October 13, 1982.
It was, by all appearances, an ordinary day.
Although World Health Day was observed on this date, among billions of people, very few would remember it deliberately.
But for Dawn...
It was unforgettable.
Inside the dream.
The sky had only just begun to brighten.
The calendar turned over, stopping on today's date.
Dawn stared at it, feeling an indescribable heaviness weighing on his chest.
No matter what he tried to do, he couldn't summon any enthusiasm.
He kept telling himself there was no reason to feel this way.
Everything had already happened once before.
Besides, because of World Correction, there was no way to know whether any of it had truly happened in the first place.
Yet he couldn't stop worrying.
His thoughts wandered constantly.
The mood even affected the portion of his consciousness currently spreading rumors throughout Hogwarts.
Many students found themselves inexplicably distracted that day.
This can't continue.
Dawn shook his head hard.
He hated this kind of negative emotion.
He hated it.
After some thought, he decided he needed something else to occupy his mind.
So...
He grabbed a bottle of Veritaserum.
After concealing himself, he headed straight for the Richter residence, opened the butler's room, and announced loudly,
"Time for class, Headmaster! The sun's already up. How long are you planning to sleep?"
He decided to dilute his emotions with knowledge.
Thinking back over the past several days...
Although Veritaserum had certainly helped, extracting knowledge from Dumbledore had been far less successful than he'd hoped.
The first question he had asked was simple.
"What is the most powerful spell you know?"
In response, Dumbledore spent an entire day enthusiastically explaining the greatness of love.
Completely helpless, Dawn lowered his expectations and asked instead, "Then what's the strongest magic you know that's only second to love?"
The result?
The dream instantly transformed into a Transfiguration classroom.
Dumbledore's teaching was excellent.
He explained difficult concepts with remarkable clarity while introducing Dawn to numerous unique spells derived from Transfiguration.
One of them was called the Restoration Manifestation Charm.
Although its name sounded remarkably similar to the Reparifarge Restoration Charm, the two spells were entirely unrelated.
According to Dumbledore, the Restoration Manifestation Charm was an original creation that combined Transfiguration with the Repairing Charm.
Its effect allowed an object to temporarily assume the condition it possessed at a specific moment in the past.
For example...
During his first year, Dawn had found a horribly deteriorated copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard inside the Room of Requirement.
He had cast the Repairing Charm countless times just to make the book barely readable.
But with the Restoration Manifestation Charm, the book could instantly appear brand new.
Only after some time would it gradually revert to its damaged condition.
There was another technique that impressed him as well.
Resonant Transfiguration.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't really a spell.
It was a method.
When casting Transfiguration on a collection of identical objects, altering one item would cause every other object in the group to undergo the exact same transformation.
For example...
If he transformed a single chess piece into a bee...
Every chess piece inside the box would simultaneously become a bee.
Besides those two techniques, Dumbledore taught more than a dozen additional spells—some practical, others far less so.
His knowledge truly was extraordinary.
But...
None of it was what Dawn actually wanted.
In his opinion, someone who had reached Dumbledore's level must possess completely unique magical innovations.
Just like Flamel's carefully guarded technique of converting matter into magic.
Dawn was convinced Dumbledore possessed something equally remarkable.
Yet... No matter how he questioned him... No matter what angle he approached from...
The conversation always circled back to Transfiguration.
Faced with that situation, Dawn could only speculate.
Perhaps Dumbledore had extracted those particular memories and stored them somewhere separately.
Perhaps even he no longer remembered them.
Thinking of that, Dawn looked quietly toward Dumbledore, who had just awakened.
His gaze lingered thoughtfully.
Truthfully...
He had often wanted to extract Dumbledore's memories concerning magical theory so he could study them properly later.
Unfortunately, whatever method the Headmaster had employed caused every extracted memory to consist entirely of trivial, meaningless events.
None of them held any value.
Meanwhile...
Inside the butler's room...
Watching Dawn stand beside the bed absentmindedly holding another bottle of potion, Dumbledore slowly sat up and rubbed his aching forehead.
"Enough. Enough, Dawn. Whatever you want to ask, I'll answer honestly. Just... please stop feeding me that dreadful potion."
Even someone with Dumbledore's temperament had begun growing weary after drinking Veritaserum day after day.
"...Is it really that unpleasant?"
Dawn finally returned to himself, looking genuinely puzzled.
"I remember this potion being colorless and tasteless."
He gently shook the crystal vial before pulling out the stopper with a pop. After sniffing it briefly himself, he extended it toward Dumbledore.
The Headmaster leaned backward, doing his best to avoid the bottle.
"But every time I swallow it, it tastes unbelievably bitter."
Looking at Dawn earnestly, he continued, "Dawn, tormenting elderly people is a terrible habit. Surely we can find another solution."
Dawn remained completely unmoved.
He immobilized Dumbledore with magic, poured the potion down his throat, and only then replied calmly,
"Headmaster, before lecturing me, perhaps you should think about what you did to a child not long ago."
Dumbledore's expression immediately turned miserable.
He truly hadn't expected that the single guilty act he'd committed inside the dream would return to haunt him so quickly.
Feeling the potion slide down his throat, he accepted reality.
There was little point resisting now.
So, as Dawn asked questions one after another, the two settled into another lengthy lesson.
Time quietly passed.
The butler's room remained perfectly silent.
No one disturbed them.
Of course, that was only because Dawn had already cast Confundus Charms on everyone else.
Listening carefully to Dumbledore's explanations of Transfiguration, Dawn forced himself to suppress every distracting thought.
He committed every word to memory.
Yet... As the sun climbed toward its highest point... As lunchtime came and went...
He became increasingly restless.
Especially after seeing the woman leave the house carrying the child.
The moment he watched them disappear through the window, the thoughts he had been suppressing erupted like water poured into boiling oil.
Even after Veritaserum wore off... He never noticed.
"What's wrong, Dawn?" Dumbledore looked at him curiously.
Dawn remained silent. He simply sat there, his expression constantly changing.
Finally...
After a long while...
He let out a harsh breath, stood up, and walked out without looking back.
After thinking briefly, Dumbledore followed.
One walked ahead.
The other behind.
Together they entered the bustling streets, blending into the crowd as they followed the woman and child toward the tennis club.
"What is it, Dawn?" Dumbledore asked once again. "You seem deeply troubled."
Originally, Dawn had no intention of answering.
But watching the woman's back... Perhaps because the turmoil inside him demanded an outlet...
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"...She's going to die."
"...She?"
Dumbledore froze.
His gaze shifted toward the woman's back.
His mouth opened slightly. Yet for several moments, he found himself unable to speak.
During these days inside the dream, he had witnessed just how much love and care the woman had given Dawn.
Eventually he said quietly,
"If there's something you'd like to say... I'll listen."
"...Something I'd like to say?" Dawn gave a faint laugh. "What is there to say?"
"It happened so long ago, Headmaster. If I claimed now that I was heartbroken... it would only sound hypocritical."
He casually plucked a leaf from a nearby tree.
Rolling it between his fingers until green sap stained his skin, he frowned at the sticky sensation before tossing it aside.
"There's nothing to say."
He repeated firmly,
"It was nothing more than an accident. Tragic things happen somewhere in the world every single moment.
There's no reason to dwell on it."
He sounded utterly certain.
Yet hearing those words, Dumbledore could only sigh.
"What an awkward personality you have, Dawn. Is it really so difficult for you... to simply say you love someone?"
For a single instant...
Dawn's expression froze.
Unconsciously...
He remembered that when he had summoned the woman's spirit using the Resurrection Stone...
She had said exactly the same thing.
An awkward personality...
"...Perhaps."
Grinding his teeth, Dawn fell silent once more.
He simply continued walking along the road leading toward the tennis club.
Filled with an inexplicable frustration... He watched every passerby... Every street sign... Every familiar corner...
Then...
He looked up.
A black Bentley approached through the traffic ahead. It overlapped perfectly with the image preserved in his memory.
Instinctively...
His hand gripped the wand concealed within his sleeve. But the next second... His fingers slowly relaxed.
He stood perfectly still.
The engine roared. Thick exhaust filled the air. The car sped forward.
Something seemed wrong with its tires.
After swerving erratically for several moments... It suddenly mounted the sidewalk.
Straight toward the woman and child.
"Dawn!"
The woman's expression changed instantly. Without the slightest hesitation, she shoved the child aside.
Then—
Bang!
She herself was struck head-on and hurled through the air.
Blood scattered across the sky. Like crimson blossoms drifting from a winter plum tree.
Dawn pressed his lips together.
Watching everything unfold, the sunlight above suddenly felt unbearably bright.
Slowly...
He turned his head away.
The street instantly descended into chaos.
People screamed. Others shouted for help. The entire neighborhood erupted.
Although he knew it was only a dream...
Dumbledore still couldn't bear the sight.
Softly, he asked:
"If it matters to you so much... why didn't you stop it? With magic, preventing something like this would have been easy."
"...You're right. I could have prevented it." Dawn's voice remained expressionless.
"But what would that accomplish? What already happened... happened. No matter what I change now... it would only be deceiving myself."
Dumbledore sighed once again.
Looking at Dawn's clearly troubled face, he couldn't help lamenting how unwilling the young man was to express his true feelings.
Just then...
He noticed something.
The child standing frozen nearby... His eyes had changed.
After looking carefully several times, Dumbledore frowned.
"Perhaps I'm mistaken... But the younger you... His eyes seem different now."
"...Different?"
Dawn remained silent for a long while.
Then, remembering once again the woman's words about his awkward personality, he let out a frustrated sigh.
Almost giving up on hiding his thoughts, he finally answered, "Of course they're different."
"Headmaster... Because from this moment onward... I began believing this world was real.
In other words... This was the beginning of my acceptance."
Dumbledore blinked.
He turned toward Dawn.
He desperately wanted to ask why his mother's death had somehow made the world feel more real.
Yet...
He couldn't bring himself to ask such a painful question.
Instead, Dawn quietly stared at the blood staining the pavement.
Then he spoke softly.
"Headmaster... What separates reality from illusion?
To me...
The difference is simply whether I can truly accept it.
I once believed I felt nothing toward this world. I thought I was merely a traveler passing through a dream.
Without attachments.
But when she died... I realized I had been wrong. I had simply grown accustomed to her kindness.
To her love.
They were like sunlight... or air. I accepted them as something that would always exist.
It wasn't until I lost them...That I realized I'd been deeply anchored here all along.
...How ridiculous."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
After another pause, he lowered his gaze toward the crimson pool spreading across the ground.
"Her death... Once carved itself into my soul."
Even at the beginning of this school year... When he purchased the Nightmare Lamp from Borgin and Burkes...
The first scene illuminated beneath its light had been this very moment.
Watching Dawn's face—which somehow appeared both calm and profoundly sorrowful—Dumbledore suddenly found himself wondering something.
Was Dawn so desperate to uncover the truth behind World Correction...
Because he feared...
Feared that his mother's love had never been real? Feared that the very thing anchoring him to this world had been fabricated?
Silence settled between them.
A while later, Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
Watching the growing crowd rushing toward the accident, he stepped backward.
Then suddenly—
Everything froze.
The car.
The pedestrians.
The cries of alarm.
Even the fleeting trace of regret... And the nearly imperceptible sadness crossing the face of the red-eyed boy.
The sun overhead...
The blood upon the ground...
Both gradually faded like watercolor washed from paper. Until only emptiness remained.
"...What is this?"
Although he had experienced something similar after consuming the Resurrection Stone powder not long ago, Dumbledore still didn't react immediately.
Dawn, however, recognized it instantly.
The dream was ending.
His emotions vanished in an instant. After a brief moment's thought, he drew his wand.
Before the dream completely collapsed, he pointed it toward the frozen child.
°Avada Kedavra°
A flash of green light.
Even knowing it was merely a dream... Even knowing the act accomplished nothing...
Faced with someone who looked exactly like himself...
Dawn simply found it more satisfying this way.
"Dawn, you—" Dumbledore's expression changed.
But before he could finish speaking...
Darkness swallowed everything. A roaring wind filled his ears.
He felt himself falling endlessly.
Dawn experienced exactly the same sensation.
.....
At that very moment.
Inside the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
Fred—who had remained unconscious for the past half month—finally opened his eyes.
Looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, he quickly realized he had returned to reality.
Supporting himself on one elbow, he slowly sat upright.
His narrowed eyes remained unmistakably Dawn's.
Hearing movement, the curtains surrounding the bed were immediately pulled aside.
Madam Pomfrey hurried over.
The moment she saw him awake, relief spread across her face.
"Thank goodness, dear. You're finally awake! How are you feeling?"
While speaking, she performed a thorough examination before forcefully handing him a potion to relieve exhaustion.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat.
Dawn coughed violently, nearly choking.
Wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked faintly speechless.
Judging from Madam Pomfrey's reaction... She apparently had no idea who he truly was.
Had the other professors never revealed his real identity?
Dawn pondered the thought.
By then, Madam Pomfrey had completed her examination.
Satisfied that Fred was perfectly healthy, she finally relaxed. Then she suddenly remembered something.
Firmly pressing Dawn back against the pillow and instructing him to rest, she hurried from the ward.
She recalled that Professor McGonagall had specifically instructed her—
If Fred ever woke up... She was to notify her immediately.
Although Pomfrey had no idea why... McGonagall's unusually serious expression had left a strong impression.
Soon, her footsteps faded away. Silence returned to the Hospital Wing.
Unable to sleep, Dawn stared at the ceiling.
He shifted his attention toward the other students, intending to strengthen their subconscious belief in the rumor he had been spreading.
But just then—
The mysterious pull that had been drawing at his consciousness ever since the Resurrection Stone began reappearing finally reached its limit.
Dawn suddenly felt something hook onto him.
His consciousness was ripped free from his body... Dragged toward an unknown destination.
At the same moment...
Fred's body inside the Hospital Wing collapsed limply.
Blaise, sitting in class, suddenly slumped forward as well.
Throughout the castle, countless students blanked out for an instant before jolting upright, nervously glancing around in confusion.
Meanwhile...
Inside a hidden classroom somewhere within Hogwarts...
Dumbledore, lying beneath a thin blanket, twitched his fingers. Then slowly opened his eyes.
...Where am I?
Looking around at the ancient architecture surrounding him, the old wizard—after spending so long living within a modern Muggle world—found the scene strangely unfamiliar.
Still...
His experience quickly allowed him to regain his composure.
Rising from the wooden bed, he frowned.
"...Strange. This isn't my office. Why would Nicolas leave me here?"
Could something have happened at Hogwarts? The possibility immediately changed his expression.
Without hesitation, he hurried toward the door.
Then suddenly...
He caught the scent coming from his own robes. Stopping mid-step, he smiled wryly.
"...Magic."
With a quick Scouring Charm, all traces of dirt vanished instantly.
Remembering everything that had happened inside the dream, Dumbledore sighed with complicated emotions before pushing open the abandoned classroom door.
Warm sunlight poured through the corridor windows.
After thinking briefly, he decided to return to his office first and find Nicolas Flamel afterward.
But after rounding only two corners... He spotted a witch in emerald robes hurrying down a staircase.
"Minerva."
Dumbledore called out to the distracted McGonagall.
"It's been a long time. Are you on your way to class?"
"...Hm?"
Hearing the familiar voice, McGonagall froze. Then her expression exploded with fury.
"Albus!"
"So you finally decided to come back?!"
"...???"
___________
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