"Be careful." Draco seemed oblivious to this, busy carefully handing the fang to Kreacher, signalling him to get ready.
Harry Potter, still half-asleep in his pyjamas, was guided by Fawkes. He stared dumbfounded at the Headmaster's office in the early morning, as if he were witnessing something entirely impossible.
The elusive and eccentric but kind Headmaster, the reclusive godfather who often shut himself in his room and tinkered with things, the precocious friend from Slytherin next door who was cold on the outside but warm on the inside, and a dirty little house-elf with a face full of tears.
This bizarre combination was not the strangest thing. The strangest thing was that everyone was casting enthusiastic glances at him, as if he were the ultimate prize in a ring toss game.
The atmosphere was eerily strange.
"What happened?" Harry asked hesitantly.
"You have come at the right time." Draco, pale-faced, pulled him over... he seemed unusually excited... and pointed to a small object on the ground, saying, "Can you speak Parseltongue to it? Try saying 'open.'"
There was a golden, oval locket there that looked somewhat familiar.
"What is wrong with this thing?" Harry asked hesitantly, wanting to get a better look at it.
"Try it quickly, it is very important to us," Draco said eagerly.
Harry saw Professor Dumbledore stroking the Sword of Gryffindor and nodding up at him. His godfather, though pale, smiled encouragingly at him.
He hesitated as he walked up to the locket, swallowed hard, gathered his emotions, and hissed in Parseltongue, "Open."
The small gold lid of the locket clicked open. Behind each of the two small glass windows, a bright, lifelike eye blinked.
"Kreacher, hurry!" Draco snapped.
Kreacher stood there stunned for a long moment, his hand holding the Basilisk fang trembling slightly.
As he came to his senses, he shakily raised the fang, preparing to stab the locket, when a hissing sound came from inside.
"I see your heart... it is mine." The voice laughed hoarsely.
"Kreacher, strike!" Draco shouted.
"Kreacher, I see your fear," the voice from the locket continued cruelly.
From the pair of eyes peering out of the small windows of the locket, bizarre, soap-bubble-like images emerged.
It was a dark-haired boy. He bore a resemblance to Sirius Black, only more immature, thinner, and more naive. Draco guessed that it was probably Regulus Black.
The boy, in excruciating pain, drank the potion, then crawled thirstily toward the edge of the island, where he was dragged down by the hands of the Inferi...
This was a recreation of the last moments of Regulus Arcturus Black in the world.
Then, great-aunt Walburga lay weakly on the bed, crying out in pain, her eyes brimming with tears, losing their last glimmer of light as she looked toward the door...
Dumbledore gripped the Sword of Gryffindor tightly in his hand.
"Sirius," a hint of reluctance flashed in his blue eyes, followed by determination. He spoke to the slumped Black family patriarch, reminding him, "You have to help him."
Sirius seemed to snap out of his daze. He gave the order, his voice as hard and cold as frosted steel. "Kreacher, destroy it!"
With a flash of silver light, the aged house-elf finally lunged at Slytherin's locket.
It was all over. The terrifying phantoms that had appeared from the two small windows vanished without a trace, leaving only Kreacher standing there trembling, the fang in his hand slipping onto the carpet.
Draco quickly went over and put his precious fang away again.
Wisps of smoke rose from the wreckage of the locket; the thing that had lived inside the Horcrux... whatever evil spirit it was... had been annihilated and shattered.
Kreacher looked down at the shattered locket, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. His thin, bony chest heaved rapidly, each breath potentially his last.
He let out a series of piercing cries, a mixture of excitement and pain. "My lord, Kreacher has finished! My lord, look! Kreacher has finished!"
"Kreacher..." Sirius had always hated the noise he made. He instinctively wanted to shut him up, but the words caught in his throat.
"Young master... look... Kreacher has finished." He said with a pale face, large tears streaming from his cloudy eyes and falling onto the carpet.
Draco closed his eyes briefly. The "young master" he spoke of probably did not refer to the living Sirius before him, but rather to Regulus, who lay buried at the bottom of the cave lake.
"You have accomplished your task." Sirius sighed, glancing at Kreacher with a dejected expression, for the first time not showing any disgust towards the little house-elf. "Go back to Grimmauld Place and get some rest."
Kreacher struggled to his feet... with the utmost humility he could muster... and bowed deeply to Sirius, Draco, Dumbledore, and Harry.
Then, with a crack, he disappeared.
Everyone was somewhat stunned. In the gradually brightening light, they suddenly realised they were utterly exhausted.
As the first rays of gold crept into the windowpanes of the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore summoned Madam Pomfrey.
She gave Dumbledore a disapproving look, then ushered Sirius along with the brisk authority of a mother hen. Draco could hear her grumbling to Sirius, "You look terrible. What were you doing last night?"
Harry followed anxiously behind the incessantly chattering Madam Pomfrey as his godfather left. Draco guessed that Harry probably had a great many questions for Sirius.
The portraits on the wall were all yawning one after another. After such a complicated and thrilling night, they were unsure whether to rest or stay awake, whether to have a heated discussion or keep the matter to themselves.
"Please keep this a secret," Dumbledore said to them. "Thank you."
The portraits all nodded in agreement, except for Phineas Nigellus Black, whose frame was already empty. Draco guessed that the excessively grieving Black ancestor had most likely gone to visit his portrait at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place... to relay the exact news of Regulus's death back to his family.
In the end, only Draco Malfoy remained at the desk.
The platinum-blonde-haired boy lazily shook the teapot, poured out a cup of cooled tea, took a small sip, and frowned.
"I am truly amazed, Draco," said Dumbledore.
He was bending down to pick up the locket from the ground, examining the shape of the remains with a look of quiet disbelief on his face.
"Yes, I did not expect it either." Draco looked at the locket, now completely shattered, and suddenly felt exhausted. "Slytherin's locket is destroyed just like that... it is like a dream."
"Actually, I was talking about Kreacher." Dumbledore placed the locket on the table and looked at him quietly across the desk. "Draco, I never thought you would make such a suggestion."
"What? Does only one who can wield the Sword of Gryffindor have the right to destroy Horcruxes?" Draco briefly met his gaze before looking away. "There are brave people in Slytherin too, even if they are just Slytherin house-elves."
"If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought that such a statement came from a young wizard of pure blood," Dumbledore said calmly. "Can you tell me how you came up with the idea of having Kreacher destroy the Horcrux?"
Draco remained silent. How could he easily reveal his empathy for Regulus, or his understanding of Hermione's thoughts?
"Oh, Kreacher ought to fulfil the mission given to him by his master, ought he not? Besides, for the Dark Lord, having his Horcrux destroyed by a house-elf he despised might be the greatest humiliation." Draco wore a gloating expression.
"I like your sense of humour," Dumbledore said easily. "Yes, he should not have underestimated Kreacher. Nor should he have underestimated Regulus. They are both among the finest Slytherins."
"Perhaps," Draco said casually, seemingly unconvinced, but inwardly he felt a certain agreement.
"In that case, as long as we find the whereabouts of the Gaunt Ring..." Dumbledore said thoughtfully, stroking one of the joints of his wand.
"Sir, do not expect me to find the ring for you first thing tomorrow morning. I have absolutely no clue about it," Draco hurriedly interrupted him.
"You said the same thing yesterday, but in less than half a day you found me the locket." Dumbledore said with a smile. "I must admit, you have raised my expectations for the Slytherins' sensitivity considerably."
"Yesterday was an exception." Draco said with a smirk, emphasising righteously, "But you... can you guarantee that Sirius Black will not ask too many questions? And Harry... I think he is curious from head to toe, always ready to pry into everything."
"This is not my fault. You were the one who asked me to call Sirius, and you were the one who suggested getting Parseltongue to solve the problem," Dumbledore said, his tone tinged with helplessness. "Once they realise what is going on, they will definitely come digging for answers."
"It is your problem to be perfunctory with them." Draco showed no sympathy for the busy old man and reiterated, "When you are being perfunctory with them, please make sure you do not involve my parents."
"Of course," Dumbledore said in a good mood, and asked amiably, "Anything else you require?"
"I need to take a day off to sleep, the kind where I do not have to do any homework," Draco said stubbornly.
Merlin above! If he does not rest soon, he might suddenly drop dead.
Goodness knows what kind of hell he had been living through lately... under the influence of that locket! Severe sleep deprivation! Absolutely no peace of mind!
Dumbledore smiled wryly. This smile seemed much more genuine than his previous one. He nodded, agreeing to the somewhat childish request, and waved him out.
Draco emerged from the Headmaster's office as if sleepwalking, yawning wearily... his eyelids were starting to droop uncontrollably.
Exhaustion. Emptiness. Bizarre. Hallucinatory.
He swayed in the corridor, his steps unsteady, feeling as if he were floating on clouds.
Everything was going too smoothly. So smoothly that Draco felt a sense of unreality.
The sense of unreality lingered. It ought not to have been class time, yet Hermione Granger's voice suddenly rang out from the end of the silent corridor.
"Draco, did you come from the Headmaster's office? Are you all right?" Her voice was sweet and crisp, like the green apple he loved to bite into.
He half-opened his eyes, yawned lazily, opened his arms, and naturally caught the girl who rushed towards him.
The golden sunlight dazzled him. He must be dreaming again.
Draco pulled the girl, who exuded a sweet fragrance, into his arms and chuckled softly, just as he had done countless times in his dreams.
He took a deep breath of the fragrance from her hair, feeling a sense of joy, and tightened his arms around her.
"I am so glad, Hermione," he whispered in her ear.
"Draco? What is wrong?" Her voice was surprised, like a cat that had just realised something was amiss.
She is always so adorable. Fluffy hair, a slightly dizzy voice, and eyes full of curiosity about everything.
He let go of her, looking at her with a dazed gaze, at the bright-eyed girl, and gave her a silly smile.
She looked at him with innocent eyes, tilting her head to examine him. The morning breeze ruffled her hair, her brown hair swaying as if in a dream. She watched him, waiting for him, as if curious about his response.
Oh, Hermione. I need to get a good night's sleep; I cannot keep dreaming about you. He thought groggily.
So he cupped her rosy cheeks in his hands and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek.
Suddenly, she froze on the spot; in a daze, his brows and eyes relaxed.
He staggered past her, drifting like a ghost towards the Slytherin common room, calling "Goodnight!" as he went.
"He has probably gone mad," Hermione murmured, watching the rising sun and the boy walking further and further away in its light.
The whispers that rang in her ears burned her ears.
The touch on her cheeks felt like an electric shock.
Her heartbeat is as fierce as a drumbeat, as passionate as a long poem.
Oh no.... That dreadful cold seems to have returned.