The courtyard of 12 Grimmauld Place lay bathed in ethereal moonlight. Centuries of neglect had transformed what had once been a formal garden into a wilderness of twisted vines and creeping moss.
Adrian moved through this desolate landscape. He selected a relatively clear area where broken flagstones created a natural circle among the weeds.
"Sir, what shall we do?" Kreacher stood to one side, his eyes filled with unease and anticipation.
"Don't worry," Adrian's voice was particularly clear in the silent night. "We'll begin shortly. The preparations are complete. However, I must insist you retreat to a safe distance. What I'm about to attempt will be... intense."
Kreacher stepped back and saw Adrian pull out a dark red wand that glowed faintly in the darkness.
This was the Flamewood wand.
However...
Kreacher's pupils suddenly contracted. The aura emanating from that Flamewood wand made his entire body tremble—it was a trembling and terror from the soul, as if whatever was contained within would devour him completely.
In fact, his feeling wasn't wrong. That Flamewood wand was far from ordinary.
Adrian had experimented with adding some liquid Fiendfyre—God knows how he'd come up with such a mad idea. But fortunately, the Flamewood seemed capable of controlling this dangerous flame.
Under Kreacher's horrified gaze, Adrian tossed the locket high into the air. The emerald gleamed strangely in the moonlight like an evil eye.
Just as it was about to fall, Adrian raised the Flamewood wand, and hell came to earth.
The flames erupted from the wand's tip. They did not simply appear—they exploded into existence with the fury of a volcano's birth, pouring forth in a torrent of liquid fire. The heat was overwhelming, causing the moisture in the air to instantly vaporize and creating wisps of steam.
But this was no ordinary fire. As the flames twisted and merged in mid-air, they began to take shape—wings of living flame spread wide against the night sky, a neck that curved with grace, talons that sparked.
A phoenix was being born from the very essence of destruction, though this creature bore no resemblance to the noble bird that served as Dumbledore's companion.
This phoenix was a nightmare given form. Its wings, magnificent and terrible, were not composed of simple flame but of twisted human faces pressed into the fire like souls trapped in amber.
Adrian frowned. At this moment, he felt like an evil dark wizard.
Well, that wasn't important.
Being able to cast dark magic didn't make him a dark wizard.
Kreacher covered his ears in terror and collapsed to the ground, watching as this phoenix spread its wings and swallowed the locket whole.
"AHHHHHHHHH—!"
The scream that erupted from the locket was not human, though it had once belonged to something that wore human form. It was the sound of a soul being torn apart.
The locket's surface began to crack and bubble as if it were made of wax held too close to a flame. But more disturbing still was the face that appeared writhing across its golden surface—face that Adrian recognized from his encounter with Tom Riddle's diary.
The young Tom Riddle's handsome face had become something monstrous, his eyes burning with hatred, his mouth was open in that endless scream of rage and disbelief.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. The Fiendfyre phoenix, its terrible purpose fulfilled, folded its wings and allowed itself to be drawn back into the Flamewood wand with reluctance. The flames spiraled inward, growing smaller and dimmer until they disappeared completely, leaving only the faintest afterimage burned into Adrian's retinas.
"I must say, This phoenix looks much uglier than Fawkes."
Adrian turned to find Dumbledore standing beneath the stone archway that led back into the house in a nightgown of deep blue that sparkled with embroidered stars and crescent moons, smiling at them.
"Good evening, Adrian," Dumbledore quickly approached. "It appears you have resolved a rather significant problem this evening."
"Indeed, Professor," Adrian replied, discretely sliding the Flamewood wand back into his sleeve. "I trust we didn't disturb your rest too severely?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he smiled slightly. "Don't forget I'm staying right next door to you. Although I was already asleep, a little fellow kept banging his head against the wall and making tremendous noise."
He then winked. "You can't expect an old man's sleep quality to be very good."
"My sincere apologies," Adrian offered attentively. "Would you perhaps like some Dreamless Sleep Potion? I guarantee mine tastes much sweeter than Snape's. What flavor would you like? How about lemon drop?"
"Ah, but Madam Pomfrey has recently informed me that my fondness for sweets has reached what she terms 'medically inadvisable levels,'"
Dumbledore replied with fake sorrow, patting his stomach with dramatic regret. "I fear even magically-flavored sleep aids fall under her prohibition."
His expression grew more serious, though the twinkle never entirely left his eyes. "But perhaps we should discuss more pressing matters. The object you just burned..."
"Was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes," Adrian finished straightforwardly. "Similar in nature to the diary we encountered previously, though this one had been aging in Kreacher's custody for considerably longer."
"How remarkably curious," Dumbledore said, his tone carrying genuine surprise. "To think that such a dark artifact had been residing in Sirius's ancestral home all this time, hidden away in a cupboard."
"My thoughts exactly," Adrian agreed with a slight shrug. "Though I suppose even the most unlikely hiding places have their merits from a certain perspective."
"But I remember telling you," Dumbledore's voice suddenly became serious, "that when you discover Voldemort's Horcruxes, you should inform me immediately. They're very dangerous."
Adrian shrugged and didn't answer.
Seeing this, Dumbledore couldn't help but sigh. Young people these days were really difficult to manage.
Half an hour later, in the living room.
At the cost of an entire bottle of calming draught, Adrian successfully got Kreacher to calm down again.
Adrian and Dumbledore sat on the sofa, listening to Kreacher recount past events.
In fact, Adrian only remembered that the Horcrux was with Kreacher and had some connection to Sirius's brother Regulus, but he didn't actually know what had specifically happened at the time.
After hearing Kreacher's fragmented account, Adrian couldn't help but feel a touch of admiration for the person named Regulus.
The young man who had once fanatically followed Voldemort, upon realizing Voldemort's cruelty, resolutely chose betrayal. He brought the house-elf Kreacher to that terrifying cave filled with Inferi, drank the deadly poison, switched the real locket, and told Kreacher to find a way to destroy it.
Trading his own life for a chance to destroy a Horcrux. Adrian didn't think it was worth it. But perhaps this was what made a hero.
"Profoundly moving," Dumbledore rubbed his eyes and said softly. "It serves as a reminder that redemption is always possible, even for those who have traveled far down dark paths. If one can fall from light into darkness, surely another can climb from darkness back toward the light."
The sitting room fell into contemplative silence, broken only by the soft whisper of flames consuming wood and the distant sound of London's sleeping streets beyond the walls.
Each of them was lost in their own thoughts—Dumbledore perhaps remembering other young people who had made similar choices, Adrian pondering over Regulus's actions, and Kreacher simply mourning a master whose sacrifice he was finally able to properly honor.
Finally, Adrian broke the silence with a question that had been troubling him since Kreacher's revelation. "What should our next course of action be, Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore pondered for a moment, then turned to Kreacher. "Kreacher, can you take us to that place? The cave where Regulus took you."
Kreacher trembled, his eyes filled with fear, and said shakily. "Kreacher can lead the way, but... but it's very dangerous there. There are those dead... pale things..."
"I'll be there, Kreacher," Dumbledore comforted. "We can't let Regulus's body keep sinking in that lake. He deserves at least a proper funeral. Can you take us there? Right now."
Despite his old age and obvious frailty, the house-elf's magical abilities remained formidable. Transportation magic was among the most vital skills of his kind, as natural as breathing for creatures whose entire existence revolved around serving their masters' needs regardless of distance or obstacle.
"Pop!"
He hesitantly snapped his fingers, and a slight cracking sound echoed through the air.
Adrian felt a familiar pulling sensation—house-elf transportation magic was always more brutal than wizard magic.
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