HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

West took the Slytherin locket from Kreacher, weighed it in his hand for a few moments, felt the soul fluctuations emanating from it, and clicked his tongue with amusement, "This is real."

"So the one in the cave is fake?" Snape frowned, his tone certain. "Black...switched the locket?"

"What exactly happened?" Dumbledore asked softly, as if he had aged considerably in an instant.

This aging was not due to his appearance, but rather to the fact that his once vibrant spirit had once again fallen into a deep decline.

"Kreacher! Tell me!" Sirius Black, panting heavily, gave the command.

Kreacher's voice was muffled and hoarse. "A year after Lord Regulus joined the Death Eaters, he came to visit Kreacher in the kitchen. He said..." Kreacher sobbed, "...that the Dark Lord wanted a little elf."

"Young Master Regulus offered Kreacher, which was an honor... So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a large cave by the sea... inside which was a black lake..."

Kreacher's voice was tinged with terror. "The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink the potion in the stone basin... When Kreacher drank it, he saw many horrific sights... Kreacher begged Master Regulus to save him, begged the Mistress, but the Dark Lord just laughed, forced Kreacher to drink the potion, and threw a locket into the empty basin..."

"Kreacher was dragged into the lake by the Inferi..." Kreacher's eyes were bloodshot. "But Master Regulus said Kreacher had to come home..."

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to hide... and then one day, the master took Kreacher back to that cave..."

Kreacher wept bitterly, "Young Master Regulus gave Kreacher a fake locket... He told Kreacher to replace the locket after the stone basin dries..."

"He ordered Kreacher to take the real locket home—ignore him, and forbid him from telling the mistress. Kreacher was to find a way to destroy the locket—then the young master drank the potion, and Kreacher watched helplessly as the young master... was dragged underwater..."

At this point, the whole truth came to light.

The silence spread.

Sirius covered his face and slumped helplessly to the ground.

How could this happen?

Regulus… he was so young, with such a long life ahead of him. He embarked on a path of no return alone, and his brother never knew, never knew he was struggling alone in the darkness, never knew he had given his life to fight against Voldemort.

Sirius recalled those dark days when he hated and distanced himself from Regulus because Regulus had joined the Death Eaters.

How could he be worthy of being Regulus's brother?

Sirius trembled, his eyes red-rimmed. "If I had paid more attention to Regulus, talked to him more..." Would everything have been different?

Dumbledore fell into a profound silence. His guilt was no less than Sirius's.

It turns out that someone had already found traces of the Horcrux before him.

Regulus Black, this name should be known by more people. The boy who always hid in his brother's shadow accomplished such a feat in the dead of night when no one knew.

Dumbledore prided himself on understanding people's hearts, yet he overlooked such a courageous heart, which he allowed to burn out alone in the darkness.

Perhaps this is the price of being too fixated on the big picture.

"This is not your fault, Al," Grindelwald said in a deep voice.

"No, it is." Dumbledore's back was slightly hunched, his face was full of fatigue, and his once all-knowing deep blue eyes were now dull and lifeless.

Grindelwald said nothing more. A barely audible sigh dissipated in the air.

"It's too late for regrets now," West said, not wanting to offer any further comment.

He gripped Snape's trembling fingertips and said, "To fulfill Regulus's last wish, to not let his sacrifice be in vain, is the only thing we can do."

The Slytherin locket was thrown into the fireplace, where a burst of fierce flames purified it, restoring it to its original state.

In the raging flames, Sirius seemed to see a slender boy with black hair smiling at him with relief, gradually dissipating into a warm light and shattering into countless gold foils.

As West pulled the locket from the ashes, Sirius picked up Regulus's body and said, "I'm going to take Regulus back to the Black family cemetery."

Sirius seemed to remember something and led Regulus into a locked room on the first floor. After returning to the Black family home, he put his mother's portrait into this room.

A sharp, angry curse rang out in the room—then the woman's voice suddenly stopped, as if she were being choked, and gradually turned into a painful wail.

The missing youngest son returned home once more, now a cold, lifeless corpse.

Regulus was different from his brother. He took pride in his pureblood and Black heritage, and an innate arrogance flowed through his veins. His family was both his pride and his prison.

In the midst of your burning agony, Regulus, what horrific visions do you see? Is it the inhuman Dark Lord, your brother's departing figure, your mother's indifference and pressure, or the remorse for your blind obedience and sin? Amidst your suffering, do you also feel a sense of relief?

He completed his path of redemption with his life, betrayed the shackles of his family with his life, and proved to his brother with his life that he was not an incurable dark wizard.

In every moment of struggle, in the final realization of life, did you ever think of using this method to bring eternal and completely different glory back to the cold Black family?

Mrs. Blake's tears seeped through the portrait, dripping onto the dusty floor of Blake's old house.

West felt the tremor beneath his feet and looked up in surprise.

“There are some old family mansions that are alive,” West explained, leading Snape by the hand, under his questioning gaze. “The Black House recognizes Regulus—it weeps for Regulus.”

An invisible and sacred family magic was at work in this ancient house.

Suddenly, a glimmer of light seeped through the cracks in the old Blake mansion, the peeling family tapestries trembled and smoothed out their wrinkles, the mold on the portraits in the gold frames faded, and the robes of the ancestors regained their silky luster.

The once-smashed display case rang out, the shattered silverware reassembled in mid-air, and the candlesticks ignited with bright yellow flames, illuminating every newly formed grain of wood.

The dusty spiral staircase began to rotate, repairing its cracks, and the creaking steps were magically smoothed out. The faded Persian carpet blossomed anew.

In the blink of an eye, the once gloomy and dilapidated mansion has been completely transformed. The stone beasts on the eaves blink their eyes, and the bronze snakes on the door knockers flick their tongues, as if time has turned back, recreating the most glorious appearance of the Black family.

The entire old house emitted an ancient and heavy hum, as if mourning its young master.

Fourteen years after Regulus's death, on the first day he returned to the old house, it greeted him with a warm and new look.

Welcome home, Regulus Black. Welcome back to the starting point you risked your life to escape from, and then risked your life to protect.