The black dog lunged again.
Its powerful hind legs shattered the floor beneath it, spiderweb cracks spreading across the stone.
The massive shadow stretched forward, carrying with it the stench of blood and rot.
Gritting his teeth, Dawn grabbed the leg of a chair while sliding backward and hurled it toward the window.
Crash!
Bloodstained glass shattered instantly.
At the same time, Dawn twisted sideways and rolled between the table legs, narrowly avoiding the black dog's second swipe.
The beast pursued relentlessly.
Like a machine programmed only to kill, it smashed through tables and chairs alike, cold breath hissing through its teeth.
Still—
The obstacles slowed it down.
Hunched over, Dawn burst out from beneath the tables, grabbed the windowsill, and clumsily hauled himself outside.
Jagged glass sliced open his leg.
Boom!
A thunderous crash followed.
The enormous black dog slammed after him, half its body pushing through the window. But its massive frame became stuck in the narrow opening, disrupting its movements.
The church wall trembled violently.
Cracks spread from the window frame.
Dawn rolled through the mud outside. The cold rain hit his overheated skin, cooling the feverish heat caused by his racing heart.
Panting, he climbed to his feet.
The black dog remained jammed in the window, snarling and clawing wildly at the air.
If only I could use magic.
The thought surfaced again.
Against a curse with such a physical form, spells like Shield Charm, Stunning Spell, or Blasting Curse would have been incredibly effective.
Snapping back to reality, Dawn forced himself to move.
This was not over yet.
Ignoring the pain from muddy water seeping into his wounds, he turned and ran away from the church.
Hopefully the dog only targets people inside the church.
He took a deep breath.
Then glanced at the wound on his hand, now coated in mud.
Something felt wrong.
The flesh seemed to still be decaying.
Damn it.
That thing's blood is poisonous too?!
Meanwhile, back in the Gryffindor common room—
The moment the black dog appeared in the church, Dawn had already abandoned the common room entirely.
Ignoring George's questions, he headed straight for the library.
Even if he had to survive within the mind-link, his real-world self could still help.
He strode through Hogwarts' portrait-lined corridors.
If it was a curse, then it might have a countercurse.
Just like the Egyptian records describing Set's curse—where burying someone in sand could temporarily alleviate the dehydration effect.
And from the black dog's strength, this curse clearly had not reached an unstoppable level.
There might be a method to avoid its pursuit.
He needed information.
But as he turned a corner, Dawn suddenly narrowed his eyes.
A student stood against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
There was nothing outwardly suspicious about him. Yet Dawn instantly felt alarm bells ringing inside him.
Like a black dot on white paper.
Without slowing down, he walked past calmly—
Then abruptly sidestepped.
Bang!
A green spell shot past him and slammed into the wall where he had just stood, exploding into fading particles.
As expected.
Dawn turned around slowly, his gaze cold.
"Still clinging on like a ghost, Tom."
The response was another spell.
No words.
Voldemort attacked immediately, wand movements sharp and vicious.
Even after half a year spent dispersed among students, opportunities for full control remained rare.
He had to seize every moment.
His eyes gleamed with ruthless intent.
Bang!
Spells collided.
Light scattered across the corridor.
After several exchanges, Dawn frowned.
Something felt off.
A famous duelist had once written that dueling was the communication of souls.
Dawn knew Voldemort too well.
And from these clashes, he sensed something strange—
Irritation.
Voldemort's attention was focused entirely on offense.
He barely defended.
No.
Not just irritation.
Dawn himself was anxious too. He wanted to get to the library as quickly as possible.
But not like this.
Not so recklessly.
Then—
A thought flashed through his mind.
Defeat.
Dawn's eyes widened slightly. He suddenly understood.
Voldemort wanted to die by Dawn's hand.
Dawn frowned.
The Slytherin robes looked familiar. If he remembered correctly, this boy belonged to a pureblood family.
If Dawn killed him—
His expression darkened.
It was exactly like last Halloween all over again.
The Ministry. Pureblood retaliation. Political trouble. Dragged into endless nonsense.
No.
This person could not die.
Dawn inhaled slowly and made his decision. But he also had no intention of staying trapped here with Voldemort.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he suddenly raised his wand and shouted,
°Avada Kedavra°
°Avada Kedavra° Voldemort roared back.
Two green killing curses shot toward each other.
But at the last moment—
Voldemort smirked.
His wand shifted slightly.
His curse curved away, missing Dawn's spell entirely and striking the wall instead.
Meanwhile, Voldemort spread his arms wide, smiling directly at the oncoming curse.
As expected!
Dawn stared sharply at the spell he himself had cast.
In that instant, powerful emotion and intent flooded into the magic.
The green light twisted.
A thread of red emerged from its center, spreading like ink through water—Then slammed into Voldemort's chest.
A Stunning Spell?!
Shock flashed across Voldemort's face.
But drowsiness overwhelmed him before he could react.
Thud.
He collapsed.
Success.
Dawn lowered his wand, bracing himself against his knees as he breathed heavily.
His vision darkened from mental exhaustion.
Moments ago, he had used the technique of secondary magic manipulation.
At the last possible instant, he forcibly transformed the Killing Curse into a Stunning Spell.
Impossible as it sounded, spells were ultimately just manifestations of magical intent.
If residual magic could be manipulated after casting—Then altering a spell entirely should also be possible.
At least in theory.
Of course, the technique was absurdly difficult. It required stronger emotion and intent than the original spell itself.
There was no exact formula.
It was closer to gambling than controlled magic.
But Dawn loved it.
Using magic flexibly instead of mechanically matched perfectly with his ideal image of what a wizard should be.
After several deep breaths, his vision steadied.
He looked down at Voldemort's unconscious body.
Honestly—From a purely rational perspective, Voldemort's scheme was not particularly effective.
Even if Fred's body was destroyed, Dawn's consciousness still existed inside countless other students.
Their war existed on the level of thought itself.
Kill Voldemort again during the next mind-link, and Dawn could likely reclaim another body.
Still, Dawn understood Voldemort's reasoning completely.
If their positions were reversed, he would likely make the same choice.
Neither of them were truly rational people.
And if too much attention was dragged into reality, one became vulnerable during the mind-links.
Thinking of this, Dawn frowned again.
Although he had stopped Voldemort this time, the underlying issue remained.
Voldemort could still launch suicidal attacks through other students.
It was troublesome.
Pointless.
And Dawn could not simply kill everyone involved.
So—
He could not keep following Voldemort's pace. But what should he do next? Run away from Hogwarts again like last term?
His eyes narrowed slowly.
Then, suddenly—An absurd idea surfaced.
Go to Dumbledore.
Even Dawn himself was startled.
But the more he considered it, the more reasonable it became.
If he revealed his identity to Dumbledore, he would certainly lose freedom and be placed under supervision.
But most of his focus was now on the mental plane anyway. Restrictions in reality mattered less.
And because he currently wore Fred's body, Dumbledore would not immediately attack him on sight.
More importantly—Dawn did not believe Dumbledore would stand by and let Voldemort kill him.
That meant protection.
Freedom from Voldemort's constant harassment in reality.
And perhaps—
Cooperation.
After all, Voldemort wanted to use the Castle Consciousness to resurrect himself.
Dawn's ultimate goal, aside from World Correction, was also to return every mind to its rightful body.
That aligned perfectly with Dumbledore's goals.
And there was another issue.
Voldemort's ambush had likely already exposed abnormalities within the castle.
So—
Going to Dumbledore might truly be the best option.
Decision made, Dawn abandoned the idea of visiting the library and headed toward the stairs leading to the eighth floor.
If he was going to come clean anyway, he might as well make use of Dumbledore's knowledge.
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office—
Dumbledore stood over a cauldron, brewing the sparkling pink potion he had presented earlier in the Great Hall under the name of Nicolas Flamel.
The potion was in enormous demand.
He could not leave all the work to Snape.
Fortunately, it was not especially difficult to brew. At its core, it was simply a modified stimulant potion with a more dreamlike appearance.
"I hope this works," Dumbledore murmured.
He thought back to what he had learned in the Room of Requirement.
If the Castle Consciousness truly existed, perhaps it could resolve the current crisis.
But even if Voldemort's soul fragments were expelled from the students—That alone would not solve everything.
The Horcruxes remained the real problem.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. He remembered his conversation with Dawn through the Two-Way Mirror.
Dawn had already revealed one Horcrux location: Hufflepuff's Cup within Gringotts.
And another—
Dumbledore believed he had already guessed it.
If the cup and the diadem had become Horcruxes, then Slytherin's Locket almost certainly had as well.
But beyond those?
Dumbledore firmly believed Voldemort had created many more. Perhaps far more than anyone imagined.
Staring into the steaming cauldron, the old wizard sighed heavily.
There was still so much to do.
Then his thoughts shifted again.
If Dawn's issue was finally close to resolution, then he could devote himself fully to Voldemort.
Which meant Harry's education also needed to accelerate.
As the prophesied savior, Harry needed to grow stronger quickly.
Then Dumbledore thought of Neville.
The poor boy still suffered from memory loss and had spent the weekend at the hospital wing.
Dumbledore rubbed his temples.
Truthfully, he had little hope for ordinary treatment. Only recovering the missing memories themselves would truly help.
But where had Dawn hidden them?
Dumbledore tried imagining Dawn's thought process.
Failed.
Completely.
Why remove Neville's memories of himself? And beyond that—Ravenclaw's Diadem. Harry's Invisibility Cloak.
So many things remained missing.
The more he thought about it, the more exhausted he became.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
The office door sounded.
Dumbledore blinked, pushing away his thoughts.
"Come in."
The door opened.
A red-haired boy stepped inside.
"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore greeted warmly. "What brings you here? Is there something about this morning's speech you didn't understand?"
"...No, Headmaster. It's something else."
Dawn looked at the old wizard in moon-white robes.
Countless memories flashed through his mind.
Then finally became one calm sentence.
"I am Dawn Richter."
Boom—
It felt as though thunder itself had shattered the world.
The air froze.
The office fell utterly silent. Even the bubbling cauldron and the wind outside seemed to stop.
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly.
The sheer weight of those words stunned even him.
Several seconds passed before he finally spoke through the rising steam.
"What... did you just say?"
___________
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