***
THAT WAS IT. THERE was nothing more written. The pages ended as the writing ended.
Grace went through the pages again, her fingers rubbing against the letters on the old pages.
All you need to do is find me.
Audhelga had said, as if she might nor be dead, but alive. The words whispered to her like a swaying of a willow tree in the wind, softer and softer, until it was only the silent hissing, reminding her.
You know where to go.
She did know where to go.
But how did Audhelga knew that? How did she knew who she was or what was happening in the future? How did she knew anything about this time?
Grace was reminded of a dream she had last year, when she visited the Temple of Audhelga and saw those painting on the walls. The story was slightly different from the story Audhelga told her. She wasn't visited by mother nature or got blessed with powerful magic.
Maybe Dumbledore is right; Love is the most powerful magic in the world.
Grace didn't sleep that night. She read her ancestor's words which looked like a beautiful drawing at first glance until the letters no longer looked like letters, but a story with pictures dancing across the pages.
As the morning approached, a chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains. It was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn.
The ancient journal in her hand, she idly padded quietly up the stairs. She saw the cracked door of her room, empty except for the stripped furniture and coated with dust. It was much too quiet for her who was so accustomed to noise: she had grown used to the sound of laughter streaming through the halls, the loud pitter-patter of feet on the wooden floor, the explosions caused by Fred and George, the yelling of her mom to quiet them down. When she though about it, those seemed much simpler times: she was not plagued by the worry of her death, or death of her loved ones, or anything complicated. The only worries she had were the exams and winning the Quidditch cup.
Grace continued up the stairs until she reached the topmost landing where there were only two doors. The one facing her bore a nameplate reading Sirius.
Grace had been in her father's room many time before he was alive. She wanted to see the room again and see the old pictured he had pasted on the wall, the ones with his friends and her mother. But she couldn't find the courage in herself to enter her father's without being plagued by his memories and completely breaking down.
So she moved to the other door on her left and opened it, the brass knob chilling in her palms. The door gave a deafening creek and her eyes were ambushed with the overwhelming colour of green. This bedroom was slightly smaller than her father's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Grace crossed the room to examine them. The paper clips were all about Voldemort, Grace realised.
Grace noticed another photograph: a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. She moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. A boy in the middle caught her eye, he had the same moonstone eyes, the same dark hair and slightly haughty look. He looked very like Sirius.
Her feet took off to the door. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign that she had not noticed in the dark. She peered her eyes at the golden nameplate which hung on the door.
Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black
Grace's mouth opened slightly as it hit her. This room belonged to her Uncle Regulas. And moreover, the locket --
"Grace?"
Harry had just exited from Sirius's room, a piece of paper held gently in his hand. He watched her as she stared, the name searing into her brain.
"He was my uncle," she breathed out. "R.A.B --"
"Harry! Grace!"
Hermione came panting up the stairs, relief evident in her eyes as she saw the two in the hall.
"We woke up and didn't know where you two were!" she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Ron! I've found them."
Ron's annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.
"Good! Tell them from me they're gits!"
"Don't just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you two come up here anyway?" She gazed around the ransacked room. "What have you been doing?"
"I found him, Hermione!" said Grace. "R.A.B."
"What --"
"He was my uncle," said Grace and pointed toward Regular door. "Regular Arcturus Black."
Harry and Hermione stared at the golden sign.
"Sirius's brother?" Hermione whispered. "Your uncle, Grace?"
"He was a Death Eater," said Harry. "Sirius told me and Grace about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave – so they killed him."
"That fits!" gasped Hermione. "If he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!"
Hermione leaned over the banister, and screamed, "Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!"
Ron appeared, panting, a minute later, his wand ready in his hand. "What's up? If it's massive spiders again I want breakfast before I –"
He frowned at the sign on Regulus's door, in which Hermione was silently pointing.
"What? That was Sirius's brother, wasn't it? Regulus Arcturus . . . Regulus . . . R.A.B.! The locket – you don't reckon -- ?"
"My uncle was the one who stole the real Horcrux." muttered Grace.
Harry pushed the door open and they moved over the threshold together, gazing around. As Grace gazed at the bedroom again, she realised that whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his diffidence from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite.
"They're all about Voldemort," Hermione said looking at the collection of yellow newspaper cuttings,. "Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters ..."
Grace looked around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.
"There's an easier way," said Hermione, and raised her wand and said, "Accio Locket!"
Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.
"Is that it, then? It's not here?"
"Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments," said Hermione. "Charms to prevent it from being summoned magically, you know."
"I don't think Horcrux could be summoned," said Grace. "It would be extremely easy."
They were silent for a moment.
"I've also found something else." said Harry and pulled out a letter he had been holding his hand before and held it out to them.
Grace took it and read it along with Hermione and Ron, who peered at over he shoulder.
Dear Padfoot and Anna,
Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. I'm sure it must have been Anna's idea. No offence to you Padfoot, but you're not so great with gifts and we all know that. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself. I'm enclosing a picture so you both can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course James thought it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going.
We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Garry. We were so sorry you two couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you both could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.
Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore --
The letter stopped there. For a moment Grace started at the paper, before looking up at Harry. She didn't had any words to say.
"Oh Harry . . ." Hermione trailed off.
"And there's this too" said Harry.
He handed them a torn photograph. A black-haired baby was zooming in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that must have belonged to James was chasing after him.
Grace smiled sadly at the baby Harry zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.
"I've been looking for the rest of the letter," Harry said, "but I couldn't find it."
"Maybe it got lost," said Ron. "seeing how old it is."
"Maybe. . ."
They again resumed their search for the locket. They combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there. The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows.
"It could be somewhere else in the house, though," said Hermione in a rallying tone as they walked back downstairs.
As Grace, Harry and Ron had become more discouraged, she seemed to have become more determined.
"Whether he'd manage to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realize it at ... at ... "
Grace, Harry and Ron looked at her. She was standing with one foot in midair, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated: her eyes had even drifted out of focus.
"... at the time," she finished in a whisper.
"Something wrong?" asked Ron.
"There was a locket."
"What?" said Grace, Harry and Ron together.
"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we ... we ... "
Grace felt as though a brick had slid down through her chest into her stomach. She remembered. She had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn to pry it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wartcap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy ...
"Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us," said Grace. It was the only chance, the only slender hope left to them, and she was going to cling to it until forced to let go. "He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon."
As quickly as they could could without waking the portrait of her grandmother, they hurried down the stairs in a stumbling haste, each trying to get their faster. Soon, they bolted into the kitchen and yanked Kreacher's cupboard door open, only to find it empty except for an assortment of odd heirlooms.
"It's not over yet," said Grace, and she raised her voice and called, "Kreacher!"
A deafening crack echoed in the kitchen, and the small, tattered form of Kreacher stood in front of the fireplace, wearing the same filthy rags.
"Mistress," croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice, and he bowed low; muttering to his knees, "back in my old Mistress's house with the blood-traitor Potter and Weasley and the Mudblood –"
"I forbid you to call anyone 'blood traitor' or 'Mudblood,'" snapped Grace. "I've got a question for you, and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," said Kreacher, bowing low again. Grace saw his lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter.
"Two years ago," said Grace, "there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?"
There was a moment's silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Grace full in the face. Then he said, "Yes."
"Where is it now?" asked Grace jubilantly as Harry, Ron and Hermione looked gleeful.
Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word.
"Gone."
"Gone?" echoed Grace, elation floating out of her, "What do you mean, it's gone?"
The elf shivered. He swayed.
"Kreacher," said Grace fiercely, "I order you –"
"Mundungus Fletcher," croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella's and Miss Cissy's pictures, my Mistress's gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and – and – "
Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.
"—and the locket, Master Regulus's locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"
Instinctively, Harry launched himself upon the elf, flattening him as Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate. Hermione's scream mingled with Kreacher's but Grace bellowed louder than both of them: "Kreacher, I order you to stay still!"
The elf froze and Harry released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes.
"Grace, let him up!" Hermione whispered.
"So he can beat himself up with the poker?" said Grace, kneeling beside the elf. "I don't think so. Right. Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?"
"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 ... "
"You called the locket 'Master Regulus's,'" said Harry. "Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it?"
Kreacher said nothing.
"Kreacher," said Grace. "Sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything my Uncle Regulus had to do with it!"
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 ...And 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 ..."
The old elf rocked faster than ever.
"... he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."
"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry repeated, looking around at Grace, Ron and Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did. "But why?"
Kreacher looked toward Grace, as if asking permission to reply. Grace nodded quickly.
"And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher." moaned 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 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 ... "
The hairs on the back of Grace's neck stood up. She saw what had happened as clearly as though she had been present.
"... There was a boat ... There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it ..."
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."
"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake ... and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface ... "
"How did you get away?" Harry asked quietly.
Grace was too horror-fixed to even speak.
Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.
"I know – but how did you escape the Inferi?" repeated Harry.
Kreacher did not seem to understand.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.
"I know, but – "
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it, Harry?" said Ron. "He Disapparated!"
"But ... you couldn't Apparate in and out of that cave," said Harry, "otherwise Dumbledore – "
"Elf magic isn't like wizard's magic, is it?" said Ron, "I mean, they can Apparate and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can't."
"Elf magic is much stronger than ours." explained Hermione.
Grace spoke, her voice icy. "Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice. It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn't."
"The house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding," intoned Kreacher. "Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home ... "
"Well, then, you did what you were told, didn't you?" said Hermione kindly. "You didn't disobey orders at all!"
Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.
"So what happened when you got back?" asked Grace kindly. "What did Regulus say when you told him what happened?"
"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then ... it was a little while later ... Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell ... and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord ... "
"And he made you drink the poison?" said Harry, disgusted.
But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Grace's blood ran cold; it meant her uncle drank all the potion. Hermione's hands leapt to her mouth as she too understood.
"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. "And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets ..."
Kreacher's sobs came in great rasps now.
"And he order – Kreacher to leave – without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home – and never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched ... as Master Regulus ... was dragged beneath the water ... and ... "
"Oh, Kreacher!" wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed.
"The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?"
But before Grace could say anything the elf was already punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.
"Kreacher – stop, stop!" shouted Grace.
The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snot, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Grace had never seen anything so pitiful.
"So you brought the locket home," coaxed Grace gently. "And you tried to destroy it?"
"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work ... So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open ... Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave ..."
Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words.
"I don't understand you, Kreacher," Harry said finally. "Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them ... "
"Harry, Kreacher doesn't think like that," said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "He's a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn't that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He's loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you're going to say," she went on as Harry began to protest, "that Regulus changed his mind ... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he?" And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all."
Grace had nothing to say. As she watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, she remembered what Dumbledore had said to her, mere hours after her father's death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's ...
"Kreacher," said Grace after a while, "when you feel up to it, er, please sit up."
It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.
"Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something," said Grace kindly. "I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket – where my Uncle Regulus's locket is. It's really important. We want to finish the work Uncle Regulus started, we want to ensure that he didn't die in vain."
Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Grace.
"Find Mundungus Fletcher?" he croaked.
"And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place," said Grace. "Do you think you could do that for us?"
As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Grace had a sudden inspiration. She pulled out Hagrid's purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Uncle Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort.
"Kreacher, I'd, er, like you to have this," Grace said, pressing the locket into the elf's hand. "This belonged to Regulus and I'm sure he'd want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you—"
"Overkill, Grace," said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.
It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made three low bows to Grace, Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione's direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.