Hermione's face was ashen, utterly unprepared for the treatment she received after speaking up for Kreacher. For a fledgling idealist like her, it was a harsh blow to the head. It would have been one thing if Kreacher had simply been ungrateful, but his unparalleled venomous retort left her scalp prickling with unease.
"But I was only trying to help…" the young witch murmured, her eyes brimming with tears as she quietly defended herself.
Kreacher didn't wait for Sirius to interject. Quoting his former master, he pressed on, "Kreacher would like to borrow a phrase from Master Sirius: mind your own business and stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. The only thing you need to manage is yourself."
"He's got a point," Ron mouthed silently to Harry.
If those words had come from a Slytherin like Draco, Ron's hex would have already flown. But coming from the Black family's house-elf, even someone as progressive as Ron, from a forward-thinking pure-blood family, didn't quite align with Hermione's crusade to liberate house-elves. As the saying went, she was meddling a bit too much.
Heaven knew how desperately Mrs. Weasley longed for a house-elf to help with the endless chores. Raising so many children was exhausting, and a house-elf's assistance could have lightened her load considerably.
Veratia sighed and pulled the tearful Hermione into a comforting embrace. "You can't force others to accept your beliefs, Hermione," she said softly. "The freedom you champion might seem like poison to house-elves. At Hogwarts, we don't just learn spells—we also learn to let go of our savior complexes and respect others' destinies."
Hermione nodded hesitantly, finding some truth in Veratia's words and willing to listen. "Let's eat something," Veratia said, ruffling Hermione's messy hair. "You've been busy all day without a bite. Let's see what Kreacher's cooking is like. Maybe after tasting it, you'll understand why so many wizarding families are eager to have a house-elf."
"I'll admit, the drumsticks are fantastic," Ron declared happily, wielding a drumstick in each hand. "I never imagined drumsticks could taste this good."
"All you think about is food, Ron," Hermione huffed, though she didn't take her frustration out on him.
It had to be said—Kreacher's culinary skills were exceptional, even among house-elves. Even Veratia, who was usually picky about food, ate more than usual. Kreacher, meanwhile, continued polishing something with his head bowed, unnoticed by all as a flicker of satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
After dinner, Lupin and Sirius went outside to tidy the garden, with Ron tagging along for the fun. Hermione, still reluctant to face Kreacher, followed Ron out of Grimmauld Place. As the others left, Cassandra tugged at the corner of her mouth and turned to Veratia.
"I had no idea you could eat so much, Grindelwald," she said, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. "I hope Potter can afford to keep you fed."
"I've told you before, Cassandra," Veratia replied with a sly smile, eyeing Cassandra's flat chest. "Eat more, and maybe with enough nourishment, you'll… grow up."
"Oh, looks like your meals haven't gone to waste, then," Cassandra shot back, smirking. "Seems Potter prefers them a bit plumper, doesn't it, Potter?"
Harry's attention was elsewhere, his head suddenly throbbing. Heaven knew how long it had been since his scar last ached. Ever since that diary was destroyed, the pain had vanished, and he'd nearly forgotten what it felt like.
Veratia didn't bother with words to counter Cassandra. Instead, she gave her an enigmatic smile, reached back, and tugged her shirt taut, accentuating her curves. Her waist was impossibly slender—a perfect hourglass. As the old saying went, "Chu's king loved a slim waist, and many in the palace starved for it." Princess Sisi, too, adored a delicate waist, and though it didn't lead to starvation, those around her chased the same ideal of slender beauty. As her closest confidante, Veratia naturally boasted a tiny waist.
"Such a warped sense of beauty," Cassandra sneered, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of envy. Her sharp tongue was, as always, unyielding.
"How do you even manage it?" Poppy Sweeting floated over, her voice tinged with admiration. She even reached out to encircle Veratia's waist, nearly able to close her hands around it. "I'm so jealous!"
"Forget it, Sweeting," Cassandra scoffed. "Look at yourself—you're the chubbiest of us all."
Poppy didn't argue. Instead, she plopped onto a chair, resting her chest on the table. Actions spoke louder than words. Cassandra's face paled as she stared, stunned, before mechanically turning to gaze out the window.
"Well, that's lost its color," Poppy muttered.
"Alright, enough with the double act," Harry interjected, waving his hands to restore balance. "Why do you two always gang up on poor Cassandra?"
"Oh, Harry's feeling sorry for her," Poppy teased, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. "You're heartbroken for Cassandra, aren't you? I knew you fancied her—"
Veratia froze, caught off guard. Whose side are you on? she thought. No wonder Cassandra called her a dimwit. If she'd known, she would've dealt with Poppy herself.
"I've got a headache," Harry said, deftly changing the subject. He couldn't let this conversation dig any deeper, or Veratia might whip out her wand with murderous intent. As he spoke, he touched the scar on his forehead.
"Headache?" Veratia straightened, her tone sharp with concern. "Is it your scar?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "It's been throbbing ever since dinner. I've got a bad feeling about this…"
"A bad feeling?" Cassandra turned, eyeing Harry suspiciously before glancing at Veratia. "Could it be Tom Riddle?" Veratia asked, frowning. "You know, Harry, whenever your scar hurts, it means Riddle's nearby. Think about it—from Quirrell in your first year to that diary in your second. Every time he's involved, your scar acts up."
As she spoke, Veratia felt like she was grasping at something, but it slipped through her fingers.
"Exactly," Poppy nodded. "Let's figure out what's causing the pain."
"Let's use the process of elimination," Veratia said, pacing the room. "First, we rule out anyone who's been at Hogwarts consistently, like Professor Lupin and Mr. Black. You've been around them plenty, and they've never triggered your scar, so they're safe."
"Then there's Hermione and Ron," Veratia continued. "They're even less likely to be Riddle's hosts. And Cassandra and Poppy? Impossible."
"And you," Cassandra added lazily, lounging back. "Think about it, Grindelwald—Harry's head started hurting the moment you showed up at Grimmauld Place."
Veratia paused, then smirked. "Is that so?" She walked over to Harry, leaned down, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Feel anything, Harry?" she asked softly.
Her cascade of hair spilled forward, the scent enveloping him. Harry quickly crossed his legs, stammering, "No, nothing—nothing at all!"
"See? No reaction," Veratia said, flashing Cassandra a triumphant smile.
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "This isn't the time for you two to flirt. You know Potter's nemesis is somewhere in this house."
"Exactly," Veratia said, scanning the dining room. "There are only two possibilities: the kitchen or Kreacher. Think about it—Harry didn't feel pain at the entrance or in Mr. Black's bedroom. Why only in the kitchen?"
Cassandra drew her wand and pointed it into the air. "Revelio!" A pulse of magic rippled outward, spreading to every corner of the room.
"Anything?" Poppy asked, concerned.
"There's a red figure," Cassandra said, pointing behind Veratia. "It's the size of a house-elf, holding a butcher's knife, aiming for Grindelwald."
A sharp clang of metal echoed through the room.
"My Protego was just in time," Veratia said, smiling at Cassandra. "But this poor house-elf seems to be under the Imperius Curse."
"Don't hurt him!" Harry urged. "We need him alive to find out what's going on."
Veratia flicked her fingers, and Kreacher floated up from behind her, still clutching a gleaming butcher's knife—sharp enough to slice through anything. "Kreacher… must… obey Master's orders!" he growled.
"Master's orders?" The trio, plus one ghost, exchanged glances. "Which master?" they asked in unison.
"Kreacher has only… one master…" Kreacher's red eyes blazed as he roared, "The noble Regulus Black!"
"Regulus?" Harry frowned. "Didn't Phineas say Regulus is dead? That Sirius is the last male Black?"
But Kreacher struggled, insisting, "Master Regulus is alive! He ordered Kreacher to purify Grimmauld Place at all costs—"
At that moment, Sirius and Lupin, hearing the commotion, rushed back inside. "Regulus?" Sirius stormed forward, grabbing Kreacher's tattered cloth collar. "You're saying Regulus is alive? Where is he?!"
"Kreacher cannot say!" Kreacher's face bore a blissful, martyr-like smile. "To die for the last heir of the Black family is Kreacher's greatest honor—"
Sirius's face darkened like a storm cloud. What the hell, Kreacher? he thought. I'm still alive, damn it! I'm the last Black heir, even if they kicked me out—blood doesn't lie!
But Kreacher was clearly not himself, his behavior screaming Imperius Curse. "Here's the plan," Harry said after a moment's thought. "I'll head to Hogwarts and ask Professor Snape for some Veritaserum—"
"Ask?" Sirius snarled. "We're doing Snape a favor by using his Veritaserum."
"Godfather," Harry coughed awkwardly, "we promised Dumbledore we'd stop antagonizing Snape."
"Fine," Sirius drawled, "but I reserve the right to object. We don't need to grovel to that greasy git—"
"I'm sure Professor Snape will help, and so will Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, his mind already spinning a mischievous Christmas plot. The holidays didn't mean the headmaster and Snape could slack off—not when Voldemort was creeping around 12 Grimmauld Place. If Harry had to deal with this, so did they.
"We'll keep an eye on Kreacher," Veratia assured Harry. "Don't worry, we won't harm him. He's just a house-elf—he can't pose any real threat."
"I'd still be careful," Harry warned. "Kreacher's been in this house for ages. We don't know when Voldemort got to him, but he's had plenty of time to turn Grimmauld Place into a trap."
As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, as though the sun had abruptly set.
"I didn't know you had a knack for jinxing things," Cassandra remarked, her tone as casual as if the situation had nothing to do with her.
"Lumos!" Harry drew his wand, illuminating the room. He conjured several orbs of Gubraithian Fire, which floated around to serve as light sources. Ever-burning and fuel-free, the magical flames were perfect for the job.
Then, Kreacher's figure vanished from Sirius's grasp.
"Watch out!" Sirius and Lupin drew their wands, ready for battle.
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