The wind tugged at the heavy, luxurious, yet threadbare curtains of the old Black estate, letting faint slivers of moonlight slip into the room.
The space was completely silent, thick with a restless, coiled energy. Sirius paced the floor, clearly eager, yet he didn't show a single trace of irritation.
He waited for him with pure reverence, like the night sky waiting for the moon.
Kreacher, on the other hand, was well used to the waiting.
For the elf, the days usually blurred together. Out in the middle of Grimmauld Place, the weeds would wither, turn brittle, and yellow in the sun, yet his life remained completely stagnant.
Number 12 had never had tenants, and the house had remained entirely hidden from the neighbors. The Muggle residents of Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing architectural error of Number 11 sitting directly next to Number 13.
But today... today was undeniably special.
Kreacher kept glancing down at the locket on his chest. He felt like he had been made "new" again—much like the kitchen downstairs.
The kitchen was practically unrecognizable to Sirius now. Every surface had been restored to its former glory: the copper pots and pans gleamed with a rosy hue, the wooden tables were polished to a mirror shine, and the dinner plates were neatly set out, catching the warm glow of the fire. A large cauldron bubbled happily over the lively flames.
But the house-elf hurrying to greet Sean had undergone an even more drastic transformation than the house itself. Kreacher was wrapped in a snow-white towel, the hair sprouting from his bat-like ears was as fluffy and clean as cotton, and Regulus's locket bounced against his bony chest.
"Master Green!" Kreacher cried out in pure joy.
"Honored Mr. Green," Sirius added, offering a respectful, slight smile.
Right in front of them, the silhouette of a young wizard emerged from the shadows of the staircase.
He had messy, raven-black hair and a pair of emerald eyes that shone brightly even in the gloom. Beside him walked a short, perpetually vigilant creature.
But the most striking thing of all was what the young wizard held as he stepped into the dim room. In his hand was a long, slender sword.
It was sharp, magnificent, and a blood-red ruby gleamed at its hilt.
"The Sword of Gryffindor?"
Sirius's face instantly changed. He knew the sword and its legend intimately—he had been a Gryffindor himself, after all.
"You have a good eye, wizard," the Pukwudgie butler scoffed.
"How is this possible..."
Sirius simply couldn't comprehend it. He distinctly remembered that his god walked the halls of Hogwarts as a Ravenclaw. How on earth was he standing here holding the Sword of Gryffindor?
Where did he find it?
How did he pull it out?
Did Hogwarts actually allow him to just walk around with it?
"To destroy a Horcrux, we need powerful magical artifacts. The Sword of Gryffindor is goblin-made; it takes in only that which makes it stronger..." Sean explained, his expression completely blank.
"But..." Sirius stammered.
By Merlin—what Gryffindor hadn't fantasized about finding the Sword of Gryffindor? What Gryffindor hadn't dreamed of becoming a masterful duelist like their founder, traveling the world with a magnificent, legendary blade?
Yet here it was, in the hands of a Ravenclaw. And Sean didn't even seem to realize how earth-shattering this was. His tone was as casual as if he were stating a simple fact: I needed the power of Gryffindor's sword, so it appeared, and now it belongs to me. "May I... may I touch it? My apologies, Mr. Green, I'm just a bit overwhelmed." Sirius quickly realized his lapse in composure and adjusted his attitude.
"It's fine," Sean said.
He understood the shock wielding this sword would cause a true Gryffindor. Hell, he hadn't even expected to be able to pull it out himself.
The Sorting Hat always told him he possessed the courage Gryffindor valued, but sometimes Sean couldn't wrap his head around it...
He was just moving forward.
"Will," Sean called out softly.
Understanding perfectly, the Pukwudgie butler retrieved an item from a sealed box. The moment it was revealed, it drew everyone's eyes.
Sirius stared at it with a mix of surprise and creeping dread. He looked at the serpentine "S" inlaid with glittering green stones. It was terrifyingly easy to imagine it as a real little snake coiled on cold stone.
Kreacher instantly began to shriek.
"That's it! That's it! Kreacher couldn't leave a single mark on it!" the house-elf wailed in desperate agony.
"Kreacher tried everything, everything! But nothing worked... nothing...
"There is so much powerful magic on the casing, Kreacher believed it could only be destroyed from the inside, but it wouldn't open...
"Kreacher punished himself, tried again, punished himself, and tried again!
"Kreacher failed to follow orders! Kreacher couldn't destroy the locket!
"My Mistress went mad with grief because Master Regulus disappeared, and Kreacher couldn't tell her what happened—no, because Master Regulus forbade—forbade Kreacher to tell the family what happened in the c-cave..."
Kreacher spoke at a frantic pace, choking on his sobs.
Even Sirius couldn't bear to listen to it anymore.
"You foolish creature! How could you possibly destroy it? If it takes something like the Sword of Gryffindor to even leave a scratch on it—where exactly were you supposed to find the Sword of Gryffindor?"
"Kreacher couldn't find it... Kreacher failed Master Regulus's final wish..."
Kreacher was utterly heartbroken, letting the cold wind bite at his self-punished fingers, letting the pale street lamps from outside wash over his tear-stained face.
"It's alright, Mr. Kreacher," Sean said gently. He raised the sword.
In that split second, a fierce gust of wind swept through the grounds, violently whipping the curtains forward. Moonlight spilled into the room, silhouetting the dark-haired young wizard.
He stood tall and unyielding, gripping the sword with a chilling calm, his eyes as sharp and cold as the blade itself.
But the sword remained suspended in the air. Sean had just remembered something crucial.
The locket was protected by heavily layered magic. Trying to just smash it to pieces right now was a fool's errand. He had to...
"Open." Sean hissed in Parseltongue.
Immediately, everyone locked their eyes onto the locket, staring at the "S" and imagining a snake. Inside the locket, something began to scuttle and rustle like a cockroach trapped in a jar.
Sean's final syllable sounded like a serpentine roar, causing the little golden doors of the locket to snap open with a sharp click.
It revealed what lay inside:
There were two small glass windows, and behind each blinked a living eye—dark, gleaming, and full of life, just like Tom Riddle's eyes before they turned red and slit-like.
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