Chapter 409: Retrieving the Locket
Sean always acted according to a meticulously prepared plan, come rain or shine. Dumbledore, on the other hand, relied primarily on his wisdom.
At this moment, the Headmaster was pulling a small, glowing green boat toward the shore, appearing to have known exactly where it was moored through some form of magical foresight.
"You understand Tom quite well," Sean observed.
"It is my duty as Headmaster. Now, give me your left hand, if you please?" Dumbledore took Sean's uninjured hand. "Magic always leaves traces, and sometimes they are quite glaring. I taught Tom Riddle; I know his signature."
With a soft thump, the boat touched the edge of the dark lake. Dumbledore stepped aside, guiding Sean carefully onto the vessel. The boat was tiny—so small they would be forced to squeeze uncomfortably together to fit.
Sean thought for a moment and tapped the cover of his Wizard's Tome. An elegant wooden door manifested on the floor of the boat. Sean stepped inside and poked his head back out.
"Would you care to come in as a guest, Professor?"
"I would be honored," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye, stepping through the portal.
The boat set off immediately. The cavern was silent, save for the rhythmic, silken hiss of the prow cutting through the dead water. The vessel moved as if pulled by an invisible cable toward the green light at the lake's center.
Strangely, the "sailor" for this leg of the journey was Will the Pukwudgie. Will stood at the front of the boat, his chest puffed out with heroic importance. Even with the knowledge that ten thousand skeletal hands might be lurking beneath the surface, the steward showed no trace of fear.
"Pukwudgies... they possess a most unique brand of magic," Dumbledore noted, picking up a mug of pumpkin juice that Will had thoughtfully left on a side table inside the Tome's cottage.
"Very unique indeed, Professor," Sean replied. He fought the urge to join the Headmaster in a snack; although Will's cooking was legendary, now was not the time for a midnight feast.
"I find myself quite eager for you to share your Ilvermorny adventures with me," Dumbledore said with a smile. "In the Dreamland, perhaps? It's better suited for long stories."
Before Sean could answer, Will's diligent voice rang out from the doorway. "Honored Mr. Green, we are approaching the destination."
They peered out. The green light had grown massive and brilliant. A few minutes later, the boat nudged against a smooth, dark surface and stopped.
Sean raised his lit wand. They had reached a small island of polished rock in the center of the lake, no larger than Dumbledore's office. It was a flat, empty slab of black stone, save for the source of the emerald radiance.
Up close, the light was blinding. It emanated from a stone basin, similar in shape to a Pensieve, set atop a heavy pedestal.
Sean instinctively stepped toward the basin, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder and moved ahead. They stood side-by-side, peering into the vessel. It was filled to the brim with an emerald liquid that gave off a sickly, phosphorescent glow.
"It seems we are expected to interact with it," Dumbledore said, his tone light and conversational.
He moved his hand toward the liquid, performing a series of rapid, complex diagnostics with his wand. Sean watched intently, memorizing every movement.
"Mmm... a most stubborn liquid," Dumbledore observed. "A hand cannot penetrate it; it cannot be parted, scooped, or siphoned. A Vanishing Spell has no effect, nor can it be transfigured or altered in its essential nature."
Dumbledore raised his wand again, performing a graceful twirl. A crystal goblet manifested in his hand.
"I can only conclude that the liquid is intended to be consumed."
Sean stared at Dumbledore. He had a sudden, sinking feeling that the old man intended to drink the entire basin himself. Dumbledore looked back, clearly sensing Sean's intent to beat him to it.
"There is no need for that, Sean. I suspect you already know the stakes. This potion is designed to prevent us from reaching the Horcrux. It likely paralyzes the drinker, causes them to forget their purpose, induces agonizing pain, or otherwise incapacitates them. If that happens, Sean, I will need you to ensure that I keep drinking until the basin is dry."
Dumbledore spoke softly, but he saw a look of absolute refusal in Sean's green eyes.
"I must emphasize, child: the goblet is in my hand, and you are not fast enough to take it from me." Dumbledore gave a mischievous wink.
"Why not let..." Sean began.
"I am much older than you, Sean, and my value is significantly less than yours," Dumbledore said without a trace of hesitation.
"...the animals drink it?" Sean finished his sentence.
Dumbledore paused. He watched as several sturdy-looking animals—beasts Sean had brought back in his Tome—stepped out of the portal and onto the rock.
"Some potions cause hallucinations," Sean said, holding up a crystal phial. "I suspect a high-grade Antidote combined with a Calming Draught might mitigate the effects long enough for them to finish the task."
In truth, this wasn't a guess. Sean was recalling Snape's constant lectures on potion theory.
Dumbledore blinked, his gaze turning profound. "Firenze was right. Your gift for 'seeing' the path ahead is as sharp as any of your other talents."
He stepped aside, allowing the animals—already dazed by a preemptive dose of Sean's medicine—to begin drinking from the goblet.
The basin was drained in record time. The animals slumped into a deep, magical slumber on the stone. One large warthog, seemingly still thirsty, ignored the water trough Will had manifested and took a few gulps directly from the lake.
The mirror-like surface of the water was shattered. A violent churning began.
Sean looked out. Dozens of pale, gleaming heads and hands were erupting from the black depths—men, women, and children with sunken, sightless eyes. They began to drift toward the rock in a silent, terrifying tide.
Inferi.
Dumbledore watched with interest, making no move to draw his wand.
Sean reacted instantly. "Hebridean Flight!"
A colossal dragon made of roaring, living flame descended from the shadows of the cavern roof. Under Dumbledore's watchful eye, Sean allowed his magical core to open completely, pouring his will into the construct. The fire-dragon grew, its scales shimmering with heat, until it stood as a guardian at the water's edge, bathing the approaching Inferi in a torrent of white-hot dragonfire.
Incinerating the dead was as easy for the construct as Dumbledore eating a handful of Cockroach Clusters.
"A new charm?" Dumbledore asked, his voice full of academic interest.
"A minor modification..." Sean grunted, focusing on guiding the dragon.
"Quite," Dumbledore chuckled, cutting off the modesty.
The Inferi were inexhaustible, however. After five seconds of maintaining the high-level Transfiguration, Sean felt a wave of dizziness. He was still physically taxed from the entry ritual.
"I believe I can take it from here..." Dumbledore noted, sounding perfectly relaxed.
"Will, now!" Sean commanded.
He snatched the locket from the bottom of the dry basin. Will the Pukwudgie stepped forward and gripped Sean's arm.
"May I offer you a lift, Professor?" Sean asked.
Dumbledore smiled. He knew that since the start of the boy's second year, things had become increasingly unpredictable.
"Why not?" the Headmaster replied.
With a sharp crack of Pukwudgie magic, the trio vanished. The cave returned to its lightless, silent vigil.
[End of Chapter 409]
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