Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

He turned to Filch, his tone sincere: "Mr. Filch, when I designed this fake wand for you, I didn't include the 'detergent' step. Instead, I let the Cleansing Charm work directly to clean it. The purpose of doing this was to reduce magic consumption and extend the lifespan of the fake wand."

"So that's how it is!" Filch suddenly realized, his face showing admiration, and his gaze towards Dylan changed. "So, your original design was a more advanced use? No wonder the Vanishing Spell took effect immediately when you used it. As expected of Dylan, you've thought of everything!"

"Hmm?" Fred and George immediately let out a soft snort of dissatisfaction. Fred crossed his arms and pouted, "So Dylan's work is considered 'high-end design,' while our fake wands are considered 'mischief'? Mr. Filch, your double standards are too obvious!"

George nodded in agreement, his tone teasing: "Yeah, we put a lot of effort into improving the fake wand before, but all you remember about us is our 'bad deeds'."

Filch completely ignored their complaints. At this moment, his mind was filled with questions about the fake wand and the Cleansing Charm. He looked at Dylan anxiously and asked, "Dylan, since you say it's a problem with the wand's design, why did the Cleansing Charm produce bubbles before, but the Vanishing Charm doesn't work now? Also, how come this wand suddenly started producing bubbles?"

“Mr. Filch, could I take a look at your fake wand?” Dylan held out his hand, his eyes serious. “I want to examine it carefully; perhaps I can find some clues from the wand itself.”

“Of course!” Filch nodded immediately, took out a small satin bag from his pocket, opened the bag, carefully took out the fake wand, and then carefully wiped the wand with the satin until he was sure there was no dust on it before handing the wand to Dylan, afraid of accidentally getting it dirty.

Dylan took the fake wand, gently stroking its dark shaft with his fingertips, carefully examining it from tip to tip. He then held it up to the light to check the patterns on the shaft before looking up at Filch: "Mr. Filch, I'd like to ask when I gave you this fake wand?"

“I remember it perfectly!” Filch answered without hesitation, his tone extremely certain. “It was ten days ago, in the corridor at the castle gate, that you personally handed it to me. There’s absolutely no mistake!”

As he spoke, his eyes involuntarily tightened as he stared intently at the wand in Dylan's hand: "Dylan, is there something wrong with this wand?"

Dylan nodded slightly, handing the wand back to Filch, his voice calm yet undeniably authoritative: "The expiration date for this fake wand has come."

"The expiration date has passed? That's impossible!" Upon hearing Dylan's words, Fred and George reacted even more intensely than Filch, both taking a step forward almost simultaneously, their voices filled with disbelief.

Fred snatched the fake wand from Filch's hand, and George immediately joined in. The two of them, heads close together, examined the wand closely—first rubbing the patterns on the wand with their fingertips, then holding it up to their eyes to check the magical sheen of the tip against the candlelight in the corridor, and even trying to recite a simple cleansing spell.

No matter how they fiddled with it, the wand didn't react at all, not even a faint magical fluctuation.

“It really is unusable…” Fred put down his wand, his face full of frustration. He turned to Filch, his tone tinged with confusion, “Filch, what have you been doing with it all this time? When we made it, we clearly calculated the lifespan; it should have lasted at least a month.”

George chimed in, his eyes filled with suspicion: "Could it be that you find it fun to create bubbles with the Cleansing Charm, and you secretly hide in the office every night to play with bubbles, reliving the joys of your childhood? Otherwise, how could it be depleted so quickly?"

“How could I do something so childish!” Filch glared at the two of them immediately, his cheeks flushed slightly with anger. He then turned to Dylan and explained urgently, “Dylan, believe me, I really didn’t do anything special! I only use it to clean the hallways and classrooms, and I’ve never misused it at all.”

Dylan nodded and continued, "Mr. Filch, I have another question. Ever since you discovered that the Cleansing Charm can produce bubbles, have you specifically practiced the spell with this wand? For example, repeatedly casting the spell, trying to control the number or size of the bubbles?"

“No! Absolutely not!” Filch shook his head hurriedly, his hands gripping the hem of his clothes tightly, his tone extremely serious. “This wand is too precious to me. It helps me clean the castle with ease. How could I bear to use it for practice? At most, I might think occasionally while cleaning that it would be nice if there were more bubbles, but I’ve never actually tried it.”

He paused, as if remembering something, and his voice gradually lowered, with a hint of embarrassment: "Sometimes when I sleep at night, I dream that I am casting a spell with this wand. In the dream, the cleansing spell can produce a lot of bubbles, covering the entire corridor. And every time I have such a dream, when I use the cleansing spell the next day, the bubbles seem to come out more than usual."

“It was the same today…” Filch recalled the events of the evening, his eyes gradually clearing. “When I saw Fred and George running ahead, I was really anxious. I was thinking if I could use a Cleansing Charm to create a puddle of bubbles to make them slip and get stuck. That was all I thought of, and I just waved my wand. I never expected it to actually work!”

After listening, Fred couldn't help but shake his head and let out a long sigh, his tone filled with disappointment: "Filch, Filch, we are really a little disappointed in you. We thought you had been planning this for a long time and had already decided to use this trick against us, but we didn't expect that you just had a sudden idea and that you only succeeded because you were lucky."

George shook his head in unison, his tone full of teasing: "Yeah! We thought it was some huge emergency that would make you unleash such special magic, but it turns out it was just to trip us up? That's making a mountain out of a molehill! It's such a small thing, why would you go to such lengths?"

Filch's face flushed red and then paled as the two men spoke, but he didn't know how to refute them. He could only pout in a huff and ignore them. He lowered his head and hugged Mrs. Lorris in his arms even tighter, gently stroking the black cat's back with one hand, trying to use this action to cover up his embarrassment.

Dylan didn't join in their banter, but instead fell into deep thought. The definition of a "Squib" kept flashing through his mind—in the wizarding world, a Squib refers to someone born into a wizarding family but without magical talent, unable to cast spells like a normal wizard. If a wizard like Hermione, born into a Muggle family but possessing magical abilities, is called a "Muggle-born wizard," then a Squib like Filch can be considered a "wizard-born Muggle."

He also thought that in the eyes of wizards who believed in the "pure-blood theory," Squibs were the lowest of beings. They looked down on Squibs and considered them a "stain" on their family bloodline. If a Squib appeared in a pure-blood family, the family members would not only remove the Squib's name from the family tree, but would also ruthlessly drive him out of the family and leave him to fend for himself in the Muggle world, never allowing him to set foot in the wizarding world again.

Dylan's thoughts drifted back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place—Sirius Black's ancestral home and a former secret hideout of the Order of the Phoenix. He remembered Sirius mentioning that a huge Black family tree tapestry hung in the ancestral home, embroidered with the names of family members throughout the generations.

Sirius Black had laughed and said that there were several burn marks on the tapestry. Those places originally had names embroidered on them, but because the owner of the name was a Squib, they were burned off by magic by the family members, and thus completely erased from the family history, leaving not even a name behind.

In the corridor of Hogwarts Castle, Argus Filch was squatting by the stone steps, his fingertips gently stroking Mrs. Norris's neck. The ginger cat squinted its eyes and made a low purring sound in its throat.

Few wizards would pay special attention to this castle keeper. After all, in most wizards' minds, "squirts" were just special Muggles with the title of wizards—they could not cast magic and were not worth paying too much attention to. Even topics that required in-depth research would never include Squirts.

This widespread disregard led to many anomalies related to Squibs being easily overlooked, such as why Filch was able to stay at Hogwarts for so long.

This ancient castle has never been an ordinary place. To prevent unnecessary intrusion, successive headmasters have laid down countless layers of magical protection. The Anti-Apparition Charm firmly locks the possibility of spatial teleportation, and any unauthorized apparition will be directly repelled. The Unmapped Charm makes it completely invisible on all Muggle maps.

Even if someone happens to approach the area where the castle is located, all they will see is a desolate ruin—withered thorns climbing over the broken walls, and a rusty metal sign stuck in the rubble with the warning "Danger Area, Do Not Enter, Consequences at Your Own Risk," enough to deter any Muggle.

Filch, despite being considered a "wizard-born Muggle" Squib, was able to remain unaffected by magic and steadily serve as the castle's gatekeeper and caretaker. This always seemed strangely unspeakable, but few wizards were willing to delve into it.

Dylan kept this question in mind. Instead of asking a direct question like, "Can you see what Hogwarts really looks like?", he chose a gentler approach, walking up to Filch and asking in a calm voice, "Mr. Filch, can you still recall how you felt when you first stepped into Hogwarts?"

Filch paused, ceasing his caress of Lady Lorris. He raised his head, his gaze slowly sweeping over the towering stone pillars, the carved vaulted ceiling, and the winding staircase in the distance, its direction subtly shifting with each untouched step. After a moment, he spoke slowly, a hint of barely perceptible emotion in his voice: "The first time I came here… that feeling, I still haven't forgotten it."

His gaze returned to Dylan, his eyes brightening slightly. "I just feel incredibly lucky to have come to a place like this."

“This castle is more magnificent than any building I’ve ever seen, and every corner holds a surprise.” Filch’s speech quickened, and his tone became more genuinely admiring. “Even the staircases are magical and change their course on their own. There are also talking portraits, moving armor… The only unpleasant thing is that wicked Peeves. If it weren’t for him, this place would be perfect.”

“Wow, that’s quite a compliment!” Fred immediately chimed in, a playful smile on his face, and deliberately raised an eyebrow at George.

George nodded in agreement, a teasing smile playing on his lips: "It seems Mr. Filch's affection for Hogwarts runs deeper than that of us who have been studying here for years."

Filch whirled around, his eyes instantly turning stern as he glared fiercely at the two brothers: "You two little devils are just as annoying as Pippi! All you do is cause trouble all day long!"

"It's an honor to receive such praise from you!" Fred and George responded in unison, and even straightened their bodies to give Filch an exaggerated bow.

Seeing this, Dylan already knew the answer in his heart.

Filch's description clearly proves one thing—the claim that Squibs are equivalent to Muggles is simply untenable.

Muggles can only see a dilapidated ruin, while Filch can see the magnificent whole of Hogwarts and even perceive the magical properties of the staircase. This is enough to show that the Squib's perception ability is fundamentally different from that of Muggles.

After Fred and George's playful banter subsided, Dylan continued, "Mr. Filch, since you can clearly see Peeves, have you ever seen a Dementor?"

“Dementors?” Filch frowned, a hint of confusion appearing between his brows. He clearly didn’t understand why Dylan would suddenly ask this, but he still answered honestly, “Of course I’ve seen them. Those things are terrifying to look at, how could I not remember them?”

"No way?" Fred's eyes widened, his tone full of doubt. "Are you sure you really saw it with your own eyes, and not just imagined it based on someone else's description?"

George chimed in, "After all, Dementors aren't things that just anyone can see. Can you really describe what they look like accurately?"

The brothers' interruption helped Dylan further confirm the issue, but Filch was annoyed by their questioning. He waved his hand roughly, as if shooing away flies buzzing around him: "Stop talking nonsense and get out of here!"

"Meow!" As if responding to her master's anger, Mrs. Lorris suddenly stood up from Filch's feet, arched her back at Fred and George, bared her white fangs, and let out a low warning growl. The two brothers exchanged a smile, made a face, and then slowly turned and left, leaving Filch to continue tidying up the clutter in the corridor, while Mrs. Lorris lay down at his feet again, vigilantly watching the surrounding movements.

“It seems this is indeed something worth studying.” Dylan stroked his chin.

Over the next few days, Dylan spent almost all his time in the laboratory in the suitcase.

With the help of Ravenclaw.

He devoted himself to improving the wolfsbane medicine. The lab bench was filled with glass bottles labeled with the names of the medicines. The liquid in the test tubes sometimes bubbled and sometimes showed different shades of green.

Holding a stirring rod, Dylan intently observed the changes in the medicine, his notebook filled with experimental data—from fine-tuning the raw material ratios to the reactions of the medicine at different temperatures, he didn't overlook any detail.

After countless trials and adjustments, the perfect improved formula for the wolfsbane medicine was finally perfected, achieving the initial effect he expected.

That afternoon, Dylan sealed the last experimental sample, packed up his notebook and draft of the potion formula, and got up to walk toward Professor Snape's office.

He thought he could take this opportunity to ask Professor Snape to take a look at the improved formula.

When he arrived at the office door, he knocked gently, but there was no response from inside.

Dylan pushed open the door and peeked inside. The office was empty except for the neatly arranged potion books on the bookshelf and a few traces of potion left on the lab table.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, a series of light but clear footsteps suddenly came from behind him, the steps steady and with a unique rhythm.

Without turning around, Dylan knew who it was.

He turned around and, sure enough, saw Professor Snape standing in the doorway, his signature black robe billowing slightly as he moved, the hem of which swept across the ground without making a sound.

Snape's face remained as somber as ever, his black eyes as unfathomable as a deep pool, and when his gaze fell upon Dylan, it carried a hint of scrutiny.

"Humph!"

Dylan was stunned.

Why is he humming a tune the moment we finally meet? (End of Chapter)