After dealing with Ron, Dawn and the Brain continued opening door after door, passing through more than a dozen bizarre dreams.
The dream immediately after Ron's belonged to Harry.
The Boy Who Lived's deepest desire was remarkably similar to Neville's. He wished for his family to be with him.
The scene was a warm home where he sat eating and chatting happily with his parents.
Dawn used the same method he had employed on Neville.
Two flashes of emerald-green light struck James and Lily Potter.
But the result was awkward. Even after their deaths, Harry merely broke down crying.
No trace of Voldemort's consciousness emerged from him.
"Ah... haha. Looks like this child wasn't one of the ones carrying Voldemort's thoughts."
The Brain awkwardly spun around and hurried out of the room.
Dawn, however, frowned.
He had once used the Marauder's Map to identify which students were possessed by Voldemort.
While he had never paid close attention to whether Harry was among them, there was one thing he knew for certain.
Even if Harry hadn't received a portion of Voldemort's distributed consciousness, a fragment of Voldemort's soul still existed within him.
Could it be that Horcrux-bound consciousness simply couldn't manifest within this world of thought?
Dawn narrowed his eyes.
After glancing once more at the sobbing Harry, he left the room as well, temporarily setting the question aside.
The dreams they encountered afterward all belonged to Gryffindor students.
The variety was astounding.
Exploring the Forbidden Forest... Hunting hidden treasure... Commanding armies of lions... Building kingdoms among the clouds.
Each dream was stranger than the last.
Yet among all of them, the one that left the deepest impression on Dawn was set inside the Potions classroom.
A young wizard stood proudly at the front of the room, lecturing with grand gestures.
Meanwhile, Snape was frantically brewing potions at a student desk below.
Every mistake earned him a vicious scolding from the child.
His face was covered in tears as he desperately tried to follow instructions.
Dawn had genuinely stood there staring for several minutes.
At first he was fascinated by the lifelike expressions. Then the sight became so revolting that he nearly felt sick.
For a while he couldn't decide whether the child was absurdly brave or so cowardly that this was the only way he dared indulge his fantasy.
In the end, Dawn never even entered the room.
Standing outside the door, he merely imitated Snape's voice and said:
"Disrespecting a professor. Fifty points from Gryffindor."
The child immediately panicked so hard that Voldemort burst out.
The corridor stretched endlessly before them.
Recalling everything they had witnessed, the Brain slowly dragged its tentacles across its folds, somehow managing to look intoxicated with happiness.
"Dawn, this is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"
"I knew it! A castle like this is far more interesting! Haha! Let's find the next one!"
It buzzed around like an excited fly.
Walking beside it, Dawn remained silent.
By now he had completely given up commenting on how bizarre this supposed copy of Nicolas Flamel had become.
Instead, he remained immersed in his own thoughts.
Ever since leaving Ron's dream, he had been thinking about Dumbledore.
Where exactly had the old headmaster gone?
One thing was certain.
Dumbledore was undoubtedly working in secret to resolve the crisis threatening Hogwarts.
And among all the problems plaguing the castle, the most urgent was clearly Voldemort.
Compared to Dawn himself, Voldemort represented the greater danger.
Which meant Dumbledore was almost certainly searching for a way to eliminate Voldemort's consciousness.
Dawn glanced at the Brain floating nearby.
As things stood now, the Brain-in-a-Vat was undeniably capable of solving the problem.
But judging by the emergency meeting that had been held earlier, this solution had clearly been a last resort.
When Dumbledore disappeared, the situation had not yet become desperate enough to justify such extreme measures.
Therefore, the old headmaster must have been pursuing a safer solution.
But what solution?
As Dawn pondered, his pace gradually slowed.
A vague outline began forming in his mind.
Because of the limitations of thought itself, Dumbledore should have realized that using the Castle Consciousness to restore order was impossible.
So what options remained?
Dawn clicked his tongue thoughtfully.
Then, under the flickering candlelight, an idea naturally surfaced.
Perhaps Dumbledore had chosen to consume an excessive amount of Felix Felicis and recreate Olivia's experience.
Perhaps he was trying to obtain the counter-curse to the Distribution Spell.
The thought made Dawn's heart skip.
He narrowed his eyes and considered it repeatedly. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.
There simply weren't many methods capable of solving the Voldemort problem.
Furthermore, an overdose of Felix Felicis would explain why Dumbledore remained asleep and unable to appear.
Dawn pressed his lips together.
His imagination began wandering. What kind of dream would Dumbledore experience?
And more importantly...
Dawn desperately wanted the Distribution Spell and its counter-curse for himself.
"Hey! Child!"
The Brain noticed him lagging behind and waved several tentacles.
"What are you daydreaming about? Hurry up!"
Dawn snapped back to reality.
"Coming."
He casually answered and continued walking.
By now he had already made up his mind.
If Dumbledore truly had attempted such a thing and survived the experience, Dawn would absolutely try it himself later.
The ability to distribute a body...
He had coveted that magic for a very long time.
If he obtained it, he could finally begin experimenting with a question that fascinated him.
Could a wizard be artificially created?
As he considered the possibilities, a door ahead creaked open.
The Brain had grown impatient and entered another dream without waiting.
A moment later, it let out a surprised gasp.
Light from an entirely different world spilled into the corridor, just like the detective dream earlier.
And at that exact moment— The instant Dawn saw that light— He froze.
Wait.
His eyes unfocused.
Staring at the open doorway, he suddenly remembered something incredibly important.
He now knew that excessive Felix Felicis connected a person to the thoughts of the dead, creating a state similar to Thought-Link.
Meanwhile, this Hogwarts was itself a world of thought accidentally created through Nicolas Flamel's experiment.
Could it be...
Dawn's heart began pounding violently.
He suddenly raised his head.
Through layers of stone and ceiling, he looked toward the eighth floor.
Toward the Headmaster's Office.
The place where Dumbledore's dream was most likely located.
Without hesitation, he pivoted on his heel and sprinted toward the staircase at the end of the corridor.
"Wait! Child, where are you going?!"
The Brain, caught off guard, was nearly knocked over by the rush of air.
It flailed its tentacles frantically.
But Dawn never looked back.
Only a dismissive reply drifted behind him. "Sorry, Mr. Flamel. There's something important I need to verify."
'The Distribution Spell.' His eyes glittered.
He had wanted that magic for a long time. If this opportunity truly existed, he would not miss it.
The moving staircase carried him upward.
Past the fourth floor.
Past the fifth.
Past the sixth.
"Oh no."
"Oh no, no, no."
The Brain finally realized his destination. Its tentacles stiffened. Then it rushed after him.
Grabbing onto Dawn's shoulders, it tried to pull him back.
Unfortunately, it only ended up being dragged along.
"Hey! Dawn! Calm down! Listen to me!"
"Whatever you're planning, we should be focusing on Voldemort! Remember? I don't have much time left!"
"Mr. Flamel." Dawn brushed the tentacles aside without looking back. "You're talking too much."
"I'm only taking a quick look. If there's nothing there, I won't lose much time."
The Brain fell silent.
A long silence.
Then, very cautiously, it asked, "And... what if there is something there?"
Dawn glanced over his shoulder.
His expression froze.
Wait.
So there really is something? The realization exploded inside him.
His excitement surged instantly.
He turned back toward the Brain, about to ask whether the room truly contained Dumbledore's dream—
But at that moment—
Bang!
The staircase aligned with the eighth-floor corridor.
"Don't worry."
"As soon as I get what I want, I'll come right back."
Leaving behind that perfunctory reassurance, Dawn sprinted away.
Within moments he disappeared around a corner.
The Brain remained floating in place. Its countless folds faced the direction he had vanished.
Motionless.
Silent.
No one knew what it was thinking. After a long while, it finally sighed.
"Fine. Fine..."
"I'll clear out as many Voldemorts as I can. But you'd better come back quickly."
Its voice carried complicated emotions.
Dawn never heard them.
He raced past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and arrived at the familiar entrance.
The stone gargoyle remained embedded in the wall.
Dawn frowned.
He didn't know the password.
He was already considering reciting every dessert name he could remember—or simply climbing through a window.
Yet when he absentmindedly tried the handle first— He discovered the door wasn't locked.
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Perhaps it was simply a feature of the dream world.
Without further hesitation, he pushed the door open.
Creak.
Instead of the Headmaster's Office, a completely different scene appeared.
As expected.
Dawn's spirits lifted.
This was unquestionably another dream. Yet confusion quickly followed.
Rather than a church or some mystical landscape, he found himself staring at what appeared to be a Muggle restroom.
The office door was attached to one of the bathroom stalls.
What?
Dawn frowned.
Had he guessed wrong? Was this not Dumbledore's dream after all?
Or perhaps Dumbledore had never entered the Distribution Spell dreamscape?
Creak.
The door opened fully.
More details came into view, confirming beyond doubt that this was indeed a restroom.
But before disappointment could replace anticipation, what he saw next struck him with such force that his mind went blank.
For a moment, it felt as though he had swallowed a vial of Confusing Draught.
Dawn saw—
In the otherwise empty restroom, an elderly white-bearded man was crouching in front of a child-sized urinal.
One hand rested on the waistband of a young boy's trousers.
The old man was muttering to himself as he worked.
"...Headmaster Dumbledore."
Dawn's voice was indescribably complicated.
"What exactly are you doing?"
...
The sun shone brightly.
Warm air carried the scent of sausages and cotton candy.
Children ran past laughing, radiating youth and energy.
While Nicolas Flamel was sacrificing sleep, dignity, and perhaps even his sanity to save Hogwarts, Dumbledore was leisurely enjoying a trip to an amusement park.
He sat peacefully on a bench. Watching the woman and young Dawn descend from a roller coaster.
For the first time in quite a while, the old headmaster felt utterly at ease.
The outing had brought endless laughter to the woman. And somehow, it had eased the tension burdening Dumbledore's own heart.
His only regret was that she and Dawn remained inseparable.
He had never found an opportunity to ask about Harry Potter.
Still, despite his eagerness to learn what happened next, age and experience allowed him to remain patient.
He waited.
Quietly.
And eventually, his opportunity arrived.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, after the woman and Dawn emerged from a haunted house attraction, they approached Dumbledore.
"Mr. Billy."
The woman smiled apologetically.
"This child drank too much water. Would you mind taking him to the restroom?"
Though she employed him as a butler, she still phrased the request politely.
Dawn was no longer young enough to accompany her into the women's restroom.
Likewise, she certainly couldn't enter the men's room with him.
So the task naturally fell to the butler.
In fact, this was one of the reasons she always brought him along.
Dumbledore readily agreed.
"Of course, Madam."
With perfect professionalism, he took Dawn's hand and led him toward the restroom.
The walk took only a few minutes.
The amusement park was quite upscale. The facilities were clean and even included child-sized urinals.
Unfortunately, once Dawn stood in front of one, nothing happened.
The problem was his trousers.
Today he wore drawstring sweatpants.
Somewhere during the day's activities, the knot had tightened itself into a hopeless tangle.
After struggling for several minutes, Dawn finally gave up.
His small fingers simply weren't strong enough.
Looking helplessly at Dumbledore, he admitted, "Butler. I can't untie it."
"Hm?"
Dumbledore blinked and looked down.
He had to admit— At moments like this, Dawn genuinely looked like an ordinary child.
The old wizard smiled fondly.
Kneeling down, he began working on the knot. At the same time, he casually steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Child."
"Do you remember the story you told me? The one called Harry Potter? The fairy tale about magic?"
"Of course."
Dawn yawned while lifting his shirt. Despite being at an amusement park, he still looked thoroughly uninterested.
"What about it?"
Dumbledore carefully chose his words.
"Well... That story was quite wonderful."
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Would you mind telling me the rest?"
Dawn tilted his head.
A strange look appeared in his vacant eyes. "You really don't seem like someone who enjoys stories like that."
Dumbledore was already preparing an excuse.
But Dawn simply shrugged.
"Sure."
"It's only a fairy tale."
Dumbledore's heartbeat accelerated slightly. "Then could you tell me something first?"
He proceeded cautiously.
"That Dark Lord... The one called Voldemort. Why is he immortal?"
"Oh."
"That's because of a spell called a Horcrux."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles.
"A Horcrux... That sounds rather frightening. In the story, does Voldemort have many of them?"
"Hmmm." Dawn tilted his head while thinking. "I think there were seven."
Then he began counting them on his fingers.
"A diary from his school days."
"Hufflepuff's Cup."
"Ravenclaw's Diadem."
"Slytherin's Locket."
"The Gaunt family ring."
"A snake called Nagini."
"And the Chosen One himself."
"Wait."
"The Chosen One himself?!"
Dumbledore froze.
A chill ran through him.
His first instinct was to reject the idea. But memories flashed through his mind.
Harry.
The night Voldemort died.
All the strange inconsistencies.
And with growing horror, Dumbledore realized something.
It might actually be true. Harry... Harry might indeed be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
For several moments he sat there in stunned silence.
Finally he drew a deep breath.
The revelation shook him profoundly. Countless possibilities exploded through his mind.
Yet he forcibly set them aside.
This opportunity was too precious. He needed to learn the locations of the Horcruxes before anything else.
However—
At that exact moment—
From the stall behind him came a voice.
A voice that was both deeply familiar and completely impossible.
"...Headmaster Dumbledore."
"What exactly are you doing?"
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor