Dylan had spent the entire morning running experiments. By the time lunch rolled around, he headed to the Great Hall.
Ron, Harry, and the others were already digging into their food. Neville waved at Dylan, and he naturally plopped down next to him, with Ron on his other side.
As Dylan settled in, he couldn't shake the feeling that Ron kept sneaking glances at him. Every time he looked over, though, Ron would quickly avert his eyes. After the nth sneaky peek, Dylan whipped his head around and caught Ron red-handed.
He narrowed his eyes. "Alright, spill it. Why do you keep staring at me?"
Ron froze, clearly embarrassed, scratching his head and fumbling for words. "Er… well, Dylan, don't you think you've been hanging out with people from other houses a bit too much lately?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow at Ron's nonsensical comment. What was this guy on about? "Since when am I always hanging out with people from other houses?"
Ron cleared his throat, muttering under his breath, "Like, you know, Ravenclaw… and Hufflepuff…"
It clicked. Ron was probably talking about Luna and Cedric. But that just made things weirder. Dylan hadn't even spoken to Luna much lately, what with the school being on high alert. And Cedric? They'd only bumped into each other a few times, exchanged a quick greeting, and that was it. How was that "hanging out too much"?
Dylan stared at Ron like he was an idiot. "What are you even trying to say?"
"Cough! I'm saying Gryffindor's honor is worth standing up for!" Ron declared.
"Huh?"
Dylan just blinked, utterly lost. Is this guy under some kind of dark spell? Did his brain get jinxed?
Maybe it was that time in Potions class a couple of days ago when Snape called Ron an idiot and whacked him on the head with his wand. It looked like a simple smack, but what if Snape had secretly slipped in a dark curse?
Dylan was starting to think it was entirely possible.
"What are you blabbering about?" he asked, exasperated.
Ron set down his fork. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
Ron blinked. "About Slytherin. Their Seeker's been injured since the last match and still hasn't recovered."
"And?"
What did Slytherin's Seeker getting hurt have to do with him? It's not like Dylan was the one who injured him. Wait—Slytherin's Seeker was Malfoy, wasn't it? When did he get hurt?
Ron continued, "So Slytherin used that as an excuse to say they can't play in the Quidditch match."
"So?" Dylan pressed.
Harry, sitting across from Ron, chimed in. "Malfoy's barely even hurt. They just don't want to play us in this rainy weather!"
As Ron and Harry took turns filling in the details, Dylan pieced it together. "So, you're saying because Malfoy claims he's injured, Slytherin told the school they can't find a replacement Seeker in time, so they're postponing the match?"
Ron nodded. "Exactly."
Dylan shot him a sideways glance. "And how does that connect to me supposedly hanging out with other houses?"
Ron explained, "We were supposed to play Slytherin, but now that they've bailed, our opponent's switched to Hufflepuff!"
Dylan was losing patience. "Get to the point already."
Ron shrank back a bit. "Well, we found out Cedric's the Hufflepuff captain, and you've been chummy with him lately. Plus, you're always going to the Hufflepuff kitchens with Luna to cook. Now all the Hufflepuffs know you! You're a Gryffindor, mate. If you're too close to them, are you gonna cheer for them in the Quidditch match?"
Ron sped up, blurting it all out. "You've only just met Cedric, but you've been mates with Harry since first year! And Fred and George too! You're way closer to us, and you're a Gryffindor, so you…"
Dylan's head was starting to hurt. He waved a hand to shut Ron up.
What was this nonsense? You'd think Dylan was some kind of two-timing heartbreaker juggling ten different relationships! All he did was cook with Luna in the Hufflepuff kitchens, poke around their secret oven, and maybe hunt for other hidden kitchen gadgets. And when he ran into Cedric, they'd just exchange a quick hello. He was only being friendly to Cedric to potentially recruit him as a useful ally down the line. How did Ron twist that into this?
And it was just a Quidditch match! Dylan wasn't even playing. Why did it matter who he cheered for?
"Enough," Dylan snapped. "When the match starts, do you really think I'd go sit in the Hufflepuff stands as a Gryffindor?"
He rolled his eyes and pulled a plate of sliced roast chicken toward himself. The savory aroma instantly lifted his mood. "Quit yapping. When Harry's playing, I'll be cheering for him and the team, alright?"
Ron's face lit up at Dylan's reassurance. He turned to Harry. "See? Told you Dylan's tight with us!"
Dylan shook his head as the boys bickered. Kids, he thought. Arguing over who's closer to who like it's a competition.
In the adult world, what good was being "close"? Could it help his experiments? Probably not. Cedric, though? He might be useful. With his dad paving the way, Cedric was bound to climb high in the Ministry one day. When that happened, Dylan could get whatever he needed—materials, connections, you name it. Sure, he could have Delphini sneak around to get stuff on the black market, but why bother with shady deals when he could get it all aboveboard through Cedric?
Over the next few days, Dylan went about his routine—classes, reading, experiments, and brewing potions for Lupin. The Quidditch match was creeping closer, and Wood was in full-on panic mode. He wasn't just dragging Harry out of bed at dawn or keeping him from the dorms at night anymore. Now, he was hunting Harry down between classes, bombarding him with tactics and random intel on the Hufflepuff team that he'd somehow dug up.
After three years of training and shining in matches, Harry was a force on the Quidditch pitch for Gryffindor. Wood was acting like a fussy mother hen, pouring all his energy into Harry. Dylan half-expected Wood to demand he move into Harry's dorm so they could strategize 24/7.
As Gryffindor's Seeker, Harry was originally set to face Malfoy. But with Slytherin out and Hufflepuff in, his opponent was now Cedric—Hufflepuff's captain and Seeker. Suddenly, Dylan understood why Ron had spouted all that nonsense earlier. Part of it was probably to spare Harry the pressure, and part of it was just the usual kid nonsense of picking sides and forming cliques.
Poor Harry was miserable. The professors weren't about to let him slack on schoolwork just because of Quidditch. So, on top of dodging Snape's barbs in Potions and tackling piles of homework, Harry had to endure Wood's endless rants about Cedric's habits. One evening in the dorm, Dylan overheard Wood breaking down Cedric's every move in excruciating detail. He half-wondered if Wood was secretly stalking Cedric like some obsessive fan, noting down everything from his bathroom breaks to what he ate, just to gain an edge in the match.
But none of this really affected Dylan. He kept doing his thing, unable to relate to Harry's "busy" life—though Dylan was plenty busy himself, just in a different way.
The day before the Quidditch match, a Friday, classes were in full swing. Wood had dragged Harry off that morning and didn't let him go, causing Harry to miss—or rather, show up late to—the toughest Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the term.
"Sorry, Professor," Harry panted, standing in the doorway, his face flushed with apology and embarrassment.
But when he looked up, it wasn't Lupin at the front of the class. It was his favorite Potions professor. Harry's expression shattered.
"S-Snape? What are you doing here? Where's Professor Lupin?"
Snape fixed Harry with an icy stare. "How unfortunate. Lupin's had… an issue today." A cruel smirk curled his lips. "And because of your tardiness, Gryffindor loses ten points."
Harry gaped. Just yesterday, he'd lost twenty points in Potions for a botched step, and now another ten? Merlin's beard! Why was Snape, of all people, covering Defense Against the Dark Arts? Even McGonagall would've been better!
"Take your seat, Potter," Snape drawled. "Or are you planning to stand there like a statue, showcasing your astounding punctuality for the whole school to admire?"
Harry snapped out of it and scurried to his seat. "Professor, I was late because—"
Snape cut him off with a sneer. "Because you were delayed by some grand, noble quest? Perhaps you were helping a troll with its tie or discussing Divination with Filch's cat? Truly, Gryffindor's shining star, making tardiness an art form. Let's hope your performance in this class doesn't make me regret letting you stay."
Harry didn't get a single word in before Snape's sarcasm hit him like a Bludger. He clamped his mouth shut, knowing better than to argue. What did I do to deserve this? In his head, he was cursing Wood to oblivion.
From the front row, Dylan listened to Snape's biting remarks and raised an eyebrow. Well, well. Snape's sharpening his claws.
Not long ago, when Dylan had delivered a potion he'd brewed for Lupin to Snape, they'd chatted casually. Dylan had dropped a few tips on how to really get under someone's skin. Apparently, those offhand comments had leveled up Snape's sarcasm game.
Maybe I should write a book, Dylan mused. "How to Break Someone with One Sentence."
He knew exactly why Snape was covering Defense Against the Dark Arts. The full moon had just passed, and Lupin was still recovering from his transformation, weak as a kitten. With a class scheduled today, Snape had to step in. Why Snape specifically? That was Lupin's request—and Dumbledore's orders.
Dylan didn't care to dig into the details, but judging by Snape's sour mood, it was clear he wasn't thrilled. Sure, Snape had always wanted to teach this class, but covering for Lupin? Not his idea of fun. Still, Dumbledore, the meddling old wizard, had probably talked him into it.
"Professor, is Lupin alright?" Harry couldn't help but ask, looking up at Snape.
Snape had just started the lesson when Harry interrupted again. His cold glare snapped to the boy. "He's perfectly fine. No life-threatening issues… yet."
Another ten points were docked from Gryffindor for Harry's interruption. "One more outburst, Potter, and it'll be fifty points."
Harry shut up for good.
Snape's expression softened slightly, but not by much. Dylan couldn't tell if he was disappointed that Lupin wasn't in mortal danger or annoyed that Harry hadn't given him an excuse to deduct even more points. Maybe both.