The borrowing period for books in the Restricted Section is typically quite short, even with a professor's signature.
While it wouldn't be as brief as a single day or two, returning a book within three days is considered fairly standard.
But now, thanks to Madam Pince, Dylan had been granted a rare seven-day borrowing privilege—something he was certainly grateful for.
"I'll head off to read now, Madam Pince," Dylan said with a nod. At that moment, the morning light filtered through the window, casting the shadow of his eyelashes across his cheek.
Since lunchtime was still a while away, Dylan didn't rush off. Instead, he found an empty seat and settled in.
He pulled *The Comprehensive Study of Souls and Forbidden Manipulations* in front of him and began flipping through its pages.
Souls had always been an enigma. The Killing Curse might seem like just another lethal spell, but in truth, killing was also the act of severing a soul.
As someone who had mastered the Killing Curse to its highest level, Dylan naturally understood the mechanics behind its power.
When struck by Avada Kedavra, a person's soul is instantly and irreversibly severed from their body. The soul departs immediately, and unless there's a means for it to linger—such as becoming a ghost—the body will perish at once.
But the *Harry Potter* world operates on a deeply idealistic principle, where even the strength of magic is no match for the power of emotions.
Hatred, kindness, sacrifice, love—these emotions can manifest as tangible forces.
In a way, Dementors, which feed on happiness, could be seen as physical embodiments of depression.
This is precisely why Lily Potter's sacrifice and Harry's later self-sacrifice had such profound protective effects.
Death lies beyond the Veil, while love is an unknowable, searing doorway.
The strength of magic itself, in many cases, depends more on one's *mental fortitude*.
Take *Riddikulus*, for example—it relies on humor and imagination.
*Expecto Patronum* draws power from happiness.
Divination works best with an unsteady emotional state.
—Hermione had no aptitude for Divination precisely because, despite her intelligence, she was too logical. She couldn't grasp the nuances of symbols and subconscious cues.
The Unforgivable Curses follow a similar principle; to cast them, emotions must be fully engaged.
For instance, to truly wield the Killing Curse, the caster must possess genuine, unwavering intent to kill.
Without that raw, merciless desire, Avada Kedavra won't cause real harm.
It's not the spell itself that is inherently evil, but rather the state of the caster's mind.
However, thanks to his *Achievement System*, Dylan was able to bypass emotional constraints and cast spells at whatever strength he desired.
He could control the power of his curses at will.
If he truly intended to kill, Avada Kedavra would be fatal without fail.
But if he merely wanted to inconvenience someone, his Killing Curse might result in nothing more than a persistent nosebleed.
And, of course, he could fine-tune the effects to any degree in between. Ordinary wizards, however, were entirely dependent on their own emotions.
Through his studies, Dylan also discovered an intriguing paradox—true killing intent wasn't always born from malice.
*Love and hatred are often intertwined.*
Sometimes, when someone wishes death upon another, it's not out of cruelty but from guilt, regret, or desperation.
Human emotions, as Dylan pondered, were infinitely complex.
This train of thought naturally led him to explore the relationship between souls and emotions.
Even if Avada Kedavra kills the body using emotional energy, the soul still moves on.
So, is a soul *sustained* by emotions? Or does it exist through some other force entirely?
"In fact, if emotions are what anchor a soul… then perhaps the most terrifying spell isn't the Killing Curse at all," Dylan mused. "It's *Obliviate*."
"Or are memory and emotion separate? Can emotions remain imprinted on the soul even without memory?"
Though *The Comprehensive Study of Souls* didn't provide a definitive answer, it deepened Dylan's understanding of the human soul.
The first undeniable truth was that a soul could be *separated* from its body.
The Killing Curse severs this connection, resulting in bodily death.
Dementors, on the other hand, consume souls while leaving the body alive.
"*The Banishment Charm* can only drive away ghosts and non-corporeal entities, but it doesn't affect the essence of a person's soul. So… what exactly *is* in a soul?"
This year, Hogwarts would face a new danger—the Basilisk.
As for the diary and Voldemort? Dylan was still waiting eagerly for them to make an appearance.
Hopefully, little Voldy would regain *some* power before showing up; otherwise, it wouldn't be much fun for Dylan's experiments.
Meanwhile, the Basilisk possessed a lethal gaze that could instantly petrify—or, in direct cases, kill—anyone who met its eyes.
Dylan suspected that Voldemort's Killing Curse research was inspired, at least in part, by the Basilisk's abilities.
After spending hours deep in study, Dylan's stomach suddenly growled.
"Guess it's time to eat."
He closed his book, packed up his things, and left the library, heading toward the Great Hall.
As he rounded a corner, he spotted Neville ahead.
This time, however, Neville wasn't being harassed by Malfoy. Instead, a short boy had stopped him.
The kid had a camera hanging around his neck.
As Dylan approached, he caught a snippet of their conversation—it seemed the boy was asking about Harry Potter's whereabouts.
Dylan glanced at the photograph in the boy's hands—a picture of Harry's back as he hurried away.
With a blink, Dylan offered, "Harry was dragged off to training early this morning. He's probably still at the Quidditch pitch."
Neville, recognizing Dylan, grinned and nodded. "Yeah, knowing Wood, they're probably still at it."
"Oh wow! Quidditch? That's so cool!"
Dylan added, "If you go now, you might even catch Wood testing out his *double-inverted aerial tactic*."
Colin beamed with excitement, thanked them both, and then dashed off like a whirlwind toward the pitch.
Neville frowned slightly. "Did he even eat?"
Dylan shrugged. "Who knows? Come on, let's eat. I'm starving."
Neville hesitated before catching up. "Harry told me this kid has been pestering him non-stop. Was it really okay to tell him where Harry is?"
Dylan waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. Whether it's slanderous whispers or deafening applause, Harry will have to deal with it sooner or later. He might as well get used to it now."
Neville blinked. "Dylan, you have a knack for either saying things sharper than a Slytherin—or dropping deep philosophical truths."
Dylan smirked sideways. "When have I *ever* been mean? I'm the kindest, most honest person. Every word I say comes from the heart."
"So… you're just bluntly stating whatever cruel thought crosses your mind?"
"If you *want* to see it that way, sure."
The two of them laughed as they entered the Great Hall.
Halfway through their meal, Harry and his teammates finally arrived, looking exhausted.
After finishing up, Dylan didn't leave with Neville. Instead, he decided to head back for a quick nap.
But on the way back, something unexpected happened.
"I wish I could study while resting at the same time…"
The moment Dylan had this thought—
The ancient oil painting on the stone wall before him, depicting a dense magical forest, suddenly shimmered to life.
Emerald light swirled within the fir trees, mist curling at their roots.
The stone wall shifted, transforming around the painting.
Within moments, a doorway appeared.
Dylan froze. "Wait… isn't this the *sixth floor*?"
He glanced around—no one else was nearby. After a brief hesitation, he stepped inside.
As soon as he entered, the entrance silently closed behind him.
Inside, a warm golden glow radiated from a floating crystal orb.
Beneath his feet, a plush carpet stretched out, luxuriously soft.
And at the center of the room sat an enormous, inviting lounge chair, draped in supple leather and piled high with cushions.
---
Above the lounge chair, a delicate brass bookstand hung suspended in midair, positioned at just the right angle to hold a book steady in front of whoever was reclining below.
Dylan took a deep breath. A faint scent of lavender mixed with the crisp aroma of paper filled his nose, instantly bringing a sense of calm. He could feel the tension melting away from his body.
"Why is there an entrance to the Room of Requirement here? Shouldn't it be on the eighth floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy getting clubbed by trolls?"
Narrowing his eyes slightly, Dylan scanned the room, then gave his wand a flick. A detection spell rippled through the space, probing for any traces of magic.
When the spell retracted, he hadn't sensed anyone else around.
After a moment of hesitation, he glanced down at the thick, plush blanket. Then, kicking off his shoes, he let his toes sink into the soft fabric, a pleasant tingling sensation spreading through his feet.
Walking over to the lounge chair, he slowly sat down, adjusted his position, and lay back.
The moment he did, the leather chair subtly shifted to conform to his body, its cushions adjusting to match the natural curve of his spine.
—Almost as if it had been custom-made just for him.
Dylan stretched lazily.
"This is way too comfortable."
As he lay there, his thoughts wandered.
He hadn't even gone up to the eighth floor, yet here he was, finding an entrance to the Room of Requirement.
Could it be that his desire to relax and study at the same time had been so strong that it actually altered the room's entrance?
"I can't be that lazy… right?"
Shaking his head, Dylan mused, "Maybe there are multiple entrances, or perhaps the one on the eighth floor is permanent while others appear randomly."
Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the entire Hogwarts castle was somehow alive.
And considering the Room of Requirement's mysterious nature, having multiple entrances didn't seem all that far-fetched.
His gaze drifted upward to the brass bookstand, and after a quick comparison, he realized it was the perfect size to hold a book in place.
His eyes lit up as he tested it out, placing his book onto the stand.
"But I still have to turn the pages myself…"
*Swoosh—*
The moment that thought crossed his mind, the brass stand extended two small, intricate mechanical clamps—shaped like the beaks of ravens.
The clamps seemed to respond to his thoughts. The moment he wanted to flip the page, they gently pinched the edge and lifted it, letting it glide over smoothly.
Dylan's eyes gleamed with excitement.
"This is next-level convenience."
Wasn't this a bit *too* accommodating?
Settling deeper into the chair, he picked up one of the three books he'd taken from the Restricted Section and started reading.
"Man, if I'd known it was this comfortable, I would've come here last semester!"
A twinge of regret hit him—why hadn't he experimented with the Room of Requirement back in his first year?
Then again, his first year had been packed. If he wasn't running between professors' offices, he was scavenging for potion ingredients in the Forbidden Forest. He wouldn't have had time to lounge around anyway.
Even now, he didn't have that much time to spare. After a short break, he still had a private lesson with Professor Snape in the afternoon.
"Either way, I'd just be lying around in the dorms. Might as well lie here—it's way more comfortable."
The thought barely crossed his mind before he fully relaxed into the chair.
The Room of Requirement continued to respond to his needs, offering him more and more small conveniences.
At one point, all he had to do was stretch out a hand, and whatever he needed would appear right within his reach.
"Hmm… if only my suitcase worked like the Room of Requirement."
That would make his magical experiments so much easier.
Then again, in a way, his suitcase *could* be like the Room of Requirement—provided he had enough Galleons.
Time slipped by quickly.
Dylan glanced at the clock. It was getting late.
He needed to head to Snape's office soon.
If he was even a second late—or worse, arrived *exactly* on time—he'd still be met with that old bat's cutting sarcasm.
"How is this chair so ridiculously comfortable? If I could figure out how it works, I bet I could use it as inspiration for Muggle inventions. This thing would *sell like crazy*."
His brain was always switching between learning magic and brainstorming ways for his parents to make more money.
As he exited the Room of Requirement, he paused and glanced back at the empty stretch of wall.
"Next time, I'll try finding the entrance somewhere else… see if I can trigger it in a different location."
With that, he headed downstairs.
By the time he reached the fourth floor, his boot suddenly slipped on something suspiciously slimy. Instinctively, his hand flew to his wand at his waist.
From around the corner came the sound of hurried footsteps.
Dylan turned just in time to see Harry practically dragging Ron along, both of them coming from the direction of Professor Flitwick's office.
"Hey, good afternoon—"
Before Dylan could finish his greeting, Ron's face twisted into an unsettling shade of greenish-blue, like he had just swallowed ten live swamp toads.
"*Blergh—*"
Doubling over with a violent shudder, Ron gagged—and then promptly spewed a fist-sized, wriggling, pearl-colored slug onto the stone floor with a wet splat.
The translucent body glistened under the flickering candlelight, strings of slime trembling in the air before snapping.
Dylan's eyelid twitched.
He could *smell* the acrid stench in the air.
He could *see* the slug's slimy skin glistening with mucus, its gland-covered body oozing secretions.
Slowly, he lowered the hand he had been about to wave in greeting.
And then, he took a step back.
Ron, however, lurched forward with his mouth open again.
"Oh, come *on*—"
(End of chapter.)