After returning to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius devoted himself entirely to Regulus's funeral.
He refused to let anyone else help, taking on every task alone, as though trying to make up for the years he had misunderstood his younger brother.
Even after obtaining the locket, Tver didn't leave right away. He stayed behind to help clean the house.
In particularly high spirits, Marvolio didn't mind at all. Humming a little tune, he helped deal with quite a few remnants of ancient dark magic.
After all, he had just witnessed the peak of his own power with his own eyes. If that theory held true, then once he successfully mastered soul strength comparable to his original self, perhaps his own power could reach that same level.
Unfortunately, none of them were especially skilled at household magic, so progress was slow. By the time Sirius finished arranging Regulus's burial site, they had only just finished cleaning the first floor.
Sirius spent an entire day locating an old cemetery, or rather, a small cluster of graves.
It was well hidden, tucked behind a low hillside. Weeds grew thickly but not overwhelmingly, and the surrounding anti-Muggle enchantments were still functioning perfectly.
Under the sunlight, the place even felt faintly warm.
The cemetery itself was ancient, with only a few graves. Some of the headstones were badly weathered, the cracked stone so eroded that the names of those buried there were no longer legible.
Regulus's newly erected headstone was the lone exception.
"This is the Black family burial ground," Sirius said quietly, dressed in black. "Those weathered graves likely lost their protective magic."
"In fact, only the head of the Black family is qualified to be buried here."
"But Regulus took pride in the Black name his entire life. He was more worthy of the title of head of the Black family than I ever was. That's why I chose this place."
Tver nodded softly. Pure-blood families did have traditions like that.
"Shall we begin?"
Sirius remained silent for a moment, his expression stiff, before finally saying, "Begin."
Grief filled his face as he gazed down at the finely crafted coffin resting in the deep grave.
"To my dear brother, Regulus Arcturus Black."
"Perhaps it was my running away that placed too much pressure on you, from Mother and from the family, and pushed you onto this path."
Harry paused, wanting to step forward and comfort the self-blaming Sirius, but Tver stopped him with a subtle gesture.
"Perhaps this realization comes too late," Sirius continued, his voice growing hoarse, "but no matter what, Regulus, you will always be the pride of the Black family."
"I am proud of you."
Tver stepped quietly to Sirius's side.
"Your name may go unknown," he said softly, "but your deeds will endure forever. Salute to Regulus."
"Salute to Regulus," Marvolio murmured along with the others.
That was precisely why Tver had brought him here.
Back then, Regulus had joined the Death Eaters because he admired Voldemort's ideas about overturning the Statute of Secrecy.
Only after witnessing the cruelty inflicted upon ordinary people did he choose to oppose Voldemort.
Now, there was someone who had once embodied the Voldemort Regulus admired, a Voldemort untainted by madness, who was willing to affirm his original ideals. That, too, was a form of consolation.
Everyone, including the house-elf, fell silent for a moment. Then, under Sirius's lead, each of them picked up a shovel and covered the grave with earth, one scoop at a time.
When it was over, they stayed with Sirius for a while longer, lost in thought, accompanied by Kreacher's heartbroken wailing.
"Professor," Harry asked in a low voice, seizing the moment to voice the question he'd been holding in for days, "wasn't Regulus a Slytherin?"
"Yes," Tver replied calmly.
"Then why would he choose to sacrifice himself just to oppose Voldemort?"
During his years at Hogwarts, if you asked Harry what he disliked most about the school, he would answer without hesitation: Slytherin House, and its Head of House, Severus Snape.
In his mind, Slytherin was synonymous with scheming and ruthlessness.
Yet now, in a Slytherin, he had felt courage. Courage even stronger than that shown by many Gryffindors.
It left him genuinely confused.
"Harry, do you remember what I've told you time and again?" Tver said gently. "Don't rush to judge someone."
"It's true that many people from Slytherin like to explore ideas others find unpleasant. Regulus himself once held beliefs about pure-blood supremacy."
"But that doesn't mean they lack bravery. People are complicated. Slapping a single label onto someone is a serious mistake."
"And it can make you miss a lot of kindness you should have been able to see."
For some reason, Tver thought of Snape. A Slytherin who endured in silence until the very end. In some ways, he wasn't all that different from Regulus.
The only question was whether his ending would be the same.
Even if Tver wanted to save him, serving as a spy beside Voldemort was simply too dangerous. Neither Tver nor Dumbledore could guarantee his absolute safety.
Harry nodded, only half understanding.
Over the past three years, the professor seemed to tell him something like this every year, yet each time it felt deeper, more real, and easier to relate to.
"Let's go. We should head back," Sirius said, having finally composed himself as he turned to them.
This time, however, Tver and Marvolio did not return to Grimmauld Place.
While Marvolio was in a good mood, helping clean for a few days was fine.
But there were still several floors left. Even offering up another Horcrux wouldn't justify working a Dark Lord this hard.
...
After returning to the Fawley estate, Tver smoothly fused the soul from the locket into Marvolio's soul.
Soon after, an unexpected yet entirely unsurprising letter arrived in their hands.
"Voldemort has returned to the Riddle House and ordered Nagini to kill a Muggle, splitting off his seventh Horcrux."
It was a letter Wormtail had sent in secret, and one of the two tasks Tver had assigned him.
Perhaps because his soul had been replenished once more, Marvolio's physical recovery visibly sped up.
Or perhaps he was simply impatient to grow stronger.
"In the Limbo Realm, the soul inside the locket was completely helpless. I can already feel it. My soul is barely any weaker than the original now!"
Through their research, they had also realized that the strength of the Limbo Realm depended on soul power.
And Voldemort, along with his Horcruxes, simply possessed souls far too weak to pose any real threat to them.
"Of course, just to be on the safe side, absorbing more souls would always be better!"
He said this with an unashamed grin, rubbing his hands together in front of his chest, looking for all the world like a fly eagerly waiting to be fed.