Chapter 503: Summoning

“Young Master Sirius escaped—he’s better gone, for he’s a bad child, and his unruly behavior broke my mistress’s heart.”

“But Young Master Regulus has pride—he knows what the Black name and his pure blood mean.”

“For many years he often spoke of the Dark Lord, how the Dark Lord would make wizards no longer hide, but rise up to rule over Muggles and their descendants...”

“When Young Master Regulus turned sixteen, he joined the Dark Lord’s organization—he was so proud, so proud, so happy to serve...”

Listening to Kreacher, Sirius’s brow furrowed again and again.

“What’s the point?”

He asked urgently.

“Young Master Sirius, I’ll tell you at once—”

Kreacher shuddered, then began mumbling to the rug again,

“Oh, look, he was never likable.”

Sirius was on the verge of losing his temper when Wizard Sean gently grabbed his arm.

“Kreacher thinks... one year later, one day, Young Master Regulus came to the kitchen to visit Kreacher. Young Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. Young Master Regulus said... he said...”

The old house-elf shook more violently.

“...he said the Dark Lord wanted a house-elf.”

“Voldemort wanted a house-elf?”

Sirius asked, puzzled.

Voldemort always treated house-elves like vermin.

“Oh, yes,”

Kreacher said painfully,

“Young Master Regulus gave Kreacher. It was an honor, Young Master Regulus said, an honor for both him and Kreacher.”

“Ha—”

Sirius sneered.

“Kreacher had to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered... then return—home.”

Kreacher shook even faster, his breathing turning to sobs.

“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord didn’t tell Kreacher what to do—he took Kreacher to a cave by the sea.”

“It was a great cavern, with a black Black Lake inside...”

Kreacher’s hoarse voice seemed to rise from the black water,

“...there was a boat...”

Of course there was a boat—and that boat, a ghostly green vessel, was enchanted. Only one wizard and one sacrifice could ride it to the island in the Black Lake’s center.

So Voldemort tested the protections of his Horcruxes this way:

Using an insignificant life—a house-elf.

“On the island was a stone—stone basin, filled with potion. The—Dark Lord made Kreacher drink...”

The house-elf trembled all over.

“Kreacher drank, and saw terrible visions... Kreacher’s insides burned...”

“Kreacher called for Young Master Regulus to save him, called for his mistress—but the Dark Lord only laughed... he forced Kreacher to drink every drop... he dropped a locket into the empty basin... then refilled the basin with potion.”

“Then the Dark Lord left in the boat, leaving Kreacher on the island...”

Kreacher’s description was too vivid—Sirius’s neck hairs stood on end; he could almost see it.

He saw Voldemort’s pale snake-face vanish into darkness, his red eyes coldly watching the writhing house-elf in agony.

His opinion of his foolish brother sank another notch.

“Kreacher needed water—he crawled to the island’s edge to drink from the Black Black Lake... many hands, dead hands, reached out and dragged Kreacher under...”

“Then how did you escape?”

Sirius sneered.

Kreacher lifted his ugly head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Sirius.

“Young Master Regulus told Kreacher to go home.”

He said.

“I know—but how did you get free of the Inferi?”

Kreacher seemed not to understand.

“Young Master Regulus told Kreacher to go home.”

He repeated.

“I know, but—”

“He Apparated.”

Wizard Sean softly helped him finish.

“The highest law of house-elves is the master’s command,”

Kreacher sang,

“Master told Kreacher to go home—so Kreacher went home...”

“What happened after you returned?”

Sirius demanded at once.

He suddenly had a terrible suspicion.

“Kreacher returned, and Young Master Regulus was very worried, very worried.”

Kreacher croaked,

“Young Master Regulus told Kreacher to hide, not to leave the house.”

“Then... after a while... one night, Young Master Regulus found Kreacher in the cupboard.”

“Young Master Regulus looked strange—not like himself. Kreacher could tell he was troubled... the Master told Kreacher to take him to the cave—the same cave Kreacher had gone to with the Dark Lord...”

So they set out—Sirius could clearly picture the terrified, aged house-elf and his brother.

Kreacher knew how to open the hidden entrance to the underground cave, how to make the boat rise—this time he rowed with Regulus toward the island with the potion basin...

“Did he make you drink the potion?”

Sirius asked.

Kreacher shook his head, weeping bitterly.

Sirius covered his face in anguish—he already guessed.

“R—Young Master Regulus pulled out a locket from his pocket, just like the Dark Lord’s,”

Kreacher said, tears streaming down both sides of his long nose,

“He told Kreacher to hold it, and when the basin was empty, swap the locket...”

Kreacher’s sobs grew heavy and harsh; Sirius had to concentrate fully to understand him.

“He ordered—Kreacher to leave—don’t care for him.”

“He told Kreacher—go home—don’t tell his mistress—what he did—but must destroy—the first locket.”

“Then he drank—drank every drop—Kreacher swapped the locket—watched as... Young Master Regulus... was dragged under... then...”

“Stop!”

Sirius growled.

The truth was now clear.

His brother, Regulus, was no coward who fled in fear—he saw through Voldemort’s cruelty and resolved to resist, even at the cost of his life.

“Perhaps I should give this to you.”

Wizard Sean suddenly spoke, handing Sirius a note.

It read:

【To the Dark Lord

I am already dead before you read this.

But I want you to know—I discovered your secret.

I stole the true Horcrux and intend to destroy it soon.

I risked death hoping that when you face your foe,

You will be killed.

R.A.B】

Sirius took it trembling, his gaunt features twisted.

The words “Horcrux” stabbed his eyes; “risked death” stopped his heart.

When Sirius came to himself, he suddenly remembered the mysterious wizard had said he destroyed several Horcruxes.

He recalled more news reports—once linked by the word “Horcrux,” he could already deduce the danger behind them.

He looked ahead—the young wizard was watching the last glow of sunset.

“Is this our goal?”

He said.

“Of course, Mr. Black—you’ve seen it. A goal you must complete.”

The wizard with deep eyes said.

“What future did you see?”

He asked again.

“Do you need to know?”

The young wizard smiled gently.

“We must fight him, but it is too difficult.”

Sirius said hoarsely.

“What did you think about when you were in Azkaban, sir?”

I believe you would realize that even if a man has lived only one day, he can spend a hundred years in prison without finding it unbearable.

He has enough to remember, and will never feel bored or weary. In a sense, this is also a kind of joy.

This is hope, sir.

Hope is beautiful, perhaps the best thing, and beautiful things never fade.

Sirius saw dusk fading swiftly, night descending from the heavens.

He saw the vast land baring its strong chest, a posture of summoning,

like a woman calling her children,

hope summoning the warriors to come.