Chapter 76: Kreacher kills his enemy
Kreacher's shouting drew all eyes in the headmaster's office to Draco; even the phoenix Fawkes was looking at him in surprise.
If possible, at this moment, Draco would like to look in the mirror and see his own ridiculously surprised appearance.
steal?
This is nonsense and an insult to Malfoy.
Draco's expression softened, returning to an indifferent look. He slowly used his wand to "cleanse" himself, clearing away the dirty feeling brought on by touching Kreacher.
He faced the gazes of everyone in the room with a haughty attitude, his tone turning cold, "I do not accept this insulting accusation."
"I'm not lying!" Kreacher jumped up and down, swearing solemnly. His ugly face looked even more distorted and angry.
Draco glanced at it with disdain and said threateningly: "You accuse a Malfoy without any basis. Do you know the consequences of doing so?"
"Kreacher, I want your explanation!" Sirius looked at Draco and finally said sternly to Kreacher.
Kreacher glared at Draco fiercely, like a vicious dog tied to a rope, baring his teeth and growling, "Kreacher didn't lie! He came to the Black mansion that day and asked for the Master's locket, but the heartless Master Sirius gave it to him so casually!"
Draco opened his mouth and an idea struck him.
On the day of visiting the Black family home, Dobby sorted out a large bag of dark magic items, among which there was indeed an unremarkable locket.
Dobby had said that the locket contained "extremely powerful magic," but no one noticed it at the time, so they just set the locket aside and casually threw it into the bag.
Later, the bag came into Draco's hands. He asked Sirius Black for it, intending to give it to the Weasley twins as a prank.
However, because they had been extremely busy during the first few days of school, they hadn't had a chance to talk privately, so the bag remained in his hands.
The bag had been sitting in a dragonhide storage bag in Draco's dorm room since the start of term.
Of course, it could certainly be a Horcrux.
Draco pondered in silence, suddenly remembering a series of abnormal conditions he had been in over the past few days.
Since his rebirth, he has been carefully using brain occlumency to control those memories and emotions so as not to be overwhelmed by them.
However, since he got the locket in early August, everything has been spiraling out of control:
Poor sleep, the messy nightmares lingering in his mind, the horrible memories running around, the green light, the screams, the falling, the death...
The repeated loss of control over the Occlumency technique, the capricious moods, the inexplicable fatigue and gloom, the uncontrollable impulses, the often bitter mood, the sarcastic remarks that came out of his mouth...
He was spurring his horse and galloping in the opposite direction of "calmness and self-composure".
There must be a reason for this.
Something as evil as a Horcrux could certainly have some negative influence on him.
When the Ravenclaw Diadem was destroyed, it had made that confusing voice; Tom Riddle's diary could talk to people, manipulate their behavior, and even absorb their vitality; then, the locket - as a relic of Slytherin - should also have some extraordinary negative effects to deserve its fame.
Thinking back on it now, Draco broke out in a cold sweat. If he said that his confused state for more than a month had no influence from the Horcrux, then that would be a miracle.
"I never imagined that ugly grey thing could be—" Draco trailed off.
Sirius Black didn't know about Horcruxes. He couldn't go on.
He turned his head and glanced at Sirius Black, trying to gauge his reaction.
A look of understanding appeared on Sirius's haggard face. "I seem to have some impression of it. Indeed, I thought it was some useless thing... and was just about to throw it away... Draco, do you still have it?"
"Of course! Give me five minutes! I think that thing should be in my dormitory." Draco said, nodded to Dumbledore, and walked out of the headmaster's office quickly.
The sky above Hogwarts was already turning pale.
Draco ran back to the dormitory, opened the closet directly, and found a dark green storage bag.
Yes, the gray locket was lying there quietly, creating a confusing atmosphere.
When he held it in his palm, Draco felt that it was heavier than he had imagined, and even seemed to be making some rustling whispers.
His heart was pounding. Without time to think, he carefully covered the locket with a handkerchief and ran back to the principal's office holding it.
As the locket was placed on the desk before Dumbledore, those gathered around it heard a dull, heart-pounding thud.
"It sounds heavier than it looks," said Dumbledore thoughtfully.
"Yes," Draco said, and like the others, he was examining it closely. "Very heavy. Very unusual."
"Is that it? The locket?" Sirius asked in annoyance.
"It's so dirty it's hard to make out," Draco said.
"That's right. See those tiny gemstones beneath the dust forming the shape of a serpent?" Dumbledore whispered, a hint of fascination in his tone. "Extremely fine workmanship. Definitely the work of a goblin master. I think this is one of Slytherin's relics."
"We'll have to ask Kreacher," Draco reminded them.
"Tell me, is this the locket?" Sirius grabbed Kreacher's ear roughly with his good hand and pressed the elf's big head directly onto Dumbledore's desk.
"Yes! It's it!" Kreacher trembled with excitement. He didn't feel sad because of Sirius's rudeness, but instead showed a bit of joy when he got closer to the locket.
Its large, bloodshot eyes stared greedily at the dusty locket, never expecting to live to see the relic entrusted to it by its beloved Master Regulus.
"Then what are we waiting for? We destroy it with our swords." Sirius said, looking at the locket with disgust.
"You could try," said Dumbledore, taking down the sword from the wall. "Though I doubt it would be that easy."
Sirius let go of Kreacher and, with his good hand, picked up the gleaming silver sword inlaid with rubies and slashed at the locket.
"Ding!" Sparks flew between the sword and the locket. But after the sparks died down, the locket remained intact, still lying there in its unassuming, gray, and stubborn state, as if silently mocking Sirius Black's naiveté.
"As expected." Dumbledore approached the locket, lifted its thin chain with the tip of his wand, and watched the locket swing back and forth in the air. "Kreacher is right. It can only be destroyed by opening it from the inside. I imagine it has a safety mechanism. Only when it is opened can its energy be released, thus destroying it."
"Then open it," Sirius said viciously, setting the sword aside. "Use a spell to open it. I know several useful tricks."
"Well, let me try." Dumbledore put it back on the table, pointed the strangely shaped wand at it, and cast a few silent spells - Draco guessed that they must be some advanced spells.
"It's useless," he announced calmly, replacing the locket on the table. "The protection mechanism is flawless. I must say, it's a true Slytherin relic. Perhaps only a descendant of Slytherin can open it."
The room was dead silent.
The hands of the grandfather clock behind Dumbledore were moving grimly second by second, without hesitation for any excuse, and the sound was particularly cold and ruthless.
Draco sighed quietly.
Where can I find the descendants of Slytherin?
The House of Gaunt was extinct. The last known descendant of the family, Morfin Gaunt, had recently died in Azkaban.
What is so special about being a descendant of Slytherin? Draco thought about it, and as he listened to the bubbling sound coming from the cabinet where the Pensieve was stored, an idea suddenly flashed through his mind.
The idea came from a fragment of his memory - a fragment from the Pensieve:
The Gaunt family's dilapidated cottage with falling tiles and a dead S-shaped snake nailed to the door; the hissing sound made by the Gaunt family members when they communicated with each other - he had heard this sound before, and Harry had used a similar sound to open the entrance to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.
"Professor Dumbledore," Draco said eagerly, "Try Parseltongue, the language only Slytherins can speak."
Dumbledore glanced at him and nodded in agreement. "It's worth a try."
"Then we have to find Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. Seeing Draco's puzzled expression, he explained, "I can understand Parseltongue, but I can't speak it. Fawkes, please make another trip."
The phoenix shook its head helplessly and flew out the door again. Its proud tail feathers seemed to have shrunken a lot - it had worked hard that night.
Yes, Harry could speak Parseltongue, and asking him to try it out was the easiest way. Draco nodded.
By the way, is Harry a descendant of Slytherin? Why is he a Parseltongue and can speak snake language? Draco wondered in confusion.
Well, let's just call Harry's talent an accident for now. After all, he was able to defeat Voldemort as a baby and kill a basilisk with a sword instead of a wand like a warrior.
It's not surprising that such a gifted person knows some strange languages... He thought to himself, not wanting to dwell on irrelevant things at this time.
At this moment, the matter of "destroying the locket" had occupied Draco's entire mind, and he no longer had the energy to think about anything else.
He blinked his dazed eyes, looked around, and found that everyone in the principal's office was a little listless.
Dumbledore wiped his half-moon glasses and sighed inaudibly. Sirius sat in his wheelchair, his eyes gloomy, staring at the locket in a trance. Kreacher, the house-elf, trembled and panted like an elderly child, rubbing his swollen eyes, which were as big as broken tennis balls, with his wrinkled hands.
Kreacher.
Draco had originally felt disgust towards the elf because of its slander against him; however, when the truth came to light, he realized that, to some extent, the elf had not lied.
At this moment, looking at the pitiful appearance of the elf, he suddenly thought of his own elf Dobby.
Dobby had been just as slovenly and pathetic once.
However, Dobby was a completely different person now. He often appeared before him in a noisy and arrogant manner - although sometimes he had an unusual enthusiasm for Harry Potter - and became more and more capable day by day.
Now, Dobby can keep everything in order, and he hasn't been so messy in a long time.
Draco glanced at Kreacher, feeling inexplicably blocked in his heart.
He didn't know why he felt this way, it was a very strange feeling.
How could he feel anything other than "contempt" for an ugly, awful house-elf who treated him with such rudeness?
The next second, he found the reason - he couldn't help but think of Hermione Granger.
He remembered her eyes that were always filled with compassion for the weak. She was so kind to all pitiful species, never looking down on them.
She always tries to understand those marginalized people who are abandoned by society, no matter whether it will cause her trouble or whether it is a losing business.
Hermione. If she had heard such a dramatic story in this early morning filled with troubled tears, and even got to know the legendary 18-year-old Slytherin boy again,
What would she think?
The boy's passing is deeply regrettable.
His bravery was never revealed, and everyone used "cowardice" as his epitaph.
The light in his heart was never seen, and everyone believed he was a loyal follower of the Dark Lord.
His dying wish had never been fulfilled - until today.
Until his house-elf revealed the secret by chance today, adding a true footnote to his short life.
He could have lived. He could have used the house-elf who was so loyal to him.
But he didn't want to hurt Kreacher, so he was willing to die, leaving it the hope of life and also leaving it with the most difficult task in the world.
This task tortured it to death. It tried every possible way but could never complete it. It lived in anxiety, resentment, helplessness and sadness all day long.
If she were here, what would she do with the boy's house-elf?
"I have a suggestion." Draco's voice broke the silence in the headmaster's office, causing the blue eyes and the gray eyes to look at him with confusion.
He knew that he had been a little rash today and spoke without thinking.
Perhaps he was too tired and had been tortured by the locket for too long, so long that he had forgotten how to write "self-discipline and restoration of propriety".
Perhaps he felt a certain empathy for Regulus Black, the Slytherin boy who fought alone, and understood why he had to endure all this alone, even sacrificing his own life.
With a certain Hermione Granger-like willfulness, Draco didn't give himself a chance to regret and continued, "If you can successfully open this locket, can you give this opportunity to Kreacher and let it complete the mission entrusted by its master?"
Sirius looked at him weakly, not sure what he was up to.
Kreacher covered his mouth with his fist and looked at Draco in surprise. A clear light flashed in his cloudy eyes, and a strange look bloomed.
Professor Dumbledore didn't show much surprise—a hint of a smile flickered in his tired blue eyes.
"I have no problem with that. Sirius?"
"Whatever," Sirius said numbly, still recovering from the truth of Regulus' death.
"Kreacher, we want to continue the work that Regulus started. We want to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain." Draco squatted down and treated it as kindly as possible, forcing himself not to pay attention to its almost naked body and tear-stained face.
"Yes, yes!" Kreacher nodded eagerly.
But the next second, a look of uneasiness appeared on the elf's face. It had no confidence in destroying the box. "Kreacher has tried various methods, but none of them worked. Kreacher is worried--"
"Don't worry, Kreacher. We have a way." Dumbledore said kindly. He stood up, took the sword of Gryffindor in his hand, and walked towards Kreacher. "It's just that it's a little special. Not everyone can wield it. Come, try it first."
Kreacher took the sword tremblingly and held it in his hand.
"Give it a try," Dumbledore encouraged it.
A look of determination appeared on its face, and it tried its best to swing the sword, but found in despair that it couldn't swing it at all.
"Oh, no--" it fell to its knees and said in pain.
"I'm afraid not. Only a Gryffindor can summon and wield this sword." Sirius said indifferently beside him, "Kreacher is a house-elf from the Black family. In his heart, he is a house-elf who has been educated by the Slytherins. He is a Slytherin through and through."
Kreacher returned the sword to Dumbledore, lowered his head in a sad and panicked manner, and began to sob again, muttering, "I'm sorry, Master... I failed you... Kreacher can't complete your mission..."
"Don't cry so quickly, Kreacher," Draco said. "Slytherins have their own secret weapons. I have something here - a souvenir I picked up somewhere last year."
He pulled the sheathed fang from his pocket and carefully pulled it out. He peeled the protective cap off the fang, where the venom gleamed a dangerous silver.
"I suppose it'll be useful," Draco said lightly, smiling slightly at Kreacher's raised face in surprise.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
The basilisk's fangs—of course they worked—had once destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul in the diary.
However, this young Mr. Malfoy was very secretive.
He had never mentioned the fangs before. No one knew that he had taken such a unique souvenir from the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore looked at the platinum-haired boy silently over his glasses, his eyes deep.
"Be careful." Draco seemed oblivious to this. He was busy handing the fang carefully to Kreacher, signaling it to be ready.
Harry Potter, still sleepy in his pajamas, was brought in by Fawkes, holding his collar. He stared at the headmaster's office in the early morning, as if he had seen a Gorgon running wildly.
The elusive but crazy yet kind headmaster, the autistic godfather who often locks himself in his room to tinker, the precocious friend from the Slytherin house next door who appears cold on the outside but is warm on the inside, and a dirty elf Kreacher with tear marks all over his face.
This strange combination wasn't the weirdest thing. The weirdest thing was that these people were all looking at him with such enthusiasm, as if they had seen the ultimate prize in some ring-tossing game.
The atmosphere was incredibly weird.
"What happened?" Harry asked hesitantly.
"You've come just in time." Draco, his face pale, pulled him over - he showed a certain excitement that was different from before - pointed to a small object on the ground and said to him: "Can you speak to it in Parseltongue? Try saying 'open'."
There was a locket-like object there, gray in color, and it looked vaguely familiar.
"What's wrong with this thing?" Harry hesitated, trying to get a better look at it.
"Try it quickly, this is very important to us." Draco said eagerly.
Harry saw Professor Dumbledore, fingering the sword of Gryffindor, look up and nod at him. His godfather, though pale, smiled encouragingly at him.
He hesitantly walked to the locket, swallowed, and after a moment's thought, he hissed "Open" in the language of snakes.
The locket's little golden lid snapped open. Behind each of the two small glass windows, a living eye blinked, dark and bright.
"Kreacher, hurry!" Draco snapped.
Kreacher was stunned for a long time, and his hand holding the snake's fang trembled slightly.
It came to its senses, raised its fangs tremblingly, and was about to stab the locket when a hissing voice came from the locket.
"I saw your heart, it's mine." The voice laughed hoarsely.
"Kreacher, stab!" Draco yelled.
"Kreacher, I see your fear," the voice from the locket continued cruelly.
From the eyes that peeked out from the locket's small window, something like a weird soap bubble emerged.
It was a black-haired boy. He looked somewhat like Sirius Black, only younger, thinner, and more naive. Draco guessed that it was probably Regulus Black.
The boy drank the poison in agony, then crawled towards the edge of the island in thirst, only to be dragged down by the dead man's hands...
This was the reappearance of Regulus Arcturus Black's last vestiges of existence on earth.
Then there was Great-Aunt Walburga lying weakly on the bed, yelling something in pain, looking towards the door with her dying breath, her eyes filled with tears and losing their last bit of light...
Dumbledore tightened his grip on the Sword of Gryffindor.
"Sirius," his blue eyes flashed with reluctance, then determination. He reminded the Black family head, who was slumped beside him, "You have to help him."
Sirius seemed to have just come to his senses. He gave the order, his voice like frosted steel, hard and cold, "Kreacher, destroy it!"
There was a flash of silver light, and the old elf finally stabbed at Slytherin's locket.
It was all over. The terrifying phantoms that had emerged from the two small windows disappeared without a trace, leaving only Kreacher standing there trembling, the fang in his hand having fallen to the carpet.
Draco hurried over and put his precious fangs away again.
Wisps of smoke rose from the remains of the locket. The thing that had lived in the Horcrux—whatever evil spirit it was—was destroyed and shattered.
Kreacher looked down at the fragments of the locket, his legs gave way, and he fell to the ground, his bony chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath potentially his last.
It let out a shrill cry mixed with excitement and pain: "Master, Kreacher is done! Master, look! Kreacher is done!"
"Kreacher—" Sirius originally hated the noise it made. He subconsciously wanted to shut it up, but when the words came to his lips, he couldn't say them.
"Master... look... Kreacher is done." It said with a bleak face, and big tears flowed from its turbid eyes and fell on the carpet.
Draco closed his eyes. The "young master" it was talking about probably wasn't referring to the living Sirius before him, but rather to Regulus, who lay dormant at the bottom of the cave lake.
"You have completed your mission." Sirius sighed and glanced at Kreacher with a lost look. For the first time, he did not show disgust towards the elf. "Go back to the Black house and have a good rest."
Kreacher struggled to his feet and - with the most humble attitude he could muster - bowed deeply to Sirius, Draco, Dumbledore, and Harry.
Then, with a snap, it disappeared.
Everyone was stunned. As the daylight gradually brightened, they suddenly realized how exhausted they were.
When the first golden light appeared on the window frames of the headmaster's office, Madam Pomfrey was called over by Dumbledore.
She gave Dumbledore a disapproving look and angrily pushed Sirius away like a hen protecting her chicks. Draco could hear her complaining to Sirius, "You look terrible. What on earth were you doing last night?"
Harry followed the chattering Madam Pomfrey with a worried look on his face as he left with his godfather. Draco guessed that Harry probably had a lot of questions to ask Sirius.
The portraits on the wall were yawning one after another. After such a complicated and thrilling night, they didn't know whether they should rest or stay awake, whether they should have a heated discussion or just keep it to themselves.
"I'll beg you to keep this secret," Dumbledore said to them. "Thank you."
The portraits all nodded in agreement, except for Phineas Nigellus Black, who remained silent. His frame was already empty. Draco suspected that the grief-stricken Black ancestor had most likely visited his portrait at 12 Grimmauld Place—to bring the definitive news of Regulus's death back to his family.
Finally, Draco Malfoy was the only one left sitting at the desk.
The platinum-haired boy shook the teapot lazily, poured out a cup of cold tea, took a sip, and frowned.
"This is truly eye-opening, Draco," said Dumbledore.
He was bending over to pick up the locket from the ground, shaking the chain, observing the shape of the debris, with an expression of disbelief on his face.
"Yeah, I didn't expect that either." Draco looked at the completely shattered locket and suddenly felt exhausted. "Slytherin's locket was destroyed just like that - it's like a dream."
"Actually, I was talking about Kreacher." Dumbledore placed the locket on the table and looked at him quietly across the desk. "Draco, I never thought you would make such a suggestion."
"Why, only those who can hold the sword of Gryffindor have the right to destroy Horcruxes?" Draco glanced at him briefly, then looked away. "There are brave people in Slytherin too, even if they are just Slytherin elves."
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought that the person who said this wouldn't be a pure-blooded little wizard." Dumbledore said calmly, "Can you tell me how you came up with the idea of asking Kreacher to destroy the Horcrux?"
Draco was silent. How could he easily reveal his empathy for Regulus and his extension of Hermione's thoughts?
"Oh, Kreacher should complete the mission given by his master, right? Besides, it might be the greatest humiliation for the Dark Lord if the house-elf he despised destroyed his Horcrux." Draco put on a gloating expression.
"I like your sense of humor," Dumbledore said lightly. "Yes, he shouldn't underestimate Kreacher. And he shouldn't underestimate Regulus. They are both the best Slytherins."
"Maybe." Draco said lightly, appearing to disagree, but feeling some agreement in his heart.
"Then, if we can only find the whereabouts of Slytherin's ring—" Dumbledore said thoughtfully, stroking a knuckle on his wand.
"Sir, don't expect me to find the ring for you tomorrow morning. I have no idea what it is." Draco interrupted him hurriedly.
"You said the same thing yesterday, but within half a day, you found the locket for me." Dumbledore said with a smile, "I have to admit that you have raised my expectations of the Slytherins' acumen."
"Yesterday was an exception." Draco curled his lips and emphasized righteously, "But can you guarantee that Sirius Black won't ask questions? And Harry, I think he is curious from head to toe, ready to get to the bottom of things at any time."
"You can't blame me for this. It was you who asked me to call Sirius, and it was you who suggested using Parseltongue to solve the problem," Dumbledore said, a hint of helplessness in his tone. "Once they realize what's going on, they'll definitely come and get to the bottom of it."
"It's your problem to deal with them perfunctorily." Draco had no sympathy for the busy old man and reiterated, "Please don't bring up my parents when you deal with them perfunctorily."
"Of course," Dumbledore said cheerfully, and asked kindly, "Anything else?"
"I need to take a day off to sleep in, so I don't have to hand in all the homework." Draco said capriciously.
Merlin! If he doesn't rest, he might die suddenly.
God knows what a hell he's been living through lately—under the influence of that locket! Severe lack of sleep! No peace of mind!
Dumbledore smiled helplessly. This smile seemed much more genuine than the one just now. He nodded, agreeing to this somewhat childish request, and waved him out.
Draco came out of the headmaster's office like a sleepwalker and yawned tiredly - his eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably.
Exhausted. Empty. Strange. Psychedelic.
He staggered in the corridor, his steps unsteady, feeling as if he were flying in the clouds.
Everything was going too smoothly, so smoothly that it seemed unreal to Draco.
This feeling of unreality continued. It wasn't supposed to be class time, but Hermione Granger's voice suddenly rang out from the other end of the silent corridor.
"Draco, are you coming out of the headmaster's office? Are you okay?" Her voice was sweet and crisp, as sweet and crisp as the green apple he loved to bite.
He half-closed his eyes, yawned lazily, opened his arms, and naturally caught the girl who rushed in front of him.
The golden sunlight dazzled him. He must be dreaming again.
Draco hugged the girl who exuded a sweet fragrance in his arms and smiled softly, just like he had done countless times in his dreams.
He took a deep breath of the fragrance of her hair, feeling happy, and hugged her tighter.
"I'm so glad, Hermione," he whispered in her ear.
"Draco? What's wrong?" Her voice was a little surprised, like a cat that was confused about its situation.
She was always so cute, with her fluffy hair, her dizzy voice, and her eyes full of curiosity about everything.
He let her go and looked at her with a dazed look, looking at the girl with bright eyes and smiling at her foolishly.
She was looking at him innocently, her head tilted. The morning breeze ruffled her hair, and her brown hair swayed as if in a dream. She looked at him, waiting for him, as if curious about his response.
Oh, Hermione. I need to get a good sleep today. I can't keep seeing you in my dreams. He thought drowsily.
Then he took her rosy cheeks in his hands and kissed her loudly on the forehead.
Suddenly, she stood there in a daze; in the haze, his brows relaxed.
Staggering around her, he continued to drift like a ghost towards the Slytherin common room, shouting "Good night!" as he walked.
"He must have gone insane." Hermione murmured as she looked at the rising sun in front of her and the young man walking further and further away under the sun.
The whispers beside her ears burned her ears.
The touch on her forehead was like an electric shock.
The heartbeat is as violent as a drum and as exciting as a long poem.
Oops! That damn cold seems to be back again.