Dylan walked toward the next room.
"Professor Snape's setup, huh? Such a familiar style."
As soon as he stepped inside, he was hit by the distinct scent of potions.
At the same time, dark flames flickered across the walls of the room.
Even the two doors were ablaze under the influence of magic—yet the fire did not corrode or damage the walls or doors directly.
It was as if the flames were burning on the surface without actually touching anything.
"What kind of fire is this?"
Dylan could clearly tell that this wasn't Fiendfyre. It lacked the malevolent aura characteristic of that particular curse.
However, the heat radiating from it was intense—clearly no ordinary flame.
"Why has Professor Snape never shown me this trick before?"
Dylan smirked.
Whenever he brewed potions, he had never seen Snape using any special fire for heating.
Most of the time, Snape simply had him light the flame manually.
Otherwise, he would use his cauldron's built-in fire.
Snape's cauldron was far superior to Dylan's—not only could it ignite on its own, but it could also emit cold air to rapidly cool potions when necessary, achieving effects Snape desired.
"But this fire isn't Fiendfyre in the end. A normal protective shield can block it."
Dylan ignored the black flames.
They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but he had no intention of testing their power.
—Who knew what hidden tricks that maniac Snape might have embedded in his spells?
His gaze shifted to a table in front of him, where seven bottles of potion were neatly arranged.
Beside them lay a piece of parchment.
The handwriting was messy—unmistakably the work of an arrogant, disdainful man who had written it casually.
—Dylan could practically feel the contempt and indifference in the strokes of the pen.
"Let's see." Dylan lowered his gaze.
The parchment contained a riddle:
> Danger lies ahead, safety behind, and in between, two will guide your way.
> Drink them down, one leads you forward, the other sends you back.
> Two hold nettle wine, three bring death, all waiting in line.
> Choose wisely, unless you wish to remain here forever!
>
> Here are four clues to aid your choice, lest you be stuck, neither forward nor back!
>
> 1. No matter how slyly poison hides, it always stands to the left of nettle wine.
> 2. The bottles at both ends are different, but neither will help you move forward.
> 3. The largest and smallest bottles hold neither poison nor death.
> 4. The second from the left and second from the right look different but taste the same.
Dylan skimmed through it and smirked.
"Professor Snape is still as... meticulous as ever."
A logic puzzle designed to stump fools while forcing the intelligent to think deeply before grasping the solution.
And then, Snape would coldly stand to the side, watching as people struggled with his challenge, before delivering a biting remark—
*"How utterly foolish!"*
In truth, after spending weekends brewing potions with Snape and occasionally discussing potion-related topics, Dylan had grown used to his sarcastic teaching style.
—Most of what Snape shared came in the form of scathing insults that, when deciphered, contained genuinely useful knowledge.
Over time, Dylan had developed an immunity to Snape's sharp tongue.
On occasion, he even managed to leave Snape speechless with a comeback of his own.
He was already very familiar with Snape's style, and logic puzzles like these had often come up in their conversations.
Being naturally strong in logical reasoning, Dylan quickly deciphered the puzzle Snape had set.
From left to right, the seven potions were: poison, nettle wine, the potion to pass through the black flames, poison, poison, nettle wine, and the potion to return through the purple flames.
First, using clue one, Dylan established that poison was always to the left of nettle wine. This immediately clarified their relative positions.
This also confirmed that the rightmost bottle couldn't be poison—if it were, there would be no nettle wine to its right.
According to clue two, the bottles at both ends were different and neither could move him forward. This meant that neither contained the potion for passing through the flames.
With three bottles of poison, two bottles of nettle wine, one forward potion, and one return potion, Dylan deduced that the two end bottles had to be one poison and one nettle wine.
Next, clue three stated that the largest and smallest bottles did not contain poison.
This meant they contained either nettle wine or one of the two functional potions.
Finally, clue four specified that the second bottle from the left and the second from the right tasted the same—meaning they had to be either poison or nettle wine.
—Since all other potions existed in singular form.
Cross-referencing clues two and four, Dylan deduced that the first bottle on the right had to be either poison or nettle wine. Since it tasted the same as the second one, if the first was poison, the second had to be poison as well.
But clue one stated that poison must have nettle wine to its left—meaning two adjacent poisons would violate the rule.
Thus, the first bottle on the right had to be nettle wine, making the second one nettle wine as well.
Since the first right bottle was nettle wine, clue one indicated that bottles two, three, four, and five (counting from the right) contained poison. Clue three further confirmed that the largest and smallest bottles couldn't be poison.
Thus, bottles three and four contained poison, while bottles two and five, being different in size, contained nettle wine.
In the end, that left only the first bottle on the left and the seventh bottle in the center—one had to be the forward potion, and the other the return potion.
Clue two confirmed that the first bottle on the left couldn't be the forward potion.
So, the first bottle on the left was the return potion, and the seventh bottle was the forward potion.
"Too easy, Professor Snape. Your logic puzzle is still a bit too simple and rough—nowhere near as mind-blowing as my 'Which came first, the chicken or the egg?' dilemma."
With a smirk, Dylan effortlessly took the forward potion.
He still vividly remembered how, during a discussion about hatching eggs, he had asked Snape that very question—leaving the man silent for a long time.
Uncorking the bottle, Dylan downed the potion in one gulp.
He stepped through the black flames in a single stride and instantly arrived in the next room.
**"Is this the last room?"**
Dylan looked around at the furnishings. They were quite simple, without any special arrangements.
At the very center of the room stood nothing but a full-length mirror.
A man with his head wrapped in a turban stood before the mirror, staring at the reflection with a greedy gaze. His eyes shimmered with excitement and exhilaration.
—Clearly, Quirrell had already lost himself in the wonderful illusions the mirror was creating for him.
Until...
**"Stop staring at your pathetic life! Someone has passed through the fire!"**
**"What?!"**
The hoarse, low voice snapping at the back of his head jolted Quirrell back to reality. He shuddered involuntarily and immediately turned around.
However, he scanned the surroundings and saw nothing.
**"If it's not Potter, then it's the one who hit you with all those Cruciatus Curses! Stop standing there like a fool, damn it! Or do you want to experience the Unforgivable Curses again?!"**
The raspy voice carried an unmistakable tone of frustration.
Hidden beneath his invisibility cloak, Dylan nearly burst out laughing.
**"Avis!"** *(Confringo spell!)*
Quirrell had clearly learned his lesson. The realization that his opponent could be the same person who had bombarded him with forty-four—or even more—Cruciatus Curses in the Forbidden Forest sent a shiver through his body. His grip on his wand trembled.
Without hesitation, he cast the *Avis* spell, attempting to reveal the person hidden under the invisibility cloak.
Dylan, however, held the cloak firmly in place.
No matter how desperately Quirrell tried different spells, he couldn't move the cloak even an inch.
**"Are you afraid of me?"**
Dylan's voice was almost unrecognizable from his usual tone.
The sudden sound startled Quirrell again, making him flinch.
**"Who's there?!"**
Quirrell turned sharply toward the source of the voice. **"Stop playing tricks on me! Do you really think I'm afraid of you? How ridiculous!"**
Dylan chuckled. **"Oh, you're not afraid? After taking dozens of my Cruciatus Curses and still being able to stand here so soon after, I must say—I'm actually kind of impressed."**
Quirrell's expression twisted.
**"You… Who the hell are you?! Why do you have such mastery over the Unforgivable Curses? That should be impossible!"**
Since his last encounter with Dylan in the Forbidden Forest, Quirrell had endured unimaginable pain.
However, ironically, the more suffering he experienced, the deeper the curse within his body grew.
Though the entity on the back of his head had also felt the torment of the Cruciatus Curse, the intensified curse energy had actually allowed it to regain some power.
This level of recovery was even more astonishing than drinking unicorn blood!
Quirrell was baffled.
Who was the real Dark Lord here?
How could some mysterious person's Unforgivable Curses actually restore the real Dark Lord's strength—no, not just restore it, but enhance it?!
This wasn't how dark magic was supposed to work!
Absolutely absurd!
**"Heh, I have no idea what you're talking about."**
Dylan wasn't an idiot.
For all he knew, Dumbledore could be lurking nearby. Hadn't he intervened at the last moment before?
If he wasn't here already, he could return at any time—distance meant nothing to Dumbledore.
Hogwarts had a barrier that prevented ordinary people from using Apparition.
This was the **Anti-Apparition Charm.**
But everyone knew—this only applied to ordinary people.
Phoenixes and house-elves could Apparate freely, as their form of teleportation was different from that of wizards.
So even if Dumbledore wasn't relying on his own powers to break through Hogwarts' wards…
He could still return at any moment using a phoenix.
Sure, Dumbledore had been tricked into leaving.
But was he truly suspicious of Quirrell?
Had he left on purpose to give Quirrell an opportunity to make a move?
That was uncertain.
And for that reason, Dylan had no intention of openly displaying his dark magic.
That would be like lighting a lantern inside a toilet—asking for trouble.
**"Hmm? Could it be Harry?"** Quirrell hesitated.
**"Idiot! Does Potter need to change his voice?"** The raspy voice erupted in fury, as if appalled by Quirrell's stupidity.
**"Oh… Right, you have a point."** Quirrell paused and finally realized his mistake.
Dylan narrowed his eyes. Time to test whether Dumbledore was really lurking nearby.
He pulled down the hood of his invisibility cloak and looked directly at Quirrell, a smirk curling his lips.
**"Hello, Professor Quirrell. So it really was you after the Philosopher's Stone!"**
Quirrell stared at Dylan, dumbfounded.
**"Hawkworth? How is it you?!"**
Dylan raised an eyebrow. **"Why wouldn't it be me? Harry already told me everything. Or rather, I already suspected that you were up to no good."**
**"A damned first-year student like you?! How could you possibly know what I'm up to?!"** Quirrell's eyes widened as he glared at the boy, the very same student every professor had been praising to him all year.
To gather information on what assignments each professor had given, he spent every day hovering around them and visiting their offices.
However, that guy Dylan would sometimes become an obstacle whenever he tried to approach the professors, getting in his way like a stumbling block. He couldn't get anything out of them and had to leave in frustration.
And even when he did manage to get close to a professor and tried to extract some information, those damn professors would always steer the conversation toward Dylan before he could even say a word!
One moment, they were praising how clever, intelligent, and talented Dylan was.
The next, they were going on about how likable and charming he was.
He couldn't care less about who the hell Dylan was!
Because in his class, Dylan was as silent as a rock—never saying a word!
Especially that one time when Professor McGonagall once again whispered to him about Dylan's talent—
That was when he started considering whether he should assess Dylan's abilities. If he could rope him in and make him his master's servant, Dylan might just become a highly useful tool—one that could be turned into a blade aimed right at Hogwarts.
However, when he attempted to test Dylan by asking him some questions in class—planning to first spark the little brat's interest in the Dark Arts before luring him into his office for a one-on-one brainwashing session—
That damn brat actually claimed that he had already learned most of the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum from other professors.
—And he had even studied advanced counter-curses!
Damn those Hogwarts professors!
Who had stolen the job that was rightfully his?!
(End of chapter)