Dawn had no time to waste babysitting children.

He reappeared near the Valley of the Kings. Watching the streams of Muggles and wizards moving about, his eyes narrowed.

Although he had memorized the patterns inside the phoenix in New Zealand, he needed to experiment before applying them to himself, to see if his method would work.

However—

His test subjects had to be ordinary wizards whose black lines had not yet broken. Clearly, the two people at home did not fit that requirement.

So he’d need to bring back a few more.

Besides, until his experiment succeeded, the spread of the curse must continue.

Only if the number of cursed people kept growing could the curse within his own body take longer to activate.

With that thought—

Dawn blended into the crowd, beginning to select his targets.

Meanwhile, 4,200 kilometers away in Britain, the malicious attack on Halloween continued to send ripples through the world.

…

Hogwarts Castle.

Dumbledore returned to the school, exhausted after another fruitless visit to the Ministry of Magic. As soon as he opened the door to his office, he found Professor McGonagall waiting for him.

“Albus, are you alright? You look terribly pale.”

“Don’t worry. I simply need a bit of sleep and I’ll be fine,” Dumbledore said with a tired smile.

He looked at Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, did you need something from me?”

She nodded and placed a parchment on his desk.

“These are the names I’ve gathered of wizards who could take the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Albus, I hope you can persuade one of them to accept.”

“Oh, that won’t be easy.”

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples wearily.

Because of the rumor that the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was cursed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the fact that no one had ever held the post for more than a year.

Every time this job came up, Dumbledore felt like he’d lose another handful of hair.

“Well then, let me at least take a look. Perhaps there’s an agreeable old friend on this list.”

Though the task was difficult, Dumbledore accepted the parchment out of a sense of duty as headmaster. Adjusting his half-moon spectacles, he began to read.

There weren’t many names. Professor McGonagall had carefully selected only those within Britain who were competent and currently unemployed.

After a moment—

Dumbledore’s gaze stopped at the final name. “Minerva—what do you think of Mr. Lockhart?”

“You mean Gilderoy Lockhart? To be honest, I don’t like him much. He’s enthusiastic, yes—but far too…” McGonagall hesitated, then spoke frankly, “…too flashy! Though, judging from his published works, he does seem qualified.”

A thoughtful look appeared in Dumbledore’s blue eyes. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “After this school year ends, I’ll speak to Mr. Lockhart.”

“This school year… ends? But what about the rest of this year’s classes?”

“Severus can continue filling in for now,” Dumbledore said with a blink. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help his poor headmaster ease the stress of hiring. Don’t you think?”

Professor McGonagall couldn’t help but laugh at that.

As the more senior professor, she knew that compared to Potions, Severus Snape preferred Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He had applied for the position several times before.

She was just about to speak when another thought struck her.

If Snape continued teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, Gryffindor might end up losing a lot more points.

Her smile froze.

And slowly became strained again.

Professor McGonagall could already picture the empty House Cup at the end of the term and herself unable to lift her head in the Great Hall.

With a weary sigh, she pushed those dreadful thoughts away and changed the subject.

“By the way, Albus, Filius wants to reopen the Dueling Club. He plans to start from first-years and teach students from all four Houses how to duel.”

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.

The headmaster knew very well that although Filius never showed it and still taught with enthusiasm, the attack on a Ravenclaw student in their dormitory had deeply affected him.

“This is a good idea,” Dumbledore said softly after a sigh.

“Starting today, every Thursday evening after dinner, the students can practice dueling in the Great Hall for two hours. Any professor may participate in instructing them.”

McGonagall nodded. “Understood. I’ll post a notice in the castle.”

She looked at Dumbledore, who was still popping sweets into his mouth, and hesitated. “Has the Ministry still refused to withdraw the arrest warrant?”

“Yes. Even though the doubts I submitted were accepted by the Wizengamot, Fudge remains adamant.”

Thinking of today’s visit to the Ministry, Dumbledore frowned. “He’s already forwarded the warrant to the International Confederation of Wizards to initiate an international search.”

“Fudge is treating the capture of Dawn as his personal achievement to secure his position.”

McGonagall’s expression carried both disappointment and frustration. “He wasn’t always like this. During the days we fought against the Dark Lord, he was brave and careful. How did he become—”

People change.

Dumbledore thought to himself—that was why he remained only the headmaster and refused greater power.

“What about the Avery family?” McGonagall asked.

“Old Avery said he will follow the Ministry’s lead. If Fudge withdraws the arrest warrant, he will cancel the bounty.”

From his words, McGonagall could hear the Avery family’s reluctance. She showed a helpless expression—it was beyond her control.

As for persuading the Averys through young Avery in the Transfiguration Club—McGonagall would never use a student like that.

After a brief silence, she asked again, “Albus, you still haven’t found Dawn?”

“No.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Perhaps, just as the Ministry claims, he has already left Britain.”

The old headmaster stroked his white beard, worry clouding his face.

He feared that, away from the order of the school, Dawn might make a terrible mistake in the chaotic wizarding world—or fall into danger.

Though he never said it out loud, Dumbledore carried a deep sense of guilt toward Dawn.

In his mind, Dawn’s wrongful accusations and the attack in the dormitory were all consequences of his own negligence.

After all, even though he suspected Quirrell, he still allowed him into the school.

So, these past days, Dumbledore had kept going to the Ministry, hoping Fudge would withdraw the warrant, find Dawn, and bring him back safely to Hogwarts.

But Fudge refused to bend in the slightest—and Dumbledore had no idea where Dawn had gone.

Dumbledore sighed.

He opened a drawer and looked at the ancient Ravenclaw diadem resting inside. Besides searching for Dawn, there was another urgent matter weighing on him.

Where had Voldemort gone?

Thinking of the note Dawn had left for him, Dumbledore now understood what had happened.

Voldemort had once been attached to Quirrell, but through the Flesh-Splitting Curse, he had freed himself and now hid somewhere within the school again.

Yes.

Dumbledore was certain Voldemort had never left.

After receiving the note, he searched the Restricted Section and found the book Mad Magic: Blood and Taboo, studying the spell in detail.

He was sure of one thing—the Flesh-Splitting Curse granted Voldemort a temporary body, but it was not resurrection.

His soul remained incomplete, and the created body would continue to split and weaken until it reached its limit and collapsed or died.

That meant Riddle was still in the castle, coveting the Philosopher’s Stone—a tool that could restore him fully.

But…

Where was he hiding?

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly.

Even so, he was not overly anxious.

As long as Voldemort was still in Hogwarts and the Philosopher’s Stone remained under protection, he was confident he could keep every student safe—and catch Voldemort’s trail.

He would not allow himself to make another mistake.

The ancient diadem in the drawer felt heavy with history. As Dumbledore looked at it, his mind drifted to the request Dawn had made when handing it to him.

He stared for a moment, then shook his head, closed the drawer, and reached for another sour candy to steady his thoughts. He turned back to McGonagall.

“All right, let’s not dwell on this.”

Dumbledore placed both hands on the desk. “How are the students? Has anything happened in the school recently?”

“Nothing major,” McGonagall replied, though she sounded tired.

“Except that Harry and his friends went wandering at night, got curious about the room with the three-headed dog, and were caught by Filch. Gryffindor lost fifty points.”

Thinking of Gryffindor’s constant losses in the House Cup over recent years, she wondered how long it would be before she could stand tall again.

Dumbledore chuckled softly.

“Minerva, you need to let it go. As the twins say, this is Gryffindor tradition. Brave lions always yearn for adventure.”

McGonagall frowned.

She disapproved of Dumbledore’s disregard for discipline—but thinking of the long line of Gryffindors, she had no real argument.

The headmaster continued, “Other than Harry and the others, has anyone else gone near that room?”

“No.”

McGonagall thought for a moment. “I even brought several portraits near the room and asked them regularly. In the past couple of weeks, only Harry and his friends went there.”

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly, then returned to normal. “Thank you, Minerva. That’s all from me.”

“Then I’ll go prepare for this afternoon’s class.” McGonagall nodded. “You should rest soon too, Albus.”

She turned to leave.

But before opening the door, she looked back.

“Albus, if you need help with anything, tell us. Every professor in Hogwarts is willing to stand up for a wrongly accused student.”

“Of course. I will.”

Dumbledore said with a gentle smile.

___________

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