“Ha! Dawn Richter! You really surprised me!”

Perhaps because it was the Imperius Curse rather than his true body, the fallen Voldemort could still barely speak.

Leaning against the doorframe, he spotted the toad on the ground and suddenly burst into a maniacal laugh, his expression growing even more twisted.

“The second one, the second one! Haha! Such a lucky child… But don’t you dare think this is over! Next time we meet, I’ll shove the Killing Curse straight down your throat myself!”

“Oh, I’d never think that,” Dawn replied with a faint smile.

He reached out to steady himself against the wall.

Crimson blood seeped into the cracks of the floor, spreading in a dark puddle that reflected a pale mask-like image in the sunlight.

“Tom Riddle, you taught me a valuable lesson… Thank you for showing me that even the filthiest rat crawling through the sewers can still leave festering wounds on me.”

A sudden savage grin twisted Dawn’s face.

He straightened with ragged breaths, stepping through the sticky blood toward the rapidly weakening Voldemort.

Then—

He lifted his foot and stomped hard on Voldemort’s face!

“Over? You think it’s over just like that?! Tom Riddle, you’d better hide well! Be a good little rat and make sure I never find you!”

Dawn twisted his ankle furiously as he ground his foot into Voldemort’s face.

Splurt—!

Blood sprayed from Voldemort’s nose.

Caught completely off guard by the brutality, Voldemort froze in shock.

But as he felt the warm trickle down his lips, rage exploded within him.

“….Good! Very good!!”

He roared, trying to fire back a wandless, wordless Killing Curse—but Quirrell’s body couldn’t sustain such magic anymore.

“Just you wait… just you wait! Dawn Richter, you wait for me!!!”

Tom repeated the same threat over and over, furious beyond reason.

But Dawn no longer paid him any mind.

He calmly raised his wand, aiming it at Voldemort’s hate-filled eyes, and whispered, °Incendio°.

Fwoosh—

Flames burst into existence from the void, burning orange-red like a graceful, deadly dance. They swept over Quirrell’s body like a tide.

Voldemort clearly couldn’t stand having someone’s foot on his face any longer. After spitting out one last threat, he vanished.

Quirrell, finally regaining control of his body, had time only for a soft, weak cry before his head slumped sideways—his body becoming nothing more than soulless firewood.

To be sure, Dawn cast another spell to seal the dorm off from the outside world. Then he stepped back and watched in silence as the corpse curled and cracked in the flames.

Slowly.

The fire died down.

Dawn coldly crushed the remaining charred bones beneath his foot, scattering the warm ashes into the wind.

Only then did he finally exhale deeply, finding a clean spot to sit down slowly.

The Ravenclaw dormitory around him was in complete disarray.

Gazing up at the bronze ceiling, Dawn couldn’t help but wonder—what should he do now?

Just like Voldemort said, this was far from over. Dawn had to consider the consequences.

First of all, trying to completely cover this up and pretend nothing happened was out of the question.

Voldemort had used the Imperius Curse through Quirrell to come here—his true body, due to the Flesh-Splitting Curse, was still hidden somewhere within the school.

And Voldemort would never pass up an opportunity to frame someone. He would absolutely make it known that Dawn had “killed” Quirrell.

And he wouldn’t even need to show his face to do it.

With Dawn already buried under layers of scandal and suspicion, Voldemort could easily send an anonymous tip to the Daily Prophet and put Dawn in an extremely dangerous position.

That’s exactly why Dawn had chosen to burn Quirrell’s body.

He had no way to remove the corpse, and if it were discovered, there’d be no possible explanation.

By destroying the body, at least the Ministry might classify the case as a disappearance rather than a murder, which meant a much less thorough investigation.

But even that wasn’t a real solution.

Because Dawn had undeniably used the Killing Curse—and under a Pensieve’s flashback spell, that couldn’t be hidden.

He rubbed his temples.

Dawn thought carefully, realizing he had only two real options now.

Either tell Dumbledore everything and try to stay at Hogwarts under the old headmaster’s protection…

Or leave Hogwarts altogether.

Staying had clear benefits—perhaps Dumbledore would still choose to trust him and bear the brunt of the pressure once again.

But the risk was serious. If the Ministry enforced its laws strictly, even Dumbledore might not be able to shield him.

And under the certainty of his use of an Unforgivable Curse, there was a very real chance he could end up in Azkaban.

Maybe… destroy his wand?

Dawn gently ran his fingers over the wooden wand in his hand. He didn’t feel particularly sentimental. If he did decide to stay, that would be the first thing he’d do.

But there were other issues to consider.

Like Voldemort.

As long as his true body remained hidden, Dawn would always be vulnerable to another surprise attack.

And today’s events had proven—Dumbledore wasn’t all-powerful. If anything went slightly wrong, it would be Dawn who paid the ultimate price.

His pupils gradually lost focus as he started thinking through the second option.

If he chose to leave Hogwarts…

The downside was obvious: it could look like he was fleeing from guilt, prompting the Auror Office to chase him down.

But the upside was equally tempting—freedom. No longer confined within the walls of a school. With Polyjuice Potion and other disguises, the odds of escape were not bad.

The only remaining threat was the unpredictability of Divination.

But then again, did the Department of Mysteries even have a Seer? And if they did, would they waste precious foresight on someone like him?

From the original story, it seemed the only truly accurate Seer in the world was Sybill Trelawney—and even she was hit-or-miss, effective only when the fates deemed something truly significant.

Dawn compared the two options carefully.

To be honest, both had pros and cons, and it was difficult to determine which offered greater safety.

But if he had to follow his instincts… between placing his fate in Dumbledore’s hands or relying on himself, Dawn preferred to take the risk on his own.

Besides, were the elite Aurors truly more dangerous than Voldemort lurking in the shadows?

And if he wanted revenge on Voldemort, he couldn’t stay in the spotlight—being in the open was far too passive.

The scale in his heart tipped.

Once the decision was made, Dawn no longer hesitated.

He pulled a few bottles of basic healing potion from his leather pouch—brewed during class—and uncorked them, pouring the contents down his throat.

Though it was a first-year level potion, it still worked effectively on the metal-needle wounds that riddled his body.

Soon, the bleeding began to slow and stop.

But his ghostly pale face didn’t improve in the slightest—the Cruciatus Curse’s pain on the soul wasn’t something any potion could heal.

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