The day after Harry's dream-battle against Tom Riddle, who was controlling a horde of Dementors.
Dumbledore and the professors were investigating the incident with grim expressions.
Though Harry had achieved significant mental growth, from Hogwarts' perspective, this was nothing less than a terrorist attack.
The unprecedented event of Dementors attacking a large number of Hogwarts students was, to the professors, even more horrifying than Bellatrix's assault.
Naturally, Harry and Aisen, who had witnessed key parts of the event, were called in for questioning.
"So, Harry, according to you, the Dementors attacked at the same moment the Slytherin captain gave a strange hand signal? And, Aisen, you found a strange mark near the Forbidden Forest?"
"Yes, Professor."
"I-I see. Alright, you may go."
Normally, an investigation like this would never have ended so easily.
An incident involving Dementors meant it was connected to the Ministry of Magic—the very body that had brought them to Hogwarts—and specifically, to Minister Fudge.
It is an all-too-obvious fact that people in power, then as now, love nothing more than to shift responsibility onto others.
And it was practically their custom to check the rise of popular figures they viewed as future competitors.
This was especially true in this case, where the "Boy Who Lived," Harry Potter, had spectacularly repelled the Dementors that the Ministry had failed to control, creating a highly symbolic event.
Naturally, the Ministry's top priority should have been to interrogate them further and find a way to shift the blame, but…
"Fudge, I suggest you stop. Is there any need to detain these innocent students any longer?"
Thanks to Dumbledore's powerful intervention, they were able to return to their dormitory early.
Fudge had been taken aback by the surprisingly firm tone from the usually gentle Dumbledore. Besides, deep down, he knew that he himself was largely to blame for stationing the Dementors in the first place.
For all his faults, Fudge wasn't a fundamentally rotten person, which was why Dumbledore had supported him for the minister's position. He was just an incompetent and power-hungry petty man.
And while Dumbledore's firm stance was partly to protect Harry and Aisen…
*"The British Ministry of Magic was nearly destroyed…"*
…a much larger factor was that he couldn't begin to imagine what a disgruntled Aisen might do during an investigation.
Even under normal circumstances, Aisen Knightly's power was unfathomably deep. In his current, magically unstable state, it was doubly so.
An unpredictable bomb is always the most terrifying. One wrong move, and he might accidentally blow up the city of London and then scratch his head with a cheerful look on his face…
It was no wonder Dumbledore felt like he was constantly teetering on the brink of a war far worse than Voldemort's. This was an issue he could never compromise on, even if it meant straining his relationship with Minister Fudge. Truly.
In any case, thanks to Dumbledore's efforts, the Ministry reluctantly had to halt its questioning of the two.
And the truth of the matter, revealed in the subsequent investigation based on their testimony, was absurd.
The deciding factor was the confession of the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint. Given the gravity of the situation, even a diluted form of Veritaserum was used.
"So, Flint. According to you…"
"I-I didn't know. I never imagined Dementors would get in! I-I was just planning to have a Hippogriff interrupt the match if we were losing…"
"Oh, dear heavens. What a shallow and thoughtless idea. I never imagined a Hogwarts student could be this foolish."
According to Flint, they had planned to use a Hippogriff to get Hagrid in trouble and simultaneously throw the Quidditch match into chaos.
The simple fact that a Hippogriff had broken loose and caused a disturbance would have been enough to put Hagrid in a difficult position. But when they actually set their plan in motion, it wasn't a Hippogriff that came in, but Dementors.
When he had concocted the plan, he likely hadn't even imagined the consequences of his actions. It was a classic case of playing with fire and starting a wildfire.
As the Ministry officials held their heads in their hands, Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as he asked, "Yes, Flint. I've heard you. But I have one question… how did you intend to get the Hippogriff onto the pitch? The barrier should have prevented it from entering."
The protective charms Dumbledore had placed around Hogwarts were powerful.
They didn't just block Dementors from entering; they also had a function that prohibited the entry of various other magical creatures.
This was one of the reasons why Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class was held at the edge of the Forbidden Forest rather than in the Hogwarts back garden.
No matter how you looked at it, it wasn't a spell a mere student could bypass.
Flint, his eyes hazy from the effects of the diluted Veritaserum, answered, "Hogsmeade…"
"Hm?"
"The Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. I bought a talisman from a witch I met there. She said it was the perfect mark for my plan…"
Dumbledore let out a small sigh.
All sorts of characters gathered at the Hog's Head. It was essentially Hogsmeade's Knockturn Alley. If he had bought something there, tracing the seller would be next to impossible.
The bigger problem was that the owner of the Hog's Head was his ill-tempered brother. Honestly, how did he manage that place?
At the mention of a witch, McGonagall's expression hardened.
Since half of all magic-users were witches, it was unwise to jump to conclusions, but given the timing, it was impossible not to think of Lestrange.
McGonagall asked Flint, her face stony.
"Flint. What did this witch look like?"
"She was wearing a large robe that covered her face, so I don't remember well… I think I saw a glimpse of blonde hair."
Blonde hair. True to their name, the Black family rarely produced blondes. Of course, changing one's hair color with dye was a simple matter, so Lestrange couldn't be ruled out as a suspect.
McGonagall sighed at the disasters piling up this year.
***
"Aaaaargh!"
Like the rooster's crow that signals the morning, Gryffindor Tower had its own morning cry—or rather, scream.
It was Harry's morning scream, which had recently become a new attraction of Gryffindor.
This was, of course, a development that had started since Harry began voluntarily wearing the magic training hat.
*—Kirururuk… Kireuk. Pirururuk!*
Naturally, not everyone appreciated this morning alarm.
One such individual was Ardeura, who was seriously contemplating whether she should bite Harry while she chewed on the Kraken jerky he had brought her in abundance—in her parrot form, of course.
I stopped Ardeura, who was perched on the stand I had set up by my bed.
"Patience, Ardeura. The thing you're eating, he's the one who caught and made it for you."
*—Kirururuk…*
Ardeura shook her head as if to say it couldn't be helped. Roughly translated, her sentiment was something like, 'I, the adult, will let this slide.' And it was true; in terms of age, she was much older than Harry.
It was hard to be certain due to the nature of phoenixes, who repeatedly die and are reborn, making their lifespans difficult to track, but she might even be older than me.
*—Pirururuk! Kireuk! Kiruruk! Kiiiruruk!*
Yikes. Ardeura, a lady despite her appearance, seemed to have noticed my rude thought. She flew up and started pecking my head.
"Ow, ow. Sorry, sorry."
Only after playing like that for a while did she seem to be appeased, returning to her perch with an air of dignified grace.
Anyway.
I looked out the window and saw it was still dark. It was the crack of dawn. A time when there was little to do even if I was awake.
But it was too late to go back to sleep, so I glanced over at Harry.
He was still suffering from the training the hat provided, letting out the occasional scream but otherwise sleeping soundly.
Well, he'd be up soon enough.
"If you get bored after I leave, go to the Room of Requirement and play with Deek."
*—Kiruruk.*
After giving Ardeura the message, I slowly descended the dormitory stairs.
As expected, there was no one in the common room lounge. I took a deep breath of the autumn dawn air, a mix of coolness and warmth, then found a seat with a good view of the rising sun.
"Fuuuuu."
I relaxed my body and mind, closed my eyes, and turned my senses inward.
Thinking back on it now, I had been quite reckless yesterday.
The reason I was having trouble controlling my magic was because of my excessively amplified magical power. Absorbing Dementors would naturally cause that power to increase even more.
I had acted a bit impulsively because of Hermione.
In any case, I needed to check if any problems had arisen.
I exhaled and moved the source of magic within my body here and there.
I wasn't too worried. My body already held so much magical power that absorbing a Dementor or two was a drop in the bucket. It probably wouldn't have a major effect… hmm?
*—Vrrrr. Tzzzzzzz.*
For some reason… the flow of my magical power was much smoother than before. It wasn't running wild; it was calmly following my control.
Not understanding why, I took the Elder Wand from my robes and gave it a light flick toward a cup on the table.
The cup lifted with incredible ease. It was a clean spell, with no waste, no excess.
This was undoubtedly a good thing, but I couldn't understand it.
My magical power had clearly increased, not decreased, so why was my control better?
To calm my confused mind, I magically summoned some perfumed oil and began to polish the Elder Wand. The fact that even such a simple spell could be executed perfectly was, in itself, deeply moving.
Ah, come to think of it, have I been paying too much attention to this one? While I was at it, I took out my old, twisted wand from my robes and polished it as well.
As I meticulously oiled the two wands, the turmoil in my heart slowly subsided. This wasn't a problem I could solve just by worrying about it now.
If I took my time and considered it slowly, I would find a solution, as I always did.
As I idly handled the wands and gazed out the window, I saw that the sun had fully risen and was beginning its ascent toward the north.
Was it because of the brilliant sunlight, or because of the inexplicable stability of my magic?
Suddenly, I remembered what Professor McGonagall had said.
That Animagus magic was the act of confronting one's own soul.
A soul is the trajectory of a life lived. A noble life, a heroic life, a wretched life, a shameful life. All of these trajectories accumulate in the soul.
If so, how had my soul, severed from its past, changed?
Perhaps that disconnect was the reason I couldn't envision my Animagus form.
An animal that could symbolize my life.
As I was lost in thought, a familiar voice came from behind me.
"You're up already?"
"Ah, Hermione."
I quickly stuffed my old wand back into my robes and turned around awkwardly. There was no need to show her that I had two wands.
Hermione, whose hair was somehow glossy and well-kept as if she had just styled it, despite having just woken up, asked me, "What were you doing?"
"Nothing, just woke up early and was watching the sunrise. You?"
"Me…? I woke up early and thought I'd watch the sunrise?"
She gave a soft smile, then hesitated before saying, "Um, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday."
"Yesterday? I didn't do anything."
"…Really? Are you sure?"
For some reason, I found it hard to meet Hermione's gaze, which was once again sparkling with a knowing look.
This is what happened last time, right before she found out Ardeura was a phoenix.
***