If someone were to ask: what does it feel like to work as a librarian at Hogwarts?

Then Amir, as someone who had experienced it firsthand, would answer honestly that it was truly a very good job.

It was easy, the young witches and wizards who came and went were pleasant to deal with, and the pay was decent.

More importantly, as a wizard whose strengths lay far more in theory than practice, Amir genuinely loved reading. Working here felt like a fish in water.

He straightened a few slightly crooked books on the shelf.

Thinking back on how he’d repeatedly failed to find work in the past, he cherished the life he now had and approached his duties with great care.

°Scourgify°

During his rounds, Amir suddenly noticed a gray handprint on the side panel of a bookshelf. He immediately grasped his wand and solemnly cast the cleaning spell.

The next second, the small stain vanished under the effect of magic.

Though it was only a simple spell, succeeding on the first try still made Amir beam with pride. A sense of accomplishment surged through him as he fondly stroked the smooth wand shaft and even rubbed it against his cheek.

“Excellent casting.”

A voice suddenly spoke from beside him.

Amir froze on the spot.

Reacting in an instant, he tucked his wand away at lightning speed, his toes digging into the floor as he turned his head stiffly.

A young man with flaxen hair and gray eyes stood beside him.

It was the newly arrived Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Amir recognized him immediately.

He cleared his throat and tried to cover up what had just happened. “Professor Hickman, are you looking for a book? I can help you find it.”

“No, I just saw your impressive spellwork and got curious.”

Impressive spellwork?

Was he talking about a Scouring Charm that first-years could cast?

Amir’s expression stiffened. He assumed the professor was being sarcastic and mocking him, and irritation flared up inside.

But faced with a real professor, he could only swallow his anger.

“You flatter me,” he said stiffly.

“No, I’m stating a fact.”

Dawn smiled faintly, his gaze sincere. “Your pronunciation, the variation in your incantation, the wand movement—everything was flawless. It could be called perfect.”

Of course, this was an outright lie.

In Dawn’s eyes, any wizard who needed spoken incantations and standard gestures just to cast a spell was a hopeless mediocrity.

But if he wanted to strike up a conversation, he knew he had to be a little hypocritical.

Seeing the professor’s earnest expression, Amir realized he’d misunderstood and felt slightly embarrassed. “Sir, you’re exaggerating. I’m still just a beginner when it comes to spellcasting.”

And so, starting from that topic, the two naturally began chatting.

Amir was curious about the professor’s life. Seeing that Dawn didn’t put on airs, he couldn’t help asking a few questions.

“It’s more tiring than I imagined,” Dawn said, deliberately complaining. “Feels like the moment I open my eyes, it’s time for class. I barely have any time for myself.”

Amir’s eyes filled with admiration. “But sir, being able to become a professor and teach others— even if it’s tiring, that’s still something worth aspiring to!”

“You’re not wrong,” Dawn replied with a smile. “Still, I hope Christmas comes sooner.”

“Hah! Because once students go on holiday, things get quiet, right?” Amir laughed along.

But beneath that smile, a deep gloom lay hidden in his heart.

Lately, the blood curse had been flaring up more and more frequently. Amir didn’t know how many more Christmases he would be able to experience with a clear mind.

Dawn narrowed his eyes and steered the conversation toward “what makes Christmas at Hogwarts special,” chatting with Amir at length.

But he wasn’t merely talking.

As the topic reached this point, Amir naturally thought of the Christmas he’d spent in Egypt the year before. That resurfacing memory made it convenient for Dawn to use Legilimency.

On the surface, Dawn chatted and laughed with him, but in reality, scenes from Amir’s perspective were already unfolding in his mind.

Disappointingly, he found nothing strange at all. Everything was utterly ordinary.

With no gain to be had, Dawn didn’t waste any more time. He made an excuse, ended the conversation, nodded in farewell, and left the library.

But what should he do next?

Standing by a corridor window, Dawn looked at the bright sunlight outside and found himself at a loss.

Should he go look for William?

But that chubby kid had no idea where he’d been sent off to by now.

Dawn leaned his elbow on the windowsill, letting the breeze brush his face as he slowly closed his eyes.

No. Calm down, he told himself.

He had already completed magical creature transformation and obtained a phoenix’s immortality. Whatever this strange sensation was, he had plenty of room to deal with it.

No matter how bad it got, how could it be worse than being hunted by Anubis and Dumbledore at the same time last year?

Dawn rubbed his face and let out a bitter laugh.

He could hardly believe that after enjoying a stretch of peaceful life, his ability to regulate himself in a crisis had dulled to this extent.

Shaking his head, he was about to leave when he suddenly heard two students chatting somewhere down the corridor.

“When I went to the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey about a fever, I saw the famous Boy Who Lived lying there. What happened to him?”

“Huh? You didn’t know? You’re way behind on the news! I heard he got stabbed really badly during class yesterday.”

“Whoa! Stabbed? Seriously? Who did it?”

Their voices faded as they turned a corner, until Dawn could no longer hear them.

That reminded him of the conclusion already reached yesterday.

The pure-blood family governors were extremely well informed. That very evening, they had come to the school and jointly demanded punishment for the culprit of attempted murder.

Aside from genuine concern for their own children, their real goal was to strike at Dumbledore’s authority.

Under the headmaster’s firm arguments, Thomas avoided being sent to Azkaban—but his wand was snapped, and he was expelled from the school.

Dumbledore was still Dumbledore.

He was willing to do anything for his students, but never beyond the boundaries allowed by law.

Dawn was glad he’d chosen to leave the castle last school year. If he’d stayed, who knew what kind of disgusting situations he might have run into?

Lost in thought, Dawn returned to his office.

He had just sat down at his desk when Snowcrow happened to fly in through the window, a folded copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in its right talon.

Without even looking, Dawn knew today’s paper would be filled with sensational reporting about the Boy Who Lived being stabbed, just like the uproar they’d made last year when denouncing him.

And Dumbledore would undoubtedly be painted once again as incompetent and muddle-headed.

Unfortunately, Dawn had no interest in watching Dumbledore’s troubles unfold. His mind was consumed by something else entirely.

After brooding for a long time, he finally sighed.

“Forget it.”

He muttered under his breath, rubbing his aching temples.

If there was no lead at all, then wasting time on blind speculation was pointless. He should set this aside for now and investigate later when the opportunity arose.

That was the sensible choice.

He collected himself, picked up Medieval Dark Magic Analysis, and tried to find records related to the Scarecrow Curse.

But only moments later—

“Fuck!”

With a loud slap, Dawn shut the book, cursed, and flung it onto the corner of the desk as he stood up, irritation written all over his face.

No—this wouldn’t work! He couldn’t ignore this strange sensation any longer. He couldn’t calm down at all.

Dawn decided to follow his instincts.

He tapped the long-spouted kettle, opened the door that appeared in the wall, and walked into his quarters, reaching out to light the fireplace in the corner.

Then he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the side, called out “The Leaky Cauldron,” and tossed the powder in.

Whoosh—

The flames surged upward.

Dawn stepped in.

As the fire roared, his figure vanished amid scattered ash.

He emerged from another fireplace, dusting off his clothes and looking around the pub.

It was Saturday, and business was booming. Old Tom hurried back and forth, carrying drinks and food to the tables.

He didn’t notice Dawn coming out from the back.

And Dawn didn’t greet him either.

He pushed open the door and left the pub.

On the busy streets of London, he found an empty alley, canceled his transformation, and returned to his red-eyed child form.

At the same time, he restored the outermost layer to phoenix traits.

A faint warmth seeped outward from his bones.

Dawn flexed his limbs comfortably, feeling far more at ease in his own body. Then, with a sharp popping sound, he vanished from the deserted alley.

Egypt.

Yellow sands rolled endlessly.

Dawn appeared beside the Nile. After orienting himself, he walked a short distance and soon saw a familiar courtyard—Harris’s residence.

Since he couldn’t settle his mind, he decided to roughly reenact the events of last Christmas. Even if he found nothing, at least he could put his heart at ease.

Creak—

The wooden door let out a grating sound as it opened.

Dawn lifted his sleeve to block the stale smell rushing toward him and looked into the house under the dim light.

After more than half a year without occupants, thick dust covered everything. Spiderwebs hung from the chandelier, spreading across nearly half the living room.

The clutter lay exactly where it had been when he’d last left.

Had Harris still not come out of Tutankhamun’s tomb?

Dawn frowned, thinking of Harris vanishing inside the burial chamber. If he’d escaped successfully, surely he would’ve returned at least once.

But that wasn’t important.

Dawn cleaned the room with a few spells, then, as if on autopilot, went to the black market.

Using a Disillusionment Charm and a Stunning Spell, he abducted a wizard and dragged him up to the third floor.

°Reducto°

Using his finger as a wand, Dawn cast the Blasting Curse on the black lines outside the man’s abstract sigil structure.

Crack!

With an imagined snapping sound, natural magic in the room grew dense and surged into the man’s body.

Amid suppressed, agonized screams, the man’s form twisted and compressed until he finally turned into a scrawny black hunting dog.

Dawn watched coldly, his mind empty, capturing every detail.

The transformation continued.

Gradually, the man’s own magic, fueled by resistance and emotion, expelled the natural magic from his body. After more distortion, he reverted from a hunting dog back into human form.

Dawn detected nothing unusual in the process.

Frowning in thought, he fed the man a Draught of Living Death, covered him with a bedsheet, and left the room.

Next came the living room meal.

To make it more authentic, he even repurchased the food and decorations Amir had bought last Christmas, based on the memories he’d read.

Then he conjured a Christmas tree with Transfiguration and made snow fall from the ceiling.

After eating, he went to the basement, checked the now-empty bookcase, and returned once more to the third floor.

Dawn lifted the sheet and again used the Blasting Curse to sever a section of black lines inside the man’s body.

This time, after the natural magic surged in, he didn’t let it develop freely. Instead, he deliberately interfered with Transfiguration, turning the abstract sigils one by one into phoenix traits.

And—

When the sigils flickered and were about to lose balance, he decisively cast the Killing Curse, ending the unlucky man’s life.

Dawn watched intently throughout.

Before coming here, he had suspected that if anything during Christmas could cause such a strange sense of dread, it would be the magical creature transformation experiment involving natural magic.

But now that the entire process was complete, even with his full attention, he found nothing amiss.

The dread and strange sensation did not return.

So the problem wasn’t here?

Dawn sighed in disappointment and Apparated away.

Iceland.

Snow and howling winds.

Though he’d gone from Egypt to a place with a temperature difference of dozens of degrees, Dawn felt no cold thanks to the phoenix’s power.

He crunched across the snow and stopped before a familiar red-roofed house.

Opening the door—

Like Harris’s residence, it too had been uninhabited for more than half a year. The traces of his brief clash with Dumbledore were still visible.

That reminded him—how exactly had Dumbledore found him back then?

Dawn had once guessed it might have something to do with prophecy.

Before completing the Luckspring ritual, he’d constantly worried that the headmaster might find him again.

Fortunately, everything had gone smoothly.

Dawn went up to the second floor.

On the wooden floor of one room, he found a large patch of brown, congealed residue.

This was the lethal potion he’d had the snake hold in its mouth, intending to use William and Amir’s lives to force Dumbledore to let him escape.

Dawn touched his normally beating heart.

Before, merely thinking about it would trigger a reaction, but now that he was here in person, the strange sensation was gone.

Since he was already here, he decided to complete the process.

He opened a window, used a Levitation Charm on his coat, and floated out.

After landing on the snow, he thought for a moment, conjured snow and big dogs, and had them pull him along the same route as before.

Snow splashed against his face, cold and damp.

Judging the distance, he reached a certain spot and tugged the reins, slowing the dogs to a stop.

The surrounding snowfield was pure white.

But Dawn knew that this was where Dumbledore’s Transfiguration had intercepted him—burning the ground, cutting into his flesh with steel wire, drawing blood.

Cornered, he’d been forced to perform a rough magical creature transformation here, using the phoenix’s ability to ignore anti-Apparition effects to escape Iceland.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore hadn’t been that simple, and Dawn’s plan to get away cleanly had soon fallen apart.

Thinking back, Dawn’s expression grew contemplative.

He glanced once more at the snow around him, flames flickering into view.

New York.

Clear skies and gentle winds.

When Dawn’s vision cleared again, he found himself standing atop the Statue of Liberty’s head.

The curved surface underfoot was uncomfortable. He remembered nearly slipping off while dodging Dumbledore’s spells.

Finding nothing unusual, Dawn didn’t linger and Apparated again.

The lost city of the Andes.

Uyuni Salt Flats in Bolivia.

La Sagrada Familia in Spain.

The Maldives’ blue coral islands.

The Eiffel Tower in Paris.

The Colosseum in Rome.

Dawn visited each place he had once been, even chaining Apparitions together to recreate the sensation of being chased.

But by the time his head throbbed so badly he had to stop, he still hadn’t found anything wrong.

Dawn sighed.

A thunderous roar echoed endlessly.

He stood before Niagara Falls, watching water plunge from the sky, spraying white mist like blossoming plums.

It was magnificent.

But it did nothing to lift his mood.

This trip had been a waste.

After this, there was only one thing left—returning to Hogwarts, using the castle’s anti-jinxes to create a time gap, and truly escaping Dumbledore’s grasp.

Dawn didn’t plan to appear at Hogwarts in his original form, so this troublesome journey ended here.

He still hadn’t found the source of the strange sensation.

Feeling exhausted, Dawn sat on a rock, quietly watching the waterfall.

As his thoughts drifted with the spray, he suddenly, inexplicably, thought of Neville.

He remembered the scene in Snape’s class when Neville tugged at his sleeve and said he’d taken good care of the Silver Star Grass.

Dawn frowned and snapped back to reality, his expression shifting.

Why was he thinking about Neville again?

He knew he had to find a way to sever ties with Neville as soon as possible!

Annoyed by the thought, Dawn stood up, ready to return to the castle.

But then—

He froze.

Snape’s class. Neville tugging at his sleeve.

Snape’s class?

Snape’s class?!

In that instant, Dawn’s entire body went rigid.

Bone-chilling terror surged through him.

His gaze went unfocused as a cold spread from his bones, as if he were buried beneath Antarctica’s eternal permafrost, his limbs slowly decaying.

How was that possible?!

Dawn’s pupils shook violently.

He lowered his head and recalculated again and again.

He had gone to Iceland the day after Christmas, encountered Dumbledore, risked everything to complete magical creature transformation using the balancing method, and then shaken Dumbledore off by going to Hogwarts.

Which meant he arrived at the castle on December 26.

But—

But—

Hogwarts always began Christmas holidays on December 21, lasting fourteen days, with term resuming on January 5!

So—

When he returned to Hogwarts—

How could he have encountered Snape teaching a class?!

Dawn clutched his head. The sunlight reflecting off the waterfall left afterimages in his vision, blurring reality.

A vast sense of absurdity and dread engulfed him.

Dawn staggered and collapsed against the cliff face.

What was going on?!

He watched sweat drip onto the stone and spread, his eyes dark and cold.

Pop—

A sharp explosion echoed.

Dawn snapped his head up and vanished from before the waterfall.

There was no time to waste. He had to find out the truth immediately, right now.

A burst of flame appeared in Hogsmeade.

Dawn arrived there and, with the last shred of his composure, altered his appearance into that of a gaunt wizard in his fifties.

It was Saturday. Though it wasn’t an official Hogsmeade weekend, Dawn was certain some students would sneak out.

Finding out exactly which day he’d appeared in the Potions classroom would be easy enough.

___________

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