R.A.B.

Fawkes eventually came back to pick up William.

William saw right through its little scheme.

Christmas is almost here, and I'm worried I won't get it a present.

William sends it a lot of snacks every year, with flavors from various countries.

This heartless creature, the only treat William gave it this year was a little Blast-Ended Skrewt poop.

Everyone who's tried Blast-Ended Skrewt says they're delicious; maybe Fawkes will like them too.

Upon arriving at the island, William looked around.

This smooth, rocky islet, only the size of the Headmaster's Office, is empty on all sides, with a stone basin in the center.

The stone basin was filled with a bright green liquid that Winky phosphorescence.

The three of them walked over, stood in front of the stone basin, and looked at the green liquid.

"It seems to refill automatically every now and then," William observed for a moment and said.

According to Harry's dream, Tom had drunk the Potions. But now, the liquid was filling the stone basin again.

Dumbledore stretched out his right hand, his fingertips touching the liquid.

"I can't reach it, so I can't extend my hand any further." He smiled with interest. "You two should try it too."

William reached out his hand, and he could clearly feel an invisible resistance. No matter how hard he pressed his hand down, his fingers seemed to touch only the incredibly hard and unbreakable air.

Voldemort's "high-tech" skills... are truly numerous. The location of this Horcrux's hiding place is probably one of his proudest creations.

Why is Tom becoming the Dark Moe Lord? Can't he just focus on studying magic and pursuing a promising career as a magician?

So, as I said before: the Dark Lord's idea was great, but it could easily become William's in the next second.

Dumbledore raised his wand and made some complex movements on the surface of the liquid, silently chanting a spell.

But nothing happened; the only difference was that the light emitted by the liquid seemed to have become slightly brighter.

"It cannot be touched by hand, nor separated by the Vanishing Spell, nor made to Transfiguration by magic, nor altered by any other means," Dumbledore muttered to himself.

"What if we scoop out the liquid and pour it away?" Hermione asked after a moment's thought.

William raised his wand, twirled it in the air, and conjured a tall crystal goblet in his hand.

He placed the crystal glass into the liquid, and it sank immediately, becoming soaked in a large amount of Potions.

The hand cannot touch it, but the object can sink into it.

The goblet was quickly filled with the Potions, and the liquid in the stone basin decreased slightly.

William took out the cup and poured the liquid onto the ground.

Hermione, who had been staring at the stone basin, shook her head and said, "The liquid in the basin has returned to normal."

It seems that pouring the water out won't work; it will automatically restore the water level.

William thought for a moment and decided to find a larger container to scoop out all the liquid at once.

He conjured up a large porcelain jar and placed it back into the stone basin.

However, only a portion of the liquid entered the porcelain jar before it could be filled with more.

"It seems that only a fixed volume of solution can be taken out at a time," Hermione analyzed.

"If these Potions aren't drunk, we can't continue extracting liquid. If we pour them elsewhere, the water level in the stone basin will return to normal."

She rested her chin on her hand and speculated:

"I think... if the Potions is taken away with a cup and not drunk for a long time, the water level in the stone basin will automatically return to normal."

"That should be it," William said, squinting. "To obtain the Horcrux, we have no choice but to drink it."

They were all mentally prepared that if there were other options, Little Tom wouldn't have chosen to drink the Potions.

Voldemort had clearly considered all the loopholes.

William and Hermione found no clues, while Dumbledore stared at the stone basin, his face reflected in the smooth green liquid.

The principal said slowly:

"Without a doubt, this drug would likely paralyze the user, cause extreme pain, make it impossible for them to concentrate, and make them forget the purpose of their visit."

Or, lose capacity in other ways.

"A wizard who has lost his powers will be killed by the Inferi in the lake." William exclaimed, "This protective mechanism... is quite ingeniously designed."

Hermione nodded.

"Then someone needs to take it, the kind that won't kill them," William said, glancing at Fawkes.

It immediately bristled, and after a flash of fire, it vanished without a trace.

"..."

What a coward, just like Fang.

William was just saying it; he certainly wouldn't Fawkes drink the Potions.

Although Fawkes can be reborn, he is Dumbledore's little pet.

And it's impossible for the three of them to drink this kind of Potions.

Besides, William carried a large number of small animals with him.

After thinking for a moment, he chose Hagrid's daughter, the Blast-Ended Skrewt, from among the many Fantastic Beasts.

The Blast-Ended Skrewt is great; it's sturdy and robust, and most importantly... I don't know what it's for.

So, it has to be this one.

William pulled out the Blast-Ended Skrewt, which lay dazedly on the ground, looking listless and completely drained.

It had lost too much blood and taken sleeping pills, so it was indeed a bit lethargic.

"Here, have something to drink, sweetie, you'll feel better after you drink." William shoved the cup into the mouth of the Blast-Ended Skrewt.

He's like that creepy old man in the bar who tries to get young girls drunk, just waiting to pick them up after they're passed out.

If the Blast-Ended Skrewt refuse, he has a solution—an enema!

The Blast-Ended Skrewt eventually drank it, letting out a weak cry, which was a pity.

Its usual calls are quite unpleasant, so it's impossible to tell whether it's enjoying its drink or feeling unwell.

William assumed it was the former, and so he drank one glass after another without stopping.

The Blast-Ended Skrewt wiggled its tail, trying to poke at William's arm, but its whole body was numb, and its stiff tail went limp.

It lay on the ground, looking at William with fear in its eyes.

Demon!

This is a demon!

Hagrid, come save me!

The Blast-Ended Skrewt gradually changed from fierce to adorably fierce.

After downing more than a dozen cups of Potions, the stone basin was finally empty.

Dumbledore retrieved a locket from under the stone basin and stuffed it into his robe.

"We can go back now," he said.

William put away the Blast-Ended Skrewt, poured the last bit of Potions into a goblet, and prepared to go back and study its ingredients.

If conditions allowed, he would have packed up the stone basin and the bronze boat and taken them with him.

These Sickle have once belonged to Voldemort... but they will all eventually become William's.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers, and Fawkes appeared with a snap. He grabbed the three of them, and a flash of fire disappeared in the blink of an eye.

William landed quickly on the ground. He looked up and found himself back in the warm Headmaster's Office.

Dumbledore placed the locket on the table, and the old headmasters, no longer pretending to be asleep, all opened their eyes and began whispering among themselves.

Phineas Black even put on a monocle, trying to peer out with great curiosity.

William stared at the locket, his brow furrowing slightly. His intuition told him that something was amiss.

He has already handled two Horcrux and can be considered a veteran of many battles.

But this locket, unlike the Ravenclaw's Diadem, doesn't have that cold, gloomy feel to it.

Dumbledore sat in the chair and turned the locket over.

The locket looked ordinary, without any markings. He opened it gently and found nothing inside except a tightly folded piece of parchment.

The headmaster took out the parchment, opened it, and read:

To the Dark Lord:

I died long before you read this. But I want you to know that I discovered your secret.

I stole the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as possible. I'm willing to risk my life so that you can be killed when you encounter an opponent.

R. A. B.

"The Dark Lord... a Death Eaters stole Voldemort's Horcrux," William said slowly, staring at the parchment.

Only Death Eaters would call Voldemort the Dark Lord.

"It seems so." Dumbledore extended his long, slender fingers and gently touched the last signature.

"R. A. B..." Hermione repeated, thinking about those famous wizards.

She tapped her head, and, with her excellent memory, replied:

"Rosalind Antigonus Bangus... Rubeus Axbanker Stan... These are the only two famous wizards I can think of right now."

"They don't match up at all. These people aren't Death Eaters..." William shook his head.

"Yes, yes," Hermione said, troubled.

Phineas in the portrait suddenly said:

"Among Pure-blood families, only the Black family usually has the initials B... I always sign my name as P. N. B."

Dumbledore's brow relaxed, and he nodded, saying, "Then it's clear. As far as I know, only one wizard from the Black family has become Death Eaters..."

"Sirius brother— Regulus Arcturus Black!"

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