Hogwarts : Max Level Unforgivable Curse

Dylan stepped out from the bushes. 

He joined Harry and the others, heading toward the castle. 

With Malfoy injured, classes were definitely off the table for now. 

Sticking around here might even lead to some dangerous encounters. 

The group made their way back to the castle in a lively procession. 

Once there, the students scattered. 

Dylan spent some time in his dorm, flipping through a book. 

He also fed his pets and the creatures in his pet space that needed food. 

When dinnertime rolled around, he headed to the Great Hall. 

But there, he noticed Hagrid wasn't at the staff table. 

Nor was there any sign of Malfoy. 

Dylan felt a twinge of sympathy for the platinum-blond's rough day. 

Then he grabbed a few pieces of fried pork chops, steak, and chicken cutlets. 

—Today, he was craving something crispy and fried. 

In front of him sat amber-crusted fried oysters, oozing creamy white goodness, each one laced with the salty tang of sea mist. 

Tempura shrimp curled into golden-red crescents, their glossy batter revealing coral-pink shrimp meat underneath. 

Crunch. 

One bite, and juices burst free. 

The sound was as crisp as shattering jade. 

Next to him were small potatoes coated in coarse breadcrumbs, gleaming like honey under the light, with melted Parmesan cheese oozing from their cuts. 

Dylan wrapped the cheese's stretchy strands around a piece of fried mozzarella. 

The caramelized crust encased mascarpone cheese, dusted with icing sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla seeds. 

He layered on more cheese and dipped it in sauce. 

The rich aroma of pork chops, the clean freshness of seafood, the sweet creaminess of dairy, and the distinct charred scent of hot oil mingled together. 

Dylan took a bite. 

It was so delicious he practically soared, his eyes squinting with delight. 

"Looks like I really need to snag a house-elf to be my chef. Harry mentioned Dobby's sticking around at Hogwarts for now…" 

Munching away, Dylan pondered how to convince—er, recruit—Dobby or another house-elf. 

"Recruit, that's the word." 

"But if I had my pick, I'd go for Dobby. He's got solid cooking skills, and he's no slouch in a fight. He could totally handle disciplining the creatures I've got locked up in my pet space." 

Last term, he'd brought it up with Dobby, but nothing came of it. 

"Maybe I should just ask old Dumbledore directly. If Dobby's staying at Hogwarts, it's gotta be with his approval." 

As he bit into a fried pork chop, the crispy shell gave way to scalding-hot juices bursting between his teeth. 

Dylan mused, absentmindedly tapping his silver knife against his white porcelain plate. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

The knife's tip grazed a strand of congealed cheese, pulling a translucent sugary thread. 

Crisp crumbs littered the plate. Dylan stared at the glint of light reflected on the knife, lost in thought. 

"Dylan, what's on your mind?" Neville, sitting beside him, was drawn in by the tapping sound. 

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking this food's pretty tasty," Dylan replied casually. 

"It is!" Neville grinned, biting into a piece of grilled pineapple Dylan had recommended. "I've never eaten like this at home. The texture's so unique." 

Dylan chuckled. 

After dinner, he returned to his dorm. 

Finally, he had time to check on the Dementors he'd stored in his pet space. 

Earlier, when classes got canceled and he was feeding his pets and the Basilisk, he'd glanced at them. 

The Dementors seemed spooked, not daring to wander, just staying put where he'd told them to. 

Entering the pet space, Dylan spotted them immediately. 

To avoid them freaking out the other creatures, he'd assigned them to an isolated island in the ocean ecosystem. 

The sea creatures kept their distance from that area. 

Hovering above the water, Dylan approached the island and looked ahead. 

Above the island, lead-gray clouds hung like soaked shrouds, with tiny ice crystals floating in the sticky gloom. 

Seven tattered, rag-wrapped shapes slithered through the air, their translucent bodies trailing pitch-black mist. 

Wherever they passed, the air frosted over. 

—That was the Dementors' signature chill. 

Their presence always carried a bone-deep cold. 

Salty sea winds whipped over jagged reefs, and the island already had rotting wood, glowing with eerie blue phosphorescent flames. 

"How do Dementors create will-o'-the-wisps?" Dylan's curiosity sparked. 

He stepped onto the island. 

—Ever since setting up the ocean ecosystem, Dylan had placed all sorts of dead creatures here. 

The most noticeable were the swarms of cockroaches. 

Then came spiders and other bizarre bugs. 

After that, a few goblin corpses. 

And some Cornish pixies. 

The Dementors' presence didn't seem to affect these corpses at all. 

—They were already dead, with no souls to begin with. 

After Dylan turned them into undead, they only followed his orders or acted on instinct. 

Thankfully, they didn't need to eat. 

At most, they'd sip from the corpse-water lake at the island's center. 

Or rather… take a dip. 

A nice bath in the corpse-water to recharge their strength. 

Since activating the ecosystem, it could self-regulate and cycle. 

Dylan never ran short of materials to enrich the corpse-water. 

Every day, he had Norbert grab leftover scraps or creatures and toss them into the lake. 

Dylan observed the seven Dementors' movements. 

They seemed healthy enough, just lacking energy. 

Every now and then, they'd drift around the corpses, attempting to kiss them. 

But finding no souls to suck, they gave up. 

The island—whether because of the Dementors, the corpse-water lake, or the undead—felt downright creepy. 

It looked like something straight out of the underworld. 

Not a place for the living. 

But Dylan wasn't fazed. 

He raised his palm. 

Magic to repel spiritual entities flared up, wrapping around the Dementors. 

As Dylan set foot on the island, the seven Dementors visibly panicked. 

Now, caught in his magic, not one dared resist. 

At least for now, Dylan looked like a normal human wizard kid. 

They were terrified that resisting might turn him into something even they found horrifying. 

As the Dementors drew closer, Dylan felt the temperature around him drop further. 

The cold seemed to pierce his bones. 

"You're too close," Dylan said, frowning slightly. 

Seeing him raise his wand, the seven Dementors freaked out, snapping into formation like they were in military training. 

They stepped back in unison, stood at ease, and lined up neatly. 

"Hm, this distance is better. Just right." Dylan nodded, satisfied, lowering his wand. 

Whew. 

The Dementors let out what looked like a human-like sigh of relief. 

They eyed Dylan cautiously. 

They had no idea why this human had captured them or what he wanted. 

They didn't dare ask—couldn't ask. 

They just stood there like nervous recruits, lined up, waiting for Dylan to speak. 

"Now, I'm giving you names." 

The seven Dementors turned to him. 

Dylan met their gaze. 

He pointed at the first one. 

Raising his wand, the Dementor flinched. 

But Dylan only twirled his wand in the air. 

A mark appeared on the Dementor's cloak, bearing a single letter. 

—A. 

"From now on, you're Little A. Got that?" 

The Dementor, braced for the worst, realized it only felt a magical mark on its body. 

It opened its hollow eyes, its numb, ghastly face showing confusion. 

Then Dylan frowned. 

"What, you don't understand me?" 

Little A froze, then shook its head vigorously, nodding repeatedly. Its nonexistent hands flailed under its cloak, gesturing wildly at Dylan. 

Dylan roughly got what Little A was trying to say. 

"See, I knew it. You Dementors might not fully grasp language, but you've got some smarts, don't you?" 

Little A nodded eagerly. 

Dylan smirked. 

"Being bossed around by the Ministry for so long, you must understand basic language if you can follow their orders." 

Then something else hit him. 

His eyes locked onto Little A. 

The Dementor shivered under his stare, wanting to bolt. 

But ever since arriving here, it felt like it was in another world. 

Everything it did felt watched, controlled, oppressive. 

Facing this human wizard—who was scarier than any Dementor—it wanted to run. 

But it didn't dare. 

It was afraid it wouldn't escape and would get dragged back for worse punishment. 

—It never wanted to relive what it had already been through. 

But Dylan didn't do anything to it. 

Instead, he tilted his head back. 

"Roar!" 

—That was dragon tongue, something he'd picked up after turning into a Norwegian Ridgeback. 

He was asking if the Dementor understood him. 

Little A blinked, confused. Hadn't it already answered this? But it nodded anyway. 

Dylan's eyes lit up, a grin tugging at his lips. 

Then he squinted, pursed his lips, and let out a soft hiss from his throat. 

A smooth string of sibilant sounds flowed out. 

Parseltongue. 

And the Dementor nodded again. 

Now Dylan was sure. 

Dementors didn't just understand human wizard language. 

They could comprehend other creatures' languages too! 

Dylan's mind raced to another idea. 

If he used Soul Extraction on a Dementor, could he master every creature's language? 

Or at least understand what they were saying. 

Whether he could speak to them was a problem for later. 

"But Soul Extraction requires a living soul. Dementors, being non-beings, don't have souls." 

Dylan clicked his tongue, sighing with regret. 

He stared at Little A, his gaze so intense it seemed to burn through the Dementor's misty form. 

Maybe it was the unchecked greed in Dylan's eyes. 

Little A trembled again. 

Its withered claws pointed frantically at the letter A on its cloak. 

Hold on, mate! 

Am I not already yours? 

I'm Little A! 

Dylan caught its gesture, snapped out of his thoughts, and rubbed his chin. 

"Seven Dementors. If I 'deal with' one, it probably wouldn't matter, right? If one could lead to a breakthrough in my research, I could learn from it and avoid messing up the second one." 

His mischievous gaze flicked between Little A and the second Dementor. 

The second one hurriedly pointed to its chest. 

Mate, give me a name too! 

Dylan smacked his lips, shelving the idea for now. 

He raised his wand again. 

Soon enough, Little B, Little C, Little D, Little E, Little F, and Little G were named. 

Each Dementor had a Dark Mark etched onto them: A, B, C, D, E, F, G. 

—They were test subjects and future jailers for anyone Dylan might lock up later. 

He couldn't be bothered with fancy names. Simple and memorable worked just fine. 

"Your food is happiness. Born from despair and misery, how often do you need to feed?" 

Dylan's eyes settled on Little A. 

As dark, evil non-beings, Dementors sustained themselves by sucking out souls and joy. 

At Dylan's question, Little A paused, then raised a hand. 

"One day?" Dylan eyed it skeptically. "You pulling my leg? It's been a day, and none of you look like you're fading." 

—Far from fading, they seemed fine. 

Just a bit cowardly. 

Little A shook its head quickly. 

Then it raised and lowered its arm repeatedly. 

Dylan's eyelid twitched. 

It was counting. 

How… straightforward. 

He counted along. 

Turns out, Dementors could last quite a while without feeding on souls or happy memories. 

Little A raised and lowered its arm thirty times before stopping. 

"A whole month?" Dylan tapped his lips with his finger. 

"The Ministry can't know when they'll catch Sirius Black, so sending Dementors to guard Hogwarts must be a long-term plan." 

The Ministry likely prepared food for them. 

Otherwise, these creepy things might riot. 

And Hogwarts could end up their buffet. 

The Ministry wouldn't be that daft. 

—Plenty of their officials had kids studying here. 

So Dylan figured the Ministry probably sent some Death Row prisoners. 

Or, since they'd already sent Azkaban's Dementors, they might've brought along a few prisoners too. 

To the Ministry, Azkaban's inmates were barely worth sparing. 

They housed Death Eaters, users of Unforgivable Curses, wizards who illegally harmed others, and threats to world safety. 

—Like Sirius Black. 

He was seen as Voldemort's accomplice. 

And Voldemort? No need to elaborate. 

He didn't just threaten world safety. 

The entire world—wizard and Muggle alike—nearly got turned upside down by him! 

He almost flipped the whole planet! 

Most of Azkaban's prisoners were dark wizards. 

The Ministry couldn't care less if their souls got sucked dry by Dementors. 

(Chapter End)