Also known as Cerberus's Gourmet Seasoning
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, in a dim hollow, Hagrid stood sternly before Fang, warning him not to scare Robert.
"You nearly killed Robert in the Castle last time—that was unacceptable." His tone was sharp; he didn't care whether Fang understood the words or not.
"If that had been a Slytherin student, they'd rush straight to the Ministry of Magic, and you'd be in real trouble. Even Dumbledore couldn't save you."
"Robert didn't press charges. In fact, he led you out. He saved your life!" Hagrid continued. Fang snorted ambiguously, his three heads each gazing in different directions—but none at Robert.
Clearly, he wasn't convinced.
"Alright, Hagrid, let me try," Robert said, stepping forward with quiet courage. Fang growled low in his throat, then stopped when he noticed Hagrid watching.
Only when Robert came closer did he realize how enormous Fang had grown—his shoulder was nearly as tall as one of Fang's heads.
"Can it understand me?" Robert asked.
"A little," Hagrid replied. "Fang's smart for a dog. As long as it's simple, he gets basic conversation."
"You two talk," Hagrid said, moving off. "I'll tidy up his bed. He's a messy one."
Hagrid's idea of a "bed" was a trimmed thicket shaped like a kennel. He busied himself, leaving Robert to approach Fang.
If Fang could only grasp a few words, his intelligence was lower than Tom's—even less than a Swallow‑tailed Dog. Those dogs were smart, could follow most wizard commands, and were popular—and expensive, too.
Robert frowned. All that intelligence—and Fang, with three heads, barely registering simple speech?
Sensing movement, Fang looked at Robert again, subtly baring his teeth.
Robert inhaled sharply and turned away. "Hagrid!" he called out.
Fang immediately softened, offering a fawning smile instead of growling. His expression shifted faster than one would think possible for a dog.
"What is it?" Hagrid hurried back, relaxed upon seeing both unharmed.
"Nothing," Robert downplayed. "Just—need help?"
"No, go ahead. Feed him some moose meat—see the barrel?" Hagrid pointed.
Robert nodded, approached Fang again. This time Fang didn't bare his teeth.
"That's right—you're a dog, but you have to be reasonable," Robert said, pulling a chunk of moose meat from the barrel and placing it into Fang's middle mouth. "I blasted you once, but you chased me all over the Castle—so I think we're even."
The other two heads leaned closer, stretching their necks to peer inside the barrel. Robert fed each one a piece.
"We're even, yeah?" he asked. Watching Fang, he noted the dog understood. It could read emotions, so maybe its intelligence was stronger than he'd thought—perhaps half of Tom's.
Fang ignored Robert's words and continued devouring, drool pooling around the barrel. Only once he finished the entire barrel did he let out a reluctant whimper, returning to his usual blank expression.
"That's enough," Robert shrugged. "When I blasted you before, I even brought you a gift. That troll roll—wasn't that tasty?"
At first, Fang didn't get it. Then Robert mimed a door opening and clumsily falling forward—exactly how the troll had burst in and rolled.
Fang's six eyes lit up. Memory sparked. He thumped his tail, branches rustling as he wagged it in delight.
Hagrid returned, surveying the empty barrel and Fang's elated look. He patted Fang's head in contentment.
"You two getting on well, I see," he said. He reached out, only to find his hand caked in drool dripping from Fang's right head onto the middle one.
"You greedy thing," Hagrid chuckled. "You finished a barrel of moose meat—and now you're drooling for more. But I haven't got anything left."
"I don't think he's hungry," Robert ventured. "Maybe… he's craving something else."
"What?" Hagrid blinked.
"Trolls," Robert said. "Are they in the Forbidden Forest?"
Hagrid paused. "Some, on the far side—beyond the swamp. But you're not to go there!"
"I'm not going," Robert promised, "but Fang—he just loves trolls, I think."
"Don't you dare," Hagrid warned fiercely. "That swamp's full of grindylows and vampyr moths. And werewolves beyond. It's dangerous—stay clear."
"Don't worry," Robert assured him. "I won't."
Still unconvinced, Hagrid hurried off with Robert, Fang following, head low and obedient. Their presence deterred creatures nearby, and the trio exited the forest smoothly. Hagrid ensured Fang stayed deep within, where no one could easily reach him.
Back in the wooden house, Hagrid poured tea for Robert and brought rock cakes—his usual welcome for guests.
Robert, meanwhile, inspected his loot from the forest: ten wand-worthy branches, ranging from fifteen to thirty inches. The oak was particularly fine—smooth, strong, crack-free.
He also had two whiskers from Cerberus—one from each head. He'd originally wanted three, but felt pity for the head missing two teeth. Two would suffice. After their truce, spare whiskers would become easy to collect—and perhaps even a fang, someday.
He fingered his silver-mane wand. He remembered its magic-break traits:
Magic Break: Attack magic penetrates +20%, with a chance to shatter the target's defensive magic.
Tear: After damaging a target, they receive –30% counter-spell strength.
These aspects came from unicorn magic. But Robert suspected Cerberus's influence, perhaps adjusted for troll defense. Troll wands often boost defensive magic; Cerberus's boost could counteract that.
He frowned, thoughts swirling.
Hagrid, noticing his expression, asked, "What are you thinking about?"
Robert tucked the wand away. "Nothing. Just wondering… when can we visit the Forbidden Forest again? There's so much treasure there."
"It is Hogwarts' greatest treasure," Hagrid agreed softly. "But you're a student—going in alone is against school rules."
"Then I'll come back during a holiday," Robert replied. "Christmas, Easter, end‑of‑year… that shouldn't break any rules, right?"
Hagrid hesitated. The shorter holidays—maybe. But not the end‑of‑year. Still, he didn't want to sound dismissive.
"You need permission," Hagrid cautioned.
"I'll ask you to come with me," Robert said hopefully. "During holiday time. Then it won't be against the rules."
Hagrid half-nodded. He'd agreed unconsciously, perhaps missing the weight of permission.
…
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