On the staircase.
Dawn leaned against the railing and looked down at Neville, who was bowing before him with barely concealed nervousness. His eyes slowly narrowed.
He hadn't expected Neville to appear at this moment.
Or rather, he had expected it, but had deliberately made himself forget about it, unwilling to care.
The amusement park beneath the setting sun.
The two of them had parted ways inside the Ferris wheel, and Dawn had extracted every memory Neville had of him, severing their relationship completely.
"Then... I don't want to play with you anymore!"
Those words seemed to still echo beside his ear.
Dawn gave an unhappy, cold laugh.
At this moment, he really wanted to say something hurtful.
But then the radiance of the Silver Star Grass suddenly flashed through his mind, leaving him silent.
Speaking of which...
How was that pot of grass doing now?
Dawn suddenly found himself distracted.
He remembered stuffing the pot into a corner of his wallet. He hadn't watered or fertilized it, so by now it had probably withered into a miserable state.
And so—
For some inexplicable reason—
Dawn couldn't bring himself to get angry anymore.
"Sure, Neville."
After a moment of silence, he looked at the boy below and said:
"However, what are you willing to pay in exchange?"
"The... the price?"
Neville was startled.
Then he immediately raised his head and said firmly, "I... I'll accept anything!"
"Really?"
Dawn gave a quiet laugh.
"What if I asked you to kill someone?"
He descended two steps.
His shadow stretched longer and longer beneath the sunlight, while his voice became increasingly low and hoarse.
"For example, that Malfoy who is always bullying you. If I asked you to kill him in exchange for your parents being cured, Neville, would you agree?"
"Kill... kill him?!"
Hearing those blood-chilling words, Neville's eyes widened. He looked completely lost.
He instinctively stammered:
"I... I can't... I can't do it. I don't want to hurt anyone!"
"Oh? Are you sure?"
Dawn raised an eyebrow, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
"Neville, don't you want your parents to watch you grow up? Don't you want to see them put presents into your hands at Christmas?
And Malfoy's a bad person, isn't he? He doesn't just bully you.
He bullies other students too. If you think about it that way, you'd practically be doing everyone a good deed."
Dawn's voice was soft.
"So why refuse? If you're worried about what other people will think, I'll take Malfoy somewhere secluded. Only you and I will know about it."
Dawn tempted him.
Perhaps because of some obscure knot in his own heart, he wanted the little fat boy to say certain words.
Neville's round face scrunched up.
No!
He told himself that firmly.
Neville couldn't explain any profound principles, but his simple sense of right and wrong allowed him to summon up his courage and clumsily argue back:
"That's... that's wrong! Grandma says... we can't do things that are wrong!"
Silence.
Only the echoes remained in the corridor.
Tsk.
He really hadn't changed at all. That infuriating sense of justice!
Dawn curled his lips and stared at Neville for a long time.
Then, suddenly, he lost interest.
"Forget it."
He shook his head and stopped arguing.
He simply walked past Neville, the two of them gradually moving farther and farther apart with their backs turned to each other.
Neville pursed his lips, his expression dimming.
But then a voice suddenly drifted over from the distance, leisurely reaching his ears:
"I'm not going to make a special trip to the hospital for you. But I'll be staying in the castle for the next while. As long as you can bring them here, I'll help you this once."
Neville froze.
He hurriedly turned around.
But that figure had already disappeared around the corner.
"Thank... thank you!"
He bowed once again and shouted loudly.
There was no response.
Dawn continued walking, no longer thinking about Neville.
The magical circuits within the castle appeared and disappeared from time to time, bringing him plenty of small surprises.
Candles that changed color.
Statues that told jokes.
Unfortunately, all of them were still a hundred thousand miles away from what he actually wanted.
Suddenly—
When he reached a secluded corridor, Dawn sighed.
"Come out, Headmaster. I can see you. You've been following me for so long. What exactly do you want?"
He turned his head and looked toward the cold wall behind him.
There was no one there, but he could see the dense, vigorous magical mist.
Only the old headmaster in the entire castle could reach such a level.
He had merely been spying through portraits earlier, yet now he'd hurried over here.
Was he worried that Dawn might do something to Neville?
Dawn clicked his tongue.
That thought flashed through his mind as he watched the white-bearded old man materialize from thin air.
His expression became increasingly impatient.
"Dawn, why did you say those things to Neville? Why did you tempt him to attack Draco?"
Dumbledore opened with a reprimand.
"It was just a joke. Can't you tell?"
Dawn was thoroughly irritated.
"You've always been like this. Why do you always make such a big deal out of everything I do?"
He snorted.
He didn't want to say anything more to the old headmaster, so he turned around and continued walking.
Dumbledore silently watched his departing back.
After a long while, he let out a weary sigh.
He had intended to continue following him.
But as he passed a window, he suddenly saw Neville, who had just run down toward the Black Lake, being caught by Filch.
Neville was desperately trying to explain something, spinning around in panic.
Dumbledore frowned.
Thinking of the conversation he could no longer continue with Dawn, he called for Fawkes, intending to help Neville first.
Listening in from the side just now had told him what the boy wanted to do.
To be honest, the old headmaster didn't trust Dawn's treatment. But he also knew the condition of the Longbottom couple.
St. Mungo's had no way to save them.
Therefore—
He intended to tell the Longbottom family everything he knew, along with his suspicions, and let them make the final decision themselves.
Rubbing his brow, Dumbledore took one last look at the boy who was about to disappear from sight.
Then, accompanied by the phoenix's soft cry, he vanished without a trace.
The castle was quiet.
After parting from Dumbledore, Dawn remained indignant for quite some time.
Eventually, he calmed down and returned his attention to his own affairs.
The magical circuits within the castle were complicated and densely intertwined.
It wasn't easy for Dawn to distinguish them.
However, he wasn't wandering around randomly.
He first explored the more iconic locations before moving on to the secluded corners.
Once he had calmed down, Dawn suddenly thought—
Shouldn't he go to the headmaster's office?
It was a place he had rarely visited.
Perhaps he could find something there.
Besides—
There was something else he needed to ask the Sorting Hat about properly!
With that thought, Dawn immediately turned on his heel and headed toward the eighth floor of the castle.
He soon arrived before the statue of the griffin-shaped door knocker.
The door to the headmaster's office was tightly locked.
Dawn tried several dessert names but couldn't guess the password.
In the end, he simply transformed into a tiny insect and squeezed through a gap in the window.
The office was peaceful.
A silver watering can breathed out wisps of mist.
A wooden stool bent its legs and hopped across the carpet as though dancing.
Dawn returned to his normal form.
He glanced around and realized no one had followed him.
It was somewhat strange.
Why was Dumbledore so confident? Perhaps he was relying on Fawkes to come and go quickly?
Dawn made that guess, but discarded it the next moment.
It wasn't important.
He walked around the desk.
Ignoring the whispers coming from the portraits of former headmasters above him, he went straight toward the high stool.
The Sorting Hat was sitting on it.
Its body slowly expanded and contracted like a human breathing, clearly sleeping soundly.
Dawn picked up the old hat.
He sat back down in Dumbledore's chair.
Without waking the hat, he immediately used Legilimency to search through its memories.
But—
To Dawn's surprise—
He didn't read anything at all this time!
"Looks like it really does have some way of protecting its memories?"
Dawn muttered.
Instead, the Sorting Hat woke up because of the magic.
"Who... who is it? Who's attacking me?"
It looked around frantically.
When it saw Dawn's scarlet eyes, it froze for a moment before letting out an anguished cry:
"Ah! Why is it you? Dumbledore! Get him away! Dumbledore?!"
It screamed at the top of its voice.
Dawn frowned.
He ignored the noise.
After thinking for a moment, he took a bottle of Veritaserum from his wallet, uncorked it, and poured some onto the hat's body and into its opening.
"Oh! Evil wizard! What filthy thing did you pour all over me?! Get it off!"
The old hat cried out in alarm.
It propped itself up with its brim and shook its body, trying to fling the mysterious potion away.
"Relax. It's just some cleaning solution. Look at you making such a fuss. You're not showing even a trace of Mr. Gryffindor's composure."
Dawn calmly put the bottle away.
He turned the hat around, positioned the indentation where its "eyes" were directly toward himself, and asked:
"Old Hat, how much do you remember about Ravenclaw's Diadem?"
The Sorting Hat didn't answer.
It merely snorted angrily, clearly refusing to cooperate.
It seemed the Veritaserum hadn't worked.
Dawn clicked his tongue.
He looked around, pulled out a sheet of parchment from the desk, and transformed it into a pair of sharp scissors.
He placed the brim between the blades.
With a faint smile, he asked:
"I'm asking you, dead hat. Who exactly found the diadem left behind by Ravenclaw?"
"You did! You did! You did, all right?! Stop bullying an old lady—oh, Merlin! It's going to cut me! Get those scissors away!"
The Sorting Hat completely broke down.
No one had ever dared treat it like this!
It swore that if it had the ability, it would send this bastard of a young wizard straight to Azkaban and never let him out.
Dawn rubbed his chin.
He was worried that the hat was merely following his own statements rather than telling the truth, so he continued:
"Then how did the diadem end up in Dumbledore's hands?"
"You were framed on Halloween! During your conversation with Dumbledore, you inexplicably handed it over to him!"
The hat spoke faster and faster, clearly wanting to get rid of Dawn as quickly as possible.
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Just as he thought.
The Sorting Hat really could resist the World Correction!
After confirming it, his gaze instantly became feverishly excited.
Even with all those filthy patches covering it, the hat suddenly seemed incredibly magnificent in his eyes.
He cleared his throat.
His voice softened as he continued:
"Old Hat, do you know how many times the past has been changed recently?
Something like what happened with Merlin during the era of the Four Founders."
Dawn wanted to verify whether the World Correction truly happened with extreme frequency, and he simply hadn't noticed most of the instances.
But—
"I don't know!"
The moment Merlin was mentioned, the old hat immediately understood what Dawn meant.
Its answer was unusually straightforward.
Worried that Dawn wouldn't believe it, it quickly explained:
"I only come out and move around during the Sorting every year. I sleep the rest of the time.
How would I know how many times the past has been changed?"
Dawn was momentarily speechless.
He thought about the Sorting Hat's usual pattern of activity and found the explanation perfectly reasonable.
He gave it a look of utter disappointment.
Such an incredible ability, and all it did was sleep?
What a waste!
Dawn rolled his eyes and changed the subject.
"Then do you know how the Four Founders created you?"
"Hmm... I actually prefer the word 'nurtured.' And besides, do you know the details of your own birth?"
The Sorting Hat grumbled.
So, basically, it didn't know?
Dawn sighed.
The admiration in his eyes completely disappeared.
He slipped the hat over his index finger and spun it around, looking at it with disdain.
"You're completely useless."
"Oh! Stop! Stop! Stop! Why are you always doing such cruel things to me? I'm going to have Dumbledore send you to Azkaban!"
The Sorting Hat raged helplessly.
Dawn shook his head.
He had no intention of actually spinning the hat apart.
After all, although this thing was useless in some respects, its value was still extremely high.
He glanced around the empty office.
Then his eyes shifted.
A crooked idea came to mind.
Perhaps he could try taking the hat away again.
°Disapparation°
Dawn grabbed the tip of the hat and cast the spell.
But—
The moment the flames of Apparition enveloped his body, he suddenly remembered his dream from the previous night.
His movements abruptly stopped.
Something was wrong!
Dawn narrowed his eyes.
A chill ran through him.
According to what he had learned from the dream, most of his current memories were false.
His true past self was named Lai.
Then—
If the Sorting Hat could truly resist the World Correction, how could it have just given answers that completely matched his current memories?
Or could it be—
Before the World Correction that had occurred this morning, Lai had also been the one who found the diadem?
And had also experienced being framed by Voldemort and subsequently handing it over?
Thoughts raced through Dawn's mind.
He narrowed his eyes.
After remaining silent for a long time, he cautiously asked:
"Old Hat, do you know someone named Lai?"
"Lai? Oh... there have been plenty of wizards with that name over the past thousand years. Which one do you mean?"
The Sorting Hat sounded dazed.
Hearing that answer, Dawn's heart sank.
But he still held onto a sliver of hope.
His expression became solemn as he reminded the hat:
"He entered school three years ago. He was in the same year as Harry Potter, and he belonged to Ravenclaw. You don't know him?"
He described him in great detail.
Yet this only made the Sorting Hat look even stranger.
"Same year as Harry? You're a student from that year yourself. How could you not know whether there was a young wizard named Lai?"
Dawn frowned.
He hated this kind of back-and-forth.
He grabbed the drooping tip of the hat and demanded:
"So? Is there one or isn't there?!"
"Oh! Let go! Let go! Of course there isn't!"
The Sorting Hat shrieked.
But at last, it gave him a definite answer.
It couldn't help muttering under its breath:
"Who would've thought? You're so young, yet your memory is worse than mine. You must have had too many evil thoughts, and they've burned your brain."
The Sorting Hat quietly vented its frustration.
But Dawn didn't hear a word of it.
How was that possible? That question continued echoing through his mind.
The Sorting Hat could resist the World Correction.
Yet it didn't know Lai. Then what exactly was the dream he had experienced that night?
Where had things gone wrong?
A chill crept through Dawn's heart.
Once again, the feeling of being surrounded by layers of fog enveloped him.
Without hesitation, he continued questioning the Sorting Hat about himself.
According to the Sorting Hat—
It had always known Dawn.
The person Sorted had been Dawn.
The person who entered Ravenclaw had been Dawn.
The person who had been framed and forced to leave the school had likewise been Dawn.
There was no trace of Lai anywhere.
"How could this be..."
Dawn murmured in disbelief.
He stared blankly at the Sorting Hat, utterly unable to understand what was happening.
Could it really be that the Castle Consciousness had gone wrong?
Or was the Sorting Hat lying to him?
The hairs on the back of Dawn's neck all stood on end.
His thoughts wavered between those two possibilities, unable to decide which one to believe.
And precisely at that moment—
Creak.
The office door suddenly opened.
Dawn came back to himself and looked up.
Dumbledore walked in with Neville. Beside him was an elderly woman wearing a vulture-shaped hat.
Then—
Behind the three of them, a hospital bed floated slowly into the room.
Two middle-aged people lay upon it, their cheeks sunken, both unconscious and unresponsive.
The Longbottom family had arrived.
And of all times, it had to be now!
Dawn felt a headache coming on.
But things had already reached this point.
If he suddenly said he wasn't going to treat them anymore, he had a feeling that would only create even more trouble later.
Forget it.
It wouldn't take much time anyway.
Dawn took a deep breath and composed himself.
Then he immediately ordered:
"Put the bed here. I need to examine their condition first."
The commanding tone immediately made Mrs. Longbottom frown.
In truth, she didn't trust Dawn either.
That was why she had stopped her grandson from bringing his parents to yesterday's conference.
But—
Not long ago, when she had seen the pleading and hopeful light in Neville's eyes, Mrs. Longbottom had found herself unable to refuse him again.
Furthermore, her son and daughter-in-law truly had no other treatment options.
And Dumbledore had frankly told her that although he was suspicious, he had found no actual problems with Dawn's methods.
After hesitating for a long time, Mrs. Longbottom finally decided to take the chance.
After all, the outcome couldn't possibly be worse.
She looked at her son and daughter-in-law lying on the bed, vacant and unresponsive to everything around them.
A trace of sorrow appeared on the old woman's face.
But Dawn had no time to concern himself with her complicated emotions.
He narrowed his eyes and examined the Trait Patterns within the two patients.
The Cruciatus Curse was a spell that damaged the soul.
Before this, Dawn had considered the possibility that he might be unable to treat them himself and would have to imitate someone else's method to muddle through.
Fortunately—
Although the portions of the Trait Patterns representing their souls were filled with cracks and looked extremely severe, they had not yet become completely distorted.
Their original forms were still intact.
Restoring them would not be difficult.
Dawn placed his hand around the man's wrist.
His magic seeped inside.
He severed the black lines and restored the heavily cracked patterns to their complete forms.
Less than a minute later, he withdrew his fingers.
___________
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