Inside the amusement park restroom, three people stood frozen, each wearing a different expression, each caught in a different posture.
Their complicated emotions intertwined in the air before settling into the same heavy silence.
The atmosphere had become indescribably awkward.
Dumbledore remained crouched beside the child, one hand still reaching toward the drawstring around his waist.
Stiffly, he turned his head toward Dawn, who had just stepped out of the restroom stall.
For a moment, the old headmaster had no idea what expression he ought to wear.
He was embarrassed.
Entirely, utterly embarrassed.
It was true that, from one perspective, his actions had been motivated by righteous intentions.
But no matter how noble the purpose, he had still been taking advantage of a young child's innocence to trick information out of him.
There was no honorable way to frame that.
More importantly...
He had been caught red-handed.
If one had to compare it to something, it was like an unemployed young hooligan sweet-talking candy out of the neighbor's child—only to be caught by the child's parent at the exact worst possible moment.
The embarrassment overwhelmed even his surprise.
Temporarily setting aside every question about how Dawn had appeared here, Dumbledore instinctively tried to explain himself.
"Dawn—"
"You don't need to explain, Headmaster."
Dawn interrupted him.
After a long hesitation, he took a deep breath.
"Don't worry. I won't tell Grindelwald."
Grindelwald? What did this have to do with him?
Dumbledore stared blankly at Dawn.
The two of them looked directly into each other's eyes.
It was painfully obvious that they were thinking along completely different lines.
Before the old wizard could process the hidden implication behind Dawn's words, another voice shattered the increasingly bizarre silence.
"Hey."
The child looked up coldly.
"Who are you?"
He frowned at the slightly older boy standing nearby.
The face was unfamiliar.
Yet strangely familiar at the same time.
Only then did Dawn finally tear his gaze away from Dumbledore.
He looked toward the child whose waistband the headmaster had been trying to untie.
Originally, he had merely wanted to understand what was happening.
But the moment he saw that small face...
Those crimson eyes...
A quiet sound escaped his throat.
"...Hm?"
His pupils contracted.
His brows immediately drew together.
Taking two slow steps forward, he stared fixedly at the familiar face.
The expression on his own face became extraordinarily complicated.
In that instant...
The Distribution Spell.
The castle.
Voldemort.
The Brain-in-a-Vat.
Every one of those concerns vanished completely.
He simply stared.
Then suddenly whipped around toward Dumbledore.
"Headmaster...?"
Dumbledore hesitated. Eventually, realizing there was no point hiding it, he slowly nodded.
Dawn had guessed correctly.
"Hey." The ignored child spoke again in a strangely hollow voice. "What's your name?"
"Why do you look so familiar?"
The corner of Dawn's mouth twitched.
Hearing that incredibly familiar voice, he didn't hesitate in the slightest.
As two pairs of crimson eyes met, he silently cast Legilimency.
Instantly—
Countless images flooded his mind.
Birth in a hospital.
A relatively happy childhood.
Confusion over which world was real.
And...
Within a dream that resembled a previous life... The life of someone who seemed to be another version of himself.
Fuck.
The curse slipped out silently inside his head.
Supporting himself against a restroom partition, Dawn wore an expression more complicated than ever before.
He had been utterly unprepared.
Never, even for a moment, had he imagined seeing another version of himself inside Dumbledore's dream.
This child...
Dawn fell silent.
One hand clenched into a fist. His fingernails dug deep into his palm.
He didn't even notice.
He simply stared at the younger version of himself, whose eyes were emptier and more innocent.
"Dawn?" Seeing blood trickling between his fingers, Dumbledore frowned. "What happened?"
"I thought you'd be angry after seeing me questioning your younger self. But..."
He studied Dawn's face carefully.
Instead of anger...
It looked as though he'd seen a ghost.
"Child... Is something wrong?"
The old wizard looked back and forth between the older and younger Dawn.
"Or... does seeing your younger self simply stir complicated feelings?"
Dawn said nothing. He remained locked onto those hauntingly familiar, vacant eyes.
Slowly, he pulled his bloodied fingernails free from his palm.
Only after a long silence did he finally speak.
"No, Headmaster...I only find it terrifying."
"Terrifying?"
Dumbledore blinked.
That was the last word he had expected to hear.
At that moment, the child suddenly pressed a hand against his forehead.
He shook his head.
The dazed look vanished from his eyes.
"What..."
"What did you do to me?"
He looked confused.
Why had memories from so long ago suddenly surfaced? Something about it felt deeply unnatural.
Receiving no answer from Dawn, the child turned toward Dumbledore.
"Butler."
"Who is he?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth. Then closed it again.
There was simply no reasonable explanation. The situation was far too complicated.
Finally he answered vaguely, "Someone... I know."
"I see..."
Tilting his head, the child studied Dawn's face.
Sometimes he frowned. Sometimes his expression relaxed. He seemed lost in thought.
Watching those completely natural reactions... Looking down at his own blood-covered hand...
After another long silence, Dawn finally asked, "Headmaster. Do you believe thought is unique?"
"Thought?" Dumbledore considered the question.
Then slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, child. I don't believe I can give you a definite answer."
Yet Dawn showed no disappointment whatsoever.
Rather than questioning Dumbledore... It felt as though he was speaking to himself.
Is thought unique?
His answer had changed many times.
At first...
When his consciousness had been distributed among multiple students while still remaining synchronized in awareness...
He believed thought was singular.
Later...
When Nicolas Flamel claimed the Brain-in-a-Vat could duplicate consciousness through memories...
He began questioning that certainty.
But afterward...
When the Brain displayed a personality completely unlike the real Nicolas Flamel...
He had gradually returned to his original conclusion.
Lowering his eyelids, Dawn spoke quietly. It sounded as though he were addressing Dumbledore.
Yet every word was meant for himself.
"You know, Professor... A long time ago..."
"When I was still disguised as Leia Sickman... I used Resurrection Stone powder to connect with the thoughts of the dead..."
"Wait. Resurrection Stone powder?"
Dumbledore interrupted immediately.
His eyes sharpened. "So the events inside Hogwarts really were caused by you."
"That isn't important."
No!
It's extremely important!
Dumbledore practically shouted inside his own head.
Still, seeing Dawn's indifferent expression, he merely sighed and motioned for him to continue.
Dawn absently stroked his chin.
His unfocused eyes had already drifted back into memory.
"The first consciousness I connected with belonged to a wizard detective from the Second World War.
To be honest... It was fascinating.
But I wasn't especially interested. Because I realized only people who had actually died appeared in that world.
If someone was still alive... They simply talked to empty air.
The contrast between reality and illusion was incredibly obvious.
It drew such a clear boundary that I actually found the experience rather disappointing."
He paused.
Then glanced once more toward the quiet child, who now seemed to be listening intently.
"But after that stone was destroyed... Everything changed. Even people still alive in reality began appearing inside that connected world."
His voice grew softer and softer.
By the time he finished, he had become completely immersed in his own thoughts.
In truth...
He had noticed this long ago.
Back when the younger students had first connected to him inside the illusory world...
When he and Voldemort confronted one another aboard that airplane...
The passengers had all still been there.
An entire year had passed.
There was no possibility that every single one of them had died. Yet they remained aboard the aircraft.
They reacted naturally.
They behaved like real people while witnessing the battle between him and Voldemort.
At the time...
Dawn had simply assumed it was another side effect caused by the destruction of the Resurrection Stone.
Busy dealing with countless other problems, he had never investigated further.
The same had happened during his encounter with the black dog inside the church.
But now...
Standing before this child— A younger version of himself.
One possessing the same memories. The same patterns of thought. The same consciousness.
For the first time... Dawn felt genuine terror.
Bone-deep terror.
He wasn't exaggerating.
The moment the child looked at him... The moment he responded exactly as Dawn himself would have...
An overwhelming urge to kill surged from somewhere deep inside him.
It wasn't an exaggeration.
Imagine a Muggle suddenly meeting an exact duplicate of themselves. One who possessed identical memories.
Identical thoughts.
Identical emotions.
How many people could truly suppress the instinctive revulsion? The uncertainty over whether they themselves were still unique?
Throughout history, copies had always been considered inferior. No one truly welcomed a duplicate.
Least of all...
A duplicate of themselves.
And no one wanted to share their identity.
Just as countless stories in the Muggle world revolved around preserving one's uniqueness.
Dawn stared at his younger self.
Because of his own past, forever trapped between two worlds he couldn't distinguish from one another...
He refused to dismiss this as merely a dream.
More importantly... He knew with absolute certainty... A simple dream could not explain this.
None of the imaginary people inside the previous students' dreams had possessed real memories.
Slowly pressing his lips together...
Dawn reached into his sleeve.
His fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of his wand.
Pointing it directly at the child, he whispered darkly:
"Ava..."
"...da..."
Before the Killing Curse could be completed— Dumbledore lunged forward.
He grabbed Dawn's wrist and forced the wand downward.
"Child! What are you doing?"
The spell broke apart.
Dawn frowned.
"Move."
He violently shook Dumbledore's hand away.
"Please, Headmaster. This is only a dream. Don't waste your misplaced compassion here."
The old wizard staggered backward.
Within this dream he possessed no magic.
His physical strength also seemed noticeably weaker than that of an ordinary wizard.
"Wait, Dawn!" Dumbledore spread both arms, standing firmly between him and the child.
Even he wasn't entirely sure why.
Perhaps it was simply instinct. The instinct to protect.
"I think I understand your concern.
If you're truly worried about whether consciousness is unique... Wouldn't observing him be more valuable than killing him?
Wouldn't determining whether he's truly identical to you matter more?"
Dawn froze.
After having his murderous impulse interrupted twice... His mind finally began calming.
He knew Dumbledore was right.
Even if he killed the child now...
Would another version simply appear the next time someone entered this piece of history?
Drawing a deep breath, Dawn accidentally inhaled the scent of mothballs and coughed.
Only then did the murderous intent finally subside.
"Headmaster. You're protecting him."
"Is that because you feel guilty? Or because you still want to hear the rest of Harry Potter?"
His tone carried open mockery.
He had no objection to uncovering other people's secrets. But he hated having his own explored.
Especially without his knowledge.
Having recovered from his initial embarrassment, Dumbledore calmly ignored the question entirely.
Instead, he asked something he cared about much more.
"Dawn."
"How did you get here?"
He even leaned over to inspect the restroom stall from which Dawn had emerged.
Inside...
There was nothing except an ordinary toilet.
Dawn glanced over as well.
From his perspective, however, the doorway still led directly back into Hogwarts' corridor.
He had no intention of explaining everything.
Using the same excuse as before, he casually replied,
"An accident."
Dumbledore recognized the dismissal.
He asked nothing further.
Likewise, he temporarily abandoned both his questions about Harry Potter and the strange dream.
He knew perfectly well... Dawn would never answer.
At that moment...
The child suddenly spoke.
"Wand... Spell... So... you're a wizard?"
"And... Harry Potter?"
After thinking for a moment, his gaze settled once more upon Dawn's crimson eyes.
"You're also called Dawn. You look like me. Are you... me from the future?"
The child had accurately guessed part of the truth.
Dawn merely frowned.
He raised his wand again.
A flash of light.
The Memory Charm erased the child's recollection of everything that had just occurred.
He believed observing the child's consciousness required eliminating as many variables as possible.
Once he had finished... Another wave of his wand concealed him beneath a Disillusionment Charm.
Then he quietly remained beside Dumbledore.
Watching the old wizard's back... A new thought suddenly occurred to him.
Dumbledore had entered the dream through a Muggle. Which meant... He couldn't use magic here.
Perhaps...
He could simply cast another Memory Charm. Erase everything connected to Harry Potter.
Dawn tightened his grip on his wand.
The temptation was overwhelming. He absolutely did not want Dumbledore returning with knowledge of his secrets.
Still...
Since Dumbledore served as the central figure within this dream, Dawn worried that interfering now might affect his observations of the child.
He decided to wait until just before leaving.
At that moment...
The child shook his head.
His dazed expression faded.
Though he vaguely felt he had forgotten something, a far more pressing concern quickly reclaimed his attention.
"Butler."
He pointed helplessly at the knot in his trousers.
"If you can't untie this within one minute... I think... I'll have no choice but to pee in my pants."
As if perfectly timed...
The woman's worried voice echoed from outside the restroom.
"Mr. Billy?"
"It's already been twenty minutes. Has something happened in there?"
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