“You are a subordinate of the Dark Lord.” Sirius suddenly questioned Elara viciously.
“I am not.
I am just a Dementor, but I know many things.
I look down on that guy.
And do you know?
Lord Voldemort is also a half-blood—his mother was from the Gaunt family, and his father was a Muggle.”
Hearing this, even Kreacher felt that the Dementor before him was not a subordinate of Lord Voldemort.
Lord Voldemort had always preached the pure-blood philosophy, so naturally, he would not tell others about this near-insulting claim.
Kreacher took the initiative to fetch the locket.
“Who are you?” This was the first time Sirius had asked such a question.
“I am just a Dementor.” Elara observed the House of Black, thinking that as one of the oldest families in the British magical world, she could ask for more things and extort another sum later.
“You are practically a seer…
Yes, you can see the future, you can prophesy.
You are a seer!” Sirius couldn’t help but wail, “Heavens, the seer and prophet of this world is a Dementor!”
“Don’t you want to know about your brother?”
“Can you tell me?”
“We can make a deal, but not now.
You should clear your name first.”
“Why do you need that contingency plan for Lord Voldemort’s resurrection?
You aren’t really one of Lord Voldemort’s people, trying to resurrect him, are you?”
“Of course not.
That locket is also a relic of one of the Hogwarts founders, so it naturally has great use.”
In reality, it had been completely ruined by that prodigal Lord Voldemort.
Elara estimated that the value of this thing would be cut in half at the very least, and her heart was practically bleeding.
A pile of old family heirlooms was dug out by Kreacher.
Sirius couldn’t help but complain: “Kreacher always keeps this junk, and even when I tell him to throw it away, he won’t.
It’s all piled up.
He cleans and cleans every day, only for it to end up like this.
All this trash from the House of Black, that pile of disgusting jewelry of my mother’s…”
Kreacher held the cold silver locket that Regulus had returned with his life, trembling all over, and handed it to Elara.
Elara took it solemnly, her rotting fingers caressing the engraved markings of Slytherin on it.
Sirius also reached out to take a look, but was pushed away by Elara.
“Don’t touch it.
Lord Voldemort’s soul is inside.
If you don’t want to be controlled, you’d better not touch it.” Elara held the locket away with one hand while writing on the side.
“Then, if we destroy this, will it make Lord Voldemort die completely?” Sirius had already taken out his wand, pulling a fierce smile.
“Do you know Fiendfyre?” Elara examined the Horcrux.
A faint black aura coiled upwards, and a cold, slick sense of fear seemed to want to spread, but it melted away like snow meeting fire.
Casting fear or mental spells on a Dementor?
That is truly bold.
“I don’t.
Can Fiendfyre destroy this thing?”
The locket suddenly flew up, charging straight at Sirius’s face.
Elara’s withered hand caught it in mid-air.
A sharp, burning pain came from her palm; it was not fire, but a soul-based attack.
Elara was also confirmed that Lord Voldemort’s soul was even darker than that of a Dementor like her.
“Black, get away.”
Sirius let out a muffled groan, clutched his head, and dragged the bewildered Kreacher to the corner.
The locket struggled wildly in her hand, like a snake whose throat was being gripped.
Black mist poured out from the cracks, coiling around Elara like a snake.
“A somewhat clever Dementor?” The voice sounded in her consciousness, as damp and cold as a snake, “You, a lowly creature, dare to touch my soul?”
Elara did not answer.
She had only one thought: press it onto the parchment; selling this would make her rich overnight.
But with a strength value of only 8, she was like a child fighting a vicious dog.
The locket struggled violently and almost flew out of her hand; her finger joints made a creaking sound.
“You think you can destroy me?” Tom Riddle’s voice turned into mockery, “I have long surpassed death.
And you—a pathetic creature who thinks herself clever, what do you have to oppose me?”
Just then, Elara made an unusual move.
She voluntarily let go.
The locket bounced up half a foot, the black mist instantly surged, and Tom Riddle’s face became clear.
He did not understand how a half-baked wizard, a self-righteous Dementor, and a dirty house-elf dared to challenge the great Dark Lord.
Who gave them the courage?
Then she swung the parchment with both hands and slapped it down hard, like swatting a fly.
“Bang—”
It was not a physical sound, but a roar on the soul level.
[Slytherin’s locket possessed by a dark soul, Legendary quality, 70k gp, sell?]
The moment the pop-up window lit up, Tom Riddle’s face twisted for the first time.
“No, what is this?
You cannot, I am Lord Voldemort.”
[Yes]
Elara didn’t hesitate at all and tapped it frantically.
At that moment, she felt a massive suction force coming from the system parchment.
The locket was gripped by an invisible giant hand, the black mist was torn away bit by bit, and Tom Riddle’s face began to blur, dissipating like smoke in the wind.
“Save it.
You, the Dark Lord?
Just a thug fighting at the village entrance.
You don’t even come close to Grindelwald’s stature.
Trash, go to hell.”
“No, impossible, I am immortal.”
A shrill scream exploded—not as a sound, but as a wave piercing directly into the soul.
Sirius painfully crouched down, and Kreacher allowed blood to trickle from his ears as well, stimulated by the noise.
Black mist surged out, colliding wildly in the room.
Sirius, who was standing by anxiously but unable to help, saw a vision.
As the black mist was torn apart, fragments flashed with images of Regulus drinking the potion and being dragged away by Inferi.
Sirius’s pupils constricted—he finally knew the truth about his brother.
Kreacher was already streaming with tears, desperately wanting to save everything.
Even if it was just a vision, he was completely desperate, wanting to undo it all.
Once again, Kreacher watched helplessly as those Inferi pulled Master Regulus into the water and took him away.
He seemed to hear Regulus’s cry: “Save me, Kreacher, save me, Sirius…”
And Sirius, who was tightly clutching his wand, also shed tears without realizing it.
He knew now.
His brother was not a coward; his brother was not a Death Eater; his brother was a hero.
Sirius took out his wand, “Petrificus Totalus.” He petrified Kreacher, who wanted to step forward to save everything, to avoid interfering with the fight; things were already beyond saving.
The portrait of Mrs.
Black on the wall screamed: “Filth!
Get out of my house.”
Then, a golden light lit up.
It did not come from a wand, nor from the parchment, but from Elara herself.
Her body, that rotting, ugly Dementor shell, began to glow with a faint golden shimmer, like the first candle lit in the darkness.
Those black mists touched the golden light and, like snowflakes landing on a red-hot iron plate, made a hissing sound and evaporated instantly.
Elara endured this discomfort, feeling as insecure as if she were running outdoors naked.
She still took the initiative to touch Tom Riddle, who was trying to cast a curse.
Tom Riddle was an expert at playing with curses; one need only look at the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class position, which sacrificed one teacher a year, as the best proof.
Riddle’s last remaining face twisted in the golden light, his vicious eyes staring fixedly at Elara.
“What are you?”
Elara watched him dissipate bit by bit, saying nothing.
She only replied in her heart: “Just a Dementor who has read the script.”
The golden light faded.
The main body of the locket had long been taken away by the Mystra’s Contract, and Tom’s soul had also gone with the wind.
It seems that such dirty things are not accepted.
The room became quiet.
Only Kreacher was trembling in the corner, reaching out as if to grab something, then withdrawing his hand.
“Is it really destroyed?”
“Yes.” Elara looked at the newly arrived 70k gp on the parchment, with only one thought in her heart:
Worth it.
Elara ignored the two of them as they were immersed in their lamentations.
Instead, she mentioned casually.
“However, this is not the only contingency plan for Lord Voldemort’s resurrection.”
“Are there more?”
“There are several more.
Lord Voldemort has not completely died.” Elara conveyed this meaning.
“Stop talking to me like that, I feel like I’m back in the days of Azkaban.” Although he said that, Sirius had developed some recognition for Elara, the Dementor seer, “I really want to sleep, but obviously, the Ministry of Magic won’t wait for us.
Is there anything else you need?”