Dawn Richter?
The moment he saw the name at the end of the note, Dumbledore's hand tightened around the paper.
After a moment, however, his grip loosened again, and a faint, wry smile appeared on his lips.
This year's Christmas had certainly been full of surprises.
Not only had Nicolas sent him the gramophone he treasured so dearly, but he had also received the gift he liked most—from Dawn.
The old wizard's feelings about that were complicated.
He sat in his chair, looking at the book in his hand with its warm woolen socks on the cover, then glanced at the mountain of presents piled beside him.
He could not help thinking—surely he would not unwrap one later and find a gift from Tom Riddle as well?
Shaking his head, Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. The peaceful mood Christmas had brought him vanished at once.
The past half year had truly given him little rest.
First Dawn had introduced the problem of World Correction, something still not fully understood. Then Voldemort had followed it with the splitting of his soul.
Two grave troubles, appearing one after the other.
Each was more troublesome than the last, leaving him stretched thin.
Dumbledore sighed.
The gentle music from the gramophone filled the room, yet he suddenly had no desire to continue opening gifts.
He rose from his chair, intending to visit Grindelwald and ask his old friend, who knew so much about dark magic, what he thought about Voldemort's method of splitting his soul.
As for Dumbledore's mood, that could wait.
At the very least, the young witches and wizards were enjoying their Christmas holiday.
December 27.
Though Christmas had passed two days earlier, the castle was still full of laughter thanks to the ongoing break.
Around noon.
Harry and Ron, who had spent the entire morning playing wizard chess in the common room, left together to eat lunch in the Great Hall.
In the empty dormitory they had just vacated, a burst of fire suddenly appeared.
Dawn stepped out of the flames.
He had not chosen to come at night. Harry might wander the castle under the Invisibility Cloak, which would only make locating it more troublesome.
Midday, when everyone was eating, was far more convenient.
Still concealed beneath the Disillusionment Charm, he looked around the empty room and nodded in satisfaction.
The dormitory was somewhat messy.
His eyes drifted to the windowsill where the Silverstar Herb had once sat, but it was gone. After a moment he remembered that Neville had likely taken it home.
Without wasting time, Dawn walked straight to Harry's bed and began searching nearby.
There were not many places in a dormitory where something could be hidden.
In less than two minutes, he opened Harry's trunk beneath the bed and found a soft bundle of silver-gray cloth.
The Invisibility Cloak.
One of the three Deathly Hallows.
Dawn's face lit up.
Although he was curious about it, he knew this was not the time to study it. He quickly bundled the delicate fabric and stuffed it into his wallet.
Then he waited.
Alert.
But something strange happened.
No one came.
Even after he tidied the scene and pushed the trunk back under Harry's bed, Dumbledore still did not appear.
What was going on?
Had Dumbledore not noticed his presence?
That seemed unlikely. In a castle like Hogwarts, it was hard to imagine Dumbledore being so slow to react.
Unless—
The old wizard was not in the school.
After waiting several more minutes with no sign of him, Dawn accepted that conclusion.
Was this good luck?
He scratched his head.
Before coming to retrieve the cloak, he had fully expected to encounter Dumbledore.
Yet now the opportunity had slipped past him. If he returned to the Vatican now, this would be a perfect infiltration.
Still, leaving like this felt unfinished.
As he considered the matter, another thought suddenly occurred to him.
The Ravenclaw diadem.
His eyes brightened slightly. If Dumbledore was not in the castle, why not take the diadem as well?
Decision made.
Dawn pictured Dumbledore's office in his mind. In the blink of an eye, he appeared upon the semicircular platform outside it.
Even Dumbledore's office, it seemed, did not restrict a phoenix's form of Apparition.
At that moment, a portrait of a red-nosed, rather plump wizard spotted the burst of fire and shouted,
"Who's there?"
His voice woke the other sleeping portraits at once. Complaints filled the office as voices rose one after another.
"Quiet! Someone's here!" the red-nosed portrait snapped, covering his ears in irritation.
The other portraits fell silent.
Except for one.
Phineas Black shouted loudly, "Someone? Where? Fodderwick, you must be going blind—"
He stopped abruptly.
The drawers of Dumbledore's desk had begun opening by themselves, their contents being rummaged through by invisible hands.
Following the memory of where Dumbledore had taken the diadem during their last two-way mirror conversation, Dawn opened the drawer.
But the diadem was not there.
He frowned.
Avoiding the stacks of gift boxes, he opened every other drawer and cabinet.
After searching thoroughly, he still found no trace of the diadem.
"Hey! You there!"
Seeing that someone truly had entered, the portrait of Black adopted an authoritative tone.
"Which house are you from? The Headmaster's office is not a place for students to play. Get out immediately!"
Dawn ignored the portraits entirely and continued searching the cabinets.
Black, furious at being ignored, grabbed the edges of his frame as if he might leap out.
"If I were still Headmaster, I swear I'd hang you from the ceiling with hooks!"
"Unfortunately, you aren't," Dawn replied casually.
He opened another cabinet and leaned inside to look around... Then he saw something familiar.
His wand.
Dawn raised an eyebrow and pulled it from the clutter.
The moment it touched his hand, a sense of perfect harmony flowed through him.
He was already skilled at wandless magic, but with a wand, his spells would undoubtedly become stronger.
Pleased, he slipped it into his sleeve and resumed searching for the diadem.
After stepping around another pile of gifts, he noticed a tall stool. Resting upon it was a dusty hat.
The Sorting Hat.
Dawn slapped his forehead.
Of course.
Aside from the Ravenclaw diadem, the Sorting Hat was just as valuable.
He had always been curious why an alchemical object carried magical mist within it.
How had he forgotten about it?
"Long time no see."
He lifted the cobweb-covered hat from the stool, studying the intricate patterns within it.
Suddenly awakened, the hat squirmed in alarm.
"Who? Who is it? Put me down at once!"
Dawn thought for a moment, then canceled his Disillusionment Charm and revealed himself.
"Ah! It's you!"
The hat instantly recognized the red eyes of the student who had once asked it countless strange questions.
Then it remembered what he had done before.
Its brim folded inward protectively.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Dawn replied lightly. "I'm just curious about you."
He turned the hat upside down and reached inside.
"Stop that! That tickles! What are you doing to me, you wicked boy?"
Dawn's fingers reached the funnel-shaped bottom.
"Strange," he muttered. "Where have you hidden the Sword of Gryffindor?"
"Don't be ridiculous! Only those who are brave and worthy can draw that sword. You certainly do not qualify!"
"Oh? So it's some kind of magical mechanism?"
Dawn did not believe the hat's explanation. He made a mental note to examine it later.
Even without the Ravenclaw diadem, taking the Sorting Hat would hardly be a loss.
But just then—
A sharp sense of danger prickled across his skin.
His eyes narrowed.
He spun around.
A spell shot from the corner of the room, weaving past the gift boxes and streaking straight toward his chest.
Red light flashed.
Boom.
The air before him hardened like a shield, stopping the spell in place.
Dawn stepped back.
Brilliant particles scattered before his eyes.
After a brief struggle, the red spell ricocheted away, blasting open a stack of presents.
"Headmaster," Dawn said, exhaling softly. "You're not holding back."
Through the cracked surface of his Shield Charm, he looked toward the wizard who had appeared silently.
With a single tap, the solidified air shattered like scales.
Just one attack had nearly broken his shield.
The power was terrifying.
Dawn pressed his lips together, his expression turning serious.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, frowned as he saw the Sorting Hat in Dawn's hand.
He had been in Nurmengard discussing the soul-splitting magic with Grindelwald when he sensed something in the office being disturbed.
But he had never expected the intruder to be Dawn.
"Child," Dumbledore said gravely, meeting his eyes. "The Sorting Hat does not belong to you. Put it down."
"What does it matter, Headmaster?"
Dawn spun the hat lightly on one finger. "It's Christmas, after all. A time for granting children's wishes."
He shrugged.
"Besides, didn't I send you a gift? Consider this a return gift."
Dumbledore took a deep breath.
"Put it down."
Dawn said nothing.
Instead, he tied a ribbon around the hat's brim, summoned water to wash away the dust, and slung it across his back.
"Stop! Don't do that! My wisdom is stored in those folds! Wicked boy, stop at once!"
The hat struggled furiously.
Despite the noise, the office itself felt strangely silent. Like the calm before a storm.
Even the portraits sensed the tension.
Only Black continued shouting.
"Dumbledore! Teach him a lesson! Show him the authority of a Headmaster!"
A clear cry echoed.
Fawkes descended in a blaze of tail feathers and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, studying Dawn curiously.
Dumbledore had already decided he would not let him leave this time.
Feeling the bracelet in his pocket, he narrowed his eyes.
"You're not running, Dawn?"
"Too arrogant, Headmaster. No one runs forever."
Dawn tightened his grip on his wand, his crimson eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Now that he had completed his magical creature transformation research, how far was he from the greatest wizard alive?
His heart pounded.
He grinned.
"Also, Headmaster... could you return my diadem?"
Dumbledore did not answer. He slowly drew the gnarled Elder Wand from his sleeve.
For a moment, everything seemed to pause.
Then magic erupted like the collapse of the sky. Immense power surged from the old wizard's frail body.
No incantation.
No wand movement.
Endless spells formed out of thin air, pouring toward Dawn like molten lava from a volcano.
Dawn's crimson eyes hardened.
°Fiendfyre°
Blue flames surged around him in a rising tide. Birds of fire burst from the inferno and collided with the oncoming spells.
The moment red and blue met—
BOOM!
The collision unleashed violent winds.
Windows shattered.
Gift boxes and papers were sucked out into the air.
And Dawn, overwhelmed by the force, was hurled backward through the broken window.
Not wanting to give him any chance to escape, Dumbledore extinguished the Fiendfyre and strode to the shattered window.
His blue eyes locked onto the falling figure.
Then suddenly—
Something strange happened.
From the scorched ground below, blades erupted in a crossing pattern, slashing upward like executioner's strikes toward his ankles.
A flicker of surprise passed through Dumbledore's eyes.
He responded instantly with transfiguration to counter it.
The blades turned back into rubble.
But a deep cut remained in the hem of his white robes.
"Secondary magic manipulation, Headmaster," Dawn said lightly, meeting his gaze while falling through the air.
"...You taught me that."
Wind roared past his ears.
Fragments of glass spun around him, scattering sunlight into rainbow arcs.
Under his control, the shards halted midair.
They stretched into sharp arrows and shot upward toward Dumbledore with piercing whistles.
"Stay calm! Everyone remain in the Great Hall!"
On the first floor, Professor McGonagall had been eating lunch with the students who remained at school.
Hearing the tremendous crash, she immediately raised her voice to calm the restless children.
After appointing a prefect to maintain order, she gripped her wand and hurried out of the hall, her face tense.
Something had happened in the school.
A bad feeling stirred in her chest.
She pushed open the doors of the Great Hall.
Looking up—
She saw shattered glass raining down as a figure fell from the eighth-floor tower.
___________
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