He pushed his chair back, rose from the table, and left the Great Hall without drawing attention.

“Hurry up, Neville! Class starts in thirty minutes! And it’s Snape’s Potions class first—Merlin’s beard, if we’re late, he’ll kill me himself!”

As Murphy passed the doors, he saw a red-haired boy dragging a chubby boy down the stairs, loudly slandering their Head of House.

How nice, Murphy thought.

Since Halloween, that carefree school life seemed to have drifted farther and farther away from him.

The staircase shifted.

Murphy was carried up to the eighth floor, where he quickly found the tapestry mentioned in the letter.

Not knowing what awaited him, he still followed the instructions, muttering his request as he walked back and forth three times.

A door appeared in the wall.

Murphy froze. In six years at Hogwarts, he’d never known this place existed.

He didn’t rush in.

Gripping his wand, Murphy placed his hand on the doorknob.

The door opened.

The room was small. A cupboard stood in one corner, a table in the center, with two chairs beside it.

Murphy looked around the empty space.

“Dawn Richter! I’m here. Where are you?”

His voice echoed hollowly.

When no one appeared, he frowned and turned his attention to the only possible hiding place. Approaching cautiously, he flicked his wand and opened the cupboard.

It was empty.

“Not here yet?”

Murphy murmured, lowering his wand.

Then—

As if sensing something, he suddenly turned around.

Someone was already seated at the table, leaning back casually against a chair.

Dawn sat there with his hands clasped on the tabletop, crimson eyes fixed on Murphy without emotion.

When?

Murphy’s heart skipped.

He hadn’t heard a single sound. An Invisibility Charm?

“Sorry, I’m late,” Dawn said. “Just like last time—you always arrive earlier than I expect.”

He stood up. “But never mind. None of that matters.”

Looking at the wary blond boy, fatigue filled his gaze. “Let’s end this quickly, Avery.”

Murphy didn’t quite understand what he meant, but it didn’t matter. He raised his wand. “Where’s my father?”

“Here.”

Dawn took a small stone from his pocket and showed it. After Murphy confirmed it wasn’t dangerous, Dawn tossed it lightly.

Bang!

The stone expanded in midair, transforming into a familiar figure that slammed heavily onto the floor.

Murphy’s hand trembled. His breathing turned ragged.

“This is—”

“Your father,” Dawn said flatly. “I killed him at the Skye Island Quidditch pitch.”

“That’s impossible!”

Murphy’s heart raced as if seized in a vice, his face flushing red. “Why would my father go to Skye Island? This is fake! You won’t fool me!”

Dawn’s expression remained calm, as if dealing with a child throwing a tantrum. “If that’s what you think, then check for yourself.”

Murphy’s teeth ground together.

He scanned the body desperately, searching for some detail only he would know—anything to prove it was a Transfiguration fake.

But in the end, despair struck him.

The body was real.

The small scar at the base of the thumb. The inconspicuous mole behind the ear.

Every detail matched.

Murphy’s mind went blank.

Strangely, he even thought that perhaps he should cry a little, just to appear like a proper son.

Ha.

He covered his face, unsure why such thoughts arose. His heart raced, then gradually slowed, until suddenly, he felt as if nothing mattered anymore.

“Strange,” Dawn frowned. “Avery, why aren’t you crying? Aren’t you sad?”

“Sad? I don’t know,” Murphy answered honestly. “But I do know what I should do now—kill you.”

Bang!

Two spells collided at the same time, then rebounded off shimmering shields.

Like two gunslingers drawing at once.

Brilliant light scattered across the floor as killing intent boiled with every step.

“Avery, why aren’t you using the Killing Curse?” Dawn mocked, dodging an invisible blade that left a deep cut in the wall behind him.

“Facing your father’s murderer with such cowardice is laughable.”

He flicked his wand.

The flat floor tilted violently, sending the table and chairs sliding toward Murphy. As Murphy stumbled, Dawn cast a Blasting Curse.

The spell blew a hole through the cupboard instead.

Murphy transfigured the chandelier above into a rope, wrapped it around his waist, and yanked himself upward.

He didn’t answer Dawn’s taunts, continuing instead with Snape’s taught Sectumsempra.

Why not use the Killing Curse?

Because he didn’t know it.

Old Avery believed learning Unforgivable Curses too early would harm body and mind, insisting his son wait until after graduation.

Murphy regretted not insisting more.

But it didn’t matter.

Whether Blasting Curses or Sectumsempra, there were countless ways for one wizard to kill another.

Spell against spell.

Murphy summoned fire; Dawn extinguished it with a jet of water.

White steam rose, only to be scattered by transfigured eagles and beasts clashing midair.

After several exchanges, Murphy noticed a loose piece of stone that had fallen near Dawn’s foot when the wall cracked earlier.

He narrowed his eyes.

During the chaos, he subtly transfigured it into a green snake.

In the instant Dawn looked away, the snake leapt up and bit into his wand hand.

Just as I thought.

Richter’s Shield Charm couldn’t block attacks from behind.

Sweat dripped from Murphy’s temples, but his eyes shone brighter.

I can win.

Dawn Richter was strong—far stronger than any first-year—but Murphy was seventeen.

This fight—

I can win.

°Expelliarmus°

Murphy roared.

Instead of a single cutting spell, he chose the Disarming Charm, pressing the attack continuously.

Red light battered Dawn’s shield, sparks flying as Dawn was forced backward.

Murphy’s hair clung damply to his forehead, but he didn’t care. His gaze was locked on the cracks forming in the shimmering barrier.

It was about to break.

Finally—

With a sound like shattering glass, the spell pierced through and struck Dawn squarely.

Dawn grunted, bracing himself, but his wand flew from his grip and clattered across the floor.

Murphy panted, pointing his wand at him. “You’re right, Richter. It’s time to end this.”

He held Sectumsempra at the tip of his tongue, eyes filled with grim satisfaction. “Any last words?”

“Last words?”

Dawn chuckled. He grabbed the snake biting his wrist and tore it off, tossing it aside.

Blood splattered as flesh tore away, tendons exposed.

Unfazed, Dawn looked at him. “Avery, I admit I underestimated you. So let’s leave it at this for now.”

“Next time, I will kill you.”

Next time?

Murphy frowned.

He wanted to say there would be no next time—but then he remembered how Dawn had once appeared out of nowhere in a first-year Potions classroom.

Apparition was forbidden in the castle, so he’d dismissed that idea.

But whatever the method, Dawn clearly had a way to escape.

°Sectumsempra°

Murphy didn’t hesitate. The invisible blade flashed toward Dawn’s neck.

“Too late, Mr. Avery.”

Dawn shook his head calmly. His body began to fade, on the verge of disappearing.

“Coward! Don’t run!”

Murphy shouted in fury.

Then—

A red spell shot from the corner of the room.

It struck Dawn precisely before he vanished. Dawn stumbled, letting out a confused grunt, then collapsed unconscious.

The incoming Sectumsempra was deflected aside by a wand.

“H-Headmaster?”

Murphy stared in shock as Dumbledore appeared, stepping out of the air itself.

“Why… why are you here?”

___________

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