The darkness of night finally retreated.
The first rays of dawn crept across the horizon.
Dumbledore awoke from his dream and glanced around.
Confirming that he was still in the Muggle world, he put on his conspicuous wizard robes once more—the same robes that nobody here seemed to notice.
He had no idea how long this dream journey would last.
The longer it continued, the more he could learn about Dawn, which was undoubtedly valuable.
Yet he still worried about Hogwarts.
Though...
Surely nothing too serious would happen. Nicolas Flamel was there, after all. Things couldn't go too badly with him in charge.
A trace of concern surfaced in Dumbledore's mind, but he quickly suppressed it and chose to trust his reliable old friend.
He left his room and, following the schedule he'd casually gathered from the servants the previous day, arrived early in the sitting room to await any possible summons.
About an hour later, the first member of the Richter family appeared at the dining table.
Mr. Richter.
He ate only a few hurried bites before collecting his belongings and rushing out the door.
Dumbledore recalled what he'd learned from the staff.
Apparently, Mr. Richter's career was entering a period of rapid advancement, leaving him busier than ever.
Not long after he departed, Sophia emerged from another room—the room she shared exclusively with Dawn.
She also ate only a little.
After reminding the servants to keep Dawn's breakfast warm, she retrieved a psychology book from the study and returned to the room.
Dumbledore remembered another piece of information.
Ever since Dawn had been diagnosed with psychological problems, Sophia had devoted herself entirely to caring for her son.
Her own career had gradually faded into the background.
Time passed slowly.
Dumbledore finished his own breakfast.
Only when the sun was already high in the sky did Sophia finally emerge again, carrying a sleepy Dawn in her arms.
The boy had slept through the entire night, yet he still couldn't stop yawning.
"Sweetheart, where would you like to go today?" Sophia asked after breakfast. "The mall? The amusement park?"
Dawn clearly had no desire to answer.
But under the persistent gaze fixed on his face, he eventually wiped his mouth and sighed.
"If possible, I'd rather go nowhere.
Honestly, I'd prefer to spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing and sleeping."
"No."
Sophia pinched his soft cheek.
"That isn't something a child your age should be saying."
Without giving him a chance to protest, she continued arranging the day's schedule.
"If you don't want to go out, we'll stay home today.
This afternoon we'll try on all the clothes we've bought recently and take pictures for the family album.
And tonight, I'll teach you how to swim in the pool."
Looking at Dawn's expressionless face, she smiled and rubbed his head. "As for the morning, you can spend it with your toy ministers."
Dawn sighed.
"I've never called them something that childish."
Nevertheless, he hopped down from his chair and headed toward the toy room.
Compared to being dressed up and fussed over like a doll, lying quietly among a mountain of toys seemed far more tolerable.
"Oh, and take this."
Sophia scooped up the little golden retriever that had somehow appeared at her feet and deposited it into Dawn's arms.
"Remember to give it a name." She smiled. "It's something you've tamed, so you should take responsibility for it."
"That's a line from The Little Prince, isn't it?" Dawn replied automatically.
Then, caught off guard, he was licked several times across the face.
With visible disgust, he dropped the puppy onto the floor. The golden retriever immediately began circling around his feet.
Sophia only smiled.
Without saying anything more, she took Dawn by the hand and led him into another room.
Dumbledore followed silently behind.
After stepping inside, he realized it was a spacious room.
Yet despite its size, it felt crowded because it was absolutely packed with stuffed animals.
Sophia lifted Dawn and placed him atop a mountain of plush toys. Then she found a decorative crown nearby and settled it atop his head.
Satisfied, she smiled.
"Adorable as always, my little king."
She kissed his forehead before turning to Dumbledore.
"Mr. Billy, could I trouble you to watch him for a while? I have a scheduled phone consultation with a psychologist and need to step away."
"Of course, Madam."
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.
Considering his true intentions, refusing had never crossed his mind.
Sophia thanked him softly.
After lingering a little longer, she finally left and closed the door behind her.
Now only two people remained inside.
One adult.
One child.
Dumbledore's gaze settled on Dawn.
The boy picked up a toy.
And once again, Dumbledore found himself drawn toward those crimson eyes.
Empty.
Terribly empty.
That was the strongest impression they gave him.
There seemed to be nothing inside them. No curiosity. No joy. No excitement. No attachment.
Only the most basic reactions to external stimuli.
Dumbledore had never seen Dawn like this before.
Thinking of the long and complicated relationship they would someday share, his curiosity grew stronger.
"Child," he asked suddenly, "why do you believe reality is false?"
Recalling the medical reports he'd secretly examined the previous night, he decided to start there.
Dawn looked up at him.
Then lowered his head and ignored him completely.
"Why not talk to me?"
Dumbledore crouched down so they were eye level. Not as an adult addressing a child, but as an equal speaking to another equal.
"I imagine spending your time buried in stuffed animals isn't particularly enjoyable either.
And honestly, I'm curious.
What kind of dream could possibly fool someone as clever as you?"
"...A dream?"
Dawn finally responded.
His voice remained emotionless. "Mr. Butler, what do you think separates reality from illusion?"
"I'd like to hear your thoughts."
Dumbledore answered seriously.
At moments like this, creating opportunities for Dawn to speak was far more important than offering answers.
The two stared at each other.
After a long silence, Dawn finally seemed to surrender.
With a sigh, he tossed aside the stuffed animal in his hand and raised his eyes. "Have you ever heard of the Brain in a Vat?"
Brain in a Vat?
For an instant, Dumbledore thought of the brains stored within the Department of Mysteries.
Then he realized Dawn was referring to the Muggle philosophical thought experiment.
"The concept proposed by the American philosopher Hilary Putnam in 1981," Dumbledore replied. "It questions whether human perception of reality is genuine."
"Exactly."
Dawn nodded.
He clenched a fist and watched the skin depress beneath the pressure.
Then, in a voice far too mature for a child, he sighed.
"Mr. Butler, we're creatures of perception.
If every one of our senses can be deceived, then even a computer-generated illusion becomes reality to us."
His expression remained indifferent.
"So whether something is a dream or not, whether it's real or fake—it has no meaning to me.
I can't distinguish between them. And I don't want to.
If I tried, I'd probably become truly insane."
He paused.
Looking around at the toys surrounding him, his empty gaze remained unchanged.
"To avoid ending up like that, I simply chose the world I felt more attached to."
Dumbledore understood.
To Dawn, both worlds felt equally real.
To avoid splitting apart between two realities, he had gradually chosen the one he preferred and rejected the other.
Suddenly, Dumbledore understood something.
Back in first year, Dawn's arrogance and indifference toward everything hadn't come from superiority.
They came from detachment.
"Why?" Dumbledore pressed gently. "What makes you feel more connected to that other world than this one?"
"Why?"
Dawn thought for a moment.
"There isn't really any profound reason." He shook his head. "I just lived there longer. My memories are deeper."
"Over there, I experienced years. Over here, I've only been alive for two. So it's easier to believe that world is real."
Time flows faster there?
Dumbledore stroked his chin thoughtfully.
But another question intrigued him even more.
What kind of dream-world could feel so authentic that Dawn couldn't distinguish it from reality?
He was about to ask—
But Dawn interrupted first.
"That silence costs you points, Mr. Butler."
Sitting atop the mountain of toys, he looked up at Dumbledore. "You aren't trying to figure out what diagnosis to give me, are you?"
"...No."
Dumbledore recovered quickly.
"I've never thought that."
In a tone designed not to provoke resistance, he continued:
"Actually, I think there are many things in this world that people fail to understand.
It's entirely possible you possess some extraordinary talent."
"Extraordinary talent?"
Dawn snorted.
The compliment clearly failed to impress him.
"You're not about to bring up Newton and Einstein like the doctors do, are you? Praise me for being intelligent while secretly implying I'm mentally ill?"
"No."
Dumbledore paused.
Then added meaningfully, "I think it could also be magic."
"...Magic?"
Dawn kicked his short legs and rolled his eyes. The expression looked almost adorable on his chubby face.
"That sounds exactly like something adults tell children."
Then he seemed to remember something.
A smile appeared.
"Although speaking of magic and Britain... It does remind me of a book from that other world."
"A book?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Yep."
Dawn wandered over to a pile of building blocks and began assembling them.
"A book called Harry Potter."
Boom.
It felt as though lightning had struck Dumbledore directly.
Still crouching on the floor, he suddenly felt his entire body go numb. His mind went completely blank.
What had Dawn just said?
Harry Potter.
How?
How could he possibly know that name?
Dumbledore stared at the two-year-old child standing with his back turned. His thoughts raced faster than ever before.
Harry and Dawn were the same age.
Based on everything Dumbledore had learned about the timeline, Harry should also be around two years old right now.
And in reality, Harry had never met Dawn.
Dumbledore was absolutely certain of that.
At this point in history, Harry had only recently lost his parents and been sent to live with his relatives.
Dumbledore had personally monitored the situation. There was no possibility of contact.
So how could Dawn know about owls? Or Hogwarts?
Had someone in his family been a wizard? The thought surfaced instinctively.
But he quickly rejected it.
Because Dawn had specifically mentioned a book.
He spoke as though all of it came from a story he had encountered in another world.
A prophecy?
Was this some unusual manifestation of prophetic talent? Had Dawn somehow glimpsed the future through dreams?
Was the other world merely a symbolic representation of prophecy?
It was the only explanation Dumbledore could find.
Yet something still felt wrong.
Like pulling a suitcase out of a fishing pond. Instinctively knowing there was something hidden inside.
Something deeper.
But at this moment, Dumbledore didn't care.
"What was the story about?"
He summoned every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his voice calm.
"The fantasy story, I mean."
"Oh, the plot?"
Dawn snapped another block into place.
"It's basically about a chosen hero defeating a dark lord. A pretty conventional story, all things considered."
Dumbledore fell silent.
Then asked with unmistakable urgency, "And did the hero win?"
"Of course."
Dawn yawned.
The topic clearly bored him.
"Good defeats evil. One of the most enduring truths in fairy tales."
He won.
For a moment, Dumbledore felt dazed.
But he quickly forced himself back to reason. It was far too early to conclude this was a prophecy.
Perhaps Dawn had somehow encountered magical knowledge through some other means.
Taking a slow breath, Dumbledore asked with immense seriousness:
"Then... could you tell me the story?"
While Dumbledore listened to words that shattered his expectations and prepared to dig deeper—
At Hogwarts, Nicolas Flamel was welcoming the new day under circumstances far less pleasant.
"Albus."
The voice was cold.
"Do you have anything you'd like to explain?"
Inside the Headmaster's Office, Fudge slammed a copy of the newspaper onto the desk.
His thick finger jabbed repeatedly at a photograph.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The image showed the corpse of a boy lying upon blood-soaked sheets.
A wooden stake protruded from his chest.
His face was pale and gray.
Beneath his anger lurked unmistakable satisfaction.
"I believe," Fudge said smugly, "that the Ministry of Magic must conduct a thorough investigation into the safety conditions of Hogwarts Castle."
___________
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