The door swung open, and Sirius Black stormed in, his face still burning with anger.
When he saw the golden locket in Dylan's hand, his eyes instantly reddened.
That thing—it was the reason his misguided but ultimately redeemed younger brother had paid the ultimate price.
"Is that… Voldemort's Horcrux?" Sirius's voice faltered. He reached out as if to touch it but stopped midair.
"Exactly," Dylan confirmed with a nod. He held up the golden locket, engraved with the Slytherin crest, and pressed his palm lightly against it, channeling a faint thread of magic into it.
The moment his magic touched it, a low, sinister whisper slithered out from the locket.
It was like countless voices murmuring in your ear, chilling and venomous.
Dylan carefully pried open the locket's clasp just a crack.
Strands of dark, writhing magic seeped out, twisting in the air like they were alive.
As the gap widened, the evil whispers grew louder, dripping with temptation, preying on the darkest, greediest desires buried deep inside, threatening to swallow all reason.
Sirius swallowed hard.
Dylan tilted his head, and with a slight flick of his hand, a flame sparked to life in his palm.
At first, it was only the size of a fist, radiating an icy chill despite its glow. The flames twisted upward, flaring to half a foot high in an instant.
He held the Slytherin locket just below the fire.
The serpent carvings on the locket, faintly glinting with silver, let out a sizzling hiss the moment they met the flames. The gemstones in the snake's eyes dulled with a layer of ash, and the metal casing warped and blackened at a visible rate.
"Fiendfyre?!" Sirius's eyes widened, his gaze locked on Dylan with alarm. "You can actually use that?"
Dylan glanced down at the flames in his hand, nudging them slightly to better engulf the locket.
"Professor Flitwick taught me the counter-curse for Fiendfyre," he said casually. "To master the counter-curse, you've gotta know the spell itself first."
As he spoke, the locket was already scorched beyond recognition.
The intricate serpent carvings had melted away, and the locket's body crumpled into a blackened lump of slag.
With a sharp crack, it shattered into small fragments, crumbling to ash in the Fiendfyre without even a wisp of smoke.
Sirius let out a relieved breath. "Nice work. That thing was nothing but trouble."
Dylan smiled and nodded, slowly extinguishing the flames in his hand.
His other hand, hidden at his side, slipped the real Horcrux away.
What he'd just burned in the Fiendfyre?
Nothing but an illusion—a fake he'd crafted from ordinary metal.
He had other plans for the real Horcrux.
He glanced up at Sirius, his smile still warm and easy.
A string of system notifications chimed in his mind, but he ignored them for now, turning his attention to Sirius.
"Could you write a letter to Professor Dumbledore and the others? Let them know the Horcrux has been destroyed."
"Sure thing," Sirius agreed, nodding.
He pulled out parchment and a quill, scribbling down the details—how they found the locket, confirmed Regulus's involvement, and destroyed the Horcrux.
He sealed the letter into two envelopes and sent them off with owls to Dumbledore and Moody.
Not long after, Dumbledore and Moody arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place.
Their expressions were heavy, complicated.
Dumbledore had been Regulus's Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts. He remembered the quiet, stubborn boy vividly.
Moody, on the other hand, had clashed briefly with Regulus years ago during an Auror mission, back when Regulus had just joined the Death Eaters. He'd written him off as another pure-blood fanatic, never imagining this twist.
"Regulus was always a boy who knew his own mind," Dumbledore said softly, gazing at Regulus's portrait on the Black family tapestry, a faint sigh escaping him.
But no amount of praise could ease the regret gnawing at Sirius.
He stepped forward, his hands clenched tightly. "I want to bring him back, even if it's just to bury him in the Black family plot, so he can rest somewhere familiar."
"Please," he pleaded, "take me to that cave."
Dumbledore didn't refuse.
This time, the journey was far smoother than before.
Dumbledore called out softly, and Fawkes, his phoenix, swooped in from the window, golden feathers scattering flecks of light across the room.
The four of them grabbed Fawkes's tail feathers. With a warm flash of fire, they Apparated instantly into the cave.
Finding Regulus went surprisingly smoothly.
Dumbledore approached the lake's edge, raised his Elder Wand, and aimed it at the dark water. "Petrificus Totalus Leviosa!" he intoned.
A surge of invisible magic poured from the wand's tip, diving into the lake and lifting hundreds of Inferi into the air, suspended in a dense, eerie mass.
Dumbledore squinted, patiently scanning the decayed, twisted bodies until he spotted Regulus near the lake's central island.
He looked young still, thin and frail, clearly never robust in life. But after so long submerged in the icy lake, his body was bloated and pale.
His once-neat black hair clung to his ghostly face, and his tattered black robes were tangled with water weeds, caked in lakebed mud.
"Regulus…" Sirius's tears broke free the moment he saw his brother, streaming down his face.
He remembered the harsh words he'd thrown at Regulus when they'd parted ways over their family's ideals: "You'll get yourself killed by Voldemort one day."
He thought of the years he'd never reached out, assuming his brother was just another rabid Death Eater.
If he'd noticed Regulus's change of heart sooner, if they'd talked even a little more… maybe he could've seen him one last time before it all ended.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Sirius," Dumbledore said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Regulus chose this path knowing what it meant. What he needs now is to be freed from the Inferi's curse and to rest in peace."
Sirius sank to his knees by the lake, shoulders shaking as he sobbed for what felt like ages.
A cold gust of wind swept through the cave, carrying the damp chill of the lake and brushing against his neck, making him shiver. Slowly, his tears subsided.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, his gaze hardening with resolve. Looking at his brother's suspended body, he whispered, "You're right. He's exhausted. It's time to end this."
He raised his wand, aiming at the corpse. "Incendio!"
Blazing purple-red flames roared to life, engulfing Regulus's Inferi body.
The fire burned fiercely, sizzling as it consumed flesh. It spread from limbs to torso, then head, charring skin and brittle bones until nothing remained but a pile of pale ash.
The ash shimmered faintly with a dark glow—the lingering residue of dark magic clinging stubbornly to it.
Then, a faint figure materialized in the air.
He looked young, barely twenty, thin and fragile, his form glowing with a soft silver-white light. His features were blurred but unmistakably similar to Sirius's.
He nodded slightly to Dylan, Dumbledore, and Moody, gratitude in his eyes.
Then his gaze settled on Sirius, tears still streaking his face. The spirit drifted forward, each inch seeming to drain his faint light.
When he finally reached Sirius, he opened his arms, trying to embrace his brother. But his ghostly arms passed right through, unable to touch.
Sirius's tears fell harder.
A moment later, Regulus's spirit began to glow from his feet upward, a pure, cleansing white light.
A relieved smile spread across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came.
The light consumed his body, his shoulders, and finally his smiling face, dissolving into sparkling flecks that faded into the air.
The last spark drifted down to the ash, burrowing into the dark particles.
Instantly, the dark glow on the ash vanished, leaving it pure and gray-white, free of any dark magic.
Sirius knelt and carefully gathered the ash into a bronze box engraved with the Black family crest, its edges lined with fine silver.
He knew the Inferi state was irreversible. Freeing Regulus's soul and purifying his remains was the best he could do.
"These Inferi need to be freed too," Dylan said, his voice heavy as he looked at the shadowy forms beneath the lake. "Every day they exist, their souls suffer. Let's end their torment."
Dumbledore and Moody nodded.
"Incendio!" Dylan raised his wand, orange-red flames surging onto the lake.
"Protego Ignis!" Moody followed, golden fire streaking across the surface.
"Tempestas Fulmen!" Dumbledore's spell came next, purple lightning weaving through the flames.
In an instant, fire and lightning engulfed the lake, illuminating the cave like daylight.
The hundreds of Inferi in the water didn't even have a chance to struggle. They vaporized into mist, gone forever.
Such a waste, Dylan thought, shaking his head. Those Inferi could've been useful for experiments.
With the task done, they didn't linger.
Dumbledore summoned Fawkes again. The phoenix spread its golden wings, letting out a clear cry. A burst of flame enveloped the four of them, and they vanished from the cave, reappearing in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Thank you…" Sirius clutched the bronze box tightly, his voice hoarse but full of gratitude as he looked at Dylan, Dumbledore, and Moody.
Dylan noticed Dumbledore's fingers twitch against his beard, his eyes holding something unspoken, as if he wanted a private word.
Seeing Sirius was stable enough, Dylan exchanged a glance with Dumbledore and said, "We'll let you be for now."
Sirius nodded, gently stroking the box's surface. "Yeah, go ahead. I… I want to spend some time with Regulus."
---
At the Hog's Head, the air was thick with the scent of butterbeer and fresh bread. Dumbledore and Dylan sat across from each other at a worn wooden table by the window, two half-drunk butterbeers between them.
Moody sat at the table's end, gripping a dark brown whiskey bottle.
He tilted his head back, chugging glass after glass, amber liquid spilling down his chin and dripping onto his black leather jacket, staining the table's wood grain.
"Alastor Moody! You drinking like that, you'll empty my cellar!" Aberforth barked from behind the bar, his brows knotted.
He was polishing a tin mug, glaring at Moody's bottle.
Dumbledore had prepaid for the drinks, but as the owner, Aberforth hated seeing good liquor wasted.
Moody let out a loud burp, his cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. He waved the bottle, slurring, "I've… I've fought dark wizards my whole life. Now we've smashed one of that bastard's Horcruxes. Can't I enjoy myself a little?"
He went to pour another glass, swaying so hard he nearly fell off his chair, catching the table just in time.
Learning that Regulus's Horcrux had been dealt with lifted a weight off Moody's chest, and no amount of drinking felt like enough.
"Enjoy?" Aberforth scoffed, scrubbing the mug harder. "I heard you promised Albus you'd take the Defense Against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts."
"Drunk as you are, I bet you won't last a semester before some student's prank—or a dark wizard's ambush—takes you out!"
That jab lit a fire in Moody.
He slammed the table, rattling his glass. "What's that, you old goat? I've seen every kind of storm there is! You want a duel? I'll show you what a senior Auror can do!"
He staggered to his feet, ready to square off, but stumbled from the whiskey.
Dumbledore watched the bickering with a amused smile, his white beard twitching slightly.