Why had he donated the brooms?
"So that we could win the Quidditch Cup and bring glory to Slytherin!" Draco hurriedly replied, giving the standard answer.
Lucius remained silent.
The young master suddenly remembered the rumors circulating among the other houses.
He lowered his head and muttered awkwardly, "Is... is it because you wanted to get me onto the Slytherin Quidditch team?"
"No! Of course not!" Lucius looked genuinely surprised. "Why would you think that?"
His expression became serious.
"Draco, believe in yourself! Your ability is more than enough to earn you a place on the Quidditch team! You don't need to rely on any underhanded tricks for that."
Really?
Draco could not help glancing at his father. He pursed his lips, and the pressure that had been weighing on his heart for so long suddenly disappeared.
Seeing that his son had not understood the real reason behind the donations, Lucius sighed softly.
"Draco, winning a Quidditch match is certainly important. But I want you to remember something even more important.
In the end, what matters most is the network of relationships between people.
I donated those brooms because I wanted you to use them to win over your teammates, deepen your relationships with them, and strengthen your influence within the team.
But if I bought a Firebolt for you alone, what do you think the others would do? Would they respect you more, or would they grow resentful toward you?"
Lucius spoke earnestly.
Draco was momentarily speechless.
He understood very well that while superiority could sometimes inspire people to follow you, among people whose family backgrounds were more or less equal, having something better than everyone else would more often invite jealousy.
The young master understood the principle, but thinking of Harry's smug face still left him unwilling to give up.
"Then..."
"Then why don't I donate seven Firebolts to the Quidditch team, is that what you're thinking?" Lucius interrupted, frowning.
He was disappointed, but after a moment of silence, he still patiently explained.
"Draco, you're right. Although Firebolts are expensive, they're not beyond our family's means.
But have you ever considered this? If a Nimbus 2001 can accomplish the same thing, wouldn't using a Firebolt be an excessively poor investment?"
Lucius patted his son's shoulder.
"Draco, having money doesn't mean we can spend it recklessly.
Weighing the benefits of every single expenditure is what marks a mature Slytherin."
Besides, the family's available funds had genuinely been under some strain recently because of everything involving Dawn.
Lucius lamented this inwardly.
But there was no need to tell his son about that.
Draco lowered his head and whispered, "I... I understand."
Lucius shook his head.
He could tell that Draco did not truly understand, and probably did not even agree with what he had said.
The boy was simply too intimidated by his father's authority to argue back.
Lucius sighed.
He glanced at his wrist, wrapped in the flames-patterned bracelet, then at his left arm, where the Dark Mark lay.
He wanted to teach his son more.
But after thinking it over, he decided not to rush things. He could teach Draco gradually whenever situations arose in the future.
"All right, Draco. It's Wednesday, and you still have classes this afternoon, don't you? Go on, get to class. The press conference has nothing to do with you."
Lucius patted his son's shoulder, urging him to leave. He did not want Draco appearing in front of Dawn.
But at that exact moment!
A cheerful voice suddenly sounded nearby, making every hair on Lucius's body stand on end.
"Mr. Malfoy, why do you say the press conference has nothing to do with Draco?
Do you really think my lecture will be less useful than what he can learn in a single class?"
The voice carried a smile.
It sounded almost like two acquaintances exchanging a lighthearted joke after meeting again.
But to Lucius, it was as though he had swallowed a block of ice. His entire body went rigid.
Draco instinctively turned around.
Bathed in sunlight, he saw a familiar yet unfamiliar boy walking toward them with his hands tucked into his sleeves, his youthful face partially hidden beneath the broad hood of his robes.
Light fell from above and entered the boy's eyes.
Depending on the angle, those eyes sometimes seemed to carry a deep crimson hue, while at other times they were as clear as gemstones.
Draco froze for a moment before quickly recovering.
"Ri... Richter!"
Although he had already read plenty of reports about him in the newspapers, meeting Dawn face-to-face still made him instinctively shrink back.
Draco was afraid of Dawn.
That fear had taken root during his first year, when he had brought others to cause trouble only to be stripped naked and hung on a wall.
So even though the newspapers had spent considerable effort clearing Dawn's name and separating him from the incidents that had followed, Draco's fear remained deeply rooted.
Hearing his name, Dawn slightly shifted his gaze.
At that moment, Lucius finally broke free of his stiffness. He hurried forward several steps, shielding his son behind him as he lowered his head and tried to explain.
"Mr. Richter, I... I was only..."
"All right, Mr. Malfoy. There's no need to tell a lie."
Dawn interrupted him gently.
"You don't need an excuse. Just look at your own expression, Mr. Malfoy. I know exactly what you're thinking.
You're worried that after seeing Draco, I'll remember our previous conflict and take him away, flay him, tear him apart, turn him into pieces for my collection, or perhaps mail the remains back to you, aren't you?"
He said those horrifying words as casually as if he were discussing the weather.
Lucius's eyes widened.
His expression was filled with terror, and sweat trickled down his forehead.
He could not tell whether Dawn was joking or genuinely revealing what he had in mind.
Although he repeatedly reminded himself that they were surrounded by people, the memory of the floor covered in minced flesh inside the Ministry of Magic still made it impossible for him to relax.
For a moment, the atmosphere seemed to freeze.
Only after Lucius had struggled internally and his eyes filled with determination did Dawn shrug.
"Ah, sorry. I was only joking."
He looked at the sweating father and son and smiled faintly.
"Mr. Malfoy, you aren't angry with me, are you?"
"Of... of course not."
Lucius immediately answered obediently.
Dawn's lips curved into an emotionless smile.
He stepped forward, brushing past the Malfoy whose head was bowed low. Only his voice remained drifting behind him.
"Don't worry. I'm not some kind of devil.
Considering how hard you've been working, I won't concern myself with such a trivial matter.
However, I have to say, I really didn't like the look in your eyes just now."
Click.
His heel struck the flagstones with a crisp sound.
Only after Dawn's footsteps had disappeared into the distance did Lucius finally seem to emerge from underwater.
He braced himself against his knees and began breathing heavily.
Dawn's words had contained no intimidating force at all, yet remembering his complete disregard for convention was enough to keep Lucius terrified.
Above all, he was worried about his son.
Draco nervously gripped the broad fabric of his robes. Sensing that there was some connection between the two men, he looked up uneasily.
"Dad... you and Mr. Richter..."
"Don't ask."
Lucius did not want to drag his son any deeper into the matter. He rubbed Draco's head and repeated softly.
"Don't ask, Draco."
Draco pressed his lips together.
But seeing his father's exhausted expression, he obediently swallowed all his questions.
"Go back to your classroom, Draco. If all your classes are canceled today, then stay in the common room."
Lucius urged him to leave once again.
As he said this, he instinctively looked up toward where Dawn had gone.
The boy had already disappeared into the shadows of the castle corridor.
Gone without a trace.
Dawn paid no attention to the Malfoy father and son.
When all was said and done, neither of them was worth expending any effort remembering. It had simply been a little amusement.
He leisurely walked into the Great Hall.
Not wanting to attract too much attention, Dawn concealed his presence before stepping onto the moving staircase.
He continued upward until he reached the eighth floor, then stepped off.
Originally, he had planned to arrive just as the press conference began.
But after seeing the news of Sirius's acquittal earlier, he suspected that the old headmaster had already obtained Slytherin's Locket.
So he had come early to collect it.
When he reached the office door, the stone gargoyle on the wall raised its head adorably, waiting for a password.
But Dawn knew perfectly well that Dumbledore already knew he had arrived.
He simply reached out and pushed.
"Oh?"
The door opened exactly as expected.
The scene inside the semicircular room came into view.
"Wow, Headmaster. That's quite a remarkable look you've got there!
I think if you went to Nurmengard like this, Grindelwald might break out of prison just for you."
Dawn raised an eyebrow as he looked at the red-haired young man sitting behind the desk.
He pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him.
"So, how well does my spell work?"
"Very well."
Dumbledore smiled unconcernedly, making no attempt to deliberately belittle it.
"It has allowed me to experience the feeling of youth again after all these years. The description in the newspaper was not exaggerated."
However...
Despite saying this, when the old headmaster looked at Dawn before him, he canceled the spell and returned to his familiar white-bearded appearance.
"You're changing back already?"
Dawn spread his hands in disappointment.
"To be honest, I still prefer the feeling of talking to people my own age."
"I'm sorry, my boy. But I believe it's wiser for me to be more cautious when speaking with you."
Dumbledore was perfectly frank.
The Age-Reduction Spell was certainly a remarkable spell, but if it had to be categorized, it actually leaned more toward Transfiguration.
And like Transfiguration, it possessed a flaw that was not quite a flaw.
When cast on oneself, one's magical power would be occupied maintaining the transformation, making it difficult to use other spells.
"Ha, Headmaster. Your vigilance is truly heartbreaking."
Dawn pretended to look crestfallen.
"Don't educational theorists always say that students should be given sufficient trust?"
Dumbledore shook his head at that.
He had no intention of getting caught up in an argument over something like this.
Instead, he opened a drawer, took out a silver-white locket, placed it on the desk, and gently pushed it toward Dawn.
"Dawn, is this what you came for?"
"Oh, of course!"
The moment Dawn saw the object, he stopped pretending and happily accepted it.
He ignored the resentment and spiritual impact of Voldemort's soul within it. After examining it briefly, he began the familiar process.
Cut the black lines.
Introduce natural magic.
Maintain the transformation of the pattern.
In an instant, the fragment of soul within Slytherin's Locket transformed into a small stone and fell out with a click before being completely consumed by the flames.
"Done, Headmaster."
Dawn whistled, then extended his hand and held out the locket for Dumbledore to inspect.
But at that exact moment!
Dawn suddenly froze.
It happened without warning and without any discernible cause.
A strange sensation suddenly caused his heart to skip a beat.
Dawn's face immediately tightened.
He reached up and touched his chest, recalling that fleeting sensation. His pupils contracted, and a large shadow seemed to gather within the crimson of his eyes.
He was far too familiar with this feeling.
Years ago, after returning from Egypt, he had experienced this sensation several times.
It was the feeling of being watched by something hidden in the darkness, an inexplicable sense of dread.
And the eventual investigation had revealed the truth.
Under the influence of the World Correction, several days of his memories during the Christmas holidays had disappeared.
But why had that sensation appeared again this time?
Dawn unconsciously tightened his grip.
The chain of the locket pressed against its surface, producing an unpleasant metallic scraping sound.
Was it because of Voldemort's Horcrux?
He narrowed his eyes.
But immediately, he felt that could not be right.
If the Horcrux were responsible, why had he not experienced this sensation when destroying the previous ones?
Or perhaps...
Was it the locket itself?
With that thought, Dawn immediately began examining the newly acquired silver-white locket.
He found nothing unusual.
Then he opened it.
There was nothing inside.
That was normal, however. Even if there had once been something inside, Tom had probably already taken it. There was no chance Dawn would have found it lying around.
Seeing this, Dumbledore offered a reminder.
"I came across records concerning this locket before. Its abilities are related to negative emotions. While holding it, the power of dark magic can be amplified."
"Amplify the power of dark magic? Something similar to a wand?"
Dawn frowned.
He could not understand why such an effect would cause the strange sense of dread he had just experienced.
He continued staring solemnly at the locket before suddenly becoming lost in thought.
Dumbledore had also noticed that something was wrong with Dawn's mood.
"My boy, what are you thinking about?"
The old headmaster asked inquisitively.
But Dawn did not answer.
He had already focused all his attention on his past memories, examining every minute and every second, searching for another blank section.
After checking several times, however, Dawn discovered that everything was normal.
There were no inconsistencies.
Perhaps it wasn't the World Correction after all, but something else?
Dawn murmured inwardly.
He knew that many perceptive wizards experienced inexplicable instincts like this. Taking a deep breath, he temporarily suppressed his doubts.
Still...
To be safe, he returned to his own room and retrieved the Invisibility Cloak, one of the three Deathly Hallows, placing it beneath his robes.
The cloak could isolate curses and had a certain ability to block natural magic.
Dawn did not know whether it could protect him from the World Correction, but even a moment's thought told him that wearing it was safer than going without it.
"Child?"
Dumbledore watched Dawn suddenly disappear and then reappear.
His gaze settled on the exposed portion of the Invisibility Cloak beneath Dawn's robes, leaving him even more puzzled.
Dawn had no intention of explaining.
Instead, he solemnly asked the old headmaster, "When I destroyed the Horcrux just now, did you sense anything unusual?"
"Unusual?"
Dumbledore considered the word carefully, his expression becoming serious.
"Was something wrong with Voldemort's Horcrux?"
"No. The destruction went perfectly. I'm asking about something else."
Dawn had already obtained his answer from those words.
He asked no further questions and merely sighed before explaining himself, answering the matter that concerned the old headmaster most.
Afterward, he picked up a piece of candy from the desk and popped it into his mouth. Leaning back in his chair, he gazed out the window toward the distant sky.
White clouds drifted lazily across the heavens.
The sky was brilliant as brocade.
But Dawn had no interest in admiring the view. His mind remained fixed on the World Correction.
The last time he had encountered the World Correction, looking at a calendar would trigger that strange sense of dread because his instincts were reminding him of the dates that had disappeared.
So if the sensation just now really was related to the World Correction, what exactly was it trying to remind him of?
Yes.
Even though Dawn kept telling himself that there might be another explanation, he could not stop his thoughts from returning to this possibility.
He examined the locket inside and out once again.
Everything remained normal.
There was not the slightest trace of anything unusual.
Then Dawn remembered the ring and diary still in his possession, neither of which had been destroyed yet.
Should he find some free time and destroy another one to see what happened?
He rubbed his chin.
Dawn was tempted.
Fortunately, his rationality was still intact, and it stopped him from acting on such a reckless impulse.
"Almost time, my boy."
Dumbledore suddenly pointed toward the clock on the wall, reminding the distracted Dawn.
"Have you forgotten about your press conference?"
Dawn froze.
He looked up and realized that it was already 1:50 in the afternoon.
There were less than ten minutes left before the scheduled start of the press conference.
"Ah. I know."
Dawn clicked his tongue, stood up, patted his cheeks, and took a deep breath.
For now, he would focus on what came next.
The experiences of the previous school year had taught him one thing.
No matter how complicated or unpredictable a situation became, having some degree of control over the Collective Consciousness could only bring benefits.
Poof!
A ball of flame suddenly appeared.
Fawkes flew out of thin air and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, tilting his head as he examined the creature before him that seemed almost like one of his own kind.
°Disapparate°
Dawn and Dumbledore exchanged a glance.
As though they had reached the same understanding, they simultaneously cast the Disapparition spell and vanished from the office.
Poof!
Poof!
Two consecutive cracks of displaced air rang out.
Inside the Great Hall, the crowd had been chatting noisily among themselves.
Everyone instinctively turned toward the entrance.
The clamor quickly died away.
Two flames, seemingly filled with hope and power, ignited out of thin air.
Dumbledore and Dawn emerged from them.
Fawkes let out a clear cry and soared into the air.
"It's your turn to take the stage, my boy."
Dumbledore looked at Dawn with a complicated expression. After hesitating for a moment, he spoke softly, almost as though encouraging him.
Dawn looked at the old headmaster in surprise, then nodded and swept his gaze around the room.
In the not particularly large Great Hall, countless eyes were fixed upon him.
Snape's hatred.
McGonagall's solemnity.
Flitwick's admiration.
Sprout's complicated expression.
Hermione's envy.
Ron's jealousy.
Neville's curiosity.
Harry's hostility.
Sirius's scrutiny.
Aemon Carter's melancholy.
The enthusiasm of the African wizards.
The awe of the Minister of Magic.
And the faint dissatisfaction and resentment of the pure-blood wizards he had never dealt with before.
At this moment, every eye was upon him.
Suddenly, Dawn grinned.
He calmly straightened his clothes and walked along the path formed by dozens of intersecting gazes, passing one familiar or unfamiliar face after another before walking straight toward the raised platform.
Above him, the candles floated in the air like stars.
Within this ancient castle steeped in history, Dawn turned around.
He slowly swept his gaze from left to right across everyone present before raising his voice.
"Hello, everyone! My name is Dawn. Dawn Richter!"
___________
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