A thick, green copper chain erupted from the depths of the lake, dragging up dark weeds and bits of broken rock from the bottom. It wrapped itself around Dumbledore's fist like a living vine. With a gentle tap of his wand, the chain uncoiled, slithering down his arm and coiling on the ground in a heap, its links clanking and echoing loudly in the silent cave.
As the chain was pulled back down, a small boat with the same eerie green glow emerged from the inky water. Its prow looked like a ghost, its wooden planks cracked and splintered, but it glided toward the shore with an unnerving silence, barely disturbing the water.
"That boat looks like it won't hold three of us, Albus," Moody said, his one good eye narrowed as he eyed the vessel. It was tiny, barely long enough for a person to lie down in. One person would be comfortable, two would be a tight squeeze. Three would surely sink it.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. He knew it wasn't a matter of weight. Tom Riddle didn't care about such trivial things. The real key was the amount of magic that could pass through this cursed lake. With Moody injured, he couldn't come. Dumbledore had to go himself, but Dylan's magical strength was far beyond that of an average wizard. This meant he had to find a new way to get on the boat.
As Dumbledore pondered, Dylan leaned forward and touched the runes carved into the boat's interior. He felt something was off. "Professor, look here," he said with certainty. "The runes on this boat are corrupted with dark magic. Their glow has faded; they're clearly corroded."
"We might be able to fix and strengthen these runes to let it carry more people."
Dumbledore's eyes lit up as he saw what Dylan was pointing at. He knelt beside the young wizard, and together, they placed their palms on the runes, slowly pouring their magic into the boat's veins. At first, the runes just trembled, but as the magic flowed, the dull lines began to glow like awakened embers.
Dylan could feel the boat acting like a bottomless well, siphoning off his magic. He continued to feed it until he had lost almost a third of his power, and only then did he feel the runes' pull begin to lessen. Dumbledore stopped at the same time. They looked at each other, then at the boat. The old, worn wood was now faintly glowing. While it was still small, it would hold both of them without sinking.
"Alastor, I'm afraid we'll have to trouble you," Dumbledore said, a warm smile on his face as he turned to Moody. "Please stay here and watch our backs."
Moody watched the two of them step into the boat and row towards the centre of the lake. Only when they had disappeared into the mist did he take a calming drought from his pocket, the bitter liquid easing his pain. He pressed his hand against his injured side and sat down, never taking his eyes off the still, mirror-like surface of the lake, his body on high alert. His years as an Auror told him this peaceful water could turn deadly at any moment.
Dumbledore's paddle sliced into the water, leaving two deep lines that quickly disappeared as the boat moved on. Dylan sat in the stern, watching the unnervingly silent lake. The only sound was the rhythmic cutting of the paddle, echoing in the emptiness.
A moment later, things began to stir under the surface. First, pale, decaying fingers reached up from the black water, their nails filled with muck. Then, more bodies of the Inferi appeared, rotting shoulders and torsos rising from the murky depths, their ashen skin glistening with a foul sheen.
"Hmm, they're not very fresh. Has he not replenished them in a long time? The numbers and quality are better than what I have in my Inferi pit, but the bodies themselves are not up to snuff," Dylan commented as he eyed the corpses.
Dumbledore didn't falter, his gaze fixed on their destination. They both knew that as long as they didn't touch the water, the Inferi would not attack.
About a quarter of an hour later, the boat hit something solid. Dumbledore stopped paddling, and Dylan peered over the edge to see a small island made of cold, grey rock. They carefully disembarked, Dumbledore stepping out first and then helping Dylan to shore. They were careful to keep their robes and trousers a good distance from the water.
"This is it," Dumbledore's voice echoed with a sense of finality.
Dylan took in his surroundings. The small island was indeed the same size as Dumbledore's office. The ground was a single, smooth black slab of rock, so polished it reflected their images. In the centre of the island, a faint green glow pulsed, its light piercing the gloom.
As they approached, the light grew brighter. Dylan saw its source: a stone basin that resembled a Pensieve, but wider. It sat on a base carved with intricate, magical runes. The liquid inside the basin was a brilliant emerald green, and its glow was so powerful it cut through the darkness like a beacon, illuminating the smallest details on the stone slab.
Across the lake, Moody saw the two figures silhouetted by the green light. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though his injured arm still ached. He leaned against a tree, wand in hand, eyes sweeping the lake for any sign of trouble. He had to make sure their path was safe.
Dumbledore and Dylan stood side-by-side, looking down at the basin. It was filled with a shimmering liquid that looked like a million tiny emeralds were dancing within. A chill emanated from it.
"The Horcrux should be in this liquid," Dumbledore said, his voice grave.
Dylan nodded and reached out, his fingertips hovering over the surface. He felt an invisible barrier, cold and unyielding like steel. It completely sealed the basin's contents. He withdrew his hand, a slight frown on his face, and raised his wand.
"Incendio!"
A searing red jet of light shot from his wand and hit the barrier, only to be deflected harmlessly into the lake with a loud bang. A dozen pieces of Inferi scattered as the blast hit the water, some floating briefly before sinking back down.
Dumbledore tried several spells himself, even pouring his magic directly into the barrier, but nothing worked. He lowered his wand, shaking his head. "There's no other way. To get the Horcrux, we must drink all of this liquid."
"I suspect this is a trap laid by Voldemort himself."
Dylan put on a look of worry. He looked at the strange liquid, his voice cautious. "What if it's poisoned? What if it's dangerous?"
Dumbledore's gaze fell upon the shimmering green liquid. He ran his fingers along the runes on the basin's rim, his voice certain. "This liquid is surely poisoned, but it won't be fatal." He looked up at Dylan, the familiar twinkle returning to his eye.
"All of Voldemort's traps are designed with a way out for himself. This Horcrux is key to his survival; he would never make it impossible to retrieve. The potion will torment and torture, but it will not kill."
Dylan, who had vaguely remembered the properties of the liquid, wasn't worried. He knew Dumbledore had been studying his former student for years and knew him better than anyone. Voldemort's deep-seated fear of death meant he would never trap himself out of a Horcrux.
Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, frosted glass bottle filled with a pale pink liquid that bubbled gently. "I Love Water," a potion he had invented himself that could make any liquid taste like whatever the user desired.
He held the bottle out to Dumbledore. "Instead of suffering through the bitterness and the poison, we can at least make it taste better." He looked at Dumbledore with a determined expression. "Professor, let me drink it."
"I'm young and healthy. I can handle it."
Dumbledore didn't take the bottle. Instead, he took it from Dylan's hand, his lips curving into a small smile. "That's a clever invention, to be able to make something so vile taste so good. It will certainly save a lot of grief."
"Professor..." Dylan began, wanting to argue and insisting on taking the risk himself. He wanted to study the liquid; it was clearly something powerful and useful that Voldemort had concocted. But Dumbledore gently cut him off.
The old wizard's expression became unyieldingly serious. "No, Dylan. Precisely because you're young and have a long road ahead of you, you're far more valuable than this old bone of mine, which is long overdue for its rest."
"I hope you'll do great things in the wizarding world. How can I let you risk your life here?" He paused, his gaze drifting toward Moody's position across the lake, remembering something the Auror had said earlier. His voice softened but remained firm.
"As Alastor mentioned, someone has to step up and take the risks. If someone must drink this poisoned liquid today, I want it to be me. I've lived a long life and done most of what I wanted to do. You are just beginning."
Dumbledore's grip on the bottle tightened, and his gaze returned to the emerald liquid in the basin, all hesitation gone.
"Ah." Dylan remembered the liquid's purpose now. Seeing the old wizard's expression, ready to sacrifice himself, he simply nodded.
"If you want to drink it so badly, then by all means, you go right ahead."
Dumbledore blinked in surprise.
"You're not going to try and stop me?"