---
A burst of golden-red fire suddenly appeared in the dim room, accompanied by the ethereal, distant song of a phoenix.
Following the fire came Dumbledore. He was wearing a deep, elegant robe decorated with starry patterns and had a vibrant, fresh flower pinned to his chest. The old wizard seemed to have been enjoying dinner just moments before; he still held a silver fork and knife, frozen mid-slice. The next second, Fawkes had brought him here, and he looked down with a bewildered expression at Adam's serious little face.
"My sincerest apologies for interrupting your meal, Professor Dumbledore, but I have to ask, you haven't been back to Hogwarts for the past three days, have you?"
Dumbledore's eyes darted away, and he said awkwardly, "Forgive me, my dear Adam, I thought..."
Adam sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ever since the old wizard had been freed from his heavy burdens, his attitude seemed to have changed quite a bit.
"That's all right, as long as you're not cross with me. But this is very important. It not only concerns Voldemort but also solves his most deeply hidden secret: the Horcruxes."
He handed the decoded diary to Dumbledore, and had Kreacher describe what had happened all those years ago.
Dumbledore read the parchment with a grave expression. His eyes trembled slightly when he reached the final line. He asked Kreacher several times for the exact details of what had happened. When he learned that Regulus had knowingly walked toward the cave, certain he might never return, and had chosen to sacrifice himself, he silently took off his half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes were slightly misty as he took out a handkerchief to wipe the lenses, but they never seemed to come clean. He let out a heavy sigh after a long moment.
The little witch, Shirley, noticed the old man's gaze on her. She quickly wiped the tearstains from her face and pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.
Dumbledore's words of comfort got stuck in his throat. Any expression of regret or sympathy would have sounded terribly hollow at that moment. He reached out with his aged hand and gently patted Shirley's shoulder, saying softly, "Perhaps this is the power of love. He was a true Slytherin, a hero who deserves everyone's respect, but..."
Dumbledore's voice trailed off. He raised a finger, and an old photograph from the wall flew toward him. He gently wiped the dust from it and placed it carefully in Shirley's hand. Shirley stared blankly at the photo. The people in it came to life, and the young man's face still bore a carefree smile.
"But nobody wants to become a hero. Not even I."
As Dumbledore said this, he clutched the Chocolate Frog card in his pocket—the one Ariana had put in a letter to him not long ago. At the end of the letter, she had mentioned that she hoped her brother and friend would stop arguing. It was the only place she had ever seen the names 'Albus' and 'Gellert' mentioned together.
Dumbledore looked toward the blurred glass window, and all the events of the past seemed to surface before his eyes. The funerals from nine years ago also came into clear focus, representing countless broken families. He said solemnly, "To be a hero means they must give up the people they hold dear, endure hardships in places no one can see, and stand up when everyone else flees, even if the price is their own blood and life."
"They have already guessed the end of their story, yet they are willing to endure unimaginable suffering and die with a tragic kind of bravery. That is something some people will never understand."
"Before that, they had many other identities—a dutiful son in his mother's eyes, an exemplary husband to his wife, a good father to their children. But they still chose to give their lives in a time of crisis, leaving behind nothing but sorrow and regret."
---
Adam stood on a huge black rock, looking out at the moonlit sea. The surging waves crashed beneath his feet, creating white foam. Behind him was the pitch-black cave. He looked from the rock to the cave with a complicated expression, realizing the distance was the same as from the little hut to the rock that he remembered.
"It seems she really did find it..." he whispered to himself.
"What?" Shirley asked, looking a little confused. She was still a bit sad, and even though she was afraid of heights, she had followed Adam up, worried he might fall. She was clutching the sleeve of his robe tightly.
Adam gently ruffled her hair. He stayed silent for a moment, then took her hand and led her toward the cave.
Dumbledore was standing in front of a solid rock wall. He reached out to touch the rough stone several times, but was stopped each time by Tina.
"It's all right, Tina. I know Tom's methods. If he's set a condition that requires blood to enter, he won't have any other defenses here," Dumbledore said. "Tom is still the same; he still hasn't grasped that physical suffering is far less terrifying than other things. It only strengthens the resolve of the brave..." His voice was full of disappointment, as if he were speaking across time to Voldemort back when he had set up the cave.
"But these Dark wizards are treacherous and cunning. We must be cautious and not touch a thing. Even you could be caught off guard," Tina insisted on her point.
"Leave it to old Kreacher... for Master Regulus..." Kreacher, holding the rusty knife, didn't hesitate to stab himself in the wrist.
"Stop, Kreacher!"
Adam stopped him, pulling out a vial of silvery-white liquid from his bag. He turned to Dumbledore and asked, "Professor, will this work instead?"
Dumbledore's eyes flickered. "It will, of course. But if I'm not mistaken, that is Unicorn blood."
With Tina's face turning dark, Adam honestly recounted his experience of helping a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. Just as Adam was about to pour the blood on the rock wall, he noticed the natural patterns on it. He paused and turned to Dumbledore again.
"Professor Dumbledore, this stone doesn't look like something that was created by magic, does it? Tom should have just modified it based on the location. Other magic won't have any effect because with his personality, he certainly wouldn't..."
Dumbledore's words suddenly stopped, because he saw a glint in Adam's eyes.
"I've wanted to do this for a long time! There's no place at school that's good for it!" His small face was filled with excitement. He placed the leather trunk he was carrying on the ground and opened it. Five heavy metal chests, guided by a Hovering Charm, floated unsteadily and crashed in front of the stone wall.
Knights wearing menacing black armor stepped out of the chests and mechanically took the items from Adam's hands. They swung their pickaxes emotionlessly, carving a dozen small holes, and then stuffed alchemical bombs into them. A fire, like Dragon's Fire, exploded, but the leftover flames were all blocked by the Phoenix, Fawkes, whom Adam held in front of him.
The knights stepped through the still-burning flames and orderly cleared away the rubble on the ground, revealing the outline of an archway behind it. Beyond the archway, the darkness was profound, as if Voldemort had deliberately set it up to sow the seeds of fear in anyone who came. But the black-armored knights walked straight in, occasionally tossing out several cold, glowing spheres along the way to light up the passage. After confirming there were no traps, they returned to the entrance.
Dumbledore turned to Adam, and they stared at each other. Finally, Dumbledore sighed helplessly.
"A master-class creative mind, an ingenious alchemical creation. It's much better than that flamethrowing lawnmower from before..."
"That was an Automatic Garden Maintenance Device," Adam retorted quietly.
"All right... whatever it was," Dumbledore said, looking at the black-armored knights and the rubble cleared into a corner of the passage. He added a reminder, "But you had better not set up any alchemical bombs in the castle."
He paused, then added, "And not those alchemical machines that imitate the castle's guardian statues, and certainly don't put them in the Armour Gallery."
"Oh..." Adam responded weakly, his face full of disappointment.
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