Reunion after a long separation.
No matter where it appears, it is a phrase that carries an almost poetic beauty.
Simply hearing it evokes images of forest winds and moonlit lakes.
Countless writers throughout history have left traces of it in their works.
Charles Dickens used it to depict poetry and redemption. John Cheever used it to represent trauma and disillusionment. Gabriel García Márquez used it to portray despair and love.
No matter whose pen described it, reunions were always deeply moving.
As a wizard who acknowledged the progress of the Muggle world and once dreamed of saving magical society alongside Grindelwald, Dumbledore had naturally read many Muggle classics.
And throughout his long life, he had experienced reunions filled with joy, sorrow, and unforgettable emotion.
But no matter how much time passed, Dumbledore could confidently say that among all reunions—
The most unforgettable one occurred on January 16th, 1993.
Because on that day, he and his student experienced a "reunion after long separation" only one day after parting.
To be honest—
At that moment, Dumbledore felt none of the beauty associated with the phrase.
Instead, it resembled the terror of dangling one's foot off the bed in the middle of the night.
If he had to compare his current feelings to literature, then only one image came to mind—
In The Divine Comedy, when Beatrice descends into Purgatory as a messenger of God: "I felt the tremor and terror of seeing her."
"What... did you just say?"
After a long silence, Dumbledore finally managed to speak again.
He stared into Fred's eyes, hoping to find some trace of the usual joking expression or mischievous glint that would prove this was merely an excessive prank.
But—
Dawn only met his gaze calmly.
"I am Dawn Richter."
Boom.
Dumbledore's mind went blank.
For someone who had lived as long as he had, moments like this were exceedingly rare.
The potion on the cauldron had already begun producing a sharp, burnt smell from overheating.
Leaning against his desk, Dumbledore fell silent.
Thinking.
Then pinching the bridge of his nose in visible pain.
How was this possible?
If his memory served him correctly, hadn't he personally thrown Dawn through the Veil only yesterday?
For the first time in a long while, Dumbledore genuinely doubted himself.
He almost wished this was merely a hallucination caused by failed potion fumes.
But deep down, he knew perfectly well—That was impossible.
Exhaling slowly, the old wizard forced himself to calm down. At that moment, he truly felt that Dawn was impossible to get rid of.
Like a shadow that refused to disappear.
Even after killing him with his own hands, turning around would only reveal him standing there again.
Honestly— He was almost as troublesome as Voldemort.
Dumbledore felt a genuine headache coming on.
It was almost absurd.
So many brilliant wizards throughout history had failed to escape death.
Yet somehow, he had personally taught two of them.
After a while, Dumbledore finally regained control of himself and began cleaning up the ruined potion.
Then he asked quietly,
"Dawn... correct? How exactly did you end up inside Fred's body? And when did this happen?"
Now that the situation already existed, no amount of denial would change reality.
Dawn shrugged. "An accident. Honestly, Headmaster, if possible, I'd rather not be here either."
For some reason, seeing Dumbledore's pained helplessness gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.
It felt wrong.
Yet watching the old wizard struggle against him filled Dawn with an almost childish sense of victory.
Maybe it was simply competitiveness.
But regardless, he absolutely refused to lose to Tom—even in a contest over who was more troublesome.
Shaking those thoughts away, Dawn continued.
"As for when... around the end of practical class yesterday."
Right after I threw you through the Veil, you came back out?
Dumbledore's headache worsened instantly.
Rubbing his temples, he asked the question he cared about most. "And Fred? What condition is he in?"
"Fred?"
Dawn thought for a moment.
"As long as I leave eventually, he should be fine."
Should?
Dumbledore frowned.
Silence filled the office again.
Then Dawn suddenly remembered something.
"By the way, Headmaster, I've always wondered—how did you figure out Leia Hickman was me in disguise?"
"...Also an accident."
Dumbledore had no intention of betraying Peeves.
With a wave of his hand, he floated the ruined cauldron and potion ingredients into the corner before finally asking:
"So then, Dawn—why have you come here? Surely not just to prove everything I did yesterday was pointless?"
"Well... partly."
Dawn smiled slightly.
Then spoke directly. "Professor, let's cooperate."
"Cooperate?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
Of all things, Dawn proposing cooperation genuinely surprised him.
At that moment, Dumbledore sincerely believed Dawn's shamelessness might actually exceed Voldemort's.
Yet Dawn remained perfectly calm, as though no hostility had ever existed between them.
"That's right. Cooperation."
"I know what you're trying to do. You want to use the Castle Consciousness to expel Voldemort from the students."
"And coincidentally, I want the same thing."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly at the mention of Castle Consciousness.
"The same thing?"
"Yes."
Dawn nodded. "I don't want to stay inside Fred's body either. Like I said, this was an accident."
He looked directly into Dumbledore's eyes, trying to appear as sincere as possible.
"I want to return to my own body."
Dumbledore stared at him deeply.
Return his consciousness to his original body...
Did that mean Dawn had already solved the bracelet problem that caused permanent comas?
Perhaps even the Veil itself could no longer stop him?
Dumbledore understood the implications immediately.
And suddenly— He no longer knew what to do.
For a brief moment, he genuinely considered destroying the Veil itself. But the thought faded quickly.
Because the Veil could not truly be destroyed.
After throwing Dawn through it, Dumbledore had requested Unspeakable records from the Department of Mysteries.
Those records showed that in 1730, the Ministry had attempted to destroy the Veil.
The moment it was destroyed— Another doorway somewhere else in the world instantly transformed into an identical Veil.
Perhaps...
He should resume researching Transfiguration at a deeper level.
Perhaps only by removing the phoenix immortality from Dawn at its root could this ever truly end.
Countless thoughts raced through his mind.
Finally, Dumbledore asked, "Why should I cooperate with you?"
"Don't say something so irrational, Headmaster." Dawn answered bluntly. "You know perfectly well that you need my help."
Dumbledore remained silent.
Dawn continued on his own. "You have prestige. The students trust you."
"But Tom can directly influence their cognition through thought itself. He can even control their bodies."
"In that situation, do you really think your odds are that good?"
The words struck directly at Dumbledore's greatest concern.
Yet after a moment, the old wizard calmly replied, "You're right. Voldemort can influence thought."
"But the one controlling those bodies is Voldemort himself. I do not believe his cognition can influence the Castle Consciousness."
Dawn paused slightly.
"...I see. So that's your theory."
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Dumbledore's reasoning was straightforward.
The Castle Consciousness was shaped by the collective cognition of Hogwarts students.
Voldemort's mind itself did not belong within that system.
Therefore, even while possessing students, his influence might not affect the Castle Consciousness at all.
"Perhaps," Dawn murmured. "Perhaps."
But Dumbledore's logic also forced Dawn to reconsider his own assumptions.
If mental possession truly could not affect the Castle Consciousness, then many of his preparations would become meaningless.
Still—
Dawn doubted the situation was quite that simple.
He remembered the Marauder's Map.
When Avery was possessed, his name had not vanished.
And Voldemort's name only appeared beside the students rather than replacing them.
"Headmaster, I should mention something."
"On the Marauder's Map, students whose bodies are occupied still appear under their own names—not the names of the invaders."
"The map reflects everyone inside the castle. Which means it has some magical connection to Hogwarts itself."
"So perhaps the names it displays represent how the castle identifies people."
Maybe—
The castle identified students by soul rather than consciousness.
Body. Soul. Mind.
Dawn fell into thought.
And Dumbledore frowned deeply. Because Dawn's point struck exactly at the heart of his fears.
As Headmaster, Dumbledore could still feel Hogwarts' contract protecting the "Fred" standing before him.
Which meant—The castle still believed this person was Fred Weasley.
If so... Then perhaps the Castle Consciousness truly could be influenced after all.
"Everything you've said benefits you," Dumbledore pointed out calmly.
"So what exactly do you want?"
"Safety."
"Safety?"
"Yes."
Dawn nodded. "Because Tom will try every possible way to eliminate me."
"If your monitoring of the castle is efficient enough, then you should already know he just launched an attack against me through another student."
"I'm not particularly worried about attacks themselves. But I'd prefer fewer pointless complications."
Then he added dryly:
"And honestly, ever since I enrolled here last year, Hogwarts' security has exceeded my expectations in all the wrong ways."
Dumbledore fell briefly speechless.
"...What happened to the child Voldemort used?"
"Oh, relax. I didn't kill him."
Dawn grinned slightly. "After all, while I'm at Hogwarts, I should at least give you some respect."
Dumbledore fell silent again.
Thinking.
Just as Dawn said, he desperately needed help against Voldemort.
But— He did not trust Dawn.
Based on past experience, Dumbledore remained convinced Dawn was plotting something beneath the surface.
Perhaps cooperation itself was only another scheme.
Time passed slowly.
Finally, Dawn sighed impatiently.
"Headmaster, stop hesitating. Even if we don't cooperate, can you really stand there and watch Fred die?"
Dumbledore froze briefly.
Then sighed.
Because Dawn was right.
That was precisely why he had not attacked immediately.
"...Very well. Cooperation is possible."
"But first, return Neville's memories, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and Harry's Invisibility Cloak."
Dawn's face twitched.
"Headmaster, don't push your luck."
"Those are treasures I worked very hard to obtain."
"Besides, if we're talking about returning stolen property, shouldn't you give me back the Elder Wand first?"
Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised.
"You know?"
"I guessed."
Dawn casually omitted the fact that he had seen it while transformed into an owl.
"The Elder Wand follows strength. And during the holidays, I defeated you."
Silence returned once more.
The conversation hit another dead end.
Perhaps—This meeting had happened far too suddenly. Neither of them had truly been prepared for this discussion.
Eventually, Dawn broke the silence again.
"Forget it, Headmaster. We'll have plenty of time later for heartfelt conversations."
"But right now, could you tell me about black dogs?"
"...Black dogs?"
The abrupt topic change caught Dumbledore off guard.
"Yes. The death omen black dogs from British legends. The curse connected to them."
"Do you know anything useful?"
"Black dogs..."
Dumbledore folded his hands together.
"Dawn. Have you been targeted by such a curse?"
"...In a sense." Dawn answered vaguely. "What do you know?"
After a brief hesitation, Dumbledore admitted, "Truthfully, I know little about curses. As for the black dog, only old legends."
His gaze drifted momentarily, remembering his travels with Grindelwald while searching for the Deathly Hallows.
Then he returned to the present and continued:
"In Britain, black dogs symbolize not only death, but also guardianship of graves."
"In parts of Europe—Germany and Poland, for example—it was once customary to bury a black dog when establishing a new cemetery."
"And in some British traditions, black dogs are even considered household guardians."
Dawn blinked.
"Guardians?"
"Yes."
"The earliest version of that legend comes from Lyme Regis."
"A black dog supposedly appeared at a farmhouse and lived alongside the family."
"Then one day, it leapt into the ceiling and vanished. When the family broke open the ceiling, they discovered hidden treasure."
"As the tale spread over time, the black dog gradually became associated with protecting homes and children."
Protection...
Dawn narrowed his eyes slowly.
Until now, he had always viewed black dogs solely as omens of death and disaster.
After all, his information came from Harris' curse books.
So then—Why had the black dog appeared in the church in 1577?
Something had always felt strange.
In nearly every black dog legend, those who saw the creature died later from misfortune or mysterious causes.
Not through direct slaughter like this.
Which meant—Perhaps the church incident was not originally a death omen at all.
Was it protecting something?
Dawn suddenly remembered the church map marked with a red X.
Meanwhile—
Rain continued pouring endlessly.
Dawn climbed through a window into a house within the village and immediately began searching for anything useful.
Whether the rain concealed his movements or the owner slept too deeply, nobody noticed him.
Soon, he found a small knife in what appeared to be the kitchen.
Then he washed his hand inside a water barrel and examined the wound under the dim light.
The flesh had decayed even further.
The corruption had spread.
So his earlier suspicion had been correct. The black dog's blood truly carried corrosive properties.
Taking a deep breath, Dawn clenched his teeth and used the knife to cut away the rotting flesh.
Pain shot through him violently.
"This damned mind-link..."
He cursed under his breath.
At least now he had confirmed something—Wizards truly did possess far greater pain tolerance than ordinary Muggles.
Eventually, pale-faced and exhausted, Dawn finished treating the wound.
He wrapped it with clean cloth, then sat beneath a small window.
If the black dog came after him again, the window would provide a route to escape.
Then— He slowed his breathing and listened carefully to the storm outside.
Wind.
Rain.
Thunder.
But no footsteps. Did it go after Voldemort instead?
Dawn hoped so.
Then suddenly—
Boom!
A deafening crash echoed from the distance, overpowering even the storm itself.
Something enormous had collapsed.
Dawn instantly recognized the direction.
The church.
Could that have been Voldemort? Had he not fled the church after all?
Dawn frowned again. Then thought back to the marked map hidden inside his coat.
Did Tom go inside whatever was marked there?
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor