chapter 36

"Dylan, aren't you surprised at all? That was a three-headed dog!" Ron exclaimed, pouting as he looked at Dylan.

Dylan, just about to take a sip of his milk, paused and blinked twice. "Ah? How could that be? I'm so surprised!"

Gulp. Gulp.

He tilted his head back, drinking the milk in large gulps. When he finally put the cup down, a thin layer of milk stains clung to his lips. Dylan stuck out his tongue, lightly licking his lips before picking up a fork to grab an omelet.

Ron, watching Dylan's leisurely expression, couldn't help but slam his hands on the table and sit up straight.

"Oh my god, Dylan!"

His sudden outburst turned several heads in the Great Hall, causing students to glance over curiously. Ron, realizing the attention he'd drawn, stiffened, then quickly shrank back in his seat, leaning toward Dylan and whispering,

"A three-headed dog! I mean, it's a three-headed dog! Aren't you at all curious about how powerful it is?"

Dylan glanced at the red-haired boy, smacking his lips in thought.

"The Headmaster already said that we must never go near those places. You could actually die. So, even if there were Dementors trapped in there, it wouldn't be impossible... You know what Dementors are, right?"

Ron nodded slowly.

"Even if there are no Dementors, you mentioned a three-headed dog. That means there could be other creatures as well—basilisks, trolls, or even worse."

"I'm actually really surprised you guys made it back alive. I truly am," Dylan added, seeing Ron's doubtful expression.

Ron froze for a moment before blinking rapidly. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, shuffling his feet under the table.

"But last night was really exciting," he admitted.

Dylan smirked. "Do you know what's even more exciting?"

Ron, mid-bite into a crispy sausage, glanced at Dylan. "What?"

"The three-headed dog possesses immense strength. Even an iron door would shatter under its impact."

Ron gulped.

"It also has extreme magical resistance and is almost immune to most spells. And its bite force? Well, it could chomp through the scales of a Hungarian Horntail in one bite."

Dylan's gaze shifted toward the sausage in Ron's mouth, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Does it feel crispy when you bite into it?" Dylan asked. "Because that's exactly how it would feel when it eats you."

Ron stopped chewing.

"When it clamps down on you, the first thing you'll hear is a 'pop'—the sound of your body being bitten through, like a balloon bursting."

Ron's eyes widened in horror.

"Of course, when the middle head bites into you, the side heads won't just sit there."

Dylan continued, his voice slow and deliberate.

"The left head will bite off your head, while the right head will stuff your legs into its mouth. In mere moments, your body will be torn into three pieces and swallowed together."

Ron's face turned a sickly pale shade. His lips trembled uncontrollably.

"V-vomit…"

He retched, quickly spitting out half of his sausage, though bits of it still clung to the corners of his mouth.

Harry, watching Ron, swallowed hard. He discreetly pulled his hand back from the sausage he had been about to pick up.

Trying to change the subject, Harry said, "Actually, I think… Hermione isn't as bad as Ron says. She could have just left us last night, but she didn't. She actually helped us a lot. The fact that we even got through that locked door was entirely thanks to Hermione. She's really smart."

Ron, still looking queasy, set down the remainder of his sausage. He hesitated before glancing at Hermione, his lips twitching in resistance. His face turned red as he muttered, "Well… if she hadn't opened that door, we wouldn't have run into that monster in the first place!"

"That three-headed dog was terrifying! Dylan said it would eat us up like sausages!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to throw the thickest book she owned at Ron's head.

"What a shame there's no History of Magic class today," she muttered. "That book would have been very handy right now."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Actually, if it weren't for me, you two would have been caught by a professor and expelled on the spot!"

Ron scoffed, about to argue back.

But Dylan, now visibly disinterested in the conversation, picked up his fork again, prompting Ron and Harry to quickly shift the topic.

"I remember the day Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley," Harry said thoughtfully. "He had a small cloth bag with him. And that same day, Gringotts was attacked."

The memory from last night made Harry uneasy.

"The three-headed dog was in a restricted area. That means it was guarding something. And it's very likely whatever Hagrid took out of Gringotts."

"But what exactly was it?"

Ron, intrigued, leaned in and muttered along with him.

They pondered for a long time but couldn't figure it out.

Finally, their gazes landed on Dylan.

Dylan, of course, knew exactly what Hagrid had taken out—the Philosopher's Stone. But, in his opinion, it wasn't particularly useful.

The Philosopher's Stone's most legendary ability was to create the Elixir of Life. However, even with its power, those who relied on it for longevity would still face physical decay after a few hundred years. Their bodies would weaken, their bones brittle enough to break with a mere handshake.

Dylan found such a method of "immortality" rather pathetic.

In his mind, true wizards should be able to craft a more stable and perfect Elixir of Life through advanced potion-making—without the need for the Philosopher's Stone.

The only problem was that modern wizards had yet to unlock the method to refine it.

But Dylan was convinced. If he experimented with potion-making a thousand times, if he experienced the thrill of watching the liquid swirl in his cauldron, the bitterness of success or failure, the pungent and strange scents filling the air—he knew he would eventually succeed.

His natural talent in potion-making, strengthened through an achievement system, assured him that one day he would forge a new path to true immortality.

However, for now, he was only ten years old.

Gaining more magical knowledge took priority over anything else.

As for immortality?

Voldemort wasn't his concern.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, might want to start considering it.

"Dylan, what do you think that thing could be?"

Harry and Ron, staring at him with eager eyes like puppies waiting for a treat, made Dylan suppress the urge to ruffle their hair.

He set down his fork.

"If you believe that Hagrid placed that thing in a restricted area and guarded it with a three-headed dog," he said slowly, "then it must be something very precious."

(End of Chapter)

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