Chapter 253: The Burial Place

"What was Rodolphus's scheme?" Harry couldn't help asking. "Do you know?"

"What I know for certain is that two years ago, Voldemort secretly rescued several core Death Eaters and replaced them with Muggles of similar build. This gave them ample time to erase all traces of Rodolphus, allowing him to carry out his secret mission undetected." Snape said. "From Grindelwald's memories, I suspect he operated on the European continent, rallying Grindelwald's former followers and calling himself a Death Eater—he seems intent on linking Grindelwald and Voldemort."

"Grindelwald never called himself the Dark Lord, but Rodolphus insists on referring to him as the First Dark Lord—perhaps to make the Death Eaters see Voldemort as his heir." Snape continued his analysis. "That way, once Grindelwald dies, the Death Eaters gain a fresh wave of recruits."

"Now that Grindelwald is dead, where are these people?" Harry asked.

"Rodolphus has brought them under his command, and through two years of maneuvering, he has successfully become headmaster of Durmstrang. His influence is no longer negligible." Snape drew a breath. "The Death Eaters are not a unified front. With Voldemort dead, the great families will begin vying against each other."

"So we can incite them to fight among themselves…" Harry's eyes lit up instantly.

"We can discuss that later. First, let's look at this painting." Snape lifted the cloth, then nodded knowingly. "Neville killing Nagini is a noble gesture, but there's one fatal flaw: where are Dumbledore and Voldemort?"

"Uh, at the Battle of Tranzerro." Harry scratched his head. "Maybe the painting's title could be changed to: Dumbledore and Voldemort at the Battle of Tranzerro."

"That's not funny." Snape shook his head, then tapped his temple with his wand. "I can fix it for you."

He pulled out a strand of silvery thread and touched it to the canvas. A lifelike image of Dumbledore appeared on the left side, his wand emitting a red beam. Where the red met a green beam, a bald, grotesque face emerged on the right—Voldemort.

Then Snape rolled up his sleeve, used his wand to extract a tendril of black smoke from his Dark Mark, and pressed it onto Voldemort's figure. He gave the mark a satisfied pat.

"Now your lie is ninety-nine percent credible." He said. "I'm considering hanging this painting near the headmaster's office, replacing that stupid Baruffio tapestry. By the way, what was its original name?"

Hogwarts Fell, or Here Ends. Harry hesitated—paintings usually had only one title—then spoke: "Hogwarts No Longer Falls."

"Excellent. The students will like that name." Snape spoke slowly. "You may go. If one day you decide to tell me the truth, I will be glad to listen."

When Harry left the headmaster's office, breakfast was over. But Ron had brought him a sandwich—this time, it tasted remarkably good.

Along with the sandwich was a letter. Harry glanced at the envelope—it was from Sirius. He opened it in his dormitory. The letter contained only one sentence: Meet at the Three Broomsticks at one in the afternoon.

"Harry, what I'm about to tell you is vital." Sirius said urgently upon meeting. "Let's find another place to talk."

Harry obediently gripped his arm. After Apparating, they appeared at Grimmauld Place. Sirius led him into the Black family mansion and called out: "Kreacher, stay in the kitchen. Don't come out. Don't listen to our conversation."

After sitting on the sofa, Sirius leaned forward, took a deep breath, and said: "I caught the Werewolf."

Harry nodded, watching him expectantly.

"That girl—we found a strange instrument in her home, which revealed the Werewolf's secret: she underwent a procedure that split her into two personalities. One is an ignorant Muggle; the other harbors all her secrets and magical power. Each time, the witch personality casts the Imperius Curse on a mirror, briefly controlling the Muggle to act." Sirius described an unbelievable truth. "We captured the witch personality and forced her to take Veritaserum. It was horrifying—the Doctor Project was a complete conspiracy."

"I already know. Freezing time, sealing Dumbledore and Voldemort—all of it was part of their plan. Small Barty told me."

"Small Barty?" Sirius looked distinctly puzzled.

"You interrupted his Summoning Ritual. He's been trapped in that time forever." Harry said. "I was trapped there too. He told me everything."

"Trapped there? Yes, the Werewolf mentioned it too." Sirius nodded. "But how did you get out?"

"Zhang Qiu used some method from the Celestial Empire." Harry said. "The cost was she had to remain unconscious for one or two months. She's now lying in the school infirmary."

"She's a good girl." Sirius paused. "Yes, I remember—you told everyone Voldemort and Dumbledore are sealed inside that painting. Is that your plan?"

"Exactly. Grindelwald told Renata in person: if the Death Eaters gather all the Horcruxes and destroy the painting, Voldemort can be revived." Harry said. "It's brilliant—it terrifies any foreign wizard with ill intent, and lets you pretend to still serve Voldemort, so you can openly investigate and collect Horcruxes."

"This claim…" Sirius mused. "Undoubtedly, Bellatrix is the only one truly loyal to Voldemort. I now command many Death Eaters—I can easily hold back, pretending I have ambitions to break away. As long as the locket remains in my possession, she's held hostage."

"Is the situation among the Death Eaters complicated?" Harry asked.

"You could say that. Lucius must be guarding at least one Horcrux—he's the wealthiest, and Voldemort always kept him at arm's length. He likely has ambitions of independence." Sirius said. "Bellatrix probably has at least one Horcrux too, but she has no special qualities beyond Voldemort's favoritism."

"Now she does." Harry added. "Rodolphus has been secretly operating in Europe, luring a large number of Grindelwald's supporters to serve him. He's now headmaster of Durmstrang."

"Hss…" Sirius's expression turned grave. "Oh right—Snape. He's now headmaster of Hogwarts. That greasy git."

"Perhaps the diadem Dumbledore found is in his possession." Harry suddenly remembered. "Oh, and the ring Dumbledore destroyed is with me, and Draco still has a diary."

"Six?" Sirius calculated. "Voldemort was obsessed with the number seven. He even made Crabbe and Goyle sit at the table just to reach seven people. So there's one more."

"Maybe that's me." Harry lifted his hair, revealing his scar. "Dumbledore told me a sliver of Voldemort's soul clung to me. When I saw his expression during the battle, he might have already known."

"That makes sense. After his resurrection, he made only one more Horcrux, stored at Malfoy's." Sirius exhaled. "Now the question is: how do we guess what it is, where it's hidden, and steal it?"

"Or use another method—get them to willingly hand over the Horcruxes to Regulus Black." Harry suggested.

"You're right. Regulus's role is now more valuable than Sirius's. I'll plan carefully." Sirius nodded deeply. "Since you've learned everything from Small Barty, I won't waste your time. Let me send you back—you still have final exams to prepare for."

Though Harry wanted to say he didn't need exams, he didn't argue. Sirius seemed to have an idea and was about to get busy.

A week later, under Snape's direction, Dumbledore's funeral was held by the lake at Hogwarts. Every professor wore their most formal black attire, their expressions solemn. Snape, unusually, combed his hair, leading the students toward hundreds of chairs arranged in neat rows.

Several people already sat in those chairs—nearly every face Harry had ever seen in the wizarding world was there. Even Bellatrix, veiled in black, sat beside Rodolphus—he had come as headmaster of Durmstrang.

Harry couldn't help feeling irritated: were these Death Eaters here to mourn Dumbledore—or their Dark Master?

The merpeople of the Black Lake emitted a haunting, ethereal lament. Hagrid walked slowly forward, carrying a box. To the general public, the Ministry announced that Dumbledore and Voldemort had killed each other in battle. But more informed wizards had heard rumors of the painting. McGonagall and members of the Order did not weep—they still clung to a faint hope.

After the funeral, Harry brought Sirius to Tranzerro. No one maintained the Pandora Tower anymore; they easily reached the summit.

Sirius slowly placed a bouquet on the ground and whispered: "Is this Dumbledore's true burial place?"

Harry could no longer hold back his tears. For a moment, he had even convinced himself that Dumbledore was sealed in the painting, and perhaps one day he could be rescued. But standing here, in this familiar yet alien tower, Harry finally remembered the terrible truth: Dumbledore would never return.

In that moment, he forgot all schemes and plans. He knelt on the ground, sobbing, clutching his head. The boy had too many identities in the wizarding world, and wore too many masks. But here, in Tranzerro, the Burial Place, he was truly Harry Potter—the kind, emotional, stubbornly idealistic, not-so-smart Harry Potter.