The flames roared.
Dumbledore left the Ministry of Magic, weighed down with concern.
It wasn't only the recent newspaper articles that troubled him.
What worried him even more was the possibility that Fudge had truly allied himself with Dawn.
If that were the case... What kind of impact would it have on Britain's wizarding world?
It was a future Dumbledore refused to see come to pass.
But what could he do?
Perhaps... He could seek help through the International Confederation of Wizards.
His thoughts churned endlessly.
One possibility after another surfaced in his mind.
Only when he finally came back to himself did he realize he had been standing inside the Floo fireplace for several long minutes.
With a quiet sigh, he brushed the soot from his robes and stepped out of the fireplace in the Great Hall.
His thoughts still revolved around Dawn.
Dawn wanted to restore his reputation.
That much was painfully obvious.
But Dumbledore couldn't understand why.
In his eyes, Dawn had never been someone who cared about fame or public opinion.
'There has to be another motive.'
The conclusion came to him almost instinctively.
"Albus."
McGonagall, who had been waiting in the Great Hall, walked over to greet him.
"How did it go? Did Fudge explain those newspaper articles?"
"No."
Dumbledore shook his head.
"But I suspect he's being coerced by Dawn. That's why he's turning a blind eye to everything that's happening."
"I see..."
McGonagall frowned.
Every time Dawn's name came up, the professors found themselves feeling conflicted.
Professor Sprout felt regret.
Flitwick blamed himself.
Snape harbored only disgust.
As for McGonagall...
She remained wary, yet couldn't suppress her fascination with Dawn's extraordinary Transfiguration.
Her thoughts drifted back to the Fantastic Beasts he had created from blood.
Even after studying them for so long... She had made no progress whatsoever.
After a moment, she suddenly remembered something.
"Oh, Albus. Amir has returned. He said he wanted to see you."
"He's waiting in your office."
"...Who?"
Dumbledore blinked in surprise.
McGonagall had to repeat herself. "Amir. The young man who used to work as the librarian."
Amir?
Why had he come back?
Thinking of the unfortunate young man burdened by a blood curse, Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.
After saying goodbye to McGonagall, he immediately headed toward the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
He spoke the password to the stone gargoyle.
The entrance swung open.
Walking into the familiar circular office, he found exactly what he'd expected.
A young man sat nervously inside.
"I'm sorry, Headmaster. I've come to trouble you again."
The moment the door opened, Amir hurried to his feet and awkwardly clutched the sides of his robes.
"Oh, don't be nervous, my boy."
Dumbledore smiled warmly.
"I think we're familiar enough with one another by now."
He snapped his fingers.
A teapot and two teacups floated gracefully onto the table.
"So..."
"What brings you here today, Amir?"
"...Well..."
"I suppose you could say that."
Amir hesitated. Only after fragrant steam rose from the tea did he carefully lift the cup.
Embarrassed, he spoke quietly.
"Headmaster...
You know why I left before.
I'm... feeling a little lost. I hoped perhaps... You might offer some advice."
Hearing those words...
Dumbledore slowly narrowed his eyes.
He silently studied Amir for a long time.
Only after confusion and uncertainty became plainly visible on the young man's face did he finally let out a weary sigh.
"Advice from an old man?"
His tone turned helpless.
"My advice is this... Have you finished playing around yet... Dawn?"
Silence filled the office.
The two stared at one another.
Only after several long moments did Amir realize Dumbledore wasn't bluffing.
An amused smile spread across his face. "Headmaster... How did you know?"
As he spoke...
The flesh across his body rippled and shifted.
Within seconds... Amir disappeared. In his place stood a crimson-eyed boy of thirteen.
Dawn Richter.
"Because Amir never told me what he had gone off to do."
Dumbledore tapped the desk lightly.
He looked genuinely exhausted by yet another one of Dawn's tests.
"He merely said he had urgent business. He resigned from his position and left Hogwarts.
My boy... I know no more than you do."
"I see."
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Whether he believed that explanation or not remained impossible to tell.
He merely shrugged and said nothing.
Dumbledore was forced to continue.
"You came to discuss Voldemort's Horcruxes, didn't you?
To be honest...
I expected you much sooner. I figured you'd be overwhelmed these past few months.
So I left you some time to finish dealing with everything."
Dawn smiled.
His words sounded surprisingly considerate.
Dumbledore took a slow sip of tea.
"Is that so? How thoughtful of you."
Silence settled once again. Steam drifted gently between them.
Across the desk, they quietly watched one another.
Dumbledore could see how relaxed Dawn appeared. Those crimson eyes contained no caution whatsoever.
He didn't seem remotely worried that Dumbledore might suddenly attack him.
And the truth was...
Dumbledore knew he couldn't capture him anymore.
"Dawn..."
Taking a deep breath, the Headmaster spoke again.
"You forced Fudge to restore your reputation. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
Suspicion filled every word.
Dawn accepted it as casually as a passing breeze.
"My purpose?"
Resting his cheek against one hand, he sighed dramatically. "Headmaster... What motive could I possibly have?"
He pointed at himself.
"I'm only thirteen.
Strictly speaking... I'm still just a child.
Have you ever considered what it feels like to spend every day hunted, condemned, and forced into hiding?
Do you have any idea how much that hurts?
I only want to grow up like any ordinary child. Under sunlight... Surrounded by laughter.
Is that really so wrong?"
He wore an expression of perfect innocence.
Unfortunately...
Dumbledore's heart remained unmoved.
"You reap what you sow."
"Dawn... You should spend more time reading fables."
"Really?"
Dawn snorted softly.
"Then tell me, Headmaster. When I first left Hogwarts... Was that entirely my fault?"
Dumbledore fell silent.
The truth was... Dawn had indeed been driven from the castle by false accusations.
And because Dumbledore had failed to keep Voldemort under control.
Seeing the old Headmaster lost in thought, Dawn casually picked up a feather quill.
With a flick of Transfiguration, he turned it into a small spoon and slowly stirred his tea.
"Headmaster...
I've always wondered. Why are you so prejudiced against me?
When you think about it... I've never really done anything unforgivable."
He spoke casually.
"Is it simply because I've taken lives? There are plenty of wizards with blood on their hands."
"Members of the Order of the Phoenix included."
"...That's different."
Dumbledore answered immediately.
"At the very least... They don't treat taking a life as though it were nothing."
After a pause, he continued.
"And what about the chaos you unleashed in Jerusalem? Does that not count as unforgivable?"
"Oh..."
"So Nicolas Flamel told you."
Dawn tapped his spoon rhythmically against the teacup before glancing around the office.
"Where is he now? Or rather... Where is his ghost?"
"After telling me everything that happened... He returned to the Veil that very same day."
Dumbledore saw no reason to conceal the truth.
"I see."
Dawn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Then you should already know. I went there to stop Voldemort from slaughtering innocent people.
To be perfectly honest...
The International Confederation of Wizards ought to award me a Medal for Peace."
He praised himself shamelessly.
Just as Dumbledore opened his mouth to argue...
Dawn waved him off.
"Never mind."
"Headmaster... Let's stop discussing that. We should get back to the deal we agreed upon."
He hadn't taken time away from his research simply to argue.
He wanted to hand Voldemort's lingering problem over to Dumbledore as quickly as possible.
His expression grew serious.
"I'll tell you where Voldemort's Horcruxes are. But in return... What are you willing to offer me?"
After considering the question... Dumbledore answered cautiously.
"Knowledge?"
"Certainly."
Dawn nodded.
"But not ordinary Transfiguration."
"If we're trading knowledge... I want something innovative. Something ahead of its time."
"...Innovation?"
Dumbledore looked troubled.
"My boy..."
"Unless you're willing to believe in the magic of love... I'm afraid most of my innovations won't interest you."
"Oh... You mean the twelve uses of dragon's blood?"
Dawn remembered reading about them on Dumbledore's famous Chocolate Frog Card.
His expression became rather complicated.
Honestly...
He had always wondered what Dumbledore had been thinking when he decided that "dragon's blood can be used as an oven cleaner" counted as groundbreaking magical innovation.
"Magic should improve everyday life."
Dumbledore replied gently, yet firmly.
"You're right. But I still don't want it." Dawn answered without hesitation.
Seeing Dumbledore remain silent, his eyes suddenly brightened.
He gave a small cough.
"How about this, Headmaster?"
"If you really can't think of anything else... Why not simply return the Elder Wand to me?"
He held out his hand expectantly.
Dumbledore refused without the slightest hesitation.
"Impossible."
Give the Elder Wand to Dawn?
That would be the same as personally handing him the power to do whatever he pleased.
Dawn was already frighteningly capable.
If he acquired the Elder Wand as well... Then should he ever choose the wrong path again...
How could Dumbledore possibly hope to stop him?
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