With a snap, an ugly little elf appeared.
"At your service, Master Hodge." Kreacher's voice was hoarse as he bowed and vanished.
Harry stared in stunned silence.
He had been living at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, for some time now, and had even met the neighboring Muggles several times—for instance, he knew the young music enthusiast in number eleven, whose stereo kept him up at night. But if there was anything that set the Black family home apart from the other terraced houses, beyond the grimy walls, the sinister gaze of the portraits, and the moldy furniture… well, two things were utterly unbearable. One was the portrait of Sirius's mother behind the curtain in the ground-floor hallway; wake her, and she'd unleash a torrent of abuse. The other was the elusive house-elf Kreacher. As far as Harry knew, house-elves were pitiable creatures, bound to wizards for life, cooking and cleaning—but Kreacher was different. He blended perfectly with the decrepit old house.
But now, things were different.
The ragged cloth once wrapped around Kreacher's waist had been replaced by a long, snow-white towel that draped over his sagging skin. The exposed parts—his nearly bald head, his withered arms, his chest—were spotless, his nails trimmed and clean. Around the elf's neck hung a black bow tie.
Harry watched Kreacher depart, only for him to return moments later with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Harry glanced over; the cups and saucers were pristine.
"Please enjoy, Master Hodge," Kreacher said respectfully.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Hodge replied, turning another page in his spellbook. "Is the kitchen sorted?"
"Three days—no, two, half a day—" "Almost," Kreacher said frantically. "Just a little more time for Kreacher—"
"Three days will do," Hodge said. "Don't forget the main task."
At those words, a fierce light gleamed in the elf's murky eyes. He bowed deeply, his large nose nearly touching the floor. "Master Hodge is a great man. Kreacher is deeply honored… Summon Kreacher for any need."
With a snap, he vanished.
Harry suspected he was dreaming. It wasn't until Hodge invited him to join for afternoon tea that he asked, unable to hold back, "How did you do that?"
Hodge tapped his wand, and the single teacup on the table instantly split into two.
A duplication charm. Normally, Harry might have been intrigued, but his mind was nowhere near biscuits or teacups. His eyes burned with curiosity. Was there a book in the Black library on dealing with house-elves? Hermione often found solutions in books, and Harry figured Hodge had done the same.
"Respect, love," Hodge said while munching on a biscuit—Harry didn't believe a word—"and family ties, Sirius's orders, plus a little deal between me and Kreacher himself."
The first two made sense to Harry.
The Blackthorns were a branch of the Black family, connected by blood and lineage. House-elves served the Blacks, and as long as Sirius acknowledged it, the relation held—likely tied to Sirius's command. The third point baffled him.
"What deal?" he asked curiously.
"I'm a writer," Hodge said thoughtfully. "I promised Kreacher I'd write a modern biography of the Black family, polishing up a few lines for its members…"
Harry's jaw dropped.
On his first day, Sirius had taken him to the second floor, where a tapestry family tree hung on the wall, listing infamous Blacks: Elladora Black, who started the tradition of mounting elderly house-elves' heads on the wall; Phineas Black, the most despised headmaster; Bellatrix, the Death Eater imprisoned in Azkaban; Narcissa, married to Lucius Malfoy; Regulus, Sirius's brother, who joined the Death Eaters during the war but died quietly; and those disowned for breaking with the family, like Tonks's mother and Sirius's uncle.
"…Kreacher cares most about Sirius's mother and brother, so it's not much work."
"But Sirius's brother was a Death Eater," Harry said loudly, tempted to shake Hodge's head to see if it was full of water.
"I know," Hodge said calmly. "Young men make mistakes—it happens. Turning back from the brink isn't bad. I learned from Kreacher that Regulus changed his mind later… Right, Kreacher?"
"Indeed, Master Hodge, you have a keen eye." The elf had appeared unnoticed, setting down two plates of pastries. His raspy voice asked, "Will Master Hodge stay for dinner? What would you like?"
"Your specialty," Hodge said at once.
"At your command." The elf bowed and left respectfully.
Hodge spread his hands at Harry, who found the whole thing absurd.
"You're saying Sirius's brother… Regulus, he left the Death Eaters later? He…" Harry said in shock, "He was killed by Voldemort?"
"It's You-Know-Who," Hodge rolled his eyes. "Thanks to the house's magical protections, you might get a Killing Curse for saying his name carelessly on the street one day." With Voldemort's return spreading, few dared utter it.
After a moment, he decided to reveal the truth.
"Watch." Hodge showed off a newly learned spell to Harry.
Under Harry's gaze, Hodge raised his arm, fingers splayed as if holding something, wrist turning gently. An intricately crafted, antique locket appeared from thin air.
Harry stared at the golden locket, a lavish serpentine S glinting in the light. Unknowingly drawn to the S mark, his gaze sank downward into darkness—evil, overwhelming darkness. In a haze, he heard his mother's cries and a flash of green light.
Harry snapped awake.
"This is—" he whispered, "one of the Horcruxes?"
Hodge nodded.
"Slytherin's locket."
"As I said, Regulus was drawn to the Dark Lord's ideals and became a Death Eater, but he saw the Dark Lord's true face. In his final days, he discovered the Horcrux's hiding place and obtained it at the cost of his life. Unfortunately, Kreacher tried everything but couldn't destroy it. Over the years, the Horcrux affected him, driving him mad."
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