Inside the cavern, the two stood in silence.
"The note's been here a long time," Harry flicked his wand, lifting it gently. "It's not recent."
"Seems I was wrong. The traces from over ten years ago weren't Voldemort checking on his Horcrux, but this unknown man's."
His eyes rested on the letters: "R.A.B."
"Looks like he wasn't part of the Order," Harry reasoned. "If he were, you'd have known. And we wouldn't have followed the original path so blindly."
"I just didn't want the Horcrux destroyed," Dumbledore shook his head. "If I had known, I'd have paid more attention to the changes in your condition."
"An unknown hero fighting Voldemort."
"R.A.B."
He repeated the initials.
"Let's go. We'll find somewhere warm," Harry tucked the note back in. "We can think more about who it might be."
He paused. "We don't need to hold back anymore, do we?"
Dumbledore smiled and nodded. "Of course."
Voldemort had made a pact with the reef and the surrounding environment—not unbreakable, but one Dumbledore dared not tamper with until he was sure the Horcrux was in hand. Who knew what magical reaction it might trigger? Searching again would've been like finding a needle in the ocean.
But now that the Horcrux wasn't here, he had no more concerns. He raised his wand high, aiming for the ceiling above the island.
Darkness churned, waves rippled.
The old contract resisted the might of the greatest white wizard—but it was a withered spell, powerless against him.
Boom— fresh sea wind rushed in, rain lashed into the cavern, hammering the black lake, hissing like tortured wails.
Dumbledore muttered, "Ah, right—this too."
He turned his wand to the lake.
Harry glanced over.
Vanishment Charm.
But not on the water—on the concept of the contract itself.
With a flick, that faint, murky magic vanished.
The black water roiled furiously. The marble slab trembled, ready to collapse. Cracks spread through the ceiling—not magical, but structural, collapsing now that the magic sustaining it had gone.
"Let's go," Dumbledore said, stepping into thin air.
Stones tumbled, flying in to form steps beneath his feet. Harry followed, and the two exited the reef.
At the end of the steps, they watched the reef sink beneath the waves.
With a gurgle, it vanished under a froth of white bubbles. A swirling vortex formed, disrupting the calm surface of the sea.
"Another memory of Tom's, gone," Dumbledore murmured, grabbing Harry's sleeve.
Crack—
They Disapparated, reappearing just outside the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.
It hadn't rained here yet.
But the air was heavy with moisture—it wouldn't be long.
They pushed the door open.
It wasn't a weekend, so the pub had few dating students—mostly locals, tourists, or visiting family.
"One honey water. Harry, whiskey?" Dumbledore greeted Madam Rosmerta.
Harry nodded. "Whiskey."
When the drinks arrived:
"Harry, who do you think R.A.B. is?" Dumbledore sipped his honey water.
Harry didn't speak at first. He tapped the table, half-finished his drink, then glanced at Rosmerta, who had wisely stepped away.
"Let's rule out he was in the Order," Harry began. "Otherwise, he would've told you."
Dumbledore nodded.
He had confidence in the Order—and himself.
Most importantly, no one in the Order had initials "R.A.B." Even in his old age, Dumbledore's memory was sharp.
"If he wasn't in the Order, then he wasn't actively opposing Voldemort," Harry tapped the table again. "Tom wouldn't have let anyone dangerous live—unless they had protection from someone too powerful to challenge. But besides you… is there anyone?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
Harry paused, gazing at the imaginary "note" on the table. "That Horcrux was Tom's biggest secret."
"Anyone who knew about it probably had to be told by him."
"Someone who helped him make Horcruxes, or someone he trusted deeply—like Malfoy, or Lestrange. Someone he handed it to for safekeeping."
"Even with that cave's defenses, why not have extra insurance?"
Dumbledore seemed to realize something.
Harry waved for a refill.
Once Rosmerta left, he continued: "Think about the handwriting—messy, almost ugly. Rushed, sure, but I doubt he could write neatly even if he tried."
"A young person."
"Someone average in ability, talent, and temperament."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry, standing up to Tom doesn't make for a mediocre person."
"I meant how he presented himself," Harry clarified. "That kind of person wouldn't have been Tom's friend."
"So…"
"Maybe someone like Malfoy or Lestrange."
He downed his drink.
"Someone Voldemort trusted to guard something for him—or a family he trusted."
"Young."
"Last name starts with 'B'."
"The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
Harry went on: "Sirius starts with 'S'—S.O.B."
"I don't know if you paid much attention to the Black family tree, Professor. But Sirius had a younger brother—Kreacher sometimes mentions him."
"Regulus Arcturus Black."
"R.A.B."
Dumbledore applauded. "Brilliant deduction."
Harry tapped his glass. "Even better—we might now have a lead on where Tom's Horcruxes are."
"He might've entrusted them to his followers—Malfoy, Lestrange, Black. Who else?"
"Let's rule out lone pure-bloods like Crouch. He never had a whole family behind him."
Dumbledore didn't even pause: "Avery, Carrow, Nott, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers."
Harry blinked. "That many?"
"Over a third of the Death Eaters fully believed in Tom's ideology," Dumbledore nodded. "Some families weren't so devoted—but even they helped him rise to power."
"Maybe it's not that many," Harry exhaled deeply. "Maybe just one or two. But it's a lead."
"Professor Dumbledore, you should be glad about one thing."
"I haven't seriously called in my debts yet."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Potters' shampoo?"
"I'm a loyal user myself."
Harry drew his wand and summoned his Patronus. He whispered instructions and sent it flying toward Hogwarts.
"I told Sirius to wait for us at home. Shall we go?" He tossed a Galleon onto the table.
Dumbledore sipped his drink. "Let me finish this one properly."
Under Harry's stare, he drank faster, then left awkwardly, leading Harry into a new Apparition.
At 12 Grimmauld Place—
Kreacher, enjoying a rare moment alone in a clean, empty house, muttered curses under his breath when he saw two groups of people entering moments apart.
Sirius looked bewildered. "Harry? Professor Dumbledore? Couldn't this wait for Hogwarts? Why come home?"
"We've discovered something—possibly about your brother," Dumbledore gestured for him to sit.
Brother?
The word felt foreign.
He instinctively thought of James. Or Remus.
"Regulus," Harry clarified, forcing the name into his mind.
That familiar yet distant name.
"Oh, that idiot?" Sirius looked indifferent. "What about him? You find his stuff or something?"
"I'm not hanging up his portrait—"
Kreacher scuttled over, grumbling, "Ah, the foolish heir of the Noble House dares insult the true heir—how dare he—"
"Kreacher, shut it," Sirius snapped.
Harry sat opposite. "My dear godfather, this time—I'm with Kreacher."
Sirius was stunned.
Dumbledore nodded. "Even I must admit: Regulus was a great hero. A true warrior."
"The Sorting Hat always said: there are no two people more alike than Gryffindor and Slytherin."
"Yes… and it's right."
"There's great courage in Slytherin, too."
Kreacher stared, dazed and trembling, wringing his hands.
"Warrior? Regulus?" Sirius echoed in disbelief.
In his memory—
Regulus was a meek boy, pushed around by the family.
That face, so like his own, only carried timid ambition and a stale, decayed pride.
It was almost impossible to associate him with the word warrior.
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Powerstones?
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