In the evening, Sirius returned with a belly full of fire.
The house raid hadn't gone smoothly. Apart from catching a few unlucky sods who hadn't gotten the memo, the rest had homes scrubbed clean—no clues whatsoever. Fudge had miscalculated. Even without Voldemort, the Death Eaters who'd escaped punishment during the war would instinctively band together. Many came from influential pure-blood families, and when they united to protest the Ministry, Fudge had to take it seriously.
"Crouch's investigation hasn't been affected, though. They wouldn't dare sabotage it," Sirius told Harry and Hodge. "At this critical juncture, some people have quietly learned of Voldemort's return. Anyone who opposes Crouch's probe will immediately be viewed with suspicion."
As Sirius spoke, he caught sight of the table already laden with several stewed dishes. He rubbed his stomach and plopped into a chair. Across from him, Hodge flicked a finger, and the book in front of him seemed to vanish into thin air as a set of cutlery flew over. Sirius blinked, finding the spell's effect oddly familiar, though he'd cut ties with the family long ago and had little memory of the study's books.
He chuckled. "So, how's the Black family library treating you?"
Hodge gave him a thumbs-up.
The second-floor study was a treasure trove. From the inscriptions, it was clear Phineas Black had pocketed plenty of rarities from the Restricted Section during his time as headmaster. Hodge alone had spotted over a hundred familiar titles—many out-of-print according to Madam Pince, some never publicly released, often donated by alumni.
With Voldemort's threat looming, Hodge had shifted his strategy. He divided magic into two categories: one to push his upper limits, the other to boost adaptability. He had to balance his time between them.
Over the past few days, Hodge had already sifted out books on memory magic and Occlumency, finishing them. The one he was reading now was titled Bizarre and Peculiar Spells, packed with curses—dark magic, ritual incantations, blood sacrifice divinations, the works. True to its name, every spell's effect was downright strange, opening Hodge's eyes.
Meanwhile, Sirius eyed the spread with ravenous hunger, his tone laced with disbelief. "You two made all this?"
Hodge and Harry shook their heads in unison. Sirius pursed his lips, grabbed a treacle tart, and took a massive bite. Knew it…
He froze.
"Not you?" Sirius raised his voice.
Who else could it be? The image of the scruffy, twitchy little elf in the old house flashed through Sirius's mind.
"Kreacher?" he bellowed.
With a soft pop, the house-elf appeared. Ignoring Sirius entirely, he set a large bowl of thick soup on the table. "Young Master Hodge, this is the final dish of the evening—French onion soup." Kreacher's face was expectant.
"Thank you," Hodge said, tasting a spoonful. "It's absolutely delicious—the best I've ever had."
Harry thanked him too. Having heard Kreacher's story, he planned to ask about Regulus when the chance arose. Kreacher bowed silently to Harry, leaving Sirius slack-jawed. It might also have been the first time Sirius realized Kreacher could keep himself so tidy. In his mind, his mother's dying resentment had split—part infused into her portrait, the rest clinging to Kreacher. Even as a war hero and the family's sole heir, Kreacher had never shown him anything but scorn, muttering "good-for-nothing" and "ungrateful wretch" from the shadows.
"Alright, Kreacher, back to the kitchen," Sirius said, face tight with frustration, the tart awkward in his hand—neither holding nor setting it down felt right. He half-suspected poison.
"Yes, Master," the elf muttered under his breath. "Though Kreacher isn't keen on obeying him. Master puts on that fake, sanctimonious act all day, yet spent over a decade in prison and didn't even see Mistress on her deathbed—a complete fool—"
"Shut it!" Sirius finally lost his temper, roaring, "Get out, Kreacher! I don't want to see you—out—"
Kreacher glared up venomously, bowed deeply. "As you wish, Master."
"No." Hodge spoke suddenly.
Sirius, Harry, and the elf all turned to him.
In the original timeline, Kreacher had left Grimmauld Place after Sirius's "get out" and spilled secrets to Bellatrix. Now, with Hodge's interference—using the Black family chronicles as bait—there was no guarantee it wouldn't happen again.
"I was just about to bring this up," Hodge said calmly to Sirius. "I'd like to borrow Kreacher for a while. He'll still clean and cook, but in his spare time, I want him to secretly watch over my parents."
Sirius, who'd seen plenty of Dark Marks over houses during the war, agreed after a second's thought.
"Do as Hodge says, Kreacher," he said gravely.
"What do you think, Kreacher?" Hodge asked.
"Kreacher's thoughts?" the elf repeated, confused.
Hodge said seriously, "For the foreseeable future, unless Sirius gives you a direct order, you answer only to me. Your task is to protect my parents. If they're in danger or a strange wizard approaches, get them out immediately—to Grimmauld Place, to Hogwarts, wherever's safest. I know the Black family has other members, but you are not to contact them in any way. Understood?"
The elf stood thinking, then bowed deeply to Hodge.
"Kreacher understands. Kreacher will protect Young Master Hodge's parents in secret and avoid all other Blacks." He paused. "Is Young Master Hodge worried Kreacher will leak his secrets? Kreacher will keep them strictly."
Sirius's eyes lit up beside them. He knew what Hodge feared. But his own relationship with Kreacher was painfully strained—one look at the elf brought back the oppressive childhood atmosphere. He quickly added, "Hodge's word is mine. Treat him as your master, got it?"
"Only while the Dark Lord rampages," Hodge clarified.
"Kreacher understands," the elf said.
Hodge exhaled in relief.
Kreacher's demeanor suggested no immediate risk of trouble. Riding the momentum, Hodge raised what was likely the elf's deepest concern.
"Sirius, Kreacher told me something—about Regulus…"
————
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