Saturday.

Eight in the evening.

Drifting sand seemed to spread across the dark teal sky.

Dumbledore returned to the castle, exhaustion written all over him.

He had been busy for the past two days. Because of Thomas’s case, he needed to explain matters to both the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot.

Beyond that, he was also trying to find another place where Thomas could continue his studies.

The old headmaster did not want to see a twelve-year-old abandon his future so early.

And with Dawn’s past as a cautionary example, he feared that without proper guidance, Thomas might gradually drift toward the path of a dark wizard.

Unfortunately.

Nothing was that simple.

Earlier that day, he had contacted Madame Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, hoping she might accept Thomas as a transfer student in France.

“Albus, I truly wish to help you—but I am also a headmistress. I must be responsible for the children in my school.”

“So unless you can provide proof that Mr. Thomas was being controlled, rather than acting of his own will, I can only offer my apologies.”

Dumbledore felt regret, but he could not fault Madame Maxime’s decision.

He understood all too well the responsibility she bore toward her students.

That meant the priority now was to uncover the method by which someone had manipulated the young wizards, clear Thomas’s name, and expose the person behind it all.

Fortunately, the other attacker, Colin Creevey, was not yet in such dire circumstances, as far fewer people knew of his involvement.

Lost in thought, Dumbledore arrived at the eighth floor, where his office was located.

But before speaking the password to the stone gargoyle, he noticed a tightly wrapped package placed near the entrance.

A piece of parchment rested on top, written in ink with the words: “For the Headmaster.”

What was this?

Dumbledore frowned slightly. After confirming it was not dangerous, he picked it up and used his authority as headmaster to check who had left it there.

“The Weasley twins.”

Dumbledore shook his head helplessly. He assumed it was another prank item they had sent.

Though he was already very tired, as an educator, the old headmaster did not want to dampen the children’s enthusiasm. He decided to experience it properly and then write them a letter in response.

The door opened.

Dumbledore rode the moving staircase up and stepped onto the semicircular platform, then pulled out a chair and sat down.

After drinking a cup of red tea and eating some sweets to settle his stomach, he opened the package.

Clink.

Something fell onto the desk with a clear sound.

Hmm?

Dumbledore stroked his beard in surprise.

What had fallen out was not a dungbomb or anything similar, but simply a polished mirror.

A two-way mirror?

Recognizing the item only deepened his confusion.

Was there something they wanted me to see?

Recalling the twins’ penchant for clever ideas, Dumbledore felt a trace of anticipation. He bent a finger and lightly tapped the surface of the mirror.

Whoosh.

It was like ripples spreading across water.

A new image abruptly appeared on the white surface.

Dumbledore lowered his gaze. Due to the angle, he could only see a dark wooden table. An oil lamp stood in the corner, casting a murky glow.

Where is this?

The headmaster frowned. By instinct alone, he sensed that this place was not within the castle. Something felt wrong.

At that moment, the image in the mirror suddenly tilted.

It seemed the person on the other end had heard the sound and picked up the mirror.

And in the very next instant—

A face that had long haunted Dumbledore’s thoughts appeared before his eyes without any warning.

Dumbledore’s gaze wavered, then instantly sharpened. He called out the name almost against his will.

“Dawn.”

“Long time no see, Headmaster.”

Dawn greeted him calmly and pulled out a chair, sitting down at the table.

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, then sighed softly. “As I thought… you didn’t die after all.”

“Yes—though why do you seem so surprised?”

Dawn rubbed his temples. His face showed the same weariness as Dumbledore’s. “I would have thought that, with your wisdom, you would have known this long ago.”

“Ha, my child, you flatter me. Until this moment, it was nothing more than a suspicion. Only now, seeing you, do I have confirmation.”

As he spoke to the mirror, Dumbledore silently called for Fawkes in his heart.

Dawn smiled faintly, as though he had seen through the old headmaster’s intentions.

“Headmaster, if you’re thinking of having Fawkes bring you to me, you can save yourself the trouble.”

He leaned the mirror against the oil lamp and added, almost kindly, “This is a place phoenixes cannot reach. And as for Apparition—that’s even less possible.”

Dawn was currently hiding in a location within the Vatican, reinforced by Slughorn using the Fidelius Charm.

From his experiences searching for Horcruxes at Sirius Black’s ancestral home, Dawn had deduced that the Fidelius Charm could effectively prevent a phoenix’s arrival.

Dumbledore did not take Dawn’s words at face value.

But when he called for Fawkes and saw the phoenix shake his head, he could only abandon the idea of a sudden visit with regret.

He picked up a cockroach cluster and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“So, my boy, have you appeared this time just to watch me fume in frustration, knowing full well that I cannot find you?”

“Why would you think that?” Dawn raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Dumbledore relaxed, blinked, and stood up to retrieve a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo from the bookshelf, holding it up to the mirror.

“I’ve read quite a few books from the Muggle world. I imagine that young people like you are rather fond of this sort of plot.”

“Perhaps some are,” Dawn shrugged. “But Headmaster, I’m not quite that bored.”

The two of them continued chatting through the two-way mirror. To any onlooker, they might have seemed like a pair of teacher and student sharing a warm conversation.

But both of them knew that was far from the truth.

“Alright, Headmaster. I’ve enjoyed talking with you. But there’s something more important I need to discuss.”

After a short while, it was Dawn who lost patience first and interrupted. “Do you remember our encounter in Iceland?”

“Of course.”

Dumbledore nodded slightly and listened carefully. He was, in truth, quite curious about why Dawn had suddenly contacted him.

Dawn took a deep breath and asked softly, “Then, Headmaster —could you tell me the date on which you went to Iceland?”

The date?

Dumbledore was puzzled by the question, but he began to recall the sequence of events.

He had received a request for help from the New Zealand Minister for Magic on Christmas Day.

While using a Pensieve to examine the memories of airplane passengers, he had unexpectedly discovered Dawn’s traces.

The next day, he went to Egypt to investigate.

After finding nothing, he traveled to Nurmengard and obtained a clue from Gellert: a red-roofed house in Iceland.

Which meant—

He had encountered Dawn in Iceland on December 26.

December 26…

Dumbledore suddenly frowned.

For reasons he could not immediately explain, a sense of discord surfaced in his mind, as if something did not quite align.

“You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you, Headmaster?”

In the mirror, Dawn’s eyes glinted crimson under the lamplight. His voice was low and eerie.

“The two of us… have run into serious trouble this time.”

___________

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