HP: A Magical Journey Chapter 288 – The Second Hunt

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“Kreacher’s Mistress has taught Kreacher to serve the pure wizards. Kreacher shall serve Young Master West.”

Kreacher’s words brought a smile to Quinn’s face. His bid had paid off. He didn’t know if using his pureblood status would make Kreacher help him, but it was worth a try— a try that he was able to convert into an opportunity.

“Kreacher, I heard you were an important confidant to the Black heir Regulus Black,” said Quinn, choosing and placing words carefully.

Kreacher’s old eyes shined a renewed vigor as he creakily nodded his head, his eyes slowly flopping with every nod. “Young Master Regulus was the true heir. Not like the fake Master. . . blood traitor. . . meddling with mudbloods and other blood traitors.”

Quinn noticed how, unlike other house-elves in his position, Kreacher made no attempt to punish for bad-mouthing his Master. The relationship was truly broken beyond repair. Quinn sighed. Kreacher was a product of his upbringing and environment— raised in a blood supremacist household to look down on anyone not pureblood.

“I might not have met Regulus Black, but I have heard much about him, especially from the Professors at Hogwarts— they say he was a bright, talented young man,” said Quinn, his eyes curved into smiles with his words mixed with admiration.

“Young Master Regulus was a man of different caliber,” Kreacher spoke with more enthusiasm than he had expressed in years. “He was a pureblood among purebloods— a true Wizard truly deserving of magick.”

“A pity he passed away before his time,” said Quinn. “He could’ve become a fine Head of Noble House Black.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Kreacher, his matchstick body trembling with every word. “He wouldn’t have dragged the pure Black through the mud.”

“I agree, that’s why when I met Sirius Black for the first time, I looked into Blacks and found about Regulus Black; there I found that he was a follower of the Dark Lord, am I right?” Quinn asked.

Kreacher’s eyes took on a faraway gaze. Quinn waited for Kreacher to return to the present, but it seems that the house-elf’s old age had been affecting him as even after waiting, Kreacher didn’t return from his memory zone out.

“Kreacher?”

“. . . Yes,” said Kreacher.

Quinn didn’t know if Kreacher was answering his previous question or responding to his call, but it didn’t matter; it was time to move into the main act.

“Kreacher. . . I know how Regulus really died,” he said. “He didn’t die as everyone thought he died.”

The official story was that Regulus died by Voldemort’s hands, or at least by his order. That Regulus had gotten far into the organization, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. However, one couldn’t just walk in and hand in their resignation to Voldemort— once marked, a person was Death Eater for life with only one option of escape. . . death.

Kreacher’s body trembled at his words. Quinn’s pupils narrowed a fraction, his hands behind his back clenched as he felt a flare of magic from the house-elf.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” said Kreacher, clutching the front of his pillowcase rag. “Young Master West must not believe in such absurd rumors. . .”

“I understand why you would want to hide the truth, but there’s no need when I know it. . . . I know that Regulus died because of stealing from the Dark Lord,” said Quinn, revealing about the truth only known to Kreacher. “He died in that cave, where the Dark Lord placed his treasure for safekeeping.”

Kreacher looked up at Quinn with shocked eyes. Accompanying the shock was a muddling craze in the background.

‘Good, good,’ thought Quinn noticing Kreacher’s current state. It would be much easier for him to control the house-elf with just the right words if he was slightly unstable.

“H-H-How. . . ?!”

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“The question of how is not of importance, Kreacher,” he said to Kreacher. “What’s important is if that thing that was taken from the cave was destroyed or not. I hope it was disposed of Kreacher; tell me that your Master’s sacrifice was not in vain. That the Dark Lord’s treasure that he so carefully wanted to be hidden has perished.”

However, Quinn knew that ‘it’ still existed. He wanted to know if it was still in this home.

Kreacher suddenly crouched down on the floor, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.

“Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pureblood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns . . . and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve . . .

And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said . . . he said . . .”

The old elf rocked faster than ever.

“. . . he said that the Dark Lord required an elf. And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do . . . and then to c-come home.”

Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.

“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave, there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake . . .

. . . There was a boat . . .

. . . There was a b-basin full of potion on the island . . .

The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it. . . .”

The elf quaked from head to foot.

Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things . . . . Kreacher’s insides burned . . . Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed . . . He made Kreacher drink all the potion . . . He dropped a locket into the empty basin. . . . He filled it with more potion.

And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island. . . .”

‘The locket,’ thought Quinn.

“Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge, and he drank from the black lake . . . and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface. . . .” Then Kreacher’s voice turned momentarily hopeful, “Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back. . .”

‘Voldemort’s folly,’ Quinn scoffed. The Dark Lord didn’t take the supposedly lower house-elf species into consideration, allowing them to Apparate out of the cave.

“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then . . . it was a little while later . . . Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell . . . and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. . . .”

And so they had set off. Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat; this time it was Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison. . . .

Kreacher shook his head and wept. Quinn sighed: he knew what happened next.

“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets. . . .”

Kreacher’s sobs came in great rasps now; Quinn had to concentrate hard to understand him.

“And he ordered — Kreacher to leave — without him. And he told Kreacher — to go home — and never to tell my Mistress — what he had done — but to destroy — the first locket. And he drank — all the potion — and Kreacher swapped the lockets — and watched . . . as Master Regulus . . . was dragged beneath the water . . . and . . .”

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snout, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Quinn had never seen anything so pitiful.

“So you brought the locket home,” he said, his tone not changing from before. “And you tried to destroy it?”

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work. . . . So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open. . . . Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders. Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave. . . .”

He, however, wasn’t family, Quinn thought, as he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor.

“Kreacher,” Quinn said, his voice laced with heavy magic, “please get up and act like a house-elf of Noble House.”

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Kreacher hiccuped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.

“Now, I’m going to ask you this, Kreacher,” said Quinn. He stared into the house-elf’s eyes, “I need you to get me that locket; it’s of importance that I obtain that locket. . . . for I can make your Master’s dying wish come true . . .”

Kreacher matched eyes with Quinn, unblinking, frozen.

“. . . I can destroy the locket for you, Kreacher,” said Quinn. “It’s imperative, and while completing that, I can finish the work Regulus started and ensure that he didn’t die in vain . . . Do you think you can do that for me?”

“You. . . you. . . can really destroy the Dark Lord’s locket?” Kreacher asked.

“Absolutely,” Quinn nodded, exerting confidence through his voice and magic. “I shall destroy them without fail.”

Kreacher nodded and got to his feet. He popped away. When he returned, he had a locket in his hands.

“Here, here, have it,” Kreacher said, all but throwing the locket at Quinn.

Quinn caught the locket, not thinking Kreacher’s behavior as strange. The locket had been nothing but trouble for the house-elf; it was a painful reminder of his failure.

He looked at the serpentine S, inlaid with glittering, green stones. It felt heavy in his hands, the metal feeling cold against his touch. It was Salazar Slytherin’s Locket. It was a Horcrux.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Quinn with a comforting smile. “I will complete what Regulus Black set out to do.”

Kreacher bowed heavily, and Quinn could see tears dropping on the floor below Kreacher’s head.

Quinn sighed and could only nod with a composed smile when Kreacher raised his head. He raised his hand and pointed it at Kreacher, or rather at the house-elf’s head, “Now—”

But before he could proceed, his ears picked up the sound of the door creaking open.

“Quinn, what are you doing here?”

Quinn’s lip thinned into a white line. This was Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the home of Sirius Black, a part of the Light Faction, so it was obvious that Sirius’ favorite family would be here.

He looked at Kreacher and mouthed the words, ‘Go,’ as the locket flew into his suit’s inner breast pocket. Kreacher peeked behind Quinn, scowled, and then popped away with a loud bang.

He turned and greeted,

“Harry, Happy New Year.”

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Quinn West – MC – Got another one.

Kreacher – House-elf – Has some difficult times.

FictionOnlyReader – Author – Who thought it was going to be Ivy?

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The link is in the synopsis!