Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 306 Your skills are truly impressive; you're still got it!
"Let's go."

Dumbledore's tone was exceptionally firm.

Dylan stood aside, but secretly shook his head in his heart.

He knows it very well.

The Horcrux in the crack is long gone.

Regulus Black, Sirius Black's younger brother.

The item has been taken and hidden in the Black family’s old house at 12 Grimmauld Place.

But he wouldn't utter a single word of that.

I didn’t think much more about it.

The three of them used Phantom Teleportation together, instantly appearing at the bottom of the cliff and landing on a bare rock.

The rock surface was rough and covered with undried sea salt, making it a bit uncomfortable to walk on.

The surrounding seawater surged and churned under the influence of the sea breeze, crashing against the rocks time and time again, splashing up tiny white bubbles.

The cool seawater foam drifted over with the wind, landing on my trouser legs and shoes, quickly leaving small wet patches.

"I think we have to swim across."

Moody looked around at the surrounding waters, his brow furrowed slightly as he spoke.

Having fought against dark magic for many years, he knew very well that he shouldn't waste his time now.

No one would be foolish enough to try to part the sea with magic like in the legends.

That's not only unrealistic, but it also consumes an astonishing amount of magic power.

Even though the sea in front of them wasn't large, they still had to deal with Voldemort's traps. The more magic they conserved, the safer they would be later.

"I think you wouldn't mind getting a little wet."

As Dumbledore spoke, he walked first to the edge of the rock.

Without the slightest hesitation, he gently braced his hands on the rocky surface, bent his knees slightly, and nimbly slid into the seawater like a young man.

He held the wand in his mouth, spread his arms, and swam towards the deep crevice in the cliff face using a standard breaststroke motion.

Each stroke was even, and the splashes when kicking were minimal, clearly demonstrating an excellent command of the water.

Although it was early autumn and late summer, the seawater near the shore still felt a bit cool.

Dylan stood on the rock and took a deep breath. As soon as he put his feet into the water, he couldn't help but shiver. The cold seawater stung his skin slightly when it touched his skin.

He pursed his lips, then subtly enveloped himself in magic.

He jumped into the water right behind Dumbledore, his arms moving quickly to keep up with the figure in front of him.

Before long, the crack gradually widened, turning into a dark tunnel.

There's no sunlight here, and the air is even more damp and cold than the sea outside; every breath you take in feels damp.

The rock walls on both sides of the passage were covered with thick mud, and the distance between the two walls was only about three feet. Occasionally, a faint light would flash from the wand that Dumbledore was holding in his mouth.

The light was not dazzling, but a soft, warm white, just enough to illuminate the path ahead without alerting any potential traps.

Under the light, the sticky mud on the rock wall gleamed wetly, looking exceptionally slippery.

Finally, Dumbledore stopped swimming, braced himself with his hands on the ground at the bottom of the tunnel, and slowly stood up from the water.

His silvery-white hair dripped water, and his gray robe clung tightly to his body, shimmering with moisture.

Not far in front of him, there were stone steps, covered with moss, winding upwards to the entrance of a spacious cave.

Dylan also emerged from the water, his fingertips quickly gathering magic as he chanted drying and moisture-proof spells in his mind.

A pale golden light instantly enveloped his entire body, the water droplets on his clothes quickly evaporated, and even his hair became dry and fluffy.

Once he was completely dry, he walked over to Dumbledore and followed him up the stone steps.

Dumbledore did not underestimate Voldemort and was extremely careful with every step he took.

Despite having just cast drying and moisture-proof spells, Dylan still felt a chill creeping up his collar and into his bones as he stood on the stone steps.

The temperature here is abnormally low; it's summer, yet it feels as cold as a late autumn night.

Not to mention, there were gusts of cold wind blowing from the depths of the cave, carrying damp and cold air that stung the face.

He wrapped his coat tighter around himself.

He looked around and saw that the air was still filled with an intense, almost impenetrable aura of dark magic.

When inhaled, it felt like it was mixed with tiny ice crystals, and carried a rotten, chilling sensation.

Even the sticky mud on the rock wall seemed to harden because of this aura, and you could feel the evil magic flowing faintly when you touched it with your fingertips.

It emanates without any concealment, so brazenly and unrestrainedly, making one's hair stand on end.

However, Dylan found these forces not only not repulsive, but rather quite pleasant and comfortable.

After walking up the stone steps for a dozen steps, Dylan and Dumbledore finally stood in the center of the cave.

Both of them raised their wands high, the faint light from their tips spreading throughout the cave, illuminating the rough rock walls and uneven ceiling.

Dumbledore slowly turned his body, his gaze sweeping over every crevice in the rock wall, not even missing the stalactites hanging from the cave ceiling, his eyes exceptionally focused.

He quickly stopped and nodded slightly.

It has now been confirmed that this is the place they are looking for.

Voldemort must have laid a backup plan here to prevent anyone from destroying his Horcruxes.

"Professor, your skills are truly remarkable; you're still got it! You're still got it."

Dylan looked at Dumbledore with admiration, "He's over a hundred years old, and he's still so agile."

He wasn't just flattering me.

While swimming in the sea just now, Dumbledore's strokes were steady and powerful.

When he got ashore, he stood up with his hands on the ground without any hesitation, and he didn't show any signs of old age at all.

This is truly remarkable for a centenarian.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a heavy breathing sound came from behind him, mixed with intermittent curses.

Dylan turned around and saw Moody holding onto the stone steps, slowly making his way up, his face flushed, his forehead covered in sweat, and muttering to himself.

"You two... couldn't you wait for me a moment? Dumbledore, how old are you? Why are you in such a hurry... Dylan, you're just joining in the commotion!"

Clearly, the retired old Auror had fallen behind and was feeling resentful.

Dylan glanced at it and understood.

This is the result of not exercising for a long time; my physical strength is far worse than before.

They are no different from college students who stay at home all summer and never go out. They get tired easily with the slightest movement.

Upon hearing Dylan's praise, Dumbledore's face broke into a hearty smile, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out.

He looked at Dylan and said in a light tone, "Speaking of which, I have to thank you for my skills." Dylan was stunned for a moment, his eyebrows raised slightly, his eyes full of doubt, and he subconsciously tilted his head.

What does this have to do with him?
Dumbledore's eyes lit up as if he had recalled a happy memory, and he continued, "Two Christmases ago, you gave me a photographic stone, didn't you?"

“I practice the movements by following the instructions on the pebbles every day without fail.”

After hearing this, Dylan realized what was going on.

He used to have to prepare too many gifts every year.

Some overly common gifts are not suitable for giving.

So he made a lot of weird and wonderful things.

For example, there are photo stones that teach people how to practice Tai Chi.
Surprisingly, this actually worked!

And Old Deng actually practices along with it?
interesting.

Just then, a creaking sound came from behind, like wood rubbing against a rough surface.

Dylan turned around and saw Moody limping down the stone steps, leaning on a dark brown cane.

His oak prosthetic leg and cane were soaked through by the seawater, and their surfaces were covered with bits of seaweed.

With each step, the prosthetic leg and cane would collide with the smooth stone slabs, producing a harsh scraping sound.

"Are you two doing this on purpose? You know I have a leg injury, yet you walk so fast without even waiting for me!"

Moody walked up to the two of them, stopped, and shouted gruffly, wiping the water droplets from his face.

"Now look what happened! I'm soaked to the bone. If I could just teleport here, I wouldn't have had to suffer like this!"

Dumbledore's gaze fell on Moody's prosthetic leg, his eyes filled with a hint of reminiscence.

He remembered that Moody had mentioned the prosthetic leg when they chatted before.

It was actually an alchemical creation, not only stronger than the legs of an ordinary human, but also exceptionally flexible to control.

—It won't even cramp like a real leg.

He helped Moody a lot when he was fighting against dark magic.

Having known Moody for so many years, he knew Moody's temperament well and knew that Moody was just grumbling and complaining that his retirement life had been disturbed.

Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle, his tone tinged with a hint of teasing: "I remember you used to teach Apparition to upperclassmen at Hogwarts for a while. What, have you forgotten even the 3D principles of Apparition?"

Before Moody could refute, Dumbledore continued, "Destination, determination, and deliberation—you can't do without any of these three."

"We were on the cliff just now, and we couldn't see anything inside the cave. Without a clear destination, how could we possibly have moved successfully?"

"If you force yourself to try, you might fall into the sea halfway through the migration. Whether you can survive the rest of your life depends on whether the sharks nearby are hungry!"

"Hmph, of course I know all that..."

Moody was speechless, and could only sullenly hum, reaching down to unfasten a copper wine jug from his waist.

He unscrewed the lid, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp. His throat bobbed as he let out a satisfied sigh. The anger on his face gradually dissipated, and he quickly regained his usual composure.

Dylan had assumed that Moody would be drinking a spirit like whiskey.

After all, people like Moody, who have been through many battles, often prefer to use strong liquor to relieve fatigue.

But the next second, Moody said something that completely stunned him, leaving him utterly astonished.

"As expected, only a tranquilizer can make me talk to you, you old bee, in a calm and peaceful manner."

Moody put down the wine jug, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and spoke with a hint of lingering anger, though his tone was much gentler than before.

Dylan understood what was going on when he heard this.

Moody's flask contained tranquilizers, not spirits?

But upon closer reflection, this is actually quite reasonable.

As a seasoned former Auror.

Having experienced countless battles throughout his life, Moody must have had extremely strict control over his own condition, making it unlikely that he would become an alcoholic.

Alcohol abuse causes significant damage to the brain.

His profession requires him to maintain a clear mind at all times in order to accurately assess the situation when fighting against dark magic; the slightest negligence could cost him his life.

Even after realizing this, Dylan's admiration for Moody only increased.

This admiration stems not only from Moody's professional ethics.

Furthermore, he knew the taste of tranquilizers.

The bitterness was exceptionally strong, with a metallic, fishy smell. Even a single sip would make an ordinary person feel nauseous and vomit.

But Moody was able to drink this potion as a daily beverage, even in just the last few hours.

Dylan witnessed him drink at least five mouthfuls, each time without changing his expression, as if he were just drinking ordinary water.

Having been an Auror for so many years, Moody was naturally observant and quickly noticed the surprise in Dylan's eyes.

He raised an eyebrow and asked with a hint of impatience, "What kind of look is that? Don't assume I drink this every day."

"Before I retired, I would at most have a couple of sips of alcohol before a battle to clear my head..."

As soon as he finished speaking, Moody slowly turned his body around on the spot.

The oak prosthetic leg made a soft scraping sound on the stone slab.

His bright blue demonic eyes spun wildly, scanning every corner of the cave, not even missing the smallest cracks in the rock walls.

After a moment, he finally spoke and asked, "This place is full of traces of dark magic. This should be the destination we're looking for, right?"

"Unfortunately, Alastor, this is just the foyer, the entrance hall."

Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds before speaking slowly, his tone serious.

“We need to go further in… What’s blocking our way now isn’t an obstacle formed by nature, but a trap set by Voldemort.”

Dumbledore raised his wand, and the glow at the tip of the wand became even brighter, illuminating the view deep within the cave.

He stepped towards the cave wall, stretched out his right hand, and gently brushed his fingertips across the rough rock surface, as if sensing something.

Then, he lowered his head slightly and muttered in a strange tone, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching Dylan and Moody's ears.

Dylan held his breath, trying to decipher the words, and soon realized that Dumbledore was speaking in ancient runes.

After careful consideration.

He roughly understood the meaning, which was roughly—"Reveal your tracks, reveal your secrets."

With each additional word Dumbledore spoke, the aura of dark magic emanating from the rock face grew stronger.

In Dylan's perception, the black magic that lurked in the rocks was like a wild beast that had been awakened, gradually becoming more active.

It almost coalesced into a giant snake with its mouth wide open, its cold tongue flicking out, ready to pounce on Dumbledore at any moment.

Old Deng, however, showed no fear. Starting from the left side of the cave, he slowly walked around the rock wall twice.

(End of this chapter)