Stepping out of the Room of Requirement, Dawn realized it was already late at night.

He rubbed his stomach, suddenly aware he’d missed dinner. Deciding to head to the Hogwarts kitchen for something to eat, he began to retrace what he remembered.

The kitchen, if he recalled correctly, was located on the first basement floor, near the Hufflepuff common room, hidden behind a painting of a fruit bowl, right?

Mulling over the details from the original story, Dawn started down the spiral staircase.

But before long, he realized tonight wasn’t going to go as planned.

The stairs beneath his feet stopped at the fourth floor—and then refused to move, like they had died.

That wouldn’t have been a big deal.

After all, it was just the fourth floor. Even jumping down without magic wouldn’t be too dangerous for a wizard’s body. The real issue, however, was the reason why the staircase did this.

At Hogwarts, only one person had the ability to manipulate the castle’s architecture at will.

The one hailed as the greatest Headmaster in history, the strongest wizard of the century—Albus Dumbledore.

Having already expected to be summoned after what he did to Malfoy, Dawn immediately made the connection.

But now the question was—where to?

He glanced down the dark corridor.

If Dumbledore had stranded him here, surely there had to be some sort of hint as to what he was supposed to do.

Rustle—

Suddenly, as if in response to his thoughts, a strange noise came from deeper within the corridor.

Dawn raised an eyebrow and followed the sound until he found a tightly closed classroom door. After a moment’s hesitation, he drew his wand and spoke the incantation to open it. °Alohomora°

As soon as he pushed the door open, his eyes were drawn to a massive, unmistakable mirror standing in the center of the room.

“The Mirror of Erised?”

Dawn instantly understood Dumbledore’s message.

After hesitating briefly, he stepped forward to stand before it. Since he was here anyway, curiosity got the better of him—what did he truly desire in his heart?

The mirror’s surface was perfectly clean.

It shone like a crystal, free of scratches or marks.

And in its clear reflection, Dawn saw his own face. He was wearing a plain black wizard’s robe, standing in the middle of a vast cemetery.

The sky was gloomy. The marble gravestones had been weathered and battered by wind, but Dawn could still make out the names etched on them.

◇Albus Dumbledore

◇Tom Riddle

◇Harry Potter

◇Neville Longbottom

…….

One after another, every name belonged to a wizard he knew.

What did this mean?

Dawn stared in a daze.

He had expected to see himself mastering all the magic in the world.

But this… Did it mean his greatest wish was to wipe out all wizards? That didn’t make sense. What would he gain from that?

His lips pressed into a tight line.

Still, since this was a reflection of his own heart, he took a moment to truly think—and slowly began to understand.

Immortality.

He sighed.

In the end, he was just another ordinary man, no better than Voldemort himself.

Reaching out, he gently touched the image of his younger, almost innocent-looking self on the mirror’s surface.

It wasn’t all that surprising, he supposed.

Perhaps the seed had been planted long ago—after his mother’s death, when his father remarried.

He wanted to live.

To live longer than anyone else.

A bitter smile curled his lips.

He suddenly recalled what he had written earlier in the Room of Requirement: try using those patterns.

No wonder his first instinct was to combine transformation magic with ancient patterns, attempting to acquire the phoenix’s immortality and rebirth.

Clearly, his curiosity for magic could never outweigh the primal desire etched into every human heart.

Immortality.

………

“What did you see, child?”

A gentle voice rang out behind him.

Dawn turned.

An old man with a long beard, wearing a moon-patterned white night robe, stood at the doorway.

Dawn hesitated for a moment. His Occlumency barriers rose instantly.

“I saw myself unraveling every unknown and mystery in the world.”

“Is that so.”

Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied whether he believed him. He simply smiled and said, “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“I guessed it, Headmaster.” Dawn bowed his head slightly. “You’re here because of my conflict with Draco, aren’t you?”

“Oh, child, it wasn’t just a ‘conflict.'”

Dumbledore sighed. “Both of you used words and means that went far beyond acceptable boundaries… Fortunately, Professor Quirrell arrived in time, or things could have ended far worse.”

Quirrell?

Dawn frowned at the unexpected name.

Had something else happened after he left?

For a moment, his suspicion overrode even his wariness of Dumbledore. And who could blame him? After all, Quirrell was harboring Voldemort—Dawn couldn’t afford to be careless.

But the old headmaster didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shifted the subject, “There’s also the matter of you and the Weasley twins.”

Dawn paused. “You know about that?”

“There’s little in this castle that escapes me.”

Dumbledore chuckled and casually waved his wand. From the room’s abandoned junk, he conjured a lavish table and two cushioned high stools.

“Would you like to talk over some food?” He winked. “I imagine you must be hungry by now?”

As he spoke, a plate of candies, several meat pies, and two cups of tea appeared on the table.

Dawn sighed inwardly, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He didn’t touch the food, only took a quiet sip of the tea, “You want me to return the Marauder’s Map to them?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer immediately.

He lifted his tea as well, paused, then admitted plainly, “I don’t know.”

Dawn looked at him, puzzled.

The old man met his eyes directly and calmly.

“Yes. I don’t know…”

“That map may have been taken by the twins, but it doesn’t truly belong to them. And you did, after all, show them the Room of Requirement…”

“So now, I honestly don’t know how to deal with this.”

He popped a candy into his mouth, though the smile on his lips carried a hint of bitterness.

“If it were my younger self, I might have insisted you return it… but experience has proven that such an approach is a mistake.”

Behind the lenses of his half-moon glasses, there was a flicker of regret.

He remembered how he had once ruthlessly set fire to a wardrobe in an orphanage.

“Everyone says I’m the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had, but when it comes to educating students, I’m nowhere near as good as Professor McGonagall.”

“To be honest, I still don’t know how to deal with bright young wizards like you.”

“I’m always afraid I’ll lead them down the wrong path if I intervene, yet if I stand by and do nothing, I fear they’ll walk into danger anyway.”

Dumbledore confessed his inner conflict with genuine honesty.

But Dawn said nothing.

He didn’t know how to respond. Because beneath the surface, Dumbledore wasn’t just asking, “What should I do?”

He was asking, “Do you think what you’re doing is right? Have you strayed?”

The room fell silent.

After a long pause, Dumbledore rubbed his nose, “Dawn, would you mind having a little talk with me?”

At a time like this, could he really say no? Dawn braced himself and reinforced his Occlumency, “Of course, Headmaster. What would you like to talk about?”

“Then let’s begin with the four houses of Hogwarts,” the old headmaster said with a smile.

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