Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 274 Sirius Black's Nighttime Intrusion into Gryffindor
"But learning isn't just about attending classes; don't doing homework and organizing notes count as learning too?"

He then pointed to the stack of parchment covered in writing, its edges already wrinkled from being soaked in ink.

"With the limited time we have, to finish writing all of this with high quality and quantity, you'd need to have time magic—oh, you do, but you're not using it properly."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly.

Dylan's words gave her some inspiration.

have to say.

She had never thought about this aspect.

She always thought the time converter could only be used to travel between different classes, but she forgot that the mountains of homework were also eating up her time.

“Even ‘Miss Know-It-All’ is frowning as she writes,” Dylan said with a hint of teasing, his gaze fixed on her furrowed brow. “That means even you need more time.”

"Miss Know-It-All"

Hermione used to hate this nickname.

When Professor Snape first called her out in that cold tone, she secretly cried for a long time in the bathroom, feeling that it was a mockery of all her efforts.

But when Dylan said it, it carried a knowing, unspoken understanding, as if he were saying, "I know how amazing you are."

She couldn't help but chuckle, and the weariness in her eyes seemed to fade a little.

"However, using the time converter alone is not enough to do homework."

Dylan raised his hand and waved at the table in the distance, and a glass of butterbeer immediately floated over and landed steadily in his hand.

The amber liquid clung to the glass in fine, curved lines.

"You also need to set aside time for rest, otherwise you're just spreading out the time you stay up late, and you'll still be tired. You might even end up spending more time than you originally planned because you're always rushing to finish a project."

Hermione bit her lower lip, her fingers gently stroking the Time-Turner's watch chain.

Dylan's words were like a key, unlocking the string that had been taut within her.

She recalled that she only slept three or four hours a day and relied on energy drinks to stay awake during the day.

I stayed in the library until closing time in the evening, and even wolfed down my food.

—At this rate, forget about getting twelve certificates, I'm afraid I'll collapse before the final exams.

"honestly."

Dylan took a sip of beer, his expression becoming more serious.

"You should just drop the classes you don't like."

He looked at Hermione's face, which tensed instantly, and continued, "The Time-Turner folds your time, but in essence, it still consumes your life. It's not worth wasting your time on subjects you don't love or like."

This statement carries far more weight than Harry's "Divination class is all nonsense."

Harry was averse to divination because he wasn't good at it.

Dylan's analysis was clearly from the perspective of "how to make efficient use of time".

Hermione looked down at the book "Prophecy of the Future," which was covered with her own annotations filled with question marks, and for the first time, her heart wavered.

"Of course, this is just a suggestion."

Dylan stood up and stretched.

The firelight from the fireplace cast a long shadow behind him.

"Your life is ultimately your own decision. Once you've walked this path, as long as you don't regret it later, that's enough."

He picked up the empty cup and smiled at Hermione.

It's getting late, goodnight.

Watching Dylan walk through the noisy crowd toward the boys' dormitory stairs.

Hermione looked down at the spread-out homework, then touched the Time-Turner around her neck. After a moment of silence, a smile slowly crept onto her lips.

She closed "Predicting the Future" and pushed it to the far side.

Then pick up the quill pen and rewrite the dates that need to be arranged at the top of the parchment.

This time, she decided to use the time converter to steal an hour of sleep for herself.

When Dylan returned to the dorm, Dean and Seamus were still excitedly discussing Quidditch, without even drawing the curtains on their beds.

I guess they'll be going out again soon.

Dylan ignored them, took off his robe, swept himself clean, and then cast a silencing spell around himself.

He crawled into his four-poster bed and drew the curtains tightly shut.

They're not sleeping now; Professor McGonagall will come and make them sleep in a little while.

It's none of his business.

He had only closed his eyes for a few minutes when he turned over and quickly fell asleep.

I don't know how long I slept.

Suddenly, a violent shaking pulled him back.

Dylan opened his eyes abruptly, and before he could even see his surroundings, he instinctively reached under his pillow for his wand, his fingertips already gripping the staff.

"Hehehe! Dylan! Calm down! Don't use spells, it's us!"

Harry's voice came from the left, tinged with obvious panic.

Immediately afterwards, a pair of arms tightly hugged his left arm.

From the right came Ron's rapid breathing: "Don't do anything, Dylan! Stay calm! Look—Professor McGonagall is here too!"

Dylan then realized that the curtain had been pulled open halfway.

Harry and Ron held him tightly on either side, their faces full of tension.

At the dormitory entrance, Professor McGonagall stood with a serious expression, her wand still clutched in her hand.

The embers in the fireplace still flickered, making her glasses gleam.

Dylan then broke free from the confusion, and the double images in his vision gradually faded away.

The dormitory was a mess, with the curtains of the four four-poster beds torn askew.

Professor McGonagall, standing at the dormitory entrance, had a serious expression, but her appearance at that moment was hardly dignified.

Her silver-gray hair was firmly covered by a dark hairnet, with a few unruly strands hanging down at her temples. Her black and white checkered pajamas stood out in the dim moonlight.

—That was a gift Dylan had given to Professor McGonagall.

He specifically asked a tailor in Diagon Alley to embroider a dozen black cats on a white checkered pattern.

Some were hunched over, like balls of yarn, while others stretched out their claws, scratching at the yarn balls.

There was another one sitting on the moon pattern, licking its paws.

At that moment, the cat patterns swayed gently with Professor McGonagall's slightly rising and falling chest, softening her serious expression.

"Dylan, come out quickly if you're awake. Your classmates will tell you what happened."

Professor McGonagall's voice was lower and hoarser than usual, probably because she had just been woken up and was still a little sleepy.

She finished speaking hastily, the hem of her wide nightgown sweeping across the door frame.

As he turned around, the loose threads at the edge of the hairnet trembled, making Dylan blink repeatedly.

He had never seen such a lovely Professor McGonagall.

However, Professor McGonagall soon disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Dylan looked down at his pajamas.

He quickly changed into his school uniform, buttoning up his shirt meticulously and even rolling up his cuffs to the middle of his forearms.

Follow the crowd to the public lounge.

The fire in the fireplace had dwindled to a pile of dark red embers, with only a few sparks occasionally popping out.

Several armchairs were crammed together crookedly, and a jar of pumpkin juice lay overturned in the corner, the dark orange liquid staining the carpet.

"Tell me, what happened?" Dylan found a reasonably decent chair and sat down.

As soon as I sat down, I caught a glimpse of Neville huddled in the corner of the sofa, his shoulders twitching.

Tears fell like beads from a broken string, splashing onto his clenched trouser leg and leaving a small, dark stain.

He finally managed to sort things out.

It looks like Blake has broken in.

He had seen a similar scene during his divination last week, but he never expected it to happen tonight.

Divination is always such a complicated thing; the images in the crystal ball are strictly synchronized with reality.

If he wants to see the details of the next day clearly, he has to spend the whole day in a divination state.

Therefore, Dylan only ever looks at key moments.

For example, who will break into the castle, and who will encounter danger in the Forbidden Forest.

As for the exact time of day, whether it was 3 a.m. or Thursday midnight, he could never remember.

"Don't even mention it! Because of him, we almost all died!"

A boy wearing glasses suddenly stood up from his chair, and two buttons on his pajamas popped open.

He pointed at Neville's nose, his voice filled with a fury that seemed to set him on fire.

"He actually wrote down a week's worth of passwords on parchment and left them lying around everywhere! If it weren't for him, how could Black have possibly made it to Gryffindor Tower?"

Neville's cries suddenly rose in pitch, but he didn't dare to raise them too high, making them seem even more restrained.

However, his face was covered in tears and snot, and everyone else frowned in disgust when they saw him.

Neville choked back tears as he tried to pick up the wand that had fallen at his feet, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't grasp it even after three tries.

Dylan seemed not to hear the boy's angry roar.

She simply bent down, picked up Neville's wand, and gently placed it in his hand.

"Next time, I'll just keep the password in the memory ball and carry it with me."

His voice was steady, like a pebble thrown into a lake, instantly silencing the surrounding noise.

"This is more reliable than writing it down on paper."

"I, I know."

Neville nodded haphazardly and quickly pulled out his memory ball.

However, each tear that falls onto the memory ball will create tiny splashes.

At that moment, the transparent glass ball felt slightly warm in his palm.

The white mist inside was churning restlessly.

— Clearly, that was a sign that Neville had forgotten something important again.

Dylan opened his mouth, but for a long time he didn't know what to say.

Those around him were both angry and amused at the sight, and for a moment, like Dylan, they were speechless.

The boy with glasses finally gave a helpless snort and turned his head away.

Dylan lowered his eyes, his mind racing.

Neville's forgetfulness seems to be ingrained in his bones.

He had seen a picture of Neville's mother.

That once radiant witch can now only sit in St. Mungo's Hospital, hugging her teddy bear and giggling foolishly.

The Death Eaters' Cruciatus Curse not only destroyed the couple, but also cast a shadow over Neville's heart when he was still an infant.

It made him always like a frightened rabbit. When Dylan first met him, Neville would silently repeat his own name three times before daring to say it aloud when greeting others.

Over the years, I have been influenced by Dylan.

Although Neville didn't become a master debater like Dean, he was at least much more lively and daring.

Perhaps we could add a new spell to the memory orb?

Dylan is thinking.

—Would it be better if we combined the memory ball's ability to weave the syllables of the commands into dreams, so that Neville could clearly remember them every time he woke up?
Dylan's Dream Construction can help a person modify their memories without pain.

Even if it can't completely turn Neville into another person, it can at least be used as an auxiliary.

At this moment, the common room gradually quieted down, with only the occasional crackling of charcoal in the fireplace remaining.

Dylan simply took the memory orb from Neville's hand, pressed his fingertips against the cold glass surface, and began to silently chant an incantation.

Pale golden light slid out from between his fingers, like fine needles, and burrowed into the memory sphere, instantly calming the white mist inside.

He had previously modified Neville's Memory Orb, but now that he has the Dream Construct, he can try to improve it again.

Neville was sitting next to him.

Harry and Ron were huddled together, not far from Dylan.

The two spoke in hushed tones, their whispers sounding to Dylan's keen ears like two little mice rustling in his ear.

Are you sure he's holding a knife?

Harry's voice was filled with disbelief as he subconsciously touched his scar, which hadn't burned the night before.

"He clearly had a chance..."

"I saw it clearly!"

Ron was so anxious he almost bit his tongue. He glanced at Dylan and quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

"That knife was still gleaming! If I hadn't rolled under the bed in fright, I'd probably be—"

He didn't say anything more, but just shivered and gripped Harry's arm even tighter.

"Why didn't Blake lift Dylan's veil, but instead came to me?"

Ron lowered his voice even further.

“If he wakes Dylan up, I think Dylan will be able to subdue him—just like he was about to cast a spell on us!”

Dylan paused, his fingers twirling the memory ball.

He knew perfectly well why Blake hadn't come looking for him.

Don't they even know who's raising that rat?

There's no need to tell Ron, who's still in shock, all of this.

"Hmm...maybe so," Harry replied.

He subconsciously picked at the wood grain of the armchair.

The carvings on it have been worn smooth by countless people sitting here, just like the thoughts that keep churning in his mind.

When Sirius Black burst into the dormitory, his silver knife was clearly pointed at Ron's bed, but he suddenly stopped when he saw who was on the bed. The shock and pain in his eyes were not what a murderer should have.

And then there was the look that fell on his pillow before Blake ran away, cold yet containing a complex emotion that was hard to describe, as if he were confirming something.

But if Blake was truly wronged, why didn't he come forward and clarify the situation?

Surely the Ministry of Magic wouldn't just throw an innocent person into Azkaban without even conducting a trial?

Harry remembered Hagrid saying that when Black was arrested, he was laughing hysterically and shouting, "He's protecting Lily and James's son."

Everyone thought he was crazy.

Looking back now, could there have been some other meaning hidden in that laughter?
The Gryffindor common room the next morning.

The atmosphere was even more oppressive than the previous night.

Professor McGonagall appeared after a whole night of searching.

Her gaze was like a pair of searchlights, sweeping across the crowd before finally fixing on Neville.

(End of this chapter)