What happened in France went unnoticed by anyone.

Sea winds brushed against fate, drifting across time like a ship upon the waves. In the blink of an eye, January seventeenth arrived.

The day of the announced killing.

In London, witches and wizards were buzzing with excitement, eagerly discussing the matter with everyone they met, mocking Dawn’s supposed delusions.

Some enthusiastic wizards even went to the area around Hogwarts, hoping to lend a hand when the time came.

However, all that commotion had little to do with Skye Island, 761 kilometers away from London.

Compared to the criminal’s outrageous murder announcement, the people here cared far more about the Quidditch match that was about to begin.

“Today’s match is about to start! Spectators who have not yet entered, please hurry!”

“Two days ago, the Portree Pride lost by twenty points to the reigning league champions, the Caerphilly Catapults, dropping to third place in the standings!”

“But their performance still marks them as one of this season’s strongest title contenders!”

“So today, facing the aggressive Tatshill Tornados, what kind of performance will the Pride deliver? Let’s wait and see!”

An hour before the match, the commentator shouted with passion, stirring up the crowd and pushing the atmosphere to a fever pitch.

The spectators responded enthusiastically, their cheers rising wave after wave.

At this moment— Outside the Quidditch stadium.

Avery arrived alone.

He took a deep breath, showed his ticket, passed through the entrance, and recalled the photographs he had seen. With a brief glance around, he quickly found the location shown in the pictures.

It was a massive broom sculpture, standing on the highest stand at the northeastern corner of the stadium, a landmark of the venue.

Avery cast a Disillusionment Charm, concealing himself as he crossed over the railing and seating, arriving at the platform where the broom sculpture stood.

From here, the view was excellent. The entire Quidditch pitch lay below him, and in the distance, he could see the blue-and-white coastline.

But Avery had no mood to appreciate it.

Standing in this familiar yet unfamiliar place, the cruel scene from the photographs kept replaying before his eyes, intertwined with warm memories of time spent with his father.

His fingernails dug deep into his palm.

“I will save you,” Avery swore silently.

No matter the cost, no matter whether innocent people had to be sacrificed, he would make sure his father survived.

Taking a deep breath, Avery’s gaze hardened.

He knew saving his father would not be easy.

Recalling the plan he had prepared beforehand, he took out a vial of Polyjuice Potion and began searching for a suitable target.

He did not know when Dawn would arrive—only that it would be during this Quidditch match.

So he had to act quickly.

Without much hesitation, Avery soon spotted a spectator below him who was noticeably isolated from the others. He raised his wand, preparing to cast the Imperius Curse.

But before the incantation left his lips—

Avery stared in surprise as his chosen target stood up and walked toward the back.

Then, with one hand on the railing, the spectator vaulted over it, used a Levitation Charm on his clothes, and pulled himself up onto the high platform.

What was going on?

Avery stepped back, widening the distance between them, stunned by the sight.

Was his luck really that good? The target he picked just happened to covet this vantage point and had come over on his own?

Delighted, Avery raised his wand.

But the next second, that thought vanished completely.

Because right before his eyes—

The wizard’s body twisted violently, collapsing inward, shrinking again and again, until the tall figure of nearly six feet became a small, youthful child with crimson eyes.

“Dawn Richter?!”

That face appeared so abruptly that Avery couldn’t help but whisper the name in his mind.

But after the shock came a surge of murderous intent.

Instinctively, Avery raised his wand, intending to fire a Killing Curse and end it all.

However— Just as the incantation reached his lips, he forced himself to calm down and swallowed it back.

Don’t lose sight of the goal. Today wasn’t about killing Dawn. He was here to save his father.

Avery gave Dawn one deep look, maintained the Disillusionment Charm, silently cast another spell on himself, and turned away.

There was still time. His father hadn’t arrived yet. Before that, he had to control someone with the Imperius Curse and force-feed them Polyjuice Potion.

Taking another breath, Avery selected a wizard seated far from others in the stands and prepared to carry out his plan.

“Leaving already, Mr. Murphy Avery?”

Boom!

The light words struck like thunder.

Avery froze mid-step. The sudden halt was so abrupt that he almost heard the sharp creak of bone in his ankle.

He turned around in disbelief.

Dawn was leaning against the base of the sculpture, his crimson eyes half-lifted, fixed precisely on Avery’s position.

Impossible.

Avery muttered inwardly, his pupils contracting as he reflexively raised his arm.

There was no mistake. He was still under a Disillusionment Charm. How could Dawn possibly know he was there?

And—

And why was Dawn calling him Murphy Avery?!

In that instant, Avery’s mind filled with fog, a suffocating pressure crushing down on him.

He suddenly realized that today’s events were nothing like what he had expected.

Whoosh!

A sharp sound of wind cut through the air.

Avery snapped back to his senses and stepped back, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dagger embedded where he had been standing. After bouncing away, it transformed back into an ordinary stone midair.

At that moment, Avery knew there was no more room for hope.

Dawn truly could detect his position.

°Appar—°

Avery immediately began the incantation.

Although Apparition would only be taught at Hogwarts later that year, as a top student he had already mastered it the previous year.

He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew he couldn’t stay.

His father hadn’t appeared, and the situation had spiraled far beyond expectations.

With too many variables piling up, his sense of danger surged. He decided to retreat, prepare properly, and return later.

But halfway through the spell— Avery suddenly felt his body sink.

He staggered back two steps, his wand spinning out of control and flying from his hand.

The Disarming Charm.

When?

Avery’s eyes widened, the situation growing increasingly surreal. This wasn’t right. He was certain that Dawn hadn’t been this strong before.

Avery stood frozen on the platform.

Below, the Quidditch match had already begun.

A golden-haired Chaser hurled the Quaffle through the hoop with such force that it even fractured the opposing Keeper’s arm.

Players from both teams clustered together, arguing fiercely.

Watching the familiar yet alien scene, Avery felt a chill seep into his bones.

At that moment—

With his wand gone, the Disillusionment Charm faded, and Avery’s figure emerged from the air.

Now no longer needing magical mist to track him, Dawn raised his wand.

“Well then, anything you’d like to say?”

“Where is my father?”

“Oh, Mr. Avery senior?”

Dawn tilted his head as if thinking, then his expression flattened. “You’ll never see him again.”

Avery took a deep breath.

He refused to give up.

Without a wand, he thrust out a finger, pointing it furiously at Dawn.

°Avada Kedavra°

He roared.

Hatred surged, driving his magic forward. A dark green curse shot out—cast without a wand.

But— It was completely useless.

“Weak.”

Bang!

Dawn casually deflected the spell, wand striking it with a dull thud.

Unwilling to waste more time, he flicked his hand, Petrifying Avery completely.

Dawn stepped forward, ignored the furious eyes staring back at him, pressed his wand to Avery’s temple, and pulled hard.

In an instant— A wisp of cotton-like memory was extracted.

Dawn stored it in a crystal vial and carefully put it away.

Then he looked back at the wizard before him. “Mr. Avery, I told you, didn’t I? On January seventeenth, I would kill you. Why weren’t you more careful?”

Unable to move, Avery could only glare at him.

Dawn shrugged indifferently, took a potion from his robe, pried open Avery’s mouth, and forced it down despite his resistance.

Avery felt a sour liquid slide down his throat.

Then his perspective began to change, his height slowly increasing.

This is…?

His vision blurred.

In that moment, he understood. But it was far too late.

Dawn raised his wand.

Whoosh!

A red beam shot into the sky and exploded with a thunderous boom, bursting into brilliant fireworks.

The enormous commotion finally drew attention.

“My goodness! What’s happening near the statue? It looks like a duel!” the commentator shouted, pointing skyward.

Everyone looked over.

And then—

°Avada Kedavra°

Before countless eyes, Dawn calmly spoke the Killing Curse.

Green light slammed into Avery, hurling him violently against the base of the statue.

Avery spat blood, collapsed to the ground, and felt his body slipping into numbness.

At the same time, he broke free of the Petrification.

“R-Richter… don’t get smug!”

The dying wizard struggled to lift his head, fixing Dawn with eyes already losing focus, roaring with hatred and grim satisfaction.

“You’ll die too, Dawn Richter! Don’t think this is over! Just wait—wait for death to come for you!”

With that final unwilling cry, Avery’s head slumped, life leaving his body.

“Heh. I’ll be waiting.”

Dawn waved his hand expressionlessly. Avery’s corpse transformed under Transfiguration into a small stone, which Dawn closed in his palm.

Then— Before the spectators could even react, he vanished in a burst of flame.

…..

“Some time ago, when I was corresponding with a friend from the Uagadou School of Magic, he mentioned an interesting idea to me—the memory of magic.”

“He believes that magic has memory.

The reason repeated practice strengthens a spell may be because the magic within the body remembers the sensation of casting it.”

Another club meeting.

Professor McGonagall sat at the table, distributing materials to the three students beside her as she explained what she knew.

A Ravenclaw girl flipped through the documents, puzzled. “But Professor, there are many theories explaining spell proficiency. Do they have proof for this one?”

“An excellent question,” Professor McGonagall said approvingly. She always appreciated students who didn’t blindly worship authority.

“Ladies and gentlemen, do you know about Metamorphmagi? Wizards who can change their appearance freely without Polyjuice Potion.”

She continued, “Their method of proof is simple. By having a wizard drink Polyjuice Potion over a long period, they allow magic to remember the feeling of transformation, creating an artificial Metamorphmagus.”

“Artificial? Wait, Professor!”

A brown-haired Gryffindor boy suddenly interrupted. “Are you saying Uagadou actually experimented on wizards?!”

“Strictly speaking… yes.”

Professor McGonagall paused, not avoiding the question. “But Mr. Jones, the letter states that the subject was an unforgivable Dark wizard, and the experiment posed no risk to life.”

The boy still looked stunned.

McGonagall sighed. “I don’t think it’s right either. But different countries have different circumstances. Whether it’s humane isn’t for outsiders to decide.”

She clapped her hands. “Now then, let’s set that aside and focus on magical theory.”

Sensing the mood had grown heavy, the Ravenclaw girl kindly raised her hand. “Professor, did the experiment succeed?”

“Not exactly. As of today, the subject has been drinking Polyjuice Potion for over two years, yet still can’t freely change appearance like a Metamorphmagus.”

McGonagall continued, then shifted her tone. “But it wasn’t without results.”

“According to the report, when drinking the same amount, his transformation time lasted more than half again as long as others’.

Uagadou believes this is evidence of magic beginning to remember.”

The Ravenclaw girl nodded thoughtfully. “So if it continues, the experiment might succeed?”

“Yes,” McGonagall confirmed.

At that moment, she turned her gaze to the student who had been silent all along.

“Mr. Avery, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

Hearing his name, Avery snapped out of his daze.

Seeing everyone looking at him, he straightened immediately and said apologetically, “Sorry, Professor. I was distracted.”

McGonagall nodded, not angry.

She read the papers too. She knew what today meant for Avery.

“Well, it’s getting late. That’s all for today’s meeting. Think more about the theory we discussed, and we’ll continue next time.”

After explaining the material to Avery separately, she dismissed the gathering.

The three students packed their things, stood, and said goodbye before leaving one by one.

“Wait, Mr. Avery.”

Just as they were about to leave the room, McGonagall couldn’t help calling out to him.

Facing his puzzled gaze, she offered no extra comfort, only a simple, firm sentence:

“Trust your Headmaster.”

Avery froze, then bowed slightly.

“Yes. Thank you, Professor.”

___________

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