"Sir, here is your report."
Inside the hospital, a nurse handed Dawn two sheets of paper.
The paternity test was complete.
From the DNA analysis, he and Mr. Richter were unquestionably father and son.
Dawn read through the report once, his expression unreadable. He did not take it with him. Instead, he tore the pages into pieces and dropped them into the rubbish bin.
The result proved nothing.
If they had not been related, it might have supported certain suspicions.
But a confirmed biological relationship explained nothing at all.
He left the hospital.
It was the weekend, and London was lively with holiday cheer.
Freshly baked scones sat in shop windows. The scent of butter and cream drifted through the air, masking the sharper odor of car exhaust.
A double-decker bus rolled past, honking at a car blocking the road. The noise disrupted a street performer playing the accordion, drawing a faint scowl.
Dawn walked through the bustling cityscape. Sunlight poured down brightly.
Yet his heart felt lost.
What else could he do?
Last school year had been different.
Back then, he had possessed a clear direction regarding magical creature transformation.
He had encountered the blood curse in Egypt, gained insight into collective consciousness within Tutankhamun's tomb, searched for the Fountain of Fair Fortune, and extracted ritual knowledge from its tale.
Everything had followed a trail.
This time was different.
World correction was like a flower in a mirror or the moon reflected in water—visible, yet impossible to grasp.
No matter how many angles he approached from, he caught nothing but emptiness.
The Resurrection Stone had briefly given him hope.
But after discovering that living minds did not appear within the dream, his expectations for it had fallen sharply.
After all, he was still alive. Mr. Richter was still alive.
If only his mother's mind appeared in the dream, what truth could he truly uncover?
"Forget it. Slowly," Dawn murmured, hands in his pockets.
He was not giving up.
His desire to uncover the truth remained intense.
But he understood now that this was not something that could be resolved quickly.
He adjusted his mood.
Turning into a narrow London alley, he vanished and traveled to Kent to continue using Rapid Manifestation to trace history.
Luck was not with him.
At seven in the evening, Dawn returned to the castle.
Time passed.
The Whomping Willow slowly recovered under Professor Sprout's care, sprouting new branches.
Another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson began.
"Vampires," Dawn lectured from the podium, "although classified by the Ministry as non-wizarding part-humans and protected under the Non-Wizarding Part-Human Treatment Regulations, are fundamentally dark creatures."
"Their blood is corrosive. Their skin is pale. Prolonged exposure to sunlight causes burns. They carry a scent resembling rotting flesh."
"If you encounter a vampire, first attempt to repel it with a strong illumination charm. If it does not retreat, you may use the Blood Extraction Charm."
"From the name alone, you can tell how essential blood is to them."
"If a vampire loses roughly thirty percent of its blood, it becomes severely weakened. At that point, even a simple Blasting Curse can end its life."
The students listened attentively.
"Although vampires are few in number, they are more common in Eastern Europe. If any of you work there after graduation, exercise caution."
A Muggle-born student raised her hand.
"Professor, I've heard that being bitten by a vampire turns you into one. Is that true?"
"A foolish rumor," Dawn replied calmly. "A wizard bitten by a vampire will suffer tissue decay and light sensitivity. Becoming a new vampire is nonsense."
He looked at her steadily.
"Miss Leta, that clarification is printed at the bottom of the page in your textbook. You appear not to have reviewed the material."
Laughter rippled harmlessly through the classroom. The girl flushed and lowered her head.
Dawn tapped the desk, silencing the noise, and continued.
Yet internally, he added a silent thought.
It was a rumor now.
But perhaps not forever.
The idea that a vampire bite caused transformation was not ancient folklore.
Earlier legends claimed only that bites spread plague, leading to death.
In 1819, John Polidori's The Vampyre first suggested that those bitten would die and rise as vampires.
In 1897, Bram Stoker's Dracula cemented the rule.
The concept had existed for only about two centuries.
If enough people believed it deeply enough, perhaps future vampires might truly acquire that trait.
Or perhaps not.
As Muggle science advanced and education improved, if enough people dismissed vampires as fiction, they might vanish instead.
Their numbers had indeed been declining.
Dawn laughed softly at himself.
Lately, everything he encountered triggered thoughts of collective consciousness.
He steadied himself and turned another page.
But before his mind could fully move on, the earlier thought resurfaced sharply.
Wait.
If vampires could fade due to disbelief—
What about wizards?
Since the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, magic had been hidden from Muggles.
In modern times, most people regarded wizards as fairy-tale inventions. If the belief that wizards did not exist became widespread enough—
Would wizards vanish as well?
Dawn narrowed his eyes.
He allowed the class to read silently while he considered the question.
The witch hunts had begun in the late fifteenth century and lasted three centuries.
If Britain had always had only around a thousand wizards, that duration would have been impossible.
Meaning wizarding numbers must once have been far greater.
Now they seemed to be shrinking.
Most pure-blood families were dwindling or reduced to single heirs. The Weasleys were an exception.
Mixed-blood families might be increasing numerically, but how many members were magical remained uncertain.
Yet Hogwarts' incoming classes told a different story.
As a professor teaching all seven years, Dawn had observed that recent first-year cohorts were slightly larger than before.
Why?
His thoughts drifted outward again.
Then he shook his head with a faint smile.
Why dwell on such matters?
Even if wizards were someday destined to vanish, it would not happen within decades.
Worrying about it now was like fretting about the sky falling. He clapped his hands and resumed the lesson.
Soon, class ended.
As usual, Dawn dismissed the students and left first.
He intended to return to his office, but paused at a corridor window.
Rain fell in fine silver threads outside.
When had it started?
He opened the window and let a few droplets collect in his palm before flicking the water away with a childish grin.
Since childhood, he had loved the rain.
Or at least, he thought he had.
The smile faded.
He leaned on the windowsill, gazing outward.
From this vantage point, he could see the Great Hall's warm light spilling outside.
Hagrid hurried back and forth from the Forbidden Forest, carrying large pumpkins inside while Filch followed, glaring at muddy footprints.
Excited voices echoed around the corner.
"What are you dressing as tonight?"
"Not sure. What about a vampire? The Headmaster's new professor just covered them."
"Terrible idea. He literally explained how to kill them today. Someone will drain you dry."
"Oh. Fair point."
Dawn blinked.
October 31.
The Halloween feast was tonight.
In the Gryffindor common room, Ron spun in circles beneath a white bedsheet.
"What do you think, Harry? If I say I'm Richter's ghost, do you think Fred and George will be scared?"
"Who?" Harry asked automatically.
"Dawn Richter!"
Harry paused, then vaguely remembered.
Time moved quickly.
A name that once dominated conversation was already fading.
"It's… decent," Harry said carefully. "But we've seen real ghosts, Ron. You don't quite match."
"You're right," Ron sighed, tossing the sheet aside. "And it looks ridiculous. I don't need Malfoy mocking me again."
He turned back.
"What about you, Harry? What are you going as?"
___________
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