What is an accident?
Strictly speaking, an accident is something that arrives without warning—utterly unprepared, wholly unexpected.
Like in The Million Pound Bank Note, when poor Henry suddenly received a bank note so valuable it was impossible to cash.
Or like in Oedipus Rex, where Oedipus spent his life trying to escape the prophecy of killing his father and marrying his mother, only to fulfill it by mistake.
But no matter the form it takes— When an accident appears, it means a change you did not want to see is about to happen.
Maybe it's the moment you intend to wear your favorite clothes, only to settle for a lesser choice.
Or the moment you realize your carefully planned life has dissolved like foam beneath a crashing wave.
Dawn never expected that when he returned from a quick trip around Reykjavík and pushed open the door, he would see a familiar white-bearded old man standing inside.
Long beard. Half-moon spectacles. Blue eyes—
"It's been a long time, Dawn."
Dumbledore stood about three meters away from the doorway and greeted him softly.
His white robes were clean and orderly, yet he somehow looked as though he had traveled through wind and dust.
Perhaps it was the exhaustion he couldn't hide on his face.
"…Long time no see, Headmaster."
For a moment, Dawn's body stiffened without his permission. Only after several seconds did he manage to relax, answering in as calm a tone as he could muster.
Truthfully, this meeting was far too sudden. He wasn't prepared at all. Why was Dumbledore here?
For one fleeting instant, Dawn genuinely considered Disapparating on the spot.
But the thought vanished as quickly as it came—because the most powerful living wizard stood right before him, having found him through some unknown means.
Running would be meaningless.
So, after a short greeting, both of them fell silent. Dawn had been right. The meeting was abrupt—for both sides.
Even Dumbledore, who had found this place through prophecy, had not fully decided what to do or say once they met.
Thus—
They simply stood in silence.
Not until the second hand on the clock made two full circuits did Dumbledore finally point toward the food piled on the table and ask:
"May I have something to eat? I've been traveling all day, and I admit—I am rather hungry."
"Go ahead."
Dawn nodded, masking his emotions beneath a neutral expression.
He glanced at the food—likely brought from Egypt by Amir—and then asked, "Where are William and Amir?"
"Oh, those two young fellows? I asked them to go upstairs. I wanted to speak with you alone.
Ha… I'm glad my name still holds some weight."
Dawn said nothing.
He watched Dumbledore's expression quietly, trying to see whether the old headmaster knew more.
Did he know about the blood curse? Or the Memory Charm Dawn had cast on Amir?
Or the countless wizards he had harmed after leaving school?
But—
He saw nothing on Dumbledore's face.
The old man still wore that familiar serenity and kindness. And deep in his blue eyes—only fatigue and sorrow.
Dawn kept his voice level. "Headmaster, what do you wish to talk about?"
"Many things."
Dumbledore set down the bread in his hand. "Before seeing you, I thought I wanted to discuss many topics."
"Such as what happened the day you left the castle. Your experiences in Egypt. The curse on your body. Or the reason you spread the curse in New Zealand."
He paused.
"But now, I've changed my mind."
Dumbledore's blue eyes held him. "After seeing you, I realized—what I most want to talk about is still love."
His voice was earnest.
But Dawn froze for a moment.
Looking at Dumbledore now, the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him.
You tracked me across continents, found me in Iceland by some unknown method—and the thing you most want to discuss… is love?
Seriously?
Dawn's expression twisted slightly.
"Headmaster, what is there to talk about? Love is just a concept.
It has no physical form, no standard definition. No matter how much you try to fill it with meaning, you're only convincing yourself."
"You're right, my boy. Just like what you said that night—it left quite an impression on me." Dumbledore didn't refute him.
He simply looked at Dawn and said gently, "Then today, we won't discuss grand, philosophical ideas of love. We won't talk about vague rights and wrongs.
Let's treat this like a magical seminar… and talk about the relationship between love and magic."
Dawn blinked.
Love and magic?
Of course he knew Dumbledore always spoke of love as the greatest magic.
Dawn found it ridiculous—but he couldn't deny that he was a little curious why Dumbledore believed it so firmly.
Calmly, Dumbledore said, "Before that, Dawn, I want to hear—what does love mean to you?"
"Love?"
Dawn tapped his canine tooth lightly with his tongue.
"Then I might disappoint you. I have no special view of love. To me, it's just a simple emotion. No different from jealousy or anger."
"Yes. Well said—an emotion."
Unexpectedly, Dumbledore nodded.
"We both know magic is driven by emotion. But there are so many emotions—anger, jealousy, hatred.
If you had to summarize them with one root, what would it be?"
Dawn frowned. He already knew the answer Dumbledore wanted.
"…You're saying—love?"
"Precisely. Love."
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
Seeing Dawn's utterly baffled expression, he continued softly:
"Love may be a concept, but it has never been hollow. To put it in more Muggle terms, it is the underlying logic of all emotions."
"For example…"
"Why does one feel anger? Because something they love—some value they hold dear—has been insulted. And that thing doesn't need to be tangible. It doesn't even need to be a person."
"It might be a belief. A dream. An idea only you know exists."
"We feel hatred, or compassion, or countless other emotions because they resonate with the things we love."
Dumbledore's gaze was steady, clear as a river flowing under sunlight.
"My boy, only after we learn to love can other emotions arise."
"A person who loves nothing will never feel anger. Never feel hatred. Never feel compassion. Such a person feels nothing at all."
Dawn frowned deeper. "Headmaster… that's an interesting theory. Much more interesting than your previous vague explanations."
He continued, "So when you say love is the greatest magic, what you really mean is that emotion is the greatest magic?"
"No. Not quite."
Dumbledore shook his head, very seriously.
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