AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.

Chapter 24

Kreacher was in no way Harry's best friend by the end of the night. He still muttered and called him names like blood traitor and insulted Hufflepuff, but he also helped when asked. Harry had no idea how to handle his house-elf best. The books all said a firm, guiding hand was needed, yet he didn't know what that meant. Asking Kreacher about his former family seemed to bring new life into the old house-elf.

The dinner Kreacher made was good, if a little off. Whatever spices he used might have been bad, or he unintentionally used too much of the parsley, but the mashed potatoes had a woody, almost sour taste. In Harry's opinion, there wasn't enough salt either, but it was still food and more than he likely would have had at the Dursleys. The first genuine hurdle after dinner was Harry's bladder.

"Uh… Kreacher… where is the loo?"

"Powder room," Kreacher corrected in his bullfrog-like voice. "The blood traitor doesn't even know the proper words," he muttered. He paused and grimaced. "Kreacher will have it fixed in five minutes," he announced before vanishing.

Harry thought his eyes might be swimming when Kreacher returned about fifteen minutes later, looking quite done in. "It is on the first floor, to the right," he croaked and slumped over by a large cabinet in the corner.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Kreacher will, Kreacher will," he answered before lapsing into a dark muttering.

"Thank you, I've really, really got to go," Harry apologized and dashed for the hallway.

He rounded the banister and nearly tripped over something in the darkened hall. Compared to the kitchen, it felt like he was in the Forbidden Forest at night. Harry made it to the landing and saw four doors on the right. One had a strange polish or sheen to the handle. He hoped it was the right one. Thankfully, it was.

He did not hang around to inspect the rest of the floor. Something felt like it was watching him from the shadows near the far door. Harry decided it might be best to sleep downstairs and with the door to the kitchen firmly locked.

Kreacher looked a little better when he returned. "Thank you again, Kreacher… that was close," he said with a sigh. His sides hurt a little.

"Master Potter will stop thanking Kreacher," the house-elf instructed. "The blood traitor doesn't know his station," he muttered.

"Not likely," Harry argued. "I might have asked to learn what it is to be a Black, but I'm not going to stop thanking you. You are making my life easier and helping me."

Kreacher gave him a scandalized look. "The blood traitor is Hufflepuff; it does not know when to give up and be a proper wizard like the most noble Slytherin," he grumbled.

"So, how does the blood traitor thing work? My mum was a Muggle-born, sure, but I'm a half-blood. She was also pretty powerful. Has to count for something," he smirked.

Kreacher gave him another look. "The blood, the blood is always important," the house-elf mumbled loudly. "The Master… is still a blood traitor."

"So the sins of the son… or was the sins of the father? I can't remember how that goes," Harry mused. "My parentage makes me what I am to a Slytherin?" he questioned.

Kreacher rocked back and forth, muttering too low for Harry to catch. "It is the blood."

Harry supposed it was an answer, just not a full one. It might also be the only answer. He vaguely remembered the Royal Family all inter-married, much like the pure-blood houses like Black. Everything was old in the wizarding world. He supposed it would make sense that parentage would matter more than anything else to them.

"Okay, so I'm a blood traitor. Should I go attacking the pure-bloods because they are pure-bloods?" he asked.

Kreacher looked like he was about to explode his eyes went so wide.

"What? I mean, if I'm supposed to be the enemy of pure-bloods. Filth and unworthy and all that. Does that mean I should attack them?" he pressed. It explained why the Slytherins felt so upset when they got attacked in the corridors when they started the fights.

"Master should not attack pure-bloods," Kreacher moaned as if Harry had hit him. "Deserves to be in the unworthy house," he muttered darkly.

"So… let them get away with hurting others? Because of blood? Yeah, that's not going to happen. No wonder there are so few pure-blood families left."

Kreacher rocked back and forth, dry-washing his hands. He looked at Harry and then away again multiple times, muttering quietly.

"Well, you helped me, so you can call me whatever you want, Kreacher. Thank you again," he said and looked into the hallway. Nothing was there, but he still felt watched. He closed the kitchen door. "Is there someplace I can sleep in here? It seems safe enough. I'm pretty sure there is something out there on the first floor," Harry said.

Kreacher gave him another scandalized look. "Master cannot sleep in the kitchen," he said, his bullfrog voice cracking near the end. "The blood traitor would dishonor the House of Black."

"Well… something is out there, and I won't ask you to do much more tonight. However, Kreacher, I order you to keep me safe tonight."

Kreacher mumbled and sneered, but he nodded.

Harry almost laughed when he set up on the floor to sleep, his trunk as a barrier between himself and the door, just in case. He got his wand out as well. Something would be better than nothing. The cloak and spare robes were not what Kreacher expected Harry to use for bedding.

"The blood traitor sleeping on the floor. What would Mistress say," the house-elf moaned.

"Thank you, Kreacher. She would probably be just as upset as you are," Harry grinned.

He pushed the table against the far door that led into a truly disgusting dining room. If something tried to come in, he would know.

The next morning, Kreacher was up before Harry. The kitchen door was open to the corridor, but things looked a little… brighter. He didn't have the words for it until he peered out into the hallway. It almost looked like a real house again. That was until he glanced up at the first-floor landing. It still had a dark, foreboding gloom that almost looked like a giant shadow.

Eggs, bacon, and a large square of toast were on the plate by the table. Kreacher hadn't moved the table back.

"Did someone come in last night?" Harry asked carefully. He didn't think anything had happened, and he didn't feel out of sorts.

"The blood traitor ordered Kreacher to protect him. Kreacher did."

That sent a chill down Harry's spine. He looked at the house-elf. "Thank you," he whispered. He hated feeling weak, like when he was with Quirrell.

Kreacher stared at him and turned back to the stove, muttering darkly.

"Still, thank you. Is there something I can get you to pay you back?" he asked. Harry didn't want to ask what it was, but he needed to know.

Kreacher ignored the question. This time, Harry heard unworthy, filthy, and blood traitor along with a few other choice words.

"What would have attacked me last night?" he asked.

Kreacher shuddered. He turned slowly and looked at Harry fully for the first time since they'd met in his dormitory. "The Dark Lord."

Harry felt his heart stop for a moment. "Voldemort was here?" he gasped.

Kreacher hissed something low and continued muttering darkly. Harry didn't think he was mad at Harry. "The boggart as the dark creature," he answered.

A boggart was a dark creature that took the form of something someone feared. It terrified them until it could suck their magic and eventually bodies dry. Harry shivered. "Thank you again," Harry said softly.

"Master is… different that Kreacher expected, much more like Master Regulus." There was no dark muttering this time.

"You spoke about Master Regulus before. What happened to him?"

Kreacher froze before breaking out into wracking sobs. "Master Regulus was the best… finest of all Blacks. Loyal to his blood, loyal to his house. Not like others who disgraced the family name," the house-elf revealed. The sobs stopped as quickly as they started.

"Master Regulus was brave, braver than anyone knew. He… he saw what others refused to see. Saw the darkness behind the promises. Kreacher never wanted him… never wanted him to go… but Master Regulus gave Kreacher an order. An order Kreacher could not refuse."

Again, a sob broke through Kreacher's tiny frame. "He… he died. Died doing what no one else dared to do. A noble death, yes. But Kreacher… Kreacher could not save him… could not bring Master Regulus home."

Harry sat in silence for a time. "Regulus Black sounded like he was a credit to his house, his family, and to you, Kreacher. I'm sorry he passed on like that," he said softly.

"Kreacher has said enough. The blood traitor need not know more."

Harry nodded. "I would like to hear about how he lived and what he accomplished," he said as he went back to eating. "Not today… but when you feel ready. He sounds like someone worth the Black family name, and I want to learn about them."

Kreacher stared at Harry. He dry-washed his hands and nodded once. With a tiny pop, he vanished.

The eggs were a little cold, but Harry didn't mind. He kept his wand with him, just in case. There were several spells he would love to practice over the summer, and likely many more, but he wasn't about to risk the chance of being expelled. There was simply too much to lose. However, he was in a house with a dark creature or several inside it. Kreacher might not be there all the time.

As soon as he finished, Harry started to do the dishes.

"Master Potter, stop, stop, Kreacher must clean up!" the house-elf called from near the table.

Harry hadn't heard him return over the running water and inspecting the silverware. If he ever needed proof, this was a Slytherin house; the snakes on the polished silver handles would be clear enough. He ignored Kreacher's protests and mutterings about blood traitors.

"Did you get anything to eat?" he asked after cleaning up and putting the dishes on a tea towel to dry. Kreacher's eyes bugged out at the sight.

"Kreacher ate, Kreacher ate," the house-elf moaned as he hid his head in his hands. "The blood traitor uses Mistress' finest clothes for mundane tasks," he grumbled.

"Thank you for cooking breakfast," Harry smiled. He glanced out into the hallway. "It also looks much brighter and nicer down here."

Kreacher didn't answer and kept muttering darkly.

Harry went back over to his trunk. He had several school assignments due when he returned to Hogwarts, but he had two months and a week or so to complete them. "So, Boggarts, I know I read about them at one point. I know what they are at least," he grimaced. He knew of them and their danger but not how to deal with them. Something came to him. He looked at Kreacher. "Say, do the Blacks have a library?"

Kreacher's nose turned up. "The blood traitor wants the Black secrets," he muttered. "Yes, Master," he said louder.

"I don't want their secrets. I guess I am part Black at least, but no, I was wondering if we had a library for defending myself against dark magic and such," he asked.

Kreacher stomped his foot, and it almost sounded like he said "won't," but the house-elf still clicked his fingers. Seven books appeared on the table. Purity and Power: The Strength of Pure-Blood Unity, The Decline of Mudblood Influence in Magical Society, and Enchantments for Eternal Elegance: Preserving the Pure-Blood Home were on the top.

"Well… if there was ever any doubt even after the spoons," Harry laughed as he picked the first three books up. Dust fell off the covers and got all over the floor. He looked at Kreacher. "How about ones for protecting myself while I'm here? Muggle-borns might scare Slytherins, but not me."

Kreacher looked scandalized by the claim that anything could scare a Black. He didn't stomp his foot again but did grumble about unworthy houses and traitors again. More books appeared. "Well… that will certainly do it if nothing else will," Harry muttered when he read the title Magick Moste Evile on the top. It was a jet-black tome with a wand pointing at a skeleton.

He skipped over that one for now. The next book, Secrets of the Darkest Art, was another one he decided not to delve into. What was on the cover alone made him decide that Kreacher delved a little too far toward the dark and not so much the defense part he was looking for in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The Predator's Bane: A Guide to Dark Creatures seemed just about right for what he was looking for. Harry carefully put all the other books on the table nearest the door to the dining room. That made him think. Was the dining room as clean as the hallway?

"Thank you for these, Kreacher. I just want to be able to protect myself. Are you one hundred percent sure I can use magic here?" he asked carefully.

"The blood traitor has all the answers before him and he still asks Kreacher," the house-elf grumbled. "Kreacher is sure."

Harry looked at the dozen or so books. His eyes fell on the book that focused on Muggle-borns. The Statue of Secrecy was created to protect the wizarding world from Muggles. Muggle-borns, who had both parents in the Muggle world… were much more likely to be caught. He also considered the pure-blood focus on everything. Would a governing body want to deny their chosen children something like a wand? No. Not from what he'd seen.

"Thank you," Harry said carefully. He would still read both books; they didn't look all that big before deciding what to do.

For two days, things were quiet. Harry read, took notes, ate, and slept. He talked to Kreacher and thanked him for everything he'd done for him, but his primary focus was on reading the books.

At first, Harry dismissed the pure-blood mess that the authors spat on every page. He probably read the word Mudblood more than Malfoy had ever said while in class or the corridors. The Predator's Bane focused on creatures like vampires, werewolves, and dementors. Boggarts were mentioned, but apart from a small bit about laughter defeating it, the author didn't find them noteworthy enough to hunt and slaughter.

Death, pain, and dominance were all recurring themes in the books. Harry was glad Vernon had never read them. There was a spell that made someone's skin boil that worked exceptionally well on vampires according to the author. Fire and vampires did not mix. He finally found what he sought in Cryptids of the Wizarding World and How to Contain Them. Boggarts, kappas, lethifolds, and several other frankly disgusting creatures were mentioned and, most disturbingly, dissected in detail on some of the pages. Seeing a naked Redcap was not something Harry ever wanted to see again.

"Riddikulus," Harry said as he wrote. "Ri-di-KULL-lis" he pronounced carefully. Taking the time to make detailed notes would likely be a waste of time. However, it helped get all his thoughts out onto a page, along with whatever the author said. He wouldn't be sharing these pages with anyone. Judging by the language and descriptions of the authors, he thought Madam Pince would likely have these books in the Restricted Section, if at all.

"Well… that's a little underwhelming," he announced as he finished the five pages about an hour later. "Laughter, wand work, an incantation, and imagination."

"That is the way of most spells," a voice said from one of the portraits near the large cabinet in the corner.

A young man with dark hair and a haughty expression stared down at him in Slytherin robes. He wasn't skinny, just slender, and his dark eyes looked like they might be black pools of ink.

"Good morning… afternoon," Harry amended with a look at the clock over the door to the dining area.

"You are Harry Potter," the wizard said; it wasn't a question.

"Uh… yes? Do I know you?"

"No, but I know of you. Not just from Kreacher but also from my own research. Do you know who I am?"

"No?" Harry asked carefully.

"I am Regulus Black the Second. I was the Heir to the Black House before my death."

Harry didn't know what to say. "Kreacher speaks of you often," he said, looking around for the house-elf. He would want to see Regulus if he didn't already know about the portrait.

"He does not know I still reside within the house. I gave him a terrible task. He believes this painting a static snapshot of life. I spoke to him once, and he… well, it was better not to speak with him around. I heard you trying to take care of him. Ask Kreacher for House-Elves Through the Ages. After you finish it, only take the important bits. I am gone and wish to stay gone, but Kreacher should not live as he has. My mother was not good to him, and my father worse."

Harry nodded. "I will do everything I can," he promised.

"Good. See that you do," Regulus's portrait said before he walked out of the frame. An identical static young man stood with four other Slytherins holding a massive cup of crossed wands on the front.

"Master Regulus spoke to you," Kreacher's bullfrog voice said from the cupboard. It opened, barely wide enough not to hit the table. The house-elf clambered out, looking at Harry. There was no muttering, no anger. He looked… hopeful?

Harry wasn't sure what the expression was on the old house-elf. "I will do what he said. He obviously cares deeply about you, Kreacher. If you work with me, I will do as Master Regulus did and help. It is… after all… what my House does best," he smirked.

Harry's first letter arrived the day after the incident with Regulus Black. It was from Hannah Abbott.

Harry,

I know you've got all this time now to sit in your room and read books. However, how about coming over to our place for a day? You know, see the sun… which I'm sure you are allergic to at this point. If you can't make it, I understand. Just wanted to wish you a happy start to your holiday and hope things are working out. Write back when you can!

Hannah

Harry grinned. He wouldn't mind seeing Hannah or the others, but he had a feeling someone would figure out he wasn't staying with the Dursleys. The fact that he got a letter was a little worrying too. "Kreacher," he called.

"Master," he heard from the doorway to the hall.

Harry looked over and saw the gradual but unmistakable change in the house-elf. Kreacher didn't stoop. He still muttered and even talked to the portrait of Regulus' mother, but he wasn't as angry or dismissive of Harry. Kreacher still mumbled about Harry's blood status, Hufflepuff House, and other things, but it wasn't as prominent.

"How did I get a letter? How was someone able to find the place?" he asked carefully.

Kreacher gave the barest hint to a bow. "Kreacher checks the secure box for letters every day. Should Kreacher block all letters?" he asked.

"No, and thank you. I'm not sure if I know how to get a letter back or if I should. I don't own an owl, and I would rather not tell everyone I'm here somehow."

"Kreacher will take care of it. Secure post is always available to the House of Black."

Harry nodded. He considered what to do. In the end, he quickly wrote a letter back to Hannah saying that he was oddly enjoying his summer and that everything was working out for the best. He wouldn't be able to visit that summer, but maybe the next. He wished her a fantastic summer and that he couldn't wait to see her next term with the others.

Kreacher took the parchment and made an envelope appear out of nowhere. He vanished without another word. Harry realized something. How did the owls know where everyone was? Likely magic, but he wasn't sure where the Abbott residence was. It was yet another question about this new world that would likely remain unanswered for a long while.

While Kreacher was gone, Harry was almost sure the house tried to push back whatever the house-elf had done to make it livable again. When Harry made it to the first-floor landing, he noticed once more that the door farthest from the bathroom had a deep shadow cast over it. He quickly went to the bathroom and went back downstairs.

The next morning, Harry moved into the dining room. For one, it was a much larger room than the kitchen. Another reason was that he felt terrible about sleeping next to where Kreacher had a tiny little nest of blankets. It likely meant that his old owners never stepped foot in the kitchen if they allowed him to sleep there.

Harry realized he had a problem. He was running out of parchment, bottles of ink, and he was down to his last quill. His hand hurt and he was, for the first time, getting bored of all the reading.

"Do I believe this old book or not," he wondered aloud as he poked it with his wand.

"Master," Kreacher said from the doorway. Harry looked up at him. "The House of Black would never let anyone know what happened within these walls. You may use your wand."

The house-elf sounded tired. Kreacher said the same thing several times over the last few days. Harry wanted to believe him, but he didn't want his wand snapped. "Sorry, sorry," he explained. "I just… can't lose this chance to escape the Dursleys. I can't get expelled."

"They would not expel Harry Potter or the Scions of Black and Potter. If either House pulled their support, then it could be terrible."

Harry sat back on the table. He used it for his bed and a study place. It felt uncomfortably close to the boot room wooden shelf, but at the same time, it felt right. "Can you explain all this to me? I'm tired of reading. Do you mind telling me what it means to be a Black or even a Potter?"

Kreacher muttered about blood traitors and unworthy masters. Harry ignored it. There were times Kreacher didn't mutter or talk to himself. He might be optimistic, but those moments seemed to be less and less.

"Kreacher must ensure The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black's legacy is upheld… even if it's by a blood traitor," he announced a little louder.

"Thank you," Harry beamed.

Kreacher appeared on the opposite end of the table and started to dictate. "Toujours Pur is the House of Black's Motto and Legacy. Your dirty blood, tainted by a Mudblood, should disqualify you as a Heir of Black."

Harry raised his eyebrow. He wondered how that happened then.

"Always Pure is the meaning of Toujours Pur. The House of Black goes back beyond the founding of the Ministry of Magic and all the way back to 1066 when the founding Black, Caelus Tenebris Black, and his wife. When assuming the mantle of Black, you will uphold the ancestors who upheld and built the family honor. Your connection through the Potters, through Dorea Potter nee Black, gives you rights. The Potters go back to Peverell, Gaunt, and Prewett line."

Harry pursed his lips. He should be writing all this down. "Kreacher, can I stop you for a moment? This is all important stuff. Do we have more ink, parchment, and a quill or two for me to take notes?"

Kreacher stopped and looked hard at Harry.

"Sorry, I just don't want to forget anything or mess it up later. Should I not?" Harry asked as he flexed his hand. Even if his hand was sore and cramped, he wanted to make an honest effort to learn.

"Kreacher will return," the house-elf said and vanished with a louder pop than usual.

Harry sat there for some time. He wondered if Kreacher had to go somewhere to get the stuff or if he was somehow creating what he needed. That would be amazing to learn. If he could make his quills, ink, and parchment, he wouldn't need to purchase any from the Common Room stores. The single Galleon got him a ton of parchment, two ink wells, and a quill.

Kreacher finally appeared about fifteen minutes later. Harry had gone back to flipping through a book on Genealogy in preparation for when the house-elf returned.

"I have the materials," Kreacher announced as a massive, neatly stacked pile of parchments appeared beside the borrowed books. Three ink wells, two quills, and a weird pen popped into existence.

"Thank you," Harry quickly said, taking several sheets of parchment, the new quill, and an ink bottle. He got down and sat in the chair to write better. Hunching over or laying on his side didn't make for legible notes later. He looked up at Kreacher, who was watching him closely.

"Oh, before we start, did you purchase this? Do you need more Galleons or whatever for the food I've been eating?"

Kreacher continued to stare at him. "You provided more than enough to last the summer, Master."

Harry nodded. "Don't for…" he paused. House-elves didn't get paid. They didn't like being paid. It went against their nature… or rather the nature the wizards who helped create them made for them. An idea came to him that he'd read. "Don't forget to purchase something for the House to hold in your… home, Kreacher. I will not have my house-elf want for anything."

Kreacher continued to stare at him. "Yes, Master Potter."

The lesson continued. Harry learned about what the Blacks saw as Noble Behavior, Demeanor, and Dress. Kreacher spent nearly three hours talking about the Black Magical Heritage.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black were the bastions against the dark creatures. They did what none of the other Houses, save Gaunt and Pickets, would do. Filthy Muggles hunted witches and wizards. Vampires, werewolves, banshees, and older, extinct creatures lurked in the dark. Magics and artifacts were studied. The dark wizards of Rome still held sway over pockets of Muggles to do their bidding. For five hundred years before the rise of the Blacks and the Cabal of Might, Cabal Fortitudinis."

Harry had so many questions, but he remained quiet and listened.

"The rulers of the wizarding world were thrown down through the might of the House of Black and their allies. Forty-nine families stood together. What remains is the Sacred Twenty-Eight from the Cabal of Might. Those of the pure-blood. There are others… who stood back then, but most are gone in the male line, as the House of Black will fall," Kreacher finished with a small choke at the end.

"Is there a way to restore the House of Black?" Harry asked quietly.

Kreacher shook his head. "Mistress wanted more children, spares to hide in the event of her sons dying. The continuation of the line must be kept… however, the old master lost the power to reproduce, and thus it fell to Master Regulus… and the disgrace Sirius."

"Toujours Pur indeed," Harry muttered. He could see why keeping the male line alive would be important. Because they all died, Harry now had their wealth and history. A history that would be extinct without his link to the Blacks through his grandmother on his father's side.

Kreacher's voice, already sounding like a croaking bullfrog, had a rasping quality to it from speaking so long. "Thank you, Kreacher. I don't want to hurt your voice. Let's pick up on this tomorrow. It can be like class," he laughed.

The house-elf looked at him closely before bowing and vanishing with a tiny pop.