The cavern was silent.
After subduing all the Inferi, the last flickers of electricity faded from the lake. Once they were certain nothing else lurked beneath the surface, the group crossed the water and stepped onto the heart of the island.
At its center stood a stone basin, reminiscent of a Pensieve, its eerie blue glow illuminating the gloom. Resting on a pedestal, it looked almost like a lantern—yet what it held was far more sinister.
They gathered before the basin, gazing into a bowl brimming with emerald liquid, phosphorescent and unsettling.
At that moment, Kreacher plunged back into the water, guided by memory to the spot he sought.
No one worried that Regulus might have become an Inferius. Creating such creatures required a dark wizard to perform the ritual, and it was clear Regulus had never possessed the means.
No sooner had Kreacher disappeared beneath the surface than Sirius dove in after him. But within a minute, Sirius burst back up, sputtering.
"Lumos" doesn't work down there. There's something in the water that blocks the light spell," he reported, frustrated.
Douglas snapped his fingers. Instantly, a stream of pure water manifested in midair, only to vanish before touching the ground.
"It's not just the lake," he observed. "This island has its own enchantments. You can't even conjure water here. Most of the measures in the lake are probably for the Inferi—Voldemort wanted to give them the perfect environment. And for magic to last this long, even after that lightning storm, it must be potion-based... Was he good at Potions?"
He paused, turning to Dumbledore in genuine curiosity. It struck him how often Voldemort relied on potions.
Dumbledore, who had been examining the basin, was caught off guard by the question.
"Yes, Tom was exceptional at Potions. You wouldn't believe how fond my old colleague, Horace Slughorn, was of him.
Oh, and Horace was Slytherin's previous Head of House and the Potions Master. After your book launch last Christmas, he wrote to me, said he admired you greatly, and asked if I could arrange a dinner. I completely forgot..."
Douglas just shook his head, turning his attention back to the basin as Lupin conjured a ball of fire to illuminate the lake for Sirius and Kreacher.
He reached toward the potion...
"Master, no—let Dobby do it!" the elf cried.
"Quiet! Wait—non-Newtonian fluid?"
Dumbledore looked puzzled. "What?"
Dobby, puffing up with pride, explained, "Non-Newtonian fluid is something from the Muggle world, Professor. Its viscosity—how thick it is—doesn't stay the same. It changes depending on how much force you use. Simply put, it behaves differently when you poke it or stir it... Newton was a famous Muggle alchemist, though they don't call him that..."
Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Dobby. I never expected you to know so much about Muggle science."
But Douglas shook his head. "No, that's not it. My hand can't touch the liquid at all—there's an invisible barrier of air."
He pulled out his magical radar.
Dumbledore, seeing the device, glanced back at the lake—thinking, perhaps, that this would be a far quicker way to find people.
Soon, the radar displayed a map of the island, crisscrossed with colored lines and sigils.
It was clear: Voldemort had woven the entire island into a single magical construct.
Douglas pocketed the radar. "I'm leaving this for Professor Snape. He'll be fascinated. There's nothing particularly special about this potion—just something to sap your strength."
Dumbledore nodded. "Tom wouldn't want intruders to die instantly. He'd keep them alive just long enough to figure out how they'd breached his defenses—and, more importantly, why they'd come. He believed only he knew about the Horcruxes."
Douglas let out a short, cold laugh. "He never accounted for house-elf magic. That's how Regulus slipped through the cracks. If he'd come by the normal route, Voldemort would've realized his Horcrux was gone much sooner."
As they spoke, Kreacher and Sirius emerged from the water—faces wet, though it was impossible to tell if it was lake water or tears. In Sirius's arms was a body.
Dumbledore and Douglas watched in silence, faces grave. The young man, preserved by the lake's magic, looked almost as he had in life.
Black hair, matted with silt, dripped onto the stone. His pale face still bore a hint of a mocking smile. He was slight, his clothes in tatters. As they gently cleared away the mud, scars appeared on his skin. With a spell, they pried open his clenched fist, revealing a crest—the mark of the Black family.
Kreacher collapsed by Regulus's side, banging his head against the stone in grief. No one stopped him.
Sirius said nothing, quietly cleaning the grime from his brother's body.
The others stood in respectful silence. When Sirius finished, Dumbledore raised his wand, conjuring a Slytherin banner to drape over Regulus.
Having found him at last, they did not linger. Douglas conjured a stone coffin for Regulus's remains—a gesture that earned him a look of deep gratitude from Kreacher.
Back at the entrance hall, Douglas said, "Sirius, I suggest we bury Regulus here. He won't be alone—others who sacrificed themselves will join him, and future generations can honor his memory."
Sirius nodded, eyes still red. "Yeah. I don't want him tainted by the foul air of the Black family tomb. He was a good kid... And you, shut your mouth."
The last was directed at Kreacher, who had begun to protest.
Douglas carved a niche in the southeastern wall, placed the stone coffin inside, and together Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Douglas layered it with protective magic.
When they were done, Douglas sculpted a bust of Regulus Black from a massive rock, inscribing the base with the following words:
Regulus Arcturus Black (1961–1979) The first to discover Voldemort's secret of Horcruxes and attempt to destroy it. He sought light in darkness, and gave himself selflessly for justice.
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