Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters and places. I'm just having fun with them.
Summary: A short story about how Harry unknowingly destroys one of the Horcruxes
Spoilers: Sort of spoilers for Half Blood Prince. You won't know what's going on if you haven't read the book.
Feedback: Please and thank you! I'd really like to improve my writing, so I'll take the bad with the good, just so long as the bad has a purpose (no flaming).
Distribution: Just ask!
Thanks: To my awesome friend, Babblefest, and my wonderful mother and for beta-ing for me!
Author's Notes: I was talking with Babblefest about the speculation that the heavy gold locket mentioned in Order of the Phoenix could be the Horcrux that Harry and Dumbledore were looking for at the end of Half Blood Prince. We were laughing about something, and I said, "hey, wouldn't it be funny if…" The story below is a result of that. It was originally meant to be funny, and I guess it is in that ironic sense. I hope you enjoy it!

In an old, scarcely used house on a quiet street in London, an odd creature sat in a dark corner, muttering to itself. It was a peculiar being, short, with long ears, a protruding nose, and wearing naught but a dirty rag tied at its waist. Its weak gray eyes shifted nervously, masking a hint of relief that it had succeeded in burying its treasure. The creature – called a house elf – mumbled a constant stream of unintelligible words as it shifted its weight, testing the security of the loosened floorboard and ensuring his secret was safe. "Thinks he can take what he pleases…" the elf was saying. "But he can't take what he doesn't know." A small, mischievous smile spread across the creature's face, though it vanished almost immediately, as if the elf feared that a smile would bring to much attention to his corner. No one in that house ever smiled.

He should leave before Master came home. He couldn't risk being seen there - what if Master knew? The elf hesitated, checking his surroundings and making sure he was alone, then cautiously emerged from the shadows. With each careful step, the floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet, causing him to wince at the noise. As the elf was the only living thing in the house, there was seemingly no need for his caution. But he knew well that one did not have to be living to have eyes, ears, and a mouth. The house was full of spies, working for the new master, and even if they didn't breathe, they could be just as deadly. Kreacher had to watch his every move, lest a spy be watching. His only friend, the portrait of his former mistress in the front hall, had been forever quieted with a silencing charm. Kreacher was infuriated, but kept his silence on his master's orders. All alone, he had only one thing left to keep him sane: a deteriorating pillow sack full of Mistress's old possessions. Some items had monetary value, such as a few Dark Arts heirlooms, but most had sentimental value. A few things were utterly worthless, like an old sock or a fingernail clipping, and there were several other things he managed to save from the trash can - a pocket spell book, a small bottle of old salamander eyes, and a pretty gold locket were a few. But it was all priceless to Kreacher, and he would guard his treasure to the death, if it ever came to that.

Kreacher took another step and looked nervously at an old portrait on the wall for signs of movement. All was quiet. Kreacher stepped again, and the creak resulting this time was not just from the floorboard. The elf jumped as the front door, just outside the dining room where Kreacher stood, gently swung open, groaning on its hinges. Kreacher ducked under the dining table standing in the middle of the room and crouched amongst the chair legs. He scowled. Master was home.

Harry Potter stepped inside his dark, unwelcoming house and closed the door softly behind him before leaning heavily on the solid wood. He was utterly exhausted from the night's ordeal. Only a slight sense of relief offered him comfort as he nursed an injured and bleeding arm and struggled to keep his legs, shaking with fatigue and cold from the unforgiving February air, from giving out under him. He had managed to destroy another horcrux. Altogether, that was three down, four to go. Four more. Four more excruciatingly painful, possibly fatal nights to go, battling the power of seemingly innocent objects. Harry let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Three down, four to go.

"Kreacher," Harry summoned, his voice weak and raspy. No response. "Kreacher." He raised his voice. The elf had no choice but to emerge from his dark hiding place. Feet padding softly against the creaking wood, Kreacher approached and reluctantly bowed. "Master," he obliged, disdain dripping from his voice. Harry didn't mind. He wasn't fond of Kreacher, either. Hardly able to raise his voice above a whisper, Harry bid, "Get me a basin of hot water and a clean washcloth."

"As Master wishes," Kreacher bowed again, hate and shame boiling in him. The humiliation if Mistress knew who he now was forced to serve!

"And light the lamps." Harry added. Then softly, "But not too bright." A few seconds later, a soft glow filled the hallway and penetrated Harry's closed eyes, letting him know that Kreacher had done his job. Forcing his legs to support his full weight, Harry stood upright and made his way down the hall towards the kitchen to get a glass of water for his parched throat. He didn't trust Kreacher not to spit in it, or do something equally nasty if bidden to fetch the drink.

Harry's feet fell heavily to the floor, causing the floorboards to groan with each step.

Thud.
Creak.
Thud.
Creak.
Thud.
Creak.

Eyes still closed, Harry kept a hand on the wall to guide him.

Thud.
Creak.
Thud.
Creak.
Thud.
CRACK.

Harry's eyes flew open and downward. Under his right foot, something glinted in the yellow light. A faint puff of…something…dust, maybe? Clouded around his foot, then dispersed into the air. Harry lifted his foot to find a heavy gold locket - shattered, now, but at once he thought may have been quite beautiful. He only vaguely wondered how it got there, as the house was still littered with old trinkets once belonging to the Black family. It must have fallen out of a trash bag as it was being taken away. Harry stepped over the locket as he went to get his glass of water, his thoughts drifting to more important matters.

Behind him, Kreacher had watched the scene in horror. The locket, the beautiful locket, now crushed beyond repair by Master's unworthy foot! Kreacher stifled a sob and crept forward to assess the damage. The metal was broken into several large, dangerously sharp fragments and countless small pieces that were barely worth picking up. Kreacher gathered what he could, breathing heavily with sorrow and anger at himself. He cursed his own clumsiness, to drop something so important from his collection and not notice. Oh, the flogging he deserved!

"Kreacher!" The elf jumped. Scowling darkly and muttering to himself, Kreacher hid the fragments under the old troll's leg umbrella stand before hurrying off to fetch the water and cloth, muttering furiously to no one in particular and frustrated tears clouding his eyes.

Four down, three to go.