The dining room had settled into the comfortable rhythm of shared stories and gentle laughter. Sirius, his eyes bright with nostalgia and perhaps a touch too much wine, was in the middle of recounting one of James Potter's more spectacular pranks from their Hogwarts days.
His hands gestured as he described the transformation of Professor McGonagall's classroom into a miniature Quidditch pitch, with flying desks and enchanted quills that dove like Golden Snitches.
"And then James had the audacity to—" Sirius's voice cut off abruptly as a shadow detached itself from the corner of the room.
Kreacher emerged from the darkness like a shadow of malice, his hunched form moving with the slowness of dramatic spite. In his hands, he carried a silver platter that might once have been elegant but was now was black with age and neglect.
Upon it sat what could generously be described as cheese, though the greenish-blue mold covering its surface showed it had long since evolved into something far more disgusting.
The stench hit them—a combination of decay, sulfur, and something that might have been dead fish left in the sun for weeks. The moldy mass even churned slightly, as if alive with small insects could be seen crawling through coated surface.
"Please enjoy this delicacy, honored guests," Kreacher croaked, his voice dripping with false servility as he placed the platter in the center of the table.
His eyes gleamed with malicious glee, as if he were presenting them with the crown jewels rather than what appeared to be a biological weapon.
Sirius's smile instantly froze, his expression turning frighteningly dark.
"Kreacher!" The name exploded from his lips like a curse. "Take that disgusting abomination away this instant and get back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"
But Kreacher was clearly savoring this moment of chaos he had orchestrated. His wrinkled face showed an expression of hurt innocence that fooled no one, while his voice took on the coaxing tone of a servant who knew exactly how to twist the knife.
"Kreacher only wishes to honor the noble guests with the Black family's most treasured delicacies," He wheezed, each word calculated for maximum irritation. "This is the dear mistress's most beloved cheese... aged to perfection in the pantry she so lovingly tended..."
"Your precious mistress has been rotting in her grave for twelve years!" Sirius snarled, rising from his chair with such ferocity that it toppled backward. His face had gone pale except for two spots of color on his cheekbones, and his hands trembled with fury. "Don't tell me this nightmare has been festering in my pantry for the same amount of time. Get it out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret!"
Kreacher executed a bow so deep it bordered on mockery. "As you command, young master,"
That "young master" was pronounced with particular harshness, as if he were chewing something rotten.
But when he shuffled away into the shadows, the offensive cheese remained exactly where he had placed it, continuing to emanate its toxic perfume like a malicious centerpiece.
Sirius stared at the abandoned platter for a long moment, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. Then, with a wordless roar of frustration, he grabbed the entire thing and hurled it out the window.
"Well," Dumbledore observed mildly, reaching into his robes with calmness, "fortunately my sense of smell isn't quite what it used to be, or I fear I might never again be able to appreciate the subtle bouquet of lemon drops."
He produced one of his beloved candies and held it up to catch the light, as if its cheerful yellow glow could somehow banish the lingering miasma of decay.
Adrian caught the headmaster's eye and thought silently, 'Admirable attempt at humor, Professor, but perhaps we should save the jokes for occasions that don't involve biological warfare.'
The damage to the evening's atmosphere was irreversible.
Conversations that had flowed like wine now stuttered to uncomfortable halts. The warmth that had gradually built between the friends cooled as surely as if someone had opened all the windows to the London night.
Dinner ended with awkward excuses and hasty farewells, leaving behind only the lingering scent of decay and the bitter taste of poisoned hospitality.
Later that evening, as the house settled into its customary brooding silence, Adrian was exploring the accommodations Sirius had prepared for them. The Black ancestral home was vast enough to provide each guest with their own chamber.
Sirius's earlier claim about having "tidied up as much as possible" became clearer as Adrian examined his assigned room. While the corridors remained shrouded in gloom and some dirt, this room had clearly received careful attention. The floors gleamed with fresh polish, the windows had been scrubbed until they sparkled, and not a speck of clear dust stained any surface.
The room itself was decorated in the deep green and silver that marked it as unmistakably part of the Black family aesthetic.
Dark emerald wallpaper covered the walls. A massive four-poster bed was at the center of the space. Fresh linens in white provided a contrast to the darker elements, and someone—presumably not Kreacher had placed fresh flowers on the nightstand.
It was while examining the room's furnishings that Adrian noticed something. In an inconspicuous corner near the window, three letters had been carved into the wallpaper with what appeared to be a knife or wand tip: R.A.B.
It appeared to be left behind by the room's previous occupant.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted his inspection. Adrian raised an eyebrow—it was rather late, and he hadn't been expecting anyone.
Harry was likely exhausted from the day's travels, Hermione would be deep in whatever book she'd brought along, and the adults had all seemed ready for early rest after Kreacher's dinner theater.
He opened the door to find the last person he would have expected.
Kreacher stood in the shadowy corridor, his eyes reflecting the lamplight like a night creature's. But there was something different about his demeanor now—the malicious satisfaction from dinner had been replaced by something that looked almost like... anxiety?
"You cannot stay in this room, sir," Kreacher said directly with an expressionless face.
Adrian observed the house-elf with growing interest. This was not the same creature who had delighted in tormenting them at dinner. This Kreacher seemed almost... protective?
"Why not?" Adrian asked, keeping his tone conversational and non-threatening. "Oh, I'm certainly not opposed to changing rooms—it's no inconvenience at all. I'm simply curious about your reasoning..."
The question seemed to break something inside Kreacher. His already thin veneer of control shattered completely, and his voice rose to a shrill pitch that echoed off the corridor walls like a banshee's wail.
"Get out!" He shrieked, his fingers clutching at his tattered clothing with desperation. "This is not a room for outsiders... This is Master Regulus's room!"
The house-elf's voice broke on the last words, and for a moment, the mask of malice slipped, revealing something grieving underneath. But just as quickly, he seemed to catch himself, his expression shuttering closed like a door slamming shut.
"Sir, please change rooms," He said in a more controlled voice. "Any other room will do. This one... this one is not for guests."
Adrian felt several pieces of a very large puzzle click into place. R.A.B. Regulus Arcturus Black—Sirius's younger brother, the one who had allegedly died as a Death Eater but whose true story was clearly far more complex. And if Kreacher was protecting this room with such desperation...
Moving slowly, Adrian crouched down until he was at eye level with the elderly house-elf. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.
"Of course I'll change rooms, Kreacher. But before I do, there's something I need to tell you."
Kreacher took an instinctive step backward, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and confusion. What could this stranger, this outsider, possibly need to tell an old house-elf?
"I'm looking for a locket," Adrian said softly, his gaze never leaving Kreacher's face.
At the word "locket," Kreacher's entire body went stiff as if he'd been struck by lightning. His eyes dilated with terror, and his breathing became rapid and shallow.
"Locket?" Kreacher appeared somewhat nervous.
"Yes, a locket," Adrian continued gently, using his hands to indicate size and shape. "About this big, probably gold, with serpentine decorations. Perhaps an 'S' engraved on it?"
Kreacher's pupils contracted, and his dry, rattling chest began heaving as if he couldn't get enough air. His hands flew to his ears, covering them as if he could block out words that had already been spoken.
"No... no locket!" he trembled, his voice rising to a wail. "Kreacher knows nothing... nothing about any locket! Bad Kreacher! Shouldn't talk to outsiders! Shouldn't think about... shouldn't remember..."
Kreacher then began violently banging his head against the wall, cursing himself continuously—this seemed to be a necessary skill for every house-elf.
Adrian hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction from Kreacher.
"Kreacher! Stop!" He reached out to intervene, but Kreacher's strength was surprisingly powerful.
"Alright, Kreacher, suit yourself. I'm here to help you," Adrian sighed. "Regulus..."
The effect was magical. Kreacher's movements ceased as if someone had cast a Freezing Charm on him. His head slowly lifted from where it had been pressed against the wall, and for the first time since Adrian had met him, the house-elf's eyes showed genuine clarity instead of malice or madness.
"Master Regulus..." Kreacher whispered, his voice filled with such reverence and pain that it was almost unbearable to hear.
'It works!'
Adrian seized the moment. "I know you have the locket, Kreacher. Give it to me. I'm going to destroy it. Trust me, I have the ability."
Hearing this, the clarity in Kreacher's eyes was instantly replaced by deep suspicion.
"Don't... don't try to trick Kreacher," He stammered, backing away with terror. "Many wizards have come... many have said they would destroy it... but they all wanted to possess its power... to use it for themselves..."
His voice dropped to a broken whisper. "They all lied. They all wanted the precious... wanted to keep it... wanted its magic for themselves."
Adrian couldn't help but feel somewhat speechless. This old fellow was clearly trapped in paranoid delusions, or perhaps persecution complex? Besides him, who else would know that Voldemort's Horcrux was here?
"Kreacher," Adrian said carefully, reaching into his robes, "perhaps this will help you understand that I'm different."
Adrian pulled a vial of calming draught from his pocket—though he wasn't certain whether wizard medicine would work on house-elves.
After Kreacher drank the calming draught under no coercion whatsoever (not really), he finally calmed down.
"Can... can Kreacher trust you?" he asked hesitantly, his voice small and uncertain.
"I believe you can," Adrian replied honestly. "But I understand if you need proof. Tell me—you've hidden the locket in your cupboard, haven't you?"
Kreacher's ears drooped in defeat, and his shoulders sagged as if an invisible weight had just doubled. The accuracy of Adrian's guess had clearly shattered his last hope of keeping his secret safe.
"Sir knows too much," He whispered mournfully. "Kreacher has no choice now... must trust... must hope..."
He knew he had no choice now but to trust. Look at his condition—an aging house-elf was no match for a Hogwarts professor.
Adrian followed the aged house-elf through dim corridors and staircases until they stopped at the kitchen door.
"Wait a moment."
Kreacher shuffled toward the cupboard in the corner and soon emerged carrying something.
Adrian took it—a golden box about the size of an egg, with an emerald "S" in the center.
"Hmm, quite a nice gem," Adrian turned it over in his hands. "But unfortunately, it harbors an evil soul and can't be recycled."
The moment he got the locket, he had the Tree of Wisdom analyze it—the locket before him was indeed a genuine Horcrux.
"Kreacher has tried many methods," Kreacher's voice was somewhat hoarse. "Cutting with knives, burning with fire, but it always remains the same. You said, sir, that you would help me destroy it."
"Don't be anxious, Kreacher."
Adrian waved to Kreacher with a somewhat relaxed manner. "Let's go to a more spacious place. I noticed there's a courtyard here, isn't there?"
________________
You can read more chapters on:
/IamLuis