Grimmauld Place Number 12.
"Harry, you may not believe this when I say it—"
"No, Sherlock, I believe everything you say."
"Well then, based on my observations from living here these past few days, the care and affection Kreacher received in the Black family came mostly from Sirius's brother Regulus.
Besides that, he also holds respect for Sirius's cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa.
But he has no sense of identification with his true master, your godfather Sirius."
"Why is that?" Harry asked softly.
Sherlock looked at Harry and said with considerable feeling.
"This result stems partly from objective factors.
Sirius was an anomaly in the Black family, especially compared to his brother Regulus.
His attitude toward Muggles was completely contrary to Black family tradition, which naturally affected Kreacher.
Add to that his early departure from home—he didn't even consider himself part of the Black family, so how could he expect a house-elf dedicated to serving the Black family to identify with him?
If the Black family hadn't been reduced to just Sirius as the sole male in this generation, forcing both Kreacher and all of Grimmauld Place Number 12 to be inherited by Sirius, this master and servant would never have had any connection.
On the other hand, there are subjective factors.
Sirius despises everything about the Black family, while Kreacher goes to great lengths to preserve everything about the Black family.
Whenever he sees Kreacher, he naturally thinks of the family he hates and the terrible environment he experienced growing up.
So, he calls this house-elf a useless waste, which further exacerbates the antagonism between master and servant."
After explaining the reasons, Sherlock returned to the main point.
"Old chap, remember what I told Sirius last time?
Although house-elves cannot refuse explicit commands, they can deliberately misinterpret commands that aren't so clear.
For someone as casual as Sirius, you can't guarantee every command he gives will be as precise as mine, which gives Kreacher opportunities to exploit.
That's why I suggested Sirius transfer command authority over Kreacher to you, making you his de facto master."
"But, but I also can't guarantee that everything I say to Kreacher won't have loopholes for him to exploit!"
Harry finally understood Sherlock's intent but still scratched his head in confusion.
"Being able to maintain precise expression without any ambiguity in everyday speech at all times—probably no one except you could do that, right?"
"My dear Harry, actually anyone can do this. It just requires repeated training."
Sherlock's tone was calm.
Harry became excited upon hearing this. "Does this mean you're going to train me again?"
"No."
Sherlock gave Harry an odd look, somewhat puzzled why he got so excited at the mention of training.
"You can do this yourself just by practicing intentionally in your daily life.
But the reason I want you to command it instead of Sirius is because you are kind."
"Huh?" Harry looked completely confused.
"Old chap, believe me, even in all of Britain, there aren't many people kinder than you."
"Huh?" Harry continued looking confused.
"Harry, you may not have realized it yet, but your kindness possesses a unique purity and redemptive power."
"Sherlock, what exactly are you saying—"
"This kindness of yours, while not innately perfect, can maintain the essence of love and protection through extreme suffering and temptation, even illuminating the darkest corners."
Sherlock leaned forward slightly, speaking with some admiration.
"Your childhood was one of abandonment and abuse. Such experiences could easily breed hatred or indifference, but you didn't do that.
When the truth was revealed, you forgave the Dursleys without holding grudges.
You never took your pain out on the weak. When faced with Neville being bullied, you actively intervened."
Hearing this, Harry's cheeks flushed slightly. He lowered his head somewhat embarrassed, his fingers twisting the hem of his robe.
"Sherlock, I'm not as good as you say—"
However, Sherlock didn't stop and continued.
"Your kindness isn't ignorance of darkness, but knowing darkness exists and still choosing to be the light that illuminates it.
Only you can break the coldness of the Black family.
Only you have the possibility of transforming Kreacher from a pure-blood fanatic into a loyal guardian.
Even I cannot do this."
Harry was completely stunned.
Without doubt, Sherlock was his best friend.
But this was the first time he'd heard Sherlock give him such high praise.
All along, Harry had also considered himself a kind person.
But he never imagined that a simple word like "kind" could be extended by Sherlock into so many meanings.
It was simply incredible.
"You mean I should be nicer to Kreacher?" Harry hesitated for a moment and asked uncertainly.
"No, no, no, you don't need to do that deliberately."
Sherlock smiled and patted Harry's shoulder.
"Remember the Malfoy family's elf Dobby?
Even though it was just your first meeting, you could treat it as an equal.
Faced with its self-harming tendencies, you were even morally bound by it and could do nothing."
When Sherlock brought this up, Harry recalled how helplessly he'd been pestered by Dobby, and his already slightly flushed cheeks grew even hotter.
"That's why I say you don't need to deliberately treat Kreacher any particular way."
Sherlock's smile became kinder. "Just maintain a normal attitude. Time will be enough to change it."
Harry understood.
Sherlock was worried that Kreacher might become a time bomb beside Sirius and himself.
Combined with what Sherlock had said to Sirius last time about Kreacher, this was clearly preventive preparation.
"I know what to do."
Harry nodded firmly, his eyes gaining more determination.
After Sherlock left, only three beings remained at Grimmauld Place Number 12. Harry, Sirius, and Kreacher, who occasionally muttered spitefully from corners.
Harry began trying to communicate with Kreacher.
Of course, the results weren't ideal.
Kreacher often played dumb in front of him, either pretending not to hear or deliberately misinterpreting his meaning.
Unless Harry gave precise, clear commands without any ambiguity, as Sherlock had mentioned earlier.
However, Harry remembered Sherlock's words and didn't always do that—except for one thing.
He ordered Kreacher to properly prepare three meals a day for himself and Sirius.
This was a command he issued after personally tasting Kreacher's cooking.
Sirius was initially noncommittal about this.
He stood with arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, watching Harry seriously give orders to Kreacher, a hint of dismissiveness on his lips.
"Kreacher? Its cooking?
Harry, you probably don't know yet—when I first returned here, it once burned roast potatoes to charcoal.
Take my word for it, it's long forgotten how to cook properly. Let's just go out to eat like before."
Unexpectedly, that very evening, Kreacher used a silver platter to serve golden crispy roast chicken, Yorkshire pudding drenched in thick gravy, and herb-garnished mashed potatoes.
Seeing this scene, Sirius was completely stunned.
He forked a piece of roast chicken and carefully put it in his mouth, his eyes instantly widening.
"Kreacher's culinary skills are excellent—I knew this."
Sirius put down his knife and fork, shaking his head, his face full of disbelief.
"But I thought after being alone for so many years, it had long forgotten about cooking."
After saying this, he turned toward Kreacher, who stood in the corner with his head down, clearing his throat somewhat unnaturally.
"Kreacher, well done."
It was just a casual remark, but unexpectedly, after hearing this, a glimmer of light flashed in Kreacher's cloudy eyes.
He suddenly raised his head, his mouth opening and closing as he began mechanically repeating.
"Well done—well done—well done—"
He muttered to himself, his bony fingers unconsciously twisting together.
"Master praised Kreacher. This is the first time Master praised Kreacher. Although it sounds somewhat disgusting, it's also strangely pleasant to hear. What's going on?"
Kreacher muttered as he shuffled out, leaving Harry and Sirius looking at each other.
Harry: "..."
Sirius: "..."
The following time was very happy for Harry.
By now, he had completely come to regard Sirius as his father.
Sirius was the type who couldn't sit still—think about it, someone who would give thirteen-year-old Harry a Firebolt as a gift couldn't be ordinary!
And as someone ultimately sorted into Gryffindor, Harry never lacked an adventurous spirit in his bones, so the rhythm of life that followed suited him perfectly.
This holiday, Harry's understanding of magic rapidly increased.
He also learned for the first time that King's Cross Station had not only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters but also Platform Seven and a Half.
This platform, hidden between Platforms Seven and Eight, had walls carved with exquisite vine patterns. Wizards could board long-distance trains there bound for wizarding villages on the European continent, with destination signs that flickered magically on the carriage exteriors.
However, Sirius didn't take Harry on a train journey.
"Harry, remember you're a wizard. You need to get used to using Apparition to travel."
He patted Harry's shoulder, his tone carrying the pride of someone with experience.
Since clearing his name, Sirius had gradually regained his former state, his strength returning to that of a first-rate wizard.
In his own words: "If I faced Snape head-on now, who knows who would win!"
He used Apparition to take Harry to many places—the Fountain of Magical Brethren displaying harmony in the Ministry of Magic, the white flowers blooming beside Lily and James's tombstone in Godric's Hollow, the dazzling piles of candy at Honeydukes in Hogsmeade.
At each location, Sirius would patiently tell Harry the stories he'd missed.
After doing all this, Harry's birthday was approaching.
The Quidditch World Cup was to be held Monday night next week, so Sirius directly decided to throw Harry a large birthday party.
"Harry, as you now know, when you were one year old, James and Lily held a simple birthday tea party for you."
Sirius sat on the sofa, playing with a wand in his hand, his voice carrying a trace of nostalgia.
"After that, you never again—"
He paused here, his Adam's apple rolling gently, as if unwilling to mention those past events. Then he changed the subject, his tone becoming lighter.
"This time, let's invite all your friends over!"
Harry naturally had no objections to Sirius's arrangement.
He still remembered what Cho Chang had said last time.
"I can come with my parents. I can help clean too!"
Although he didn't understand why Cho Chang would say that, Harry kept these words in his heart and invited her early on.
Cho Chang readily agreed.
For Muggle-born wizards like Sherlock and Hermione, they could be invited by phone.
Mixed-blood wizards like Cho Chang and Dean could also use phones.
Grimmauld Place Number 12 didn't have a phone, so Harry made a special trip to Sherlock's house. While inviting him, he borrowed the phone to notify the friends he could reach by telephone one by one.
But for pure-blood wizards like Ron and Neville, they could only be notified by owl.
Ron at least knew how to make a tell-eh-phone call. Neville simply didn't know how to use Muggle communication devices.
As for postal carriers, they probably couldn't find where these magically hidden wizard families lived at all.
Because he had to frequently write letters to friends, Hedwig, flying back and forth, was exhausted.
After bringing the last reply to Harry, she landed on his shoulder and pecked him twice hard, her eyes full of dissatisfaction.
She was clearly protesting her master's exploitative behavior.
Harry laughed helplessly and stroked her feathers, having Kreacher specially prepare an exquisite dinner for her.
"Ah, Master Potter is exploiting Kreacher again. Not only must he handle three meals a day, but he must also serve this flat-feathered beast!
How tragic—loyal Kreacher of the House of Black has fallen to such a state. Truly tragic!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
He now knew how to deal with Kreacher and immediately said.
"Kreacher, the blood of the Black family also flows in my veins. My owl is also a member of the Black family. Serving it is serving the most noble and ancient House of Black!"
Sure enough, as soon as he said this, Kreacher's steps immediately became lighter.
Sirius, watching from the side, couldn't help but shake his head secretly.
It had to be Harry.
Proud as he was, he could never say something like "the most noble and ancient House of Black."
He didn't know that in the process of spending time with Sherlock, Harry had long since learned how to praise people.
He was just applying it flexibly now.
Hedwig was very satisfied with Kreacher's craftsmanship.
It was not inferior to Aunt Petunia's.
The night before Harry's birthday, thinking he would have a lively day with friends tomorrow, he fell asleep early.
Moonlight streamed through the carved windows outside, casting mottled shadows on the floor. Everything seemed so peaceful.
Until midnight, when Harry suddenly sat up.
He was covered in cold sweat, his chest heaving violently, as if he'd just struggled out of icy lake water.
The lightning-bolt scar on his forehead throbbed with intense pain, as if issuing him a strong warning.
Voldemort, the man who made the entire wizarding world tremble with fear, had returned!
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