The Vanishing Glass

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since Mr. Dursley had woken up to find wizards on his front step. While the Dursley's had predictably continued about their ways unchanged by the times – Harry Potter himself had changed immensely.

Life at 12 Grimmauld Place had been good to Harry.

Tall for his age, a strong young boy with piercing blue eyes like his mother's and thick black hair that hung shaggily across his eyes, Harry sat quietly in meditation on the floor of his bedroom in the Black Family manor.

Harry had been trying for years to practice magic like his adopted father, Sirius. However, he had remained unsuccessful and was bitterly disappointed.

Kreacher, the house-elf, had criticized him cruelly for it, so Harry practiced incredibly hard to prove Kreacher wrong. It was not that Harry disliked Kreacher, but that Kreacher said the most horrendous things and it drove both Sirius and Harry mad with fury – though they never took it out on Kreacher themselves.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around Kreacher's middle, he was almost always completely naked. He looked very old. His skin seemed to be several times too big for him and, though he was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of his large, bat-like ears. His eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and his fleshy nose was large and rather snout-like.

Lately, though, Harry had felt something different about himself. He couldn't identify what it was – but it put him in the most terrible of moods.

He had noticed that it was always the worst whenever he approached Uncle Regulus's old bedroom – like a scratching itching, gnawing feeling from the scar on his forehead.

He'd resolved himself to figure out once and for all what it was that was causing this feeling – today.

Today was a special day, in that Sirius was on an errand to the ministry of Magic where he was petitioning the Wizengamot for the release of Remus Lupin from Azkaban, on the basis that Remus had never received a proper criminal trial and thereby his sentencing should be considered illegitimate.

Apparently, Harry's parents had been betrayed by a close friend and that was what lead to their deaths and Harry becoming an orphan. Peter Pettigrew had confronted and accused Remus Lupin of betraying James and Lily, and as the stories go, Remus blew Peter up along with 12 muggles. A finger, that's all that was left of Peter Pettigrew, a finger. Remus ran away from the scene of the crime and was arrested, charged, and jailed in Azkaban without a trial.

Sirius was under the impression that Remus was put away so quickly because he was a werewolf – a fact well known to the members of the Wizengamot who wanted to keep him in Azkaban precisely because of this reason.

As for Harry's opinion on this matter – he didn't really have one. At least, not an opinion that he professed to Sirius. He felt it was all suspicious, especially since he knew that his father, Peter, and Sirius were all Animagus. He also thought it was suspicious that they found 12 muggle bodies, but only one finger of Peter Pettigrew's.

After, why would there be so much left of the muggles, but only a finger of Peter's?

Harry, after ensuring that Sirius had left already, snuck over to Uncle Regulus's bedroom. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to go in there – but that Kreacher guarded the room with an iron fist. Harry had been dying of curiosity for years, but it wasn't until recently that his scar had begun to hurt whenever he went near the room.

Harry's approach to the room went unnoticed by Kreacher who meticulously and slowly dusted off the paintings of the Black Family while talking to them in a comforting tone.

On the door of the room was a small sign, lettered by hand, that read DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK.

Harry slipped into the room and gently shut the door behind him, without being noticed by Kreacher.

The pain in his scar had intensified immensely and Harry could almost hear a creepy whispering voice echoing in the air.

The room itself was plain – as was standard for a room in the house of Black, it had an air of former grandeur. Where Sirius had decorated his room in the colors of Gryffindor, Regulus had decorated his room in the colors of Slytherin. Emerald green and silver were everywhere – draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black Family crest painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Harry stepped closer to examine them – they were all about Voldemort. Regulus seemed to have been a fan. Another photo nearby showed a team of Quidditch players – Regulus was seated in the middle, the position of the Seeker. All the team members wore Slytherin colors.

The family tree was painted on the wall, as it was in all the rooms, with a black splotch over Sirius name.

Harry felt drawn to a corner of the room. A single floorboard was slightly out of place – as though it had been moved and not been properly put back into place.

As Harry approached the floorboard, his eyes locked onto it and the intensity of the pain in his scar increased to an almost unbearable degree.

Then, as Harry dislodged the floorboard and stared at the locket hidden in the cobwebs and dust beneath the floorboard, the pain stopped.

Curious, he picked up the locket. An almost irresistible urge to put the locket on took over, and Harry lowed it around his neck.

Immediately, the locket tightened, strangling him and slamming him into the walls and floor.

The racket quickly drew the attention of Kreacher who burst through the door and with a snap of his fingers had magically yanked the locket off Harry's poor constricted neck and into his own hands where it calmed down significantly.

"What the bloody hell is that thing, Kreacher?!" shouted Harry.

"Young master should not be poking his nose where it does not belong. Young master could get hurt."

"Kreacher, as the heir of House black, I demand that you tell me what that thing is, right now!" Ordered Harry.

"Kreacher doesn't know its name. Master Regulus never told Kreacher its name. Neither did the dark lord."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "You met the dark lord?"

"Kreacher met the dark lord, yes. Kreacher helped hide the locket for the dark lord. Drank his terrible potion."

"Kreacher – tell me everything about that locket. Tell me now."

"Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress's heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pureblood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns . . . and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve… And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said... he said...

The old elf hugged himself and rocked back and forth, faster and faster.

". . . he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."

"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry repeated, puzzled.

"Oh yes," moaned Kreacher. "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do . . . and then to c-come home."

Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave, there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake . . ."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to him from across that dark water. He saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present.

". . . There was a boat. Ghostly green and tiny, bewitched so as to carry us to an island. There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it..."

The elf quaked from head to foot.

"Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things... Kreacher's insides burned... Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed... He made Kreacher drink all the potion... He dropped a locket into the empty basin... He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island…"

Harry could almost see it happening in his mind's eye. A desperate suffering Kreacher on the island, alone and thrashing in pain.

"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake... and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface..."

"How did you get away?" Harry asked, and he was not surprised to hear himself whispering.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked at Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.

"… but how did you escape the dead things?

Kreacher did not seem to understand.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.

"I know, but – Oh. You disapparated. So, what happened when you got back?" Harry asked. "What did Regulus say when you told him what had happened?"

"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then . . . it was a little while later . . . Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell . . . and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. . . ."

And so, they had set off. Harry could visualize them quite clearly, the frightened old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had so resembled Sirius... Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat; this time it was his beloved Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison. . . .

"And he made you drink the potion?" said Harry, disgusted.

But Kreacher shook his head and wept.

"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snout-like nose. "And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…"

Kreacher's sobs came in great rasps now; Harry had to concentrate hard to understand him.

"And he ordered — Kreacher to leave — without him. And he told Kreacher — to go home — and never to tell my Mistress — what he had done — but to destroy — the first locket. And he drank — all the potion — and Kreacher swapped the lockets — and watched... as Master Regulus... was dragged beneath the water... and..."

He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.

"Kreacher — stop, stop!" shouted Harry.

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snout, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Harry had never seen anything so pitiful.

"So, you brought the locket home," he said relentlessly, for he was determined to know the full story. "And you tried to destroy it?"

"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work... So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open... Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave..."

Harry sighed and stared at the locket in Kreacher's hands. He then got up and picked up Kreacher who weakly tried to resist but quickly gave up as Harry hugged him. With great gentleness, Harry took him to a bathroom where he wiped and washed Kreacher's face and then down to the kitchen where Harry placed Kreacher in his cupboard to rest. He even fluffed Kreacher's pillow and tucked him.

Holding the locket at a distance from himself, he put it on the kitchen table and waited for Sirius to come back home, contemplating what he had learned in silence.

Finding himself thirsty, Harry stood and approached a cabinet wherein he tried to grab a glass to fill with water – only to find his hand grasping at empty air. Confused, he checked the other cabinets only to find that all the glasses had disappeared.

After a minute, he found he had to interrupt Kreacher's muffled sniffles.

"Kreacher, I'm sorry to bother you, but what happened to all the glasses?"

Kreacher's ancient head poked out from his cabinet and looked around. "Kreacher does not know. Kreacher cleaned the glasses this morning. Kreacher will find them now."

A second later, Kreacher disappeared and reappeared in a different spot of the kitchen with all the glasses balanced precariously in his arms – and there were a lot of glasses.

Harry knew it would happen before it did, and sure enough, the glasses became unbalanced and startled toppling over. On instinct Harry reached out his arm, shouting "Look out!" before wincing and shutting his eyes to wait for the inevitable crashing noises.

But the noise never came. Harry opened his eyes to look, only to see all the glasses floating in place calmly.

"Kreacher congratulates young master. Young Master has done his first accidental magic. Young Master should be proud."

With a snap of Kreacher's fingers, the glass then floated to their cabinets and neatly put themselves away.

"Thank you, Kreacher!" Said Harry, as a single glass filled itself with water and presented itself to Harry who drank it gratefully.

Harry was excited of course- who wouldn't be? But this excitement was still overshadowed by the worries he felt after hearing Kreacher's story.