“Ha! Look who it is! A lost little badger. Didn’t anyone tell you bathing in the hallway isn’t allowed?”

After smashing a water balloon onto someone’s head, Peeves floated in the air clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he nearly tumbled over.

“Hey! That’s not funny.”

The soaked student turned out to have a good temperament. He simply wiped the water from his face with a helpless expression.

He was about to head back to his dormitory to change clothes when he turned and saw Dumbledore standing nearby.

He froze for a moment.

“H–Headmaster?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Davis.”

Dumbledore remembered the student who had stayed at school during the Christmas holidays. He smiled warmly and waved his wand.

The boy’s robes instantly dried.

Peeves, who had been laughing wildly, suddenly stiffened. He was still somewhat afraid of the headmaster.

Half his body slipped up through the ceiling as he prepared to escape.

“Wait a moment, Peeves,” Dumbledore called. “Could you spare me a moment? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Discuss something with me?”

Peeves popped his head back down with a loud plop.

Curious, he floated down again and placed a hand dramatically over his chest, performing an exaggerated bow.

“Oh! Dumbledore, great headmaster of the castle! What would you like to discuss with the equally great Peeves? A new prank plan, perhaps?”

Davis did not possess the overwhelming curiosity common among many students.

With admirable consideration, he excused himself and left, giving the two of them privacy.

Such obedient children were truly common in Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore watched him go with a hint of appreciation before turning back to the poltergeist above.

“Peeves,” he asked directly, “do you know about the consciousness of the castle?”

“The castle’s consciousness?”

Peeves curled his lip and sat cross-legged in midair.

“Oh, Headmaster, how terribly boring! Why ask about that? We should be discussing something far more exciting. Like how to wash Professor Snape’s hair.”

Dumbledore ignored the extremely creative suggestion.

“So you really do know something?”

“I really do know something,” Peeves sang, stretching out the words.

Then he flipped upside down and pulled down his eyelids. “Or perhaps I really don’t know something.”

He burst into laughter at his own joke.

But Dumbledore could read the truth behind his tone and expression.

“Could you tell me?” he asked sincerely. “Where is the castle’s consciousness?”

“Where is it?”

Peeves seemed to enjoy repeating questions.

He stretched out a finger and spun slowly in the air, pointing in every direction.

“It’s everywhere.”

Dumbledore frowned.

That was the worst possible answer.

If it was everywhere, then it would be impossible to locate.

Still, he held onto a small hope.

“If I wished for the castle to help remove the effects of certain magic, how would I do that?”

“No idea.”

Peeves grinned and spread his hands.

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. He had expected this answer. Still, he was not ready to give up.

Perhaps the Sorting Hat left by Gryffindor might know something.

Just as Dumbledore began to say goodbye—

“Oh, Headmaster, wait!”

Peeves suddenly flew down in front of him.

He spread his arms dramatically like a character from a stage play.

“The grand enterprise of Peeves requires assistance. If you’re willing to provide one hundred dungbombs next term, I’ll tell you a tremendous secret.”

Dumbledore blinked.

“Does it relate to the castle’s consciousness?”

“No.”

Peeves crossed his arms confidently.

For once, he did not lie.

Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid I must consider Mr. Filch’s wellbeing.”

“Don’t you want to hear it?” Peeves leaned closer with a mischievous grin. “I guarantee it’s something you would very much like to know.”

Something he would want to know?

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment. But seeing the confidence in Peeves’s expression, he made his decision.

“Very well.”

One hundred dungbombs was excessive.

But still within tolerable limits.

Probably.

He added firmly, “You must not disrupt classroom lessons.”

“Of course! The great Peeves always knows where the line is!”

The poltergeist shot upward and dropped back down again.

“Generous headmaster,” he continued. “You may have already guessed that the magnificent Peeves has a tiny little connection to this castle.”

He pinched his fingers together.

“Anyone connected to the castle cannot escape the eyes of the great Peeves!”

Dumbledore frowned.

“So?”

“So,” Peeves announced proudly, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that this year’s new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is the same person as the student who left the castle last year.”

The student who left the castle last year? Who? For a moment Dumbledore did not understand.

But then his blue eyes sharpened suddenly. His hand froze against his beard.

Only one student had left the castle last year.

Dawn Richter.

He had returned? And even become a professor? Several thoughts flashed through Dumbledore’s mind at once.

He stood silent in the corridor for a long time, dazed and reluctant to believe it.

But soon he remembered something.

His two conversations with Dawn through the two-way mirror had both taken place on weekends.

It was not definitive proof.

But at that moment it made Peeves’s claim far more believable.

Dumbledore inhaled slowly.

With complicated emotions he confirmed, “You mean Professor Hickman is Dawn in disguise?”

“Caw! That’s right! The red-eyed boy!”

Peeves cackled and flew up toward the ceiling.

“I wanted to watch him secretly to see what he was planning. But he spends all day teaching and reading. So boring! So I told you instead.”

“And don’t forget my dungbombs!”

His ghostly form disappeared down the corridor. Only his echoing laughter remained.

Dumbledore stood in the hallway like a statue.

“Dawn…”

He murmured the name once again.

Fawkes, who had been resting in a basket, hopped down and gently pecked his finger.

The phoenix’s touch brought the old wizard back from his thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly. “This time, I will definitely catch him.”

Just then—

Tap. Tap.

The closed window was knocked from outside.

An owl pecked at the glass.

Before Dumbledore could react, the clever bird grabbed the frame with its claws, pulled the window open, and flew inside carrying a small box.

Dumbledore suddenly thought of something. He opened the box with anticipation.

Sure enough, inside lay a pure white bracelet.

A note was tucked beneath it.

The message read:

[Here you go, you inconsiderate old bastard who makes dying men work!

I’ve hidden the original effect. Even the magic circuit is concealed beneath another circuit.

And before I die, do not come looking for me again!]

The handwriting was messy and rushed.

Clearly Nicolas Flamel had not been happy about working under such conditions.

Dumbledore placed the note aside and picked up the bracelet.

He sighed with a hint of regret.

This bracelet had arrived at the worst possible time. He had no idea when Nicolas would send it.

If he had known it would arrive today, he would have postponed the forest expedition until tomorrow and tried to make Dawn wear it then.

He had been too eager to make the practical course seem convincing and to make Dawn accustomed to wearing bracelets.

Instead, he had missed his chance.

Still…

Dumbledore was not overly disappointed.

He carefully tucked the bracelet into his robes and watched as the owl flew away into the vast sky.

“One week from now,” he murmured quietly. “Everything will be decided.”

___________

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