At the Gryffindor table.

Harry watched as Neville was pulled away by someone, hesitating slightly. “Ron, should we follow and check it out?”

Though they had just started school and weren’t very close yet, they were still dorm mates. Harry felt that if Neville was in trouble, he ought to help.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Red-haired Ron waved his hand and focused on gnawing a chicken leg, mumbling with his mouth full,

“Anyway, that first-year isn’t a slimy Slytherin… Ravenclaws are just a bunch of bookworms, nothing to worry about… mm, you should try this!”

“But…”

Harry looked at the meat stuffed into his hand, still feeling uneasy.

Ron interrupted him with a hum, “Relax, Hermione followed after them, didn’t she? She knows tons of stuff. If anything happens, she’ll handle it.”

There was a bit of annoyance in his voice, clearly still holding a grudge against the girl who had acted all high and mighty on the train.

Ron quickly changed the subject:

“By the way, Harry. Didn’t you say your scar hurt yesterday when you saw that Snape guy? We should ask Hagrid about it later!”

“Ask… ask about what?”

“About the professor’s secret, of course!” Ron said excitedly, lowering his voice. “I mean, look at him. Doesn’t he seem suspicious to you?”

“But… isn’t that a bit wrong?” Harry hesitated.

He cared about the pain in his scar, but after all, Snape was a professor… well, at least before Potions class, Harry still had some respect left for him.

The two continued chatting back and forth, gradually forgetting about Neville.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table—Two identical twins exchanged a glance.

“Fred, I think I smell a secret brewing,” said George Weasley, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. A little Ravenclaw eagle leading two of our baby lions… where could they be headed?” Fred Weasley mused, pretending to be a detective deep in thought. “Hmm, that’s a good question.”

“Oh, heavens!”

George said mock-seriously, “You’re not thinking about following them, are you? That’s not a very noble act! If Mum finds out, she’ll tan your hide!”

“Oh, I think Mum would actually praise me for being helpful… what if something goes wrong? We have to look out for our little brother lions, right?” Fred argued loudly.

They looked at each other and, after a moment, spoke in unison, “After all, we’re not as cold-hearted as little Ronnie!”

Laughing loudly, the twins slipped out of the Great Hall, away from the crowd. They carefully pulled out a roll of parchment and, heads pressed together, studied it closely.

……..

“Hey! Where exactly are you taking us?”

On the ever-changing moving staircases, Hermione panted, trying to keep up.

She found these staircases incredibly annoying, flipping and shifting endlessly, making her climb what felt like a hundred extra flights.

Dawn led the way ahead, not even looking back.

“It’s Neville I’m taking, not you… Miss Granger, I don’t recall ever inviting you along.”

“No way! I have to keep an eye on you! If you bully Neville, I’ll tell Professor McGonagall!” Hermione shouted.

Dawn felt Neville’s chubby wrist stiffen slightly in his palm at the word “bully.”

He couldn’t be bothered to argue and simply kept climbing.

After a while, they reached the eighth floor. Dawn found a certain tapestry, and under Hermione’s confused gaze, he paced back and forth three times.

“Alright, we’re here.”

Gripping a doorknob that suddenly appeared on the wall, he turned to the wide-eyed Hermione and Neville:

“This is the Room of Requirement. If you pace back and forth in front of the tapestry three times while thinking about what you need, the room will transform to meet that need.”

“Oh! Merlin’s beard!”

Hermione, already influenced by wizarding culture, gasped. “How do you know about this place?”

“Found it by accident while exploring the castle this morning,” Dawn replied vaguely, pushing open the door while pulling Neville along.

Hermione followed curiously, gazing around at the blazing fireplace and the tables covered with potions and toads.

“Is this yours? What are you doing here?”

“Experimenting with potions.”

“Experimenting with potions?” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Is it the kind you mentioned on the train?”

“Something like that,” Dawn answered.

He released Neville and, after taking a few steps forward, leaned casually against a table, looking at the plump boy.

“Neville, come on. Try casting a Lumos spell.”

Dawn wanted to see what differences would emerge when different people with different magical signatures cast the same spell. Having Hermione along gave him a useful point of comparison.

“L-Lumos?”

Neville blushed, fumbling nervously. “B-but we haven’t had lessons yet… I-I haven’t learned it.”

He tugged at his robes awkwardly, as if bracing for a scolding.

Dawn fell silent for a moment.

Right… he had overlooked that.

In the original story, Neville indeed had poor talent in spellcasting. His most impressive moments were usually when he wielded a sword, not a wand.

“Miss Granger, you give it a try,” Dawn said after a pause, turning his head.

“Oh, no problem!”

Hermione smiled confidently, drawing her wand. °Lumos°

Immediately, a bright light blossomed from the tip of her wand.

“Good!” Dawn nodded at the billowing magic light and the images flowing within it.

Clapping his hands, he added, “Now, Miss Granger, I’m leaving Neville in your care. Teach him how to use the Lumos spell.”

“…What?”

Hermione froze.

She had been holding her head high, expecting to see shock on Dawn’s face—but instead, she got a completely natural-sounding order.

The light at the tip of her wand slowly faded.

Realizing what had just happened, Hermione grew furious, her hair practically frizzing up:

“How dare you say I have no friends… I bet you don’t even have anyone your own age you can hold a proper conversation with!”

“Equivalent exchange.”

Dawn ignored her, pointing lazily at their surroundings.

“The Room of Requirement’s secret isn’t known to many people. Since I shared it with you, you owe me something in return.”

At these words, Hermione was instantly rendered speechless. All she could do was glare at him fiercely before turning to Neville, confirming he agreed, and starting to teach him by the side.

Why?!

Why did this guy always have such twisted logic that she couldn’t refute?!

Hermione fumed, feeling that if she spent any more time around Dawn, she’d surely be driven mad one day.

……..

Why?

This question lingered in Dawn’s mind too.

Why was Neville’s magic signature so different?

It was already a known fact to Dawn that every wizard had individual differences in their magic. But Neville’s case wasn’t just a “small difference”—

Up close, Dawn could see it even clearer.

Neville’s magic mist was filled with patterns that were smaller, more numerous, and with rough, uneven edges, unlike the smooth, abstract forms typical of others.

Broken.

That was Dawn’s first impression.

But could magic itself even be “broken”?

Sitting back in a chair, Dawn stopped fiddling with the potions and thought carefully about what made Neville different from others in the original story.

First of all—Neville was also a “child of prophecy.”

Back when Voldemort was about to fall, there were two children who fit the prophecy. Voldemort chose Harry and overlooked Neville.

However this shouldn’t have anything to do with magic itself.

Harry Potter’s magic, which Dawn had carefully observed during the Sorting Ceremony, had no particularly unusual traits like Neville’s.

Then…

What else could explain it?

Dawn crossed his arms, resting his chin on them, eyes half-closed.

“No! No! I told you many times, you need to lightly flick the wand as you say the spell, not after!” Hermione’s frustrated voice echoed from the side.

Dawn’s train of thought was broken. He frowned, about to snap at her—but then suddenly froze.

Actually…

If he had to name something…

Neville did have one more characteristic, though it was hard to call it a good one. His talent was poor, and he had a terrible memory.

_______________

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep