Just as Dumbledore finished speaking, he gently took hold of Dylan's wrist. Before Dylan could even ask another question, a faint silvery light enveloped them both. With a ripple of Apparition magic, they vanished from the spot.
When they found their footing again, they were on a quiet street. Patches of ivy clung to the walls of the houses. Only a handful of people ambled along the road, whispering among themselves. Their conversation, it seemed, was about a neighbour.
"I'm telling you, that Moody fellow isn't quite right, is he?" a woman in a grey coat muttered to her companion. "Always shut up in his house, and when he does come out, he's muttering to himself."
"Who knows!" her companion replied with a frown, her voice full of apprehension. "But that face of his is terrifying. I bumped into him one evening, and the scar with that magical eye-piece... I had nightmares for a week."
Dylan stood still for a moment, shaking his head slightly to clear it.
"Professor, do we have a specific reason for coming to see Mr. Moody?" he asked, steadying himself and looking at Dumbledore.
At this, Dumbledore seemed more puzzled than Dylan. He raised an eyebrow and let out a soft "Oh?" before turning to look at Dylan with a playful glint in his eye.
"Don't you usually have a knack for seeing things before they happen? Why don't you have a guess as to why I've brought you along?"
Dylan was left speechless, secretly grumbling to himself. When it came to certain things, everyone was a bit of a hypocrite. Take riddles and cryptic hints, for instance; he was just as guilty. He always felt a strange sense of satisfaction when he deliberately kept people in suspense. But when it was someone else's turn to be a Sphinx, he found it incredibly annoying. He wondered if he was strong enough yet to give this cryptic old man a good talking-to. He couldn't just say what he wanted; he had to make him use his Seer abilities.
Without another word, Dumbledore led Dylan to a house with a black wooden door in the middle of the street and gave it a light knock.
After a moment, a hoarse, gravelly voice, like sandpaper on wood, came from inside. Just hearing it, Dylan's mind conjured an image of a weathered, scarred face.
"Who's there?" the voice asked suspiciously, full of caution.
"It's me, Alastor. You can put your wand away now," Dumbledore said gently, his hand on the doorknob.
"Albus?" the gruff voice paused, then pressed on with a hint of scrutiny. "Tell me, when and where did we first meet? What were you doing, and what was I doing?"
Dumbledore's face showed a flicker of hesitation. "Now, Alastor, it's been so many years. I can't quite recall all the details," he said slowly. "But I do remember it was likely when I was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and you were a student in my class... that must have been when we met."
Dumbledore pressed the bridge of his nose with a sigh, twisting a piece of his long white beard between his fingers, a wry smile on his face. "Besides, no one in the entire wizarding world would dare impersonate me, Alastor. Don't waste time, open the door!"
Creeaaak—
The old wooden door let out a long, drawn-out groan as it slowly opened inward. A tall, upright old man stepped out. His hair was streaked with grey, but his back was as straight as a wand. His left eye was small and dark, a placid orb like any other old man's. But his right eye was monstrously large and round, a vibrant, piercing blue. That magical eye could see through walls and clothes, and even peer at the back of his own head.
A part of Moody's left leg was missing, replaced by a smooth, polished oak prosthetic. It made a distinct thump-thump sound on the cobblestones as he walked. Below his thick, grey hair, his face was a map of intersecting scars. A deep one ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw, and another sliced across his nose, leaving an irregular chunk missing. These were the honourable marks of an Auror who had fought Dark magic time and time again.
The bright blue magical eye first spun rapidly, scanning the street in front of the door, before it finally settled on Dumbledore and Dylan. It scrutinised them for a full thirty seconds before Moody finally spoke, his voice still raspy. "Come in."
Dumbledore and Dylan followed Moody inside. The room was simple, with a plain wooden table near the window and two single sofas with worn, dark brown covers. Other than that, there were no decorations. On a low cabinet in the centre of the room sat a brass-framed Secrecy Sensor. The mirror surface glowed with a faint green light, and tiny defensive runes were carved into its base. This kind of device would shriek a warning if anyone with malevolent intent approached.
Dumbledore walked over, gently tapped the frame of the sensor, and leaned in to examine the shifting reflections in the glass. The next moment, the sensor began to beep-beep with increasing urgency. The entire mirror shook violently, and the faint green light flickered erratically.
Albus Dumbledore: "..."
Moody's reaction was swift. The wooden thump of his prosthetic leg echoed on the floor as he instantly backed up two steps. His right hand whipped out his wand from his belt, and a silvery light shone from the tip, aimed directly at Dumbledore and Dylan. His eyes were wide with suspicion. "What's going on?!"
"Moody, perhaps your sensor is on the blink," Dylan suggested, moving closer until his shoulder almost touched Dumbledore's arm.
But the sensor kept quivering, aimed solely at Dumbledore. It didn't spare a single glance for Dylan. He cocked his head. How curious. Was Professor Dumbledore hiding something after all? Why else would the sensor single him out?
"You have to trust me, Alastor," Dumbledore said, gently placing the sensor back on the cabinet. He raised both hands in a gesture of peace. "I've simply come to see you about something important. I have no other motives."
"Oh? What is it then?" Moody's grip on his wand didn't loosen, and his brow remained furrowed, but the silvery light on the tip of his wand began to dim.
Dumbledore smiled slowly, lowered his hands, and gently tapped the edge of the table with his index finger. His voice grew very serious. "I want you to come with me to destroy something."
With a soft pop, the magic dissipated. Dylan, Dumbledore, and Moody appeared in a place covered in broken stones. The rocks underfoot were sharp and jagged, some slick with saltwater, and they felt rough against the soles of their shoes.
As soon as they landed, a salty sea breeze hit them, filling their lungs. The roar of waves crashing against rocks filled their ears.
The weather seemed alright, but Dylan knew better. This was Great Britain, where the weather was as fickle as a Niffler's mood. He wouldn't be surprised if in twenty minutes the sky was completely shrouded in clouds, followed by a sudden downpour.
He stood on a black rock that jutted out of the water. Its surface was exceptionally smooth from years of erosion, and a constant swell of waves rolled beneath it, churning up white foam. Occasionally, a wave would splash onto the edge of the rock, dampening his trouser legs.
Dylan turned to look behind him. A steep cliff face stood tall, its dark brown wall dropping almost vertically into the sea. Channels worn by the water were visible on its surface.
Several large, bare rocks lay scattered about, covered in a thin layer of salt spray. Judging by their shape and position, they looked as if they had broken off the cliff face long ago and crashed into the shore below. The whole area was desolate. Other than the endless sea and the scattered rocks, there wasn't a single tree, patch of grass, or stretch of sand. Only the whistling wind swept across the land.
"What do you think of this place?" Dumbledore asked first, his eyes sweeping over the landscape, his voice calm.
"What's hidden here?" Moody asked, looking around, his oak leg making a thump-thump sound on the stone as he instinctively shifted his weight. His eyes were sharp, darting from rock to cliff crevice, clearly calculating. If a fight were to break out here, he was already scouting out the best places to hide, which rocks to use as cover, and how to use the terrain to his advantage.
"There's an orphanage nearby, but what we're looking for isn't there," Dumbledore said slowly, his fingertip tracing the salt spray on a nearby rock.
Hearing this, Dylan knew the answer. Was Dumbledore bringing them to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes? Hmm.
How did Dumbledore even realise that Voldemort might have more than one Horcrux? And how did he know the precise location of this one?
"My young Seer, why don't you guess where the thing we're looking for is hidden?" Dumbledore suddenly turned to Dylan.
"I'd guess... in that cave down below?" Dylan said, walking to the edge of the cliff to get a better view of the sea.
The rocks below, worn smooth by the relentless waves, were so reflective that he could see a blurry image of himself. Cold, briny spray occasionally misted his face, leaving a cool sensation. Following his gaze downward, a dark crevice of a cave mouth was visible in the cliff face below. Its edges were covered in dark green seaweed, and inside, it was pitch-black, swallowing the sunlight whole. The deep blue sea continuously poured into the opening with a whooshing sound.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his white beard trembling slightly. His eyes held a new, serious expression. He turned to Moody, his voice calm but laden with meaning.
"I think so too. By the way, Alastor, I forgot to mention something—Voldemort's name as a young boy was Tom Riddle, before he became what he is now."
"When he was a boy, he brought a few of the children he'd bullied to this very place," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping over the steep rocks. "Muggles couldn't possibly climb this massive rock. There's almost nothing to grip, and even a skilled climber would fall halfway up. As for a boat, it can't get close to the cliff. There are many hidden reefs near the shore, and the waves crash against them, sending up sprays over two meters high. A small boat would be instantly capsized."
"I can imagine how Riddle got up here. Magic would have certainly been more useful to him than a rope; a simple spell would keep him steady. He even brought two other children with him, likely because he found it amusing to watch them shake with fear at the cliff's edge. That feeling of controlling someone else's terror must have been incredibly appealing to him back then."
"For Tom, this must have been a very special place, a vault for his childhood secrets."
Standing to the side, Dylan looked at Dumbledore and suddenly understood why Voldemort was so wary of him. To everyone else, Voldemort was a mysterious and terrifying Dark Lord. But Dumbledore had witnessed his most pathetic youthful moments, knew his darkest hidden thoughts, and had essentially figured him out completely. He had no secrets left. If Voldemort were standing here right now, hearing Dumbledore's words, he would likely panic.
Dumbledore didn't talk about Voldemort anymore. Instead, he pointed to the edge of the rock next to him, motioning for Moody to come and look. Moody hobbled over, using his wand as a cane, and saw that the side of the rock was full of uneven grooves. Some were large enough for a whole foot, others only for a tiptoe. These crevices ran down the cliff face, leading to the giant, half-submerged boulders surrounding the cliff. These dark grey boulders were polished smooth by the sea and covered in dark green seaweed that swayed with the waves.
Dumbledore stepped forward first, bracing himself against the cliff wall. His fingers found purchase on the edge of a crevice, and he moved steadily down, his movements far more nimble than they looked. Finally, he landed on the large boulder closest to the cliff face, leaned forward, and peered into the fissure at the bottom of the cliff. His gaze locked onto his target.
"What we're looking for is right there in that crack!" he said, pointing a finger at the dark cave mouth, his voice full of certainty, carried by the wind to Moody and Dylan.
Dylan wanted to collect all of Voldemort's Horcruxes and refine them. He wasn't looking to create some kind of magical artifact out of them, but Voldemort's soul... especially the Horcruxes that couldn't be destroyed by magic...
Dylan was utterly fascinated by them.
But where had old Dumbledore suddenly gotten the information that Voldemort's Horcrux was here? It was truly odd. He had already destroyed the Diadem, and the Diary was in his possession. Even if Dumbledore knew Voldemort had Horcruxes, he shouldn't have known about the others, or where they were, for that matter.