— — — — — —
No matter what Tom said or did, Kreacher still refused to hand over the locket. Even though Sirius had ordered him to obey Tom completely, his other master—Regulus Black—had once given him an opposing command: destroy the locket.
Between the two, Regulus' order carried more weight.
"Tom… wh-what's going on?"
Tom had no choice but to drag Sirius away from whatever he'd been cooking in the kitchen.
"Regulus' locket? Since when were you mixed up with him?" Sirius looked even more lost than Kreacher. As far as he knew, the only thing Tom had in common with Regulus was that they were both Slytherins.
One had barely been born when the other had already died. And his brother… his brother had been shaped perfectly into their parents' ideal—pure blood this, noble that.
"There's way too much behind this. Complicated stuff. Even if I explained it, you wouldn't get it. So… don't ask."
Sirius could tell from Tom's evasive tone that pushing further wouldn't get him anywhere. He swallowed his confusion and turned to Kreacher.
"Kreacher. Give Tom what he wants. Bring out the locket Regulus left you."
Kreacher's face twisted with pain. He couldn't disobey Sirius, but every step he took he kept glancing back, begging Sirius silently to revoke the order.
Sirius didn't budge. In fact, he pressed harder.
It took a full thirty minutes before Kreacher finally shuffled back, clutching a locket as though it were burning him. Tom slipped on a pair of self-made anti-curse gloves and snatched it right out of the elf's hands.
If Tom wouldn't talk… maybe Kreacher would.
Sirius watched as Kreacher broke down into a kind of grief he had never seen from the elf. Kreacher slammed his head on the floor over and over, muttering Regulus' name like a prayer. Sirius barked out a command just to stop him.
"Tell me everything about Regulus and that locket. All of it. No lies. Nothing forgotten—dig up whatever you have to."
A wizard's command hit a house-elf like the strongest compulsion charm imaginable. It could even force their minds past their own limits. And Kreacher—traumatized as he was—had blocked out countless details. But under Sirius' order, those sealed-off memories began to surface, wild and unfiltered.
Sobbing, he began the story.
Sirius had been the family disgrace. Regulus had been the pride of the Black household—devoted to blood purity, joining the Death Eaters at sixteen. Back then, Voldemort still had a nose… and a functioning sense of reason. Behind the banner of "pure-blood supremacy," he'd fooled plenty of young pure-bloods, Regulus included, into believing he was the wizarding world's rightful leader.
So when Voldemort demanded a house-elf, Regulus hadn't hesitated to offer Kreacher, considering it an honor.
Kreacher sniffled and choked through the words, forcing Sirius to lean in just to catch them.
"The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave… told Kreacher to drink a strange potion. Horrible dead things crawled out of the lake… too many… they tried to drag Kreacher into the water… but… Master told Kreacher to go home. So Kreacher went home…"
Then came the part that made Sirius' stomach twist: Regulus found out what had happened. He ordered Kreacher to tell no one—not even the mistress of the house. Some time later, he had Kreacher take him to the cave.
And this time, Regulus drank the potion.
"What?!" Sirius had been listening in a heavy, uneasy silence, but at that part he shot to his feet. "You're telling me Regulus drank the poison Voldemort prepared?!"
Kreacher wailed harder. "Master drank it… all of it… he was braver than the useless master… he took the locket… put a fake one in its place… gave the real one to Kreacher… ordered Kreacher to destroy it… Kreacher couldn't disobey… Kreacher is such a horrible elf… Kreacher watched his master dragged into the lake…"
He slammed his head against the floor again, even harder than before.
The fire in the sitting room flickered in and out, throwing warped shadows across the walls. Sirius stood deep in the darkness where no one could see his expression. He didn't say a single word for a very long time.
Useless master, huh?
He'd heard Kreacher call him that plenty of times before. It had never made him angry. He would just sneer. They were never on the same side anyway; of course the elf hated him.
Regulus had always been the obedient little angel the Black Family wanted.
But today… something in him felt ashamed.
Compared to Regulus… he really was a useless waste of space. His brother had never lacked the guts to resist, even if it cost him his life.
And him?
All he'd ever done was act clever, and all that cleverness had gotten James and Lily killed, while the real traitor walked free for over a decade.
"Heh… heh…"
Sirius let out a strange, broken laugh, something between crying and choking. He slammed his fist onto the side table, then shot to his feet.
"What are you planning to do?" Tom finally looked away from the locket.
"I'm bringing Regulus home. I'm not leaving his body rotting in a place like that!" Sirius' eyes went bloodshot. He rounded on the still-sobbing Kreacher and roared, "Still crying? Take me to that cave!"
Tom snapped his fingers. With a sharp crack, Sirius froze mid-step, petrified and dropping back onto the chair. Kreacher was immobilized as well.
"Sirius," Tom said, "I'm not looking down on you. But if Voldemort's trap could be solved by someone like you, he wouldn't be Voldemort. What now, the Black family sent one life already, so you're volunteering to be the second?"
Sirius couldn't move, but his eyes were burning, defiant. They said plainly that even if it cost him everything, he would bring Regulus back.
Tom sighed. "This is why Gryffindors drive me insane. Always gambling with your lives. Is there no way to get things done without acting suicidal?"
"You risked everything last time switching Secret Keepers. See how that turned out? And if you die this time, Harry loses the last family he has left. Can you please think for half a second before acting?"
"Plus, I never said I wasn't going to help you," Tom added.
Every word stabbed Sirius right in the heart. Tom practically sprinkled vodka on the wound afterward for extra burn.
But Sirius couldn't argue. First, he literally couldn't open his mouth. Second, everything Tom said was true. What could he even use to fight back?
Tom walked over and looked down at him. "Are you calm now? Once you are, I'll go find Dumbledore. Anything involving Voldemort, he won't hesitate to help with."
Sirius' eyes lit up. He blinked rapidly a few times.
Tom finally lifted the spell, and Sirius immediately dragged him toward Phineas Nigellus' portrait. The frame was empty. Tom called out for Phineas a few times.
The old headmaster appeared at last, looking annoyed. "Sirius Black, you insolent brat. How dare you call me by—Riddle boy? What are you doing here?"
"So you were the one calling me? It's fine then."
Sirius' mouth twitched.
Tom nodded. "We've found a lead on one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. And we've found your great-great-grandson Regulus' body. Don't ask me how yet. If I explain now, I'll have to repeat everything when Dumbledore comes."
Phineas' expression sharpened at once. He gave Tom a long look, then vanished from the frame.
The room fell quiet again. Sirius was trying to work out what this "Horcrux" actually meant.
Tom, meanwhile, was studying the locket. He even summoned Rowena Ravenclaw, figuring relics of the Founders ought to be evaluated by the Founders themselves.
"Huh? Isn't that Salazar's locket?"
Rowena recognized it the moment she saw it. "How did something like that end up with you?"
"So it's basically just storage magic? Nothing OP?" Tom ignored her question and threw one back at her.
"In practical terms, yes," she nodded. "It's a Slytherin heirloom. Symbolic value more than actual use. Salazar carried it everywhere, sometimes stored little things inside. Sort of like your version of a storage pouch."
"This one was turned into a Horcrux," Tom said bluntly. "Voldemort's work. I was wondering if the Horcrux magic erased its original function… but apparently there wasn't much function to erase."
"Horcrux?"
Rowena couldn't see through the enchantment from afar, but when Tom finished explaining, she looked stunned. Then a wicked grin crept up her face. "If that old snake Salazar knew his family emblem got made into a Horcrux, he'd toss Voldemort's soul straight into hellfire for a hundred years."
Studying dark magic didn't mean you abandoned all principles. For Slytherin, bloodline and honor mattered more than anything. Using the family treasure as a soul-splitting vessel was basically spitting in Salazar's face.
Her grin faded. She paused for two seconds, then quietly asked, "Tom… be honest with me. My diadem. Was it turned into a Horcrux too?"
Tom ran his thumb over the surface of the locket. He didn't answer directly. "Rowena, didn't you once say being too smart isn't always a blessing?"
"I see. Perfect," she said with a slow breath, smiling without warmth. "Voldemort, is it? I'll remember him."
Tom gave Voldemort a silent moment of sympathy. Being hated by a woman was trouble enough. Being hated by the smartest witch in magical history… that was practically divine punishment.
Just then, the wind chime at the entrance gave a clear, crisp ring.
Dumbledore had arrived.
.
.
.