Chapter 200: Kreacher and Regulus
Kreacher’s muttering voice stopped abruptly. His pale eyes bulged like those of a bullfrog, fixed on Wade as he whispered, barely audible: “Master Regulus… funeral?”
It was as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.
“Hey, this guy’s been hearing everything this whole time!” Ron snapped, frustration boiling over. For the past while, they’d been struggling through the grueling task of cleaning the house—enduring Kreacher’s constant insults and vitriol. Ron had nearly thrown a punch after a few heated exchanges, but Hermione had calmed him down, insisting the House-elf was simply mad, babbling nonsense. Now, with the truth laid bare, Ron could barely contain his irritation.
But the two figures at the center of the room didn’t react. Wade had done all this not to play the silent hero.
He spoke simply, clearly:
“Not long ago, we discovered the remains of Mr. Regulus Black in a cave, along with a pendant box and a note he left for someone.”
“We know he made a heroic sacrifice against Voldemort. That’s why Sirius Black decided to give him a proper funeral. That’s why he came back—to reclaim his home. That’s why we’re here, to help.”
Kreacher’s mouth fell open in shock. But then, the mention of the pendant box and the note snapped something into place in his mind.
His body trembled violently. His voice cracked, hoarse with disbelief:
“H-He… Master Regulus… is he… is he…”
“Sirius Black just took him to the bedroom,” Wade said. “If you’d come down a little sooner, you could’ve seen them…”
The words hadn’t even finished echoing when a sharp crack split the air—Kreacher vanished from sight.
Everyone knew where he’d gone. Upstairs. To greet his long-lost master.
Wade stood. The room fell utterly silent, everyone staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
“House-elves share a deep bond with their homes,” Wade explained. “As long as they’re aware of the purpose, and no longer resent us, the cleaning becomes effortless. And don’t let his age fool you—he’s capable of feats beyond the ordinary. Don’t treat him like an ordinary old man.”
“Uh…” Theo glanced at the others. “Wade, how did you know he’d cooperate afterward?”
Wade arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t Harry say Regulus had always liked him? House-elf emotions are pure. If Regulus cared for him… Kreacher would’ve felt it too. He’d be willing to do anything for him.”
The room was quiet.
Even Percy, still lingering on the second-floor stairs, felt an odd, inexplicable urge to look up—toward the Great Hall entrance—where a second-year student stood like a figure of quiet strength.
“Well…” Wade turned to the group, his tone oddly thoughtful. “I was wondering—why didn’t any of you tell Kreacher our real purpose?”
They all looked at each other.
“He started shouting the moment he appeared.”
“I was too busy arguing with him!”
“I thought he was deaf—couldn’t hear a thing.”
“We all know what happened. No need to keep repeating it.”
“Talking about a funeral… it’s just too painful.”
“We’ve got enough on our plates already…”
They spoke in a jumble, each trying to justify their silence, to prove they weren’t foolish—just too busy.
Then, all eyes turned to Remus Lupin.
—We’re not perfect, sure. But you and Sirius have been here for ages. Why didn’t you say a word?
Remus Lupin gave a bitter smile, something strange stirring within him—like a force he couldn’t resist.
“I… I thought it would only deepen Sirius’s pain,” he admitted quietly.
Then, from upstairs, a piercing, heart-wrenching sob tore through the winding corridors. It echoed with such raw agony that even the walls seemed to shiver.
Remus paused, his voice thick. “I’m going up.”
“I’m coming too,” Harry said instantly.
Remus hesitated. Then, “Alright… Wade, you too?”
“Of course,” Wade replied without hesitation.
Remus looked at the others. “Don’t worry about us. Just… keep going.”
“Go ahead,” Fred said, stepping forward. “We’ll take a break. The kitchen’s got Butterbeer—help yourselves.”
With that, the three of them hurried upstairs.
Creaking wooden stairs groaned beneath their feet. Wade didn’t have time to notice the dim, shadowed portraits lining the walls—only the hanging heads of House-elves, frozen in silence, caught his eye.
They reached the fifth floor, and from a distance, they heard the desperate, muffled sound of Kreacher banging his head against the floor.
“I failed, Master Regulus… I couldn’t destroy the pendant box… I didn’t follow your command…”
He sobbed uncontrollably, his voice broken and incoherent, pleading with his dead master, begging forgiveness.
“Stop, Kreacher,” Sirius Black said, his voice unnervingly calm. “Tell me everything. How did Regulus die? What did he ask of you? What is this pendant box?”
The bedroom door stood open. As Wade and the others stepped inside, they saw the dim light of the room—darkness pooled like ink—revealing a black coffin placed in the center.
Sirius Black sat on the floor, back pressed against the coffin, his face lost in shadow. Only his eyes were visible—glowing faintly, like embers in the dark.
Kreacher collapsed on the ground, weeping. Then, under the weight of his master’s command, he gasped for breath, pain wracking his body as he recounted the truth:
Regulus Black, proud of his Pureblood heritage, had joined the Death Eaters at sixteen. A year later, he gave Kreacher to the Dark Lord—a gesture he believed was an honor, a way to serve his master.
But Voldemort didn’t see it that way. He took Kreacher to the cave, forced him to drink a potion, and watched as the undead corpses dragged him beneath the water—testing the protections of the Horcrux.
Yet Kreacher had returned.
Because Regulus had instructed him to return home after completing the task. And Kreacher’s magic—unlike a wizard’s—could not be blocked by Voldemort’s counter-Apparition spell.
When Regulus learned what had happened, he was terrified. He told Kreacher to hide, to never leave the house. Later, he summoned Kreacher again—this time, he went into the cave himself.
He drank the poison.
He commanded Kreacher not to follow, not to tell their mother what he’d done. But he gave one final order: destroy the pendant box.
Yet the box was protected by powerful magic. Kreacher couldn’t break it. He couldn’t fulfill his master’s final wish.
The House-elf collapsed, sobbing into the floor, tears and snot streaking his face.
Sirius Black sat motionless, his silence heavier than any sound.
Wade gently nudged Harry.
The boy staggered, dazed by the weight of the story. He took a few steps to steady himself.
Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw Sirius—already weeping, tears streaming down his face, his expression pale, shattered.
Harry’s throat tightened. He felt helpless, tongue-tied, unable to offer comfort.
After a long pause, he stepped forward—hesitant, clumsy—and wrapped his arms around his godfather.
Sirius’s face was hidden, his body trembling. His hands clenched into fists. And then, finally, a raw, broken sob escaped him.
Remus Lupin exhaled softly. His heart ached—not just for Sirius, but for the truth of it all.
He had seen wizards use House-elves, demand their service, even sacrifice them. But he had never seen a wizard—someone like Regulus Black—give his life to protect a House-elf.
Wade remained at the doorway, not stepping into the room, which was already flooded with grief.
He turned slightly, whispering to Remus:
“Remus… go comfort Kreacher. I’ll go inform Dumbledore.”
After their last journey to the cave, Wade had sent Dumbledore a Book of Friends. Now, they could contact each other directly.
This was too important to delay. The missing Horcrux—its whereabouts, its nature—Kreacher must know.
Remus didn’t question it. He gave a small nod and stepped inside.
Wade stared at the room for a moment longer—then turned and left.
(End of Chapter)
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