Night fell.

The Hogwarts dinner had begun, and the young witches and wizards excitedly chatted about the amusing events of their Christmas holidays.

The most frequently mentioned topic was Dawn storming Hogwarts.

Ron, who had witnessed everything, was practically glowing with excitement. He stood with one foot on a chair, gesturing wildly as he retold the story.

It seemed as if he intended to divide the incident into five chapters and twenty sections, repeating every moment in glorious detail.

Draco barely listened for a few sentences before interrupting.

He said he had heard that cowardly Weasley had nearly fainted at the sight of spiders, yet now he was boasting as if he were a hero.

Ron’s face turned red as he shouted back.

Soon Harry and Hermione joined the argument.

Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco.

Before long, Gryffindor and Slytherin students were once again shouting at each other across the hall.

Neville sat quietly to the side, listening awkwardly.

Dawn Richter.

What kind of person was he?

The chubby boy fell into thought.

He knew he had known that person.

His grandmother, the doctors, and even Dumbledore had told him that his memory was damaged.

The missing portion of his memories was entirely related to someone named Dawn.

But what exactly had happened between them?

Neville wondered silently as he took a bite of steak and listened to the conversations around him.

Once again, the Great Hall was buzzing with discussions about Dawn.

Just like last year.

However, the subject of those discussions had no intention of joining the excitement.

At the very moment Dumbledore made his decision in the headmaster’s office, Dawn had also been thinking about the prophecy of the fortune stick in his Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

An approaching crisis.

He asked himself what in the world could threaten someone like him.

A powerful wizard. Someone with no attachments. Someone who possessed phoenix-like immortality.

…Well.

To be honest, such things did exist.

For example, the Stunning Spell.

Dawn remembered clearly that during the Fountain of Fair Fortune ritual last year, he had been extremely wary of Dumbledore’s Stunning Spell.

He had even asked Slughorn for a supply of restorative potions to counter it.

So—

If someone managed to strike him with a Stunning Spell while he was distracted, and then continued to renew the spell over and over again…

Or forced him to drink a potion with similar effects…

Then it could effectively imprison him.

Dawn sighed softly.

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

Just as he had once told Voldemort, magic was a strange thing. It prevented absolute hierarchies among wizards.

Even though he was now immune to death and the Killing Curse, he was not completely without weaknesses.

Dawn poured himself a cup of black tea and sipped it slowly while thinking about what he could do to prepare for this potential crisis.

As he thought, another place came to mind.

Azkaban.

If the worst happened and he was captured by a Stunning Spell, the most likely outcome would be imprisonment in Azkaban.

So…

Should he make preparations there in advance?

Dawn considered the idea.

Perhaps he could ask Slughorn for more restorative potions and secretly store them in Azkaban.

If he were ever imprisoned there, he would have a backup plan.

As for how he would force the potion down his throat while stunned…

A name appeared in his mind.

Sirius Black.

As an Animagus capable of moving freely inside Azkaban, Sirius would likely be willing to swear an Unbreakable Vow if Dawn offered information about Peter Pettigrew.

However…

Dawn had another suspicion.

Deep down, he believed it was unlikely anyone could easily strike him with a Stunning Spell.

So when he thought about the coming crisis, he suspected something else might be involved.

Perhaps some kind of ritual.

For example—

The Resurrection Stone.

Dawn glanced at the book resting nearby.

Research on the Resurrection Stone.

He had borrowed it long ago and never returned it.

At the end of the book, the author described an unexpected phenomenon that occurred after swallowing fragments of the Resurrection Stone.

There were still secrets hidden within it.

And in the prophetic vision Dawn had seen, he would grind the Resurrection Stone into powder.

So…

Could the crisis be connected to the stone?

Dawn narrowed his eyes. His thoughts spun endlessly from one possibility to another.

Staring at the reddish-brown desk, he suddenly felt irritated.

Prophecies were incredibly annoying. They revealed fragments of information that forced people to chase after answers.

Even if he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t.

It involved his own future.

Dawn took a deep breath and suppressed his impatience.

He began systematically considering every possibility and preparing countermeasures.

But was there any truly foolproof solution? He clasped his hands beneath his chin and thought carefully.

Should he create Horcruxes like Voldemort?

After all, he had seen the book Secrets of the Darkest Art in Avery’s private library.

“…Ridiculous.” Dawn quickly came to his senses and let out a cold laugh. “Thinking of copying that sewer rat.”

He discarded the idea immediately.

Then he changed the magical pattern within himself back into Grindelwald’s configuration, hoping to activate the prophetic ability again.

…?

Dawn suddenly froze.

Wait.

A seer.

His eyes narrowed as he looked out the window into the dark sky. Suddenly, a brilliant idea appeared in his mind.

A solution.

A solution that would allow him to handle whatever might happen calmly.

And achieving it required only one thing.

A Time-Turner.

Dawn stood there for a moment as the idea formed completely.

Then he abruptly rose to his feet.

Ignoring the darkening evening sky, he ignited the fireplace in his bedroom and tossed in a handful of Floo Powder.

Stepping into the flames, he disappeared.

He was going to obtain a Time-Turner.

At the same time, in the headmaster’s office— Dumbledore sensed Dawn leaving the castle.

His brows furrowed as he instinctively stood up…Then he slowly sat back down.

He did not want Dawn wandering outside the castle again.

Not only because it might disrupt his plans, but also because he feared Dawn might commit further crimes.

That was partly why he had brought Dawn to the Forbidden Forest earlier.

But there was nothing he could do to stop him. Even as headmaster, Dumbledore could not monitor every professor’s movements.

He had no idea where Dawn had gone through the Floo Network.

A cloud drifted across the moon.

In a remote corner of Britain, a small stone cottage stood alone.

Inside, Horace Slughorn hummed cheerfully as he poured freshly brewed potion into crystal vials.

After checking the time, he stretched his back and finished his work for the day.

From his cellar he retrieved a bottle of oak-aged mead and prepared to enjoy a pleasant evening.

It was not a special day.

There was no celebration.

But he simply felt like celebrating.

After everything he had gone through recently, he had realized something important.

Even ordinary days were precious.

Pop.

He pulled the cork from the bottle.

Golden liquid poured into his glass with a sweet fragrance.

Slughorn placed the food he had prepared on the table, raised his wine glass, and looked at the candlelight beside him.

With great ceremony he said, “Gratitude for every peaceful day.”

Then he lifted the glass to drink.

Unfortunately—

At that exact moment, a voice he least wanted to hear suddenly spoke beside him.

Slughorn froze.

Wine spilled across the table.

“Slughorn, long time no see. Where’s the Time-Turner I asked for?”

With a sudden roar of flames, fire burst from the center of the room.

Dawn stepped out of the flames in his original appearance and held out his hand.

“A Time-Turner?”

The bald potion master jumped in shock.

When he saw Dawn, he nearly jumped again.

After a moment he remembered that Dawn had indeed asked him for a Time-Turner before.

But since Dawn had never mentioned it again, Slughorn had quietly exploited a loophole in their Unbreakable Vow.

He had planned to delay indefinitely.

And now Dawn suddenly demanded it.

Slughorn coughed awkwardly.

“My previous attempt was discovered by the Department of Mysteries. They’ve increased security. It’s impossible to sneak in for the moment.”

Despite being startled, Slughorn quickly regained his composure and produced a reasonable excuse.

But Dawn interrupted him immediately.

“You’re not listening.” He tapped the table impatiently. “I don’t care about your excuses or your methods. I want it today.”

“Today?”

Slughorn glanced outside.

It was already around seven in the evening. That meant only five hours remained until midnight.

He forced an awkward smile.

After spending so much time with Dawn, he was no longer as terrified as before.

He tried negotiating. “Could we perhaps go tomorrow?”

“No.”

Dawn shook his head firmly. “The sooner the better. I want it now.”

A faint pattern of flames flickered briefly across his wrist.

Ah.

So this was what raising a troublesome child felt like. Slughorn gritted his teeth internally but did not dare show it.

Dawn had no interest in watching his expression change.

“Hurry up. I’ll wait here.”

While speaking, he used Transfiguration to create a clean wine glass, poured himself a drink, and placed a steak on a plate.

He had not eaten dinner yet.

Damn it.

That was my dinner.

All of it.

Slughorn watched in despair as Dawn calmly ate the meal he had prepared for himself.

Meanwhile he was being forced out to work.

Bound by the Unbreakable Vow, Slughorn had no choice. Reluctantly, he left the cottage to break into the Department of Mysteries.

Fortunately, Dawn did not have to wait very long.

Perhaps experience had made things easier. Or perhaps Slughorn still retained the sneaking skills he had learned during his youth.

This time he returned successfully after only three hours.

But what he saw nearly broke his heart.

Dawn had discovered the hidden storage room containing Slughorn’s potion supplies.

And he was currently looting it.

“W–Wait a moment!”

Slughorn cried in despair.

Those potions represented weeks of exhausting work. How had this cursed boy found them again?

___________

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