Chapter 503: The Summons
"Master Sirius ran away, and a good thing too, for he was a bad boy who broke my
Mistress's heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had pride. He knew
what the name Black meant, and he knew the value of his pure blood. For years he
talked of the Dark Lord, who would bring wizards out of hiding to rule over the
Muggles and their descendants...
"When Master Regulus was sixteen, he joined the Dark Lord's order. He was so
proud, so very proud and happy to serve..."
Listening to Kreacher's croaking voice, Sirius's brow furrowed deeper with every
word.
"What's the point, elf?" he snapped impatiently. "Get to the point!"
"Master Sirius, I am coming to it—" Kreacher flinched, then turned back to the
carpet to mutter, "Oh, you see? He is just as unpleasant as ever."
Sirius looked ready to explode, but Sean placed a steadying hand on his arm.
"Kreacher remembers... a year later, Master Regulus came to the kitchen to see
Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said... he
said..."
The elderly elf began to rock faster, his eyes wide and unfocused. "...He said
the Dark Lord required an elf."
"Voldemort wanted an elf?" Sirius asked, his voice filled with confusion.
Voldemort had always viewed house-elves as little more than vermin.
"Oh, yes," Kreacher said piteously. "Master Regulus volunteered Kreacher. It was
an honor, Master Regulus said, an honor for himself and for Kreacher."
"An honor. Hmph," Sirius sneered.
"Kreacher had to do whatever the Dark Lord commanded... and then come—come
home." Kreacher's rocking became more violent, his breathing hitching into
ragged sobs. "So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. He did not tell Kreacher what
was to be done, but took Kreacher to a cave by the sea. A great cavern, and in
the cavern was a great, black lake..."
Kreacher's raspy voice seemed to carry the chill of that dark water. "...And
there was a boat..."
Of course, there was a boat. A ghostly, green-tinged boat, enchanted to carry
exactly one wizard and one victim to the island at the center of the lake.
Voldemort had tested his Horcrux protections using what he considered a
disposable life—a house-elf.
"On the island was a ba-basin, full of potion. The Da-Dark Lord made Kreacher
drink..." The elf was shaking now, his entire body convulsing. "Kreacher drank,
and as he drank, he saw terrible things... Kreacher's insides were on fire...
"Kreacher called for Master Regulus to save him, he called for the Mistress, but
the Dark Lord only laughed... he made Kreacher drink every drop... he dropped a
locket into the empty basin... and filled it with more potion. Then the Dark
Lord got into the boat and left... left Kreacher on the island..."
The description was so vivid that the hair on the back of Sirius's neck stood
up. He could almost see it—Voldemort's pale, snake-like face vanishing into the
darkness, his red eyes cold and indifferent to the suffering elf. Sirius felt
his estimation of his "foolish" brother drop even lower.
"Kreacher needed water. He crawled to the edge of the island to drink from the
black lake... and many hands, dead hands, reached out of the water and dragged
Kreacher down..."
"Then how did you escape?" Sirius demanded.
Kreacher lifted his ugly head and stared at Sirius with bloodshot, bulging eyes.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home," he said simply.
"I know that—but how did you get away from the Inferi?"
Kreacher didn't seem to understand the question. "Master Regulus told Kreacher
to come home," he repeated.
"I know, but—"
"He Apparated," Sean said softly, finishing the explanation for him.
"The highest law for a house-elf is the Master's command," Kreacher said in a
sing-song voice. "The Master said 'come home,' so Kreacher came home..."
"And what happened when you returned?" Sirius pressed, a dark realization
beginning to dawn on him.
"Kreacher came back, and Master Regulus was so worried, so very worried,"
Kreacher croaked. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to hide and not to leave the
house. And then... after a time... one night, Master Regulus came to the
cupboard to find Kreacher. Master Regulus was strange, not like himself.
Kreacher could tell his mind was troubled... he told Kreacher to take him to the
cave. To the same cave where the Dark Lord had taken Kreacher..."
And so they had gone. Sirius could picture it clearly: the terrified, elderly
elf and his younger brother. Kreacher knew how to open the secret entrance, how
to summon the boat. Together, they had rowed to the island where the potion
waited.
"He made you drink the potion again?" Sirius asked, his voice tight.
Kreacher shook his head, bursting into a fresh fit of agonizing tears. Sirius
covered his face with his hands; he had already guessed the truth.
"Ma-Master Regulus took a locket from his pocket, just like the Dark Lord's,"
Kreacher sobbed, tears streaming down both sides of his long nose. "He told
Kreacher to take it, and when the basin was empty, to swap them..."
Kreacher's sobs became so thick and guttural that Sirius had to strain to hear
him.
"He ordered—Kreacher to leave—without him. He told Kreacher—to go home—and never
tell the Mistress—what he had done—but to destroy—the first locket. And then he
drank—drank it all—Kreacher swapped the lockets—and watched... as Master
Regulus... was dragged beneath the water... and..."
"Enough!" Sirius growled, his voice a broken roar.
The truth was laid bare. His brother, Regulus, hadn't been a coward who ran away
in fear. He had seen through Voldemort's cruelty and had chosen to defy him,
even if it cost him his life.
"I believe you should have this," Sean said, breaking the heavy silence. He
handed a small, yellowed scrap of parchment to Sirius.
On it was written:
To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it
was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to
destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your
match, you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Sirius's hands shook as he took the note, his gaunt features contorting. The
word "Horcrux" burned his eyes. The phrase "face death" pierced his heart.
When Sirius finally looked up, he remembered that the mysterious boy before him
had mentioned destroying several such objects. He connected the dots—the reports
in the papers, the dangerous incidents at the school—and realized the sheer
peril Sean had already faced.
He looked at Sean, who was quietly watching the last rays of the sunset fade
through the grimy window.
"Is this our goal?" Sirius asked.
"Of course, Mr. Black. As you can see, it is a goal that must be completed,"
Sean replied, his gaze deep and steady.
"And what do you see in the future?" Sirius asked.
"Do you truly need to know?" the young wizard asked with a gentle, knowing
smile.
"We have to fight him... but it seems impossible," Sirius said hoarsely.
"What did you think about while you were in Azkaban, sir?" Sean asked softly. "I
believe you realized that a man can live a hundred years in a prison cell on a
single day's worth of memories. He has enough to remember that he need never be
bored. In a way, there is a certain peace in that.
"That is what hope is, sir. Hope is a beautiful thing—perhaps the best of
things. And good things never truly die."
Sirius watched as the dusk vanished, replaced by the velvet embrace of night. He
looked out at the vast, silent city beyond the walls. It felt like a summons—a
call to arms.
Just as a mother calls for her children, hope was calling for its warriors to
step into the light.
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