Chapter 308: Dumbledore
A green copper chain, about the thickness of a thumb, suddenly shot out from the depths of the lake. Its links were still tangled with dark green water weeds and fine lake-bottom pebbles, and it hurtled toward Dumbledore's clenched fist, wrapping around it like a vine.
Dumbledore gently tapped the chain wrapped around his fist with his wand. The chain instantly loosened, slithering down between his fingers like a living snake, falling onto the ground and coiling into a pile. The links clanged together, emitting a clear, "ding-dong" sound that echoed back and forth in the empty cave, breaking the previous silence.
As the copper chain pulled downward, a slight dragging sound came from the bottom of the lake. Soon, the bow of a small boat emerged from the black water like a ghost. The boat's hull glowed with the same faint green light as the chain. Its wooden planks were worn and cracked with fine fissures. It slowly drifted across the water toward the shore where Dylan and the others stood, moving so lightly it barely caused a ripple—eerily silent.
"That boat doesn't look like it can fit three people, Albus." Moody squinted, carefully examining the slowly approaching boat. The boat was tiny, less than two meters long and only about half a meter wide. It looked spacious for one person, barely enough for two squeezed together. If all three boarded, they would struggle to stay seated, hoping it wouldn't capsize instantly into the lake.
Dumbledore gazed at the solitary boat on the lake, unconsciously furrowing his brow. He knew well that the obstacle was not the physical size. Based on his understanding of Tom, the boy never cared about irrelevant things like weight. The real issue was how much magical power could successfully cross the lake shrouded in Dark Magic. Moody was already injured and couldn't participate in the next stage. He himself had to go, and Dylan's magical strength clearly far exceeded that of an ordinary adult wizard. This forced him to reconsider how to board the boat.
As Dumbledore pondered, Dylan suddenly bent down, his gaze fixed on the interior of the small boat. He reached out a finger, gently touching the runes carved on the inside of the hull, the sensation immediately alerting him to an abnormality.
"Professor, look here." Dylan's voice held a note of certainty. "The magical script on this boat is wrong. It's covered in cracks caused by Dark Magic, and its luster has dulled—it's clearly badly corroded."
"Perhaps we can find a way to repair and strengthen these scripts to allow it to carry more people."
Dumbledore followed the direction Dylan pointed, a light instantly flashing in his eyes. He immediately crouched down, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dylan. Both simultaneously placed their palms on the boat's magical scripts, slowly channeling their own magical power into the script's network.
Initially, the scripts only trembled slightly. But as magic continued to flow in, the dull lines gradually began to glow, like rekindled sparks. Dylan could clearly feel that the boat was like a container that could never be filled. He continuously poured in magic, and only after nearly one-third of his total magic was drawn out did he faintly sense the script's pull weakening slightly.
Dumbledore stopped channeling his magic at the same time. The two exchanged a look. Looking at the boat again, the previously old-looking hull now exuded a faint luster. The boat slightly lifted in the water. Although the space was still small, it was enough for him and Dylan to squeeze onto and would not cause the boat to sink to the bottom.
"Alastor, I'll have to trouble you," Dumbledore turned to Moody, who was standing on the shore, a gentle smile on his face. "Please stay here and keep an eye on the surroundings for us."
Moody leaned against the rock on the shore, watching Dumbledore and Dylan board the small boat. The oar disturbed the water, and they gradually rowed toward the center of the lake. It wasn't until their figures completely disappeared into the thin mist on the lake that he pulled out a bottle of Calming Draught from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and drank the potion in one gulp.
The bitter liquid sliding down his throat slightly alleviated his physical discomfort. He tightly pressed the spot where he had been injured earlier, the pain making him wince. He then slowly sat down on the ground.
Despite his pain, his eyes remained fixed on the lake surface, which was as still as a mirror. His gaze was full of vigilance, unwilling to relax even slightly. Years of combat experience told him that this seemingly calm lake could present unexpected dangers at any moment.
Dumbledore gripped the oar, slowly rowing toward the center of the lake. The moment the wooden oar cut into the water, the glass-like surface instantly split into two deep lines. As the boat moved forward, the lines rapidly closed up, leaving only a trail of fine ripples behind.
Dylan sat in the stern, his gaze constantly sweeping the surrounding water. The lake was eerily silent; even the wind seemed to be isolated, with only the sound of the oar echoing in the emptiness.
Before long, there was movement beneath the water. First, several pale white fingers emerged from the inky black water, with lake-bottom silt clinging to the nail beds. Then, more limbs of Inferi surfaced. Some revealed half an arm, others showed rotting shoulders, the skin a deathly gray, glistening with a nauseating sheen in the dim light.
"Hmm, a bit stale. Is their capacity for replenishment limited? The quantity and quality are slightly better than my Inferi pool, but the corpses themselves are not as good," Dylan observed the dead bodies.
Dumbledore merely looked straight ahead, his rowing rhythm undisturbed. Both were well aware that as long as their feet did not touch the lake water, these Inferi would not actively attack.
About fifteen minutes later, the small boat suddenly struck something hard. Dumbledore stopped rowing and reached out to grip the side of the boat. Dylan leaned over and saw a tiny island right in front of them, its rocks a cold gray.
The two stood up one after the other. Dumbledore stepped onto the island shore first. As his feet touched the ground, he turned back and extended a hand to help Dylan. Their movements were exceptionally cautious, their robes and trouser cuffs remaining half a foot from the water's surface, afraid of even a thread touching the lake water.
"This is it." Dumbledore's voice rang out over the small island, a tone of confirmation in his words.
Dylan looked around. The size of the island was indeed comparable to Dumbledore's office. The ground was a single, flat slab of black stone, polished smooth enough to reflect their images, but otherwise devoid of anything. Only in the center of the island was a spot emitting a faint green glow, exceptionally prominent in the darkness.
Drawing closer, the green light became even brighter. Dylan clearly saw the source: a stone basin, somewhat resembling a Pensieve used for storing memories, but wider than a normal one. It rested on a pedestal carved with intricate patterns, which seemed to retain faint magical fluctuations.
The most peculiar thing was the nature of the green light. The surrounding darkness was thick as congealed ink, impenetrable even by moonlight. Yet, this green light easily carved out a bright area in the darkness. Within the light's reach, even the fine lines on the stone slab were clearly visible.
Moody, on the opposite shore, had been staring at the direction of the island. Now, seeing two figures vaguely reflected in the green light, his suspended heart finally eased slightly. He leaned against the rock on the shore, his injured arm still throbbing, but he forced himself to keep his eyes wide open, his left hand tightly gripping his wand, his gaze sweeping every part of the lake surface for any possible movement. He had to ensure Dumbledore and Dylan's safe retreat.
Dumbledore walked to the stone basin, with Dylan close behind. They stood side-by-side, looking down into the basin. The basin was filled with a jade-green liquid. The surface of the liquid shimmered with tiny sparkles, as if countless minuscule green gems were rolling within it. Approaching it, they could feel a faint chill.
"The Horcrux must be hidden within this liquid." Dumbledore's expression grew extremely serious, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Dylan nodded, raising his right hand, his fingertip slowly moving toward the liquid surface. Just as his finger was about to touch the liquid, he suddenly felt a resistance. It was like hitting a layer of cool, invisible barrier, as hard as steel, completely isolating the liquid in the basin from the outside world.
He withdrew his hand, furrowing his brow. He then raised his wand, pointing it at the barrier, and softly intoned the spell:
"Explosive Charm!"
A searing red light burst from the tip of his wand, aimed directly at the stone basin. But as soon as the red light touched the barrier, it was instantly repelled, as if pushed by an unseen force, flying diagonally toward the lake surface nearby. With a loud "bang," the red light exploded on the water, sending spray everywhere. A chaotic churning sound immediately came from underwater. A dozen pieces of severed Inferi limbs and fragments flew up with the spray. Some floated on the lake surface, while others sank back down.
Dumbledore also stepped forward, raising his wand to try several different counter-spells. He even directly channeled magic into the barrier. But no matter what he did, the barrier remained completely unmoved.
He slowly withdrew his wand and shook his head, saying gravely, "It seems there's no other way. To retrieve the Horcrux inside, we must drink all of this liquid."
"I believe this is the trap Voldemort set long ago."
Dylan, upon hearing this, adopted a look of "concern." He looked at the liquid in the stone basin, which glowed with an eerie light, his voice carrying a note of caution: "But what if the liquid is poisonous? Will drinking it be dangerous?"
Dumbledore's gaze fell on the shimmering, jade-green liquid in the basin. His fingertip lightly traced the patterns on the basin's edge, his tone certain: "This liquid is definitely poisonous, but it will never be fatal." He looked up at Dylan, the gravity in his eyes fading slightly, replaced by an understanding of Voldemort's mindset.
"All the obstacles Voldemort sets are always calculated to 'leave himself a way out.' This Horcrux is crucial for his survival; he would never allow it to become an unsolvable dead-end. He must have left a method for himself to retrieve the Horcrux later. The poison will only torment a person; it will not truly take their life."
Dylan stood beside him. He was struggling to recall what this substance did. However, he vaguely felt he had heard a related description somewhere. But looking at Dumbledore's calm eyes, he wasn't overly worried. The old Headmaster had studied his student, Tom, for years and understood his nature better than anyone. And Voldemort's deeply ingrained instinct for self-preservation certainly wouldn't allow him to fall into a predicament where he "couldn't retrieve the Horcrux."
He reached for his waist pocket, feeling a cool, frosted glass bottle, and pulled it out. The bottle contained a pale pink liquid. With a gentle shake, fine bubbles surfaced on the liquid. This was a potion he had brewed himself—I Love Water. It could change the flavor of any liquid about to be consumed, according to the user's preference.
Dylan pinched the bottle, moving his gaze from the potion bottle to the stone basin, his voice holding a degree of certainty: "Instead of forcing down the bitter and painful poison, why don't we use this to change the flavor first?"
As soon as he finished speaking, he took a step forward, extending the potion bottle toward Dumbledore, while looking up at the old Headmaster.
"Professor, let me drink it."
"I'm younger, and my constitution is better. I can definitely handle it."
Dumbledore did not take the potion bottle. Instead, he reached out and gently took the bottle from Dylan's hand. He held the frosted bottle, looking at the liquid inside against the green light. A faint smile played on his lips: "This invention of yours is truly thoughtful. To be able to turn something unpalatable into a favorite flavor will save a lot of suffering."
"Professor..." Dylan tried to speak further, wanting to insist on taking the risk himself—that way, he could take the solution away for study. The liquid's color alone suggested it was something very useful that Voldemort had concocted.
But Dumbledore gently waved his hand, interrupting him. The old Headmaster's eyes instantly grew serious, his tone conveying an undeniable firmness: "No, Dylan. Precisely because you are young and have a long road ahead, you are far more valuable than this old bone of mine, which should have been put to rest long ago."
"I'm still hoping you'll achieve great things and shine brightly in the wizarding world. How can I let you risk yourself here?"
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the opposite shore of the lake, as if recalling Moody's earlier words. His tone softened slightly but remained resolute. "Besides, Alastor also mentioned it earlier: someone always has to step forward to bear the risk, and even make a sacrifice."
"If someone absolutely must drink this poisonous liquid today, I hope that person is me—I've lived for so long, and I've done and seen most of what I wanted. But you are different; your life is just beginning."
Dumbledore's fingers tightened slightly around the Poly-Flavor Potion. His gaze returned to the jade-green liquid in the stone basin. All hesitation had vanished from his eyes, leaving only absolute determination.
"Uh." Dylan slightly recalled the solution's effect.
Looking at the old Headmaster's appearance, so ready for self-sacrifice, he finally nodded. "Since you want to drink it, then please do."
Dumbledore froze, blinking.
He's not going to try and stop me now?
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