"Professor Dumbledore," Draco said eagerly, "try Parseltongue... it is a language only Slytherin's descendants know."
Dumbledore glanced at him and nodded in agreement. "It is worth a try."
"Then we shall have to find Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. Seeing Draco's puzzled expression, he added, "I can understand Parseltongue, but I cannot speak it. Fawkes, could you please make another trip?"
The phoenix shook his head helplessly and flew towards the door once more, his once majestic tail feathers now looking rather timid... he had done quite a bit of work that night.
"Yes, Harry can speak Parseltongue. Asking him to give it a try is the easiest way." Draco nodded.
Speaking of which, is Harry really a descendant of Slytherin? Why does he speak Parseltongue? Draco wondered, bewildered.
All right, let us consider Harry's talent as an accident for now. After all, he was able to defeat Voldemort as a baby and kill the Basilisk like a warrior, using a sword instead of a wand.
It is not surprising that someone with such extraordinary talent would know some strange and unusual languages... He deceived himself, not wanting to dwell on irrelevant matters at this moment.
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 noticed that everyone in the Headmaster's office seemed a bit listless.
Dumbledore wiped his half-moon spectacles and sighed almost imperceptibly. Sirius sat listlessly in his wheelchair, staring blankly at the locket. The house-elf Kreacher, like an old child, trembled and gasped for breath, constantly rubbing his swollen, tennis-ball-like eyes with his wrinkled hands.
Kreacher.
Draco had initially disliked the house-elf because of his slander; however, when the truth came out, he realised that, in some ways, Kreacher had not lied.
At that moment, seeing the house-elf's pitiful appearance, he suddenly thought of his own house-elf, Dobby.
Dobby had also been just as slovenly and pitiful, once.
However, Dobby had now undergone a complete transformation. He often appeared before him noisily and smugly... although at times he had an unusually strong obsession with Harry Potter... and he was becoming more and more capable every day.
Now, Dobby could keep everything in perfect order, and it had been a long time since he had been this messy.
Draco glanced at Kreacher, a strange tightness in his chest rising within him.
He did not know why he felt this way; the feeling was very unfamiliar.
How could he feel anything other than "contempt" towards an ugly, wretched house-elf who was utterly rude to him?
The next second, he found the reason... he could not help but think of Hermione Granger.
He remembered her eyes, which were often filled with compassion for the weak. She treated all pitiful creatures with such kindness, never showing any contempt.
She always tried to understand those marginalised people who were abandoned by society, regardless of whether it would cause her trouble or whether it was a losing proposition.
Hermione. Imagine if, in this early morning filled with distress and tears, she heard such a dramatic story, and even rediscovered a legendary eighteen-year-old Slytherin boy.
What is she thinking?
The boy's passing was extremely regrettable.
His bravery was never revealed; everyone used "cowardice" as his epitaph.
The light within him was never seen; everyone believed he was a faithful follower of the Dark Lord.
His dying wish had never been fulfilled... until today.
Until his house-elf revealed the secret by chance today, giving his short life a new and true footnote.
He could have survived. He could have used the loyal house-elf.
But he was unwilling to hurt Kreacher, so he chose to die, leaving the hope of life to him and entrusting him with one of the most difficult tasks in the world.
This task had tormented him to the point of despair; he tried every possible method but could not complete it, and lived in constant anxiety, resentment, helplessness, and sadness.
If she were here, how would she treat the boy's house-elf?
"I have a suggestion." Draco's voice broke the silence in the Headmaster's office, causing both the blue and grey eyes in the room to look at him with suspicion.
He knew he had been somewhat rash today, speaking without thinking.
Perhaps he was too tired, tormented by that locket for too long, so long that he had forgotten how to write "self-discipline and restoration of propriety."
He may have empathised with Regulus Black... the lone-wolf Slytherin boy... to some extent, understanding why he had to bear all of this alone, even at the cost of his own life.
With a certain Hermione Granger-like stubbornness, Draco did not give himself a chance to back out and continued, "If we can successfully open this locket, could we give it to Kreacher and let him fulfil the mission entrusted to him by his master?"
Sirius looked at him listlessly, completely baffled as to what he was up to.
Kreacher covered his mouth with his fist, looking at Draco in surprise, his cloudy eyes flashing with clear moisture and radiating an unusual brilliance.
Professor Dumbledore did not show much surprise... a hint of a smile flickered in his tired blue eyes.
"I have no objection. Sirius?"
"Whatever," Sirius said numbly, still reeling from the truth of Regulus's death.
"Kreacher, we want to continue the work that Regulus started, and we want to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain." Draco crouched down, trying to be as kind as possible to him, forcing himself not to notice his almost naked body and tear-streaked face.
"Yes, yes!" Kreacher nodded eagerly.
But the next second, a look of apprehension appeared on the little house-elf's face. He lacked confidence in destroying the locket. "Kreacher has tried everything, but nothing works. Kreacher is worried..."
"Do not worry, Kreacher. We have a way." Dumbledore said kindly, standing up, taking the Sword of Gryffindor in his hand, and walking towards Kreacher. "However, it is a bit special; not everyone can wield it. Here, you try first."
Kreacher trembled as he took the sword and held it in his hand.
"Give it a try," Dumbledore encouraged him.
A determination appeared on his face as he strained to swing the sword, only to find in despair that he could not budge it.
"Oh no..." he cried out as he knelt on the ground in anguish.
"I am afraid not. Only Gryffindors can summon and wield this sword," Sirius said indifferently from the side. "Kreacher is a house-elf from the Black family, and at heart, he is a house-elf who has received the mindset and education of Slytherins. He is... a Slytherin through and through."
Kreacher returned the sword to Dumbledore, then lowered his head in despair, sobbing again and muttering, "I am sorry, Master... I have failed you... Kreacher could not complete your mission..."
"Do not cry yet, Kreacher," Draco said. "The Slytherins have their own secret weapon. I have one here... a souvenir I obtained somewhere last year."
He carefully took the fang, still wrapped in a leather sheath, out of his pocket. He removed the sheath, revealing the venom gleaming with a dangerous silver light.
"I suspect it will be useful," Draco said casually, smiling slightly at Kreacher's surprised face.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
The Basilisk's fangs... of course they were useful... had once destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul in the diary.
However, this young Mr. Malfoy was very discreet.
He had never revealed a word about the fangs before. No one knew he had taken such a unique souvenir from the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore silently observed the platinum-blonde-haired boy through his glasses, his gaze deep and thoughtful.