Snow blanketed the world.
In the dense forests of Finland, a burst of firelight appeared, and a small shadow tumbled out of it, crashing into the snow.
Two crystal bottles of the same size followed, falling close behind.
Thump!
Dawn grunted, plunging face-first into a thick snowdrift. It took considerable effort before he managed to pull his tiny body free.
Shaking the snow from his head, his first instinct was to look for the two precious bottles. He spotted them not far away, summoned them with a Levitation Charm, and set them gently within reach.
Then.
He focused his senses on the silent, snow-covered forest around him.
No one came.
The forest remained still.
After waiting a while longer and still not seeing any sign of Dumbledore, Dawn finally exhaled, realizing he was truly safe.
He didn't know whether it was his staged death that had fooled the old headmaster.
Or whether Dumbledore had gone to the Ministry—Where Apparition was restricted—Before coming to Finland, and that had given him the slip. Either way, the result was what mattered.
Now that he could relax, Dawn finally turned his attention to himself.
He looked down at the frost clinging to his clothes and frowned, intending to use a Cleaning Charm to tidy up.
Then his hand instinctively went to his sleeve—and froze.
His wand was gone.
It was still at Hogwarts.
He remembered now. When Avery had used the Disarming Charm against him, the wand that had been sent flying was his own, not one of the spares.
Dawn's brows furrowed.
So, after his "death," what had happened to his body? Was it burned, buried somewhere, or sent back to his Muggle home?
And his wand—had it been broken?
He decided he would have to look into that later, to see whether there was any way to retrieve it.
That wand had served him well. If he could avoid replacing it, he would.
Fortunately, Dawn could perform most spells wandlessly, so unlike many wizards, he wouldn't be completely helpless without one.
He cast a Cleaning Charm on himself.
Once dry and refreshed, he perched atop one of the crystal bottles, used a Levitation Charm to lift himself and the other bottle into a tree, and settled down to wait.
Now wasn't the time to search for the Fountain of Fair Fortune.
He needed to wait for the Shrinking Solution to wear off.
And he needed to wait for January 21st—when his other self would depart for Hogwarts.
Caw—
A snow crow flew past.
Bored, Dawn turned his head to watch it. Coincidentally, the bird landed nearby on a branch, tilting its head as it stared curiously at him.
Hmm?
Dawn rubbed his chin. Comparing its size carefully, he realized this particular species was larger than the ones sold in Diagon Alley.
Maybe… he'd catch it later.
Time passed quickly.
January 21st.
Vatican City.
The deformed, four-limbed version of Dawn stood by the window, silently watching the sun sink below the horizon.
The house behind him was quiet.
Slughorn had left after brewing the Shrinking Solution. Now, only Dawn remained in this hiding place.
He seemed distracted—not lonely, but restless. The thought of what he was about to do made his heartbeat unsteady, quickening and slowing like a trembling pulse.
It reminded him of childhood dreams, of those uneasy nights spent waiting for exam results.
He was about to return to Hogwarts to complete the final part of the ritual. Yet the letter he hadn't received yesterday gnawed at him like a thorn, keeping him from feeling truly at ease.
He found himself replaying the entire ritual in his mind.
Public exposure: The murder announcements in the Daily Prophet—he and Avery, each publicly declaring their intent to kill, with both "deaths" witnessed by others.
Plunder: Avery lost his father and his own life. Everything he had was taken—absorbed by Dawn to complete himself.
Death: The ritual required a death.
Process: The ritual was not instantaneous—it had a clear sequence of rise and fall.
Cycle: He killed Avery, and Avery "killed" him.
"There won't be a problem," he murmured softly, glancing at the clock on the wall before taking a deep breath and organizing his things.
He had gathered quite a collection by now—money taken from Amir; cursed books from Harris's estate; tomes from the Avery manor; potions and ingredients from Giggs and Slughorn.
There were also odd trinkets—like his copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
All of these were stored in five enchanted pouches with Extension Charms.
One was his own. One had belonged to Amir. The remaining three were Slughorn's.
Dawn took them out one by one.
He couldn't take these things to Hogwarts. Once he left his clone there as a "corpse," his shrunken real body wouldn't be able to carry them all.
He decided to leave everything here, not even bothering to hide it. He placed the pouches openly on the table.
If he succeeded, someone would come for them soon enough. If he failed, no hiding place would make a difference.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed away all unnecessary thoughts. Once night fell, he Disapparated from the room.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock kept turning.
When the hour hand moved forward by one notch, another burst of firelight flared in the empty house.
Dawn returned once more.
But this time, he no longer appeared as the deformed, four-limbed figure.
Now he was back to a normal human shape, a dazed snow crow perched on his shoulder. His back, however, was swollen again.
The Flesh-Cloning Spell was still at work—after severing his clone, the growth had returned over the past two days.
"Finally," Dawn exhaled, a trace of impatience in his tone. Then, remembering something, he muttered:
"Come to think of it, I really didn't send that letter to the other me yesterday. But that's fine. Since I never received one either, it's only right to leave history as it was."
He shook his head at the thought.
Glancing at the pouches on the table, he set the snow crow aside, stepped forward, and picked up a small bottle.
It contained the misty memory he had extracted from Avery on January 17th.
He had left it behind before going to Hogwarts.
Now.
He took out the bottles containing the sweat and tears, lining all three up neatly on the table.
They looked ordinary enough.
But to Dawn, they glimmered like precious jewels, and he couldn't help licking his lips in excitement.
All his effort—all his risks—had been for these.
And Dawn was certain the ritual had succeeded.
Unlike the sweat and tears Slughorn had produced, these samples shimmered faintly with silver-white magic.
His heartbeat quickened. He held the bottles carefully, aching to begin the experiment immediately.
But a glance at the clock made him pause.
Wait.
He told himself firmly.
The other him had just gone to Hogwarts.
Only when that version turned the Time-Turner and only one Dawn remained in the world would the ritual be truly complete.
He forced down his impatience. After so much effort, he could afford to wait a little longer.
However—Thinking of the Time-Turner, he realized something odd. When he had killed the future Avery on January 17th, he hadn't found the device on him.
Had Avery left it somewhere before going to Skye Island?
Either way, Dawn's own Time-Turner had been left behind at Hogwarts, so he no longer possessed one.
Frowning, he turned his gaze to the bottle containing Avery's memory.
In The Fountain of Fair Fortune, Amata had drawn out her and her lover's past and cast it into the stream—but Dawn's memory wouldn't be about love.
The bottled memory contained everything Avery had experienced after placing the murder notice in the Daily Prophet—the entire process of the ritual.
Which meant the Time-Turner's location was hidden somewhere in that memory. A quick reading would reveal it.
But after some thought, Dawn chose not to.
He didn't want to risk interfering with the flow of his search for the Fountain itself.
A Time-Turner was a minor thing. Slughorn could easily retrieve another from the Department of Mysteries—he was quite familiar with the place by now.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock hands crept toward twelve, then slipped past, into a new hour.
January 21st came to an end.
Dawn could wait no longer.
He seized the bottles.
How should he proceed?
After a moment of thought, he decided to trust his intuition. Magic, after all, responded to instinct.
He opened the bottles, mixing the sweat with the tears, then dropped the filament-like memory into the liquid.
Dawn narrowed his eyes, anticipation rising.
But—
One minute.
Two minutes.
Nothing happened.
The bottle remained still. The world around him was unchanged. No spring, no pool—nothing even remotely magical appeared.
Failed?
His heart sank.
Had his theory about the Fountain of Fair Fortune—and the ritual itself—been wrong all along?
No.
Dawn shook his head firmly.
The sweat and tears clearly carried traces of magic. The ritual had worked.
So what was missing?
Pressing his fingers to his brow, he tried to think. Finding no inspiration, he decided to take out the remaining Felix Felicis—Liquid Luck—and see if it might spark an idea.
But then he froze.
Felix Felicis—
His eyes narrowed.
Acting on a sudden instinct, or perhaps a flash of inspiration, he uncorked the vial and poured all of the remaining Liquid Luck into the mixture.
Bubble—
The moment the potion met the mixture, countless bubbles erupted!
The misty memory began to dissolve, and the golden hue of the Felix Felicis slowly faded.
Dawn's eyes lit up.
It worked!
He leaned closer, watching intently as the transformation continued. But soon, his excitement gave way to confusion.
The magic within the Felix Felicis was… fading.
Why? As the liquid changed from potion to fountain, its magical energy seemed to dissipate.
Dawn thought something was wrong.
Then he remembered natural magic—vast and omnipresent, yet invisible to the eye.
Perhaps this was normal.
Maybe that was exactly how it should be.
Because the magic was thinning, by the time the reaction neared completion, he could no longer see the glowing mist or the intricate patterns forming within.
He instinctively reached out, ready to infuse his own magic to illuminate them again.
But facing the Fountain of Fair Fortune, he hesitated—fearful, almost possessive. After a moment's internal struggle, he lowered his hand.
Forget it.
He gritted his teeth.
The Fountain of Fair Fortune was tied to the imbalance of his internal magic—and by extension, to his life. He couldn't afford to take unnecessary risks.
So he simply watched.
Under his frustrated gaze, the bubbles grew larger and larger, while the color grew fainter and fainter.
At last, at a critical point, the golden hue of the Liquid Luck faded entirely, replaced by a colorless transparency. The bubbles vanished.
Had it worked?
Dawn drew a deep breath and, as if handling fragile glass, lifted the bottle with utmost care.
The Fountain of Fair Fortune—legendary bringer of luck, the subject of endless debate and desire—might now be resting in his hands.
For a moment, his vision blurred, then filled with fiery excitement.
He wasn't just thrilled by the discovery of the fountain itself—but by what it meant.
That his theory—linking collective belief to natural magic—had proven itself true.
If he could uncover the Fountain of Fair Fortune through a mere fairy tale… then one day, he could uncover far greater things.
"Hah!"
Dawn leaned back in his chair, laughing aloud, his voice echoing with unrestrained joy.
But after a few moments of release, he calmed himself again. After all, whether the bottle truly contained the Fountain still had to be tested.
He peered inside.
The liquid was perfectly clear, pure as crystal, devoid of any visible magic—no different from Muggle spring water.
But Dawn knew it wasn't.
Before using it, he considered finding someone else to test it first—but he worried that if someone else used even a drop, the rest might lose its power.
After all, in the story, only one person each year could bathe in the Fountain.
With a wry smile, he shook his head. At this point, to hesitate would be ridiculous.
No more doubts.
He poured a small amount of the liquid into his palm, planning to begin as in the tale—by bathing in it first.
If that failed, he could always try drinking it.
But in the next instant—
He knew he wouldn't have to.
Through the mirror on the wall, he saw the magical patterns reflected within his body begin to change violently.
The severed black lines writhed and reconnected. Natural magic ceased flowing into him.
The unstable patterns that had flickered for so long finally steadied.
But.
When they stopped flickering, the phoenix-shaped mark did not vanish. Instead, it appeared again—superimposed upon his own magic pattern without replacing it.
Dawn's expression was strange. His body was undergoing an immense transformation—yet he felt nothing at all.
No pain. No energy surge. No heat.
Nothing.
Unlike the visceral feedback of transforming into magical creatures, this process was silent and imperceptible.
Had he not seen it in the mirror, he might not have known anything was happening.
"So this… is the Fountain of Fair Fortune?"
He murmured softly, recalling the common interpretation of the tale—that the wizards' good fortune came not from the fountain, but from themselves.
Perhaps, because part of collective belief saw the Fountain as ordinary, it became ordinary.
Even its effects unfolded quietly, without spectacle.
He drifted in thought.
He didn't know how long had passed.
Eventually, the shifting patterns within him stabilized completely—but they had changed beyond recognition.
Normally.
A wizard's magical pattern—Dawn's included—was two-layered: chaotic black lines on the surface, and the abstract sigil beneath.
But now, his had three layers.
The topmost: the phoenix's distinct outline.
The middle: the black, twisting threads.
And beneath them all: his original mark, unchanged.
Raising an eyebrow, Dawn reached behind him and touched his back. The lump was gone. The Flesh-Cloning Spell had ceased on its own.
And he didn't feel any reduction in magical power.
Dawn smiled silently, curiosity gleaming in his eyes as he began to explore the effects of this profound transformation.
___________
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