HP: Beyond Miracle Chapter 155: Returning to the Castle

Rain suddenly began to fall from the sky.

After June arrived, Britain once again entered a season of frequent rainfall. Unfortunately, it was only a light drizzle, not enough to draw together any visible currents of natural magic.

Dawn stayed in his room under the dim yellow light, his eyes moving line by line across the ink-black text on the page.

The Patronus Charm is an extrely ancient defensive spell. It allows the caster to summon a Patronus to ward off certain forms of magic that affect the mind.

When casting it, the wizard must recall a happy mory and firmly recite the incantation, "Expecto Patronum."

Its difficulty is extrely high. Most wizards can only produce a cloud of white mist and are unable to form a complete shape.

...

"Beep, beep, beep, beep!"

At that mont, the alarm clock on the corner of the desk suddenly began ringing.

Dawn imdiately understood.

It was ti for the interview.

He glanced at the ti. It was June sixteenth, two in the afternoon.

He turned off the alarm, closed the book he had not yet finished, and slipped it into his wallet.

Then he stood up and headed for the attached washroom, intending to take care of his personal grooming before leaving.

While washing his hands, Dawn looked up at the mirror hanging above the sink.

Reflected in the smooth glass was a young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four, well-proportioned, with flaxen hair and gray eyes.

He was now called Leia Hickman.

Dawn gave his reflection a reserved smile, dried his hands with a towel, sprayed a little cologne at his collar and cuffs, then turned off the light and left the room.

He walked down the creaking wooden stairs.

Behind the counter, an old man with a shiny bald head hidden beneath a nightcap was polishing a glass. He looked up and grinned.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hickman. Care for a beer to wake you up?"

"Spare , Tom," Dawn said with a wry smile, waving his hand. "I'm heading to Hogwarts for an interview. I don't want to show up slling like alcohol."

The old man in front of him was known as Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron.

In order to build up enough presence, Dawn had been staying here these days and had beco sowhat familiar with him.

"Oh, right! You did ntion that," Tom said, smacking his forehead. "I've got a relative's kid studying there. I'll have to trouble you to look after them a bit."

Then he asked with a laugh, "By the way, which position are you applying for?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dawn replied.

"…What?"

Tom froze, his hands stopping mid-motion.

He stared at the young man in front of him, who clearly did not know the dangers of the world, his expression turning strange as he hesitated to speak.

He desperately wanted to tell him that the position was cursed. More than a dozen professors had already been lost to it, with an annual attrition rate approaching one hundred percent.

Applying for Defense Against the Dark Arts was practically asking to die.

Tom wanted to advise him to reconsider, but rembering that the interview was imminent, he felt it was inappropriate to say such things now.

So he cleared his throat and pressed his lips together.

"Don't be nervous. Take it easy. Even if you don't get the job, it's no big deal. You're still young. You'll definitely have other paths in the future."

He poured a glass of ice water and handed it to Dawn, hesitating before adding pointedly, "I wish you… safety."

Safety?

Dawn raised an eyebrow, understanding the implication.

It seed that Defense Against the Dark Arts professors eting with misfortune had already beco as much a law of the British wizarding world as Snape targeting Gryffindor.

Dawn drained the water in one go and set the glass on the counter.

"Tom, may I borrow the fireplace here?"

"Oh, of course!"

Tom nodded and pointed.

"It's right there. Go ahead and use it. But I must remind you—when using Floo Powder, absolutely do not say the wrong na! I don't want to see you beco one of those countless unlucky souls!"

"Don't worry."

Dawn smiled, walked over to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of silvery powder from a small box, clearly called out "Hogwarts," and tossed it into the flas.

Whoosh!

The fire surged upward.

With a calm expression, Dawn stepped into the fireplace and vanished amid the rising flas.

His vision twisted for an instant.

When the light stabilized again, Dawn realized he had already left the Leaky Cauldron and arrived at a familiar place.

A stone-tiled floor, walls hung with frad pictures, and a table beside the fireplace piled with books and magical instrunts.

Professor McGonagall's office.

Dawn recognized it imdiately. This was where he had once taken over the Transfiguration assessnt and earned his place in the club.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. It felt as though that ti belonged to another century.

"Excuse , are you Mr. Hickman?"

Hearing the noise, Professor McGonagall stood up from behind her desk and walked over to ask.

Only then did Dawn co back to himself, realizing he had been standing in the fireplace for quite so ti.

"Ah! Sorry, I was lost in thought."

He bent slightly and stepped out. The soot clinging to him vanished the instant he left the fireplace.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. Seeing the wandless, silent Cleaning Charm, she could not help but feel a greater sense of approval.

Regardless of anything else, being able to cast wandless magic ant this man definitely had real skill.

In recent years, the quality of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had plumted, sothing that had long worried her as deputy headmistress.

But this ti, things seed different.

A glimr of light appeared in her eyes.

The two exchanged a few brief words.

Professor McGonagall then gestured for Dawn to follow her and led him toward the headmaster's office.

The castle during the holidays was especially quiet, almost lifeless. Even the moving staircases seed sluggish.

Dawn deliberately acted like it was his first ti here, looking left and right, occasionally marveling aloud at certain decorations.

This behavior, to soone who regarded the school as her ho, filled Professor McGonagall with pride and improved her impression of him.

They continued upward and soon reached the eighth floor.

After Professor McGonagall spoke the password "Sherbet Lemon" to a small stone statue, the wall creaked open.

After riding a spiral staircase, they entered a spacious, semicircular room.

Portraits of forr headmasters lined the walls, whispering among themselves as they looked at Dawn. In a nearby cabinet, so unknown device emitted pale purple mist.

Dumbledore sat behind the desk at the far end, smiling at him.

Dawn was montarily dazed, suddenly recalling the night he had been frad, when Dumbledore had also brought him here, standing in this very spot.

'I'm back again, Headmaster,' Dawn said softly to himself.

He took a deep breath and, at Dumbledore's gesture, walked forward and sat down opposite the desk.

The old headmaster wore a gentle smile and placed a plate of sweets between them.

"Mr. Hickman, would you mind having a little chat with ?"

"Not at all,"

Dawn replied with a smile.

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