“Oh, Severus. That is quite the enthusiastic greeting.”

Dumbledore stepped out of the flames, deflecting the spell with his wand. His smile was strained with exhaustion.

Chasing Dawn through multiple Apparitions had worn even him down.

His eyes swept the room quickly—no blood, no bodies, no missing students. Relief flickered across his face.

Only within Hogwarts could he enable or disable the anti-Apparition enchantments. Since he was outside earlier, he couldn’t re-enable it until he returned.

So he had called Fawkes and used phoenix travel to get back, losing precious time.

“Dumbledore?”

Snape frowned, lowering his wand.

He stared at the headmaster, realization dawning—though it felt too absurd to accept.

“You were chasing Dawn Richter this entire time?”

“Sorry, Severus. I will explain later.”

Without wasting another moment, Dumbledore vanished again with Fawkes’ cry.

Using the castle’s many portraits, he easily learned everything that had happened here.

He discovered that Dawn had appeared outside the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.

Dumbledore’s expression tightened.

Just as Dawn predicted, Dumbledore could follow Apparition traces only if used in short intervals. The time gap was now too large.

He stared at the tapestry and smooth wall opposite, knowing the trail had gone cold.

But he did not give up.

Dawn was too dangerous to roam free.

He gave Fawkes a new destination.

Nurmengard.

Gellert Grindelwald sat at his table, bathed in the rare sunlight from the window, reading a Muggle book.

“Albus, should I say long time no see?”

He turned calmly as Dumbledore appeared behind him, showing no surprise.

“My apologies, Gellert, but I have something important to ask.” Dumbledore spoke directly. “Dawn Richter. I need to know where that child is now.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Dumbledore tensed.

Grindelwald pointed lightly at Dumbledore’s chest.

“Albus, calm down. Your mind is too restless. A seer is not omnipotent—you of all people should know that.”

“…My apologies, Gellert. You’re right.”

Dumbledore inhaled deeply, forcing himself to dispel the growing agitation.

He knew well that Grindelwald’s glimpses of the future were scattered and unreliable. He had simply been too exhausted to think clearly.

“Relax, Albus. How bad can things get? Worse than the war I started?”

Grindelwald stood, patting Dumbledore’s shoulder. “And I will help you. If I see another vision of… Dawn Richter, I’ll let you know.”

He smiled faintly. “But tell me, Albus—how should I contact you?”

Dumbledore hesitated.

“Every afternoon, I will have Fawkes come here. If you discover anything, give the letter to him.”

“Only Fawkes?”

Grindelwald glanced slyly at the phoenix. “But what if I insist that you come personally every day?”

Dumbledore fell silent.

He looked into those mismatched eyes, sighed softly, and disappeared without answering.

Grindelwald laughed quietly.

He understood Albus as well as Albus understood him. That silence was practically acceptance.

After Tom Riddle, Dumbledore was far more willing to compromise when it came to students.

Moments later, Grindelwald collected his smile. He glanced at the scraps of fabric on his table, shook his head, and returned to his seat.

Sunlight streamed in warmly.

In the depths of his weathered gaze, reflections of fire and scorched earth seemed to flicker faintly.

“Wizards… Muggles… What will the world become this time?”

His lone whisper drifted through the quiet tower.

Iceland.

The snow was falling harder, thick white flakes drifting like feathers. Yet as they neared Fawkes, each flake melted instantly into droplets.

Dumbledore touched the wet trails on his face and paused, struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

After leaving Nurmengard, he had returned here.

He hadn’t forgotten that inside the red-roofed house were two people who had been traveling with Dawn.

He couldn’t just abandon them. At the very least, they deserved to know what had happened.

And besides…

However unlikely it seemed— If Dawn really intended to return for them, he needed to be here.

In the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, the Pensieve sat upon a polished mahogany desk, its silver contents swirling with soft light.

[Burn it!]

[The tunnel we used is at the end of the chamber. Better to burn it clean now while the number of Death Maggots is still manageable, rather than wait for them to overrun everything.]

[°Incendio°]

[I know where Gringotts is. Do you need me to Apparate you there?]

Scene after scene flickered past like a spinning lantern slide.

Dumbledore stood silently in the corner where no one else could have stood, watching Dawn and Amir’s entire interaction unfold from beginning to end.

Finally, he lifted his head from the Pensieve. “So… the money should have been mine?!”

Amir sat slumped in a chair, pale and trembling.

After having his memories restored accurately with the Pensieve, he looked as though he wanted nothing more than to collapse entirely.

He remembered the thrill of receiving a handful of Gold Suns from Dawn, then the overwhelming joy when he walked out of Gringotts with bags of gold in his arms.

Now, realizing all of that wealth had never been real, his eyes rolled back, and he looked like he might die of heartbreak right then and there.

Losing hurt far more than gaining ever pleased.

Had he known the truth, Amir would have preferred to stay in the blissful ignorance of those false memories.

Dumbledore sighed, feeling a twinge of pity for the young man who had only recently graduated.

“Do not despair, child. This too shall pass.” The headmaster asked gently, “What are your plans now?”

“Plans?”

Amir looked lost.

How could he have plans?

Look at his situation:

Carrying a blood curse. No money. Weak magic.

Amir choked and buried his face in his hands. “I think I’ll go find a nice, quiet cemetery. If I can afford a plot.”

Dumbledore’s hand paused mid-stroke through his beard.

After a moment of thought, he said, “If you have nowhere to go… would you like to stay at Hogwarts?”

“Madam Pince has been complaining that there are too many students to manage alone. Would you consider assisting her in the library?

And of course, you will be paid. Not much, but in a month’s time, you should be able to afford a wand.”

Amir stared up at the old wizard, eyes filling with tears as if bathed in holy light.

“Yes! Of course! Thank you so much, Professor Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore shook his head gently, indicating it wasn’t worth such dramatic gratitude.

From the Pensieve’s memories, the boy was not malicious by nature. And since Dawn—his own student—had caused him such suffering, Dumbledore felt he owed him responsibility.

“Professor,” Amir stammered, glancing at William, who stood nearby playing with his fingers, “what about… him?”

“Relax. Call me Professor or Albus—no need for formality,” Dumbledore said.

His gaze followed Amir’s toward the silent child. “As for him, I’ve contacted the Carter family. Someone will come for him shortly.”

Amir breathed out in relief. After their time together in the tomb, he sincerely hoped the Harris boy would be alright.

Dumbledore continued, “Amir, may I request permission to use part of your memory?”

___________

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