Dumbledore carefully prepared Regulus's remains and made another solemn promise.
"I swear upon the name of Dumbledore - Regulus will be restored."
This time, he emphasised his tone.
If Snape could manage it, all would be well. If he couldn't...
Dumbledore had a backup plan.
At worst... he could always approach Grindelwald again.
First time awkward, second time familiar.
Since first setting foot in that towering prison, Dumbledore had found his moral boundaries quietly eroding.
At least when it came to seeking Grindelwald's help, he no longer hesitated as he once had.
"I'll go with you," Sirius said, clenching his fists.
"I'm afraid not." Dumbledore shook his head, watching Sirius's disappointed expression as he continued, "If you truly care about Regulus's well-being, you'd do best to avoid meeting Snape. Given your temperament..."
Sirius's shoulders slumped in defeat.
Dumbledore then turned his gaze to Wayne.
Truth be told, he wanted to bring Wayne along.
Though in some ways Snape disliked Wayne even more than Sirius, one couldn't deny that Wayne always had a way of handling Snape.
In their 'exchanges', it was always Professor Snape who came off worse.
Still, he intended to try alone first. Only if that failed would he bring Wayne into it.
Suddenly, Sirius's expression shifted. He coughed pointedly. "Kreacher, prepare lunch. Wayne has expended considerable magical power and needs proper nourishment."
Wayne looked utterly bewildered.
Who said anything about eating here?
Yet Kreacher obediently bowed and disappeared with a loud crack from the drawing room.
After recent events, the old house-elf now held Wayne in higher esteem than his own master, Sirius.
"You can speak now, Dumbledore."
Sirius fixed him with an intense stare. It had been Dumbledore who'd subtly signalled him to dismiss Kreacher.
"There are things I'd rather you didn't know," Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes lingering on the note still clutched tightly in Sirius's hand.
"But... since you've already seen Regulus's final words, what's done is done. There are warnings I must give you in advance."
Lupin, recalling the note's contents, quickly guessed Dumbledore's meaning.
"Horcruxes?"
"Precisely." Dumbledore gave a slight nod. "This is Voldemort's greatest secret - the reason he didn't die when his Killing Curse rebounded."
He shook his head in admiration. "Regulus's intellect rivalled the finest Ravenclaws. To uncover Voldemort's most guarded secret after just one year of contact..."
"That's something even I failed to achieve."
"I won't elaborate on what Horcruxes are exactly. But you must keep absolute silence about Regulus and the Horcruxes."
"Voldemort is arrogant. He believes no one knows about Horcruxes or that he's made any. This ignorance is our intelligence advantage."
Both Lupin and Sirius nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity.
"We'll be careful."
"Good." Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "I'll return to Hogwarts now. I'll contact you with any developments regarding Regulus."
The three saw Dumbledore to the door.
Before leaving, Dumbledore instructed Wayne to inform him once the Horcrux matter was resolved.
Half an hour later.
Kreacher had prepared a simple lunch, which Wayne forced himself to eat a few bites of.
The cooking was truly dreadful.
After the meal, Sirius prepared to carefully store Regulus's locket, but Wayne stopped him.
"I think you should keep the parchment yourself. As for the locket... give it to Kreacher."
"Why?" Sirius looked at him in confusion.
"After all, Kreacher took care of Regulus the longest. And without him, we wouldn't know everything Regulus had done," Wayne explained. "He's earned that right."
Under Kreacher's hopeful gaze, Sirius pondered for a moment before finally agreeing.
He handed the locket over.
"Kreacher, from now on, it belongs to you."
"Thank you, Master, thank you, Master Lawrence." Kreacher sobbed uncontrollably, cradling the locket as if it were a priceless treasure.
"Don't thank me yet. I have a few questions for you."
Wayne crouched down, and Kreacher stared at him blankly.
"Do you know who killed your young master?"
"It... it was the Dark Lord." After much hesitation, Kreacher finally uttered the name.
"Correct. At least your mind hasn't completely gone to mush."
Wayne continued, "Although Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange have married out, according to the contract between house-elves and their masters, you still have to obey their commands, right?"
Kreacher nodded. Narcissa and Bellatrix were sisters and also Sirius's cousins.
Their orders didn't take precedence over Sirius's, but Kreacher was obliged to obey them as long as they didn't conflict.
"Wayne, isn't Bellatrix locked up in Azkaban?" Sirius asked curiously.
"Just because you broke out, doesn't mean others can't. It's called being prepared," Wayne retorted irritably before turning back to Kreacher.
"Remember, these people are Death Eaters. Though Regulus was once one too, he turned against them. He and Voldemort became enemies."
"Bellatrix and Narcissa Malfoy were accomplices in his death. Do you really want to obey the orders of his killers?"
Hatred immediately flared in Kreacher's eyes.
"Kreacher understands! Kreacher won't listen to their orders anymore!"
"No, that's not what I mean." Wayne shook his head. "I'm saying that if they ever ask you to do anything, you must tell Sirius."
"A spy?" Sirius instantly grasped Wayne's idea and grew excited.
"Brilliant plan. Kreacher, I order you—what Wayne just said represents my will. You must obey."
"Yes!"
...
Hogwarts.
Having left the Black family home, Dumbledore returned to the school.
Truthfully, Dumbledore had a house in Godric's Hollow, but due to the unpleasant memories associated with it, he hadn't returned in years.
For Dumbledore, the Headmaster's Office felt more like home.
Well, except for the little troublemaker who kept trying to break into it.
Entering the castle, Dumbledore didn't head straight to his office but instead made his way to Snape's quarters.
As he approached the door, he could already faintly hear screams coming from inside.
The old man's expression remained unchanged as he knocked on the oak door.
"Severus, do you have a moment?"
The screaming abruptly ceased, replaced by Snape's calm voice.
"Three minutes."
Dumbledore waited patiently.
Three minutes later, Snape opened the door and ushered him inside. The room appeared entirely normal, with no one present except Snape himself.
Wisely choosing not to mention the strange sounds earlier, Dumbledore went straight to business.
After hearing the news, Snape frowned deeply. "Regulus Black..."
"I've met him a few times. He was always trailing after the Lestranges – a fanatical blood purity supporter. I'd thought him the Dark Lord's most devoted servant. Never imagined he'd show such courage."
Resisting the Dark Lord was something many dared not even contemplate, let alone put into practice.
Even he had only resolved to seek vengeance after Lily's death.
"Where is the body?" Snape asked.
Dumbledore conjured a bed and then produced Regulus.
Snape began his examination, his expression growing increasingly grave.
"He's been an Inferius for too long... Restoring him will come at a considerable cost."
"I will cover all expenses," Dumbledore said without hesitation.
"Including obtaining Ho-Oh's phoenix ashes from Lawrence?"
Dumbledore's mouth twitched, but he nodded nonetheless.
Snape smiled in satisfaction. Though he admired Regulus, he still made a demand.
"The Black Family must have many lost potion recipes, yes? I need copies."
Knowing Sirius's spendthrift nature, Dumbledore agreed on his behalf without a second thought.
"However, you'll have to wait. Mr Lawrence is currently copying the Black Family's library."
Snape's face darkened.
That brat had beaten him to it again!
...
In the following days, Snape did not immediately begin his research on the Inferius. Instead, he preserved Regulus carefully, cherishing his final moments with Peter.
He went to great lengths to try and nullify Peter Pettigrew's Animagus ability, but ultimately failed.
The relationship between magical power and wizards was too enigmatic. If Snape had succeeded, it would have been tantamount to turning a wizard into a Squib.
Still, he managed to suppress it temporarily with certain stabilising potions—though they required regular doses.
The cost of this method was too high, and the Ministry of Magic rejected it outright.
They opted for the most traditional solution: fitting Peter with a specialised collar.
If it detected his body beginning to transform, the collar would detonate without hesitation, leaving no trace of Peter behind.
There had been Animagus prisoners before. Sirius had only escaped because he was unregistered.
...
On the day of the trial...
Fudge, freshly recovered from his illness, looked much healthier. His eyes flashed with hatred as he stared at Peter Pettigrew, whose mouth was gagged.
Everything had been ruined by this rat!
Though the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly had tactfully avoided reporting the scandal—earning Fudge's gratitude—the news had still leaked from some bastard's lips.
Within a day, the entire Ministry knew. And since nearly every wizarding family had ties to the Ministry...
Was there any difference from the whole magical world finding out?
Fudge had every reason to suspect Crouch was behind the leaks. He had the motive, and the two were already enemies.
This was surely retaliation for Fudge's sudden attack using Sirius's case.
Fudge shot Crouch a discreet glare before announcing Peter's sentence.
Life imprisonment in Azkaban's Cell Block Three.
The verdict made many pale.
How ruthless...
Though all Azkaban cells were guarded by Dementors, there were distinctions.
The lower the cell number, the closer it was to where the Dementors congregated.
Cell Block Three?
It might as well have been the Dementors' nest.
As for Cell One, it was purely for sharing living quarters with Dementors. No one in Azkaban's history had ever been housed there.
It seemed Peter Pettigrew wouldn't last more than a few years there.
This thought surfaced simultaneously in many minds, yet no one spoke up in his defence.
Given the atrocities he had committed, this fate was nothing less than he deserved.
As for Peter Pettigrew himself...
He cared even less.
As long as he could stay away from Snape, what were Dementors to him?
In Peter's mind now, Snape was even more terrifying than the Dark Lord...
After the sentencing, Fudge didn't so much as glance at Peter Pettigrew before striding out of the courtroom.
The rest of the jury members followed, leaving only two Aurors behind to escort Peter to a temporary holding cell.
He would remain there overnight before being transported to Azkaban the next day.
...
The following day.
On the rooftop of a tall building, a carriage stood waiting.
Peter was placed inside the compartment, and an iron grate rose to separate the interior from the outside.
Opposite him sat an Auror, wand trained on Peter to prevent any mischief.
The Aurors assigned to the escort all wore grim expressions. Delivering a new prisoner to Azkaban meant paperwork—and unavoidable contact with Dementors.
It was decidedly a poor assignment.
Soon, six Thestrals took to the air, pulling the carriage with them. A Disillusionment Charm had been cast on the exterior, blending it seamlessly into the surroundings.
The journey from London to Azkaban would take roughly four hours, much of it over open ocean—a tedious stretch.
To pass the time, the two Aurors struck up a conversation.
"What was Peter Pettigrew thinking, living as a rat for twelve years?"
"If he'd fled Britain, he could've lived an easy life anywhere."
"Who knows? I reckon the lot of them weren't right in the head. Look at Black—same story. Always complicating the simplest things. Bloody foolish Gryffindors..."
"Watch your mouth," his companion in the carriage snapped. "You saying all Gryffindors are like that? Fancy saying that to Professor McGonagall's face?"
"Personal behaviour, don't drag the whole House into it."
At the mention of Professor McGonagall, the Auror who'd been mocking Gryffindors promptly shut his mouth.
The weather grew increasingly gloomy, heavy clouds blanketing the sky, and lightning flickering intermittently.
The North Sea churned violently, the conditions deteriorating in the blink of an eye.
The Auror driving frowned and called into the carriage, "Parker! Brace yourself—I'm speeding up!"
"Damn this wretched weather. A storm's about to hit. We need to push through this stretch fast."
"Got it!"
The Thestrals surged forward, their pace quickening sharply. The two Aurors outside had to conjure shimmering protective shields to block the wind and rain lashing at them.
...
Meanwhile, on a desolate island not far away...
A strikingly handsome black-haired youth of about seventeen or eighteen leaned against a rock, gazing at the sky.
When the carriage came into view, his eyes lit up. With a flick of his wand over himself, his well-tailored suit transformed into a black hooded cloak, obscuring his face.
Then, he raised his wand high above his head and swung it in a grand arc.
The lightning in the sky grew increasingly dazzling.
Boom!
As his wand descended, a bolt of lightning struck the carriage directly!