A.N.: I'm successfully moved into my accommodation for university, so I now have access to a computer—I mean, I had access to it at about 4p.m. yesterday, but since I was hanging out with my new house-mates and going out to the student union bar/club until past midnight then watching CSI and laughing about drunk Dom, I didn't do any writing or anything! But thank you for all your reviews and I hopefully answered all of them! For everyone who reviewed, this is for you!


Kreacher's Tale…


Harriet jumped as something Apparated in front of her, something that bowed low and said, in a bullfrog's croak, "Master Sirius," and with his fleshy, snout-like noise an inch from his long feet, said, in its low, croaking voice, seeped with resentment, "spoiled brat of a blood-traitor, what a disappointment he was, nasty, lawless, he broke his mother's heart, how she hated him—how she would weep to see him, standing bold as brass in my mistress's house again—"

"Enough of that," Sirius sighed, rolling his eyes, glaring. Harriet stared down, gaping, both at what she heard and what she was seeing. She was put in mind of Merope Gaunt—except that this was the house-elf version of utmost squalor. Save for the disgustingly-dirty rag draped around his hips like a loincloth, Kreacher the house-elf was completely naked: whilst all house-elves (the ones Harriet had seen so far) were all bald, quite a vast quantity of white ear-hair sprouted from Kreacher's bat-like ears. His skin appeared to be too big for him and his eyes were watery grey and bloodshot.

"Hello, Kreacher," Harriet said kindly. Kreacher's eyes flickered up to her malevolently.

"Good day, madam," he croaked, then muttered furiously under his breath, as if convinced she could not hear him, "Master Sirius has brought a little brat into my mistress's house, and she is speaking to Kreacher as if she is my friend—Kreacher will not allow it; Oh, what would my mistress say if she saw me in such company, with the blood-traitor brat?"

"This is Harriet Potter, Kreacher," Sirius said through clenched teeth, as if he didn't particularly want Harriet to hear him being unkind but couldn't let the house-elf insult her. "Daughter of my friend James—you met him."

"Yes sir," Kreacher croaked, then muttered mutinously, "Master Sirius broke his mother's heart with his lawless ways and his running away, to that blood-traitor friend—unnatural beasts, they were." Harriet bit her lip: In his own way, Kreacher was rather comical. Sirius wasn't impressed, but Kreacher lifted his watery bloodshot eyes to Harriet's face, as if he didn't want to be caught looking. "Is it true? Is it Harriet Potter? Kreacher can see her scar, it must be true, that's the little girl who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how she did it—if Master Regulus ever found out, oh, how he would be vexed!"

"Regulus!" Harriet said excitedly, staring down at Kreacher with newfound interest, overriding her disgust. Harriet glanced at Sirius, who quirked his eyebrows, egging her on. "You mean Sirius's brother?"

"Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood," Kreacher croaked. "Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy—yet he returns, ungrateful blood-trait—"

"Kreacher," Harriet interceded him, dropping to her knees and searching through her bag into the inside-pocket, to Regulus's locket. She pulled it out by the chain and dangled it in front of Kreacher's eyes, so it reflected twice in the bloodshot orbs. "Master Regulus served Lord Voldemort, didn't he? What can you tell me about this locket?"

Kreacher gasped loudly, staggering backwards, his eyes filling with tears. "Kreacher, please tell me…" But Kreacher stared at the locket, speechless, something horrifying replaying behind those old, tired eyes.

"Kreacher, I order you to tell Harriet what happened to my brother, and everything you know about the locket," Sirius said from behind them; he had sat down tentatively on the sofa. Kreacher shot Sirius a look of purest loathing but took a shuddering breath and turned his eyes back to Harriet.

"For years, Master Regulus talked of the Dark Lord, who was to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns…and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve… Master Regulus had proper pride, my master and mistress were so proud

"And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher, he was always kind to Kreacher. And Master Regulus said…he said…"

The little old elf had sat down now, hugging his knees and rocking, very fast.

"…he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."

"Voldemort required an elf?" Harriet blurted: Sirius looked as bewildered as she felt.

"Oh yes," Kreacher moaned piteously. "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honour, said Master Regulus, an honour for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do…and then to c-come home." Kreacher was gasping with sobs, rocking quickly on the dusty floor, a torrent of dust swirling around his emaciated little body, with its too-big skin.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great, black lake…"

Something like icicles slid down Harriet's spine and the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to her from across that dark water. He saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present: tall, pale Voldemort, white-faced with his snakelike nose and billowing black robes, and poor little Kreacher, old and unsure, following in his wake around a lake that was unnaturally silent, unnaturally dark…

"There was an island in the middle," Harriet nodded, and Kreacher's eyes widened, nodding. "How did you get to it?"

"…there was a boat…" Kreacher whimpered. Harriet nodded numbly: ghostly, green and tiny, bewitched to register more than one wizard crossing the lake—but it would not register elf-magic, as Voldemort had no doubt not known that Dobby would, perhaps thirteen, fourteen years afterwards, be able to penetrate the Dark defences he had set in place… So he had used a loyal follower's disposable house-elf to test his hypothesis, to safeguard his soul against other sorcerers…

"There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…" The elf quaked from head to foot.

"Was it green?" Harriet asked, and was not surprised she was whispering. Kreacher moaned and nodded.

"Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things… Kreacher's insides burned… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed… he made Kreacher drink all the potion… he dropped a locket into the empty basin… he filled it with more potion.

"And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island…" Harriet raised her hands to her mouth; she could see it, Kreacher, parched for water, going to the only place it was available; she shivered and saw the Inferi, the babies and children, the sightless parents and husbands and wives, brothers and sisters Voldemort had killed, climbing over themselves to get to the thief…but she could not see how Kreacher had escaped.

"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake…and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…" She glanced at Sirius: Even though his dislike for Kreacher had been apparent, and vice versa, even he looked shocked and repulsed by what he was hearing.

"How did you get away from the Inferi?" Harriet whispered. Kreacher raised his ugly head to Harriet and looked at her with his swimming, bloodshot eyes.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home," Kreacher croaked.

"You Apparated, because he ordered you to return home?" Harriet mused.

"Yes madam," Kreacher croaked.

"The highest law of the house-elf is his master's bidding," Harriet remembered softly, looking down at Kreacher. So Voldemort, as well as most of the Wizarding world, thought house-elves to be beneath their notice—that their magic was inferior to their own because they did not use wands, did not understand how it worked and therefore wrote it off… She thought better of telling Hermes of the way Voldemort had treated Kreacher—he might try to kill Voldemort with his bare hands!

"What happened when you got home, what did Master Regulus do?" Harriet asked eagerly, as if Kreacher weren't retelling the horrific tale of her visit to the lake, but a captivating fairy-tale or something. "Did he ask you to tell him what you'd done?"

"Oh, yes, Master Regulus asked, and Kreacher told—Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," Kreacher croaked miserably, his lower-lip quivering and his nostrils glistening with mucus: "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden, and not to leave the house. And then…it was a little while later, several months…Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher thought, mumbling things of Professor Dumbledore and the brat Master Sirius—Kreacher watched him send letters and he ran errands in Hogsmeade, he spoke of a child the Dark Lord was to kill, who was to bring his downfall should she grow, and Kreacher was ordered not to speak of it to anyone, as Master Regulus was to defy his Master and help 'Sirius's poor little goddaughter' to defeat the Dark Lord, and Kreacher was to guide her any way he could should she follow his clues… and when all was arranged, he did not pack his things for school as my mistress had asked him to do, but asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord… Lord Voldemort, Master Regulus had Kreacher call him from then on, as Master Regulus said he was a disgrace to the name and wizard and he was a bad, evil wizard… So Kreacher took him, like a good house-elf…"

Harriet could see it—the frightened old elf, terrified out of his wits because he knew what awaited them, and the thin, dark, handsome Regulus, who in her mind resembled Sirius acutely, though younger… Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance into the cave, he knew where to raise the boat that would register only one wizard sailing across—perhaps Regulus saw the hands and faces of the dead and had been scared, perhaps he was so determined all fear had left him and he had only a burning desire to complete his task…such bravery had Harriet known in previous years… This time it was his beloved Master Regulus who accompanied Kreacher across the lake to the island with its basin of potion.

"Did he make you drink the potion?" Harriet gasped, outraged. Kreacher shook his head, his bat-like ears flapping, tears and mucus leaking down his face.

"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the D—the one Lord Voldemort had," Kreacher said, shivering the way Rhona did every time Harriet said the name; had Regulus ordered to speak Voldemort's name, as only the brave in this world did?—"the one that belonged to my Master Black's beloved grandmother, and he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…"

Harriet stared at him. Regulus had drunk the potion—he had taken it willingly, knowing what would happen, knowing it would incapacitate him, knowing he would thirst for water only accessible from the lake, where the Inferi waited to drag him under the water. Tears sprang unbidden from Harriet's eyes as she stared at Kreacher but did not see him—she saw Regulus, a young version of Sirius, though she saw him in his silver-and-green Slytherin tie, giving orders to the elf who loved him, demonstrating true Gryffindor courage in the face of death, something Lord Voldemort had not nor ever would understand.

"And he ordered—Kreacher to leave—" gasped Kreacher, great pearl-sized tears leaking down his face and pattering against the dusty carpet, his sobs raspy, and rocking: Harriet had to focus to understand him; her own eyes were filled with tears, "—without him. And he told Kreacher—to go home—and never to tell my mistress—what he had done—but to destroy—the first locket. And he drank—all the potion—and Kreacher swapped the lockets—and watched…as Master Regulus…was dragged beneath the water…and…"

"Oh Kreacher!" Harriet gasped, tears splashing down her face; she blinked them out of the way and wiped her eyes. Sirius had sprung to his feet, his expression set: Harriet had never seen him look like that since the first day she met him—his eyes were blank, hollow, tortured. She waited, staring, wondering what he'd do.

"Stupid—foolish boy!" he shouted, looking almost murderous, and he barrelled out of the room.


"Sirius?!" she shouted after him, but she heard his footsteps echoing upwards, loud creaking from above; he had not left her here. She turned back to Kreacher, who was sobbing on the floor. "Kreacher… Kreacher, please sit up… please don't cry…here," she rummaged in her bag for her handkerchief, whispered "Scourgify!" and handed it to him. "Here, wipe your eyes on this."

She waited as Kreacher sobbed into the handkerchief—Rhona had sent it to her for a birthday; it was embroidered delicately with pink lilies around the edges, with her initials at the corners. A sudden ache in her stomach, not from hunger, but from longing, made her put her hand to her side and pout. She missed her best-friend. Rhona was always good when someone was upset… Except not any more, she reminded herself, feeling bitterly alone. She wondered how Sirius felt, being without his best-friend for the last thirteen years, a best-friend he viewed more as a brother. Sirius crashed around upstairs and a few portraits were stirring on the landing, grumbling at the disturbance.

She glanced down at Kreacher: She had never seen anything so pitiful, but she felt Sirius rather needed her company more. "Kreacher, I'll be back in a few minutes, alright, please don't cry…" Kreacher sniffled and wiped his eyes, sobbing, on the handkerchief; she felt it safe to leave him though picked up her bag and went upstairs, following the sound of Sirius's hasty footsteps as he ran around somewhere. She followed the noise, and the woken portrait subjects making their way upstairs, to the very top landing.

"Sirius?" she called softly. There were only two doors: the one facing her bore the nameplate Sirius scrawled in Sirius's carelessly elegant handwriting. The door was not open, however, and the sound came from behind the second door. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small, pompous little sign that might have appeared on Percy Weasley's door, reading,

Do Not Enter

Without the Express Permission of

Regulus Arcturus Black


Harriet poked her head around the door: The room was a good-size room, and had a sense of…former grandeur, it must once have been a very handsome room. The silver wallpaper was peeling, and the emerald Slytherin banners dusty and faded on the walls. The tall, thin window and the bed, which had a handsome, carved headboard, were both draped with emerald-green: above the headboard of the bed, what Harriet assumed was the Black family crest had been painstakingly painted, along with a motto, in French; Toujours Pur. A raggedy collage of yellowed newspaper clippings had been stuck below the painting. A trunk stood open at the foot of the bed—a Hogwarts trunk—and a clear inch of dust covered the contents, a jumble of school robes, spellbooks, old magazines, an old broomstick, a set of Slytherin Quidditch robes, and Regulus's best pair of school-robes had been set out on the end of his bed, something small, silver and serpent-shaped glinting dully under the dust on the lapel of the robes: Regulus had been a class prefect.

Sirius stood at the window, below which stood a small, handsome writing-desk, his back slumped, hands splayed on the leather upholstering the top of the desk, his head bowed over something, and Harriet thought he might be crying; his breathing was ragged.

"Sirius?" she said gently. There were whispers and mild jeering from the subjects of a portrait above the dresser, which had a clear inch of dust on it. Sirius whirled around, looking fierce and upset, but he relaxed when he saw it was only her.

"Oh…hi," he said dully, settling down on the bed; a small puff of dust rose as he sat and he waved it away impatiently with one hand, his other clutching something yellowed. Harriet made her way over tentatively and sat down carefully not to disturb more dust.

"What've you got?" she asked, glancing at the thing in Sirius's hand.

"Letter," Sirius croaked, and cleared his throat. He showed her a small yellowed envelope with his name written on the front. "It's the reply to the letter I sent him…"

"What does it say?" Harriet asked gently. Sirius licked his lips and glanced at her; he slipped the neat little letter out of the envelope and handed it to Harriet.


Dear Sirius,

I know now why you separated yourself from our family—I realise now you were right, all along. But I never had the same strength you did, I could never have given everything up. What I thought was everything.

I know about the Potters' daughter—your goddaughter—I know Voldemort is after her. And I know why—he thinks he'll prevent a prophecy by attacking her. You have to protect her, you have to, with your life.

You must protect her, so she grows, so she can defeat Voldemort, and you must help her to do it. Tell her I have already begun it, that I discovered his secret: She must destroy his Horcrux. I will help her as best I can, I will steal it, and hopefully have Kreacher destroy it. I know you will do everything in your power to help her and protect her.

I am going now, and I bid you a very belated farewell, and I want you to know that, had I the chance now, I would have been proud to join you, proud to be in the Order, proud to be your brother again,

Regulus

P.S. Do you remember when this photograph was taken? It's the only copy, and I want you to have it.


Harriet licked her lips and reached into the little envelope for a small square white-bordered photograph, of two young boys with identical high cheekbones and cheeky, impish grins full of laughter, eyes twinkling: they were dressed as Muggle children in jeans and t-shirts, though Sirius also wore a zip-up jumper. Regulus's face was still rounded with youth, almost darkly angelic, his cheeks round and rosy.

"I was ten, when I took that photograph," Sirius said, smiling gently. "I was about to turn eleven, Regulus had just turned seven. I snuck us out of the house and we took a bus across the city, went to the circus. He loved the trapeze-artists… I bought him some candy-floss, and the clown knocked it out of his hands when he ran past," Sirius's eyes lit up and he smiled, chuckling softly. "I didn't have any more Muggle money, so I ran onstage and stole the clown's wig—and I threatened I wouldn't give it back until he bought Regulus another candy-floss."

"That sounds like something you'd do!" Harriet beamed, laughing. "I bet he did buy another one."

"It was twice as big as the first," Sirius laughed, "and Regulus threw up all the way home… It was so much fun though…just us, no parents…we were still close, then…"

"What happened?" Harriet asked, folding the letter neatly, slipping it back into the envelope. She handed it back to Sirius and he tucked it into an inside pocket of his robes.

"Well—I got back from Hogwarts after my first year, after being sorted into Gryffindor house, to hear what a disappointment I was, how I'd disgraced the family name and our pureblood honour by being stuck with the blood-traitors and Muggle-borns… He was still a baby then…I never spent any time at home if I could avoid it, stayed at Hogwarts with Moony and your dad over Easter, James always invited us to stay at his for Christmas… Never saw much of him, really, 'til he started Hogwarts. And he was sorted into Slytherin, so…" He trailed off sadly.

"That's him, over there, in the photograph, in the middle," Sirius said, pointing to the dresser; there was a photograph framed there, and Harriet had to use a Scouring Charm on it to remove the dust. The photograph was of a Hogwarts Quidditch team—silver snakes were emblazoned on their chests. Regulus was instantly recognisable, even if Sirius hadn't pointed him out she would have noticed, as he was absolutely like his brother. He had the same glossy, satiny dark hair and the same slightly haughty look about him, though he was rather less-handsome than his elder brother. He was smaller and slighter than Sirius, and he sat in the centre.

"He played Seeker?" Harriet murmured; Sirius grunted softly. Regulus sat in the centre of the front row, where the Seeker sat, where she herself had sat for the photograph of last year's Quidditch team—the winning Quidditch team led by Oliver, the first Gryffindor team in six or seven years to defeat the Slytherins. She carried the photograph over to Sirius; he looked miserable. Regulus waved up, stood up and walked closer to them, smiling. Harriet glanced at her godfather.

"Are you alright?" she asked tenderly, placing the photograph in her lap. Sirius exhaled through his nose and made a choked sort of noise in his throat.

"I…I loved the idea of having James as a best-friend and a brother so much that I forgot…forgot that I already had a brother," Sirius said quietly, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I ran away from home, I abandoned him…"

"You couldn't be where you weren't wanted," Harriet said gently. "It would've destroyed you—or you'd've ended up blowing them up or something."

"Yes, like one's Aunt Marge," Sirius said, with a tart, impish little smirk. Harriet flushed and fought not to grin too largely. Sirius looked down at the photograph of his younger-brother—at the happiest memory he had of them both together—and gave a constricted sigh.

"I should never have made it so that he felt he couldn't talk to me," Sirius said, shaking his head and resting it in his hand, hiding his eyes. "I should've been there… Trust him to go and be noble! He'd know it'd make me sick!" He looked like he was about to laugh, but instead his features crumpled and he hid his face in his hands; he did not cry, but he made no other sound either. Harriet didn't know what to do, and settled with resting her hand on his shoulder and waiting. Eventually he glanced up again, and gave her a weak smile.

"What a pair we make, hm?"

"Yeah, we're a regular couple of donuts!" Harriet tutted, kicking her legs slightly into the valance, glancing down at Regulus, who beamed at her from the Quidditch-team photograph. Sirius laughed and rumpled her hair roughly; Harriet wrinkled her nose playfully and flicked her plaits over her shoulders. Sirius examined her face with his searing grey eyes and his face crumpled again.

"Sometimes you are uncannily like them," he said hoarsely. He looked so miserable… Harriet slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"…I love you," she mumbled, and it was true. Over the last two and a half months, she had grown to love him more dearly than anything—maybe not Hermes and Rhona (she forgot momentarily that they weren't talking)—but she couldn't bear to see him upset. Sirius hugged her fiercely for a moment then pushed her back, smoothing her hair from her face where it had fallen out of its plaits.

"They would love you so much if they knew you now," he whispered hoarsely, cupping her chin in his hand. "if indeed it was possible for them to love you any fiercer than they already did when you were a baby…"

"Are you ready to come back downstairs?" Harriet asked. "Kreacher might've calmed down by now."

"Yes, let's get this over with," Sirius sighed, standing up, holding her hand. "You've got Honeydukes orders to fill."

"Oh—" Harriet stopped Sirius, tugging on his hand and giving him a very stern look she'd learned from Hermes. "And be nice to Kreacher."

"Why? He's always hated me," Sirius pouted.

"Treat others as you wish to be treated—as Undersecretary to the Founder of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, you'd best hope I don't tell Hermes how you talk to him," she said tartly. Sirius opened his mouth, looking incredulous—but perhaps the threat of her telling Hermes about his disdain of Kreacher made him think better of arguing.

"Fine. Come on," he sighed, seeing no way out, and he led the way back downstairs, still holding her hand tenderly. Kreacher's muffled choking gasps echoed dully in the first-floor landing and they found him, sitting up now, no longer crying, the handkerchief sodden and gross on the dusty floor beside him, looking how Harriet was sure she did (though not to such a pitifully disgusting extent as unfortunate-looking Kreacher) after she had been crying.

"Kreacher…are you alright now?" she asked delicately. He gave a mighty sniff and a hollow sigh, and held the handkerchief out to her.

"Kreacher thanks the little madam," he croaked dully, though respectfully: he did not mutter anything afterwards. Harriet eyed the handkerchief, and muttered an inaudible Scouring Charm before she took it back, tucking it into her bag.

"Is it alright if we ask you more questions, Kreacher?" Sirius asked, and Harriet smiled at his polite tone, with an attempt at being kindly. Kreacher grumbled and nodded. Harriet licked her lips and glanced from Sirius to Kreacher.

"Kreacher, you brought the locket home, didn't you?" she prompted. "You tried to destroy it, as Regulus asked you?"

"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf, his voice throaty and miserable. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work…so many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open… Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-family what happened in the c-cave…"

"Kreacher, when you couldn't destroy the locket, where did you put it?" Sirius asked, frowning. Kreacher sniffed heartily, moaning, and stood up slowly, tiredly; he took Harriet by the hem of her skirt and pulled her over to one of the handsome black glass-fronted cabinets, two of which stood either side of the large fireplace, and were filled with, "Mistress Black's most prized treasures, madam." Among the odd assortment of Wizarding things Harriet had never seen, there was a delicate little silver snuffbox, a pretty musical box, a collection of ancient seals like the family crest in Regulus's bedroom, an Order of Merlin, First Class, and—


A.N.: Mwahaha!