"No! You helped Kreacher fulfill young master's final wish—you are Kreacher's benefactor! If there is ever anything you need, please do not hesitate to command me!"
Seeing Kreacher argue so earnestly, Arthur sighed lightly.
"Alright then. In that case, help me prepare a cup of hot tea."
He knew that if he didn't give the house-elf something to do, Kreacher would never let the matter rest.
"Please wait a moment! Kreacher will prepare it immediately!"
With a sharp pop, Kreacher vanished.
Only after the house-elf left did Arthur finally have the leisure to examine the locket in his hand.
A silver chain connected to a case about the size of a pocket watch. The golden surface was engraved with the image of a serpent, its body studded with tiny emeralds.
Arthur tried to open it.
Nothing happened.
He extended his spiritual perception and swept over the locket, immediately sensing faint magical fluctuations within the gemstones. They were arranged in a very specific pattern—less like decoration, more like a key.
Arthur frowned slightly, sinking into thought.
If this locket is truly a key… then what exactly does it open?
He already possessed the deed to Hogwarts itself. Logically speaking, there shouldn't be any secret chambers in the castle left hidden from him.
When he first saw Slytherin's Chamber marked on the deed, he had assumed it was simply Gryffindor outplaying the others.
Now that he thought about it… the other founders weren't simple figures either.
Especially Hufflepuff's inheritance—Arthur had absolutely no clues so far.
While Arthur was pondering this, Harry suddenly jolted awake on the bed, gasping for breath as if he'd just crawled out of a nightmare.
Given that he'd passed out from pain, it wasn't surprising that his dreams hadn't been pleasant.
It took him quite a while to steady himself.
"Alright," Arthur said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Once you've caught your breath, we'll go outside and test your runes."
Harry nodded and followed Arthur out of the room.
The people in the living room turned toward them at the sound.
They looked Harry up and down—aside from being drenched in cold sweat, he didn't seem any different from before.
"That's it?" Sirius frowned. "He doesn't look changed at all."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"What kind of change were you expecting? For him to turn into a troll? Or a goblin?"
He walked over to the sofa and sat down beside Hermione.
At that moment, Kreacher suddenly appeared at his side, respectfully presenting a cup of hot tea along with a plate of carefully prepared pastries.
"Thank you," Arthur said.
"You are most welcome. You are an honored guest of the Black family," Kreacher replied with a deep bow.
"Hey! Kreacher," Sirius snapped irritably. "Why doesn't your master get this kind of treatment?"
"Hmph! Because Master Sirius did not order Kreacher to do so."
"Then I'm ordering you now—prepare some for everyone!"
"Kreacher understands."
Snap.
Before disappearing, Kreacher deliberately whipped up a gust of wind that thoroughly messed up Sirius's hair.
It was painfully obvious that Kreacher held a deep grudge against the rebellious eldest son who had run away from home—but the nature of house-elves forced him to obey nonetheless.
"Damn it! One day I'll cut your head off and mount it on the wall!" Sirius cursed.
The Black family did, in fact, have such a tradition. When a house-elf grew old and clumsy, their head would be cut off and mounted—an idea pioneered by Sirius's aunt, Elladora Black.
Hermione immediately stiffened, about to stand up and argue. After all, she was deeply committed to the cause of house-elf rights.
Arthur stopped her with a hand.
Even Arthur frowned slightly at Sirius's words. Perhaps, to many pure-blood families, house-elves had never truly been seen as living beings.
That said, Arthur sensed something else as well—Sirius was unusually irritable and volatile. Years in Azkaban had clearly left deep scars on his psyche.
Truthfully, Arthur didn't much care about the general treatment of house-elves.
What bothered him was that Kreacher, at least, had left a fairly good impression—grumbling internally, yet still executing every order meticulously.
Unlike a certain Malfoy family house-elf—who abandoned her post, leaked her master's secrets, and acted as a self-righteous informant.
Even if the person she betrayed her master to was Harry, Arthur still despised that sort of behavior.
From a standpoint of loyalty, she had crossed the line.
Arthur took a sip of tea and said casually,
"If you don't need Kreacher, you could consider giving him to me. I happen to be short one house-elf at home."
Naturally, that was just an excuse.
Over the Christmas break, Arthur had already shown the Hogwarts deed once and brought home a house-elf from the kitchens—one who specialized in Eastern cuisine.
"Oh, sure," Sirius said without much thought. "If you want him, take him."
To Sirius, a house-elf was nothing compared to what Arthur had done for him.
Not to mention that Arthur had now helped Harry grow stronger—though the results hadn't yet been demonstrated.
Sirius turned to Harry.
"Harry, go on. Try activating your runes."
Harry nodded and focused, attempting to summon his ghost companion.
Somewhere unknown—
A vast space stretched endlessly, its sky resembling a brilliant sea of stars—yet suffused with deathly stillness.
Upon closer inspection, those weren't stars at all, but countless clusters of souls.
Suddenly, one of them trembled… and vanished.
Deep within this realm, a shadow cloaked in darkness noticed the disturbance and let out a furious roar.
"WHO DARES STEAL A SOUL THAT BELONGS TO ME—THANATOS?!"
Thanatos—the god of death in ancient Greek myth.
It was obvious now: the ghosts summoned by the rune system were drawn directly from the Nether Realm, the domain of death.
Fortunately, the runes granted by Arthur's system were powerful enough.
Though Thanatos sensed that one of his souls had been taken, he couldn't determine who had done it—or where that soul had gone.
Unable to track it, the god of death could only rage uselessly within his realm.
In the end, he didn't remain angry for long.
In a sea of countless souls, losing one was like losing a grain of sand.
What infuriated him wasn't the soul itself—but the audacity of someone daring to steal from him.
None of what happened in the Nether Realm was known to the people inside the Black residence.
They were all staring blankly at the ghost that had appeared before them.
She looked like a woman in her early twenties.
Through her pale, translucent form, one could vaguely see red hair and bright green eyes.
Anyone unfamiliar might easily mistake her for a member of the Weasley family—after all, red hair was rare across Britain.
But everyone present recognized her instantly.
Everyone except Hermione.
"Cousin," Hermione whispered, confused. "Is there something wrong with Harry's ghost?"
Arthur slowly came back to himself and said softly,
"She's Harry's biological mother—Lily."
Hermione froze, her mouth falling open in shock.
Arthur himself hadn't expected this outcome either.
But when he recalled the hidden property of summoning runes, it suddenly made perfect sense.
Summoned entities were always highly compatible with their summoner.
Draco had summoned a Welsh Green Dragon, perfectly matching Slytherin's colors.
Arthur himself had summoned a Heavenly Fireball Dragon—the "Heavenly" part alone made it perfectly compatible with him.
By that logic, Harry summoning his mother's soul as his ghost partner was not strange at all.
Lily looked around in confusion.
"Wasn't I… already dead? And you—Sirius? Lupin? Have you all died too?"
Seeing that everyone was still stunned into silence, Arthur stepped forward.
"Ahem. Lily… here's the situation."
After a long explanation, Lily finally understood her circumstances.
She never imagined that she would return to the world more than ten years later—as a ghost, no less—and as her son's summoned companion.
Harry finally found his voice, his eyes trembling.
"Mom… is it really you?"
His voice cracked.
Lily's heart ached.
Arthur had already told her about Harry's upbringing—about growing up unloved, surviving alone, only finding warmth after coming to Hogwarts.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Yes," she said firmly. "Harry. It's me."
Before she even finished speaking, Harry threw himself into her arms.
Unlike the Hogwarts ghosts, Lily could solidify her spiritual form.
This time, Harry didn't pass through.
For the first time in his memory, he felt his mother's embrace.
Warm.
Real.
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