[Dawn Richter! The madman who attacked the Chosen One! Confirmed dead!]
January 20th.
As the sun rose, the freshly printed copies of the Daily Prophet flew across Britain with the hooting of owls.
Most of today's front page reviewed everything Dawn had done, sealing his fate with finality and stamping him with a single label—
The evil dark wizard of the post–Voldemort era.
The remaining space was devoted to praising Fudge.
[On the morning of January 19th at eight o'clock, Dawn Richter infiltrated Hogwarts, intending to secretly murder the innocent young wizard Murphy Avery.]
[But the Ministry of Magic never relaxes its vigilance toward wanted criminals. Under the Minister's wise leadership and careful arrangements, Richter's sinister plot was ultimately foiled.]
[It is reported that this is already the second time the Ministry has prevented Dawn Richter's illegal actions.]
[His earlier public murder announcement also failed due to Ministry intervention, forcing him to take desperate risks yesterday, whereupon he was killed on the spot.]
[Both incidents have now drawn to a close. Yet the author cannot help but ask—]
[When did Hogwarts, once regarded by the British public as the safest castle, become so riddled with holes?]
[Can Dumbledore truly fulfill his duties as headmaster?]
"Merlin's beard! Richter was that close to me yesterday?!"
Ron shouted as he tugged at the newspaper.
At some point, he had developed the habit of reading the paper regularly, and now that he had seen the headline, his urge to share exploded.
"Keep it down, Ron. We're reading too," Hermione frowned. "And someone died. You don't need to be this excited."
"Of course we do, Hermione! The world's lost one bad guy!"
Ron replied without thinking. "You have no idea how happy all of Britain was when You-Know-Who died!"
"But Dawn was someone we knew," Harry said hesitantly. "Seeing his death in the paper just feels strange."
"And I don't like these reports. They've always been smearing Dumbledore."
"Don't worry about it, Harry. That reporter's always been like this."
Ron shrugged. "No one will believe her. Everyone knows Dumbledore's the best headmaster."
The three of them chattered on.
Beside them, Neville pressed his lips together, his hand tightening slightly on the newspaper.
He looked miserable.
Of course, Neville was not a child who could not tell right from wrong.
If Dawn had truly done the things described in the reports, Neville would have been saddened, but he would not have continued to regard him as a friend.
But—
After hearing about old Avery's framing in the hospital wing, Neville had instinctively distrusted news like this.
He had wanted to find Dawn and ask him face to face.
Yet the next time he heard Dawn's name, it was in a cold notice of death.
"Neville, is something bothering you?"
Ron lowered the paper, suddenly noticing how pale the boy sitting diagonally across from him looked.
Hermione sighed softly.
Over the past two months, she had sensed Neville's unusual concern for Dawn, much like her own feelings during that earlier time.
Hermione knew what she could do for Neville. She picked up a chicken leg and stuffed it into Ron's mouth.
"Say less and eat! It's getting late. Do you want to be late again for Transfiguration like you were yesterday for Potions?"
"Oh, come on, Hermione! Don't say scary things like that!"
Ron imagined Professor McGonagall's stern face, shuddered, scratched his head, and silently sped up his eating.
"Achoo!"
In the newspaper office, Rita Skeeter suddenly sneezed.
She waved a hand in front of her face, feeling as though someone were cursing her.
"Hmph! Must be that half-blind old Dumbledore!"
She muttered darkly, her expression sour.
Skeeter had every reason to be angry. She felt she had been deceived by Dumbledore and the Ministry together.
Yesterday, when the Ministry had sent word asking her to write the report on Dawn's death, her excitement had been overwhelming.
She thought she was finally free, no longer forced to endure being ordered around by that brat.
But soon—
The sensation carried through the Unbreakable Vow told her plainly that it was a complete lie.
That hateful child was not dead at all. He was still alive somewhere!
Dumbledore was truly losing his mind in old age, fooled so thoroughly by an eleven-year-old wizard.
And the Ministry was just as incompetent. Could they really draw conclusions without properly investigating just because there was a corpse?
"Useless, all of you! You deserve to be toyed with!"
Even though she had cursed for an entire afternoon yesterday, the thought still made her furious.
After another round of muttering, Skeeter wiped her face, folded up the paper, and obediently returned to carrying out the tasks Dawn had assigned her.
"So the Unbreakable Vow has already disappeared?"
Dumbledore frowned, looking at the heavyset man in purple robes before him.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Dumbledore."
Giggs, who had been living in the castle since the banquet, stood up nervously when the headmaster came to see him.
"When did this happen?"
Dumbledore paused before asking.
Giggs glanced at his clean wrist, tilted his head, and thought for a moment.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure, but I noticed it two days ago."
Dumbledore frowned.
Two days ago?
That meant Dawn had disabled the spell himself before coming to Hogwarts?
The headmaster shook his head helplessly.
Earlier that morning, old Avery's younger brother had written to say the funeral arrangements were complete, invitations had been sent, and they were simply waiting for the body to be returned.
He had asked Dumbledore to urge his nephew along.
But when Dumbledore went to the Room of Requirement, he suddenly realized his student had vanished.
Not in the Room of Requirement. Not in Slytherin. Not in any classroom.
After using the headmaster's authority, he discovered Avery was not even in the castle.
In the end, the only thing Dumbledore found in the Room of Requirement was old Avery's corpse.
That unexpected sight only strengthened his belief that the matter was not over.
And then— He remembered that Giggs, as someone bound to Dawn by an Unbreakable Vow, should have been able to sense whether Dawn was alive.
Unfortunately, after asking, he learned that their vow had been dissolved two days ago.
The Unbreakable Vow.
The reason the spell bears such a name is because of its overwhelming binding force.
Under normal circumstances, it disappears only in one situation— When both parties have fulfilled what was agreed upon.
Otherwise, even if both parties wish to cancel it, the bond remains.
But Dumbledore knew of one special case—
A one-sided vow.
In short, if only one party promises to do something for the other, while the other makes no commitment at all, then as long as the unbound party believes the promise has been fulfilled, the magic will dissipate all the same.
"Impeccable, Dawn,"
Dumbledore murmured inwardly.
He nodded to Giggs and left the room.
There was no time to delay any longer.
He intended to visit his old friends immediately, to ask for their views on the entire matter and on the prophecy.
Tick.
In a small room, the sound of the minute hand sliding echoed clearly off the walls.
Slughorn's cheeks were flushed red by the flames. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, staring unblinkingly at the clock on the wall.
When the minute hand completed a full circle, Slughorn shot out his hand, grabbed the vial of aconite juice on the table, and dripped a single precise drop into the cauldron.
Instantly, purple smoke billowed up.
Slughorn wasted no time, stirring clockwise with his wand.
One turn.
Two turns.
When the potion turned clear again, he immediately lifted the cauldron from the flame and poured the liquid into a crystal bottle without waiting for it to cool.
After finishing, Slughorn let out a long breath and looked at Dawn with bloodshot, baggy eyes.
"The Awakening Potion is ready."
"Mm. Set it there."
Dawn replied absentmindedly.
He was staring with crimson eyes into a Muggle's pupils, attempting to transmit fabricated memories into the man's mind.
The experiment was a success.
Dawn realized the technique was not as difficult as he had imagined.
He only needed to use Legilimency on himself, then connect his gaze or magic to the target with whom he wished to share the memory.
After a few tries, he grasped it fully.
Bang!
When the experiment ended, the Muggle was knocked out with a Stunning Spell and collapsed heavily to the ground.
Dawn stepped over him, went to the table, and picked up the Awakening Potion.
Strangely, although the potion had just been brewed, it carried no warmth at all.
He toyed with the bottle briefly and asked, "After drinking this, will it let me resist Dumbledore's Stunning Spell?"
Dumbledore's Stunning Spell?
This was the first time Slughorn had heard what Dawn intended to use the potion for.
Though he did not want to aid wrongdoing, bound by the vow, he answered honestly.
"Well, strictly speaking, a potion that can resist a specific spell doesn't really exist. Many potions can treat spell damage, but they target the effect, not the spell itself."
He pointed to the bottle in Dawn's hand.
"For this one, I added ingredients that stimulate and heighten perception.
It won't make you immune to a Stunning Spell, but I can guarantee that once you're stunned, it will wake you up within one second."
"Is that so? That's enough."
Dawn nodded and tucked the potion into his robes.
He was about to speak again when he suddenly heard a soft hooting sound.
Looking up, he saw an owl flying down through the chimney, landing on the table. After shaking off the dust, it extended an envelope in its beak.
"Another delivery from Skeeter?" Slughorn remarked, unsurprised.
Dawn did not answer. His expression showed a hint of excitement.
But when he opened the envelope and found only a newspaper inside, the curve of his lips quickly flattened.
"Just a newspaper?"
Dawn frowned. A heaviness settled in his chest. After a moment of silence, he reached out and pulled it free.
The headline announcing Dawn Richter's death leapt into view, making him narrow his eyes.
"Death…"
He murmured softly, exhaled, and gave a smile devoid of emotion.
"Heh."
Turning his head, he saw Slughorn craning his neck to peek. He simply tossed the paper over.
"Ah—thank you."
Slughorn caught it clumsily.
Truth be told, he had not kept up with outside news for quite some time. Seeing a newspaper at last, his curiosity was inevitable.
But the moment his eyes landed on the headline, he froze, his face twitching.
Dawn Richter—dead?!
The Potions Master looked up in confusion and terror at the grotesque being before him with two heads, four arms, and four legs, what little hair he had standing on end.
But quickly, he understood what must have happened.
After all, Slughorn knew about the existence of Time-Turners. Yet instead of feeling relieved, his fear deepened.
Dawn was dead.
Dead on January 19th.
Slughorn's eyelids twitched as a scream echoed in his mind.
Because he knew about Time-Turners, he also understood one thing clearly—
No matter when Dawn planned to return to the past, his death on January 19th was already fixed.
Which raised the question—
What would happen to him?
Would this cursed child drag him down as company since he was doomed anyway?
Slughorn swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Dawn, feeling as though his life were a candle flickering in the wind.
But after observing for a while, he realized Dawn showed no reaction at all to his own reported death, his expression as calm as ever.
Sensing the gaze, Dawn turned his head.
"Slughorn."
"Y-yes!"
Slughorn squeaked, his eyes darting to Dawn's hands, afraid that a wand might appear at any moment and a green light would follow.
"One last thing. Brew me a Shrinking Solution with sufficient potency. It needs to last at least twenty-four hours."
"L-last… one last thing?"
Slughorn fixated on those words alone, repeating them shakily as his shoulders sagged.
"Yes. The last thing."
Dawn nodded. "Once you give me the Shrinking Solution, you're free."
"…What? Free? You mean—free? The kind where my life isn't in danger?"
"Of course."
Dawn met Slughorn's suspicion with a steady gaze.
He had no intention of killing Slughorn.
Unlike Giggs and Harris, the value of a Potions Master was more than enough to justify keeping him alive.
"But Slughorn, there's one thing you must remember."
Dawn added suddenly.
Seeing Slughorn still dazed, he raised a finger and tapped it between the man's brows, forcing him to focus.
"Just like the memories you hid about Voldemort's Horcruxes, I don't want anyone to know about the time you spent with me. Especially everything after January 19th."
Wrapped in the joy of surviving, Slughorn immediately thumped his chest in assurance.
"Don't worry! I'll erase all those memories as soon as I can!"
"Good."
Dawn nodded and said no more.
He touched the duplicate body behind him, grown under the effects of the Flesh-Cloning Spell until it was identical to himself, and drew in a slow breath.
His gaze was firm.
There won't be a problem.
Dawn told himself.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor