class.
Lockhart, delighted, simply rounded it up to a perfect score.
"Didn't expect a little Gryffindor lion to be so fascinated by my experiences! Well done! Gryffindor earns ten—no, fifteen points!"
Hermione's eyelid twitched.
But apparently, Lockhart hadn't reached the peak of his absurdity yet.
He bent down, pulled out a cage from beneath the podium, and placed it on the desk. The cage wobbled, covered by a black cloth.
"Since your test results didn't satisfy me—some of you practically turned in blank sheets—"
Lockhart's eyes flicked toward Dylan.
"I've decided to let you all face the most terrifying thing you've ever encountered!"
"Of course, don't worry, they won't harm you—not while I'm here."
With a dramatic laugh, Lockhart pulled off the cloth.
Dylan saw a horde of tiny, blue-skinned **Cornish Pixies** bouncing inside the cage, chattering shrilly.
"Eight inches tall, little-known fact—they have small antennae on their heads and dragonfly-like wings, which can be used as potion ingredients," Dylan noted inwardly.
Through extensive reading on potions, he had learned that these two components contained unique magical properties. When added in trace amounts, they could enhance a potion's activity and accelerate its effects in the body.
However, if added in excess, they would make the potion's magic properties overly volatile and unstable.
Yet, to Dylan, that instability could be useful—it might lead to unpredictable results, which could help in his research on potion mutations and the limits of magical effects.
"I was planning to ask Hagrid to catch some for me later, but now… that won't be necessary."
Dylan tilted his head slightly as Lockhart unlatched the cage.
In an instant, the pixies shot out like arrows, filling the entire classroom in a flash of blue.
Chaos erupted.
The tiny creatures wreaked havoc—tearing portraits off the walls, tossing students' books to the floor, and even shredding Hermione's **perfect-score** test into confetti.
Students screamed in panic, jumping from their seats and running in all directions. Some even dove under desks for cover.
The classroom turned into absolute mayhem.
"Stay calm! Stay calm! Listen to me—drive them into a corner!"
Lockhart shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to maintain control. But in the deafening noise, no one was listening.
His brow furrowed, and he raised his wand high.
"Pesky pests, be gone!"
He bellowed, attempting to cast a spell to subdue them.
But to his embarrassment, the spell had absolutely no effect. The pixies continued their rampage, completely ignoring him.
To make matters worse, the moment Lockhart lifted his wand, a particularly aggressive pixie zipped past and snatched it from his hand.
Then, as if throwing a dart, it hurled the wand straight out the window, shattering the glass in the process.
Lockhart's face turned deathly pale.
Panicking, he glanced out the window, then at the chaotic classroom.
His gaze quickly landed on Dylan—who was still seated calmly, completely unbothered, with not a single pixie daring to approach him.
Lockhart's eyes lit up.
"Aren't you last year's top student? I **order** you to round up all these creatures and clean up the classroom! I'll give Gryffindor points!"
Then, without waiting for a reply, he bolted for the door.
"I'll be right back! Just retrieving my wand!"
And with that, he was gone.
Dylan turned back and saw that, amidst the wreckage and the sounds of crashing desks, Neville was being swarmed by a group of laughing pixies.
Their wiry little hands clutched his robes, lifting him off the ground, attempting to dangle him from the chandelier.
Neville kicked frantically in the air, struggling for dear life.
Dylan narrowed his eyes, twirled his wand, and flicked it sharply.
"**Vigmo Transfiguro!**"
This was a **custom transfiguration spell** he had designed—capable of transforming multiple targets at once.
The moment the incantation left his lips—
**Swish!**
An invisible wave of magic rippled outward from Dylan, spreading rapidly in all directions.
The once-rowdy pixies froze mid-air.
Under the spell's influence, their bodies shrank, their wings retracting and hardening into smooth, metallic curves. Their sharp ears and mischievous little faces softened into rounded edges, and their jagged teeth turned into wavy decorative patterns.
In mere moments, every single pixie had transformed—into **adorable little keychains**.
**Clink. Clink. Clink.**
The tiny keychains rained down from the air, landing on the floor with crisp, metallic sounds.
Silence fell over the room.
"Merlin's **striped** socks!" Seamus gasped, startling the taxidermied owl on the windowsill.
Dylan gave his wand another flick.
**"Wingardium Leviosa."**
The keychains lifted into the air, floating neatly toward him and lining up in midair.
With a satisfied smile, Dylan opened his backpack, gave his wand a small wave, and one by one, the keychains dropped inside.
Once the last one was packed away, he zipped up his bag and glanced around.
The classroom was a mess—desks overturned, books scattered everywhere, students peeking out cautiously from under tables, their hair disheveled and clothes rumpled.
Dylan raised his wand.
**"Reparo."**
**"Tidying Charm."**
In an instant, the desks righted themselves, books floated neatly back into place, and the torn paintings straightened as their occupants cautiously emerged.
Everything was back to how it was—as if the chaos had never happened.
His classmates, still in shock, stared at him with wide eyes.
Dylan chuckled. "Don't worry—I'll be keeping these little troublemakers. They won't bother anyone again."
As the tension eased, admiration and awe filled the students' gazes.
Dylan patted his backpack lightly.
He'd find time later to toss these little guys into his **trunk's storage space**—a feature he had unlocked for **ten thousand Galleons**.
Though pixies weren't great at breeding, their genetic potential intrigued him.
**Could magical creature genes be manipulated?**
Now **that** was an interesting thought.
*(End of chapter.)*