Completely speechless, Neville finally understood the kind of mood Ron had been in during the final days of last semester—utterly overjoyed, so happy that every morning he woke up wondering if he was still dreaming.
"By the way, Harry," Neville said, wiping away his tears and sniffling as he turned to Harry, "Mum said they want to help. Er, they want to properly thank you."
"For patients who've been bedridden for so long, the most important thing is to rest and recover," Harry said with a shrug. "So, let's not worry about it. If they really want to thank me, they can treat me to a meal once they're better… Hmm, I'd like some roast meat."
"Alright!" Neville agreed immediately. "Though, I'm not sure if they'll go for it."
"Oh, just don't bring them along," Ron said with a cheeky grin. "But, speaking of this place, I reckon it'll take us at least the whole summer to clean this house… Maybe even longer. It's just too big and way too dangerous."
"Can you imagine? I was trying to take out some rubbish earlier, and this broken pipe sneaked up and wrapped itself around my neck! If I hadn't reacted quickly, I'd have been strangled!"
Still shaken, Ron gestured dramatically at his neck as he recounted the close call.
As expected of a pure-blood family steeped in dark magic for generations, the Black family's Grimmauld Place was practically a paradise for dark magic—old Borgin would probably drool just stepping inside. The place was littered with ancient magical artifacts and dark objects.
These items significantly slowed down their cleaning progress, as they had to cautiously check each one to ensure it wouldn't harm them.
Bang!
A loud slam echoed from downstairs, followed by Sirius's shouting and a woman's shrill cursing.
"Filthy blood traitor, daring to step into our—"
The woman's voice cut off abruptly, and Sirius's voice grew louder.
"Kids! Come see what I've brought back!"
"To the dining room! Ron! Harry!"
"Yes, and Hermione too! Come check out the goodies we've got!"
The grim, ancient house suddenly buzzed with lively energy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances before heading to the second-floor living room.
The second floor was one of the first areas they'd managed to clear, as they needed somewhere to sit and eat.
When they arrived, they saw Fred and George… and their dad, Mr. Weasley, enthusiastically unpacking food and drinks from a large sack onto the table in the center of the room.
"What's this?" Ron sniffed the air. "Smells amazing!"
"Burgers!" Mr. Weasley replied with excitement. "And other kinds of fast food—that's what they call it, right?"
"Exactly! Burgers, fish and chips, Yorkshire pudding, jellied eels, and roast meat… Don't just stand there, kids, grab whatever you want!" Sirius said, laughing heartily. "I recommend trying the KFC burgers—they're way better than McDonald's!"
It was as if they'd raided a fast-food joint. The table was soon overflowing with food and bottles of cola.
"Nah, I think McDonald's is tastier," Fred mumbled through a mouthful of food. "Spicier, looks more appetizing. What do you think, Dad?"
"They're both great, I say," Mr. Weasley looked as if he were in a dream, holding a burger in one hand and a piece of fried chicken in the other, his eyes scanning the other items on the table. "Honestly, this stuff is almost as good as—"
"Ahem, Mum, you're back already?" George interrupted with a loud cough, glancing toward the staircase.
"—nowhere near as good!" Mr. Weasley quickly corrected himself. "No wonder Muggles call this junk food. It's just not as good as Molly's cooking, no—"
Ignoring the amused looks on Harry, Ron, and Hermione's faces, Mr. Weasley turned around, only to see the staircase empty.
"Fred!!"
"Oi, Dad, I'm Fred!"
"Oh? Sorry, then—George!!"
A heartwarming scene of fatherly love and filial piety.
Sirius laughed especially hard, slapping his thigh dramatically. He and Mr. Weasley had grown quite close lately, especially since Sirius was something of a mentor to Mr. Weasley when it came to enchanting Muggle objects.
Compared to Mr. Weasley, who was only half-knowledgeable about Muggle culture, Sirius was practically an expert. He knew how to use Muggle money, how to dress like a proper Muggle, and what various Muggle items were for.
Twelve years ago, Sirius had already been zooming around on a magically modified motorbike in the sky, so Mr. Weasley looked up to him like an apprentice, full of admiration.
Learning, asking questions, and putting it into practice.
This had been Mr. Weasley's happiest summer since graduating from Hogwarts. His passion for knowledge had grown immensely—and he'd found a safe place to experiment without worrying about Molly swooping in.
"Honestly, Sirius, are you really going to get rid of all those magical items?" Ron asked, chewing on a piece of fried chicken. "Seems a bit of a waste, doesn't it?"
They'd already cleared out plenty of bizarre magical objects just from the second-floor living room—like the rusty dagger in the cabinet by the fireplace, some unknown animal's claw, coiled snake skin, a biting snuffbox, or that metal contraption made of tweezers that crawled on its own…
"Not at all!" Sirius said decisively. "I'm sick of looking at them. Honestly, if my mother hadn't enchanted that family tapestry and everything else she deemed important with a Permanent Sticking Charm, I wouldn't even want to see them."
"Even Finite Incantatem doesn't work?" Hermione asked.
"Nope, useless. That's the beauty of a Permanent Sticking Charm," Sirius said with a booming laugh. "But don't worry, I've found another way to shut her up."
In the entrance hall on the first floor hung a portrait of Sirius's mother, who would curse anyone she saw with the vilest insults. Even Sirius wasn't spared. Unable to remove it, he'd covered it with a curtain, but if anyone made too much noise passing by, she'd still wake up and scream.
It was practically an alarm system.
"That's… haha…" Hermione gave a dry laugh, not keen on recalling the old woman's descriptions of her. Over the past few days, she'd learned all too well what Muggle-born witches like her were in the eyes of pure-blood wizarding nobility.
In comparison, Draco Malfoy's old attitude almost seemed friendly.
"Well, I actually think keeping these things for a collection would be pretty cool," Ron said, rummaging through a box with a hint of regret. "You never know when something in here might come in handy. Why not set aside an empty room to store them?"
"Absolutely not!" Sirius made an exaggerated 'X' with his arms. "I'm a true Gryffindor, and a Gryffindor's home doesn't need any dark magic items!"
"A Gryffindor from a long line of Slytherins, eh?" George said, laughing loudly. "But it's not a bad idea. Starting with your kids, the Black family could be a Gryffindor dynasty for generations."
"Honestly, it doesn't matter which house you're in. No need to act a certain way just because of your house," Harry said, shaking his head slightly. "But you're right about one thing, Sirius—have you found a girl you fancy? I'd love to attend your wedding."
"Harry, I think I need to remind you again—I'm your godfather," Sirius said with a complicated expression. "Shouldn't I be the one nagging you about this? I want to attend your wedding!"
"You're pushing forty, Sirius," Harry said calmly. "So you first—got any prospects? I could help you out."
"Ahem, these burgers are feeling a bit dry today… Where's the cola? Pass me a bottle, thanks," Sirius said, swiftly changing the subject. He shuffled over to sit next to Ron and started rummaging through the box. "Ugh, this junk is probably all stuff Kreacher dragged back. Ha! This portrait—I swear I've thrown it out at least ten times, and Kreacher keeps bringing it back. That disloyal little— I need to see what else he's been dragging into this house!"
With that, Sirius bolted like he was fleeing for his life, heading straight for the kitchen. The Black family's house-elf, Kreacher, lived in a cupboard by the kitchen boiler.
It didn't take long before they heard Sirius's shouting from the kitchen, followed by an even louder outburst from the house-elf.
"Give it back! Give Kreacher's things back!!"
"I'm the master of this house! Your master! Your very life belongs to me!!"
"The disowned young master has no right to order Kreacher! Mistress will curse you! He even stole Kreacher's treasure! It belonged to Master Regulus—argh! Bad Kreacher! Bad Kreacher!!"
Bang bang bang bang!
The unmistakable sound of something being smashed rang out, followed by Sirius's furious roar.
"What did you say?! Regulus's?! You stole Regulus's things?!!"
"Master Regulus was the true Black! The wastrel young master isn't fit to lick his boots! Defiler of Mistress's family tree! Scum!"
"Filthy Kreacher, causing trouble again! Not only did he fail Master Regulus's orders, he let these mongrels, scum, and brats ruin—"
"Answer my question!" Sirius was now bellowing in rage. "I'm your master! Now! Immediately! Answer your master's question, Kreacher!!"
This wasn't just Sirius dodging Harry's teasing about marriage anymore—he was genuinely furious. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances and rushed to the kitchen, they saw Sirius kick an elderly house-elf to the ground.
"You dare steal Regulus's things!!"
"Kreacher didn't!!"
Screaming, Kreacher seemed oblivious to Sirius's kick. He was lost in his own world, kneeling on the floor, frantically smashing his head against the ground with such force that blood soon streamed from his forehead.
"It was Master Regulus who gave it to Kreacher! Kreacher—Kreacher failed! Kreacher didn't carry out Master's orders!!"
The house-elf was punishing himself relentlessly.
"Stop!!" Sirius roared again. "I forbid you! I forbid you to punish yourself!!"
The master's command took effect. Kreacher went rigid, lying flat on the cold stone floor, tears streaming from his sunken eyes.
"Yes, this is it…" Harry murmured, scanning the kitchen. "This is the scene from the prophecy… Damn it, I should've checked the whole house thoroughly from the start."
The dusty objects, the ancient manor—everything in the room's layout matched the vision Harry had seen when divining Voldemort's Horcrux.
"What?" Ron turned, bewildered. "Prophecy? What prophecy? You divined something?"
"Voldemort's Horcrux," Harry said, his eyes fixed on the object Sirius was holding. "That's it. Give it to me, Sirius."
"Ha?!" Sirius's eyes widened. "Voldemort's Horcrux?! This?!!"
Though Sirius never had a kind word for Voldemort, realizing what he was holding sent a shiver through him.
"It's Kreacher's! It's Kreacher's!!"
As Sirius moved to hand the Horcrux to Harry, Kreacher, who had been lying still, suddenly lunged forward, clawing at Harry's hand like a mad creature.
"Relashio!"
A flash of light shot from Hermione's wand, and the frenzied Kreacher instantly lost all strength, collapsing limply to the floor.
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