Everything became clear very quickly.
This time, Dawn had entered the mind of a plague doctor.
With that realization, he abandoned any hope of uncovering his own true past during this dream.
Plague doctors had appeared in the early seventeenth century and disappeared by the eighteenth.
That era was far removed from the twentieth century in which Dawn had lived.
A trace of disappointment passed through him.
Feeling the heavy and suffocating clothing on his body, he turned his gaze toward the burning fire.
Given the period of plague doctors, he understood what he was seeing.
The flames were consuming the body of a victim of the Black Death.
The fearful distance kept by the villagers also made sense. In this era, plague doctors were widely regarded as ominous symbols of death and disaster.
Still, there was nothing to be done.
Since he was already here, he might as well accept it.
The dream would last only a day or two before he awakened in reality. He could simply treat it as a brief glimpse into another time.
Dawn searched himself briefly.
There was no wand.
He attempted to cast magic, but nothing happened.
He frowned.
This time, the mind he had connected to was completely Muggle.
However, recalling his first experience, Dawn began to piece together a rule governing the Resurrection Stone's dreams.
Previously, when he entered the mind of the British detective, he had suspected that casting spells drew upon all magical "data" within the realm of the dead.
It was not limited to the abilities of the person whose mind he occupied.
But now the situation suggested a limitation. To access that magical "data," the mind he connected to had to belong to a wizard.
If the dead person was a Muggle, then magic was completely impossible.
Dawn rubbed his chin beneath the mask.
This distinction struck him as rather interesting.
Within the dream created by the Philosopher's Stone, it did not matter what spells the original owner of the mind knew.
But whether they possessed magic at all made a fundamental difference.
He felt as though he had grasped something important. Yet no matter how he thought about it, he could not fully articulate the insight.
Dawn shook his head.
The fire would take a while to burn down, so he decided not to remain here. Instead, he would try to locate where this plague doctor lived.
The village was clearly under quarantine.
An outbreak of the Black Death had occurred, and soldiers had sealed the area.
As the doctor assigned here, his residence should be somewhere nearby.
Dawn walked around the village.
Before long, he found a small isolated house in a remote corner, far from the dense cluster of homes.
Beside it stood a wooden sign marked with a staff entwined by a serpent.
The medical symbol used in Europe at the time.
Fortunately, Dawn knew enough history to recognize it. He was certain this small house was the doctor's dwelling.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
Inside was a cramped interior divided into two sections.
The front half contained an iron bed covered with a sheet. Nearby were knives and several opaque jars holding unknown substances.
The back half held a table and another bed. That area served as the sleeping quarters.
Dawn entered the bedroom first.
There was no calendar. But a few sheets of rough handmade paper written in English lay on the desk.
They gave him a rough sense of where he might be.
Then again, the details hardly mattered. He could not use magic and would remain here only for a short dream. Knowing the exact country or year was unnecessary.
Dawn approached the desk and picked up a sheet.
It contained scattered notes about medical cases. They described symptoms of the Black Death.
Nosebleeds herald death.
Men and women first develop unknown swellings in the inner thighs and underarms, some as large as apples or eggs. The swelling spreads throughout the body.
Black spots then appear, especially on the arms and thighs, dense and numerous.
Almost all who show these symptoms die within three days. Even those who survive briefly soon perish from complications or reinfection.
The page contained only a few hastily written paragraphs. Dawn set it down without much reaction.
Truthfully, he had never encountered the Black Death.
Though he knew it had once been Europe's greatest nightmare, so much time had passed that it felt like distant history.
This was hardly unique to him.
Even the iconic plague doctor costume had become a novelty in modern times. Because of this, Dawn could not truly feel the weight behind the words.
He picked up another page with curious interest.
Maintain a distance of at least three meters from plague victims. Avoid direct contact with their saliva, blood, skin, or the swellings on their bodies.
Avoid proximity to corpses of humans or animals. Eat less meat, especially undercooked meat. Consume more vegetables.
This page listed preventative measures.
From these notes, Dawn concluded that the doctor whose mind he occupied was likely a legitimate physician, not one of the many unqualified officials employed by desperate governments.
He placed the paper down and began searching the room.
Perhaps there would be something like a diary, similar to the detective's notes from his previous experience.
But just as the thought crossed his mind—
Bang.
Bang bang.
Urgent knocking interrupted him.
"Doctor! Doctor!"
A panicked voice shouted from outside.
Before Dawn could even reach the door, it burst open.
The sound of wheels rattled across the floor.
A middle-aged man entered, his head wrapped in cloth so that only his eyes were visible.
He pushed a small cart carrying an unconscious boy. The moment he saw Dawn, he cried out desperately.
"Doctor, save him. Please save him!"
Dawn stepped out from the bedroom.
He looked at the boy lying on the cart.
The child's face was pale. He seemed feverish. His chest was slightly swollen.
Dawn frowned.
Save him? How?
He could not use magic.
He was merely an ordinary Muggle doctor in this dream—and one with no medical knowledge at all.
So he shook his head and spoke bluntly. "There is no saving him. Take him home and pray to God."
Perhaps Dawn himself did not notice it. But as he admitted his helplessness, a faint flicker of fear crossed his heart.
If one day all magic disappeared from the world, what would become of him?
With the traits of a phoenix, he would live endlessly. But how would he survive without magic?
The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
Dawn did not notice it at all.
"No! No!"
The man collapsed in despair.
"Doctor, he only developed a fever today. He can be saved. He must be saved. Please, I beg you!"
He dropped to his knees, repeatedly striking his head against the floor.
Then he reached out, trying to grasp the hem of Dawn's robe.
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