Rosabella Black|Daughter Of Sirius Black|(Book 7)

Kreachers Tale

I reacted instinctively. As Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate, I launched myself upon the elf, flattening him. Hermione's scream mingled with Kreacher's but I bellowed louder than both of them.
   "Kreacher, I order you to stay still!" I bellowed.
I felt the elf freeze and released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes.
    "Harry, let him up!" Hermione whispered.
    "So he can beat himself up with the poker?" I snorted, kneeling beside the elf.
    "I don't think so. Right. Kreacher, I want the truth. How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?" I asked.
    "Kreacher saw him!" gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth. "Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher's cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher's treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r - ran . . ." Kreacher gasped as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth.
    "Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!" I said.

The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.
    "Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress's heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper order. He knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle - borns . . . and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve . . .
Mistress Rosabella reminds Kreacher of him. So determined. So kind.
Then one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said. . .he said. . .he said that the Dark Lord required an elf." Kreacher said and the old elf rocked faster than ever.
   "Voldemort needed an elf?" I repeated looking around at Ron and Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did.
    "Oh yes, and Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do . . . and then to c - come home." Kreacher moaned and rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.

    "So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake . . ." Kreacher said.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to him from across the dark water. I saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present.
    ". . . There was a boat . . ." Kreacher croaked.
Of course there had been a boat. I knew the boat, ghostly green and tiny, bewitched so as to carry one wizard and one victim toward the island in the center. This, then, was how Voldemort had tested the defenses surrounding the Horcrux, by borrowing a disposable creature, a house - elf. . .
   "There was a b - basin full of potion on the island. The D - Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it. . ." Kreacher said and the elf quaked from head to foot.
    "Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible thing . . . Kreacher's insides burned . . . Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed . . . He made Kreacher drink all the potion . . . He dropped a locket into the empty basin. . .He filled it with more potion and then the Dark Lord sailed away leaving Kreacher on the island. . ." Kreacher finished in his croaking voice.

I could see it happening. I watched Voldemort's white, snakelike face vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf whose death would occur within minutes, whenever he succumbed to the desperate thirst that the burning poison caused its victim . . . But here, my imagination could go no further, for he could not see how Kreacher had escaped.