Chapter 306: Your Skills
"Let's go." Dumbledore's tone was exceptionally firm.
But Dylan, standing beside him, quietly shook his head. He knew very well that the Horcrux in the fissure was long gone. Regulus Black, the brother of Sirius Black, had already retrieved the object and hidden it in the Black family's ancestral home at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. However, he wouldn't utter a word of this.
Without further thought, the three simultaneously Apparated, instantly reappearing at the base of the cliff, landing on a bare rock. The surface of the rock was rough and covered with sticky sea salt, making it slightly uncomfortable underfoot. The surrounding seawater surged under the push of the sea breeze, crashing against the rock again and again, splashing fine white foam. Cold sea spray drifted with the wind, landing on their trousers and shoes, quickly leaving small damp patches.
"I think we'll have to swim," Moody said, frowning as he surveyed the surrounding water. Having fought the Dark Arts for years, he knew they shouldn't waste effort now. No one would be foolish enough to try and part the sea with magic like in the legends; it was not only unrealistic but consumed an astonishing amount of power. Even if the immediate area of sea wasn't vast, they still had to deal with the traps left by Voldemort ahead, so conserving power meant greater safety later.
"I imagine you don't mind getting a little wet." Dumbledore said, walking to the edge of the rock first. Without hesitation, he lightly braced his hands on the rock's surface, bent his knees, and slid into the water with the agility of a young man. He held his wand in his mouth and spread his arms, swimming toward the deep, dark fissure in the cliff face with a perfect breaststroke. Each stroke was even, and the splash from his kick was minimal, showing he was very familiar with the water.
Although it was late summer/early autumn, the nearshore seawater was still quite chilly. Dylan took a deep breath on the rock edge, and as soon as he put his foot in the water, he couldn't help but shiver; the cold seawater stung his skin slightly. He grimaced, then subtly let magic envelop his body. He followed Dumbledore into the water, his arms rapidly stroking to keep up with the figure in front.
After swimming for a short while, the fissure gradually widened into a pitch-black passage. No sunlight reached here. The air was colder and damper than the open sea, the moisture seeping into the lungs. Thick, slimy mud coated the rock walls on both sides, which were only about three feet apart. The wand Dumbledore held in his mouth occasionally flashed with a soft, warm white light—just enough to illuminate the path ahead without alerting any potential hidden traps. In the light, the mud on the walls shone with a slick, wet luster.
Finally, Dumbledore stopped swimming, propped his hands on the bottom of the passage, and slowly stood up from the water. Water dripped from his silver-white hair, and his gray robes clung to his body, shimmering with water. Not far ahead of him were a series of stone steps, coated in moss, winding upwards toward the entrance of a wide cave.
Dylan also emerged from the water. He rapidly channeled magic, silently casting a Drying Charm and an Anti-Dampness Charm. A faint golden glow instantly enveloped him. Water droplets quickly evaporated from his clothes, and even his hair became dry and fluffy. Once he was completely dry, he stepped to Dumbledore's side and joined him on the stone steps.
Dumbledore was not underestimating Voldemort and watched his every step.
Although he had just cast the drying and anti-dampness charms, Dylan still felt a chill seeping through his collar and into his bones as he stood on the steps. The temperature here was unnaturally low; despite it being summer, it was cold like a late autumn night. Worse, gusts of icy wind blew from the depths of the cave, carrying dampness that stung his face. He tightened his coat.
He looked around. The air was permeated with a thick, unresolvable aura of Dark Magic. Inhaling it felt like tiny shards of ice mixed with a rotting coldness. Even the mud on the rock walls seemed to have hardened from this aura. Touching it lightly, one could feel the evil magic subtly flowing. It was undisguised, brazenly emanating, making one's hair stand on end.
However, for Dylan, this power was not repulsive but rather comforting and pleasant.
After walking up the stone steps for a dozen paces, Dylan and Dumbledore finally stood in the center of the cave. Both raised their wands high. The soft light from their wands spread through the cave, illuminating the rough rock walls and the uneven ceiling.
Dumbledore slowly turned, his gaze inching over every fissure in the rock wall, not even sparing the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. He was extremely focused. Soon, he stopped and nodded gently. He had clearly confirmed this was the place they were looking for. Voldemort must have laid traps here to prevent anyone from destroying his Horcrux.
"Professor, your skills truly belie your age; you're absolutely in your prime," Dylan said to Dumbledore with genuine admiration. "Over a hundred years old, yet your movements are so nimble." This wasn't mere flattery. While swimming in the sea, Dumbledore's strokes had been steady and powerful. His posture when emerging from the water was also efficient, showing no sign of feebleness. This was truly rare for a centenarian.
Just as he finished speaking, heavy breathing and intermittent cursing sounded from behind. Dylan looked back to see Moody leaning on the stone banister, slowly shuffling up, his face flushed, forehead covered in sweat, and muttering continuously.
"Couldn't you two have waited for me? Dumbledore, how old are you, rushing like that... and you, Dylan, just encouraging the foolery!" The retired Auror had clearly been left behind and was nursing a grudge. Dylan glanced at him, understanding why. This was the result of long periods without exercise; his stamina was clearly diminished. He was like a college student who stayed indoors all summer—a little exertion and he was exhausted.
Hearing Dylan's praise, Dumbledore's face broke into a hearty smile, the wrinkles around his eyes softening. He looked at Dylan and said brightly, "Speaking of which, I have you to thank for my fitness."
Dylan was momentarily stunned, raising his eyebrows in confusion, and instinctively tilting his head. How did that relate to him?
Dumbledore seemed to recall a happy memory, his eyes brightening. "You sent me a Pensieve crystal last Christmas, didn't you?"
"I follow the movements in that crystal every day. I haven't missed a session."
Dylan finally understood. He had too many gifts to prepare every year. Some ordinary gifts wouldn't suffice, so he had come up with many odd items—like a Pensieve crystal instructing how to practice Tai Chi. I can't believe that actually worked? And the old Headmaster actually practiced with it? How amusing.
Just then, a "creak-creak" sound, like wood scraping on a rough surface, came from behind. Dylan looked back to see Moody, leaning on a dark brown cane, hobbling off the steps. His oak prosthetic leg and cane were soaked with seawater and covered with bits of seaweed. With every step, the leg and cane scraped against the smooth stone, emitting a grating friction sound.
"Were you two doing that on purpose? You know I have a bad leg, yet you walk so fast! Couldn't you have waited for me?" Moody stopped beside them, yelling gruffly, raising a hand to wipe the water from his face. "Now look at me, I'm soaked! If we could have just Apparated here directly, I wouldn't have suffered this much!"
Dumbledore's gaze fell on Moody's prosthetic leg, a hint of memory in his eyes. He recalled Moody mentioning the leg; it was actually an Alchemical artifact, not only stronger than a normal human leg but also remarkably flexible to control—it even never cramped up. It had helped Moody greatly in his fights against the Dark Arts.
Having known Moody for so many years, Dumbledore understood his temper. He knew Moody was just grumbling, complaining that his retirement had been interrupted. Dumbledore couldn't help but smile, his tone playful. "I recall you once taught Apparition to the senior students at Hogwarts for a while. Have you forgotten the Three Ds of Apparition?"
Before Moody could retort, Dumbledore continued, "Destination, Determination, and Deliberation—you can't succeed without all three."
"From the top of the cliff, you couldn't see the interior of the cave at all. Without a clear destination, how could you possibly Apparate successfully?"
"If you'd forced the attempt, you might have ended up in the middle of the sea. Whether you kept your bottom half would depend on how hungry the local sharks were!"
"Hmph, of course I know that..." Moody, left speechless, could only grumble sullenly, reaching for a copper hip flask attached to his waist. He unscrewed the cap, took a large gulp, his throat bobbing, and let out a satisfied sigh. The anger on his face gradually dissipated, and he quickly regained his usual composure.
Dylan had assumed Moody was drinking something strong like whiskey. Most people who constantly dealt with combat like Moody preferred strong liquor to relieve fatigue. But the next sentence Moody spoke completely surprised Dylan, filling him with astonishment.
"Sure enough, only a Calming Draught allows me to speak to you, you old busybody, with any peace of mind." Moody lowered the flask, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his tone still carrying a hint of lingering annoyance, but much calmer than before.
Dylan immediately realized the implication. Moody's flask contained a Calming Draught, not liquor?
But upon reflection, it made perfect sense. As a seasoned former Auror, Moody had faced countless battles throughout his life and would be extremely strict about managing his own condition; the probability of him becoming a drunkard was low. Alcohol severely damaged the brain, and his profession demanded a constantly clear mind to accurately assess situations when fighting the Dark Arts; the slightest lapse could be fatal.
Even with this understanding, Dylan's respect for Moody increased. This respect wasn't just for Moody's professionalism but also because he knew the taste of the Calming Draught. Its bitterness was intense, carrying a metallic, bloody tang. An ordinary person would gag and vomit after just one sip. Yet, Moody treated this potion like an everyday drink. In these few hours, Dylan had personally seen him take at least five swigs, each time without batting an eye, as if it were just plain water.
Having been an Auror for years, Moody's observational skills were naturally sharp, and he quickly noticed the surprise in Dylan's eyes. He raised an eyebrow and asked impatiently, "What's with that look? Don't assume I drink this every day."
"Back before I retired, I only took a couple of sips at most before a battle, just to sharpen my mind..."
As he finished speaking, Moody slowly turned in place, his oak prosthetic leg scraping lightly on the stone. His bright blue magical eye spun wildly, scanning every corner of the cave, not missing even the smallest crack in the rock wall. After a moment, he asked, "This place is covered in the traces of Dark Magic. This must be our destination, right?"
"Unfortunately, Alastor, this is only the antechamber, the entrance hall, so to speak," Dumbledore said after a few seconds of silence, his tone becoming serious. "We need to go further inside... what stands before us now is not an obstacle formed by nature but a mechanism laid by Voldemort long ago."
Dumbledore raised his wand, and the Lumos at the tip grew brighter, illuminating the scene in the depths of the cave. He walked toward the wall, extending his right hand, his fingers lightly brushing the rough rock surface as if sensing something. Then, he slightly lowered his head and began to whisper in a strange tone, the sound not loud but clearly audible to Dylan and Moody.
Dylan held his breath, straining to distinguish the words, and soon realized Dumbledore was reciting Ancient Runes. After carefully deciphering them, he generally understood the meaning: "Reveal your traces, uncover your secret."
With every word Dumbledore spoke, the aura of Dark Magic on the rock wall intensified. In Dylan's perception, the black magic energy dormant in the rocks seemed like awakened beasts, gradually becoming active. It almost condensed into a colossal serpent with a gaping mouth, flicking its cold tongue, ready to lunge at Dumbledore at any moment.
The old Headmaster showed no fear. Starting from the left side of the cave, he slowly walked two full circles around the rock wall.
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