How Dylan Let Off Steam

Dylan believed that reading through any piece of knowledge in Potions just once was absolutely not enough.

Because doing so could easily lead to omissions.

Only by reading it repeatedly could he truly make the knowledge in the book his own.

As for Potions, Dylan felt that many key points were quite complicated, with far too many details that needed to be remembered.

Otherwise, a mistake in some inconspicuous little step could very well cause the entire potion-brewing process to fail.

With Snape, a Potions Master, personally giving him private tutoring, Dylan did not want to waste time on trivial mistakes.

And so.

The young wizards of Gryffindor and Slytherin saw Dylan sitting by himself some distance away, pulling out a book and reading it with great interest.

The two sides stood in their respective groups. They wanted to argue, but did not quite dare to.

The Slytherin Little Snakes were worried that if they got too noisy, Dylan would open by throwing a Silencing Charm at every one of them.

They had not learned that spell at all!

So they had even less idea how to break it.

Finite Incantatem was not a particularly advanced spell, and quite a few young wizards could use it.

But how they were supposed to use their Finite Incantatem to undo Dylan's spell was another question.

Someone had already tried it earlier, and it simply did not work!

As for Gryffindor, they simply did not want to disturb Dylan while he was reading.

After all, the more Dylan knew, the more it showed, in a sense, that Gryffindor knew!

And the more inferior the Slytherins were to them, the less those Slytherin lot knew!

Therefore, the more Dylan knew, the less Slytherin knew!

As long as they could keep those Slytherins down, it could be said that whatever Dylan wanted to do now, all these Little Lions would raise their arms and cheer!

Hawkwood, forever—!!!

For a time, both sides merely glared at each other, yet neither said a word.

The young wizards from the two Houses simply stared each other down. The atmosphere was clearly tense as drawn swords, yet an eerie silence prevailed.

That lasted until Madam Hooch returned with Neville.

Only then did Dylan put away the book in his hands and rise to his feet.

"Fortunately, Mr. Longbottom has not suffered any serious injuries. The only scrape on his knee was also healed by your spell," Madam Hooch said.

Dylan nodded slightly.

"All right, young wizards, now you know how dangerous flying can be, don't you?"

Madam Hooch had everyone line up again, then continued the lesson.

By the end of the class.

Both Harry and Malfoy displayed considerable Flying Talent.

Dylan, on the other hand, flew steadily enough, but was not particularly outstanding.

After class, Ron sidled up to Dylan and said sneakily, "You were so cool just now! You scared those Slytherin lot stiff—none of them even dared to talk back to you!"

"I honestly suspect you're actually a total Slytherin!"

Ron nodded to himself as he rambled on.

"Yeah, if you hadn't come from a Muggle Family, you definitely would've been sorted into Slytherin! Even Professor Snape would get shut down in front of you!"

Dylan glanced at him, then raised his wand.

This little brat really did talk too much.

Should he give him a Diffindo, or a Crucio?

The moment Ron saw Dylan raise his wand, he immediately shrank back, took a step away, and returned to Harry's side.

"Hey, Harry! When Madam Hooch praised your Flying Talent today and recommended you for the Quidditch Team, you should've seen Malfoy's face! He looked like he was holding it in so hard he'd turned into a squash!"

Harry smiled as well.

The group headed toward the Great Hall.

They were getting ready for dinner.

Having just found seats and sat down, Harry said, "Madam Hooch said she's taking me somewhere later."

"She must be making an exception and recommending you for the Quidditch Team! God, a first-year young wizard becoming a Quidditch player right away! Those Slytherins must be furious!" Ron said excitedly.

Dylan paid no attention to that and simply ate his dinner.

During Flying Class, he had felt as though he could control a Flying Broomstick more freely.

But he had not done so, because he did not want any professor recommending him for a Quidditch Match team.

Once I buy a Nimbus 2000, I can practice early in the morning when no one's around.

Dylan brought over a steak that had just appeared.

The steak sizzled, its rich, full-bodied aroma of meat carrying a faint milky fragrance and the fresh scent of pepper.

Compared to the bland white people food he usually ate, Hogwarts's meals were vastly better.

Take this steak, for example.

The steak before him was lightly charred around the edges, with glistening juices seeping through its grain and pooling into a glossy little "pond" on the plate.

He cut off a small piece and put it in his mouth. His teeth immediately felt the contrast between the crisp exterior and tender interior.

The steak's charred, crunchy crust blended perfectly with the succulent, juicy meat inside.

As he chewed, the juices burst forth, and the rich flavor of beef spread across his tongue alongside a creamy aroma.

"Did the House-elves use some kind of magic when they cooked? It tastes completely different from the steaks sold outside."

Dylan grew curious. If such magic really existed, then once he mastered it, his own cooking would not just be about making sure the food was cooked through.

The setting sun outside streamed through the windows, spilling over the wooden dining table and gilding the dishes on the plates.

Dylan focused wholeheartedly on his meal. The pressure of his usual busy studies faded into an insubstantial background, leaving only the food before him and the peace within his heart.

This was one of Dylan's best ways to relieve stress.

In truth, even as he constantly absorbed knowledge in his daily life, he still felt a faint, ever-present pressure.

That was perfectly normal. Where there was pressure, it needed to be released.

His achievement merely meant that he did not need to stir up negative emotions when using Dark Magic. It did not mean that he never experienced negative emotions in daily life.

If too much pressure accumulated, it would inevitably become a burden, perhaps even transform into negative emotions.

By then, he could not guarantee that if someone annoyed him, he would not simply fire a Bombarda at their forehead—or cast Reducto or Diffindo.

Therefore, during the brief period of dinner each day, Dylan would devote his entire consciousness to the food. He thought of nothing else, allowing the pressure to gradually disappear with every bite.

However, whenever someone wanted peace and quiet, trouble always came looking for them.

Malfoy and his group stormed into the Great Hall, quickly spotted where they were sitting, and marched over in a fury.

Dylan did not even look at them.

Yet the moment Malfoy saw Dylan, his imposing momentum immediately shrank.

After hesitating for only a moment, under the watchful eyes of his lackeys behind him, Malfoy still stepped forward.