Harry, Ron, and the others all stared with their mouths open, fear still written on their faces.
A moment later, though, they blinked.
"What are those things you're talking about?"
"…"
Dylan explained, "Some aggressive magical creatures, and not exactly pleasant to look at."
Hiss.
Ron sucked in another sharp breath.
Dylan looked over at him.
"So, do you still think learning spells is something you can treat casually?"
He spoke each word clearly.
"Professor McGonagall scolded you so harshly because she doesn't want you two slacking off. Transfiguration can very well cost you your life."
"It can turn you into something else and keep you alive that way—but if anything goes wrong during a living Transfiguration, you might not even last long enough to fully change. You could just… turn into a heap of meat."
"Good lord!"
Dylan's description made everyone around them feel a bit queasy.
Looking down at the various chunks of meat on their plates,
quite a few students turned pale and clapped hands over their mouths.
Ron swallowed hard, hesitated for a moment, then muttered, "I get it…"
Dylan smiled. "As long as you understand what Transfiguration really is and realize that learning it isn't easy—in fact, it's dangerous—that's enough."
Harry took a sip of water. "Dylan, I tried the whole lesson, but I still couldn't turn my matchstick into a little metal rod. I couldn't even get it to turn into metal at all. How did you manage to turn yours into a needle?"
Ron nodded quickly and added, "Yeah, and you even made it a brooch!"
The reason they had come to ask Dylan instead of Hermione—who had also successfully transformed her match—
was simple. Hermione studied hard and understood the theory better than they did.
But Dylan always gave off a very approachable feeling. Even when he had earned ten points in class, he had not shown off to anyone. He had accepted it very modestly.
Unlike Hermione.
The second she accomplished anything, she seemed ready to look down her nose at everyone.
They had no desire to talk to Hermione more than necessary, let alone ask her for help.
That was simple aversion to arrogance—and the instinctive resistance that came when a gap in ability appeared.
In most ways, Hermione was the textbook example of a child who, because she was too outstanding, ended up being isolated by other kids.
"How did I change it, huh?"
Dylan smacked his lips.
How else?
Raise the wand, say the spell, gather the magic, cast the spell—
and it was done.
After thinking it over, he said, "Why don't you first tell me how you understand Transfiguration? Or rather, how you're trying to use it?"
Harry spoke first. "I just said the spell Professor McGonagall taught us, and then tried to picture the match turning into a needle."
When he finished, Ron nodded repeatedly. "Yeah, that's what I did too."
"…"
Dylan scratched his head.
"Honestly, that's not strange. That's exactly how I thought about it at first."
Hearing that, Ron suddenly felt a strange sense of kinship with a "genius."
But Dylan's next words made his heart sink again.
"Except after trying twice, I realized that wouldn't work."
"…"
Ron stared at him helplessly.
Dylan just smiled and began explaining the key points of Transfiguration to them.
Lunchtime passed quickly.
They went together to the Charms classroom.
The first spell they learned there was the Levitation Charm.
By now, Dylan's Levitation was already at level 6.
As a result, Professor Flitwick could not help showering him with praise again.
After the lecture, Flitwick invited questions from the class.
Dylan's questions were all quite difficult and very pointed.
This genuinely surprised Flitwick.
Dylan's progress with the Levitation Charm was far beyond that of any other first-year.
Even Hermione could not keep up with him.
After spending a good half hour answering Dylan's questions, Flitwick finally had to cut their exchange short.
He scheduled another time to talk with Dylan so he would not take up too much class time, which would be unfair to the other students.
The entire day flew by.
The next day's classes began.
In Herbology, Dylan's progress was about the same as everyone else's.
Neville, sitting beside him, showed enormous enthusiasm for the subject.
The way he took notes—
scribble, scribble, scribble—
was incredibly thorough.
He was so focused and meticulous that even Dylan was a little stunned.
In the afternoon, they had History of Magic.
Dylan's interest in the subject was not quite at the level of Charms or Transfiguration, but it was decent.
Nowhere near Ron and Harry's state of nearly passing out at their desks.
The content of magical history itself interested Dylan, but Professor Binns's teaching was truly awful.
He could not help thinking of his history teacher in his previous life, who always taught with passion, weaving knowledge points into vivid little stories.
Binns, by comparison, might as well have been reading from a script. There was no originality and no effort.
So Dylan's approach to this class quickly became:
flip the textbook himself, read by himself, understand by himself, pick out the key points by himself.
In short—he would just teach himself.
Several days passed like this.
Aside from going to class, Dylan spent most of his time in various professors' offices.
Soon most of the staff knew that there was a first-year who was very studious and diligent—and extremely bright.
To that, Dylan only had one thing to say:
his magical talent so far was only slightly above average.
If he started studying Dark magic seriously, that would be real speed.
Time slipped by.
Friday.
Dylan went to breakfast in the Great Hall with Harry and the others.
Ron looked at him in surprise.
"Dylan, you didn't get up early today?"
Dylan pulled a plate of pasta drenched in sauce toward himself.
"Luna doesn't need me this morning; she's out delivering a letter for me. And I've pretty much wrapped up sorting through all the usual material, so I decided to take a break today."
Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
Not getting up early… counted as a break?
Maybe Dylan's definition of "rest" was a little off.
Twisting a forkful of pasta, Dylan popped it into his mouth.
The noodles were springy and smooth, and as he bit down, the sweet-and-sour flavor of the tomato meat sauce spread across his tongue.
Having grown up eating British food in this life, he was long used to using a fork.
"Dylan, what classes do we have today?" Ron asked from beside Harry.
"Why don't you ask me?" Harry turned his head.
"Okay, what are they then?"
"Not totally sure."
Harry turned back to look at Dylan.
Dylan thought for a moment.
"Pretty sure it's Potions all day. And I think we're sharing it with Slytherin."
(End of Chapter)
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