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Chapter 201: The Great House Cleanup
Wade didn’t know how Sirius Black and Kreacher had spoken, nor did he know how much Harry and Remus Lupin had contributed. In the end, when Dumbledore arrived in a rush, Kreacher respectfully handed over a golden locket box.
It was about the size of a chicken egg, its surface inlaid with emerald gemstones forming an elegant “S,” and it hung from a long golden chain. Sirius Black stared at it with a face twisted in both revulsion and hatred. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, he signaled Kreacher to hand it directly to Dumbledore.
Remus Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle pat.
Kreacher cradled the locket box in both hands, his voice raspy as he asked Dumbledore:
“Kreacher… failed to complete the task… Can you destroy it?”
“Of course. I swear it,” Dumbledore replied, his tone solemn. Having already heard the full story from Remus Lupin, he looked down at the house-elf with grave respect. “I will not let Regulus’s sacrifice be in vain.”
Kreacher let out a soft sob and carefully placed the pendant box into Dumbledore’s hands.
Dumbledore regarded the Horcrux with unreadable expression. It lay still in his palm, utterly ordinary—no reaction, no pulse, no trace of magic.
He shifted his hands in subtle gestures, murmuring incantations too low and arcane for anyone to understand. After a long silence, he finally spoke:
“Ordinary spells and attacks are useless against it. Even fire, crushing weight—nothing changes it. Voldemort placed a powerful Protection Charm upon this locket.”
Kreacher’s expression flickered with unease. He glanced nervously around the room.
But the people present—Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Wade, and Harry—showed no fear at all when the name was spoken.
Encouraged, Kreacher straightened his back, forcing himself to appear calm, just like the others.
From Sirius Black and Remus’s earlier words, he had finally understood: Regulus had died not because he was loyal to Voldemort, but because he had changed his mind, had chosen to fight against him.
Now, Voldemort was his enemy too. And Kreacher told himself he would not be afraid.
“So…” Remus Lupin looked at Wade, then back at Dumbledore. “We’ll still need the Inferno Flame?”
“For now, it’s the only method proven effective—though not necessarily the only one,” Dumbledore mused. “But the problem is… once the Inferno Flame consumes it, there’s nothing left. We lose any chance of learning more.”
“Still, Voldemort clearly made more than one,” he added. “The question is… how many?”
Silence fell.
Harry didn’t understand, glancing around, not daring to speak. He waited, determined to ask Remus later.
Compared to Wade, Harry always felt like an accidental intruder—like someone who had wandered into a place he didn’t belong. He feared that if he opened his mouth, everyone would realize he shouldn’t be here, and he’d be sent away.
Kreacher, on the other hand, was used to silence. He stood quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between the locket and the others.
“Sirius Black, Kreacher,” Dumbledore said. “I’d like to keep this locket for a time. I believe it may hold many secrets. And when the time comes to destroy it… I’ll be sure to invite both of you to witness it.”
“Fine.” Sirius Black’s voice was low, curt.
Kreacher nodded firmly, as if forcing himself to be strong.
…
Meanwhile, Michael and the others didn’t know Dumbledore had been there. They’d rested for a while in the filthy kitchen, hoping to make tea, but gave up—nothing was working.
Luckily, there were still some Butterbeers and food Remus Lupin had bought from outside. They ate haphazardly, filling their stomachs, exchanging weary glances. No one had the courage to keep working.
Finally, Hermione stood up.
She clapped her hands. “Come on, everyone! We’ve got to get at least one place to sleep, right?”
“Good point.” Theo and Liam rolled up their sleeves, ready to work. Neville got up to search for brushes.
Michael raised his hand. “I’m not slacking… but the cleaning supplies in the storage room are almost gone. I think I should go to Diagon Alley and buy a couple of new barrels…”
Fred grinned. “Two barrels? That’s not enough! At least five! But you can’t carry that alone—let me help.”
“I’ll go too…”
Hands shot up in unison—then quickly dropped, embarrassed.
Hermione scowled. “We promised Harry we’d help! Are you planning to bail out at the last minute?”
Just then, the kitchen door creaked open from outside.
“There you all are.” Wade stood in the doorway, smiling. “Let’s clear out the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms first—get us a proper place to rest. What do you think?”
“Uh…” Michael cleared his throat and stood. “Well, Wade… Fred and I were just about to go to Diagon Alley to buy more cleaning supplies…”
“Oh, no need,” Wade said, still smiling. “I brought enough cleaning supplies and tools. All my own work—guaranteed better quality than anything you’d find in Diagon Alley.”
“You brought what?” Michael gasped, then lowered his voice. “But… how? I didn’t see you carrying anything when you came in!”
He stepped out of the kitchen, and froze.
Remus Lupin, Harry, and Sirius Black were using a Hovering Charm. In the living room, scattered clutter floated midair, gently bumping into one another.
Kreacher directed the old carpet to coil itself neatly. Dozens of cleaning crabs lined up in perfect formation—like a military unit—moving back and forth, scrubbing the floor until it gleamed.
One crab, the size of a golden retriever, swallowed trash whole, then spat out black, basketball-sized orbs behind it.
Another smaller crab followed, carrying the orbs out through the door and piling them in the weedy courtyard.
Kreacher laid down a fresh carpet. Old furniture settled onto the floor—and as they landed, their grime vanished.
Tables and chairs looked brand new, freshly polished. Teacups and dishes sparkled, as if meticulously cleaned.
In fact, they had just been cleaned.
And everywhere—countless fist-sized tiny humans scurried across furniture, busily scrubbing, washing, wiping. They worked like tireless bees.
Others, in the form of little mannequins, carried marble-sized water tanks on their backs, spraying lacquer with precision nozzles. The clear varnish flowed endlessly, never running dry.
As the group stepped out of the kitchen, the cleaning crabs and tiny humans surged in, grabbing cloths and brushes, launching into a fresh round of cleaning.
“Who wants to lend a hand?” Wade floated a mountain of pots and pans into the air, glancing back. “I can’t handle this kitchen alone.”
(End of Chapter)
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