Dawn exchanged nods with the other professors and stood to one side, not making a sound.

Inside the room, a boy with dark skin and curly hair, his eyes rimmed red, anxiously tried to explain himself to Dumbledore.

“I didn’t do it, Professor—

I really didn’t!”

The old headmaster soothed him gently.

Snape, however, let out a cold snort.

“Mr. Thomas, I suggest you tell the truth. When Dumbledore arrived last night, he personally witnessed you casting the spell.

To claim now that you did nothing—do you take us all for fools?”

The boy opened his mouth, completely at a loss.

After listening for a while, Dawn finally understood what had happened.

At around five in the morning, the young wizard named Dean Thomas had cast the Blood Extraction Spell on the sleeping Harry. Afraid of making noise, he had also used a Petrification Charm.

Dumbledore discovered it in time and intervened—but afterward, Dean flatly denied having done any of it.

Dawn quietly asked Professor McGonagall, “Was it the Imperius Curse?”

“No,” McGonagall shook her head and replied softly. “Albus checked. There are no signs that Mr. Thomas has been subjected to that spell recently.”

Dawn frowned.

He was certain that this incident—one that never appeared in the original story—had to be closely connected to Voldemort.

But if it wasn’t the Imperius Curse, what method had been used to make Dean do this?

“Enough, Severus. I do not believe Mr. Thomas is that kind of person.”

Dumbledore interrupted Snape’s questioning. “He is an upright child. I believe he would never harm his classmates.”

“Perhaps he didn’t think he was harming anyone—only having a bit of fun?”

Snape sneered.

“Those foolish Gryffindor lions have no sense of limits. Getting hold of an entertaining spell and taking it too far is hardly unusual.”

A deeply buried fury flickered in his eyes, as though he were recalling childhood memories of being tormented by Harry’s father, nearly dying at the jaws of a werewolf.

Hearing this, McGonagall naturally stepped in to defend her house, her expression stern.

“Severus, I find that accusation completely inappropriate.”

Snape still held some respect for McGonagall. At her words, he closed his mouth and said no more.

But the atmosphere in the dormitory had already grown tense.

Professor Sprout squeezed her way into the center, waving her hands to ease things.

“All right, all right! Everyone—what matters now is the incident itself.”

The plump witch offered a new line of thought.

“Could it be some kind of Dark artifact that influences the mind?

I know Mr. Thomas as well—he’s a very upright child. He truly doesn’t seem like someone who would do such a thing.”

“Pomona makes a good point,” Dumbledore said gravely, nodding.

He recalled last Halloween’s attack on Harry and likewise suspected Voldemort’s shadow behind this incident.

“Mr. Thomas,” Dumbledore asked solemnly, “during the last school year, did you experience anything unusual?”

“Or perhaps—did you have any contact with Professor Kettleburn?”

Professor Kettleburn?

Dean looked confused by the name. After thinking for a moment, he hesitated.

“Uh… I don’t think so? I don’t remember having any contact with that professor.”

“Is that so?” Dumbledore murmured, falling into thought.

At the side, Dawn’s eyebrows twitched slightly.

Dumbledore knew the truth behind last Halloween’s incident, so in this matter he must also suspect Voldemort’s involvement, just as Dawn did.

And with Kettleburn suddenly mentioned, along with Hagrid taking over the post earlier than expected, Dawn had already formed a rough picture of what had happened last year around the Philosopher’s Stone.

At that moment, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Regardless, I believe it is necessary to conduct a thorough search of the Gryffindor common room.”

No one objected.

Even Snape accepted it with a stiff expression.

So troublesome.

Dawn felt it was a complete waste of time.

He wanted to say that if this had nothing to do with him, could he leave—but he knew that voicing it would do more harm than good.

The professors began searching from Harry’s dormitory. Dawn blended in, pretending to lift the bedding of one of the students.

After a brief search, he turned away in boredom, about to move elsewhere. But just then, his eyes caught on something on the windowsill.

A potted herb with deep blue leaves—instantly familiar.

Crescent-shaped flowers rose gracefully, beaded with dew.

Pale light scattered across the speckled leaves, making them look, for a moment, like a brilliant galaxy.

Dawn froze.

“This is—”

“I–I grew the silver star grass.”

Neville raised his hand shakily, his face pale. “P-Professor… is there something wrong with it?”

Everyone looked over.

Dawn snapped back to himself and covered smoothly, “Sorry. I just don’t often see this herb and got curious.”

Professor Sprout picked up the thread.

“I was just about to say—you’ve taken very good care of it, Neville.”

She smiled kindly at the chubby boy.

“For silver star grass to bloom, you have to reshape its restless branches into crescent forms between midnight and three in the morning.”

“And if you miss even one day, it withers. Child, you’ve been taking excellent care of it.”

There was approval in her eyes, as if she were seeing a promising student grow. Still, she gently advised, “But during the school term, it’s best not to overwork yourself.”

Neville nodded awkwardly, lowering his head.

Dawn looked dazed, pressing his lips together.

In that instant, a strange emotion surged up inside him.

He had never expected that the herb he’d handed over simply to avoid trouble would still be so carefully tended—even after more than half a year of being hunted.

“Your silver star grass—I’ve been taking very good care of it.”

He suddenly recalled Neville tugging at his sleeve in the Potions classroom and saying those words.

It really was… hard to bear.

Dawn closed his eyes briefly.

“All right, let’s stop wasting time. We’ve confirmed there’s nothing unusual in this dormitory. Let’s finish searching the rest of the common room.”

Snape cut in coldly.

The professors filed out.

Dawn glanced once at Neville, who was twisting his fingers nervously, then followed with a blank expression.

They spent nearly two hours searching every corner, but found no Dark artifacts.

The Weasley twins, however, suffered for it—every prank item hidden in their dorm was confiscated by an enraged McGonagall.

“Let’s leave it at that. Continuing the investigation won’t accomplish much.”

Dumbledore sighed, bringing the fruitless search to an end.

He turned to Dawn.

“Professor Hickman, I’m very sorry.

Although I promised you the freedom to choose your teaching content, until this matter is resolved, may I ask you to temporarily refrain from teaching dangerous spells?”

“Of course,” Dawn replied without objection.

“Thank you for your understanding.”

Dumbledore nodded, looking weary.

Snape suddenly interjected without emotion, “Dumbledore, what about Dean Thomas? Do you still believe he’s innocent?”

“Yes. I do.”

Dumbledore nodded gently.

Snape looked dissatisfied, but meeting the pleading look in Dumbledore’s eyes, he frowned and swallowed the rest of his words.

___________

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