Inside the room.
The boy sitting before the pile of building blocks looked over with a scrutinizing gaze.
But of course, Dumbledore wasn't going to lose his composure because of a single comment.
Instead, he asked calmly, "Different? In what way do you think I'm different?"
"Oh, in lots of ways."
Dawn tilted his head.
"You're normally a stubborn old man who's annoying to deal with, but today you're surprisingly reasonable.
And you've been acting like you want to discuss the nature of reality with me. It's strange."
Stubborn?
So that was the sort of personality the butler originally had?
Dumbledore felt a slight headache.
He simply hadn't been here long enough to gather enough information about how "he" was supposed to behave.
Still, the old headmaster knew that trying to explain himself now would be the worst possible choice.
He merely shook his head.
"Young Master, I think your misunderstanding of me runs very deep."
"Oh, a misunderstanding..."
Dawn stared at him without much emotion. After a few moments, he turned back to his blocks.
"Whatever. Do as you like."
He didn't care enough to pursue the matter further.
Dumbledore could clearly read the thoughts reflected in those hollow crimson eyes.
To him, this was undoubtedly good news.
It meant that even if Dawn suspected something was off, he still wouldn't mind sharing stories from his dream world.
Adjusting his mindset, Dumbledore prepared to ask more questions about Harry Potter.
Unfortunately, before he could speak, the door suddenly opened.
"Ah!"
Sophia stepped into the room after finishing her phone consultation.
The opportunity vanished instantly.
"Mr. Billy?"
Noticing the unusual look on the butler's face, she asked curiously whether anything had happened.
Dumbledore paused briefly before shaking his head.
To be honest, he'd considered saying, "Dawn was just telling me a story about magic," hoping to pique her curiosity and have her ask the questions for him.
But after thinking it over, he decided against it.
Acting too differently might cause the Richters to become suspicious, potentially ruining his chances of continuing to interact with Dawn.
Silence once again filled the room.
Sophia didn't ask further questions.
She simply watched Dawn's back with a gentle gaze, though traces of complicated emotions occasionally flickered through her eyes.
The phone consultation had once again produced no useful advice.
Because she refused medication, the psychologist had given exactly the same recommendation as all the previous ones:
Companionship. Nothing more.
No concrete solution.
"Companionship..."
The woman repeated the word inwardly.
A trace of disappointment surfaced. But she quickly cast it aside and reaffirmed her determination.
Time passed.
After Dawn finished assembling another rocket-shaped structure, lunchtime arrived.
Mr. Richter didn't come home.
Only two people sat at the table.
Sophia fed Dawn part of his meal and helped him finish the rest.
Afterward, she picked him up and carried him back toward the bedroom for a nap.
Dumbledore could only stop helplessly.
"Oh, right, Mr. Billy."
Just before closing the door, Sophia suddenly added:
"Tomorrow I'd like to take Dawn to an amusement park. Could you help prepare an itinerary and contingency plan?"
Dumbledore was momentarily caught off guard.
Then he bowed politely. "Of course, Madam."
Click.
The door shut.
Dawn disappeared completely from his sight.
Dumbledore stared at the door for several seconds before reluctantly turning away.
Following Sophia's instructions, he began gathering information about amusement parks.
But throughout the process, thoughts of Harry Potter kept resurfacing in his mind.
Again and again, he found himself glancing toward the still-closed bedroom door.
What happens next?
The question wouldn't leave him alone.
At this point, he felt like a reader whose favorite novel had suddenly stopped updating.
His anticipation for the next chapter was overwhelming. Especially regarding the locations of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do except bury that impatience and wait.
Only then did another question finally occupy his attention.
What exactly was the world Dawn dreamed about?
Why did it contain a book called Harry Potter—a book that resembled a prophecy, yet differed from prophecy in so many ways?
Unfortunately, based on Dawn's limited descriptions, he couldn't uncover the truth.
"If only I could see that dream world myself."
Dumbledore shook his head.
Time slipped away.
By the time he'd finished his tasks and looked up again, it was already three in the afternoon.
Yet the bedroom door remained closed.
Still sleeping?
The old headmaster rubbed his temples.
To his surprise, he'd become completely preoccupied with Dawn. Even a short absence left him feeling restless.
After another glance at the unopened door, he finally redirected some of his attention toward Hogwarts.
Only a single day had passed within the dream.
Since he had no idea whether time flowed at the same rate in reality, he couldn't help worrying about the castle's condition.
And unfortunately—
The situation at Hogwarts was far from ideal.
The castle that had been bustling with life that morning felt desolate by afternoon.
The laughter and excitement of ordinary school life had vanished.
Anyone could see it.
There were noticeably fewer students.
Of course, this wasn't really Fudge's doing.
While the Minister had ordered the school closed, not even he could shut down Britain's only magical school with a single command.
Neither Nicolas Flamel nor the four Heads of House would accept such a ridiculous decision.
Nor would the countless graduates who had once studied there.
However— There was one thing they couldn't stop.
Parents.
Once news of the death appeared in the newspapers and owls delivered the story throughout Britain, many families decided Hogwarts was no longer safe.
They wanted their children home.
Particularly among Slytherin's pure-blood families, whose information networks were extensive.
They knew this death wasn't an isolated incident. The castle had been plagued by disturbances all year.
Remaining at Hogwarts no longer seemed wise.
Ravenclaw students also departed in significant numbers. Their house's reputation for practicality and self-preservation was well-earned.
Only Gryffindor and Hufflepuff saw relatively fewer departures.
Most of the students taken home from those houses came from Muggle families who knew little about the wizarding world.
The remaining parents generally trusted Dumbledore more than those of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
One other detail stood out.
None of the students who had attacked others in the Great Hall were taken home.
Perhaps their parents understood that if Dumbledore couldn't solve the problem affecting their children, they certainly couldn't either.
At that moment, in a corridor leading toward the Great Hall—
Flamel stood in front of another parent.
"Sir," he said earnestly, "I don't believe taking your child home at a time like this is a wise decision."
After a brief pause, he continued.
"You've probably noticed that certain unusual things are happening inside the castle. But I promise you, I'll resolve this situation as quickly as possible, so—"
"Oh, of course I trust you, Headmaster Dumbledore."
The parent interrupted politely.
Holding his daughter's hand, he remained courteous but unwavering.
"But with all due respect, you can't personally watch every student all the time. What happens if my daughter is attacked while you're occupied elsewhere?"
His expression hardened.
"A student just died here yesterday, didn't they?"
Flamel sighed.
He had no answer.
After watching the man leave, he immediately stopped another parent.
The reason he wanted students to remain at Hogwarts had nothing to do with preserving the school's reputation.
He knew the truth. Every one of those children carried a fragment of Voldemort's soul.
Inside the castle, they could at least be monitored.
Outside?
The potential danger might be far greater.
Flamel tried explaining that even students who hadn't participated in the Great Hall attack could still be affected.
But without seeing it firsthand, very few parents were willing to believe him.
From nearby, Dawn watched Flamel repeat the same futile conversation over and over.
A grin spread across his face.
"A depression, Mr. Flamel."
Leaning against a window, he watched families arrive and leave across the muddy ground exposed by melting snow.
The image prompted a strange thought.
"For some reason, this reminds me of bankrupt Muggle factories during economic recessions."
He chuckled softly.
"The resemblance is bizarre."
"Please," Flamel groaned. "At a time like this, don't stab an old man in the heart."
He had absolutely no mood for jokes.
Dawn hummed lightly.
Tilting his head, he asked, "So where exactly is Dumbledore? Things have gotten this bad, and he still refuses to show himself?"
"What is he even doing?"
"Who knows?" Flamel replied in his usual evasive tone.
In reality, however, he was probably hoping for Dumbledore's return more desperately than anyone else.
Preferably with a miracle solution in hand.
Dawn was clearly dissatisfied by the answer.
He deliberately raised his voice.
"Ha! I'd really like to see the look on his face when he comes back and discovers the school ended up like this."
"...Please stop." Flamel covered half his face. "Please, child. Just stop."
He couldn't even bear imagining it.
The castle had deteriorated this badly in a single day.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Nicolas Flamel found himself hoping he would leave the dream world before Dumbledore woke up.
Dawn watched the changing expressions on Flamel's face with amusement.
Eventually, though, even that became boring.
His attention drifted back outside.
Incidentally, he was currently controlling Fred's body.
The Weasley family still trusted Dumbledore completely and hadn't withdrawn any of their children.
Blaise, on the other hand, had been taken home first thing that morning.
For the first time, Dawn had met the legendary Mrs. Zabini, whose seven marriages were famous throughout wizarding society.
He had to admit:
Despite her reputation as a deadly beauty, she was surprisingly warm and approachable in person.
More importantly, she genuinely cared about her son.
Faced with her constant concern and affection, Dawn had mostly remained silent, answering only with the shortest responses possible to avoid exposing himself.
In truth, he could have forced Blaise to remain at Hogwarts if he really wanted to.
But there was little point.
One body inside the castle was enough.
The second might prove more useful elsewhere.
At this stage, he had already confirmed that distance didn't affect his ability to control either body.
As he gazed toward the distant Forbidden Forest, his thoughts gradually returned to the castle's situation.
One fact was undeniable.
The Great Hall riot had been intentional.
But why?
Looking only at the results, Voldemort's actions seemed aimed at driving students away from Hogwarts.
Yet—
The Castle Consciousness required shared belief among students.
Even if remaining inside Hogwarts wasn't strictly necessary, scattering everyone across Britain should make it harder, not easier, to establish a unified narrative.
Dawn couldn't understand it. The irrationality of the situation made him deeply cautious.
His thoughts drifted to his original body lying beyond the Veil.
To his own consciousness, trapped among countless students with no clear route back.
Irritation surfaced.
Then suddenly— An idea struck him.
He turned sharply toward Flamel.
"By the way, Mr. Flamel. You've possessed someone else's body too, haven't you?
But you don't seem worried about the student whose body you're using."
That wasn't normal.
Any decent person should be desperately searching for a way to return the body to its rightful owner.
Unless...
A thought flashed through Dawn's mind.
Flamel looked at him.
"Child, you transferred your consciousness through the Resurrection Stone, didn't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued.
"The Resurrection Stone cannot be destroyed. It always returns. And when it does, the chaos it caused will be corrected."
Corrected.
In other words, Dawn didn't actually need to do anything. Eventually, he would naturally return to his original body.
His eyebrow rose slightly.
The implication was obvious.
Remembering how the stone had somehow reformed after being ground into powder, Dawn found Flamel's explanation entirely believable.
If that was true...
Then many of his worries disappeared.
With a guaranteed way back, his priorities became much simpler.
Now he only needed to use the Castle Consciousness to investigate the truth that existed before the world's correction.
His mood immediately improved.
That said, he was still competing directly against Voldemort, understanding his intentions remained essential.
"Mr. Flamel," Dawn asked, "do you happen to have any Felix Felicis?"
"Felix Felicis?"
Flamel looked puzzled.
"What do you want that for?"
Still, after a moment's thought, he pulled out a crystal vial and tossed it over. It was the remainder of the potion Dumbledore had consumed.
"You actually have some?"
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Taking the bottle, he mistakenly assumed Flamel had been using it recently because of Hogwarts' crisis.
Opening the cap, he carefully wiped the rim clean with part of his robes.
Flamel's eye twitched slightly at the sight.
Then Dawn took a small sip. The cool liquid slid down his throat.
A familiar sensation emerged.
Following a vague instinct, he suddenly remembered a church standing alone amid wind and rain.
The Black Dog Curse incident.
His eyes narrowed. That particular mind-link still contained many unanswered questions.
Most notably— Voldemort's inexplicable death.
And thinking back carefully, Voldemort's behavior had only become strange after that experience.
Dawn tapped the windowsill.
He remembered the archive room inside the church.
The scattered parchments.
The experimental records.
Back then, Voldemort had entered before him.
Although he'd eventually died to the black dog, perhaps he'd discovered something beforehand.
But what?
The thing Voldemort desired most was resurrection.
Could he have found another method?
Dawn sank into thought.
When it came to churches and resurrection, the first thing that naturally came to mind was the story of Jesus.
The tale of a man who suffered humiliation and torture, was nailed to a cross, died, and then returned three days later.
Nailed.
The word lingered in his mind.
After all, Voldemort's possessed student had died in a similar way.
Admittedly, only his heart had been pierced.
Still...
Dawn's gaze grew darker.
Then Flamel's voice interrupted him. "Child. You should be heading to class."
Class?
Dawn snapped out of his thoughts.
Flamel's expression made it clear he was serious.
Indeed.
Despite everything, Hogwarts still had classes. Enough students remained that the school couldn't simply stop functioning.
As for those who had left, the professors could only send letters outlining the remaining coursework and hope parents ensured their children kept studying.
"Thanks for the concern," Dawn said while rubbing his forehead. "But my next class doesn't start for another two hours."
Supporting himself on the windowsill, he prepared to head toward the library.
He wanted somewhere quiet to continue organizing his thoughts.
But Flamel suddenly called out behind him. "Dawn... Tonight I'm holding a meeting with the four Heads of House."
After a brief pause, he added, "Would you like to attend?"
A meeting?
Dawn's eyebrows rose.
He immediately understood the implication.
If he attended, his true identity would likely be revealed to the other professors.
Then again... How much difference did that make at this point?
"Of course."
He nodded.
He wanted to hear their plans for dealing with Voldemort.
"I'll be there."
___________
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