What did Dawn truly love?

It was difficult to say.

Even if the answer were meant only for himself, he still couldn’t fully articulate it.

Yes—Dawn wanted many things. He wanted Ravenclaw’s diadem the instant he saw it, and he constantly schemed to obtain the Resurrection Stone.

But his greed, his hunger, his endless desires—these were merely that: desires, not love.

Desire and love were fundamentally different.

When you saw a flower in a garden and admired its color and fragrance, your urge to pluck it was desire.

But the sensation that made you stop and admire it—that moment of pure emotional touch—was love.

Even if desire sprouted from love, it could never replace love itself.

So what did Dawn’s love look like?

He yearned for eternal life, for strength, for knowledge, for countless things—but all of these were just desires.

What “love” gave birth to these desires?

Was it himself? Did he love himself enough to crave all these things?

Dawn thought so.

But he couldn’t say it aloud with certainty.

“Headmaster.”

Dawn inhaled deeply, cutting off his own thoughts.

He was never someone who enjoyed spiraling into introspection, and philosophical answers rarely came to him by sheer thought.

Looking at the old headmaster before him, he asked the question that mattered most to him, “Did you come here only to tell me all this?”

“Yes. This is what I most wanted to tell you.”

Dumbledore said earnestly, “Dawn, in what may be our last lesson, I want to teach you how to love this world.”

Last lesson?

Dawn froze.

But before he could process those words, something else made him instantly alert.

“Child… tell me.”

Dumbledore’s eyes changed.

The soft lake dried into jagged cliffs.

Cold winds howled from a mountaintop.

Dawn’s body tightened instinctively.

Dumbledore’s voice became grave—sharper than any spell.

“In the month since you left the castle… have you taken anyone’s life?”

Dawn felt his heart begin to quicken, but he didn’t avert his gaze.

“No.”

For a moment— The world went silent.

But the air grew suffocating.

Dawn felt the pressure of gathering storm clouds—thick, low, humming with the threat of thunder that wanted to tear the world apart.

Dumbledore shut his eyes in pain.

“Dawn, did you know? I had already decided that as long as you hadn’t killed anyone—

No matter what else you did, whether spreading the curse, deceiving people, committing any number of wrongs—I was prepared to take responsibility for you.”

“I was willing to bear the consequences. I was willing to beg forgiveness on your behalf, one person at a time.”

“I wanted to bring you back to the castle. And even if the Ministry or Fudge opposed it, I would have found a way—sent you to another magical school if I had to.”

His voice grew calmer and calmer, but the blue of his eyes churned like a stormy sea. Pain welled up in them, raw and undeniable.

Watching him, Dawn felt a terrible premonition rising like a cold tide in his stomach.

Dumbledore… has seen through me.

Not through Legilimency—Dawn could tell. His Occlumency remained untouched.

And Amir and William knew nothing about the man he killed.

So— Dawn was certain Dumbledore had no evidence.

If he denied it, Dumbledore could do nothing. He would never force Legilimency nor Veritaserum.

Dumbledore would simply search on his own.

And in Egypt’s chaotic magical underworld, finding the corpse of a wizard Dawn had killed was nearly impossible.

Dawn parted his lips.

A lie—clean, tight, flawless—had already formed. But for some reason, it lodged in his throat.

Refused to come out.

Enough.

He told himself sharply. This is pathetic.

Clinging to the faint chance the headmaster had no proof, grasping at the hope that silence might save him—

like a condemned criminal begging for scraps.

“…Heh.”

Dawn let out a quiet laugh.

His rational mind told him the wisest choice. But his pride—the same pride that had always defined him—refused to let him take it.

So, he met Dumbledore’s eyes head-on, stripped of all disguise.

“Yes, Professor. I killed someone.”

Crack—

The world seemed to split like thunder.

Clouds pressed lower, heavy and bruised. Flickers of violet lightning whispered behind them.

Dumbledore asked, “Was it for a justified reason?”

“No.”

Dawn bared his teeth slightly, staring into the storm itself— choosing again the path opposite reason.

“No justification at all.”

“I see…”

Dumbledore inhaled deeply and raised his wand. He held it before him like a duelist issuing a final invitation.

“Dawn… why do I not see guilt in your eyes?”

Dawn also lifted his wand.

He had already attempted to Disapparate—but nothing happened. Clearly, Dumbledore had sealed the house before Dawn returned.

But Dawn had no intention of surrendering.

Dragged back? Imprisoned in Azkaban?

That was not in his plans for life.

“Professor. In the Book of Matthew, it says: the one who has will be given more, and he will have abundance; but the one who has not, even what he has will be taken from him.”

“I’m not religious. But I think it reflects a truth—one tied to strength and the food chain.”

“I have not killed recklessly. Just as a wolf hunts because it must, I have done only what was necessary.”

Dawn’s voice was low and steady.

“So no— I do not need to feel guilty.”

___________

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