Voldemort looked at Snape with deep emotion.
Snape nodded. "I'll do everything I can."
"But Dumbledore isn't so easy to deal with."
Voldemort tilted his head and walked back to his seat. "Do you know Dumbledore's past?"
Snape shook his head.
Voldemort flicked his wand—several pieces of parchment floated out and revolved around them. "Makes sense. You're young, after all. You wouldn't know the past of the older generation."
"I only recently learned something."
He pointed his wand at one parchment—it stopped in mid-air.
Written on it was a line of verse from a fairy tale and a symbol—a triangle, a circle, and a straight line.
"I never took fairy tales seriously," Voldemort said softly. "Who would believe something invented just to amuse children?"
"But I was negligent."
"The treasures Death granted to the Three Brothers—the Deathly Hallows—they really exist."
"The Gaunt family's ring, one of my destroyed Horcruxes, was the Resurrection Stone."
Snape remained silent.
"You're not curious about it?" Voldemort asked, their eyes meeting again.
Snape replied, "Dumbledore told me, but Potter and the other professors never allowed me or Dumbledore near it."
Voldemort froze, teeth clenched. "Potter?"
"Dumbledore and Potter discovered the ring together," Snape nodded. "Dumbledore nearly wore it, but Potter beat him badly before he could. He didn't get the chance."
"Nearly," Voldemort repeated the word softly.
"I'm really starting to hate Potter more and more."
"There was a beautiful curse on that ring. I wondered how Dumbledore could have…"
"I'll admit he's powerful—but in matters like this, he's weaker than most."
"You know, if it weren't for Potter, Dumbledore would be dead."
"So close… just a little more."
Voldemort seemed to drift off, then waved his wand, the parchments flying back and stacking neatly on the table.
"Severus, I can tell you some of Dumbledore's past," he said gently. "Only by fully understanding your enemy can you find a way to defeat them."
Voldemort knew a lot.
Who wouldn't be curious about the greatest white wizard of the century? Especially one who had been so intimately connected with the greatest dark wizard of his time.
No matter how powerful or cold Tom was, he couldn't help but be curious.
Snape listened as fragments in his mind slowly fit together.
At Hogwarts—
Under Harry's increasingly cold, blade-sharp gaze, Dumbledore finally grew uncomfortable. He stood and, helplessly, followed Harry out.
Apparition.
Dumbledore chose the most convenient—and the one Harry hated most—way to travel.
With a crack—
They appeared on a reef more than a hundred meters from the shore. Salty sea wind battered them, waves crashed against the stone, and the moon was dimmed by thick clouds. The sea churned darkly, mysterious and vast, as if it wanted to swallow everything upon it.
"How's the view?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry looked up.
Inside the clouds, moisture and lightning brewed.
He flicked his wand.
Thunder cracked; rain began to fall.
"This is fine," Harry said blankly, casting a rain-repelling charm over them. "That orphanage had the funds to take kids on distant trips?"
He had never seen this world's orphanages. But—
Wherever the world, one thing seemed true: orphanages existed to keep children alive, not to ensure they lived well. Survival was the priority; lifestyle was irrelevant.
Nothing was more beautiful than being alive.
If there was money to improve children's lives, better to take in more children.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Of course not. Actually, Muggles do much better than us in this regard. Their governments require orphanages to guarantee both basic education and one trip a year."
"This orphanage was no exception."
"They took the kids to a nearby village for a trip."
"Tom Riddle likely brought his friends here."
He paused, gazing into the distance. "Of course, climbing out here was just the start. His destination—and ours—is further ahead."
Dumbledore led the way; Harry followed.
They reached the edge of the rocks, stepping into uneven cracks. Dumbledore, though elderly and shaky, used powerful magic to stabilize himself, appearing as if he was climbing normally.
"You could just use magic to float down," Harry said as he jumped steadily down.
Dumbledore stretched. "I wanted to try something thrilling."
"Thrilling?" Harry sighed.
"Of course it's thrilling," Dumbledore replied seriously.
"As long as you're happy." Harry shrugged.
Dumbledore stepped forward and waved his wand.
Lumos Maxima!
At the base of the cliff was a fissure deeper than the sea.
"There," he pointed.
Harry pulled out a high-powered flashlight from the Sorting Hat, flooding the area with bright light.
Dumbledore blinked, awkwardly putting away his wand.
"Muggle stuff is useful," Harry smirked.
"I agree," Dumbledore nodded. "I saw lots of good gadgets on my trip—I just didn't think of using them."
He waved his wand, turning a pebble into a wooden boat.
"Of course, sometimes magic is irreplaceable," he said, stepping aboard.
Harry followed.
The boat floated slowly into the fissure, which soon opened into a wide passage.
"This reef is hollow?" Harry was surprised. "It didn't feel like it from the outside."
Dumbledore nodded and lowered his voice. "Harry, remember what I taught you?"
"All magic leaves traces."
"Close your eyes and sense."
Harry obeyed, eyes shut and hand extended.
Moments later, blue lightning-like threads flashed in the darkness—just a flicker. His heart thumped, then it vanished.
"Did you see it?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.
Harry nodded.
"Your greatest flaw is your youth," Dumbledore said. "Tom wasn't that powerful back then, but his spells were experienced, well-hidden—but no magic can hide completely."
Harry shook his head.
Dumbledore blinked. "You disagree?"
"The magic on that ring—for you, it was completely hidden," Harry replied flatly.
Smack—Dumbledore covered his face. "No, Harry, let's not bring that up. You stopped me, didn't you?"
Harry chuckled coldly.
The boat reached the end—a massive cave.
Harry scanned the area with his Witcher senses.
No life.
Not a single magical creature or even normal animal. It was unnaturally clean.
Another magical thread flashed—but more eye-catching was a concealed wall in the cave.
"You already found it?" Dumbledore was amazed.
Harry nodded, raising his wand. "It's not the magic—it's the wall's existence."
In nature, no wall would look so unnatural.
It was spotless, untouched by sea or wind.
A phantom archway appeared, burst into white light, rumbled, and strained to open—but despite its effort, nothing changed.
"A contract," Harry and Dumbledore said in unison.
"Very clever," Dumbledore praised. "He bound this sea and reef in a magical contract. Unless I destroy everything here, I can't open that door."
"What's hidden inside? Fiendfyre?" Harry touched the wall. "Not just that… there's something strange too."
Dumbledore nodded. "We'll need to make a sacrifice."
He pulled out a small silver knife from his pocket—one often used in Potions—and rolled up his sleeve.
"I should be the one," Harry stopped him. "At your age, losing blood might be fatal."
Dumbledore shook his head firmly. "No, Harry. That won't do."
"You're right, you might be more suitable—but we're not the same."
"Your blood is more valuable than mine."
"And I've already been here. The wall stores the blood of intruders—I've given it once already. A little more won't matter. Tom… what a sly creature."
"Harry."
He stared directly into Harry's eyes—blue, clear, sincere.
Harry withdrew his hand.
Dumbledore slashed his wrist. Blood spurted, landing on the wall.
Rumble—
The phantom archway reappeared. This time it didn't fade—it solidified as the stones shifted and clicked into place.
"Let's go."
Dumbledore healed the wound, leaving behind another ugly scar, then stepped forward under Harry's flashlight.
Inside the arch: a dead-silent, pitch-black freshwater lake.
Witcher senses detected no life. Only residual sticky, terrifying energy lingered.
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Powerstones?
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