Chapter 119: The Three-Headed Dog

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, in a sunken hollow.

Hagrid stood solemnly before Fang, warning it not to frighten Silven.

“Last time, you nearly killed Silven inside the castle—that’s unacceptable.” Hagrid’s tone was stern; he didn’t care whether Fang understood, and shouted loudly:

“If it were a Slytherin student, they’d report this to the Ministry. Then you’d be killed—even Headmaster Dumbledore couldn’t save you.”

“It’s only because Silven didn’t press charges—and led you out of the castle—that your life was spared!”

The three-headed dog let out an incomprehensible snort, each head turning toward a different direction—but none looked at Silven.

It seemed resentful.

“Alright, Hagrid. Let me talk to it.” Silven stepped forward, gathering courage.

Fang immediately growled low in its throat, but remembering Hagrid was nearby, it swallowed the sound.

Only when he drew closer did Silven realize Fang had grown much larger—he stood there, still shorter than one of its heads.

“Can it understand me?” Silven asked.

“A little,” Hagrid said. “Fang’s a clever creature. If it’s not too complex, it understands everyday words.”

“Then I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll go tidy up its bed—it always makes a mess of its sleeping spot.”

The “bed” Hagrid referred to was just a clump of shrubs, trimmed into a giant doghouse, identical in shape to Fang’s old den.

As Hagrid began bustling about, Silven looked up at Fang again.

Only simple phrases understood—meaning its intelligence was lower than Tom’s… maybe even below a tail-dog. At least tail-dogs could comprehend most wizard commands and were the most popular household pets, though the only flaw was their exorbitant price.

They were sold in Diagon Alley—for the price of ten owls.

Silven smirked. Such low intelligence, and yet it had three heads.

As if sensing something, Fang suddenly turned its gaze toward Silven and began baring its teeth again.

Silven drew in a breath, turned around…

“Hagrid!”

The moment he spoke, the three-headed dog’s face instantly softened into a pleading grin—faster than any dog.

“What’s wrong?” Hagrid rushed over. Seeing Silven and the dog unharmed, he exhaled slightly in relief.

“Nothing,” Silven said. “I just wanted to ask if you needed help.”

“No, I can manage alone,” Hagrid said. “You can feed it some moose meat—it’s in that barrel.”

“No problem,” Silven nodded.

When Silven looked at Fang again, it had stopped baring its teeth.

“That’s better. Even though you’re a dog, you should still have some sense.” Silven picked up a piece of meat and placed it into the middle mouth.

“I blew up your mouth once, but you chased me halfway across the castle—so we’re even.”

The other two heads leaned in, stretching their necks toward the barrel.

Silven gave each of them a piece too.

“We’re even, alright?” he asked again.

Silven believed Fang understood him—it could read expressions, after all. Its intelligence was probably higher than he’d thought, about half of Tom’s.

Fang ignored Silven, staring fixedly into the barrel. Clearly, it loved the meat—saliva dripped steadily onto the ground.

Only after Silven finished feeding the entire barrel did Fang reluctantly emit a low whine, its dog-face returning to its usual indifferent expression.

“You’re pushing it,” Silven said, smirking. “When I blew up your mouth, I even brought you a gift—wasn’t that giant a tasty treat?”

At first, Fang didn’t understand. Silven gestured wildly until it recalled the delicious meat roll that had barged in after him.

Fang licked its lips, as if savoring the memory.

Back then, it had been in too much pain, and the giant had stormed in with hostility—so it tore the thing apart in rage.

Only later, once it regained its senses, did it realize it had missed a delicacy—the lingering taste in its mouth had been exquisite, even more fragrant than the meat Hagrid brought.

But since then, it had searched endlessly and never found a similar flavor again.

Watching Fang’s shifting gaze, Silven guessed its thoughts.

The three-headed dog truly liked giants… probably because of their unique scent.

Whether due to racial instinct or not, giants smelled awful—a putrid fusion of rotting meat and swamp muck, mixed with moldy cheese—overpowering, nauseating.

This odor served as their second weapon; an unsteady wizard might vomit the moment the giant drew near.

But for a three-headed dog, this stench might well function as its own seasoning.

From Fang’s gaze, it was clear—it truly missed it.

“That was my gift to you,” Silven patted the dog’s muzzle. “Remember? I opened the door.”

As he spoke, he casually tugged out a thick, wire-like whisker.

Yet Fang acted as if it felt nothing, continuing to stare fixedly at Silven.

“That’s right—it was me!”

Silven mimicked opening a door, then pretended to stumble like a clumsy giant, rolling forward.

Fang’s six eyes instantly lit up.

It remembered—the “delicious meat roll” had appeared just like that!

Silven suddenly felt a gust of wind. Standing up, he realized Fang was wildly wagging its tail, thudding against nearby trees with loud thumps—leaves and branches rained down everywhere.

“Oh, looks like you two are getting along well,” Hagrid returned just then. He glanced at the empty barrel and Fang’s demeanor, then patted its head approvingly.

“That’s right—you should be friends with Silven.”

His hand brushed against something sticky. He looked closer—it was saliva.

Fang’s right head had tilted too high; the drool had dripped onto its middle head.

“You greedy beast,” Hagrid chuckled. “You just finished a whole barrel of moose meat—how are you hungry again?… Though I’ve got nothing else left.”

“I don’t think it’s hungry,” Silven said. “It’s craving something.”

“Craving what?”

“A giant,” Silven said. “Are there any in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Probably,” Hagrid mused. “But they’re on the far side of the forest, far from the castle, separated by a vast swamp.”

“Don’t even think about going after them.”

Hagrid’s expression darkened as he remembered something. “Even I rarely go to that side. The swamp is enormous, teeming with grindylows and flobberworms, and across it live werewolves. You must not go near.”

“Don’t worry, Hagrid—I won’t,” Silven explained. “It’s Fang—it likes the giant’s smell.”

But this explanation didn’t convince Hagrid. He was certain Silven wanted another giant bone.

But were giants easy to deal with?

This thought instantly drained Hagrid’s desire to stay. He quickly led Silven away.

Fang trudged behind, head lowered—as if seeing them off—and the effect was remarkable.

Under the three-headed dog’s intimidation, no forest creature dared approach. The two reached Hagrid’s hut without incident.

Hagrid then drove Fang back deep into the Forbidden Forest.

Even though no one was pursuing the incident from last year anymore, Hagrid still felt it was safer for the three-headed dog to remain deep within the forest.

Back in the hut, Hagrid poured tea for Silven, then went to fetch rock cakes—his standard offering to guests.

Silven, meanwhile, examined his harvest from the Forbidden Forest.

First, ten branches of varying lengths—thirty inches at longest, fifteen at shortest—all suitable for wand-making.

Their quality was excellent, especially the oak: smooth surface, intact grain, no cracks whatsoever.

In addition, two of Fang’s whiskers. Silven had originally planned to pluck one from each head—fair and balanced—but when he reached the head whose two teeth he’d blown out, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

Still, two would do. Now that he and Fang had made peace, getting whiskers would be easy.

If the chance arose, and he found a suitable gift… dog teeth weren’t out of the question.

Silven rubbed his chin, suddenly recalling the last two properties of his wand, Silvermane.

[Spell Piercing]: +20% penetration on magical attacks; chance to directly destroy an opponent’s defensive spell.

[Tear]: After a spell inflicts damage, the target’s counter-curse effectiveness is reduced by 30%.

When he used Silvermane, whether targeting Voldemort’s soul, countering the effects of Avada Kedavra, or dispelling petrification, he always relied on unicorn-related magic.

But these two properties clearly came from Fang—only now, as a second-year, he couldn’t use them yet.

Wait… chance to directly destroy an opponent’s defensive spell?

Silven’s expression grew strange. Was this Fang targeting giants?

Giants’ wands enhance defensive magic—then Fang brought [Spell Piercing]. Was this a targeted kill?

“What are you thinking about?” Hagrid placed a plate of rock cakes on the table before him.

“Nothing,” Silven tucked away Silvermane. “I was just wondering when we can return to the Forbidden Forest—I’ve discovered it’s full of treasures.”

“Of course,” Hagrid blurted. “The Forbidden Forest is Hogwarts’ greatest treasure.” He quickly added: “But you’re a student—entering it without permission violates school rules.”

“Then I’ll come during school breaks—Christmas, Easter, or the summer holiday. When Hogwarts is closed, it won’t count as breaking the rules, right?”

Hagrid froze.

The first two were questionable, but the end-of-year holiday… technically, if he could enter the school then, it wouldn’t violate the rules.

“No,” Hagrid frowned. “Too dangerous. You’re still a second-year.”

“Then I’ll ask you to come with me,” Silven said. “When school’s out, we’ll visit Fang together.”

“That’s fine,” Hagrid nodded automatically.

…

(End of Chapter)