And just like that—
Time moved forward to October 31st: Halloween.
Even before the feast began, the entire castle was already steeped in a festive atmosphere.
Every classroom was decorated with bats and pumpkins. The ghosts from all four houses floated through the corridors, more lively than usual.
...
Over the past few days,
Dawn had grown increasingly accustomed to spending time in the hidden room on the fifth floor.
It wasn't as comfortable as the Room of Requirement, but it was closer to the library and less deserted than the eighth floor.
At this moment, he was sitting on a chair he had conjured himself, carefully carving the final magical circuit into a broomstick.
Inside the portrait, the blonde girl, who couldn't see what was happening outside, leaned her chin on her hand and asked lazily, "Hey, kid, I don't think I've ever asked your name, have I?"
Dawn didn't even look up. "Dawn Richter."
"Richter… That's not a common name in the wizarding world."
"Because I'm a Muggle-born."
He put down his tools and reattached the broom's inner and outer rings, then gripped it in his hand to check its balance—nodding in satisfaction.
"What are you doing?" Olivia asked curiously.
"Fixing a broomstick."
At his response, a glimmer of nostalgia flashed in Olivia's eyes. "You really like broomsticks, huh?"
"Not really. It's just that the Ravenclaw tower is so high... and I figured I'd practice my runes while I was at it."
"Oh," Olivia murmured softly.
Then she added, "You know, I used to have a dream... I wanted to represent Britain and win the Quidditch World Cup."
"I know. You mentioned it in your diary."
For the first time, Dawn turned his head, walked to the wall, and took down the portrait. "Miss Carter, you're quite talkative today."
"It's probably the holiday... It's been a long time since I've had a proper conversation with anyone."
Olivia sighed. Even though her eyes were just paint on canvas, the sorrow behind them was unmistakable.
Dawn hung her back up, facing forward, then took the broom for a short test hover and casually asked, "So, want to talk about the blood curse and the Fountain of Fair Fortune?"
Silence again.
Olivia's voice came softly, "There's nothing worth talking about. Just a painful experience for everyone involved."
And with that, she fell quiet once more.
Dawn shook his head in resignation.
He stuffed the broom into his enchanted wallet, brushed the wood shavings off his robes, and stood up to leave.
That's right. Dawn had no intention of attending the Halloween feast.
Because he knew this event was going to be a farce—from the rampaging troll to the dramatic trio's little performance.
There was no point in going. Everyone would just be sent back to their dorms in the end.
But just then—
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Suddenly, someone knocked loudly on the door!
Dawn paused mid-motion, eyes narrowing as he stared at the entrance.
Who else would be coming here?!
Before he could think further, a stern voice called from outside.
"It's me, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore?
Dawn narrowed his eyes and quickly scanned the room, pulling the three-headed toad from its cage and tucking it into a pocket inside his wallet.
But he didn't approach the door. Instead, he waved his wand, unlocking it remotely.
Standing outside was indeed the old headmaster, robed in silvery moonlight-colored robes.
Still, Dawn didn't lower his guard.
Why would Dumbledore come here now? He couldn't shake the suspicion of an imposter.
"Headmaster, how did you know I was here?"
"The castle told me," Dumbledore replied simply, then looked at him gravely. "Sorry, my boy. Something's happened at the feast... I believe you need to come with me."
...
One hour earlier.
The Great Hall was growing more lively by the minute.
"Harry, Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office."
Dean Thomas approached the Gryffindor table, patting Harry Potter on the shoulder as he delivered the message.
"Me?" Harry asked, pointing to himself in surprise.
"That's right."
Dean shrugged, offering no further explanation before diving back into the festivities with a group of friends.
Ron grinned mischievously. "Ohhh~ You must've gotten caught copying Hermione's homework! McGonagall's probably banning you from the feast!"
"That'd be just my luck."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And Ron, you copied it too!"
"Did I? Guess I got lucky this time!" Ron laughed, clearly amused.
"Alright, alright."
Harry sighed and glanced at the array of sweets on the table. "Hope I can still make it back for dinner… Ron, can you save me a few bites?"
"No problem!" Ron gave him a thumbs-up.
Harry lingered at the table a moment longer, popped a fizzing honey drop into his mouth, and reluctantly left the hall.
Outside the Great Hall, the rest of the castle was unusually quiet. The already dim lighting had been lowered further for ambiance.
"Why would Professor McGonagall call for me at a time like this?"
His footsteps echoed as he climbed the stairs, his tone tinged with complaint.
It was his first proper holiday since leaving his aunt and uncle's house. He had hoped to spend it making good memories with his friends.
But now, it looked like that was off the table.
"Huh?"
Suddenly, Harry stopped in his tracks.
On the landing between the second and third floors, he spotted a pale, expressionless face watching him from the shadows.
He hesitated, recalling their unpleasant last encounter, but decided to at least offer a greeting.
"Um, hey..."
The words had barely left his mouth—
When, in the dim light—
The boy's face twisted into a grotesque grin.
He raised his wand and shouted: °Sectumsempra°
In an instant—
Invisible blades sliced through the air!
Harry's pupils contracted. The pain cut off his greeting mid-sentence as agony surged through his body!
All at once, red—vivid and overwhelming—flooded his vision.
Thud—!
His body crashed to the floor.
Harry instinctively clutched his throat. The searing pain and suffocating pressure forced his mouth open in a desperate attempt to breathe.
But only a shrill, gurgling whistle escaped the gash in his neck.
"W-why...?"
His lips moved, but not even that final question found its voice.
As he stared at the familiar-yet-strange face looking down on him, Harry barely lasted another two seconds before his eyes lost focus and he went still.
The attacker's face was cold and emotionless. Without a hint of hesitation, he flicked his wrist, drawing a glob of blood into a vial and tucking it into his robes.
Frowning at Harry's half-severed windpipe, he raised his wand to finish the job—but then a loud, clear cry echoed through the air.
"Damn," the boy hissed.
He glanced at the approaching phoenix emerging from the firelight, then pocketed his wand and turned to flee.
Fawkes landed beside Harry, glancing first at the retreating figure, then at the boy lying on the floor...
After a moment's hesitation, the phoenix dipped its head and let two shimmering tears fall onto Harry's wound.
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