For now, the night raid was merely a plan; Veratia had yet to put it into action.
After lingering in the room for a while, Ron hurriedly approached.
"Come on, Harry!" Ron waved eagerly at him. "You've got to see what I found!"
Harry assumed Ron had stumbled upon something extraordinary, so he got up and followed him out.
They reached the door of Ron's room, where Ron pointed toward the opposite doorway. "Look! I didn't notice earlier, but check out what's written on that!"
Following Ron's gesture, Harry spotted a small plaque on the door, its paint marred by deep scratches.
He adjusted his glasses and leaned closer. It was an elegant little plaque, inscribed with neat, handwritten script—very much the sort of thing Percy Weasley might nail to his bedroom door.
Entry Forbidden Without Express Permission
Regulus Arcturus Black
"That's Sirius's brother, right?" Ron turned to Harry, asking. "I remember Sirius mentioning his brother was named Regulus. He joined You-Know-Who—but it turns out, Regulus actually betrayed him. You-Know-Who himself said so."
"Yes, he was my brother."
Sirius's voice came from behind Ron, who turned to see a trace of sorrow on Sirius's face.
"Kreacher was fiercely loyal to my brother, so I never assigned anyone to stay in this room."
Perhaps it was a way to honor Regulus, Harry thought, though he kept it to himself.
"Come inside," Sirius said, his voice steadying as he fought to keep it from trembling. "I haven't been in his room in ages."
He pushed the door open and stepped into Regulus's room, with Harry and Ron close behind.
Regulus's room was the polar opposite of Sirius's. Where Sirius was fiercely rebellious, desperate to shed every trace of his family's Slytherin legacy, Regulus was the obedient son, the pride of the Black family. Slytherin's silver and green adorned the room—draped across the bed, walls, and windows. At the head of the bed, the Black family crest and their motto, Toujours Pur, written in French, were meticulously displayed. Below them, a collection of yellowed newspaper clippings formed an irregular collage.
"They're all about Voldemort," Sirius said, his expression complex as he eyed the clippings. "Back then, my mother had him brainwashed. All he could think about was following Voldemort—nothing else mattered. What a fool that boy was. He ended up joining the Death Eaters."
Harry noticed a photograph next to the clippings, clearly of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He immediately recognized Regulus, seated front and center, his haughty expression a near mirror of Sirius's, though he was slighter, frailer, and less striking than his older brother.
"You see it too, don't you?" Sirius murmured. "He was a Seeker, like you. Truth is, my brother and I had a lot in common. For instance, we both loved Quidditch."
"Then why didn't you join the Quidditch team?" Harry asked curiously.
"My mother wouldn't buy me a broom."
Sirius spoke lightly, but he glossed over the fact that joining the Quidditch team didn't strictly require a family-purchased broom.
Quickly changing the subject, he continued, "Your dad, James, always wanted to be a Seeker. He was far more reckless than you, you know. He'd nick the Golden Snitch from the Quidditch kit and mess about with it, tossing it around… Peter—that traitor—loved watching him play with it. Sometimes I thought he'd wet himself with excitement."
As Sirius spoke, Harry's gaze fell on a book at the head of the bed: Noble and Most Ancient: A Wizarding Genealogy.
It was clear Regulus took great pride in his pure-blood heritage.
"Sounds like Uncle James was a right troublemaker," Ron remarked about James.
"Oh, he was," Sirius said, his face lighting up at the mention of James. Ron half-suspected that if one of them had been a girl, Lily wouldn't have stood a chance. Sirius went on, "But you know, Ron, James and old Snivellus never got along. At school, James was his worst nightmare."
Ron nodded silently.
"Why so quiet?" Sirius asked, intrigued. "I thought you couldn't stand Snivellus. Doesn't he always pick on you?"
"I can't say anything," Ron replied. "Every time I badmouth Professor Snape, he appears behind me. It's like clockwork—unless I'm in the Gryffindor common room, he'll catch me."
"No way! This is the Black house!" Sirius declared loudly.
"No, the Black house doesn't stop him," Ron said, catching his breath. "It's been proven."
At that moment, Poppy Sweeting popped up from beneath the floorboards.
"Hey, you lot are here!" she said with a grin. "Dumbledore sent me to tell you Kreacher's awake… and, well, old Sniv—Professor Snape's potion worked wonders. Kreacher's looking much better."
You were about to say Snivellus, weren't you? Harry thought, catching the slip.
Despite being a Hufflepuff, Poppy's opinion of Snape was firmly in the negative.
It stemmed from Snape's bias against Hufflepuff.
Though, to be fair, Poppy was mistaken—Snape's prejudice wasn't exclusive to Hufflepuff. He was biased against every house except Slytherin. Still, Hufflepuff wasn't exactly leading the charge in complaining; everyone at Hogwarts knew Snape targeted Gryffindors most, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff merely caught in the crossfire.
Hearing Poppy's near-slip, Sirius found himself growing fonder of his future daughter-in-law.
If James were alive, he'd probably approve of this Hufflepuff girl too.
After all, Sirius knew her Animagus mishap was temporary—she'd be back to normal soon, which wouldn't interfere with her and Harry getting together.
"Right, we're on our way," Sirius told Poppy.
The group left Regulus's room and descended the stairs.
In the room where Kreacher lay, everyone had already gathered. As Sirius entered, Snape greeted him with a sinister smirk.
"Well, look who's here—the house-elf's dog of a master."
It wasn't entirely inaccurate, considering Sirius's Animagus form was indeed a dog.
Bite when insulted, you're a wolf; snarl in anger, you're a dog.
"Snivellus!" Sirius pointed at Snape's nose, speechless for a moment.
He recalled Cassandra's brutally cutting remark.
"Enough nonsense!" Sirius finally snapped. "How's Kreacher doing?"
"We've been waiting for you, since you're Kreacher's master now," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "He's in decent spirits and could handle a dose of Veritaserum, if you approve."
"Kreacher doesn't need Veritaserum," Kreacher said, pounding his head. "Kreacher won't betray Master Regulus…"
He made to smash his head against the wall.
"Wait—"
Harry stopped him and turned to Dumbledore. "How about this? Kreacher respects Mrs. Black the most. Maybe we could have her order him to tell the truth? It's better than forcing Veritaserum down his throat."
It wasn't out of misplaced sympathy—Harry just figured his godfather, getting on in years, could use a house-elf's help.
"You think you can convince my mother?" Sirius asked, eyeing Harry skeptically.
"I think Mrs. Black is quite reasonable. Very kind, too," Harry said with a shrug.
Sirius's expression screamed, Are you kidding me?
My mother?
Reasonable?
Kind?
He glanced at a nearby calendar.
"What's wrong?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"Just checking if it's April Fool's Day," Sirius said, rubbing his head. "Sorry, I can't wrap my head around 'kind' or 'reasonable' describing my mother—"
Harry didn't argue. Instead, he stepped over to the portrait of Mrs. Black hanging nearby and asked, "Excuse me, Mrs. Black—could you order Kreacher to tell us the truth about Regulus? We need to find him… even if he's truly…"
Walburga didn't hesitate. "I permit it!" she bellowed. "Kreacher! You will tell Harry Potter everything, completely and truthfully! That is my command! My command to you!"
Maybe it was Harry's imagination, but Walburga's "That is my command" had a distinct German edge to it.
Harry glanced back at Veratia, whispering, "How do you say 'That is my command' in German?"
"Das war ein Befehl!" Veratia whispered back.
Spot on.
Harry turned to Kreacher. "Kreacher, you heard her. Your mistress has ordered you to tell us everything you know about Regulus—no holding back. Understood?"
Feeling it wasn't quite enough, Harry added, "This is your mistress's command!"
When Kreacher still seemed dazed, Harry pressed, "If you tell the truth, we might save Regulus. What if he's trapped somewhere, Kreacher?"
That finally stirred Kreacher.
His bat-like ears drooped, and tears streamed from his sunken eyes.
After a moment, his croaking, bullfrog-like voice filled the room.
"Master Regulus's locket… Kreacher failed. Kreacher couldn't fulfill Master's orders!" he sobbed. "That locket—it must be some grand treasure. That's what Master told Kreacher…"
"Was it Slytherin's locket?" Snape interjected suddenly.
As puzzled eyes turned to him, Snape narrowed his gaze. "When I was… over there, I heard about it. Slytherin's locket. Voldemort entrusted his inner circle to hide his treasures. I know of this locket and something in Bellatrix Lestrange's possession—that madwoman."
'Over there' referred to Snape's days undercover among the Death Eaters.
"It must be," Kreacher squeaked. "But Kreacher doesn't know what it truly was… my poor Master Regulus…"
He sobbed again, then lifted his head, his large eyes glaring at Sirius with resentment.
"Master Sirius ran away—good riddance, the bad boy. His disgraceful behavior broke my mistress's heart. But Master Regulus had pride. He knew what the Black name and his pure blood meant. For years, he spoke of the Dark Lord, how the Dark Lord would let wizards rule openly over Muggles and their kind… At sixteen, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord's cause. So proud, so happy to serve…"
"Serve the Dark Lord, huh?" Sirius scoffed. "You think that's something to be proud of, Kreacher? He's a heartless killer…"
"Kreacher only knows it was my mistress's wish," Kreacher muttered defiantly. "It should've been Master Sirius's duty…"
Sirius smirked dismissively.
"Go on, Kreacher," Harry interrupted.
Kreacher nodded, then shuddered.
"A year later, one day, Master Regulus came to the kitchen to see Kreacher… Master always liked Kreacher. But that day, Master said… he said…"
The old elf trembled violently.
"…he said the Dark Lord needed a house-elf."
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