"Finally, the gift is off my hands."
October 4th.
Dylan stepped out of Professor McGonagall's office with a relieved sigh. Today, he had come for extra tutoring with McGonagall—and he'd also delivered her birthday present in the process.
Professor McGonagall looked genuinely pleased. She adored the handmade gift; she couldn't even put it down. Seeing her so happy made Dylan smile too. He hurried off, ready for dinner.
But barely had he reached the dining hall and sat down next to Neville when, almost immediately, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick walked in and headed straight for the staff table. Not long after, Professor Snape, his face as cold as ever and his black robe billowing behind him, joined them.
After settling in, Professor Flitwick couldn't help but say with a twinkle in his eye, "You seem to be in a good mood today, Professor. It's your turn to tutor that little one this afternoon, isn't it?"
McGonagall's eyes crinkled as she replied, "Yes, after class he gave me this planner—get this, it even lets you simulate mini-Quidditch matches! I was truly surprised."
Flitwick laughed lightly, "That planner was his own creation, wasn't it? That little fellow is always brimming with crazy ideas. Playing Quidditch on a planner? I imagine making something like that must have been quite the challenge!"
McGonagall nodded, "I looked into it—the transformation spell on just one page was cast a whopping sixty-four times. It's clear he put his heart into it."
Her face lit up even more as she added, "I can even use a transformation spell to control a player to chase the Golden Snitch. I really love this gift."
Flitwick, eyes full of anticipation yet with a note of caution, mused, "I wonder what gift that little one will come up with for me. Honestly, birthdays are fine as they are—but these handmade gifts take so much time. I hope it doesn't get in the way of his studies."
At that moment, Snape sat down with a dramatic sweep of his hands. His robe flared as it fell into place behind him. Grabbing his fork and knife, he scoffed, "Hmph, all flash and no substance." Both McGonagall and Flitwick glanced over and noticed his hair wasn't nearly as greasy as it had been the past few days—they exchanged a brief look before returning to their conversation.
One of the professors remarked, "I think the gift Dylan gave you is really quite nice."
Another replied, "I agree—although I'm not sure it came with any shampoo. Lately, my hair's been extra oily. I guess tutoring that little one so often might be the culprit. Maybe I should space out my sessions a bit more…"
Snape just gave a silent, barely perceptible snort at that.
Even old Dumbledore, overhearing the banter among the three, chuckled, "Ah, to be young…"
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Neville nudged Dylan with his elbow.
"Hey, what's up? I feel like the professors are staring at you again," he whispered.
Dylan scanned the staff table but didn't see anyone paying him any attention. Blinking, he replied, "I think you're imagining things."
Neville grinned and said, "Just eat up! Once you're done, I still have to get back and finish that birthday gift for Professor Flitwick—the music box isn't exactly an easy project!"
Dylan quietly resumed eating his meal. And he wasn't kidding—he really did have to craft that music box. It meant painstakingly recalling tunes from his past life and magically recording them. Quite the project indeed.
Neville nodded in agreement as he ate. But soon he noticed that Professor Snape, from the staff table, had shot them a sharp glare.
"Uh-oh, do you think Dylan's gotten on the professors' bad side again?" Neville whispered.
Not daring to ask further, both he and Dylan kept their heads down and ate in silence.
Before long, another half month had passed. Dylan successfully finished making Professor Flitwick's birthday gift and delivered it—earning another delighted smile from Flitwick. However, throughout October, Dylan couldn't shake the feeling that Snape never had a kind word for him. Then again, Snape's usual expression wasn't exactly warm, so Dylan didn't worry too much.
---
Later that evening, as rain poured relentlessly outside, Dylan sat comfortably in the Gryffindor common room on a sofa by the fireplace. He hugged his little coal ball (which purred softly in his arms) and flipped through a book, savoring the peaceful moment. It was one of those rare, perfect instances of relaxation.
That calm was abruptly shattered when Hermione and the gang arrived.
"Dylan, have you heard?" Ron said, his cheeks flushed as he sat down beside him and lowered his voice.
"Nearly Headless Nick is throwing his 500th-anniversary deathday party! I mean, 500 years—that's insanely historic! We're right on time!"
"A deathday party… 500 years?" Dylan mused, leaning back and taking a sip of his Earl Grey. The rich tea—with hints of bergamot—warmed him. It was nearly November now, and with the unceasing rain, the chill had definitely set in.
Hermione, sitting opposite him, bounced with excitement, "Exactly! It's a ghost party! I doubt many living people have ever attended. Wanna come with us?"
Dylan slowly pulled out his feather bookmark, slid it into his book, closed it, leaned back, and shook his head.
"I'm not really up for cramming in with a bunch of ghosts and listening to their same-old, tired death stories—it's just too gloomy."
"Gloomy?" Hermione echoed, puzzled.
"Yeah—and you know why hardly any living folks go? Because ghosts don't need to eat! They wouldn't bother setting a fancy spread for a few of us," Dylan explained with a wry smile.
Seeing his reluctance, Hermione said, "Alright then, just enjoy your book." She got up, and though Harry and Ron wanted to say something more, they knew Dylan was set in his ways and left with her.
After they departed, Dylan didn't even go back to reading. Outside, wild winds and heavy rain battered the windows while dark clouds loomed overhead. Yet inside, the flickering orange flames of the fireplace spread warmth, chasing away the cold. Dylan snuggled deeper into the sofa, clutching his coal ball, which curled up and occasionally purred. Slowly, sleep began to overtake him.
"Maybe the reflection in that mirror really does show my greatest wish," he murmured drowsily.
"Why make life so miserable? Might as well live comfortably, right?"
Before long, Dylan's eyes grew heavy, and both he and his little pet settled into steady, even breaths.
Just then—a loud, jarring noise shattered the silence.
"Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit! Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit!"
A metal ball, about the size of a walnut, slammed onto the floor with a deafening roar that echoed throughout the common room, its piercing sound like thousands of frogs croaking at once.
Startled awake from his half-sleep, Dylan lifted his head and saw Percy, face red with anger, shouting at Fred and George.
"Can't you two ever behave? What time is it, and you're still messing with all these ridiculous gadgets! When will you focus on your studies?"
The twins hung their heads, mumbling feeble retorts:
"But this Frog Croak Egg is really cool—"
"If we sold it in a shop, it'd be a hit!"
Percy's voice rose even more, "Are you still talking back? Who in their right mind would buy such useless junk?!"
Dylan, now fully awake, sat up slowly. The twins and Percy noticed the look of exasperation on his face—and suddenly, all their babbling stopped.
"D-Dylan… how did you fall asleep in the common room?" one of the twins stammered.
"We hope we didn't disturb you, did we?"
Percy, recalling the mischief of that ghoul they used to have at home (who had been well-reined in after Dylan's earlier lecture), grimaced. "Sorry—they're up to their pranks again. I've already been on their case…"
Both twins nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes—Percy's scolding us again! We totally accept his criticism!"
Dylan shot them a withering look. "You two didn't sound so apologetic just a minute ago…"
But after all, the Gryffindor common room wasn't like the other houses. Since the Sorting Hat dropped him here, Dylan was used to their antics. Though he was a bit irritated from being rudely awoken, he knew the twins probably hadn't meant any harm.
"Even if Fred wanted to test that Frog Croak Egg, I never expected it to be this loud. I'll have to adjust the settings with him later," he muttered under his breath.
Taking a deep breath, Dylan picked up his startled coal ball and got off the sofa. Stowing his ancient book in his personal space, he walked past the Weasley brothers with a sullen air. "You guys carry on," he said curtly as he headed toward his dormitory.
The twins didn't dare say another word. After all, besides worrying about their mom and Percy, they knew Dylan—though younger than them—was far more mature than any adult! Percy, too, wasn't in the mood to continue scolding his brothers; he glared at them and ordered them to get back, warning, "Don't mess with your gadgets again—at least don't disturb everyone else."
The twins instantly agreed (whether sincerely or just to shut up, who knows…).
---
Over the next few days in class, Professor Snape continued to single out the Gryffindors. Everyone had assumed he'd go easy on Dylan—as he had during the latter half of last semester—but lately, Snape seemed determined to pick on him, no matter what. Meanwhile, in Transfiguration and Charms, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall would occasionally award extra points to Gryffindor. This led the other students to whisper that maybe Malfoy had once again won Snape's favor—and that might be why Dylan was falling out of grace.
For the Gryffindor "lions," suspicion was practically fact. In their misguided efforts to help Dylan win back Snape's approval (and thus save some house points from being docked so that the other houses wouldn't catch up), they only ended up making Snape think these kids were even dumber than before—constantly doing absurd, inexplicable things. In the end, Gryffindor lost even more points. But Dylan wasn't paying attention; he was too busy to even notice that the others were scheming behind his back. After all, he barely even had time to see his own shadow, and he wasn't really close with any of the other Gryffindors. He only noticed that the house points were being deducted far too often.
Amidst all this, Dylan was also mulling over whether to capture that snake creature alive or wait until it died and haul its body over. "By now, Tom should probably be reappearing through his notes, right?" he mused with a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Give it a little more time, and the net will be closed. One horcrux, one soul—could there be a more perfect experimental subject? The only pity is that a soul is just a soul—no body to work with."
---
Halloween finally arrived, and for the first time, Dylan fully soaked in the atmosphere of the grand Halloween banquet. (Last year, Quirrell's mischief had forced a hasty cancellation, and he hadn't even tasted the special pumpkin treats.) This time, he sipped on a cup of slightly bitter coffee made from quality beans while nibbling on a variety of pumpkin pastries. Most of them were a bit too sweet and rich, but the coffee balanced everything out perfectly.
Above him, several giant black bats flitted about—though a closer look revealed they were merely model bats conjured to look alive. Countless jack-o'-lanterns floated on the ceiling, their glowing light mingling with the flickering candlelight on the long dining tables. Eerie decorations adorned the walls—screaming skulls that would suddenly emit strange sounds and ghostly portraits that slowly twisted. In the center of the room, a skeleton band played alongside scores of ghosts.
This year's Halloween banquet was far grander than last year's. Every long table was laden with sumptuous dishes—most notably, golden roasted turkey with a crispy exterior and juicy meat, and steaming pumpkin pies served in abundance.
While munching on a turkey leg, Dylan listened as Neville complained, "Look at Lockhart—ever since he ticked off Professor Sprout last time, hardly any professor pays him any mind. Now he's trying to schmooze with everyone, but no one even acknowledges him!"
Dylan slowly carved the meat off his turkey leg with a small knife and nodded in agreement. "You really can tell what a person is like over time."
At that moment, Lockhart strutted by in an outrageously bright pink silk robe—so garish that even a Thestral a hundred meters away would be blinded by its glare. The robe was embroidered with intricate golden designs—a phoenix with outstretched wings and a twisting dragon—and every thread shimmered under the lights. With a forced smile plastered on his face, he weaved his way among the teachers. But the professors only gave him polite nods and perfunctory smiles before turning back to their own conversations. Even Professor Trelawney, usually sidelined, joined in with the others—no one spared Lockhart more than a cursory glance.
Two months into term, Lockhart had achieved almost nothing besides causing endless mischief and leaving the other professors to clean up his mess. Most of them were top wizards in their fields and could see right through his bluster. Still, his fame lingered—despite the chaos he'd once caused at Hogwarts, he had lately managed to rein himself in. Apart from being ridiculously conceited, he hadn't made any serious mistakes. No one directly questioned his abilities—even if his books were a total exaggeration.
Neville then piped up to Dylan, "I'm thinking, since Harry and his friends are at the deathday party tonight, they probably won't have much to eat. Should we pack some snacks for them?"
He explained that the deathday party and the Halloween banquet were on the same day, so Harry and the others were off mingling with ghosts—who, of course, don't really need food. That was one reason why Dylan had turned down Hermione's invite last time. After all, he hadn't fully experienced the Hogwarts Halloween vibe last year, and this year was too good to miss. Besides, he had other things to take care of later, so he wasn't in any rush to join them.
For now, he planned to enjoy all the delicious seasonal treats. "I'll just pack some snacks for them," he decided. Dylan transformed an empty bowl into a makeshift box and filled it with a few pieces of soft, fluffy pumpkin pie, along with pumpkin pastries, cakes, egg tarts, and glutinous rice balls. As for the meat dishes and drinks—he left those out. Roasted meat or chicken legs cool down quickly, and even a quick magical reheat wouldn't restore their taste. Plus, drinks tend to spill. A little dry snack would have to do.
And so it went until the Halloween banquet came to an end.
patreon: belamy20
Everyone was in high spirits.
––Except Lockhart.
But he was something else entirely. Even though he wasn't well-liked by the other professors, throughout the evening his face still wore a smile—as if he didn't care in the slightest about their disapproval.
Dylan didn't pay much mind to him. After packing up his things and waiting for old Dumbledore to announce the end of the banquet so that everyone could head back to their dorms, he slowly stood up and walked out with Neville at an unhurried pace.
They strolled until they reached a corridor filled with a noisy crowd. Under the leadership of a group of Gryffindors, Dylan and Neville easily squeezed their way to the front. Harry and Ron were there too.
Dylan's eyes, however, were fixed on the wall ahead. Between the two windows of the corridor, above the torch bracket, two crooked lines of dark red letters were scrawled in what looked like blood:
–– The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.
–– Beware the Heir.
In the flickering light of the torches, the bloodstains seemed to continue to drip slowly downward, and if you leaned in, you could almost smell the tang of rust. On the floor, a pool of water had gathered.
Neville shivered. "What is that…?"
He edged backward behind Dylan, peeking forward with only his head visible.
"Oh my goodness—it's Mrs. Norris!"
When they saw the body of Mrs. Norris, suspended limply from beneath the torch bracket, Neville's eyes widened in shock. Her body had become completely petrified: her eyes were wide open and vacant, her fur stood on end, and her limbs were rigidly outstretched—a truly horrifying sight.
Around them, fellow students whispered and exchanged worried glances. Dylan studied the petrified Mrs. Norris for a moment before blinking thoughtfully.
"Snake venom is one of the few substances potent enough to destroy a Horcrux. This has some serious research value!" he mused.
"Maybe we should capture her alive instead," he continued silently. "After all, old Dumbledore is always busy keeping people at bay. With Malfoy's father stepping in this time, Dumbledore surely won't be watching over this place himself, right?"
As Dylan was deep in thought, some Slytherins approached. Once they assessed the situation, Malfoy's eyes lit up—as if he'd just thought of something—his cheeks flushing bright red. Even with Dylan present, he couldn't help but look over at Hermione and the others, a malicious sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Behold, the Heir of Slytherin has arrived! Look at what happened to this loser—now it's your turn, you mudbloods!" he jeered.
Mudbloods?
Was he just insulting him too?
Dylan narrowed his eyes and casually scanned Malfoy. In an instant, Malfoy's cocky demeanor faltered.
How could this guy never learn?
Always talking big but never backing it up! Honestly, Malfoy is completely spoiled by his father. If old Malfoy hadn't been nagging Draco nonstop, this kid might have learned that sometimes keeping quiet is the real mark of nobility.
Perhaps some people must spend a lifetime learning that lesson.
Dylan didn't immediately retaliate against Malfoy—after all, there were too many people around, and he was right there. If he gave Malfoy another dose of what he'd gotten last time, everyone around would get a free show. Besides, Dumbledore and the other professors were probably already on their way here, so Dylan certainly wasn't about to use any curse on him right now.
To his mild surprise, when Hermione heard Malfoy's taunt, she didn't seem overly angry. Instead, she simply looked up and, in a light, teasing tone, remarked:
"You, you spouting dung, haven't you already embarrassed Slytherin enough? Perhaps the Heir's first target should be you! After all, a mudblood wouldn't let his own house be disgraced."
"Hey!" Malfoy snapped, his eyes narrowing. His cronies, Goyle and Crabbe, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, quietly lowered their heads and edged backward.
Suddenly, Malfoy found himself alone at the front, with students from various houses all staring at him. His face flushed a deep red—so red it could've outshone a monkey's bottom! His jaw clenched, and you could almost hear his teeth grinding.
Dylan glanced at Hermione with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. This little girl had clearly mastered the art of a well-timed comeback! Instead of letting those nasty words get under her skin, she effortlessly flipped the script and left him completely speechless. Impressive—clearly she'd been practicing.
Dylan then shot a glance at the smirking Harry and Ron. As for whom Hermione practices her comebacks on… well, that remains anyone's guess.
Suddenly, a shrill cry from Filch broke through the chatter.
"My cat—! What happened to Mrs. Norris?!"
Filch stumbled into the crowd, his face crumbling as he saw the petrified form of Mrs. Norris. Clutching his face in dismay, he then spotted Harry, Ron, and the rest nearby. His eyes bulged, and he bellowed, "I know it's you! You've held a grudge against me and killed my cat! Detentions aren't even my doing—I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna kill you!" His voice cracked with rage as droplets of saliva flew everywhere.
The piercing sound of his scream made Dylan's ears throb. With a gentle flick of his wand, he murmured, "Cheering Charm!" A soft, blue light shot from his wand and enveloped Filch. In an instant, the wild flailing of his bony arms ceased; his expression softened as though he'd recalled a pleasant memory, and he gradually calmed down.
Filch was utterly defenseless against Dylan's spell.
At that moment, rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Professor Dumbledore led the charge, followed closely by Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and several other teachers.
When they arrived, McGonagall frowned at Dylan, noticing that his wand hadn't been put away yet. In a stern tone she asked, "Dylan, how could you cast a spell on Mr. Filch?"
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall—I only wanted Mr. Filch to calm down first," Dylan replied, a slight twist of his wand as he sheathed it.
Filch glared at Dylan, but he no longer looked nearly as furious as before. McGonagall didn't dwell on the incident and instead, along with the other professors, turned their attention to the blood-written message on the wall. Their expressions grew grave.
Old Dumbledore stepped forward and carefully removed the now rock-solid Mrs. Norris from her hanging position. "Dylan, I believe Mrs. Norris is petrified. Professor Snape once mentioned that Mandrake Draught, made from Mandrake root, can reverse such petrification," Dylan reminded him.
At the mention that Mrs. Norris might be saved, Filch's face lit up. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Dylan nodded, "Do you take Snape's words for lie? This is a classic restorative potion. I've practiced making it myself."
From inside his cloak, Dylan produced a small vial of Mandrake Draught. Filch's eyes shone with hope, but with Dumbledore standing nearby, he didn't speak immediately—instead, he looked to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Severus, do you think this potion is effective?"
Professor Snape shot a cold glance at the vial in Dylan's hand. "The quality is acceptable. It should be more than enough to revive a cat."
Dumbledore nodded and then looked at Dylan. "Could you please help save Mrs. Norris? She's as much a part of Hogwarts as Mr. Filch is."
"Of course, I'd be happy to help," Dylan replied.
Professor Sprout looked at the vial in astonishment. "Mandrake is dangerous! When did you—?"
"Some of my surplus supplies were processed and handed over to me by Professor Snape," Snape interjected icily.
Dylan blinked and nodded. "That's right. It was from Professor Snape."
"Very well…" Dylan stepped forward and slowly poured the Mandrake Draught into the slightly parted mouth of Mrs. Norris. Almost immediately, her stiff body trembled slightly. Before long, her fur softened, her eyes began to regain their luster, and she completely recovered from the petrification—jumping out of Dumbledore's grasp and leaping into Filch's arms.
Filch, overcome with emotion, wept, "You're alive! You're alive!"
Dumbledore squinted his eyes and said quietly, "Argus, you owe Dylan your thanks."
Regaining his composure, Filch's dour expression melted into one of heartfelt gratitude. He turned to Dylan, repeating, "Thank you, thank you so much."
Dylan simply shrugged. "It's within my abilities."
"Now, come with me—Argus, and the three of you as well: Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger," Dumbledore instructed as he led the group of teachers away, Mrs. Norris now safely restored.
Lockhart immediately raised his hand. "Headmaster, why don't we head to my office? I mean—it's right upstairs and very close."
"Then let's go. Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore replied.
Lockhart's eyes lit up with delight as he led the way, with Dumbledore, Filch, Snape, and the others following close behind.
Once the professors had departed, the students immediately began buzzing with conversation.
"I can't believe it—the Chamber of Secrets is real! I thought it was just a legend!"
"Does that mean… that creature is real too?"
"My goodness, Merlin! Oh my gosh!"
Some students even exclaimed "Merlin's beard!" as if that were enough.
Dylan shot a glance at one of the students.
Standing next to him, Neville groaned and clutched Dylan's arm, almost toppling over as he whispered, "It's terrifying! With the Heir appearing and that horrible creature being set loose, are we going to get taken out too?"
Dean suddenly edged over, confused. "What exactly is this creature? And what's all this about a Chamber and an Heir? How did it even become part of a legend?"
Seamus frowned as he explained to his friend, "It's an ancient tale—about the Chamber and the Heir of Slytherin. You know who founded Hogwarts, right?"
Dean tilted his head. "Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin—I know that much."
Seamus nodded. "Yes, the four of them. But they had very different opinions on whom to admit as students."
"Salazar Slytherin believed that not everyone who entered Hogwarts deserved the honor—only those with pure-blood wizarding heritage were the true inheritors of magic."
At that, Seamus shot a glance at the Slytherins. "Legend has it that Salazar Slytherin, during the castle's construction, secretly created a Chamber. One day, his true heir will return to Hogwarts, open that Chamber, and unleash a terrible, vicious monster!"
"The Heir will control that creature to purify Hogwarts—by killing all Muggle-born students, whom they see as impure, a necessary cleansing."
"What? So the legend is true?!"
Dean was stunned for a moment before widening his eyes in disbelief. "And now that creature has been unleashed, and its first act was to kill a poor cat?"
"––And it wasn't even truly killed; Dylan saved it with just one bottle of potion. I mean—does that creature have to be such a weakling?"
Silence fell.
At that, even the students who had been worried earlier were momentarily dumbfounded. The Slytherins, in particular, looked utterly miserable—as if they had just eaten something foul.
Seamus's eyes twitched, fearful that the Slytherins might stir up trouble while the professors were away. He quickly pulled Dean aside. "Alright, alright—your tongue is getting sharper by the minute."
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but when he saw Dylan's calm gaze, he changed his tone. "Honestly! Is it now forbidden to speak the truth?"
At that moment, the prefects and students from every house began to disperse, and the talk of the legend died down. Thanks to Dylan's restorative potion for Mrs. Norris, many students felt a bit less terrified of the legend. After all, if petrification could be reversed, then perhaps the monster wasn't invincible after all.
For quite a while after Halloween, nearly every house was abuzz with discussions about the Chamber's legend—about how Mrs. Norris was attacked yet saved by Dylan. Once just a minor celebrity around Hogwarts for his frequent visits to the professors' offices, Dylan was now, without a doubt, a full-blown sensation.
He even unlocked a few achievements as a result—like [Center of Attention] and [Castle Spotlight Kid]… though the rewards were nothing more than a few extra attribute points, like +1 in mental energy or +1 in Herbology affinity.
One day at lunch, even though Neville had grown less fearful after Dean's earlier remarks about the legend, he still looked a bit worried. Noticing how nonchalant Dylan was acting, Neville scratched his head and asked, "Dylan, why aren't you talking about it? Aren't you scared of that monster in the Chamber? And how was your potion effective on Mrs. Norris? Were you aware the creature had already appeared?"
Stirring his Neapolitan-style meat and cheese chicken rice with a spoon, Dylan shook his head. "No, the Mandrake Draught is a classic restorative potion. Professor Snape generously taught me many potion formulas." He picked up a crispy sweet potato fry, bit into it, and then mixed in some creamy bacon pasta before grinning at Neville. "Even though they call us mudbloods, my skills are far stronger than those so-called pure-blood wizards. Besides—Salazar Slytherin didn't lock himself in the Chamber of Secrets. Why should I be afraid?"
Neville was taken aback by Dylan's audacity. "What…?"
Dylan looked at him coolly. "Do you really think the monster in the Chamber is Salazar Slytherin himself?"
"No, I guess not…" Neville stammered, only to become even more frightened. "Could it be that he transformed himself into a ghost?"
"Then that's even better. I've been reading a book about souls recently and was hoping to practice with a ghost or two."
Neville's eyes went wide (＝°Д°＝)…
"Practice with ghosts? Won't your hands get all worn out?" he muttered in disbelief.