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Regulus pressed his hand on the old doorbell.
"Jingle Bell—"
A harsh ringtone rang, abruptly breaking the silence around him.
Suddenly, a terrifying cry came from inside the house. Though muffled by the door, the voice was laced with insults and curse words.
Hearing this, Regulus looked oddly relieved.
"That sounds like my mother," he muttered, glancing at Dracula with some embarrassment. "I don't have a wand right now, and I've lost my magic. So I can only ask my family to open the door."
Dracula nodded and waited beside him.
But no one came to the door.
The shouting inside grew louder, more chaotic—as if several voices had begun yelling at once. The overlapping insults created a cacophony of rage.
Regulus's face began to pale.
Dracula took notice. Sensing that things weren't going as Regulus had expected, he raised a hand and casually snapped his fingers.
The door creaked open silently.
What greeted them was a nearly pitch-dark hallway. Damp air, thick with dust and a sickly-sweet stench of rot, wafted out from within.
It felt like a house long abandoned.
Regulus stepped inside and instinctively reached to the side. Even in the darkness, muscle memory guided his hand to the old gas light switch.
A faint hiss preceded the flickering of a series of antique gas lamps lining the wall. Dim, flickering light bathed the long, narrow corridor. Peeling wallpaper, worn carpet with frayed threads, and cobwebs caught in the chandelier gave the place an eerie unreality.
The chandelier above, shaped like a sprawling spiderweb, glowed faintly. Its twisted branches and the candlestick on a nearby wobbly table were fashioned in the shape of serpents—a tribute to the proud Slytherin legacy of the House of Black.
Crooked portraits blackened by age hung along the walls. As the lights came on, the portraits stirred—then erupted in noise.
The shouting had come from them all along.
"Did my rotten son finally escape?" yelled one.
A large portrait beside a moth-eaten, mold-covered curtain showed an elderly woman in a black pointed hat, screaming in fury.
Her voice seemed to rouse the rest of the portraits, which began shouting with her.
"That pure-blood disgrace, that filthy traitor, that scum—is he actually back? I would rather he died in Azkaban!"
Regulus's face was blank as he stepped forward, unbothered by her words.
Then, suddenly, the rage in the old lady's voice faltered.
With disbelief, she leaned closer, squinting at the boy standing in the hall.
"Is it really you… Regulus? My dear boy?"
Gone was the harshness. Her anger melted away, and in its place came a mother's trembling tenderness.
"It's me," Regulus whispered, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm back, Mother."
The other portraits fell silent, watching with wide eyes.
Unnoticed by them, Dracula had entered and was quietly surveying the portraits with interest. One of them was labeled Walburga Black.
"You… you're not dead?" Walburga stammered. "Kreacher said you'd died in the Dark Lord's cave. You don't know how much I grieved!"
"Your father, Orion, passed away not long after you disappeared. And your rebellious brother—he never returned. That disgrace doesn't deserve to come back. He abandoned the home passed down by the ancestors of Black!"
She gave a bitter laugh, though her eyes were full of pain.
"I was left here alone… Regulus, all these years, why didn't you come home?"
Regulus stared into her eyes with deep sorrow. After a long silence, he finally spoke:
"I am dead, Mother. The Dark Lord made me into an Inferius. I only regained my memory yesterday, thanks to Mr. Dracula."
"Merlin's beard…" Walburga gasped, covering her mouth. "You… you mean…"
"I'm no longer a wizard, Mother," Regulus said. "I'm nothing more than a despicable Inferius. I don't even deserve to return to this house."
"You turned into an Inferius?" an older portrait thundered. "A stain like that cannot be allowed in the ancestral home! A shame to the bloodline!"
The words stung. Regulus's expression darkened, and he turned to leave.
But Walburga shouted.
Silence!" she snapped at the old portrait. "This is my son! I don't care what he's become—he will always be my son!"
Regulus froze.
His eyes sparkled with disbelief. His mother—who once held blood purity above all—was now embracing a son turned Inferius?
---
"Regulus, stay," Walburga said with emotion. "This will always be your home. After you and your father left… I had years to think it over."
"…Okay." Regulus turned back, blood-like tears streaming down his face again.
But several other family portraits began to protest, denouncing Walburga for defying the old family laws.
Walburga, however, had lost none of her formidable fury. She launched into a verbal war, shouting them down one by one—her voice like thunder, her insults flying east and west.
Dracula watched it all with a faint smile. He turned to a portrait off to the side, one that had been observing the chaos with some embarrassment.
"Your family portraits are quite lively, Headmaster Black."
"Ah… yes, well, they're not always this disgraceful, Count Dracula," replied Phineas Nigellus Black, stroking his goatee awkwardly. "It's just… young Regulus came back, and that got them a bit worked up."
Phineas sighed.
He'd been napping in the headmaster's office when he sensed a disturbance here. Curious, he came to see what had happened—only to witness his whole family shouting and insulting one another.
And now, Count Dracula was here to see it all. How humiliating…
"Let them shout a while longer, Mr. Black," Dracula said, clearly unimpressed. Eventually, he turned to Regulus and patted his shoulder. "We have more pressing matters. Don't forget Voldemort's Horcrux."
Regulus blinked and came back to his senses. Without another word, he led Dracula up the stairs to the second floor.
They passed between heavy curtains and a large umbrella stand shaped disturbingly like a troll's severed leg, eventually reaching a dark, narrow staircase.
As they ascended, Dracula's eyes landed on a row of small, wrinkled heads mounted on the wall. They were clearly severed heads… all with the telltale large ears and noses of house elves.
His face darkened.
"These heads… were they all house elves who served your family?" he asked, his voice low.
Regulus stiffened.
"Yes, they were all house-elves who served the Black family their entire lives, and their heads were chopped off after death." Regulus explained, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. "This tradition dates back to Grandmother Elladora's time. Most of the bad habits were inherited from the old ones who used to argue constantly with my mother."
"Tsk. These house-elves dedicated their lives to wizards like you, only to end up like that?" Dracula said mockingly. "No wonder the pure-blood families are in decline. It's not without reason."
Dracula had always believed the existence of the house-elf race to be a twisted one.
A race with clear intelligence and powerful magic, yet they dedicated their lives to servitude, believing their purpose was to serve wizards.
Such a race, he thought, deserved at least the most basic respect.
"Actually, we've been trying to change these customs," Regulus said softly. "By my mother's generation, she treated Kreacher very kindly. She didn't support chopping off the heads of house-elves after they died."
"But the heads left by previous generations were attached with Permanent Sticking Charms. We, the descendants, can't remove them."
He looked at the neatly arranged row of house-elf heads on the wall and sighed deeply.
"Permanent Sticking Charm, huh?" Dracula glanced at the wall beside him, the corner of his mouth curling coldly.
The next moment, he raised his hand, fingers sharp like blades, and swung.
A sharp, invisible light blade sliced through the wall, cutting off the row of house-elf heads along with the entire outer layer of the wall.
*"Reparo."*
With a casual wave, Dracula restored the damaged wall.
"There. The heads of those house-elves are no longer part of this house," he said, placing the cut slab carefully on the stairs to the second floor. "When you have the time, bury them properly. Let them rest in peace."
Regulus stared in stunned silence at Dracula's clean, decisive movements. It took him a long time to recover.
"I understand, Mr. Dracula," he finally nodded.
After settling the matter of the house-elf heads, the two made their way to the second-floor living room.
It was a mess—dust, cobwebs, and mold covered everything. Still, the room's layout hinted that it had once been grand and refined.
A large, filthy window looked out over the street in front of the house. A cold fireplace sat unused, flanked by two once-gorgeous glass cabinets.
One wall of the room was covered with a grand tapestry—its fabric old and chewed in places, but the golden thread still glimmered faintly. It depicted a branching family tree reaching back to the Middle Ages.
Embroidered across it in large letters were the words:
*"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black – Toujours Pur."*
"So, this is your family tree?" Dracula asked, walking over to inspect the tapestry with growing interest.
He recognized many names. Even without paying much attention to wizarding affairs, many were famous enough.
Near the top were names like Phineas Nigellus—the most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history. Near him, Araminta Meliflua, who once tried to push through a Ministry decree to legalize the hunting of Muggles...
"There are quite a few notable names here," Dracula chuckled. "Though not exactly admirable ones."
"That's because anyone who was considered a 'good person' by normal standards usually didn't align with the family's ideals," Regulus said helplessly. "They ended up being burned off the tree."
"Fascinating family, then," Dracula said casually.
He pointed to a name near the bottom: *Regulus Arcturus.* A date of death followed the date of birth—1979.
"That's you, right?" Dracula asked.
Regulus stared at the name, at the date of death, and nodded slowly.
"I still think of myself as Regulus Black," he said softly. "I forget I've become an Inferius... a disgrace to the so-called pure bloodline, shunned by my ancestors."
"If their idea of 'purity' wasn't so flawed, your family wouldn't be in ruins," Dracula said with a smirk. "Honestly, there's no fundamental difference between a dark creature and a wizard. What matters is the choices we make."
"The four founders of Hogwarts—surely some of the purest-blooded wizards in history—never cared about blood purity. Godric even insisted on admitting Muggle-borns, which drove Salazar to leave."
"And even Salazar, the Slytherin your family idolizes, wasn't obsessed with blood. He just feared Muggle-borns might expose the magical world."
Dracula patted Regulus's shoulder with a smile.
"So embrace it, Mr. Black. Be a dark creature if you must."
"But after becoming an Inferius, I can't feel any magic left in me," Regulus said quietly. "I don't know what future I have. Maybe I'll always be a traitor to my bloodline."
"You still don't believe in my necromancy?" Dracula raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry. Once your organs finish repairing, your bloodline will stabilize. Your magic will return."
"Of course, there'll be some differences—your magic will take on dark properties. But surely that won't bother you? Your family's library is packed with dark magic books, after all."
Regulus looked surprised at first, then smiled in relief.
At that moment, a trembling voice came from the doorway. A house-elf entered the room.
"Master Regulus… is that really you?" he croaked, rubbing his watery, bloodshot eyes.
Dracula turned his gaze to the elf—ancient, bald, with tufts of white hair growing from his enormous ears. He wore only a dirty rag around his bony waist. His skin was deeply wrinkled, far beyond necessity.
Regulus's face lit up.
"It's me," he said warmly. "I'm back, Kreacher."
The elf's lip trembled. He rushed forward, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around Regulus's legs.
"Uuuuuhhh… Master Regulus! You're really back!"
He sobbed uncontrollably, weeping for a long time before finally managing a sentence.
"Master Regulus, the wall—on the stairs! It's been destroyed!" he cried in panic. "I wanted to cut off the heads and glue them back—like Mother did! But I haven't had the chance!"
At that, Dracula's face immediately darkened.
Sigh.
Well, it seems some house-elves are beyond saving.