The conversation between Dumbledore and the other professors wasn’t particularly interesting.

It was mostly just a brief explanation that Dawn had been properly dealt with and was now being held at the Ministry of Magic.

Aside from that,

Professor McGonagall proudly informed the Headmaster that the results of the practical lesson were in.

Gryffindor had won in the end and earned points toward the House Cup.

“Oh, Albus, will tomorrow’s practical lesson still be held?” McGonagall asked.

She knew the real purpose of the lesson had already been achieved. Dawn had been successfully captured.

But she also knew how much the first- through third-year students were looking forward to it.

“Let it continue, Minerva,” Dumbledore said with a blink. “This is the students’ school. We should respect their wishes.”

McGonagall nodded, her expression softening slightly.

She thought that although Dumbledore had used the lesson as a cover and put the students in danger, at least he still remembered his responsibility as Headmaster.

At that moment,

The usually silent Snape suddenly spoke.

“Dumbledore, what about the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for the rest of the year?”

Though he was the Potions professor, his longing for that position was obvious to anyone.

Dumbledore rubbed his temples with a headache.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts position…

It truly was cursed with misfortune. Even he had begun to wonder if Tom Riddle had actually placed some kind of curse on it.

Over the years, not only had it never been smooth, very few had even managed to last an entire school year safely.

He had a feeling that next year, finding a suitable professor would be even harder.

Thinking about it objectively, Dawn had actually done an excellent job.

Professional. Innovative. Teaching powerful spells. Broadening students’ horizons.

And outside of classes, aside from going to the library, he hadn’t done anything particularly improper.

Dumbledore suddenly found himself harboring a small ambition. Next year’s professor should at least be comparable to Dawn.

Even as these thoughts passed through his mind, he quickly made a decision.

Ignoring Snape’s burning stare, he turned to Flitwick, whose expression was complicated.

“Filius, could I trouble you to take over Defense Against the Dark Arts for the rest of this year?”

“Me?” Flitwick blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Of course, Albus. That’s no trouble at all.”

Snape’s eyes seemed ready to spit fire.

He let out a cold snort and left without another word, his robes billowing behind him.

Dumbledore shook his head with a wry smile.

Snape had already taught the subject for half a year before. Just to be safe, Dumbledore preferred not to involve him with it again.

After all, losing one professor was already troublesome enough.

He had no intention of having to recruit a new Potions professor as well.

…

Dawn watched as Dumbledore and the others gradually headed back toward the castle.

He flapped his wings, preparing to follow from above.

But then, something caught his attention.

The Weasley twins were dragging along a boy with long dreadlocks, stopping beneath the tree where Dawn perched.

Dawn narrowed his eyes.

That boy… Lee Jordan, wasn’t it? Their dormmate. The Quidditch commentator.

What were they doing here?

He paused, watching.

Fred suddenly grabbed Lee by the shoulders and slammed him against the tree like a school bully.

“Merlin’s beard! Spill it! Lee, have you been secretly training behind our backs? There’s no way I should’ve lost to you!”

Fred clutched his chest dramatically, loudly accusing him of dishonorable effort and shameless competition.

During the practical lesson, he had tried to ambush Lee, only to be instantly knocked down.

George nodded seriously, slinging an arm around Lee’s shoulder.

“That’s right! Come clean. Did you find some hidden treasure and learn powerful magic like in those stories? Share it with your brothers!”

“…You’re exaggerating,” Lee shrugged, pinching his fingers together. “I’ve just been trying a little harder than you two.”

He slipped out from between Fred and the tree and waved.

“Sorry, I’ve got something to do. Heading back to the dorm.”

After Lee walked away, George stared after him, concern replacing his earlier tone.

“Fred… don’t you think he’s been acting strange lately?”

“Yeah,” Fred frowned. “Normally he’d brag about being naturally talented or claim Merlin taught him in a dream or something.”

“Ever since that dream he mentioned a few days ago, he’s been gloomy. He even gave up Quidditch commentary…”

The twins exchanged a look and began plotting how to help their friend.

….

Dawn stared at them intently.

He replayed their conversation in his mind.

A dream.

A drastic personality change.

Well then.

Less than half an hour after returning to Hogwarts, a suspicious clue had practically delivered itself right to him.

But,

Dawn didn’t feel pleased. He felt it was deliberate.

Blatantly deliberate.

Once the thought formed, even earlier events started to feel off.

The Minister’s sudden visit. The perfectly timed photograph of him lying unconscious. Was that really coincidence?

Or luck?

Dawn narrowed his eyes.

Something else was happening in this castle. Something he didn’t know.

He looked at the twins, tempted to fly down and use Legilimency on them to find out why they had come to this exact tree at this exact moment.

But Dumbledore was still nearby. Dawn suppressed the urge.

He shifted his gaze to Lee, who was walking away.

Should he follow him?

Was it a trap?

After a moment of thought, Dawn spread his wings and took off from the tree.

Whatever it was, a lead was still a lead.

And besides, perhaps it was simply his own confidence. Confidence bordering on arrogance.

“Whoa, that’s a fat bird,” Fred muttered, glancing up as Dawn flew overhead.

Then he lowered his head again, continuing his discussion with George.

…

Dawn closed in on Lee.

Then, unseen, he flipped midair and transformed into a beetle, dropping silently.

He landed lightly on Lee’s back, unnoticed.

He remained still.

Watching. Waiting.

To see if this boy truly had secrets, or if he would do something unusual.

Step by step, they climbed the stairs.

Dawn judged from the route that Lee was heading toward the Gryffindor common room.

And indeed,

he was.

But halfway there, passing the fourth-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Dawn suddenly remembered what he had heard earlier.

Next term, Flitwick would take over the class. Which meant his office would soon be dismantled.

Maybe not this year.

But definitely the next.

Dawn looked at the closed door, feeling a trace of regret. He really liked that office.

After a moment’s hesitation, he flew off Lee’s back.

He slipped through the door, transformed back into human form, and cast a Disillusionment Charm.

If he couldn’t continue as professor, he might as well take a few things with him.

He wasted no time.

First, he walked to the clock and grabbed the small brown teddy bear struggling to push the minute hand.

It looked insignificant, but it was the most expensive item in the entire office.

According to the shopkeeper, it was a creation by Nicolas Flamel himself. Dawn had paid nearly 3,000 Galleons for it.

Very expensive.

Next, he took several necromantic insects from a drawer.

Rare creatures. More valuable than dragons. He wasn’t leaving those behind.

After a final glance around, he decided not to take anything else. Too much removal might alert Dumbledore.

That would complicate things, especially regarding the Veil of Death.

But just as he was about to leave,

Dawn paused.

He sighed.

Then walked to the corner garden and dug up the Silver Star Grass. “…Fine. A souvenir.”

He conjured a pot, replanted it, and tucked it into his magically expanded wallet.

Then, without hesitation, he transformed back into a beetle, left the office, and caught up with Lee.

Landing once more on his back.

As his old office faded behind him, a strange thought crossed his mind.

If he returned next year under a new identity and applied again, would Dumbledore be touched?

The journey continued in silence.

Until Lee stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Sweet nectar bird,” he said.

The portrait swung open.

___________

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