“Sika Carter… that really is one of my ancestors… why?” Aemon asked, suddenly uneasy at the expression on Dawn’s face.

“Ancestor… are you sure it was an ancestor? Lived around 1550, went to Egypt after graduating to work in curse-breaking.

Are you absolutely certain this Sika Carter is your ancestor?” Dawn pressed.

“Of course! I’m sure of it!” Aemon snapped back, irritated at being held by the collar in front of everyone. “It was only after Sika Carter that our family’s blood curse began. I remember it clearly!”

Dawn narrowed his eyes. “And the reason? Do you know why Sika Carter was cursed?”

“What else could it be?” Aemon struggled against Dawn’s grip. “Obviously, it was because he was cursed while working in Egypt!”

“You’re certain about that?” Dawn asked again, his brow furrowing even more.

Judging by Aemon’s face, he wasn’t lying. Dawn followed up, “What about Celeste Soleil? Have you heard that name before?”

“I haven’t!” Aemon snapped, stepping back and yanking his robe collar free. “Enough! I’m done answering your questions!”

He glared at Dawn, taking a deep breath. “Just give me the photo already!”

Photo?

Dawn blinked, looking down. Only then did he realize the photo was still tightly clenched in his hand from earlier, wrinkled from the tension.

He took a deep breath, calming himself from the anxious spiral in his thoughts. With a wave of his wand, he smoothed the photo and handed it forward.

But just as Aemon reached to take it—

Dawn spoke in a quiet voice.

“A word of advice… if you really want to understand your family’s blood curse, I suggest asking your parents about the name Celeste.”

Dawn gave Aemon a meaningful look and walked past him.

It wasn’t that his curiosity had ended. He had simply realized that Aemon truly didn’t know much more.

But that was fine.

As long as Aemon grew curious, he would inevitably start asking his family questions. When that happened, Dawn would find another way to get what he needed.

And indeed, things unfolded just like that—Aemon couldn’t shake his curiosity.

After all, the blood curse of his own family wasn’t something one could ignore.

“Celeste Soleil… huh?” Aemon muttered, thinking of the seriousness in Dawn’s expression just moments ago. The idea of writing to his father began to form.

Then suddenly, he paused.

He had forgotten to ask Dawn where that photo had come from.

And more importantly…

Why did Dawn suddenly seem so well-informed about the Carter family’s blood curse? Had he found something else along with the photo?

Aemon stared at the woman in the photo—his great-grandmother—with uncertainty.

Should he go after Dawn and ask?

But just moments ago, he had been the one to end the conversation.

After a few seconds of hesitation. “Forget it. I’ll write the letter first.”

Pride got the better of him. Like most boys his age, Aemon wasn’t ready to go back on his own word so quickly.

……

“What exactly is the truth behind Celeste’s manuscript on flesh transmutation?”

Rain fell steadily from the grey sky.

Dawn walked toward the castle entrance on instinct, head lowered, lost in thought.

The name of the test subject, Sika Carter…

The creature, presented as a thestral, that turned out to be a donkey… And the Carter family’s blood curse, which turned them into donkeys…

Could all this really be a coincidence?

Celeste just happened to choose the name Sika Carter—someone he barely met—for a wild theory?

And Sika Carter just happened to be cursed while curse-breaking in Egypt, and that curse just happened to turn him into a donkey?

…Yeah, right.

Who would believe such convenient coincidences?

Dawn certainly didn’t.

So… did the person who compiled Celeste’s manuscript lie?

He thought about it. It didn’t seem likely.

And Aemon had confirmed that Sika Carter did indeed go to Egypt for curse-breaking work, not end up as an experiment of Celeste’s.

Under the shadow of storm clouds, Dawn’s gaze darkened.

He wondered—

What if… both accounts were true? What if the manuscript’s editor hadn’t lied?

What if he really did witness Celeste lead out a donkey after claiming success with magical creature transformation, and later confirmed Sika Carter had never been captured?

And what if Celeste hadn’t lied either?

What if he really had captured someone named Sika Carter and used organ transmutation to turn him into a magical beast?

Then… where was the contradiction?

At that moment, a thought struck Dawn—Time Turners.

He recalled a book he had once read titled “Magical Misuse and the Disasters That Followed,” which left a deep impression.

One entry had been about Time Turners.

It recounted an incident from 1899, when a witch named Aurelance Natterbaum used experimental time magic to travel back to 1402. She stayed five days before returning.

The result?

She aged instantly to 355 years and died soon after her return.

Worse yet—

Her interference caused reality itself to destabilize for weeks. People vanished, newborns were born resembling their long-dead ancestors.

That incident led to the Ministry passing strict laws—Time Turners could never be used for more than five hours at a time.

At the time, Dawn had been fascinated by the magical limits being pushed.

But now, something else stood out.

In the world of Harry Potter, time was a fixed, linear structure. The past could not be changed. Alternate timelines didn’t branch out from small changes.

Any disruptions to the timeline would be corrected by time itself.

So Sika Carter’s story…

If both Celeste’s account and the editor’s observations were true—

Could the differences between them be the result of those very corrections?

Dawn halted in place.

A chilling sense of dread ran down his spine, like something in the dark was inching closer.

How exactly did this world function?

Who, or what, created the laws that governed it?

Why was time so absolute? When someone tampered with time, what force ensured that it all got “fixed”?

Could magical creature transformation be just like time—bound by inviolable laws?

His thoughts spiraled.

“So, do you understand now, Dawn? Some things… you’re better off treating as stories.” He remembered Dumbledore’s words from that night.

Dawn’s deep red eyes dimmed with uncertainty.

At the very last step before entering the castle—

He stopped.

He turned to look back at the cold grey clouds overhead.

The rain was finally beginning to ease, and the brilliant silver light that had once pierced the storm was now gone.

Dawn pressed his lips into a thin line and, after a long moment of silence, turned and disappeared into the warm golden glow of the castle.

________________

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