Dana stared at the puzzling number combinations—eerie match records, reminiscent of League of Legends or Honor of Kings stats. But why these numbers?
He soon discovered why: the highest values for these triplets were 45, 21, and 60. So what did they represent? Dana was completely stumped.
He rubbed his aching temples, rolled up the tapestry, and flopped onto his bed. Tomorrow was Snape's class first thing; he didn't want to face the bat wardens' venom for being late.
…
"Dana!"
Just before entering the Potions classroom, Harry and Hermione greeted him. They hadn't seen Dana in the Great Hall for mornings in many weeks. Ron looked on, annoyed as always—his older brothers bringing Dana food at night didn't sit well with him, but he still nodded along with Harry.
Dana waved and headed to his usual back-row seat. Old habits die hard, even as the young wizards grew less fearful of him.
Snape swept into the room, scowling. "I hope you've all prepared. Don't make fools of yourselves like a certain idiot."
Dana couldn't help but think that the culprit was Lockhart; it was rare Snape cursed in front of students. Harry was clearly in for trouble.
And so it came:
"Potter! You added horned toad juice before extracting it fully?"
"Potter! Turn down the heat! Do you want to blow us all up?"
Dana shook his head sympathetically. Ron, too, was undergoing collateral punishment under Snape's harsh tone.
"Disaster! Potter!" Snape jabbed his finger. "If you weren't listening, turn to page 23, fourth line in your textbook! Gryffindor loses one point!"
The point deduction was petty, but Snape's words struck Dana like a lightning bolt. Page 23, line 4. Could that relate to the number code? Dana moved his own flame away, careful.
The words echoed: first number = page, second = line, third = letter. A classic book cipher—Merlin's method! And where would the codebook be? Merlin's notebook.
Thanks to Harry's blunder and Snape's cue, Dana seized the opportunity. He counted down the third number—28, the twenty-eighth letter on the second line of page one. Had his hypothesis been correct?
Class ended, and Dana bolted from the room—his stamina was ridiculous; an Olympian, perhaps? Without stopping to eat, he dashed into an empty bathroom stall and summoned the Spandim Gate. It deposited him right back in his dorm.
He unrolled the tapestry and grabbed Merlin's notebook:
First letter: W
Second: H
Third: O
Spelling out "WHO…" Dana's heart raced: it worked.
He spent the rest of the lunch hour decoding. Finally, the third section revealed Merlin's secret:
"Who shall be my successor?
It matters not.
Having seen this message, you have proven yourself,
Worthy enough to seek out my entire legacy.
The legacy is divided into three parts; how much you can obtain depends on your bloodline.
The legacy is hidden within a dark forest in the Scottish Highlands, where Unicorns and Gryphons reside.
Regardless of Unicorns or Gryphons, ask them, and they will surely guide your way."
Sparse, but powerful. No wonder it was encoded letter by letter; it took up most of the tapestry.
Dana thought: "Scottish Highlands…dark forest…Unicorns, Gryphons…" That must mean the Forbidden Forest outside Hogwarts.
But no Gryphons remained there—only Hippogriffs. Hippogriffs are born of Gryphons and mares, meaning where Hippogriffs exist, Gryphons once did. That alone linked the forest to Merlin's clue.
Filled with determination, Dana summoned the Spandim Gate again—its destination set to just beyond Quirrell's demise site. He was about to step through… but remembered his afternoon class.
Charms class? No way. Skip it!
He raced down to the common room where Harry, Ron, and others were gathered—some working, more chatting or playing wizard's chess. Dana wiped sweat from his brow, and his face looked pale and drawn.
"Harry…" he called weakly. The chess match between Harry and Ron halted. Harry looked up—concerned.
"Dana, are you okay?"
Dana shook his head. "I don't feel well. Will you ask Professor Flitwick to excuse me?"
"Sure thing! Want me to walk you to the infirmary?"
"No, I just want to go rest in my dorm. I'll go to the infirmary later if I can."
Harry nodded. "Take care. You're pushing yourself too hard—get some rest."
"Thanks, Harry. Wise advice."
Dana staggered away. Harry watched him go, shaking his head.
"Worrying," Harry said to Ron. "He's overworking himself."
Ron laughed, finishing his move: "Checkmate!"
Harry pushed away the board. "That was getting repetitive."
Ron smiled, packing up. "Strange, Dana's sick. He's a pro Quidditch seeker! And Azkaban survivor—if he gets run-down this easily…"
Harry shrugged. "Everyone can get sick. Dana's juggling training and studying. He probably pushed too hard. Some say his hair only turned silver-white after Azkaban… maybe he was drained there?"
Ron shrugged. "Who knows. But he needs to rest—if he collapses, the Chudley Cannons are doomed."
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