"Mr. Richter..."
Seeing Dawn withdraw his fingers, Neville remembered what had happened at the magic conference.
He immediately spoke up, his face filled with longing and nervous anticipation.
Dawn couldn't be bothered to keep them in suspense. He leaned back against the chair and nodded his chin.
"Done!"
Done?!
Neville hadn't even reacted yet, but Mrs. Longbottom had already frowned.
He had merely placed his hand on the man's arm and, in less than a minute, claimed that he had cured him?
What was that if not a fraud?
She turned her gaze toward Dumbledore, but before she could voice her doubts, a faint voice came from beside her, making her freeze.
"This... where is this...?"
On the hospital bed, the blank expressions that had previously covered the Longbottom couple's faces were gone.
Their skin was still pale, but there was noticeably more vitality in them than before.
They looked at the unfamiliar ceiling and murmured in confusion.
Then they saw the familiar vulture-shaped hat at the highest point of the room.
"Mom!"
Just like that.
The old woman's eyes turned red.
But she said nothing.
She merely took a deep breath, pulled Neville in front of her, and placed him directly within the sight of the man and woman.
"Dad... Mom..."
Neville called out softly.
He had longed for this moment so desperately.
Yet now that it had actually arrived, an inexplicable sense of timidity seized him.
He lowered his head and nervously twisted the edge of his clothes, fumbling helplessly for words.
In the end, he could only awkwardly attempt to introduce himself.
"I... I'm..."
"Neville. Neville Longbottom!"
The woman on the bed interrupted him.
Her gaze was no longer clouded.
She smiled gently, struggled to prop up her weakened body, and reached out to stroke the little fat boy's head.
"You silly child. How could I fail to recognize my own son?"
Plop.
Tears suddenly fell.
Neville's shoulders trembled.
He repeatedly wiped at his eyes, soft sobs escaping his throat before gradually turning into loud, uncontrollable crying.
But—
There was no grievance in his cries.
Only joy and precious relief.
He carefully threw himself into their embrace and, amid their questions, began haltingly recounting all the little things that had happened in his life.
He didn't mention being bullied by Malfoy.
He didn't mention his classmates playing tricks on him.
It was as though he didn't want them to worry, so he described everything from the brightest and happiest angle possible.
The office was sometimes filled with crying.
Sometimes with laughter.
Dumbledore watched the scene with a gentle expression.
At this moment, he sincerely hoped that all his suspicions were nothing more than his own paranoia, and that Dawn's treatment truly had no problems whatsoever.
The old headmaster stroked his beard in relief.
But then he suddenly heard a nearly inaudible snort.
He turned his head.
It came from the red-eyed boy sitting in the office chair, who was currently pouting.
Dawn really disliked scenes like this.
He clicked his tongue.
He couldn't be bothered to stay and wait for the completely unnecessary gratitude that would inevitably come later.
A ball of flame appeared.
With a flash, he disappeared.
Boom!
A wave of air rolled through the office.
The enormous disturbance finally drew the attention of the Longbottom family.
The man on the bed froze for a moment before looking toward Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, that boy just now was..."
Before the old headmaster could answer, Neville quietly explained:
"Dawn Richter. His name is Dawn Richter! He's... really amazing! He was the one who cured you!"
"Is that so?"
The man slapped his forehead, looking somewhat regretful.
"How terribly rude! We actually forgot to thank our savior!"
He rubbed his chin, then turned toward his wife and began quietly discussing what they could offer as a suitable gift.
Mrs. Longbottom, standing nearby, heard this and hesitated to speak.
But thinking of this joyful day, she ultimately swallowed her words.
Forget it.
At least today, let this happiness remain a little purer.
When nobody was paying attention, the old woman wiped the corner of her eye.
Her usually stern and rigid face showed a rare, faint smile.
Afterward—
The Longbottom family did not remain for long.
Although the couple had regained consciousness thanks to Dawn's treatment, examinations and recovery were still indispensable.
Once their emotions had settled, they returned to St. Mungo's Hospital.
Neville and his grandmother went with them.
For a time, Dumbledore was left alone in the office.
The old headmaster glanced at the Sorting Hat sitting on the desk.
He knew very well that during that interval, it and Dawn must have talked about something.
But after hesitating for a moment, he didn't ask.
In fact, during the dispute over the diadem that morning, Dumbledore had vaguely sensed that something was wrong afterward.
Considering the blank portion of his own memories, he already had some suspicions.
But he was long past the age where he needed to dig into every mystery.
Sometimes, a little ignorance was a blessing.
Just as he had said before, Dawn and Tom already occupied almost all of his attention. He simply didn't have the energy to divide his mind among other matters.
So—
The old headmaster merely sat down.
While answering the hat's complaints, he carefully wiped the liquid from its body and then placed it back on the high stool.
Afterward, he closed his eyes slightly and continued using his authority as headmaster to monitor Dawn's every movement through the portraits.
Fawkes also flew down from his shoulder, gave a soft cry, and returned to his perch.
Meanwhile—
After leaving the headmaster's office, Dawn continued wandering through the castle, examining everything around him.
He even made a trip around the vicinity of the Hufflepuff common room.
But by the time the sun had set in the west, crimson light illuminating the clouds, he still hadn't discovered any hidden room.
Soon—
Night fell.
After a full day of classes, the castle became even livelier than it had been during the day.
Young wizards poured toward the Great Hall from every direction.
Dawn didn't go with them for dinner.
He hated settling for inferior things when something better was available.
So, as usual, he took out Hufflepuff's Golden Cup.
Then he began figuring out where he was going to sleep.
Because he was worried that constantly leaving might affect the castle's response to him, Dawn intended to live here for the time being.
Thus—
Using the Secret Charm, he carved out a small space in the castle's outer wall.
After setting up defensive magic, he used Transfiguration to create a bed and various pieces of furniture.
Finally, with a strange sense of nostalgia, he brought out the equipment he had purchased back when he was working as a professor and arranged it all over again.
As for the Room of Requirement—
Perhaps Dawn was simply being overly cautious, but he always felt that living there, on Dumbledore's turf, was nowhere near as safe or comfortable as having his own place.
Once everything was arranged, Dawn threw himself onto the bed.
He tested the softness of the mattress and nodded in satisfaction.
And just like that, he settled in.
Over the next few days—
Every morning, Dawn conducted his own research on Trait Patterns within the Mysterious Spell space.
In the afternoons, he wandered around the castle.
Sometimes, he would even use the Copying Charm to reproduce rare books from the library, enriching his personal collection.
Aside from Dumbledore, who was always spying on him like some kind of pervert, and McGonagall, who became extremely wary whenever they crossed paths, Dawn felt that life wasn't much different from his first year at Hogwarts.
Regular.
Lively.
Relaxed.
Even the restlessness in his heart was soothed.
However—
Strictly speaking, there was still one major difference.
The biggest difference was the patients who flooded into the castle every day.
Although Dawn had originally announced that he would only conduct public consultations on the first day of every month, once word spread that he was staying at Hogwarts, quite a few wizards who couldn't wait any longer came asking for treatment.
Dawn didn't refuse all of them.
The situation was becoming increasingly serious, and he also wanted to accelerate the rate at which he accumulated prestige, thereby improving his own safety.
However—
To avoid delaying his other work, he used the Daily Prophet to announce a new rule.
He would only receive patients for one hour each evening, from six to seven.
Although this wasted a little time every day, Dawn could use the patients to put his research on Trait Patterns into practice.
And because he received payment, he also obtained quite a few strange and unusual books.
For example—
One witch brought him a book titled Worms in the Intestines.
It explained a form of miraculous magic that could lubricate the bowels and keep constipation at bay.
There was also a book titled The Secrets of Smooth Skin, which recorded various spells for whitening and maintaining one's skin.
They didn't seem particularly useful.
But Dawn still carefully stored them away to enrich his collection.
Moreover—
This gave him an idea.
If he wanted information related to Merlin or the history of the castle, he didn't necessarily have to search for it himself.
He could mobilize other wizards.
Perhaps some forgotten, obscure manuscript would eventually surface from somewhere.
After writing another letter to Fudge and assigning him this task, Dawn continued following the magical circuits throughout the castle, wandering here and there.
And so—
Life remained peaceful and orderly.
The sun rose and set.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
October 5th.
That day, Dawn was searching for hidden secrets in the kitchens under the frightened gazes of the house-elves when Lupin suddenly came looking for him with a complicated expression.
Behind him stood an unfamiliar woman in her thirties or forties.
Beside her was a thin, undersized boy of about ten years old.
"Mr. Richter..."
The werewolf professor hesitated as he spoke.
But before he could finish, the woman beside him suddenly dropped to her knees.
Thump!
She slammed her forehead against the floor and knocked it against the ground several times.
Only then did she speak bitterly:
"Mr. Richter, please... please save my son. Please, I'm begging you. Help him..."
As she spoke, the woman tugged at the boy's clothes and made him kneel beside her.
Several nearby house-elves were horrified by the sight and immediately followed suit.
For a moment, the kitchen was filled with clattering noises.
It sounded like someone had gone berserk on a drum set.
Dawn rubbed his chin.
He pulled his attention away from the magical circuits and looked at the mother and son kneeling before him.
Werewolves?
Based on Lupin standing beside them, he quickly figured out their identities.
Rather than being surprised, Dawn actually felt a sense of finally, you've come.
Long before the press conference, Dawn had already regarded werewolves as one of his target groups.
In his view, the more despair and suffering someone had experienced, the deeper their devotion would become after receiving salvation.
The werewolf population clearly fit that criterion.
It was just that Lupin hadn't come forward for treatment during the magic conference, leaving Dawn without an excellent werewolf example for publicity.
Thus, it was only now that a werewolf had finally come knocking.
Dawn didn't waste words.
After telling them to stand, he narrowed his eyes. Complicated patterns appeared before him.
Speaking of which—
Back when he had been trying to achieve magical creature transformations during his first year, he had already researched the peculiar species known as werewolves quite extensively.
Although that research had ultimately proved useless, Dawn wasn't unfamiliar with werewolves.
And later—
After learning about the existence of the Collective Consciousness and natural magic, he had developed a much more comprehensive understanding of them.
Although modern wizarding society classified lycanthropy as a disease, Dawn believed it was more accurately a ritual and an inevitable phenomenon.
After all, stories of werewolves had existed throughout the world as far back as around 2100 BC.
In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the goddess Ishtar possessed the soul of a dying shepherd with a wild wolf, transforming him into a werewolf.
Later, mythology evolved further.
There were the stories of Lycaon in ancient Greek mythology, as well as the Volsunga Saga from ancient Norse tradition.
The legends surrounding werewolves continued to develop.
Eventually, elements involving the lunar cycle and savage desires became intertwined with them, forming the core archetype of werewolves throughout the Middle Ages and into the modern era.
Under such an ancient and deeply rooted Collective Consciousness, the emergence of werewolves could only be described as inevitable.
The signs had existed for a very long time.
These thoughts surfaced in Dawn's mind.
At this moment, he suddenly remembered his previous discussion with Nicolas Flamel regarding the creation of species and the concept of the "homunculus in a flask."
At the time, the alchemical master had pointed out that when natural magic, or rituals, participated in the creation of a species, it wasn't truly a brand-new species.
Rather, it was the world using the hands of wizards to bring into existence species that were destined to exist.
Now—
This theory was being demonstrated perfectly by werewolves.
Dawn didn't know who the first wizard to create, or rather transform into, a werewolf had been.
But based on the approximate records regarding the emergence of werewolves in wizarding history, he was certain it had happened during the Middle Ages, when the Collective Consciousness surrounding werewolves had already become deeply established.
Strictly speaking, therefore, it really couldn't be said that wizards had created werewolves.
His mind was filled with countless thoughts.
But Dawn hadn't completely lost focus.
Most of his attention remained concentrated on the Trait Patterns within the boy's body.
After examining them, he frowned slightly.
Judging from the shapes of the patterns, there wasn't actually much difference between a werewolf wizard and an ordinary wizard.
They still belonged to essentially the same category.
Such similarity clearly couldn't explain why they transformed into werewolves.
Furthermore, werewolves only transformed during the full moon.
Dawn could only conclude that their condition was related to external patterns.
During the full moon, external patterns caused the Trait Patterns within the body to undergo a forced transformation.
If that was the case—
To establish his reputation and gain prestige among the werewolf community, Dawn could only use his replacement therapy.
However, now that he understood how precious wizards were, he had no intention of killing this time.
Instead, he planned to exchange the boy's identity with that of a material.
"It can be cured."
Dawn rubbed the corner of his eye and looked at the woman.
"However, werewolf treatment is somewhat troublesome. I need to take him away for a while first. Can you accept that?"
The woman hesitated slightly.
But when she remembered all the patients who had recovered under Dawn's hands during this period, she eventually nodded and chose to trust him.
And so—
What happened next requires little explanation.
Dawn took the boy and disappeared.
He went to Egypt and deliberately spent some extra time there to make everything appear reasonable.
Twenty minutes later, he returned to the castle.
Then—
He returned a healthy child to the woman.
Lupin, who had heard that the boy had been cured, immediately wore a complicated expression.
He took a deep breath and hurried over to examine the child carefully, wanting to see whether there were any problems.
He trusted Dumbledore deeply and had repeatedly tried to persuade the woman not to come.
But there was simply no way to convince a mother who desperately wanted her son to live a normal life.
"Oh, right, ma'am."
Dawn casually added:
"I believe tomorrow is the full moon.
Technically, your son has already been cured, but just to be safe, it's best to stay nearby for another day.
If anything goes wrong, I'll still be able to correct it in time."
He wanted to confirm whether a werewolf's transformation was indeed caused solely by the external patterns, as he had theorized.
Faced with such a request, the woman naturally agreed without hesitation.
Then she pulled a handful of scattered silver and copper coins from her clothes.
After painstakingly gathering them together, she had roughly two Galleons.
This enormous "fortune" was offered carefully with a nervous, ingratiating expression.
Dawn accepted the money without refusing.
Only then did the woman let out a sigh of relief.
Before leaving—
She even reminded him gratefully, "Mr. Richter, please be careful of Fenrir Greyback. He might try to harm you."
Fenrir Greyback?
At the name, Dawn merely raised an eyebrow.
He knew the man.
The leader of the werewolf community.
He was dedicated to turning more wizards into werewolves, hoping to build a powerful army and eventually take control of the wizarding world.
A delusional madman.
Like Lupin, who had been deliberately bitten by Fenrir when he was a child because Lupin's father had insulted werewolves, saying that they all deserved to die.
It was easy to imagine what would happen.
If word spread that Dawn could cure werewolves, Fenrir certainly wouldn't let it go.
Attacking Dawn from the shadows was entirely possible.
However—
In the face of such a supposedly catastrophic threat, Dawn simply couldn't bring himself to feel nervous.
Who had he been dealing with?
Dumbledore.
Voldemort.
Merlin.
The Four Founders.
And what level was Fenrir supposed to be compared with them?
If that idiot really dared come looking for him, Dawn wouldn't mind doing a good deed and burning the stupid wolf into ashes.
Even Lupin, standing nearby and hearing this, wore an indescribably complicated expression.
He knew very well that Fenrir might be a nightmare to him.
But to Dawn, at most, he was nothing more than an ugly toy.
___________
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