Dylan's father drove him straight to a gated community.
Dylan knew they had bought a new house here.
This area wasn't too crowded, but it also wasn't entirely remote. It was still convenient to drive anywhere from here.
According to Dylan's dad, the property prices here weren't cheap either—it was a well-established, upscale neighborhood.
"Finally, no more living in a basement."
The basement he used to live in had only a tiny window, which was built near the ground level, connecting to the first floor—almost like a storage room.
Dylan spent the whole day at home with his parents.
That night, after having a home-cooked meal made by his mom, he looked at them and said:
"I have something to do tomorrow. I probably won't be home at night, so don't wait up for me. Just have dinner early and get some rest."
Maeve, who was about to clean up the dishes in the kitchen, turned around when she heard Dylan's words.
Since their son was coming home, she and her husband had temporarily sent their housekeeper away.
After all, their son was studying magic at a wizarding school, and there were many things that weren't convenient to talk about in front of outsiders.
So, Maeve had taken on most of the household chores herself.
Dylan considered using magic to clean everything up for her, but he wasn't sure if casting spells here would attract the Ministry of Magic's attention.
He didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble, so he decided against it.
—If he were to use magic, he'd rather do it outside than at home.
"You're going out? Be careful, and watch out for scams," Maeve reminded him.
"Don't worry, Mom. No one can fool your son," Dylan said with a smile.
With his wife already giving their son advice, Hubert didn't say much. However, there was a trace of concern in his eyes.
After all, Dylan was only eleven years old.
Even though he looked more mature than before after a year away at school, as a father, Hubert couldn't help but worry.
But when it came to magic, he couldn't provide any help. He couldn't even hire a bodyguard for his son.
All he could do was keep his worries to himself.
Dylan had always been independent, causing them little trouble. Instead of worrying, Hubert felt it was better to focus on earning more money for his wife and son.
He muttered a few words to himself. After Dylan returned to his room, Hubert went into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Maeve's waist from behind.
"Hey! What are you doing? Dylan's still home!" Maeve glared at him.
Hubert chuckled. "Since our son won't be home tomorrow, we finally have some alone time. How about we go see a movie?"
"And later, we could have a nice candlelit dinner. Since Dylan won't be back at night, we could even…"
"Shh!"
Maeve playfully rolled her eyes at him.
"We'll see tomorrow!"
Seeing her reaction, Hubert grinned.
If she said that, it was pretty much guaranteed!
Dylan ignored his parents' affectionate antics.
For an old married couple to still be this close—it was rare.
Although he sometimes found it a little awkward, he believed that a person must first love themselves before they can truly love others.
So, back at Christmas, he had already come to accept his parents' youthful love life.
After a night's sleep, Dylan woke up the next morning and found a note on the dining table.
He walked straight into the kitchen and opened the microwave.
Inside was the breakfast his mother had specially prepared for him.
After eating, Dylan got ready to head out.
His plan for the day: visit Knockturn Alley.
He needed to personally buy food for Beta and Coalball, as well as some special materials.
But before leaving, he wrote a letter to Hagrid—just a simple greeting and, more importantly, his updated address.
Then, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron.
On the way, he transformed his wizard robe into a black cloak, ensuring it covered most of his face.
Once he passed through the pub and entered the small courtyard at the back, he changed into the cloak and put on a voice-altering mask.
Glancing behind him, he confirmed that no one was following.
—After all, the Leaky Cauldron was the main passageway between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley.
Wizards who actually lived in the Muggle world rarely used it as a route.
So, he had to be cautious not to attract any Muggle attention.
And once inside the pub, he had to be even more careful not to draw the interest of other wizards.
He tapped a specific brick on the wall with his wand, and the bricks shifted to form an archway.
Dylan stepped through.
Instead of entering Diagon Alley, he walked towards Knockturn Alley, which was just a few steps away.
If Diagon Alley was bright and bustling, Knockturn Alley was its complete opposite—like a decayed slum.
The narrow alley twisted and turned, flanked by crooked buildings that looked like they could collapse at any moment.
Dim light barely made it past the towering structures, and the air reeked of a mix of rot and dampness, making Dylan wrinkle his nose.
He walked steadily, carefully stepping over the moss-covered, slippery stone pavement.
The shops on either side looked lifeless, their windows displaying eerie and unsettling items.
—Jars filled with biological organs floating in murky liquid, cursed objects radiating an ominous presence…
On the street, gaunt, ragged wizards huddled in the shadows of shopfronts. Some were hunched over, while others limped.
Whenever a passerby walked by, these figures cast them sinister glances, as if they were contemplating how best to tear them apart.
Dylan took in the surroundings—not with fear, but with excitement.
"This is where my Dark Magic should truly shine! Heh heh heh!"
Seeing the disheveled, cold-eyed wizards turning their gazes toward him, he couldn't help but laugh internally.
"Such warm and welcoming looks!"
Of course, Dylan wouldn't use his real name when making deals here.
He decided to give himself a codename.
Maybe… Thanos.
"Or Muzan? Uchiha Gandalf has a nice ring to it too."
**"Isn't it a bit strange to have people call me Uncle Mike?"**
Dylan stepped forward, deep in thought. He considered tarot cards and ultimately decided to go by the title *The Fool*.
Despite being only eleven years old, he was already about 5'1"—a height that wasn't short even by adult wizard standards.
With a pair of height-boosting insoles, he looked close to 5'7".
—After all, with a black robe on, no one could see clearly anyway.
Dylan's gaze remained indifferent as he strolled leisurely, glancing around. Yet, there was an almost imperceptible sense of superiority in his demeanor.
This attitude immediately drew dissatisfied glances from those around him—mixed with greed and covetous intent.
—He looks like an easy target.
The souls of these wizards had long been twisted by dark magic. Once their evil desires surfaced, they were nearly impossible to suppress.
Dylan continued walking down the street.
Suddenly, a dark figure lunged at him like a gust of malevolent wind, attacking from behind.
"You think you're Gandalf?"
Dylan barely turned his head, raising his wand. His voice, altered by a mask, was deep and magnetic.
*"Crucio!"*
A burst of green light shot forth—
Direct hit!
"Aaahhh—!"
A piercing scream echoed.
A black-robed wizard was sent flying by the powerful curse, crashing to the ground in a pathetic heap. He curled up in agony, his hands clawing desperately at the dirt as his body convulsed uncontrollably.
His wails of pain filled the air.
The entire street froze. The once-noisy Knockturn Alley fell into a deathly silence.
Nearby wizards gawked, eyes wide in disbelief.
"H-He dares… Is he not afraid of the Aurors…?" A thin, sharp-faced witch's voice trembled. She didn't even finish her sentence before someone beside her hurriedly covered her mouth.
Not far away, an old wizard leaning on a cane trembled violently, nearly dropping his walking stick. "The Cruciatus Curse… T-This…"
Even in Knockturn Alley, how could someone just *casually* cast an Unforgivable Curse in broad daylight?!
Even the most depraved wizards, whose souls had been eroded by dark magic, found it unimaginable.
Who does this guy think he is?
The Dark Lord?!
Besides Voldemort and his most heinous Death Eaters, not even dark wizards would dare *casually* throw around an Unforgivable Curse like that!
And yet, here he was, casting one without a second thought, right in the open!
Dylan's single spell left the entire street in stunned silence.
The so-called dark wizards lurking in Knockturn Alley were, in truth, hardly worthy of the title.
—After all, they didn't even know how to cast Unforgivable Curses.
Most of them were just failures—wannabe proper wizards who had been too weak in talent, skill, and willpower. In their desperation for power, they had twisted their souls with dark magic to compensate for their inadequacies.
Compared to Voldemort or even Snape, these people weren't true dark wizards.
They didn't belong in the same category as the kind of darkness Voldemort embodied.
Dylan looked down at the writhing attacker, watching his movements grow weaker. His expression remained calm and cold.
"Hmm. *That's* how someone under the Cruciatus Curse is supposed to react."
Last time, he had hit Quirrell with *dozens* of Cruciatus Curses, yet the man hadn't died from sheer agony.
That had made Dylan wonder—Voldemort must have taken on some of Quirrell's pain.
Otherwise, knowing Quirrell's cowardly nature, he would've passed out the moment he got hit.
Dylan gripped his wand, most of it concealed beneath his robes.
Meanwhile, a few other wizards who had considered attacking him immediately abandoned the idea. They pulled their tattered cloaks tightly around themselves and hurriedly backed away.
Shopkeepers along the street cursed inwardly as they scrambled to hide their illicit goods.
"If you wanna die, do it somewhere else! Casting an Unforgivable Curse in broad daylight—are you *trying* to summon the Aurors?!"
Now they couldn't even do business properly!
Of course, no matter how much they cursed in their hearts, not a single one of them dared to voice their complaints.
Dylan cast an icy glance at the crowd before turning toward *Borgin and Burkes*.
He had originally planned to buy some corpses, but now it seemed he wouldn't have time.
"What a bunch of nuisances. I've already made it clear I'm not afraid of anything, and yet they still dared to come after me."
Dylan shook his head in mild exasperation, paying no further attention to the nearly unconscious man on the ground as he stepped into the shop.
—If the fool died, so be it. If he survived, he could enjoy the *full* experience of the Cruciatus Curse.
"Ah, esteemed customer… Welcome!"
A faint musty smell filled the air as Dylan entered.
Mr. Borgin had been arranging a display of twisted skulls.
The moment he saw *this* particular customer walk in, his face lit up with an obsequious smile.
He hurried forward, his voice oozing with oily politeness. His back bent into a deep bow, nearly at a right angle—too afraid to meet Dylan's eyes directly.
He had no desire to be hit with a Cruciatus Curse out of nowhere.
—Especially when there was already a *very* clear example lying outside.
Even if the Aurors eventually came to arrest this lunatic and send him to trial, that was a problem for *later*.
Right now, he had no choice but to lower himself completely, doing whatever it took to avoid provoking this menace.
"I have a batch of Acromantula corpses, including their venom. How much can you take?"
Ever since Dylan unlocked the properties of Avada Kedavra, killing Acromantulas had become as easy as taking a stroll in the garden.
With just a single cast of Avada Kedavra, any Acromantula that dared approach him would be obliterated by the lingering effects of his magic.
So, whenever Dylan took Beta to visit Hagrid, he would occasionally take a quick detour to the Acromantula nest, slaughter a few dozen, and then dissect them on the spot—right in front of their horrified kin.
He took everything useful.
The Acromantulas never tried to stop him.
At first, when he entered their nest, they would attack him. But by the end, every time he showed up, the spiders would go into a frenzy trying to hide.
Of course, he didn't go overboard—just a few dozen each time, maybe a hundred at most.
Compared to the overall Acromantula population, that was nothing.
Mr. Borgin had assumed this terrifying man was here to buy something. He figured Dylan would be arrested by Aurors soon enough, but in the meantime, making a sale wouldn't hurt.
What he didn't expect was that Dylan was actually here to sell something!
And…
Acromantula corpses and venom?
That was certainly rare and always in demand.
Mr. Borgin nodded respectfully and said, "Acromantula corpses don't have much use, but if you have a large quantity of venom, I'll take the corpses along with it—however much you have. Would that be acceptable to you?"
Dylan gave a slight nod. With a flick of his wand, a large jar appeared on a nearby table.
Mr. Borgin froze.
That entire jar… was filled with Acromantula venom?!
That had to be over a hundred pints!
"M-My dear venom! How in the world did you collect this much?"
Staring at the massive jar of venom, Mr. Borgin was so shocked that the question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
The moment he realized what he had said, his face turned deathly pale, and sweat began pouring down his forehead.
"I-I'm sorry, esteemed guest! I didn't mean to pry into your secrets. Please, I beg you, don't take offense!"
Recalling that Dylan had just used an Unforgivable Curse in broad daylight to dispose of someone, Mr. Borgin swallowed hard. His legs began to tremble.
Dylan observed his pathetic state with a faint smirk. His expression remained calm—he wasn't trying to keep it a secret.
"It's quite simple," Dylan said smoothly. "All I have to do is find the Acromantulas, cast the Imperius Curse on them, make them willingly drain out all their venom, and then finish them off. I collect both the venom and the corpses. That's it."
Dylan spoke as if it were nothing, but Mr. Borgin's expression froze, and his fear only deepened.
His back was now drenched in sweat.
He deeply regretted asking that question!
This man wasn't just skilled with the Cruciatus Curse—he could cast the Imperius Curse too?!
Why had he shared that information? Was he trying to imply something?
Was this a threat?
Was Dylan letting him know that, just as he could effortlessly kill countless Acromantulas and force them to give up their venom, he could just as easily use the Imperius Curse on him?
Make him "drain out his venom"—in other words, hand over all his money?
And if he refused, would Dylan cast the Imperius Curse on him, turning him into a mindless husk?
Mr. Borgin gulped repeatedly.
Dylan, seeing his reaction, frowned impatiently. "Are you saying the venom is too much, and you don't want to make the deal?"
Mr. Borgin immediately shook his head so fast it looked like a rattle.
"N-No! Of course, I want to buy it!"
Forcing a smile—one that looked more like a grimace—he hurried behind the counter, struggling to open a hidden compartment.
After much effort, he retrieved four bags and placed them on the table, pushing them toward Dylan with shaky hands.
"T-These are f-four… forty thousand Galleons. It's everything I have at the moment. I'll use it to buy your venom… Please, this is rightfully yours…"
His face was filled with nervousness and desperation.
Dylan, seeing the four money bags, raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Forty thousand Galleons?
It was well known that a single pint of Acromantula venom sold for around a hundred Galleons.
And that was the retail price.
The wholesale price would be much lower.
Dylan originally thought that a hundred pints of eight-eyed giant spider venom would be worth at most a few thousand Galleons.
— After all, this *is* the black market.
But to his surprise, this Mr. Borgin seemed to have lost his mind—he actually pulled out *forty thousand* Galleons?
What was he thinking?
Was he trying to ruin himself?
However, Dylan quickly gathered his thoughts and regained his composure.
Without a change in expression, he silently collected the four money pouches on the table, each enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
"Give me another pouch."
"Ah... huh? Esteemed customer, I really don't have any more..."
(End of Chapter)