At this moment, at the location between number 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.
The sky had not yet fully brightened, and there were few people around.
A floating, black, corpse-like existence gripped a black dog tightly, observing its struggle.
Only when the black dog’s struggling strength was about to fade away did it release its grip, letting the black dog fall to the ground.
“I don’t have a wand, I can’t get in.” This was the excuse Black gave, fidgeting.
Elara, however, felt she had been too lenient with this guy.
She didn’t believe that the House of Black, such a grand noble house, wouldn’t have considered the situation where a family member might lack a wand.
But there was no need to push too hard.
She waited until the dog was on the verge of coughing up its own lungs.
Only then did she throw the wand she had snatched over to Black.
Her hollow gaze stared straight at this fellow who still thought of himself as a dog; the other party leaped and caught the wand in its mouth.
Elara thought to herself that, indeed, she hadn’t been ruthless enough, as it could still jump up.
“How do we get in?” Elara asked deliberately.
Standing in front of number 11, with number 10 on the left and number 13 on the right.
“Think about the address—12 Grimmauld Place.”
Elara naturally knew it.
As she calmed her mind and focused on the address, a shabby door appeared out of thin air between number 11 and 13, followed by dirty walls and gloomy windows.
It looked as if an extra house had suddenly inflated, pushing aside the things on both sides.
Unfortunately, Elara only had a vague sensation, and she was somewhat disappointed that she couldn’t see such a magical sight.
A Dementor only had a faint perception of the outside world, which was only enough to keep them from flying into walls.
“Let’s go.”
The dog turned back into a human, appearing to still have a shred of human shame.
Sirius flicked the wand.
“It really doesn’t handle well.”
Elara reached out her hand directly—meaning to return it to her.
“It’s still usable; it’s not convenient for me to snatch a wand right now.”
Sirius drew the wand and struck the door hard.
The metal clattered, chains rattled, and the door creaked open.
For Elara, there wasn’t that much of a feeling.
She was just curiously guessing the principle by which the door opened—was it identifying Sirius’s magic?
Elara followed closely into the hallway.
Although it was pitch black, the dampness, dust, and that sweet, rotting smell made Sirius unable to help but complain: “This place is just as bad as Azkaban.”
Elara, however, felt it was quite nice; it had a feeling of being home.
The door closed behind them.
A large portrait hung on the wall, framed in a rusted silver frame, depicting a witch with a mean face.
As soon as she saw them, she screamed:
“Scum!
Traitor!
Get out of my house!”
“My mother,” Black said briefly, “Walburga Black.
She is dead, but the portrait remains.”
The witch continued to scream, her voice sharp and piercing.
“Disgrace to the family!
Traitor!
You don’t deserve the name Black!”
Just then, a House-elf slid into the hallway.
It looked like an old monkey, with wrinkled skin, a pig-like nose, bloodshot eyes, and large bat-like ears.
It wore a dirty old pillowcase with several holes in it, revealing its bony knees and elbows.
As soon as it entered, it began to mutter to itself:
“Pah, how shameless!
The family traitor brings scum to ruin the mistress’s house, oh, my mistress!
Look at this traitor, he has actually trespassed onto your territory!
Old Kreacher is useless, actually letting a Dementor come in!”
“Long time no see, Kreacher.
I have something to ask of you.” Black glared furiously at the House-elf.
The House-elf froze instantly, putting on a very affected look of surprise.
“Kreacher did not see the only master of the House of Black just now.” It said, turning to bow deeply to Sirius, its nose almost touching the floor.
While its face was still turned toward the carpet, it said in a voice that others could perfectly hear: “The family dog wants to turn this place into a branch of Azkaban as well.”
“Alright, get up.
I have something to ask of you, and I don’t want to repeat myself a second time.” Sirius was very impatient; he was in a hurry.
Kreacher’s body trembled slightly, his eyes staring viciously at Sirius’s ragged clothes: “The young master is a scoundrel; he betrayed the family and broke his mother’s heart—”
Elara was in no mood to watch this House-elf perform the love-hate drama between it and Sirius.
She floated lightly in front of this uncooperative House-elf; just like its master Sirius, it was asking for trouble.
The closer she got, the more the House-elf trembled.
Sirius watched all this with a cold face, and finally, just as Elara was about to act and feed on the House-elf’s memories.
“Enough, we have limited time.
Put away that act.
I have made a deal with this Dementor; it demands an item in the House of Black, and only you know what it is.”
Sirius Black pretended to scold Kreacher, stating Elara’s request directly.
Elara was happy with this; she needed the House-elf’s trust for the moment and wouldn’t touch its memories.
Kreacher was also shivering from the aura that came with the Dementor, yet he still kept his head down, motionless.
“Kreacher, according to the deal, I need the Slytherin locket that Regulus had you bring home before he died.”
Elara communicated directly through consciousness; she pulled both Sirius’s and Kreacher’s consciousnesses in.
In fact, after months of exploration, she had finally learned to actively send thoughts—although it was still rough, it was enough.
“That weak fool—” Sirius Black reverted to his old ways.
“Shut up!
Young Master Regulus was brave, what a kind-hearted person he was!
He was a good man!
Now the family traitor has brought the Dark Lord’s subordinate here, and Kreacher’s secret has been discovered.”
As he spoke, Kreacher began to bang his head against the corner of a nearby table, banging until he was bloody, while struggling to cast a spell to escape.
Once this desperate House-elf was allowed to leave, everything would be over.
Elara hurriedly stopped Kreacher.
“Regulus once said to you: ‘Go home, Kreacher.
Forget about me.
Destroy the locket.’ I am not a subordinate of the Dark Lord; I am here to destroy that locket.
If the locket is not destroyed, the Dark Lord will return, and you will have failed Regulus’s last wish, Kreacher.”
Sirius realized something; he stepped forward and grabbed Kreacher, but, gaunt and reduced to mere bones, he couldn’t subdue the frantically struggling House-elf: “Tell me, how did Regulus die?
Tell me!”
He looked just as he had when he first heard the news that Peter Pettigrew was still alive.
“Otherwise, I will cast you out of the House of Black.”
Kreacher stopped struggling and instead looked with venomous eyes at Elara, this strange Dementor.
“How do you know that?”
Elara continued, ignoring the House-elf; she hadn’t fed on its memories and should know nothing of all this.
“In short, you have no way to destroy that locket; you must let me do it.
You have tried all your methods.
I remember that place—in the drawer of the old desk belonging to the House of Black against the wall on the first floor, placed with a pile of old family odds and ends.”
Kreacher looked at everything Elara said with terrified eyes.
And Elara had already confirmed that the position of that object had not changed.
Finally, Elara said with a smile: “Kreacher, Regulus was a hero.
Do you want his final wish to never be fulfilled?”
Kreacher had no choice.
And Elara watched with satisfaction as he tremblingly walked toward that old desk.