Chapter 502: Coming Home
The house-elf clung to the edge of the casket, his small frame trembling as
tears the size of large beads spilled from his bloodshot eyes.
"Master Regulus!" he wailed, his voice cracking with a century of grief. "Master
Regulus! You've come back to us at last!"
Suddenly, he pulled back, his mouth hanging open in a mix of hope and confusion.
"Why won't you speak, Master? Are you sleeping? Oh, you must take care of your
health, Master; the air in this house is cursedly cold."
With a sharp snap of his fingers, Kreacher summoned a thick, heavy quilt—many
times his own size—and began trying to tuck it around the bloated, water-logged
body.
"He's dead, you fool," Sirius snapped, his voice sharp with irritation and the
pain of seeing his brother in such a state.
"He is NOT dead!!" Kreacher shrieked. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he
began punishing himself, slapping his own face with wet, cracking thuds. "How
can Kreacher speak to a Master like that? Bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher!"
He turned his head away, staring at the threadbare carpet, and began to mutter
in a voice that was perfectly audible to everyone in the hallway:
"—back from Azkaban, he is, giving orders to poor Kreacher. Oh, my poor
Mistress, if she could see this, what would she say? Ha! He's brought riff-raff
into the house—the Mistress swore he was no son of hers, but here he is, a
murderer and a blood-traitor—"
Kreacher's hearing was clearly failing with age; he believed he was whispering,
but his venomous insults echoed off the walls.
"Don't mind him; he's been alone too long," Sirius said, noticing Will the
Pukwudgie beginning to nock an arrow. "He takes orders from my mother's
portrait. He's gone completely around the twist, talking to himself like that."
"Riff-raff?! You miserable little worm!" Will the Pukwudgie growled. He didn't
care for Sirius's excuses. He lunged forward, the tip of a razor-sharp arrow
pressed against the top of Kreacher's bald head. "Mr. Green's presence here is a
greater honor than this rot-filled tomb deserves!"
"The house is tainted... a green thing, standing there bold and brassy, showing
no respect," Kreacher continued to mutter, even as the arrow pricked his skin.
"If my Mistress knew, oh, how she would weep! And a new boy, too... Kreacher
doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know, no he
doesn't..."
Kreacher ignored the threat, continuing to tuck the quilt around Regulus's pale
corpse, casting malevolent looks at the intruders.
"That's enough!" Will the Pukwudgie tackled Kreacher. The two small creatures
rolled across the floor in a flurry of limbs, crashing into a heavy oak cabinet
with a loud thump.
A few seconds later, the struggle ended with Will pinning Kreacher's arms behind
his back.
"If you breathe another word of disrespect toward Mr. Green—" Will sat heavily
on Kreacher's chest, his arrow having grazed the elf's ear, drawing a thin line
of red blood.
Kreacher let out a piercing shriek. "Master Regulus! Master Regulus, help poor
Kreacher!" He looked up, his eyes finally focusing on the reality before him. He
began to crawl frantically toward the casket, wailing loud enough to wake the
portraits.
Sirius looked away, unable to bear the sight. Sean lowered his eyes, his
expression solemn.
"Mr. Kreacher," Sean said softly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, ornate object: Slytherin's
Locket.
The moment Kreacher saw it, he began to shake uncontrollably. Sean leaned down,
untied the ropes Will had used to bind the elf, and placed the locket into
Kreacher's gnarled hands.
"I know the secret of the sea cave," Sean said. "And I intend to fulfill the
task. I will destroy this locket. I apologize for taking it from this house
without permission, but I will see Regulus Black's final wish through to the
end. If you find it hard to believe me, know that I have already destroyed
several items like this one. The papers have spoken of it."
Kreacher did read the papers—old copies of the Daily Prophet were scattered
throughout the parlor.
"You... you are..." Kreacher's watery eyes searched Sean's face.
Sean silently produced two more items: a tattered, black leather diary with a
jagged hole through its center, and a beautiful, silver diadem that still
radiated a faint, lingering sense of oily malice.
"Mr. Green! It is you!"
Kreacher's voice was a ragged gasp. "Only you have destroyed such things. The
fools in the papers don't know what they are, but Kreacher knows! This is what
Master Regulus wanted to destroy until the very end... Kreacher tried for so
long... Kreacher believes you... you brought Master Regulus home..."
The house-elf broke into a fresh fit of sobbing, gasping for breath.
"What are you talking about, Kreacher?" Sirius asked, his patience fraying.
"What orders? What did Regulus want?"
"Kreacher failed! Kreacher could not obey Master Regulus's command!" Kreacher
shrieked, suddenly lunging for a heavy iron fire poker.
"Will, stop him," Sean commanded.
"Master says stay down!" Will barked, pinning the elf to the floor again before
he could hurt himself.
"It was not your fault, Kreacher," Sean said gently. "Very few wizards in this
world know the magic required to destroy a Horcrux."
"What are you two talking about?!" Sirius roared, his frustration boiling over.
"Kreacher is talking," the elf snapped at Sirius by reflex, before turning back
to the carpet. "The Master is a nasty, ungrateful brat who broke his mother's
heart—"
"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius spat. "She was kept alive by
pure spite."
Kreacher gave a mocking bow. "Whatever the Master says... the Master isn't fit
to wipe his lady mother's boots. My poor Mistress... if she could see Kreacher
serving the runaway... how she hated him, how he disappointed her... and now a
murderer, too—"
"If you say that one more time, I'll give you something to really be
disappointed about!" Sirius growled.
Kreacher shrank back toward Sean.
"Now, Mr. Kreacher," Sean said, "will you tell us the story of Mr. Regulus? In
return, I will give you my word that the locket will be destroyed."
Kreacher's eyes filled with tears again. The dim light of the hallway felt even
colder.
"Master Regulus... Master Regulus... Kreacher thought he would never see him
again, but he has come home... even if Kreacher cannot wake him... He thought
his great deed would be forgotten, but you see? Kreacher remembers. And now a
great gentleman remembers, too... even if Kreacher doesn't know if the gentleman
is a Mudblood..."
Kreacher sat up, curling into a ball and burying his face between his knees. He
began to rock back and forth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and
muffled, but in the echoing silence of the House of Black, every word was
terrifyingly clear.
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