HP: Beyond Miracle Chapter 172: The Truman Show

There were never few people in Hogsade, but Saturdays were clearly busier.

Wizards passed by on all sides, bringing with them the mingled scents of alcohol and candy, cloying like heavy perfu.

Dawn had no ti to appreciate the lively scene.

He scanned left and right, focused solely on finding students.

Soon enough, inside a shop selling joke items, he spotted a pair of red-haired twins—the Weasley brothers.

"Fred, look at this!"

George held up a teacup with a crack in it. "Nose-Biting Teacup. When you drink from it, it chomps straight onto your nose—ha!

I'm already looking forward to what happens when this shows up on the Slytherin table!"

Fred glanced at it, then picked up sothing else. "Not bad, but don't you think this exploding firework balloon is even more fun? We could use it to scare Peeves!"

"Hm, you're right," George said thoughtfully.

The twins discussed it for a while and liked both prank items, but unfortunately, their pockets were light, so they could only choose one in the end.

Dawn didn't enter the shop.

He suppressed the urge to rush in and seize them, cast a Disillusionnt Charm to hide himself, and waited patiently outside.

Finally, the Weasley twins bought the Nose-Biting Teacup. While discussing their next prank, they left the shop.

Dawn followed them.

He waited until they left the crowd and reached the secret passage in the cellar of Honeydukes, preparing to return to the castle. Only then did he strike.

"Who's there?!"

George had just lifted the wooden board when Fred was suddenly blasted away by a spell that seed to co from nowhere, crashing to the ground.

George's expression changed instantly as he shouted.

He reached for the wand in his sleeve, but the clutter in the cellar abruptly transford into tough steel wires, binding his limbs and pinning him firmly in place.

"Damn it!"

George struggled, twisting his body and stretching toward the wand only a palm's length away, but he couldn't move at all.

In that instant, countless terrible thoughts rushed through his mind, finally settling on the jar containing a human heart that the professor had shown them during their very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class that year.

Oh no.

George felt certain he'd run into the kind of dark wizard Professor Hickman had talked about. Even his internal organs seed to ache in phantom pain.

"Weasley, I want to ask you sothing."

A hoarse voice ca from the air.

Dawn didn't lift the Disillusionnt Charm. In a cold voice, he asked, "Tell , last school year—on what day did Dawn Richter appear in the Potions classroom?"

"What?"

George froze.

Dawn Richter?

He hadn't expected to hear such an old na.

But since the other party had made a demand, he felt slightly relieved instead.

"Let us go, and I'll tell you," George said, forcing himself to stay calm as he tried to negotiate.

But Dawn no longer needed the answer.

The mont George recalled it, Dawn had already read the mory through Legilincy.

January 7.

The day he appeared in the Potions classroom—

Was January 7!

Crack!

Dawn clenched his teeth so hard they ground together.

How could this be?!

From December 26 to January 7, there were a full twelve days missing from Dawn's mory.

"World correction."

The term surfaced instantly in his mind. He closed his eyes and forced the words out through clenched teeth.

The only explanation he could think of was that his magical creature transformation hadn't gone as smoothly as he rembered.

No.

Talking about mory right now was ridiculous.

Sika Carter had been corrected after transforming into a magical creature, forgetting his identity as an experintal subject and becoming a veteran curse-breaker who had worked in Egypt for many years.

So how many of Dawn's mories now were things that had been stuffed into his mind after correction?

He couldn't help retracing his life—his birth, his mother's death, his father's remarriage, discovering the Leaky Cauldron, entering the magical world, enrolling in Hogwarts, understanding natural magic, leaving the castle, being hunted by Dumbledore, the Luckspring ritual.

Every single event was clear. Cause and effect were coherent. And yet, the more Dawn thought about it, the more unreal it all felt.

Just like that film he'd seen in a dream—The Truman Show. Everything was painfully ordinary, but the mont you began to doubt it, nothing felt natural anymore.

Thinking carefully, Dawn realized that not all his mories were reasonable.

When he was six and said he wanted to live on his own, his father had agreed after barely any hesitation. Was that normal?

Who would let a six-year-old child live alone?

If his father truly didn't care about him, that would be one thing.

But when Dawn left Hogwarts to go to Egypt and couldn't use magic without alerting the Ministry, he had called ho for help—and his father had responded.

Which ant his father still had a basic level of concern for him.

So which mories were real?

Which ones were fake?

And were these contradictions the evidence left behind by world correction?

Dawn couldn't stop himself from thinking that way.

And what about those dreams he could never explain? Could they also be the result of world correction, forcing him to see things without reason?

Dawn's eyes darkened as his heart pounded violently in his chest.

Standing in the cellar of the candy shop, breathing in the sickly sweet scent of syrup, he felt cold to the bone.

mory alteration—

That was a terrifying thing.

After all, a person's morality, personality, and behavior were shaped by mory. The sa infant raised in different environnts would grow into entirely different people.

If soone's mories were laced with falsehoods and completely altered, how much of who they were remained the sa?

That was why Dawn had once struggled so hard to maintain magical balance, to avoid sliding fully into phoenix traits and triggering world correction.

But now, it seed he'd still been caught.

Dawn clenched his teeth as waves of dark emotion surged within his pupils, battering the cliff of reason he struggled to maintain.

And mory alteration wasn't even the worst part.

According to Mad Magic: Bloodshed and Taboos, Sika Carter had contracted a blood curse one day due to world correction.

Amir had suffered the sa fate.

So what about him?

In this corrected world, what would he encounter?

A blood curse?

Or sothing even more bizarre?

Dawn clenched his fist and smashed it into the wall beside him. With a dull thud, his nails cut into his palm from the impact, blood seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the floor.

He used the numb pain to force himself to keep thinking.

Beyond all of that, there was sothing else that deeply troubled him.

These twelve missing days—had ti itself skipped forward for the entire world, or was he the only one who'd lost them?

And then—

Dawn suddenly thought of Dumbledore.

As the man who had hunted him, what date did the headmaster believe Dawn had returned to school?

An impulse rose within him to talk to Dumbledore directly.

When dealing with danger and accidents, pulling in a powerful and well-inford wizard was never a bad idea.

And so, an alchemical item naturally ca to mind.

Dawn took sothing from the wallet in his coat, transfigured a package, wrapped it up, and stuffed it into the hands of the trembling twins.

Then he cast the Imperius Curse, controlling them and ordering them to deliver the item to Dumbledore.

Once everything was done, Dawn didn't linger. With a sharp crack, he vanished.

There were still things he needed to figure out.

Sowhere in Britain, inside a stone house.

Slughorn, dressed in casual clothes, watched the flas licking at his cauldron as he elegantly stirred with his wand.

The liquid inside rotated clockwise. When it turned green, Slughorn took out a small vial of unicorn blood, uncorked it, poured it in, and then stirred in the opposite direction.

One circle.

Two circles.

After about twenty minutes, the potion's color abruptly shifted from green to a pure gold, releasing a pleasant fragrance.

Slughorn's face lit up with delight.

Humming a tune, he lifted the potion—brewed over four months—off the fire, filtered it through unicorn hair, and poured it into a large crystal bottle to cool.

The Felix Felicis was complete.

Slughorn glanced at the calendar on the wall. Several dates were circled in red, marking upcoming parties.

The nearest one was only three days away.

So he needed to hurry and brew so valuable potions to show off at the gathering.

After all, his stockpile had plumted due to the disastrous events earlier that year.

Fortunately, as a Potions Master, Slughorn had a unique knack for brewing Felix Felicis—greatly reducing the ti required and even producing six standard doses at once.

"Ha! I really am amazing."

As he cleaned up his tools, Slughorn couldn't help glancing repeatedly at the Felix Felicis, squinting in self-admiration.

But—

Just as he was enjoying himself, the Potions Master suddenly saw flas erupt before him. A pale hand erged from the fire and grasped the crystal bottle.

"Well done, Slughorn! I happen to be in great need of Felix Felicis lately. Truly, we think alike!"

Dawn erged from the flas, lifting the potion and swirling the golden liquid inside. For the first ti in a while, he felt slightly better.

Thud!

The cauldron fell to the floor.

Slughorn stared at Dawn, who had appeared out of nowhere and was now stuffing the Felix Felicis into a wallet. His pupils dulled, and he looked as if he were about to fall apart.

Wait.

That wallet—hadn't it once belonged to him?

"R-Richter… Mr. Richter. Long ti no see."

Slughorn's facial muscles twitched as he forced out an ugly smile.

Through the Unbreakable Vow, he knew Dawn was still alive, but such an unprepared reunion still sent panic surging through him.

What did he want this ti? Was he going to drag into sothing illegal again? Can I even refuse?

Swallowing hard, a flood of questions burst into Slughorn's mind. Despair filled his heart, as though he'd fallen straight from peaceful heaven back into hell.

"Slughorn, help with sothing."

Dawn spoke bluntly. Under Slughorn's "I knew it wouldn't be anything good" stare, he issued his command without pretense.

"I want to see your mories. From December 26 last year to January 7 this year. I want to know exactly what you did during those twelve days."

Slughorn's face twisted in misery.

For so reason, he felt that Dawn had always been unusually interested in his mories. Before, he'd inexplicably taken away the precious mory of his becoming a Potions Master.

Slughorn didn't want to agree, but he had no power to resist. In the end, he could only submit with a wronged expression, letting Dawn do as he pleased.

Dawn stepped closer and looked into his eyes.

Legilincy activated instantly.

Scenes flashed rapidly through his mind.

Slughorn's Christmas had been lively. As a social butterfly, he naturally wouldn't miss such a special holiday.

Dawn saw a blur of banquets and clinking glasses.

From December 26 to January 7, Slughorn had attended nine parties hosted by others and organized three of his own.

Dawn frowned, feeling dizzy from the flashing lights in Slughorn's mories. The repetitive small talk took considerable patience to endure.

Half an hour later, Dawn turned away in disgust and ended the Legilincy.

Though Slughorn's mories were utterly devoid of value, they at least confird one thing—the world's tiline itself was intact. Or rather, for everyone else, ti was normal.

Which raised the real question.

During those twelve days he couldn't rember, what had Dawn himself been doing?

Dawn frowned, paced a few steps around the stone house, then suddenly stopped.

He decided to find Rita Skeeter next and verify the tiline once more.

But before leaving, he turned to the ek, obedient Potions Master and said:

"Slughorn, do another favor. Go steal a Ti-Turner from the Ministry for . I might need it."

"Huh?"

Slughorn froze.

Before he could say another word, Dawn vanished once more in a burst of fla.

The stone house was left in silence—broken only by the Potions Master, who took a long ti before finally daring to mutter a curse under his breath.

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