Why do a paternity test so suddenly?
When Mr. Richter heard the question, his face twitched, and for a mont he could not speak.
It was not exactly sothing to be proud of. And talking about it face to face with his own son made him feel deeply uncomfortable in a way he could not quite describe.
"I see. Because both you and my mother have blue eyes, yet mine are red."
Dawn looked directly into Mr. Richter's eyes, clearly describing the emotional fluctuations in his mind.
His brow slowly furrowed.
A paternity test in itself was not unusual.
According to so semi-authoritative surveys, one in ten fathers in Britain doubts whether their child is biologically theirs, and in certain regions that figure can be as high as one in five.
What Dawn wanted to know was why Mr. Richter had that thought on that specific day.
But judging from what he read through Legilincy, it really did seem like a spur-of-the-mont suspicion.
While Dawn was thinking, Mr. Richter's expression shifted unpredictably.
No—how did this kid really know everything?
Looking at Dawn's crimson eyes, Mr. Richter knew this was his son, yet he still could not help feeling a chill run down his spine.
There was sothing unsettling about it.
Bang bang bang!
At that mont, the study door was suddenly knocked on.
"Darling? Are you alright, darling? I heard you shout just now. Did sothing happen?"
A woman's voice ca from outside the door.
As she spoke, the doorknob began to twist rapidly.
Mr. Richter was just about to say it was nothing, but before the words could leave his mouth, a sharp explosive sound drowned everything out.
Air rushed through the room, whipping the bedsheets into a loud flutter.
Mr. Richter froze.
He looked around—but the study was now completely empty. There was not a single person left.
"Fuck…"
Mr. Richter muttered. He pinched his thigh hard and exchanged a confused look with the woman staring at him, suddenly wondering if he had been dreaming the whole ti.
Saturday.
Midnight.
Dawn erged from flas, appearing on a stretch of soft grass in Kent.
Having obtained the answers he wanted, and pressed for ti, he had no interest in lingering for an emotional reunion.
Above him, dark clouds obscured the moon. It was the darkest hour of the night.
After orienting himself, he began walking toward the house where he had lived alone for so long, using the ti to organize his thoughts.
Though he was not one hundred percent certain—
Dawn was now largely convinced that sothing was wrong between himself and the parents in his mories.
Perhaps they were not biologically related at all.
Or perhaps there were other stories between them, long erased from his mory.
Dawn sighed and raised his right hand. Between his fingers was a black hair—the one he had just pulled from Mr. Richter's head using a Levitation Charm.
He planned to have their blood relation tested again elsewhere. If it turned out they truly were not father and son, then at least things would finally be settled, and he could breathe easier.
But—
He feared this might still be pointless.
Perhaps under world correction, even if he and Mr. Richter were never related in the first place, natural magic could forcibly alter bloodlines.
In the end, Dawn did not know the limits of world correction, so every line of thought forced him to hesitate and double back.
With another sigh, he cast Lumos, summoning a small light orb to float beside him. Seeing that the house was still far away, he raised his wand toward the empty path.
°Rapid Manifestation°
Under the spell's effect, a milky-white bubble rose from the stone pavent, floating before him and projecting a scene complete with sound.
A boy about Dawn's age, wearing black work clothes and covered in gri, ran down the path with a bag slung over his shoulder.
From the boy's attire, Dawn judged this to be a dieval scene. The boy was likely working in a coal factory or sothing similar.
After all, Kent had been an important industrial center during the Middle Ages, especially known for ironworking and textiles. Child labor had been widespread and infamous in that era.
Thinking about it, although this spell was impractical due to its inability to target specific ti periods, if viewed without purpose, it was actually fascinating.
It felt like peeking into history through the river of ti.
Pop.
A faint popping sound echoed in the air.
The bubble lasted only a breath or two before bursting, the projected scene vanishing with it.
Dawn did not mind. He walked forward a bit and cast the spell again.
Another bubble rose.
This ti the image was dull—just a few stray dogs of different colors chasing one another past.
And so it went.
Dawn walked and cast the spell again and again. Bubbles of different sizes erged, each reflecting a different scene.
dieval figures, animals and plants, factories belching black smoke, hazy gray skies—
Once, he even glimpsed the Kingdom of Kent, founded in the year 449.
Unfortunately, none of the scenes showed him.
If his mories insisted on explaining his presence in Kent—even using sothing as flimsy as a DNA mix-up—did that an that, in true history, he really had lived here?
That was what Dawn had co back to confirm: whether he could find even one authentic historical image connected to himself.
°Rapid Manifestation°
He cast the spell again out of habit.
A bubble rose from the ground.
Judging from the architectural style and atmosphere, the scene seed much closer to the modern era. Two figures soon appeared within the projection.
At first, Dawn only glanced casually.
But when he saw their faces clearly, his gaze froze.
"William… Harris?!"
The two faces in the bubble belonged to the very people he had repeatedly encountered in Egypt!
And judging from their appearances, the scene seed to take place several years before he t them there.
What were they doing here?
Dawn frowned.
He had lived in Kent for a long ti and knew for certain there was no wizard settlent nearby. Why would soone obsessed with curing his son's blood curse appear here?
Dawn narrowed his eyes at the scene in the bubble.
It might have been a coincidence—but seeing it at such a critical mont made it impossible for him to ignore.
After a long silence, Dawn added finding William to his list of priorities.
He watched the bubble burst, then cast Rapid Manifestation several more tis along the direction Harris had been walking, but no related images appeared again.
Following the grass and stone path forward—
Ten minutes later, a standalone house lood in the darkness ahead—the very house where he had lived alone for years after leaving ho.
This was the place where he had lived the longest in his mories, and the place most likely to reveal sothing about him.
Dawn opened the door with practiced magic, turned on the lights, and after a brief mont of familiarity, cast the spell again.
°Rapid Manifestation°
A bubble drifted out from the wall.
He glanced at it and saw only an empty living room. Judging by the decor, it reflected a style popular several decades ago.
Pop.
The bubble burst.
Dawn cast the spell again.
This ti the image was even older. The house did not appear at all—only what looked like a fairly grand flower garden.
Dawn frowned.
He knew there was no shortcut here. He could only keep trying.
To clear his mind, he changed locations and cast the spell a third ti.
The garden appeared again, but this ti there were lewd sounds. A naked man and woman were rolling in the flowers, crushing them into a ss.
Dawn watched calmly, without embarrassnt. When the bubble vanished, he cast the spell again.
This ti, however, his eye twitched sharply.
The garden was the sa. The sounds were the sa.
But the figures had changed—from a man and a woman to two overweight n.
Fuck.
Dawn imdiately turned his head away, but the fleeting image had already seared itself into his mind, leaving him with the unpleasant feeling of having been tainted.
He clenched his teeth.
England—this was truly one of its most unbearable aspects.
When the bubble burst, Dawn decided he could not stay here any longer. He moved to another room, heading upstairs to what had once been his study, before casting the spell again.
Night faded into dawn. Morning light crept in. The sun traced its arc across the sky, sinking from one end to the other.
Ti slipped away amid bubble after bubble of scenes.
In the study, Dawn let out a breath.
From last night until now, he had seen nearly a thousand scenes. Every kind of person imaginable—but not a single one involving himself.
He had known the spell was uncontrollable, but this was ridiculous.
No wonder the Ministry's investigators disliked it. Anyone trying to solve a case with this spell would need to be prepared to die of frustration first.
Dawn checked the ti.
He could not stay any longer.
It was already Sunday evening, six o'clock. He still had a class to teach first thing tomorrow morning and needed to return to the castle.
He could have stayed a bit longer, but the bubbles were too ntally exhausting. He decided to leave early.
His form twisted as he transford back into Leia Hickman, then used Disillusionnt and Apparition to appear outside the Leaky Cauldron.
Before going in, he rembered sothing else and stopped by a nearby bookstore to buy several books on myths and legends.
Only then did he return to the pub and travel through the fireplace directly back to his office.
It was dinnerti at the castle.
Through the window, Dawn could see young witches and wizards streaming into the Great Hall.
He did not want to join the crowd, but after touching his stomach—empty for nearly two days—he decided to grab sothing to eat in the kitchens.
With the house-elves' enthusiastic service, he ate two steaks. Holding a cup of milk, he returned to his office.
He did not pull out a chair. Instead, he leaned back against it, exhausted, staring up at the soft lights overhead.
Things really did change abruptly.
Just two days ago, he had been enjoying a leisurely routine of reading and teaching. Even the Savior being stabbed twice had felt like distant drama, sothing to observe from outside the cycle of fate.
And yet, only two days later, he had discovered he was caught in the tide of world correction, forced into relentless motion.
These two days had not been without results—but calling them minimal would be generous.
Although he had written down five lines of inquiry on parchnt, all of them were vague. Broad nets cast on luck, with no precise breakthrough.
Perhaps—
What he needed was a more focused direction?
Dawn fell into thought.
Monday.
It was a rainy day.
The giant squid surfaced from the Black Lake, drawing cheers from students who gathered on the shore even as rain soaked them.
Filch stood at the Great Hall entrance, shouting furiously about muddy footprints and ordering everything cleaned at once.
Dawn had only one class today.
And by coincidence, it was once again second-year Gryffindor and Slytherin.
This saved him a great deal of effort. He simply brought up the Scarecrow Curse that had been interrupted last ti and taught it again.
After class, he did not linger in the classroom. He headed straight for the fifth-floor library.
His urgency for reading now far exceeded even when he had been researching rituals.
However—
Upon arriving, he found the library unusually noisy. Several students were gathered at the entrance, whispering among themselves.
Frowning, Dawn looked past them—and was surprised to see the library in chaos.
Books were scattered across the floor. Several shelves had been knocked over entirely, and broken desks and chairs lay nearby.
"What happened here?"
Dawn tapped a nearby student.
The student turned, saw it was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, greeted him nervously, and quickly explained everything.
Earlier that day, while organizing shelves, Amil's blood curse had suddenly flared up. He transford into a large rat and went berserk, biting anyone he saw.
A first-year had lost a finger to the bite. Others panicked and fled, turning the library into this ss.
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
Though he put on a suitably shocked and grave expression for his role as a professor, deep down he felt this might not be entirely bad for him.
Amil kept a low profile, moving only between the dormitory and the library, making him hard for Dawn to approach.
If this incident forced Amil to leave the school, Dawn would gain another valuable case study for world correction—and might even learn William's whereabouts from him.
With those thoughts, Dawn had the students clear a path and entered the library.
Madam Pince had already taken Amil and the injured student to the hospital wing. The library was now empty.
To keep up appearances, Dawn first restored shelves and furniture with magic, then stacked the books neatly to one side.
Only then did he walk deeper among the shelves.
The Hogwarts library was vast, its collection imnse. Dawn had no idea which books might help him resolve world correction.
So—
In a corner where no one could see him, he took out his bag and retrieved the Felix Felicis Slughorn had specially brewed for him.
The golden liquid shimred under the lights.
Dawn suddenly laughed at himself.
It seed that every ti he faced a major problem, he instinctively relied on Felix Felicis—that faint sense of guidance.
No wonder the potion was so expensive.
Shaking his head, he uncorked the vial and took a sip.
A cool clarity spread through his mind.
Felix Felicis was not a miracle potion. It rely provided an almost intuitive sense of direction, and that intuition depended on what the user already knew.
Dawn was not sure whether it would help him find useful books. He treated it as an experint and wandered among the shelves.
Book titles passed through his vision one by one, yet none stirred anything special.
Until he reached a dark oak bookshelf deep in the open stacks—
One title abruptly caught his eye, making his heart skip a beat.
A Study of the Resurrection Stone.
Dawn frowned.
He reached out and pulled the book free, unsure whether the reaction was due to Felix Felicis or simply because he possessed the Resurrection Stone and was instinctively drawn to it.
He flipped through it briefly.
It was clearly a handwritten, one-of-a-kind manuscript. Judging by the aging of the pages and magical preservation thods, it was at least three hundred years old.
He checked the spine and title page but found no author's na.
Given its subject, it was likely written by a mber of the Gaunt family.
"Professor Hickman, are you interested in the Resurrection Stone?"
A voice suddenly spoke beside him, making Dawn's body stiffen slightly.
He turned calmly and saw a white-bearded old man standing nearby. Dawn shrugged.
"More or less. After coming to Britain, I read The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I found the three brothers' deaths quite interesting—there seem to be traces of curses in them."
He continued evenly, "I always thought the Deathly Hallows were just a legend. I didn't expect to find a book like this while passing by, so I got curious."
"I see."
Dumbledore smiled faintly, his expression unreadable.
He shook his head gently, offering a hint of advice. "But Professor Hickman, the Resurrection Stone brings only false comfort. One should not beco lost in illusions."
The headmaster, who truly seed to have only stopped by coincidentally, took two books and left the library.
"Hah. You're hardly qualified to say that."
Dawn scoffed quietly at Dumbledore's retreating back, swallowing the sarcasm instead of voicing it.
He was not surprised to see Dumbledore here. If the man wanted information on Horcruxes, he would inevitably search the library.
The sudden appearance had simply caught Dawn off guard.
Watching Dumbledore leave, Dawn turned his attention back to the book and opened it fully.
Wild, slightly unrestrained handwriting filled the page.
"The Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows. A legendary artifact said to summon the dead and restore life. You may not believe it, but it does indeed exist."
"Whether it truly resurrects the dead remains uncertain. But without a doubt, one who holds the Resurrection Stone can see those they most wish to et among the dead."
___________
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