Dumbledore circled the cavern wall once more, wand raised, probing every seam and shadow. At one spot, he paused, then—feigning nonchalance—turned to the group. "This is only the antechamber, the entrance hall. Somewhere here is the real way in. Clearly, these aren't natural obstacles, but cunning traps Tom set to keep us out. So, why don't you all try to find the mechanism and open it?"
Sirius gave a wry smile. "Albus, we've already graduated… Can't we just—"
Dumbledore cut him off, his tone suddenly firm. "This is a rare chance to study Tom's magic up close, to cross wands with him, as it were. Douglas is right—we should seize the opportunity and make the most of it." He even shot Douglas a conspicuous wink.
Douglas blinked in confusion. Why's he winking at me? When did I ever say they should "make the most of this opportunity"?
But with both Sirius and Lupin looking his way, Douglas could only nod, face solemn.
Then Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance, split up to either side, and gestured for Douglas to take the lead. Lupin grinned. "I think the honor should go to someone who's never experienced You-Know-Who's handiwork before. What do you say, Padfoot?"
Sirius shrugged, grinning at Douglas. "Can't argue with that logic. All yours, mate."
Douglas's mouth twitched. He looked to Dumbledore, but the old wizard seemed fascinated by a patch of ceiling.
Suppressing a sigh, Douglas raised an eyebrow, then pulled a magical radar from his pocket. Who did they think they were dealing with?
He fiddled with the settings, slid the probe into a crack in the stone, and soon a detailed schematic of the cave appeared on the display.
Sirius and Lupin stared, mystified, but Dumbledore examined the image with keen interest—he'd seen the device before, after all. Even when he'd inspected the cavern earlier, he hadn't detected this many magical traces.
After a moment, Dumbledore asked, "Douglas, why doesn't it show what's behind the stone walls?"
Douglas didn't look up. "The unknown is half the fun. Don't pick up my bad habits—this thing takes away all the mystery."
Sirius shot Douglas a look of pure disdain. Show-off. And wasn't he the one always dragging me off to study Muggle gadgets? Wait… didn't I promise him ten years of servitude or something?
Douglas pointed to an arch-shaped cluster of magical traces. "Here's the main entrance to the chamber. Voldemort's layered it with complex Dark Magic—curses, wards, identification spells, even sacrificial magic. Sacrifice means exchange, and this line, glowing blood-red, means you need magical blood to get in. Honestly, it's a pretty primitive design."
He couldn't help but sneer a little. No creativity, not ruthless enough—hurts the body, but never the soul.
Behind them, Kreacher's eyes widened in surprise. Douglas was right: the first time the Dark Lord brought him here, he'd used Kreacher's blood—so much blood. Kreacher had felt like a pig being bled, and if the Dark Lord hadn't needed him for something else, he might've died right there.
Clutching his filthy satchel, Kreacher remembered the dried rat blood caked on it, and the fruit knife he'd stolen from the kitchen before leaving. For Master Regulus, he would do it all again.
Dumbledore spoke, disappointment in his voice. "You see the logic—force your enemies to weaken themselves before they enter. But once again, they fail to understand: there are things far more terrible than physical pain…"
Douglas nodded. "Exactly. That's why I call this primitive. If it were me, I'd design a sacrifice that strikes at the heart. Make the intruder kill the one they love most to open the arch. The emotional agony would be the true price of entry.
People with faith don't fear self-sacrifice—pain means nothing to them. But ask them to kill what they hold dearest for their cause? That's the real torment…"
Sirius and Lupin shuddered.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted behind his half-moon glasses. Douglas just shrugged. "What's with the faces? I'm only speaking hypothetically—I'd never actually do it. But as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, I have to imagine the worst, so my students are always prepared. Don't kid yourselves—there are wizards out there even darker than Voldemort."
With that, Douglas strode to the spot marked on the radar, drew his wand, and began tracing patterns in the air before the blank wall, muttering incantations.
Sirius frowned. "Didn't you say it needed blood? What are you doing now—trying to blast your way in? If you mess up, this whole cave could collapse! If you need blood, use mine—open the arch the right way!"
Douglas ignored him, sweat beading on his brow as he worked. Dumbledore noticed the radar's display: the blood-red line was slowly fading to white.
At last, Douglas rummaged in his pocket, pulled out two stones half his height, and set them on either side of the arch.
He tapped one with his wand, and a figure formed—a young man, hands bound behind his back, kneeling.
Dumbledore sighed deeply, then explained to Sirius and Lupin: "That's Tom at sixteen—the image Douglas must have seen inside the other Horcrux. Douglas, are you sure this is… never mind. Perhaps it's fitting."
As the statue solidified, the milky-white magical line on the radar twisted around it.
Douglas explained, "I've altered the blood sacrifice. Now, anyone who wants to enter just needs to spit on this statue, and the arch will appear.
Of course, I only know Voldemort's face from this period. If he ever returns in another form, I'll carve that one opposite—call it a little atonement for the heroes who faced him.
Professor, I've had another idea: what if we fill this hall with statues of those who fought against Voldemort? Let future generations pay their respects—and let Voldemort, in stone, beg their forgiveness. We can talk details back at school."
Sirius and Lupin both looked dazed, thinking of all those the Order of the Phoenix had lost.
Douglas led by example, spitting at the statue. A flash of white light—his spit vanished.
The rock wall blazed with white, an archway shimmered into existence, and the wall dissolved, revealing a yawning black doorway.
Douglas pocketed his magical radar and stepped forward—only to be stopped by Dumbledore, who winked at the others and smiled. "I'll go first. Wait for my signal—Tom's tricks may be crude, but they're still dangerous. Besides, I'm more confident in my own abilities…" He lit his wand and strode boldly through the darkness.
Douglas just shrugged and followed, not waiting for any signal. Dobby darted after him, shouting, "Master, Dobby will go first!"
When everyone stepped through, they stopped short—staring in shock. They stood on the shore of a vast, black lake.
Dobby, having rushed ahead, nearly tumbled in, but Dumbledore caught his arm just in time.
The group fanned out along the lakeshore, peering into the gloom. The darkness here was thicker, heavier than any night—ordinary light couldn't penetrate it. The lake stretched into infinity, the cavern's ceiling lost in shadow.
Far out on the water, a faint green glow flickered at the center of the lake, casting an eerie reflection on the lifeless surface.
Sirius pointed. "Is that where we're headed? Is Regulus out there? Kreacher, I'm talking to you!"
Seeing Kreacher trembling uncontrollably, Sirius finally snapped, his voice echoing with anger.
Tears welled in Kreacher's eyes. He nodded fiercely, pressing himself against the stone wall—he knew what horrors lurked in that water.
With a shaking finger, he pointed into the darkness. "There… over there—a little boat, hidden in the water. The Dark Lord took Kreacher by boat to the center of the lake…"
Dumbledore didn't move. At first, the scene had only felt vaguely familiar. But when Kreacher mentioned pulling a boat from the water, realization dawned. He spun to face Douglas, his voice low and steely:
"Douglas, I believe you owe me an explanation."
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