The woman ran wildly across the stage, no longer showing the composure and restraint she had displayed when she first arrived.
She shouted with joy, releasing all the happiness of finally being cured.
Every wizard below turned their eyes toward the arm she held high.
Even beneath the dimmed lights, they could clearly see that the flesh was full and healthy, the skin flawless.
They still remembered how black and charred it had looked only moments ago.
The contrast was so astonishing that after a brief silence, the entire hall erupted into heated discussion.
"Merlin's beard! She's really cured! That was way too fast. Could this be another trick?"
"Impossible! That woman is Harper Wint. She's a friend of mine!
I'm the one who contacted her and told her to come here. There's absolutely no way she's a plant!"
The slightly plump wizard beside him shouted loudly.
He looked toward the woman and called out, "Hey, Harper! Do you remember how we first met?"
"Of course!"
The woman laughed heartily.
"You went to Diagon Alley to buy fertilizer for your herbs, tripped over the steps, and happened to fall to your knees right in front of me. Your head even landed in the fertilizer pile!"
"Er... You didn't have to go into that much detail!"
The wizard pretended to complain loudly, but there was not the slightest trace of anger in his expression.
Instead, the last trace of doubt quietly disappeared from his eyes.
Whether it was her memories or the tone and expression with which she spoke, everything was exactly the same as the Harper he knew.
There was no abnormality whatsoever.
This was truly his friend, not some deception created with Polyjuice Potion or something similar.
With the wizard's guarantee, the crowd became even more enthusiastic.
There was hardly anyone in the world who disliked a doctor with extraordinary medical skills.
Even the African wizards, who had been disappointed at not learning the secret behind transforming magical creatures, were no exception.
After all, Africa was home to what was regarded as the oldest wizarding school in the world, and the dangers and curses left behind across that ancient land were by no means few.
Amid the noisy commotion, only Dumbledore's expression seemed out of place.
He frowned and stepped apologetically in front of the ecstatic witch.
"Sorry, Madam. Would you mind if I examine you?"
The old headmaster's voice was gentle, but he still harbored some doubts.
After all, the words "doing good deeds" seemed almost completely incompatible with Dawn.
His eyes subconsciously shifted toward the stage.
The boy who had emerged from the space beneath the floor stood there with an indifferent expression.
Dumbledore took a quiet breath.
After the woman agreed, he carefully examined both her body and soul.
But...
Everything was normal.
He found nothing wrong.
Could it be that he was simply too biased against Dawn?
Perhaps Dawn really was just doing something good and trying to gain some prestige?
The old headmaster frowned.
He wanted to examine the woman's memories as well, but his principles prevented him from doing so.
Instead, he simply asked, "Madam, if you don't mind, could you tell me about the treatment process?"
"Er, well..."
The woman was momentarily at a loss.
She scratched her cheek awkwardly before explaining:
"I'm sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore.
But Mr. Richter said I had to remain calm during the treatment, so I was asleep the entire time.
I don't really know what happened."
Asleep?
The treatment had only taken two or three minutes. Was there really any need for that?
Dumbledore became even more suspicious.
His instincts told him that something was wrong, but after examining her twice more, he still could not find anything.
He could only retreat to the side with his doubts unresolved.
"Well, Albus?" McGonagall asked quietly.
She was surprised as well, and she was equally wary of Dawn.
Dumbledore shook his head. "At least... I haven't been able to find anything wrong."
His tone was solemn.
Then, for a moment, his thoughts drifted.
Exactly when had he begun to lose his understanding of Dawn?
When the boy had first entered Hogwarts, Dumbledore had already been wary of him using Occlumency.
But Dawn had still been relatively easy to understand.
Dumbledore fell into his memories.
Everything seemed to have begun during the period when Dawn had left the school and traveled to Egypt and Iceland.
No one knew what he had done during that time.
Even when Dumbledore had questioned Amir, he had received no useful information.
The old headmaster only knew that when he intercepted Dawn in Iceland, the boy had already learned to use the abilities of a phoenix to some extent.
Then came the incident where Dawn publicly announced his intention to kill someone in the newspapers, the purpose of which remained unknown, and which Professor Trelawney had divined as the "Fountain of Fortune."
Dumbledore rubbed his temples.
He suddenly remembered what he had seen during the previous school term when he had drunk too much Felix Felicis and glimpsed Dawn's past from the perspective of his butler.
Then...
If he tried again, was there a possibility that he could finally resolve the doubts in his heart and see what Dawn had actually done during the period when he had left Hogwarts?
Dumbledore fell into deep thought.
At that moment...
Snape, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke.
"Dumbledore, Richter is only thirteen.
No matter how talented he is, I refuse to believe anyone could be completely capable in every respect at that age.
His greatest strength is Transfiguration.
Do you think this could have been achieved through Transfiguration?"
"You mean... making an injury disappear through Transfiguration?"
McGonagall instinctively wanted to refute him.
She felt that it was impossible. Transfiguration was simply the conversion of one form of matter into another.
But then she remembered the astonishing sight of blood being transformed into magical creatures.
She hesitated.
The words she was about to say died in her throat.
She was no longer certain.
Dumbledore came back to himself.
He was also a master of Transfiguration, but faced with this question, he could not provide an answer either.
Silence descended.
Snape did not continue asking.
Or rather, he did not truly care what the answer was.
The Potions Master simply wanted to strengthen a belief within himself.
If something as powerful as this could be accomplished through Transfiguration alone, then perhaps he could also develop a potion capable of resurrecting the dead.
"Lily..."
Snape whispered her name inwardly once more.
At that moment, Lupin, who had been listening from behind, finally could not hold himself back.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, do you think I should..."
He did not say the words "cure a werewolf" in front of everyone, but the old headmaster understood exactly what he meant.
Dumbledore did not answer immediately.
He looked toward Dawn on the stage, and for once, he found himself genuinely caught between two choices.
His instincts told him there had to be something wrong.
But if Dawn truly had done nothing improper, then this was Lupin's best chance to regain a normal life and escape the suffering he had endured for decades.
Which choice should he make?
"Wait a little longer, Remus. Just wait." Dumbledore finally took a deep breath and gave that answer.
Lupin nodded.
He did not ask why.
He trusted Dumbledore's judgment completely.
Yet at that moment, he suddenly thought of the other werewolves living at the bottom of society.
An indescribable worry quietly took root in his heart.
On the stage...
Dawn returned to his chair.
From his position, he could see Dumbledore's expression changing several times.
Yet Dawn's own face remained completely indifferent.
He could guess that the old headmaster was suspicious.
But Dawn was confident that Dumbledore would never discover the truth.
After all, following his "treatment," the woman was, in a certain sense, exactly the same as before.
There was no difference whatsoever.
Dawn smiled.
His hand slipped inside his sleeve and stroked a folded black cloth bag.
It was a bag enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
If one could see through the cloth at this moment, they would find an unconscious woman inside, her arm still black and charred like burnt wood.
Yes.
The woman currently standing in the Great Hall was not the original.
There was no other choice.
Dawn's current research did not yet allow him to resolve curses whose external patterns could change.
So...
He had simply created another one.
Just as the Harry he had created earlier had been killed without triggering the World Correction, indirectly proving that an externally altered special pattern was not changed in the same way.
The newly created woman's external pattern was not the cursed version.
It was the original, uncorrupted version contained within the material he had used.
So, in that sense...
How could this not count as a successful cure?
Dawn grinned.
And this was the source of his confidence in daring to treat any illness publicly in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Before arriving, knowing that this part of the press conference was going to happen, he had made another trip to Egypt and captured quite a few specimens.
They were all unconscious and hidden on his person, waiting to be used if necessary.
Still...
Looking at the woman in the Great Hall, Dawn felt somewhat complicated despite being the one responsible for creating the entire situation.
Just think about it.
A stranger becomes your exact likeness, possesses your memories and emotions, and seamlessly takes your place in your life.
How could that possibly be anything other than horrifying?
He remembered that when Nicolas Flamel had once produced the brain in a jar, they had discussed the possibility of copying a wizard's mind and indirectly achieving immortality.
But looking at things now...
He had already traveled a considerable distance down the road of replication.
"The terrifying side of magic."
Dawn murmured softly.
Beneath the charming exterior of the fairy tale, he had glimpsed a dark corner hidden from view.
After spacing out for a while, Dawn temporarily put those distracting thoughts aside.
He rested his arm on the table and continued waiting for patients.
Perhaps the success of the previous two cases had given everyone confidence.
He no longer needed to call for patients himself.
Messages were being sent from the Great Hall at an increasingly rapid pace.
Soon, the flames in the fireplace swelled again and again, and all sorts of strange-looking wizards emerged from within.
Yes.
They were genuinely strange.
For example, the creature standing before him had a cat's head, dog-like paws, and owl feathers growing from its body.
It was obvious that something had gone wrong with its Transfiguration.
But...
For cases involving only the special pattern of one's own body, Dawn found them ridiculously easy.
They were far simpler than the previous patient.
That person had been a wizard whose every pore had sprouted tiny tentacles, enough to drive anyone with trypophobia insane.
He claimed that an accident during research into Dark magic had caused him to hear an endless shrieking sound at all times.
His soul had been deeply affected as well.
Dawn had spent quite some effort restoring him to his original condition.
Well...
At least his condition appeared normal on the surface.
Dawn's understanding of the soul was still incomplete, so no one could guarantee that there were no lingering effects.
Dawn extended a hand.
The creature before him transformed back into a human.
He watched as the grateful wizard left the stage.
Almost immediately, another patient took his place.
This one was another wizard who had once worked as a curse-breaker in Egypt.
He was a young man under thirty, with greenish-blue patches of mold covering his exposed skin and a foul, rotten smell emanating from his body.
Dawn examined him and discovered that his curse was likewise connected to an external pattern.
He could only sigh inwardly at how advanced the ancient Egyptian magic was before taking the man into the space beneath the floor as well.
Below the stage, Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.
He seized the opportunity and discreetly attempted to probe the space with magic.
But the entrance to the hidden space had been protected by defensive spells, which blocked the old headmaster's probing magic.
This only strengthened his conviction.
There was definitely something wrong with Dawn's treatment method.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.
Two or three minutes later, the young man indeed jumped out of the floor in ecstatic delight.
There was no trace of his previous condition left on his body.
The old headmaster watched as the man returned to his friends and family and seamlessly joined their conversations.
No one noticed anything unusual.
Dumbledore's brows drew tightly together.
What exactly had Dawn done?
The question echoed through his mind.
He wanted to stop the treatments that followed.
But looking at the patients' burning eyes, he knew it would accomplish nothing.
And so...
For the rest of the time, the old headmaster could only watch helplessly as everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.
As Dawn treated more and more patients, the uproar following each successful treatment gradually diminished.
In its place, however, the warmth and reverence in their eyes grew steadily stronger.
Dawn was very satisfied with this.
He felt that all his effort had been worthwhile.
However, he swept his gaze around the Great Hall once more and noticed that Neville had apparently never returned after leaving.
Perhaps the boy's stubborn grandmother did not believe in his abilities.
Or perhaps she simply held some hostility toward him and had refused to seek his help.
Dawn shook his head.
He could not quite explain how he felt about it.
But there was no way he was going to personally chase after Neville and offer to treat his parents.
All he could do was consider it a pity.
Dawn pushed the matter of the chubby boy out of his mind. He looked again toward the increasingly crowded hall.
He did not see the other two people he had been waiting for either.
That bothered him somewhat.
Dawn had wondered whether William might bring them here.
After all, when he had made his announcement earlier, he had deliberately emphasized the matter of blood curses.
But now it seemed...
It had all been wishful thinking on his part.
Dawn narrowed his eyes.
To be honest, he had always been curious about Harris, who had mysteriously disappeared inside the pyramid.
But searching for him without the slightest clue felt like a tremendous waste of energy.
Combined with all the other matters that had kept emerging, those two questions had remained unresolved until now.
Time gradually passed.
Before he knew it, darkness had descended outside.
After treating another couple of patients, Dawn suddenly stood up, drawing everyone's attention.
"Everyone, thank you once again for coming. But it is getting late.
I'm sorry, but today's press conference will officially end here."
He raised his voice so that everyone could hear.
Only then did the wizards in the Great Hall realize how much time had passed.
They rubbed their aching backs and waists after sitting for so long, realizing that it really was time to end.
But among the strange-looking patients who had come seeking treatment, voices of protest immediately erupted.
Someone even called out directly:
"Mr. Richter, I know this may sound shameless, but... could you please teach us your method of treatment?"
The request immediately received enthusiastic support from the crowd.
Dawn sneered inwardly.
He turned his head and memorized the face of the person who had spoken before calmly replying:
"I'm sorry. It isn't that I'm unwilling to share it.
My treatment method is like an innate talent, much like being a Metamorphmagus.
It's not something that can easily be described."
It was an excuse that preserved his image without damaging it. Then he changed the subject.
"But please don't worry. From now on, I will come to Hogwarts once every month to hold consultations.
However, because it consumes a considerable amount of energy, I ask that everyone bring sufficient payment.
It doesn't necessarily have to be gold or silver. Any valuable books can also be used as payment."
Dawn had not made this decision on a whim.
Although it meant sacrificing one day every month...
These wizards would provide excellent opportunities for him to experiment with his understanding of special patterns.
He could also make some money and increase his reputation at the same time.
All things considered, the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.
After saying this, he did not give anyone time to argue. Flames suddenly erupted around him.
His figure disappeared within them.
He left just like that.
The people present looked at one another.
Under the circumstances, no matter how many thoughts they had, they could only reluctantly begin leaving as well.
Rita Skeeter enthusiastically rushed out of the castle with all the material she had gathered, already imagining what should appear in tomorrow's newspaper.
As a seasoned journalist, she knew very well that although the press conference itself had ended, the waves it had stirred were clearly still building beneath the surface.
Sand filled the air.
After leaving Hogwarts, Dawn did not hurry back to the Vatican.
Instead, he made another detour to Egypt.
He intended to deal with the wizards he was carrying first.
During today's medical consultations, he had encountered two cases whose conditions were unrelated to the patients' own patterns and therefore required replacements.
They were still with him.
Dawn reached into his sleeve and took out the folded black cloth bag.
He unfolded it and tipped it downward.
Several unconscious figures immediately tumbled out.
Aside from the charred-armed woman and the mold-covered man, the others were specimens he had prepared in advance but ultimately had not needed.
Dawn first killed and burned the two who had required replacements, destroying all traces of them.
As for the other specimens, he thought for a moment and decided merely to erase their memories rather than kill them.
Recently, Dawn had vaguely noticed that the number of wizards in Luxor seemed to have decreased considerably.
After reflecting on this, he decided he needed to use his collection of specimens more carefully.
After cleaning up all the loose ends, Dawn returned to his secret residence.
In the warm and comfortable atmosphere, he collapsed into a chair and wearily took out Hufflepuff's Cup.
Today's press conference, from manipulating the audience's emotions to treating the various illnesses afterward, had genuinely consumed a great deal of mental energy.
It had been far more exhausting than he had expected.
Dawn had originally planned to examine Slytherin's Locket again after returning and think carefully about the reason for the strange heart palpitations he had experienced earlier.
But after thinking about it...
He shook his head and murmured, "Forget it. I'll sleep first. I'll deal with everything else tomorrow."
After dinner...
He took off his clothes.
Had a hot shower.
Dried his hair and lay down on the bed.
The exhaustion accumulated over the course of the busy day washed over him.
Before long, his breathing became slow and steady, and he gradually drifted into sleep.
Then, somewhere between wakefulness and dreams, Dawn once again found himself in that familiar dark space.
By now, he knew the place well.
But...
To his surprise...
This time, Dawn heard no conversation at all.
Instead, he saw the faintly glowing light spot that had appeared only once before, about half a month ago.
___________
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