Chapter 189: Regulus Black

At the spot Dumbledore’s wand pointed, the stone wall revealed the outline of an archway, glowing with a brilliant white light emanating from within.

“Success!” Sirius Black exclaimed, exhilarated.

But before the words had fully left his lips, the outline vanished. Dumbledore frowned slightly, his gaze fixed intently on the wall.

“Oh… I see. That’s how it is.” He murmured to himself. “Though crude, it’s undeniably effective…”

Turning to the others, he said, “I believe we’ll have to pay a price to pass.”

“A price?” Remus Lupin asked.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied, his tone cool. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s blood.” He drew a short blade from thin air and rolled up his sleeve.

“Let me do it, Professor!” Sirius Black stepped forward, snatching the blade without hesitation and slashing his own forearm. Crimson blood welled instantly.

Wade hesitated, his mouth opening as if to speak—then closed it again. Silence.

Inside his Cloak Space, he kept a small menagerie of magical creatures. Most were gifts from Newt Scamander and Steven Mor; a few were orphaned, injured, or deformed young animals he’d found near the Maze’s edge.

Whenever he came across a creature too weak to survive on its own, he’d bring it home—adding to the diversity of life within his hidden sanctuary. With magic and enchanted automatons to help, caring for them and maintaining cleanliness was never a burden.

Before this journey, Wade had intended to bring a few larger animals to provide blood. But seeing Sirius Black’s immediate, reckless act, he decided against it.

Not that he couldn’t have stopped it—there were opportunities. But sometimes, sacrifice and bloodshed could be a balm against deeper wounds.

Dumbledore didn’t stop him. He whispered a spell, and the blood splattered across the wall. The archway reappeared, glowing fiercely.

In the dazzling white light, the stone dissolved, revealing a dark, gaping doorway.

“Done,” Dumbledore said, pointing his wand at Sirius Black’s wound. Instantly, the cut sealed shut.

Remus Lupin stepped inside, his wand casting a beam of light that illuminated the cavern. One by one, the others followed.

Before them stretched a vast, endless black lake—its surface like a mirror, perfectly still, reflecting nothing but the faint glow of their wands where they touched the water.

The darkness here felt thick, almost tangible—dense and suffocating. Remus Lupin’s light seemed to be smothered, its radiance only illuminating a small circle around them.

“Could there really be a hidden underground lake beneath this cliff?” Remus murmured, sweeping his wand slowly. “Or is someone inside using an Invisibility Expansion Charm?”

He saw no trace of enchantment.

“I think it’s both, Remus,” Dumbledore said, his gaze fixed ahead.

In the center of the lake, something pulsed—a faint green light, glowing like a distant star in the abyss.

“That must be something important,” Sirius Black said, mounting his broomstick. “I’ll fly over first. If it’s safe, you can follow.”

“Wait, Mr. Black,” Wade called, pulling him back. He released another old broomstick.

“Let it go first.”

Under the watchful eyes of the group, the broomstick shot forward.

Halfway across, it suddenly froze—like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web—then plunged straight down into the water.

Pale hands emerged from the surface, grasping the broomstick with frantic urgency, dragging it beneath.

“Undead corpses!” Sirius Black gasped, his face paling. Remus Lupin went white too.

“Could this be Voldemort’s army?” Remus whispered.

He didn’t flinch at speaking the name, but in this oppressive silence, his voice dropped to a hush.

“Army?” Dumbledore mused. “I’d say they’re better described as guardians. They’ve stood watch here day and night, ready to destroy anyone who dares intrude.”

“How tragic,” Remus said. “Even after death, they serve the very man who killed them.”

Sirius snorted. “That’s what happens when you spend your life chasing dark magic. All those necromancers, playing with dead bodies—smell like rotting flesh.”

Wade remained silent, studying the lake.

To ordinary eyes, the cavern was just a still, dark expanse. But Wade saw the truth: the air above the water was woven with intricate magical sigils—protective runes that barred all entry from above, even a single bird.

Only one hidden tunnel remained—visible to him as a narrow, glowing green passage leading deep into the lake’s heart.

And beneath the surface, a powerful curse lay dormant. It drained life from anyone who touched it, swiftly reducing them to death. Worse, it slowly transformed the bodies of those who fell into it into new undead corpses.

This curse far surpassed Wade’s skill. Much of it remained incomprehensible.

At the lake’s center, a dense lattice of magic formed a golden column of light—so intense it obscured the green glow from view.

Sirius and Remus cautiously circled the lake, then returned. “Nothing else,” they confirmed.

Dumbledore already had a plan—but he waited, turning to Wade.

“What did you find, Wade?”

“The way across is hidden in the lake,” Wade said. “But we have time. Why not eliminate the undead first, then investigate the center?”

It wasn’t quite what Dumbledore expected—but he gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Then let’s do it.”

Sirius crouched by the shore. “The lake can’t be drained. Let’s lure them out.” He glanced around. “But we only have three brooms left.”

“Brooms aren’t needed,” Wade said. He tapped his backpack with his wand.

A firebird emerged, landing on a protruding rock. It tilted its head, watching the group with curious, intelligent eyes.

“This is my magical companion,” Wade said. “Mihal.”

Remus was impressed. “Your alchemy skills are growing ever more refined.”

Dumbledore watched silently, his blue eyes flickering faintly. He turned to Remus, considering him for a moment—then said nothing.

Wade leaned close to Mihal and whispered instructions.

The bird dimmed its flames, spread its wings, and darted forward—skimming low along the lake’s edge, then diving straight toward the water.

Three pale hands burst from the surface, seizing Mihal’s talons—then recoiled as if burned.

Sirius Black seized the instant, pointing his wand. The two corpses were yanked from the lake and thrown onto the rocks.

A gaunt man and a woman in soaked pajamas—eyes dull and gray, skin deathly pale, hair and clothes clinging to their bodies like wet rags.

Mihal didn’t hesitate. A torrent of inferno flame erupted from its beak, engulfing both bodies in an instant.

The flames crawled up the walls, but didn’t spread—consumed entirely by the fire.

Though undead corpses were dark magic, they feared flame and light above all. This inferno was stronger than ordinary fire—yet Mihal’s flames didn’t take the shape of a beast. To the eye, it looked like ordinary firewood.

But Dumbledore knew better.

He narrowed his eyes, yet his attention remained fixed on the firebird—his gaze filled with quiet awe.

Mihal seemed to find it amusing. It swooped back over the lake, skimming the surface like a stone skipping across water.

The firebird emitted heat only slightly stronger than a normal torch. The mindless undead, blind to the danger, reached out—only to be yanked from the water by the others and thrown into the flames.

The cleanup became a mechanical rhythm. Sirius Black’s spellcasting remained swift and precise—but his eyes had begun to glaze over.

Another pale figure leapt from the lake, chasing the free-flying bird.

Sirius reacted instinctively, casting a spell to pull it ashore.

Then—silence.

A sudden, invisible explosion cracked through his mind.

Sirius froze. His body trembled. His eyes followed the undead corpse as it fell into the fire. His mind went blank.

Dumbledore sensed the disturbance instantly. He raised his wand—blocking the corpse mid-air and setting it down on dry rock.

Remus stared, wide-eyed. “It’s him…” he breathed. “He’s… it’s Regulus.”

Wade turned.

There, standing on the shore, was a young man—strikingly similar to the teenage Sirius Black. Same dark hair. Same gray, lifeless eyes. The same delicate, almost delicate features.

He stumbled forward, unsteady, as if lost.

Dumbledore sighed.

Sirius took a step forward, his lips trembling. He stared at the hollow eyes—those eyes clouded like dusty cobwebs.

He knew Regulus had died.

Old Pure-Blood families had ways of tracking their members’ fates. Though they’d never found his body.

Shortly before Regulus died, Sirius’s father—his beloved bloodline purist—had passed away too.

Their mother, Walburga, had broken under the grief. She’d sent Sirius dozens of howling letters, screaming in agony, cursing him, screaming, “Why wasn’t it you?”

That was when Sirius learned: his younger brother was dead.

Honesty forced him to admit—though he grieved, he hadn’t been truly surprised.

Regulus had always been weak. Despite being fed the doctrine of Pure-Blood superiority, his worldview had been naive, simple. He dreamed of greatness for his kind—but never grasped Voldemort’s true cruelty. He had no preparation for the darkness he’d been asked to embrace.

No one knew how Regulus died.

But Sirius and Walburga both suspected he’d tried to leave the Death Eaters—frightened, torn—only to be killed by Voldemort or his followers.

Sirius never knew if his mother regretted pushing Regulus into that path.

Afterward, Walburga withdrew completely—locked away, refusing even to see her only remaining son.

Sirius had long since accepted the loss.

Since graduation, he’d joined the Phoenix Society, fighting on the front lines. He’d watched comrades die—tortured, murdered. Some had even been his own younger brothers.

He’d prepared himself for death. For hatred. For loss.

But now—seeing Regulus’s body, walking toward him under magic’s command—thirteen years of grief crashed over him like a storm.

He couldn’t breathe.

Regulus reached him. Up close, the hollow eyes were unbearable.

“Regulus… what did Voldemort do to you?” Sirius whispered.

The corpse couldn’t answer. Cold, white hands seized his shoulders—slow, deliberate, dragging him back toward the lake.

“Sirius Black!” Remus lunged forward, slashing a spell that sent Regulus flying backward—nearly falling into the water. Wade caught him mid-air, then used his wand to bind the body from head to toe with a long, glowing rope.

Regulus writhed on the ground—but undead corpses weren’t strong. The bonds held.

Sirius stood frozen.

Finally, Remus placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sirius Black… are you alright?”

“I… I’m fine,” Sirius stammered. “I knew he was dead. I just… never thought I’d see him here.”

He exhaled, blood returning to his limbs. His body warmed.

He pushed Remus’s hand away, gripped his wand tighter.

“We continue.”

He looked at the lake—ripples spreading outward, pale hands rising again and again from the dark water.

His voice, calm, unfamiliar even to himself, echoed through the cavern.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end