A pale moon hung high above a night sky draped in black velvet, silver-blue mist drifting through the forest below.
The scent of rotting oak and moss mingled with the damp chill of the night dew, condensing into tiny droplets on Dylan's cloak.
The unicorn's snow-white mane shimmered under the moonlight, its slender neck dipping slightly as its front hoof absentmindedly crushed a pine cone—*crack, crack*—the sound cutting sharply through the silence.
"To learn the language of unicorns, I'd have to extract and refine another unicorn's soul, but that's just not worth it."
The full moon was approaching, its light filtering through gaps in the dense foliage, casting scattered silver patches across the clearing in the Forbidden Forest.
Dylan stepped through a thick layer of dead branches and leaves, his leather boots crunching over a cluster of wilted ferns, releasing a sharp, sour whiff of decay into the air.
One human and one beast stared at each other, wide-eyed.
Just moments ago, when Dylan had tracked this creature down, it had let out a few grunts, as if trying to explain something to him.
But he couldn't understand unicorn language directly—so, naturally, he had no clue what it was grumbling about.
"Instead of extracting a unicorn's soul and refining it just to learn their language, I'd rather catch a few of them, keep them in a pen, and bleed them dry bit by bit."
They'd end up cursed either way.
You had to admit, unicorns were incredibly perceptive creatures.
As Dylan mulled over his thoughts, the unicorn seemed to sense what he was thinking. Its mane bristled slightly, its body gave a sudden shudder, and its silver mane whipped around like a cascading waterfall.
"*Lü~*!"
The unicorn's front hooves pawed at the ground restlessly, its head tilting upward, eyes narrowing as it shot Dylan a glance that seemed to demand, *What are you thinking about?*
In the distance, an owl's hoot startled a few dry leaves into a spiraling dance, cutting through the tense air between them.
Dylan snapped out of it, chuckled, and flashed a grin that could almost pass for innocent.
"I was just thinking—your kind spends all its time hiding, terrified of getting caught by some dark wizard and ending up like last time, slaughtered. I happen to have a space that might one day evolve into a real little world. Why not come live there instead?"
The unicorn snorted, twin puffs of white mist shooting from its nostrils as its back hooves dug deep grooves into the pine-needle-covered ground.
*How's this human suddenly understanding me now?*
As for this "little world" idea…
The unicorn blinked, eyeing Dylan suspiciously.
*This guy isn't planning to round up my whole family and bleed us dry every day, is he?*
"*Lü! Lü!*"
It looked a little thinner than before—or maybe that was just Dylan's imagination.
"Tsk, if I could just make a unicorn my pet, I'd be able to understand what it's saying through some kind of telepathy."
He'd tried plenty of methods before, but he hadn't managed to snag another pet-contract scroll or anything like it.
"What if I just hit it with an Imperius Curse?"
But unicorns were pure, powerful magical creatures by nature. Like dragons, they had innate magical defenses, and their resistance to dark magic was even stronger than a dragon's! Their purity and magical essence made it nearly impossible for Dylan to control one with an Imperius Curse.
Otherwise, Quirrell wouldn't have resorted to killing one outright back then.
Of course, Voldemort had needed to restore his strength and sustain his life, so the unicorn blood he drank came with a curse attached.
Plus, casting the Imperius Curse wasn't exactly easy. Voldemort had been too weak back then to use it on a unicorn, which made perfect sense.
But who's to say Voldemort hadn't *tried* controlling a unicorn with the curse?
Dylan worried that if his own Imperius Curse failed, he'd lose even the legal, above-board chance to draw its blood now.
They'd turn on each other completely.
And he still had hopes of luring the unicorn herd into his suitcase someday.
So, even if Dylan tested the Imperius Curse on a hundred giant eight-eyed spiders, extracting their souls to trigger some pet-contract reward from the achievement system, he wasn't too keen on using it on a unicorn.
One failed attempt could mean endless trouble!
If that happened, he'd lose his quick access to a steady supply of unicorn blood, and getting another shot at it wouldn't be easy.
He couldn't exactly pin Voldemort down, find another unicorn herd, grab a stray one, and have Voldemort do the dirty work—then swoop in to play hero and save the day, could he?
That's not how you stage a performance.
And Voldemort cooperating with him? Fat chance.
"Maybe in the future," Dylan mused, rubbing his chin.
But that was too far off. By then, he'd surely have plenty of other ways to get unicorn materials.
"*Lü?*"
Seeing Dylan fall silent, the unicorn tilted its head and raised a hoof, as if asking, *So, are you drawing blood or not?*
Dylan shook his head, brushing aside his tangled thoughts, and started pulling tools from his space: disinfectant, iodine, cotton swabs, a needle, and—
"*Lü?!*"
The unicorn froze as Dylan pulled out a massive syringe, thick as an arm, from his pack.
Its gracefully raised hoof, which had been swaying leisurely, slammed down hard with a *thud*.
"*Boom!*"
Its eyes widened, pupils shrinking in alarm as it stared at the syringe, then at Dylan, a mix of fear and confusion on its face.
Dylan coughed lightly, assembling the syringe with practiced ease.
He'd gotten used to drawing blood from Norbert.
These days, Norbert's thick hide—even as a juvenile, barely a year old—meant Dylan had to enchant the syringe just to pierce its skin.
"Don't let the size scare you—it's just a tiny bit, not enough to drain you."
Dylan grinned, stepping closer to the unicorn.
"Look, I don't know what you've been through since we last met. You promised I could draw blood every now and then, but it's been ages. This little syringe wouldn't even cover what's owed, but I feel bad—you look like you've lost weight. So, just this one shot, okay?"
"What, no way—no pure, holy, loyal, noble, mysterious unicorn would stiff their savior and lie about it, right?"
Dylan held the monstrous syringe steady as the unicorn backed away, trying to keep its distance.
But after hearing his spiel, its wide eyes flickered with conflict. Finally, it gritted its teeth, stopped retreating, and slowly lifted a hoof toward Dylan.
Then it hesitated, dropped the hoof, and reluctantly turned around, sticking its rear out and raising its back leg slightly.
The poor thing looked helpless, tinged with a hint of humiliation.
When Dylan didn't move, it wiggled its back hoof, as if urging him to get on with it.
Seeing its begrudging surrender, Dylan couldn't help but chuckle. He stepped behind it, stowed the giant syringe back in his space, and—out of the unicorn's sight—pulled out a much smaller, delicate one. Gently gripping its trembling hoof, he slid the needle in.
The unicorn tensed, bracing for pain, but it never came. And just like that, the human set its hoof back down.
Puzzled, it glanced back and saw Dylan holding a tiny, elegant syringe—not the beastly contraption that could've knocked it out from sheer terror.
With a wave of his wand, Dylan sent a soft blue light from the tip to soothe the puncture wound.
"You didn't think I'd actually take *that* much blood, did you? That'd hurt my feelings."
He wiggled the now-filled syringe playfully.
The unicorn glanced at it, some flicker of emotion fading from its eyes, replaced by surprise and gratitude.
"*Lü!*"
It turned, nuzzling Dylan's shoulder lightly.
Feeling the trust radiating from it, Dylan patted its horn.
"Mind if I shave off just a tiny bit?"
"*Lü!*"
Before he'd even finished asking, the unicorn shoved its head right in front of him.
"*Lü! Lü!*"
He couldn't understand it, but the meaning was clear enough.
*Shave it! Take as much as you want!*
Dylan grinned, pulling out a small knife Professor Snape had given him. Meant for preparing potions ingredients, it was razor-sharp, enchanted with solidified spells and runes to hold its magic.
Unlike the protective amethyst he'd enchanted for the twins, where the magic faded as the power wore off, this knife's enchantments were permanent.
He carefully shaved off a small piece of the horn, storing it with the syringe of blood in his space.
"Not bad—this'll last me a good while. Here, this is for you."
He tossed out a handful of pearl grass and crystal radishes, levitating them with a charm so the unicorn wouldn't have to eat off the ground.
"*Lü~~~*"
It seemed delighted, munching through them one by one.
"Well, I'm off. I'll come back next full moon—gonna bring you some tastier treats then."
The unicorn nodded eagerly as Dylan, satisfied with his haul, headed back to the dorms.
"Didn't expect a unicorn to be *that* gullible."
Selling its blood and horn for a few bits of grass and radishes—and still so grateful to him.
The night passed quietly.
Come Saturday, Dylan woke up early.
After breakfast, he wrote a letter to his parents and asked Luna to deliver it. He wasn't planning to stop by home this time during his trip to Diagon Alley.
Whether Karthas would need to make an appearance and stir things up again, he wasn't sure yet.
Popping home out of the blue might drag trouble back with him—and that'd be a problem.
Since he was starting from Hogwarts, Dylan handled some odds and ends before heading to the Gryffindor common room fireplace.
He pulled a box of Floo powder from his space, grabbed a handful, and flung it into the hearth.
"Diagon Alley!"
Green flames roared to life as his words echoed, the Floo Network springing open.
Stepping in, the emerald fire swallowed him whole.
With a dizzying whirl and a rush of wind past his ears, Dylan's feet hit solid ground again.
Maybe it was mastering Voldemort's flight spell, or the handful of Apparitions and Floo trips he'd taken, but he didn't feel the slightest bit off.
Since he didn't come to Diagon Alley often, Dylan didn't head straight to Gringotts. Instead, he stocked up at various shops—especially pet food.
Norbert was eating more and more lately.
Way beyond what Coalball could ever manage.
He didn't splurge too much, though—he still needed cash to unlock new features for his suitcase, like expanding its space.
That all cost money.
Even though it was term time, Diagon Alley buzzed with life. Shops lined the streets, witches and wizards in quirky outfits weaving through.
Dylan didn't spot any patrolling Aurors—maybe the Ministry had given up searching for Karthas here.
Not that he cared. They'd never trace anything back to him anyway.
Passing Honeydukes, the sweet aroma wafted over, but he didn't stop. He glanced at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, then hurried toward Gringotts.
Soon, the white marble building loomed into view.
Inside, the clink of ledgers and coins filled the air as goblins shuffled behind counters. Dylan resisted the urge to fling fifty Imperius Curses their way.
"You here to exchange money again?" a shrill voice piped up.
Dylan looked ahead and saw a scrawny goblin striding over, head tilted up, staring right at him.
He smiled lightly. "Yep."
The goblin frowned. "You know it takes me ages to process your money every time you exchange it, right?"
Dylan blinked, all sincerity. "Nope, didn't know that."
The scrawny goblin: "…"
The dim light of Gringotts cast shadows as Dylan followed the goblin to a counter.
"How many Galleons this time?"
"About fifty thousand or so."
"What?!"
The goblin's eyes bulged, its sour expression morphing into shock. "How much did you say?"
Dylan pulled a massive wooden chest from his space and dropped it on the counter with a *thud*.
"Got about 2.3 million pounds here. I'll exchange it for 2.3 million—keep the rest as a tip for your hard work counting it," he said with a grin.
The goblin's scowl faltered, a gleam of delight flashing in its eyes.
"Oh, no, no, no, how could I accept that? You're too kind!"
Its voice shot up an octave, pointy ears flushing with excitement. Its grin stretched wide, nearly splitting its wrinkled face, revealing jagged teeth.
Its twig-like fingers twitched as it yanked the chest toward itself, flipping it open. Inside, neat stacks of pound notes greeted it—easily more than 2.3 million, maybe an extra ten thousand or so!
Its smile turned downright fawning.
"Guests as generous as you are rare indeed! But I should warn you—there's talk at Gringotts about dropping pounds from the Galleon exchange list. Some goblins think Muggle money's too cheap."
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing they won't drop it—they'll just lower the exchange rate. Maybe one to six? Or worse?"
The goblin froze, its fake smile stiffening, but it didn't flinch. Instead, it bared yellowed fangs in a grin. "Heh, but I'll stick to the old rate for you this time."
Dylan chuckled. "Well, thanks for that."
Even if the goblins were debating tweaking the Muggle-to-Galleon exchange rate, it was just talk—maybe not even a formal proposal yet.
Whether it'd actually happen was anyone's guess.
Goblins were proud creatures, after all.
Looking down on Muggles was second nature to them.
Sure, some might think exchanging tons of human cash for Galleons could be a loss.
But most wouldn't even entertain the idea.
They'd set it at one-to-five—any loss was on the dumb Muggles, right?
So Dylan figured hiking the rate to squeeze more pounds per Galleon wasn't a sure thing—and even if it did happen, it wouldn't be now.
This scrawny goblin was just fishing for brownie points, acting like it was doing him a favor without lifting a finger.
Dylan didn't call it out, though. That chest actually had 2.32 million pounds.
He'd just handed the goblin a 20,000-pound tip—4,000 Galleons!
Not because he was rolling in it, but because exchanging money here always came with a fee.
Especially big transactions like this.
Normally, converting 2.3 million pounds would cost him about 6,000 Galleons—30,000 pounds—in fees.
But last time, he'd found a loophole.
Every Gringotts goblin could waive fees, though they usually saved it for big clients.
Not because they didn't want the fees—those went straight to the bank.
Big clients tipped them personally, and tips went right into their pockets.
Which was worth more? Any goblin could figure that out.
Once Dylan caught on, he hadn't paid a fee in his last few visits.
He'd give a tip—less than the fee, but not insultingly low—and they'd take it gladly.
Unless they'd already used up their monthly fee-waiver quota.
The more tips they got, the more eager they were to serve those clients and skip the fees.
So Dylan stuck to mid-tier goblins—not too high up, not too low—who had the authority but weren't swamped with big shots.
After cycling through a few, he settled on this scrawny one.
It suited his vibe.
In Gringotts' hierarchy, it was middle-of-the-road—too low for the elite, too high to be a nobody. Big clients overlooked it, and it couldn't snag them.
Perfect for Dylan.
The lighting in Gringotts was dim.
The scrawny goblin's bony, knobby fingers dove into the stack of pounds, counting with feverish glee—not a hint of workday drudgery, just pure lust for wealth.
The bills flipped fast in its hands.
Soon, it finished, squeaking, "All good! Enough for the Galleons. And since you're so generous, I'll waive the fee this time."
Dylan nodded lightly. "Much appreciated. I'll come back to you next time."
The goblin flashed a crocodile-tear smile, slyly pocketing a chunk of the extra pounds. With a blink, they vanished.
"You'll have to wait a bit—the Galleons need to come from the vault."
Dylan smiled. "Sure, I'll wait here."
The goblin turned, the chest floating behind it as it shuffled into Gringotts' depths.
Watching it go, Dylan narrowed his eyes.
Goblins, like house-elves, had their own wandless magic—goblin magic.
Unlike house-elves, who needed gestures like snapping fingers or raising arms, goblins cast spells without moving a muscle.
House-elf magic leaned toward domestic chores; goblin magic skewed toward crafting.
Their metalwork—like Gryffindor's sword—often carried potent magical properties.
"Man, I'd love to nab a few goblins for my suitcase."
Ever since getting it, Dylan couldn't shake the urge to grab every creature he met and study it.
He didn't wait long. The goblin hustled back, clutching a heavy coin pouch, its eyes glinting with barely veiled greed.
"Here's your Gringotts sack."
"I know."
Dylan took it, pretending to pour the Galleons into his waist pouch. While the goblin fixated on the bag, he silently stashed them all in his personal inventory.
Nearly 50,000 Galleons would've taken half a day to transfer by hand.
Once done, he handed the empty sack back.
"Thanks. See you next time."
"Always welcome."
The goblin fake-smiled him off.
Dylan fake-smiled back, leaving with his Galleons.
Outside Gringotts, he squinted.
"Been here enough times—I can always spot the entrance. If Quirrell and them could hit Gringotts, why can't I?"
Not that he'd raid it now.
He had a rare day out.
First, he'd hit Knockturn Alley—borrow some Galleons from those sweet dark wizards.
As he neared Knockturn Alley, the light dimmed.
His figure vanished in an unnoticed corner.
Then Karthas emerged.
Hood up, height-boosting shoes on, aura commanding.
Stepping into Knockturn Alley, Dylan spotted a dark wizard sneaking up on an unsuspecting mark.
He grinned, genuine this time.
"Here's my chance."
He raised his arm.
"*Imperio!*"
A red bolt shot from his wand, hitting the dark wizard square.
The guy stiffened, his malicious glare going blank. Then he started tossing everything valuable—coin pouch, wand, pendant—onto the ground, kneeling and bowing to Dylan.
Dylan strolled over, black robes billowing gracefully.
Passing the pile, a faint rustle sounded, and it all vanished.
"Saved you. No thanks?" he said, turning to the stunned wizard beside him.
"==(●●|||) Th-thank you…" the guy stammered.
"Too late. Rude jerk—you're my servant now. Hear the lost one's path."
Dylan raised his wand.
"No, wait—!"
"*Imperio!*"
The man's terrified face froze, twitched, then went blank.
Like the dark wizard, he dumped his valuables on the ground and knelt, bowing to Dylan.
The sudden move left the alley's lurking dark wizards—always ready to rob—gaping.
"Who… who is he? Using an Unforgivable Curse in the open?!"
"Karthas—it's Karthas!! Damn it, he's back?"
"How's his Imperius Curse so strong? They didn't even resist!"
"Why's he always wrecking Knockturn Alley? Why not Diagon Alley? I've been squatting here all day—no fat sheep yet, and now the Aurors are coming again—they just left!"
"You nuts—shush! Keep talking, and he'll rip your soul out next!"
Spotting Dylan's gaze, the shadows' lurkers nearly jumped out of their skin.
His wand rose lazily, voice low and raspy.
"*Sectumsempra!*"
Fifty glinting blades erupted from him like a storm of petals.
Dark corners lit up as the hiding wizards screamed, forced out by his spell, tumbling from their nooks in a panic.
"What the—why's he hitting us?!"
"*Imperio!*"
Another fifty curses flew.
Their screams cut off.
Silently, they shuffled toward Dylan, piling their stuff at his feet—coin pouches, magical trinkets, corpse guts, creature limbs…
The heap got weirder.
Under his mask, Dylan's mouth twitched.
With a sweep of his robe, he nabbed the pouches and useful items into his inventory.
A black Fiendfyre flared, torching the near-worthless guts and limbs.
The wizards collapsed in unison, kneeling, knees smacking the ground, kicking up dust.
Dylan loomed over them.
After a moment's thought, he figured he should say something.
Head tilting up, eyes glinting cold under the hood, he spoke slowly.
"Remember this—you, wandering in darkness, blindly chasing wealth and power. I, Karthas, will be the one to shatter it all!"
*Translation: Hand over your dirty money—I'm robbing the robbers!*
Pausing, he raised a hand.
The cheesy lines felt smoother the second time—heck, he was starting to enjoy it.
Fingers splayed, like he'd clutch the world.
"This world's order is rotten. The strong are shackled by cowardice, the weak struggle unnoticed. But I'm here."
"I, Karthas, death itself, the supreme arbiter of shadows."
Arms flung wide, robes snapping in the wind—he'd slipped in a gust charm.
*Whoosh.*
"In my eyes, your lives are frail as ants. But today, you're lucky enough to catch my gaze. All you have will fuel my new world!"
"I've become death—I've heard the frenzy of flames! Money's the currency of death—bring it to me!"
"My pilgrimage has begun!"
As his words landed, the kneeling wizards rose slightly, then slammed back down.
"Fool! Fool! Fool—!"
*Whoosh!*
Space rippled in Knockturn Alley.
Figures flashed in from warped air—uniformed, stern, wands gripped tight.
They filled half the alley, only to freeze at the bizarre sight.
Dark wizards knelt before a hooded figure, treasures and trinkets glowing on the ground, blending with the alley's grim vibe—like some twisted cult ritual.
Dylan glanced over, tempted to rob the Aurors too.
But seeing them empty-handed save for wands, he frowned.
"Aurors can't be *that* broke, right?"
Turning back, his hooded gaze—cold yet amused—swept over the tense Aurors.
Then he strolled off, steps steady.
The kneeling wizards jolted up, eyes flaring with feral light, roaring as they charged the Aurors with reckless abandon, hurling dark curses like rain.
"Damn it, not again!"
The Aurors fought back.
Dylan drifted further amid the chaos.
Passing the treasure piles, his robe flared like a vortex, swallowing it all in a blink, leaving bare ground.
Useless junk burned in Fiendfyre.
The Aurors, battling the wizards, struggled to chase him.
"Don't let him escape again!"
One shouted, only to dodge a curse.
"How'd these guys get so strong?!"
"Wait—he's controlling their spells!"
"How's he doing that?!"
Dylan's figure faded into the dark, a chilling silhouette lost in Knockturn Alley's shadows.
*(Chapter End)*