Chapter 191: Conversation
Regulus Black jolted awake the instant a phoenix feather brushed across his eyelids. The briny, decaying scent of the cave lake still clung to his tongue—even though he was now lying in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
His left ring finger twitched uncontrollably. The skin there was smooth and unmarked, yet in his mind it burned with the phantom pain of the locket's chain coiling tight around it.
"Kreacher… the locket…"
He murmured to the empty air, his throat filled with a metallic taste.
Memories surged back like shards of broken glass, cutting through his thoughts. As he tried to make sense of his surroundings, the black tide of the cave seemed to rise again, flooding his vision. He was back in that pitch-dark cavern, fingers clawing desperately at the rock, the edge of the locket slicing into his palm—more vivid than the agony of the Cruciatus Curse.
Every nerve in his new body screamed. His heart hammered violently in his chest.
It took him a long time to steady himself. When he finally tried to move, his body felt unbearably heavy, as though filled with lead. With great effort, he pushed himself upright—
And found Albus Dumbledore standing before him, watching with a gentle smile.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Regulus let out a bitter laugh. "Are you dead as well? Then it seems the Dark Lord has succeeded…"
"No, Regulus," Dumbledore said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Voldemort has been defeated, and you… have been brought back to life."
"I…" Regulus began, but Dumbledore raised a hand, cutting him off.
"You must have many questions. There's no need to rush. You can ask your ancestor," he said, gesturing toward the portrait of the Black Headmaster. "As for me, I have a few matters to attend to."
He gave Regulus a brief, knowing wink—
Then vanished in a burst of flame.
Left behind, Regulus turned, still disoriented, toward the portrait.
The Black Headmaster regarded him intently and said, "He tells me you stole the Dark Lord's Slytherin locket."
The Black Headmaster's voice came out hoarse, as if scraped raw by sandpaper, perhaps an awkward attempt to mask the guilt he could not quite hide.
"The locket—" Regulus Black suddenly tensed. "I have to destroy it. If I don't…"
"Destroy it? No, you mustn't!" the Black Headmaster snapped. "That is Slytherin's sacred relic!"
"I know," Regulus said, forcing himself steady, "but it's no longer just that. It's become one of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. If it isn't destroyed, he will return."
"A Horcrux…?" one of the former headmistresses whispered, covering her mouth before fainting outright.
The rest of the portraits looked equally grim. None of them needed an explanation—they all understood what that meant.
"And…" Regulus hesitated, his expression turning strained.
The tension in the room tightened instantly.
"And what? Speak!" the Black Headmaster demanded, nearly climbing out of his frame in agitation.
"I believe… the Dark Lord has more than one Horcrux."
Silence fell over the office, heavy enough that even the faintest sound seemed intrusive.
After a long pause, the Black Headmaster spoke again, his tone unusually serious. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
"I do," Regulus replied, nodding.
"If that's true," another portrait said slowly, "how are we supposed to kill him completely?"
No one answered.
Because no one could.
In the end, Albus Dumbledore decided that Regulus would remain at Hogwarts for the time being—specifically within the Headmaster's office. It was partly for observation and necessary examinations, but just as importantly, for secrecy.
Meanwhile, elsewhere—
"Nice to meet you, Russell. I've heard quite a bit about you—the newest member of the Addams family."
Chuck Addams smiled at Russell. "My son mentioned you. Says you're a good kid."
"Your son?" Russell frowned, searching his memory. Then recognition clicked. "The hunchback Addams?"
"Exactly," Chuck said cheerfully. "Runs in the family."
"Thanks for looking after Harry," Russell said, glancing over at Harry, who was chatting with Ron and Hermione.
"No need to thank me," Chuck waved it off. "Just tell him next time he uses Floo Powder, he should pronounce the destination clearly. Otherwise, who knows where he'll end up."
He chuckled darkly. "You know, at least a third of the people who die in Knockturn Alley each year end up that way."
"Seriously?" Ron asked, horrified. Even the owl in his hands seemed to stiffen in shared fear.
"Very serious," Chuck said with a grin. "Take the flayer's shop across the street. Been there for years—sells hides from magical creatures, even rare ones like unicorns."
He leaned in slightly. "But every now and then, they sell something called 'magic monkey skin.' Those monkeys can use magic, and most of their bodies are hairless except for a few patches."
He let the words hang for a moment. "Now imagine someone accidentally Flooing straight into that shop. What do you think happens next?"
"But… if it's a dark magic shop, why is it even connected to the Floo Network?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Chuck gave her an odd look. "Isn't that obvious? They just collect fees. Why would they care whether you're a dark wizard or not?"
He shrugged. "Even when the Dark Lord was at the height of his power, the Floo Network company still charged him. Otherwise, they'd just shut down his access entirely."
It was reckless, in a way—but then again, monopolies could afford that kind of confidence.
Russell glanced around the shop. As expected, most of the items were related to funerary practices—coffins, crosses, and other grim artifacts. And of course, there were the usual preserved specimens floating in jars.
Then something caught his eye.
A massive wooden cross hung on the wall, aged and worn, bearing clear marks where nails had once been driven through it.
Russell pointed at it. "Uncle Chuck… don't tell me that's the actual cross used to nail Jesus Christ to?"
He paused, then added dryly, "I mean… technically, that still counts as funeral equipment."