Dylan's mind wandered to the tantalizing possibility of recruiting a few master chefs' apprentices to work at his estate. He could use a Space Expansion Charm to create a dedicated passageway for them, so they wouldn't need to uproot their lives or move abroad permanently. That'd probably make the offer more appealing, right?
Once he perfected a potion to grant ordinary people stable longevity, those chefs might even become part of the thriving community in his own little world. His usual cooking was decent enough—homestyle, comforting—but it lacked finesse, variety, and professional flair. The thought of exotic dishes from the East, from bustling street food stalls to lavish palace banquets, each bursting with unique flavors, made his mouth water. He could almost taste them on his tongue.
What if I just changed citizenship? he mused. Moved to China, ate like a king every day… But no, that was a terrible idea. Starting over with new social circles and navigating unfamiliar customs sounded like a headache. Better to get some sort of magical visa-free pass instead. Besides, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Living too close might dull the excitement of those dishes. A rare visit would keep the magic alive.
His parents probably wouldn't care much about where they settled—they were never ones to stay put anyway. They'd likely jump at the chance to explore China endlessly, poking into every corner. But they didn't speak the language, and they weren't wizards. It'd be a hassle for them. So, maybe he'd revisit the idea once he cracked the longevity potion for Muggles.
As for the Ministry catching Death Eaters and scratching their heads over missing artifacts—well, what did Voldemort even want with those things? They could ask him themselves! Or maybe pester Carcass about it. But what did any of that have to do with a kind, sunny, upright little wizard like himself?
Thinking of Carcass, his alternate identity that hadn't seen much use lately, Dylan's lips twitched. He'd only been eyeing Grindelwald's collection of Helpo's manuscripts, planning to drop by when he had a moment to see what other rare treasures the old Dark Lord might have stashed away. Maybe even invite him to join his world. But the future he'd glimpsed during his last Divination session? That was… unexpected, to say the least.
Dylan sighed softly. Did I dig my own grave here? No matter. Next year might be busier, but he'd manage. After all, he wouldn't be at Hogwarts forever.
He rubbed his brow, trying to untangle the plans disrupted by that surprising Divination result. The vision hadn't gone quite as expected, but the big picture was still intact. When opportunity knocked, you grabbed it. If a big battle loomed, he'd tuck Karen and the others safely into his world. While Voldemort stirred up chaos, he could slip in as Carcass and snag some benefits.
Plus, the intel he'd gleaned from Voldemort's mind was intriguing. The dark magic was just fluff, but the complete method for creating Horcruxes? That piqued his interest. It was far more compelling than the disposable trinket he'd initially thought it to be. An idea he'd once dismissed as fanciful now seemed… possible.
Dylan pursed his lips and pulled a small portrait from the lab desk drawer. It was barely bigger than his hand, depicting himself sipping a cola. As soon as he took it out, the painted Dylan looked up, blinked, and raised his glass, clinking it against the canvas as if toasting the real Dylan.
"How's it feel?" Dylan asked, his voice clear as he addressed his painted self.
"Burp—feels a bit off," the portrait replied, letting out a cola-scented belch. "The consciousness woven with Extreme Dream can influence the painting, sure, but it's not the wizard himself. No soul, just traces of the wizard's essence and a bit of injected magic. The thoughts in here can't really change the painting itself in any meaningful way." He paused, then grinned. "That said, this Dream-crafted cola tastes pretty spot-on. Doesn't even go flat—beats the real stuff!"
Dylan nodded, his mind drifting to Ravenclaw's existence. "What about using something like a Horcrux to make a painting more… independent?"
The painted Dylan blinked, curious. "You want to turn a painting into a Horcrux?"
"Not quite," Dylan clarified. "I'm not trying to cheat death. I'm thinking about how Ravenclaw's consciousness became a soul of sorts. Could her original portrait have been crafted into something Horcrux-like by the system?"
The painted Dylan, though slower to react than the real one, was modeled after Dylan's own mind. It caught on quickly. "Pinpoint detonation… thought… anchor… memory… will…" he muttered, as if weighing each word carefully.
After a moment, he gave Dylan an odd look. "Didn't expect you to actually make sense of this idea."
"You think it could work?" Dylan asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"Why not just divine it?" the painting shot back, rolling its eyes.
"Nah, I don't have a clear experiment plan yet," Dylan said with a laugh. "Plus, relying on Divination for everything takes the fun out of life. I'd rather not spend my days sprawled on a couch, lost in crystal ball visions."
His mood lifted, relieved that the theory seemed plausible. "This means I've got to visit Grindelwald soon. If I wait too long, I might miss my chance."
Scenes from his Divination session flashed in his mind—his first meetings with the powerful, prophecy-savvy wizard. A sly grin crept across his face.
The painted Dylan shrugged, sipping his cola. "Do what you want. Use me for your experiments, just don't mess with my snacks." He crouched, pulling a tray of crisps, corn chips, onion rings, and other munchies from the unseen edges of the canvas. Popping an onion ring into his mouth, he crunched happily.
Dylan chuckled at his painted self's contentment, carefully tucking the portrait back into the drawer. With a long exhale, he pondered. For now, just visiting Grindelwald might not be enough to cover all bases with Dumbledore. Maybe he needed a few extra plans.
His fingers tapped the edge of the lab desk as he mulled over possibilities.
Two days later, Dylan stood in his small cabin, a pocket of his own world. The setup was simple but orderly, with a lab desk at the center cluttered with tools and faintly glowing magical materials. It wasn't as advanced as Ravenclaw's palace lab, but it sufficed for his daily experiments.
After his chat with his portrait, he'd returned to analyzing the magical residue on Ravenclaw's diadem. Just then, a knock came at the door.
"Come in," he called.
A soft, slightly ethereal figure glided in—Ravenclaw herself, her form shimmering faintly. She stopped beside Dylan, her voice gentle but clear. "Mr. Dylan."
He looked up, pausing his work. "Professor, what's up?"
Ravenclaw leaned forward slightly, her gaze settling on the diadem with a mix of nostalgia, reluctance, and a faint trace of pain. "I've been talking with him lately, and it's brought back memories—about my daughter."
"I know you've been studying this diadem, and it's likely useful for your experiments. But after much thought, I have a request."
Dylan met her eyes. "No need to call it a request, Professor. If you need my help, I'm happy to lend a hand."
She smiled softly, taking a breath. "This diadem was meant for Helena, a keepsake I left her. Circumstances led it astray, and for years, I've thought of her and it. You retrieved it, so I never felt entitled to ask for anything. But now…"
She trailed off, thinking of Dylan's recent instructions to feed the diary Horcrux with cockroach vitality and the Basilisk matter. Those cockroaches were different, their soul essence unique. She'd also noticed the diadem no longer carried the soul it once housed. Dylan had found a way to destroy a Horcrux's soul without damaging the vessel.
So, she'd come to ask something. "Could you give the diadem to Helena? It's not just a relic to her—it's my love for her, my connection to her."
Dylan looked at her earnest plea, then at the diadem, his mind racing. The system tasks tied to it were long complete, and its main value now was for experiments and the clarity it granted when worn. But after months of study, he'd nearly extracted its unique properties into a separate container. Once that was done, the diadem would just be a sentimental trinket, useless to him.
He nodded. "Alright. Since it means so much to you, and the diadem's not critical to me anymore, I'll give it to Helena."
Ravenclaw's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Dylan. I don't know how to repay you."
"No need," he said with a grin, waving it off. "Just keep being my brilliant housekeeper."
He turned back to his desk. "I'll find the right moment to give it to her. Don't worry."
Ravenclaw thanked him again before drifting out, leaving the cabin quiet save for the soft clinks of Dylan's tools. Soon after, he packed up, stepped out of the suitcase space, and found Harry and Ron waiting for him.
"What's up?" Dylan asked, his gaze flicking between them, noting it was just the two. His tone was calm but curious.
Harry stepped forward, his face a mix of urgency and hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he spilled the reason they'd come looking for him.