Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 277 Who should we use for the experiment? Cedric?

Neville stood opposite Dylan, his hands gripping Dylan's wand tightly.

—It was a relic left by his father. The staff was made of chestnut wood and covered with tiny scratches. The core of the staff was made of unicorn tail hair.

He took a deep breath, tried to relax his expression, stared into Dylan's eyes, and clearly recited the incantation.

Suddenly, a small cluster of faint silver sparks appeared at the tip of his wand, but disappeared instantly as if blown away by the wind.

Dylan's expression remained unchanged, still the same calm and collected demeanor he always had.

"You seem very inattentive."

Neville's shoulders slumped, and he put down his wand in frustration, muttering, "Maybe it's just that I'm not good enough."

His voice carried a hint of uncertainty, but more so a sense of self-doubt.

Dylan raised an eyebrow and answered truthfully, "No, you have that ability."

He could clearly feel the faint magical fluctuations when the spell touched him.

However, it was too superficial to shake his emotions at all.

Neville pursed his lips, raised his wand again, and tried once more, but the result was the same.

He put down his wand, sighed, and said to himself in a self-comforting manner, "Maybe it's because you're happy right now that you can't feel it."

Dylan neither confirmed nor denied this.

He knew, of course, that the problem wasn't with him.

Neville's magical talent was actually quite good; it was just that the wand that belonged to his father could never truly resonate with him.

The core of a staff made from unicorn tail hair is the most loyal; once it has chosen a master, it is difficult for it to completely obey anyone else.

—Even if that person is the original owner's son.

Dylan looked at Neville holding his wand and knew exactly what the problem was, but he couldn't say anything.

He knew the significance of this wand to Neville.

That was one of the only remaining connections he had with his father, whom he had never met.

Moreover, Neville himself may not fully understand why he always stumbles and falls when it comes to magic.

—But Dylan knew.

Neville's grandmother cast the spell "Oblivion" on him when he was a child, erasing his memory of witnessing his parents being tortured by Death Eaters with the Cruciatus Curse.

The pain of being forcibly stripped away may have subtly influenced his perception of magic.

This made him always seem somewhat forgetful and timid.

Dylan shrugged and readily took over the practice.

He raised his wand, its tip pointing steadily at Neville, and clearly uttered, "Joyful Excitement!"

Pale golden light flowed from the tip of the staff, enveloping Neville like a thin veil.

A pure, inexplicable sense of satisfaction instantly welled up in Neville's heart.

The frustration caused by the failed spell vanished instantly.

He couldn't help but smile, his eyes sparkled with a relaxed light, and he even hummed a tuneless little melody.

“Wow…” Neville blinked in surprise, looked down at his wand, then looked up at Dylan with envy in his eyes.

With this joyful feeling brought about by magic.

Nave seemed encouraged and threw himself back into practice.

For the rest of the class, he raised his wand again and again, his incantations becoming more and more fluent, and his expression more and more focused.

Although most of the time, Dylan could only feel a very faint, fleeting joy.

The emotional fluctuations were as rough as cutting fabric with a dull, broken knife.

It was far less refined and precise than the spells he himself had cast.

But compared to the beginning, there has been significant progress.

When he saw that Neville was finally able to barely feel any emotional fluctuations.

An interesting idea suddenly popped into Dylan's mind.

He recalled that during his first year at school, he had boldly proposed an idea to Snape in Potions class.

Since emotions can affect the effects of magic, could potions be used to simulate specific emotions in order to assist in spellcasting?
Snape dismissed his idea with a single, cold "absurd."

The reason is that the false emotions induced by the potion cannot truly resonate with the spellcaster's magical core.

But now, looking at the effects of the Happy Charm on Neville.

Dylan suddenly thought of his dream-like construction.

The dream world constructed by Extreme Dream can precisely evoke, or even create, a specific emotion.

Its subtlety far surpasses that of simple emotional magic like the Happiness Spell.

If... use the dreamlike structure to weave the emotions you need.

Could it be used to assist magic that requires strong emotional motivation?
Once the idea popped into Dylan's head, it spread rapidly through his mind like a vine.

He couldn't help but start thinking about it seriously.

But if we're going to do this experiment, who should we choose as the test subject?

Dylan thought of himself first.

But he quickly dismissed the idea.

He never needs to rely on emotions when he performs dark magic.

For him, those incantations were more like a precise manipulation of energy.

He had already mastered the Guardian Spell and could use it with ease.

It seems there is no magic that requires strong emotions to perform, making it suitable for him to conduct this experiment.

So... Peter Pettigrew?

Dylan's eyes lit up.

That cowardly yet cunning fellow.

If we can use the Dreamweaver to weave a sufficiently strong positive emotion for him.

Will he be able to successfully cast the Guardian Angel spell?

If so, it means that the emotions created using the Dream Construct can indeed assist in spellcasting.

However, this experiment does not seem to be convincing enough.

After all, even villains are not entirely incapable of casting a Guardian Charm.

As long as there is still a trace of true courage or love deep in his heart, or he simply believes that what he does can bring him love.

Or... wait until Peter Pettigrew's experiment yields results.

Should we try Cedric again?

Dylan's thoughts continued to wander.

Cedric was gentle and upright.

He is the typical wizard who needs to evoke genuine emotions to cast dark magic.

If he were to be woven with enough hatred or pain by the Dreamweaver, would he be able to successfully cast the Cruciatus Curse?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Dylan cut it off himself.

"Let's experiment with the Fiery Curse."

He said to himself.

The Cruciatus Curse is an unforgivable curse. If discovered, given Cedric's status, he would definitely be sent straight to Azkaban.

That's no joke.

And even if it succeeds.

How can he explain why he thought of using the Unforgivable Curse for experiments?

No matter how you look at it, this seems far too suspicious and dangerous. Thinking about this...

Dylan unconsciously ran his fingers over the patterns carved on his wand.

The warm, smooth touch of the staff made him suddenly realize a fact that even surprised him.

He could now think about the Unforgivable Curse experiment so calmly, as if it were just an ordinary spell.

When did I become so accustomed to these dark magic spells that are explicitly forbidden by the entire wizarding world?
Hmm, it seems like a long time ago.

Dylan couldn't help but reflect in his mind for a moment.

He wasn't born without any apprehension about these dark forces.

However... over the years, Voldemort's shadow has been like a huge dark cloud, constantly looming over the entire wizarding world.

The lurking Death Eaters and the ever-present threat of conflict constantly reminded him of his desire to survive in this environment.

Even when protecting those you care about, you cannot afford to be complacent or weak.

Every step he took, every new kind of magic he learned that was not accepted by the mainstream, seemed to be pushed forward step by step by this cruel reality.

“Yes, that’s right.” Dylan nodded slightly, easily convincing himself, “The fault isn’t mine, it’s the world.”

"If Voldemort weren't so terrifying, why would I be so desperate to master all sorts of spells and acquire more knowledge?"

"Speaking of which, why doesn't Voldemort hurry up and come out to die so I can get my third test subject?"

The sunlight from outside the window had just moved onto his book pages, illuminating the densely packed incantation annotations.

The towering bookshelves in the library are like silent giants.

Hermione moved among them, her gaze sweeping over the thick volumes of documents.

Her brows were furrowed into a knot.

For several days in a row, she spent almost all of her spare time here.

What annoyed her even more was...

He was also a professor of divination.

In the meantime, besides looking for case files, she also looked for many books on divination.

From "Tracing the Origins of Ancient Divination" to "Annotations on the Prophecies of Sibyl Trelawney".

They even examined those dusty, illegible handwritten notes.

They were only looking for evidence to prove that Professor Trelawney's divination methods were untenable.

But the conflict this afternoon completely shattered her resolve.

Professor Trelawney stared at her with her large, misty eyes and declared in a shrill voice that she was blinded by ignorance.

She also said she would never see the future shrouded in mist.

This made Hermione very angry.

It was time to eat.

She walked quickly into the restaurant.

"I've had enough!"

She slammed her schoolbag down on the dining table, spilling a few drops of pumpkin juice from her plate.

“I’m going to tell Professor McGonagall right now that I’m dropping the Divination class! Dylan, you’re right, I’m just wasting my time! Those mystical tricks aren’t worth my time!”

Harry, sitting opposite him, looked up, but his eyes seemed unfocused upon hearing this.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the buttons on his sweater.

The scene of Professor Trelawney calling him aside during the break today came back to mind.

—In the dimly lit classroom, the crystal ball gleamed eerily in the candlelight, and the professor's voice slithered past his ears like a snake.

"The shadow of the Dark Lord is approaching you, Potter. After Easter, disaster will strike as expected..."

Professor McGonagall had comforted him in the hallway last week, saying that Professor Trelawney had predicted more than a hundred “major disasters” since she began teaching.

It never came true.

But Harry still felt like a stone was weighing on his heart, especially with the Quidditch final just around the corner.

He looked down at his palm; his arm, which had been hit by a stray ball last year, still seemed to ache faintly.

But compared to the experience of being chased and hit by an out-of-control ball in second grade, or the experience of a broom going out of control for no reason in first grade.

He was more afraid of the unseen dangers from outside the arena.

For example, those ugly, dark creatures.

During this period, Wood yelled and screamed in the locker room every day.

"We must win the championship this year! We've waited seven years!"

Thinking of this, Harry sighed quietly and pushed his essay on the history of magic, which he had just written two lines of, back to the beginning.

The Easter holidays are just around the corner, but they haven't brought any relief to the third-grade students.

In addition, Wood urged them on.

He was arrested again after only a few days of relaxation following his last competition.

Now he even needs to eat while doing his homework.

—She's almost more "studious" than Hermione.

Dylan shrugged and didn't say anything.

Until the Easter holiday.

In the common lounge.

The red Gryffindor cushions were squeezed into a corner by piles of parchment.

The flames in the fireplace flickered, reflecting on faces etched with weariness.

Simo slammed the quill onto the table.

"What kind of holiday is this?"

His voice was full of complaints, which made several classmates around him nod in agreement.

“The exam is still a long way off! Professor Flitwick actually wants us to write a ten-inch paper on ‘Advanced Applications of the Levitation Charm,’ and Professor Sprout has us to observe the growth cycle of mandrakes and record it three times a day!”

Hermione hid the Time-Turner inside her robe; the cool metal casing pressed against her skin, a reminder that each day was divided into three segments.

From seven to nine in the morning, she practices the "Guardian Charm" in the Charms class classroom.

From nine to twelve o'clock, which should have been the time for arithmetic and divination classes, she appeared in the library writing a report for herbal medicine class.

From noon to 2 pm, I rushed back to the classroom.

Now that she's on vacation, she can break up her time to finish her homework.

—But even with such continuous work.

The dark circles under her eyes still looked like they had been drawn with an ink brush, and even the energy candies that Fred and George secretly gave her were no longer effective.

Nowadays, no one has the energy to continue studying the case files.

Ron ended up taking on the job instead.

He now spends all his free time devouring these books, which are even thicker than "The History of Magic," and even while eating, he keeps "Rare Beast or Ferocious Beast?" next to his plate, flipping through a couple of pages every now and then.

Ron laid "The Hippogriff's Psychology Manual" open on his lap, its pages covered with countless sticky notes.

His finger traced the page on "The Etiquette of the Hippogriff," muttering to himself: "Maintain eye contact when approaching, bow at a ninety-degree angle, and never turn your back on them..."

“Look at this.” He suddenly nudged Harry’s arm. “The book says that the Hippogriff’s aggression is actually a defensive reaction. Malfoy was deliberately provoking him, and Buckbeak was just protecting himself!”

Harry gave a mumbled reply, crumpling the Quidditch strategy diagram in his hand.

Wood just announced this morning that starting today, he will add an extra hour of training every day.

From dawn to dusk, they spent almost all their time on the Quidditch pitch.

(End of this chapter)