Chapter 123: Flitwick: Minerva
"Manipulating genes... it always feels like I'm rushing headlong in a very dangerous direction."
Dylan clicked his tongue.
In any case, with his current level, it was absolutely impossible for him to reach that stage.
"So I still have to work hard to learn more knowledge!"
He hadn't even finished reading the Hogwarts library yet.
Even though he possessed all the max-level spells, spells were spells, and knowledge was knowledge.
Although the two could complement each other, they could never be equated.
In fact, there were quite a few differences between them.
For example, his mastery of max-level spells meant he possessed extremely powerful attack and control abilities.
—But this was the effect brought about by the spells.
Max-level spells could help Dylan understand the essence of magic, the flow of magical power, and the rules of magic.
This gave him profound insight and understanding, allowing him not only to use magic skillfully but also to improve spells or even create new ones.
However, no matter how powerful magic was, other fields of knowledge still had their uniqueness. In the process of absorbing new knowledge, Dylan could instead explore whether his mastered max-level spells could develop more abilities.
Max level didn't mean omnipotence.
In simple terms, max level allowed Dylan to unleash the power of spells to the maximum extent and use the least amount of magic.
So if Dylan knew nothing about other knowledge, he could only wield max-level spells and crudely smash everyone to death with them.
—That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
But Dylan also wanted to judge, by acquiring more knowledge, how spells would react when encountering various situations and problems.
Even, could the spells he currently mastered be further improved into new spells?
All of this required Dylan to have rich magical knowledge before he could further conceive of it.
—Before experimenting, there must always be considerable theoretical support.
Lockhart didn't return for the entire class. The students mostly just sat at their desks flipping through books or chatting with each other.
Until the moment the dismissal bell rang.
Everyone scattered in a rush.
The situation in the classroom was widely spread, causing the reputation of the once highly anticipated magical celebrity—Gilderoy Lockhart—to plummet directly from the clouds to the bottom of the valley.
However, although there were many people proclaiming how unreliable Lockhart was, they were still few compared to the entire student body of the magic school.
Therefore, many people held skeptical and opposing attitudes towards Lockhart's behavior.
Especially Lockhart's book fans, spontaneously explained for Lockhart—this was just a test!
Lockhart must have done this to make students directly feel the importance of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class!
Otherwise, it was just a group of mere Cornish Pixies. Even a student could easily solve them. How could Lockhart, who had experienced so many adventures, not be able to?
Yes, this topic even involved Dylan.
Because when Lockhart fled in panic, it was Dylan who stepped in and saved all the students.
This made Dylan, who was already highly regarded for his performance in the first year, even more dazzling.
To this—Dylan felt nothing.
For the entire first half of the week of school, Dylan quickly regained his state from the previous semester, wandering through the offices of various professors—like a philandering rogue.
There was a pit here that he had to fill, and there was a pit there that he also had to fill.
There was no way around it. Who asked Dylan to not only study his own experiments during the summer vacation but also accumulate many questions during his usual reading?
Every night, Dylan even dragged the professors until late at night.
Until Friday arrived.
During dinner.
The afterglow of the setting sun spilled into the corridors of Hogwarts. Dylan walked into the Great Hall side by side with Professor Flitwick.
All the way, Dylan's mouth didn't stop. Even while walking, he kept throwing various theoretical questions about Charms at Professor Flitwick.
Professor Flitwick wasn't tall—he wasn't even as tall as Dylan now.
Last semester, he could still look Dylan in the eye, but now he could only tilt his head slightly to look at the chattering Dylan, forcing a smile onto his face.
And within that smile, there was also a hint of helplessness and exhaustion, and his eyes showed concern for the upcoming "late-night Q&A."
—Good heavens! Why would any student want to make a teacher stay late??
Teachers get tired too, you know!!
However, although he thought so in his heart, when Dylan's questions arose, Professor Flitwick would still answer them seriously.
Until Dylan reached the second-year Gryffindor table.
"Then, Professor, see you tonight."
"See you tonight..."
Professor Flitwick quickly shuffled his short legs, hurrying towards the teachers' table.
But although his steps were fast, they looked somewhat heavy.
After Dylan sat down, Neville beside him looked at the departing professor's back—his shoulders slightly slumped, as if weighed down by a heavy burden.
His already small figure looked even thinner at this moment. Although his steps were quick, they were weak and listless, like his soul had been taken by a Dementor.
Neville's lips twitched. "Dylan, did you have an appointment with Professor Flitwick today?"
Dylan nodded with a smile. "Yes, after dinner, I'll give Professor Flitwick some time to rest, and then I'll go to his office to find him."
"..." Neville swallowed, glanced at the teachers' table, then at Dylan, lowered his head, and focused on his dinner, not daring to say any more.
At the same time, at the teachers' table.
"That child is like a Niffler finding gold coins!" Professor Flitwick muttered, finally reaching his seat and just sitting down.
Professor McGonagall gently pushed her glasses up her nose, a hint of amusement in her eyes, the corners of her lips turned up in a smile. "It seems you're the one who got caught tonight."
Professor Flitwick gave a wry smile and nodded helplessly, then let out a deep sigh.
Even such a simple action seemed to have exhausted all his strength.
"Professor McGonagall, perhaps you could also teach him in many aspects of Charms—after all, your research in Charms is also quite profound, isn't it?"
Professor McGonagall immediately turned her head. "I just finished teaching him at ten o'clock last night—he's never made me stay this late before, curfew was about to start!"
"...(∧)" Professor Flitwick's expression became even more distressed.
Ten o'clock?
Good heavens!
Magic will still be there, it won't run away!
Did it have to be this urgent?
He hadn't spoken as much in an entire day of teaching as he had when talking to Dylan!
"Sigh, this child's thirst for knowledge is too strong, but he's so intelligent—I can't refuse him." Although Professor Flitwick was helpless, there was also a hint of gratification in his tone.
Professor McGonagall picked up her teacup, took an elegant sip, and smiled. "He is indeed very clever. Even Severus is willing to spare some time each week to tutor him personally."
Professor Snape glanced at her teacup. "Drinking strong tea at night, how typical of you."
Professor McGonagall's smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.
This fellow would criticize her as soon as he opened his mouth. He must be quite troubled by this too.
"As long as he doesn't waste too much time on his pretentious Divination, making his already not-so-bright brain even dumber, perhaps he can still learn something decent by following me."
Professor Snape sat upright at the long table, the collar of his black robes tightly fastened. He raised his silver fork, his movements smooth and fluid, and speared a small piece of food.
The fork collided with the plate, making a faint, crisp sound.
He nodded slightly and put the food in his mouth.
Professor Trelawney wasn't eating here, and although everyone didn't care much for Divination, they mostly just thought about it in their hearts. No one would say it out loud.
So Professor Snape's statement made Professor McGonagall pause before saying, "Don't say that. Sometimes Divination is still useful, and regarding that, Dylan seems to indeed have a considerable talent."
Professor Flitwick also nodded, and everyone's eyes turned towards the Gryffindor table.
At this moment, Dylan, as if sensing the professors' gazes, suddenly looked up.
The professors hurriedly looked away.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and took another sip of strong tea.
Professor Flitwick took a piece of bread.
Professor Snape, on the other hand, put on a straight face, looking as if he was casually tidying the plate in front of him.
—Even though the plate was already empty.
Dylan tilted his head in slight confusion.
"Were the professors just looking at me?"
Neville nodded repeatedly. "Yes! I noticed just now, otherwise I wouldn't have reminded you—but why did you look up directly? You scared me!"
Neville shrank his neck, glancing at the teachers' table out of the corner of his eye.
Only after confirming that the professors hadn't heard him tipping off Dylan did he breathe a sigh of relief.
—He had the embarrassing feeling of whispering something about discussing others in public to his best friend, only for the other person to loudly repeat what he said on the spot.
Neville swore—he was really scared that the professors had noticed him just now.
"Didn't you say the professors were looking at me? Of course, I had to look up and respond," Dylan didn't quite understand Neville's thinking.
"...Alright, alright, maybe I saw it wrong," Neville quickly ended the topic and leaned towards Seamus on the other side.
At this moment, Seamus was still complaining to Dean about the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
"Unbelievable! It's been a week of school, did those people have dung juice poured into their eyes? Or did a troll smash their brains with a big club?"
Dean said indignantly, "Lockhart is just empty fame, he's actually even worse than Quirrell!"
Seamus comforted his friend, but hearing the other's words, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward.
"Where did you even learn to say that..."
"I sometimes run into Dylan teaching some Slytherins a lesson, those are all things Dylan has said."
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Seamus's forehead. He cautiously glanced at Dylan, and seeing that he was just quietly drinking his soup, he quickly turned his head, wanting to smooth over his friend's anger.
But Dean was still indignant. "You don't know how unreasonable my roommates are!"
"I really suspect that before he goes out, he looks in a distorting mirror and picks his eyeballs out like boogers! Lockhart is clearly a flashy but useless guy!"
"..." Seamus bared his teeth slightly, truly not knowing what to say at this moment.
How come he, as Dylan's roommate, hadn't learned Dylan's way of speaking?
—It felt ten times more vicious than the Slytherins! No, a hundred thousand times!
Dean poked at the red shrimp in front of him with his fork. "I always have trouble getting along with my roommates. I wish I could live in your dorm."
Seamus scratched his head. "There's no way, unless someone gets expelled."
Dean shook his head. "I know, I just can't understand some of the thoughts my roommates sometimes have."
"I can even learn what Lockhart will say in class now," his voice grew louder.
"Oh! Do you know about that award I won? Yes, that award!"
"—But never mind, those awards are easy to get, I never brag about them."
Dean's performance made many Gryffindors who had actually experienced the ridiculous scene in class laugh out loud.
"I can vouch for him, everything he said is true!"
But some of Lockhart's book fans frowned and retorted, "What do you know! His awards are all real, and he's experienced so many thrilling adventures in his books, how could he be incompetent?"
Dean scoffed. "Stories can be fabricated! The real knowledge in those books is pitifully little, and it's always glossed over!"
"Don't talk nonsense! He faced werewolves and even successfully tamed dangerous monsters!"
"The merpeople from the Black Lake asked me for an autograph last year!" Dean "tsked" and his exaggerated imitation made Ginny giggle quietly.
"Evidence? Who saw it with their own eyes? I could even write a book called My Journey with Merlin to Expose the Great Fraud Lockhart!"
"There are tons of such fabricated novels where we come from, as long as you have imagination!"
He turned his head to look at Dylan. "I'm right, aren't I?"
Dylan knew that "where we come from" that Dean mentioned referred to the Muggle world. He nodded slightly in agreement.
After reading several of Lockhart's works, although some parts were fascinating, overall, Muggle fantasy novels were more appealing.
—He just wanted to understand the knowledge points that Dean had just glossed over.
It had to be said that the knowledge this guy obtained from others, due to his inability to understand it thoroughly, meant that although he wrote it in his books, he couldn't describe it in much detail.
Otherwise, the truth would be seen through at a glance, so he had to gloss over it.
But even so, Dylan was still able to extend more of his own insights on the knowledge points that were directly given as conclusions.
After dinner.
Dean was engaged in a heated debate with a group of Lockhart's book fans in the Gryffindor common room.
Seamus and Neville were trying to mediate.
As for Ron and Harry—they were still in detention and not there.
Dylan had no interest in arguing with a bunch of snot-nosed students about this.
He had arrived at Professor Flitwick's office on time and knocked on the door.
"Knock knock"
No response.
Dylan knocked again.
"Knock knock"
Still no response.
Dylan knocked again.
"Bang bang bang!"
"Creak—"
At this moment, the office door opened.
The glass eyes of the mannequin on the shelf inside reflected a beam of moonlight, which happened to illuminate Professor Flitwick's furrowed brow in the crack of the door.
"Are you trying to break down my door?"
Professor Flitwick's helpless voice came from within.
Dylan immediately withdrew his hand, a proper smile on his face, and stepped inside.
"How could that be? I was just worried that something might have happened to Professor Flitwick in his office."
"...You might as well have broken down the door."
Professor Flitwick glared at Dylan, but seeing the latter's lack of reaction or emotion, he was the first to give in.
"Alright—alright! What do you want to ask today?"
Dylan unhurriedly took out a thick magic notebook from his satchel, walked to Professor Flitwick's side, skillfully pulled over a nearby chair, and sat down with a thud.
"Professor, I have a few questions about the energy fusion of compound spells that I would like to ask you."
"Go on..."
Professor Flitwick began to discuss with Dylan.
"The energy vortex of compound spells," Professor Flitwick used his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook to prop up his seat, his wrinkled fingers tracing a spiral trajectory in the air, "First, you must pay attention to the influence of lunar phases on elemental affinity."
Once he got into the zone, he didn't feel that answering Dylan's questions was particularly exhausting.
After all, the questions the other party was currently raising were all within his ability to answer, and he could respond quite easily.
—Of course, perhaps some needed careful consideration.
Swish swish swish
Dylan's quill wrote rapidly on the blank space of the notebook, the sudden inspiration during his conversation with the professor causing the ink to snake across the parchment in a mass of text.
Until nearly ten o'clock.
In Professor Flitwick's office, the candlelight flickered, and the sound of conversation gradually ceased.
Dylan finally stopped taking notes. Although a light of inquiry still flickered in his eyes, he politely suggested, "Professor, it's getting late. How about we stop here for today?"
Hearing this, Professor Flitwick's originally focused expression faltered slightly, and then a hint of surprise burst forth in his eyes. His whole body immediately relaxed, his expression revealing an unconcealed relief.
He straightened his slightly hunched back, raised his hand to adjust his glasses, and repeatedly smiled, saying, "Good, good! Let's stop here then."
Professor Flitwick's voice startled the Bowtruckle that had been dozing on The Standard Book of Spells. Its scaly tail swept away Lockhart's autographed photo.
The professor breathed a sigh of relief, looking at Dylan's still straight posture, and couldn't help but shake his head.
It was good to be young, not even feeling tired after standing so long.
"Then goodbye, see you next week, Professor—good night."
Dylan put away all his magic notebooks and books and bowed to Professor Flitwick.
The happy expression on Professor Flitwick's face stiffened. "Good... good, see you next week. Your spirit of inquiry is truly admirable."
"You flatter me."
Dylan smiled slightly, then turned and walked out of the office.
The corridor was empty at this time. Moonlight streamed through the glass, forming patches of colorful light and shadow on the ground.
"The basic questions are almost resolved. I can consider going to the Restricted Section with that narcissist's autograph."
Dylan pondered what time would be better to go, his pace gradually quickening.
"Dark magic—I mean, alluring magical knowledge, here I come!"
(End of chapter)
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