Chapter 312: Are you saying... my brother Regulus?
The wizards who were previously running in chaos now stopped, looking up in terror at the pattern in the sky. It had ascended extremely high, the green light piercing the night, like a terrifying neon sign. It illuminated the entire forest with a deathly pale light, even the tents and trees on the ground were stained with a bizarre green hue.
The crowd completely fell into panic. Some desperately hid in their tents with their children, while others were too terrified to move, collapsing on the ground, their limbs weak. A wizard pointed at the pattern in the sky, his voice sharp with fear, screaming: "It's him! He's back! The Death Eaters are back!"
Another older wizard, his face ashen, his lips trembling, uttered the name that chilled everyone to the bone: "The Dark Mark! That's the Dark Mark!"
This sentence exploded in the crowd like a bomb. More screams and cries erupted. The already chaotic campsite descended into unprecedented terror.
While the Quidditch World Cup venue was in riot, Dylan, Dumbledore, and Moody were sitting at a round table in the corner, a cup of hot tea placed in front of each of them. The pub was quiet, with only the crackling sound of firewood in the fireplace. Aberforth was wiping glasses behind the bar, occasionally glancing at them from the corner of his eye.
"I should go." Moody was the first to break the silence. The red tea in front of him was still faintly steaming; the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup hadn't moved—clearly, he hadn't been in the mood to drink since sitting down.
The old man stood up, leaning on his cane. He unconsciously tapped his less flexible old leg with his left hand, a slight creaking sound coming from his knee. "I'll rest for the night at my place. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll go investigate the Prewett family's movements. They've been too low-profile these past few years—abnormally so. I always feel like they are all waiting in the shadows, ready to emerge as soon as Voldemort makes a move."
Dumbledore gently nodded, his fingertip tracing the rim of his cup: "Be careful, Alastor. Their family members are known for their ability to hide."
Moody said no more, only giving a rough assent, turning and walking to the pub door. His figure vanished in a slight magical fluctuation—he had Apparated away.
After Moody left, Dylan also stood up, nodding to Dumbledore: "Professor, I'll head back too. Tomorrow, I need to go see Sirius about the Black family situation." After speaking, he gave a slight nod to Aberforth behind the bar and pushed the door open, leaving the Hog's Head Inn.
Only the Dumbledore brothers remained in the pub. Aberforth put down the glass he was wiping and scoffed: "You've dragged another child into your troubles."
Dumbledore merely smiled without responding.
When Dylan returned home, his parents weren't back yet. Just pushing the door open, he shook his head helplessly. Forget it, let the old man fly free.Their wings are strong; let them fly.
He went to his bedroom and summoned Coal Ball. As soon as the little guy appeared, he instantly commandeered the bed. Dylan smiled; he hadn't been idle lately either, with various matters piling up. Now, he wanted a good rest. He glanced at the two pillows by the bed. He tossed one to Coal Ball for it to sleep on. He then fluffed up his own pillow, collapsing onto the bed. The accumulated fatigue of the day instantly washed over him.
He wasn't sure how much time passed, but in his daze, Dylan felt the surroundings turn pitch black. This darkness was exceptionally dense, like congealed ink, surging from all directions, spreading along his skin. It even crept into his nasal cavity, making breathing increasingly difficult, and his chest felt heavy.
Just as he was about to suffocate, a blurry silhouette suddenly emerged in the darkness. It was a large golden snake, its scales reflecting a cold light in the dimness. Its pair of vertical pupils, however, were an eerie blood-red, staring intensely at him.
In the darkness, the large golden snake slowly began to slither, its body flexibly coiling around Dylan. Initially, it merely lightly touched his skin, but the next second, the coiling force grew stronger and stronger. The fine scales, icy cold, tightly grazed his arms, chest, and even wrapped around his neck. Dylan could clearly feel the slight bumps on the edges of the scales. Every time the snake's body contracted, his breathing became more difficult. His chest felt crushed by a boulder; his scalp tingled, and his fingers couldn't move.
"Ugh—" He abruptly shot up from the bed, his chest heaving violently, his forehead covered in cold sweat. The feeling of suffocation still lingered in his throat, making him cough a few times.
"Scourgify!" Dylan raised his wand and waved it over his pajamas and the sheets. A flash of magical light passed, and the soaked fabric instantly became dry. The wrinkles on the sheets smoothed out.
He turned to look out the window and found that the sun had risen. On the eastern horizon, the sun was slowly ascending. Golden light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting long streaks of light on the floor.
Dylan rubbed his heavy eyes and reached for the clothes by the bedside—a deep blue wizard's robe with simple patterns embroidered on the cuffs.
"I... actually had a nightmare? That's rare." Dylan found it strange; he rarely dreamt, especially since starting school.
He quickly dressed and walked to the dressing table. The Magic Mirror instantly lit up in front of him.
"Look who it is! Simply too handsome, perfect in every detail!"
Dylan curved his lips into a smile. This was a Magic Mirror he had developed. He was considering whether to have Borgin sell it. He waved his wand and tapped the mirror surface.
"Silencio."
The mirror's voice instantly vanished. Since he created it, the mirror had been like this every day, only speaking the absolute truth. Although pleasant to hear, it was indeed a bit noisy in the morning.
On the dressing table lay the day's Daily Prophet. Dylan picked up the newspaper and opened it. The headline on the front page was particularly eye-catching:
"Quidditch World Cup Venue Hit by Riot; Dark Mark Appears in Night Sky"
The article only used one sentence at the beginning to mention the Irish team's victory, saying they "secured the championship through stable performance." The rest of the content was a detailed description of last night's riot, mentioning the floating Muggle corpses and the wizards' panic, but being vague about the specific meaning of the "Dark Mark."
Flipping to the second page, an article caught his attention:
"Hogwarts May Get New Professor? Dumbledore Intends to Invite Former Auror Moody."
The article claimed that sources revealed Dumbledore recently met with former senior Auror Alastor Moody, intending to invite him to serve as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts to strengthen students' ability to counter Dark Arts.
Dylan put down the newspaper and tilted his head. He walked to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of ash-white Floo Powder from a nearby box. The powder was fine and cool in his palm. He took a deep breath, stepped into the fireplace, his feet sinking into the warm ashes, raised the Floo Powder, and clearly shouted: "Diagon Alley!"
Last night's dream slightly concerned him. He believed it was not a meaningless illusion. Given Voldemort's style, after being targeted so many times, he wouldn't easily give up. The time for his re-resurrection should also be quite near. However, this was precisely what Dylan was anticipating. As for the remaining Horcruxes, he wasn't in a rush; he would collect them one by one.
Now, he needed to visit Sirius. But before that, Dylan made a point of finding Borgin and urging him to quickly move XY Potions' production equipment and inventory abroad. Although he wasn't afraid of Voldemort's return—and even looked forward to it—Voldemort's return would inevitably lead to control over Wizarding World industries. Temporarily allowing his businesses to avoid the turmoil could prevent significant losses. After all, he couldn't stay at the factory every day.
After giving his instructions for the potion transfer, Dylan went to Grimmauld Place.
"Hmm? Dylan, why are you here suddenly?" Sirius's voice was hoarse with sleep. He was wearing wrinkled gray pajamas, his hair was messy and sticking up, and his eyes were half-open, clearly not fully awake. In fact, he had been asleep in bed a minute ago. It was the House-elf Kreacher who heard the commotion from the fireplace and woke him up at the bedroom door. Though he now stood in the living room, his consciousness was still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, even his gaze was unfocused.
"There's a very serious matter, Sirius, related to defeating Voldemort," Dylan said earnestly.
Upon hearing the words "defeating Voldemort," Sirius instantly sobered up as if doused with cold water. His eyes snapped open, and his previously unfocused gaze sharpened.
"Defeating Voldemort?" The scene of the riot after the Quidditch World Cup Final immediately replayed in his mind: the Muggle corpses hanging in the air, the Death Eaters' arrogant laughter, the eerie glow of the Dark Mark in the night sky... And the image of his best friends, James and Lily Potter, murdered by Voldemort. Scene after scene, the hatred for the Dark Lord surged in his heart.
"Yes, it's absolutely true," Dylan nodded. "Yesterday, Professor Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, and I went to a hidden place and found a clue about Voldemort."
"But now I need to look at your Black family tree to confirm a crucial detail."
Sirius turned and walked toward the stairs, asking doubtfully, "Is that so? Then where are Professor Dumbledore and Moody? Why didn't they come with you?"
"We found several clues and need to investigate separately. Your house is one of them, and it's relatively safe, so I came over." Dylan followed him, smiling. "And this clue is likely related to Voldemort's Horcruxes."
"Horcruxes? What are those?" Sirius stopped abruptly, turning to look at Dylan, his eyes confused. He had clearly never heard the term before.
Dylan was a little surprised. He had assumed that the Black family, as an ancient pure-blood family, would have access to this kind of Dark Arts knowledge. However, it seemed Sirius truly hadn't inherited any of the family's dark legacy.
He stopped, patiently explaining: "It's an extremely evil form of Dark Magic."
"The caster, by killing someone, uses the wicked power generated at the moment of murder to split a piece of their soul, which they then attach to an object."
"This object, by holding a soul fragment, gains a special magical power, becoming a Horcrux."
"As long as the Horcrux exists, its master can never truly die. Even if the body is destroyed, the soul can remain dependent on the Horcrux."
"Furthermore, Horcruxes are incredibly difficult to destroy. The only known effective methods, besides the Killing Curse and Fiendfyre, are the Basilisk venom which can utterly destroy them."
Sirius froze, the expression on his face hardening. Then, his brows furrowed tightly. His hands unconsciously clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He remained silent for a few seconds before forcing out a sentence through gritted teeth, his tone filled with intense hatred: "I knew it! That monster couldn't have disappeared so easily!"
Calming his turbulent emotions, he looked at Dylan, his eyes questioning: "But what does this Horcrux have to do with our Black family?"
As he spoke, the two had arrived at the Family Tree Wall at the end of the living room. The wall was constructed of dark, highly polished stone. Carved into it were dozens of lifelike bas-relief portraits. Beneath each portrait, the name and dates of birth and death were etched in silver script. At a glance, the history spanned hundreds of years. The portraits displayed various expressions, most bearing the arrogance typical of pure-blood families.
In the lower row, near the corner of the wall, there was a noticeable black hole. The surrounding stone was scorched black, with residual burn marks around the edges. Sirius pointed to the black hole, shrugging casually: "That spot used to be me."
"It was probably destroyed by my mother's magic when I broke ties with the family. They disowned me—but I never cared about this stuff anyway." His tone seemed lighthearted, but a subtle complexity flashed in his eyes.
Dylan's gaze did not linger on the black hole but fell on a young man's portrait right next to it. It was a teenager of seventeen or eighteen, with neatly combed black hair, wearing a sharp black wizard's robe, his expression slightly severe. The silver script beneath clearly read: "Regulus Arcturus Black."
"It's him. No mistake." Dylan suddenly spoke, pointing to the young man's portrait.
Sirius looked at him, completely puzzled: "Why?"
Dylan didn't keep him guessing, quickly giving a brief summary of yesterday's events. He, Dumbledore, and Moody had gone to the island in the middle of the lake, found the stone basin containing the jade-green potion. After forcing the Inferius to drink the potion, they found an empty locket with a note inside, signed "R.A.B."
"Are you saying... my brother Regulus?" Sirius's eyes widened sharply. He involuntarily took half a step back, his face a mask of disbelief. "He destroyed Voldemort's Horcrux?"
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