Sean always acted according to his solid plans—rain or shine.
And Dumbledore always relied on his wisdom.
Just like now: he tugged a small boat glowing green, as if he'd known all along it would be there.
"You know Tom well," Sean said. That was his explanation.
"It's my responsibility—hm, the Headmaster's," Dumbledore replied. "Will you give me your left hand?"
Dumbledore took Sean's uninjured hand.
"Magic always leaves traces—sometimes very obvious traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style."
With a soft bump, the boat knocked against the near shore.
Dumbledore stepped aside and, still holding Sean's hand, helped him climb carefully onto the boat.
It was cramped. They would probably have to squeeze together.
Sean thought for a moment, then quickly opened the Wizard's Book. A restrained, elegant wooden door stood upright in the little boat. He stepped inside and poked his head back out.
"Would you like to come in as a guest?"
"I'd be delighted," Dumbledore said with a smile, and followed him in.
The boat set off at once. All around was silence—only the gentle shh-shh of the prow cutting the water.
The boat steered itself; they didn't have to row. It was as if an invisible rope were pulling it toward the green light in the center of the lake.
Soon the cave walls were lost from sight, and it felt like sailing on the open sea—except, oddly enough, their "sailor" was the Pukwudgie butler.
Will looked proud as could be. Even if there were ten thousand hands waiting under the water, he showed no fear.
"Goblins and their kin have… distinctive magic," Dumbledore said, lifting the pumpkin juice the Pukwudgie had set out on the table.
"Very distinctive magic, Headmaster," Sean said, forcing himself not to think about a midnight snack—though Will's cooking was always good, and he constantly left food for Sean inside the Wizard's House.
"I can't wait to hear your stories from Ilvermorny," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Though perhaps it's best told in dreams."
Before Sean could answer, Will's diligent voice cut in:
"Honored Mr. Green, we're almost there."
They leaned out, and sure enough, the green light had grown larger and brighter. A few minutes later, the boat bumped gently against something and stopped.
Sean raised his lit wand and saw that they had reached a smooth rocky islet at the lake's center.
The islet was about the size of Dumbledore's office: a broad, flat slab of black stone, empty except for the source of the green glow.
Up close, the glow was far brighter.
It came from a stone basin, almost like a Pensieve, set on a pedestal.
Sean instinctively strode up to the basin; Dumbledore followed a step behind.
They stood side by side and looked in. The basin was filled to the brim with emerald liquid, giving off a flickering phosphorescent light.
"Looks like we have something to do," Dumbledore said lightly.
At the same time, he shifted his hand toward the liquid.
He quickly cast several spells around it.
Sean memorized every one.
"Oh—some kind of liquid. A hand won't go in. It can't be parted, scooped out, drained, or siphoned. It can't be vanished, transfigured, or altered by any other means."
Dumbledore lifted his wand again, twirled it in the air, and conjured a crystal goblet in his hand.
"I can only conclude this: it has to be drunk."
Sean watched Dumbledore as if he might simply gulp the entire basin down.
Dumbledore looked back at him, guessing Sean had considered doing exactly that—if only the basin weren't in Dumbledore's hands.
"No need. I think you already understand.
This potion will definitely stop us from getting the Horcrux. It may paralyze the drinker, make him forget why he came, cause unbearable pain so he can't focus, or otherwise strip him of the ability to act.
If that happens, Sean, you must make sure I keep drinking."
Dumbledore said it gently.
And then he saw the clear refusal in Sean's eyes.
"I should emphasize: it's in my hands, and you can't snatch it from me," Dumbledore added, blinking in a playful way.
"Why can't we let…" Sean began.
"I'm far older than you, Sean, and my value is far less than yours," Dumbledore said without hesitation.
"…some animals drink it," Sean finished.
And Dumbledore watched as sturdy animals stepped out from the Wizard's Book.
"Some potions are hallucinogenic," Sean said, shaking a crystal vial. "Maybe their effects can cancel each other out?"
This wasn't just a guess—Snape had always tossed out potion lore in the dungeons.
Dumbledore paused, and his gaze turned deep.
"Firenze was right. Your talent for prophecy is no weaker than your other gifts."
Then he stepped aside and let the animals—already drowsy and glassy-eyed from the potion Sean gave them—drink the goblet's contents.
Before long, the basin was empty. The animals collapsed asleep on the stone. Only a warthog, still thirsty, ignored the water the Pukwudgie had conjured and gulped down two mouthfuls from the lake itself.
The lake's surface stopped being smooth as glass—and began to churn violently.
Sean looked up.
All around, pale heads and hands rose from the black water—men's, women's, children's—hollow-eyed, sightless, floating toward the rock:
A whole mass of corpses surfaced in the dark lake.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, watched Sean with keen interest.
Sean drew his wand at once.
"Fire dragon, spread your wings—"
A massive fire dragon slammed down from above. With Dumbledore watching over him, Sean could unleash his magic without holding back.
The dragon grew larger and larger until it was almost the size of a real one. It planted itself at the shore and spewed dragonfire.
Burning the Inferi was as easy as Dumbledore eating Cockroach Clusters.
"A new spell?" Dumbledore's eyes were fathomless.
"A trivial imp—" Sean started, directing the dragon.
"All right, all right," Dumbledore cut him off.
But the corpses kept coming, inexhaustible—and after five seconds Sean's head started to swim.
He'd been weakened, after all.
"Well then, I—" Dumbledore still sounded almost relaxed.
"No." Sean steadied himself. "Will, it's time."
He took out the locket, letting the Pukwudgie butler support his hand.
"Can I take you with us?" Sean asked.
Dumbledore knew that ever since September of last year, things had only grown more and more unpredictable.
But his answer was simple:
"Why not?"
And with the Pukwudgie's Apparition, the cave fell silent again.
~~~
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