Hufflepuff's Golden Cup. It was within Bellatrix's grasp – both Tom Riddle's desire and the purpose of her mission.
"Yes! This is it!" Bellatrix snatched up the golden cup, her eyes gleaming with unholy delight. "I'll deliver it myself. He'll be overjoyed! Perhaps…"
The elderly goblin who had accompanied her shuffled towards the vault's exit. Even the allure of Galleons couldn't hold him now. He sensed madness brewing. Seeing Bellatrix's vacant, lovesick expression, he decided some thoughts were best left unread.
"Um… Madam?" the goblin squeaked, weakly raising a trembling hand. "If you'll excuse me…"
Bellatrix's face twisted with displeasure. She whipped around, glaring at him, then impatiently shoved past him toward the minecart. "Out of my way! I haven't got all day!"
She leaped into the minecart, starting it with a lurch and speeding off, leaving the goblin sputtering in the dust.
"Wait! I haven't even boarded!"
...
Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Bellatrix Apparated, finding herself before a dilapidated three-story building. Passersby seemed deliberately blind to her presence, either hurrying past or absorbed in their own affairs. They sidestepped her.
Clutching Hufflepuff's Golden Cup in her left hand, she pointed her wand at the building with her right. With a flick of her wrist, the building shuddered, groaned, and folded in on itself. It split open, revealing the grim, soot-stained facade of the Black family's ancestral home.
The entrance was a massive, black-painted door marred with scratches. The silver doorknob was a coiled serpent, its eyes glinting menacingly. There was no keyhole, no mailbox, only ancient enchantments woven into the wood. "Alohomora" was useless here.
A tarnished doorbell hung beside the door, but Bellatrix had no need for it. She knew the spell. As she worked the magic, Walburga Black stormed out of the portrait beside the doorway.
"Oh, my dear niece," Walburga Black sneered, her tone dripping with condescension.
"Why have you suddenly returned to the Black family?"
Walburga's tone was markedly warmer than it ever was with Sirius.
"Auntie, I'm simply delivering something to… him," Bellatrix replied, her address to Walburga tinged with formality. Walburga was not only her aunt but also her uncle's wife. The tangled mess of Black family lineage: Sirius' parents were first cousins.
The Blacks, much like the Gaunts, prized pure-blood marriages above all else, even dabbling in incestuous unions. Sirius Black remained the last of the Black line to carry the name, aside from the married-out women.
"Him?" Walburga's first thought landed, predictably, on her good-for-nothing son. Besides Sirius, only Kreacher the house-elf and Harry, currently at school, remained. But Walburga quickly dismissed the notion. Looking at Bellatrix's glazed eyes, it couldn't possibly be Sirius. He was the farthest thing from Bellatrix's thoughts; she was clearly besotted with another.
As Walburga pondered, Sirius Black and Kreacher materialized nearby.
"Miss Bellatrix!" Kreacher wailed, tears streaming down his face. "Kreacher has missed you so much! The Black family is ruined… that betrayer has even… even allowed outsiders to reside in the Black house!" Unlike Sirius, whom Kreacher branded a traitor, he was obsequiously devoted to Bellatrix.
"…" Sirius scowled, kicking Kreacher in the shin. "Harry isn't an outsider! When I die, I'm leaving this entire dump to him!"
Walburga nearly fainted in apoplectic rage. "You ungrateful whelp!"
"Shut up, old hag!" Sirius retorted, unmoved. "If it weren't for… well, I'd find a way to tear all those portraits down sooner or later!" Many of the Black family portraits seemed affixed with a "permanent sticking charm," making them impossible to remove by ordinary means.
"…"
Bellatrix knew better than anyone that Sirius loathed the Black family, and that dislike was mutual. The Black family didn't care for him, and he returned the sentiment tenfold. He detested their twisted ideology.
So, when Harry wasn't around, Sirius argued with the portraits, tearing into them relentlessly. This "pastoral pastime" had unintentionally honed his already sharp tongue.
Bellatrix had no interest in their squabble. She coldly ordered Sirius to move. "Out of my way."
"And why should I?" Sirius countered, deliberately blocking her path.
Kreacher, on the other hand, was eager to usher Bellatrix inside. "Miss Bella, please, come in and rest…"
"Shut up, Kreacher!" Sirius barked, refusing to let Bellatrix through.
Bellatrix's brow furrowed, her right hand tightening around her wand. "He told me to bring the Golden Cup and wait for him here. Are you going to move, or not?"
"He?" Unlike Walburga, Sirius immediately understood. "Voldemort… Tom Riddle?"
"Tom!!!!~~"
A booming voice resounded from within the house. With a mighty crash, Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait was ejected from the wall beside Walburga's. He leaned precariously out of the frame, shouting at Bellatrix, "Tom Riddle is coming?!"
Like most Blacks, Phineas held a favorable view of Voldemort. And Tom Riddle, so young, vibrant, and powerful, was practically Voldemort 2.0! An enhanced version! Tom Riddle's only flaw, in Phineas's eyes, was his lack of a Black surname. If his descendants could be as impressive as Tom Riddle, he'd accept any blood status!
Sirius had heard Phineas lament countless times while he lived there. "Why must the Gaunts have such magnificent descendants, while mine…" Phineas would trail off, casting a meaningful glance at Sirius before sighing dramatically.
"Good, good! Those Armando blighters have silenced me for too long. At last, an opportunity!" In the Headmaster's Office, every time Phineas had tried to speak to Tom Riddle, the other Headmasters' portraits had ganged up on him, silencing him. Rumor had it that this was at Dumbledore's instigation, supposedly because he feared Phineas would corrupt Tom Riddle.
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