Come find me.

It whispered to her like the swaying of a willow tree in the wind, softer and softer until it was only the silent hissing, reminding her. 

Come find me, the diary said. If to be perceived true, her mother might not be dead.

Come find me.

It reminded her of all of the bitter things in life. If her mother never truly died, why was Diana cast away to be exiled in a hospital? Why had her life been coated in only tragedy and emptiness, the loneliest in a world of lonely people? She knew, though, this was erroneous. The circumstances in which Vera could be hidden are entirely unknowable, possibly dangerous or impossible or horrible enough to never leave.

Maybe Tom Riddle really did make a Horcrux for his love. 

She didn't sleep that night. She read her mother's neat, cursive handwriting until the letters no longer looked like letters, but ancient, indecipherable hieroglyphs dancing across the page. The morning sun peaked through the foggy glass of the kitchen window, first orange then yellow then white, the sun illuminating the horizon blindly.

The diary in hand, she idly padded quietly up the stairs. She saw the cracked door of her room, empty except for the stripped furniture and coated with dust. It was much too quiet in a house so accustomed to noise: she had grown used to the sound of laughing streaming through the halls, the quiet pitter-patter of feet on the wooden floors, the constant bustle of people popping in an out. When she thought about, those seemed like much simpler times: she was not plagued by the worry about her mother, and she had not grown to care or love. Two years ago, her life was only ever the production of war. Now, her life had grown too intertwined with the affairs of others, and though existence was no longer as agonizing, the weight was incredibly tiring.

She saw Harry and Ron's room, and then Ginny and Hermione's room, then the room the twins stayed in. All were silent and empty, colorless and lifeless as a rotting corpse. All that was left of their times here were the bones; the scratched wood of stripped bed frames, the sheet-less mattresses exposing the sharp springs.

She climbed another flight. She hadn't been up here very often, for the doors were always closed and no one ever showed themselves up here. There were two doors facing each other, each with a scripted, gold nameplate at eye-level.

She moved to the one to her left and opened it, the brass knob chilling her palms. The door gave a deafening creak and her eyes were ambushed with the overwhelming color of green. Slytherin banners and posters hung limply against the wall, peeling with age. The bed was made perfectly, the silver sheets glinting in the morning sun. Though coated in dust, the room was meticulously organized and made, each object in its respective drawer and each pillow puffed perfectly in place against the headboard.

A drawer caught her eye, clumsily pushed closed. A sliver remained open, and she moved toward it with quiet footsteps. It opened with an irritating scrape, but inside was a small, folded piece of parchment, crinkled and faded from age.

She opened it and written inside, with fervent cursive scrawl that looked familiar, she read it:

The bitter end is not so violent if brought by familiar hands, for Death is the only god who comes when you call.

Beneath it, there was a small photo stuck on the paper. Like the usual Wizard photographs, this one moved as if it was alive. The silver and emerald Slytherin locket took up most of the frame, hanging limply against someone's neck. She could see no face or any defining features, other than a small pin of a meowing kitten to the left of the locket.

R.A.B
War is no mans preferred game.

Her feet took her to the door where the golden nameplate glinted in the sun.

Regulus Arcturus Black

"Diana?"

Harry Potter had just exited from the room across the way, a piece of paper held gently in his hand. He watched her as she stared, the name searing into her brain.

"R.A.B.," she mumbled. She then added, "Regulus Arcturus Black--"

"Harry! Diana!"

Ron and Hermione came panting up the stairs, relief evident as they saw the two in the hall. 

"You scared us half to death!" breathed Hermione. "We didn't know where you went!"

"Look at this," muttered Harry. He, too, stared at the golden sign and soon, the four of them, mouths agape, peered wordlessly.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," muttered Ron.

"R.A.B.," finished Hermione.

"Regulus was the one who stole the real Horcrux," muttered Diana.

And like a lock clicking into place, memories from previous conversations flashed in her mind: Dumbledore, telling her that Regulus Black had a plan, a secret plan, something he was sure would begin the demise of Voldemort. Regulus, forced into the Death Eaters' rank, finally choosing what was right instead of expected. Regulus Black, finally trying to make his brother proud--

"Diana."

They watched her worriedly as she turned to them.

"We we're just saying how Harry found a letter from Lily to Sirius," said Hermione quietly. "What do you have?"

She was pointing to the paper in Diana's hand, and she handed the letter over to the other three to examine.

"This pin is bloody awful," he murmured as he looked at it with disgust. "Ugh."

"So Regulus stole the real Horcrux and hid it," said Hermione. "Where do you think it might be? Whether he'd manage to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realize it at. . . at. . . "

They looked at her. With one foot raised half-way and her face dumbstruck, she stared at the wall in silence, her eyes drifting out of focus.

". . . at the time," she finished in a whisper.

"Something wrong?" said Ron.

"There was a locket."

"What?" they said. Surely Diana would remember a locket.

"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we. . . we. . . "

Realization passed over Ron and Harry's faces, but Diana still didn't understand. "Wait, I don't remember--"

"You weren't with us that day," said Hermione quickly, remembering. "You--you'd just had a nightmare that night. . . yeah. . . you'd had a nightmare and Mrs. Weasley told us to let you sleep!"

"I remember," said Ron. "Fred and George bet each other five galleons for who could open it. Neither of them could, so they just switched five galleons between each other."

"Kreacher nicked loads of things from us," said Harry, his voice laced with excitement and hope. "He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon."

As quickly as they could without waking the portrait of Mrs. Black, they hurried down the stairs in a stumbling haste, each trying to get there faster. Soon, they bolted into the kitchen and yanked Kreacher's cupboard door open, only to find it empty except for an assortment of odd heirlooms.

"Harry, you can call him," said Diana, "you're his master, he'll come if you call--"

"Kreacher!"

A deafening crack echoed in the kitchen, and the small, tattered form of Kreacher stood in front of the fireplace, wailing and whining and wiping his nose with his cloth.

"Master," he croaked, and the word looked as if it pained him to say. "Back in my mistress's old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood--"

"I forbid you to call anyone 'Mudblood' or 'blood traitor'," growled Harry. "Now, I've got a question for you, and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher croaked, bowing his head so he could soundlessly mouth the words he had been forbidden to utter.

"Two years ago," said Harry, and their hearts hammered against their chests, "there was a big silver locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?"

There was a pause, then Kreacher murmured, "Yes."

Their hearts pounded and their breathing quieted until it was so deafeningly silent they might scream.

"Where is it now?" said Harry gleefully.

Kreacher closed his eyes in despair. "Gone."

"Gone?" they echoed in unison. Then Harry said, "What do you mean it's gone?"

The elf shivered and swayed like he was faintly pained.

"Kreacher, I order you--"

"Mundungus Fletcher," he croaked finally, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all: Miss Bella and Miss Cissy's pictures, my mistress's gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest on them, and, and--"

He was gulping for air, his bony chest rising and falling, then his eyes flew open and he gave a blood-curdling scream.

"--and the locket, Master Regulus's locker, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"

Instinctively, Diana and Harry threw their arms out, and just in time: Kreach began to fling himself head-first at the wall, but their arms created a barricade stop him.

Through the commotion, Harry ordered, "Kreacher, stand still!"

The elf froze, lying on the floor and tears gushing from his sagging eyes.

"Kreacher, I want the truth," said Harry. "How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?"

"Kreacher saw him!" the elf gasped and tears poured over his snout. "Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher's cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher's treasures. Kreacher told the thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran. . ."

"You called the locket 'Master Regulus's'," said Harry. "Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have you do with it--"

Diana crouched down to be level with the elf, right beside Harry. "Kreacher?"

Her voice was soft and kind, causing Harry to halt with his question's and Kreacher's crying eyes to turn to her.

"He got the locket from the cave didn't he?" she asked softly, watching the elf nod meekly. "He took you with. . . and you were told to keep it safe?"

Kreacher looked toward Harry, as if asking permission to reply. Harry nodded quickly.

Kreacher had a vehement nod and sniffed. "After Master Sirius ran away, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord, so happy, so proud 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 elf rocked himself faster and faster.

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

Diana closed her eyes for a moment and Hermione gave an incredulous noise.

"Voldemort needed an elf?" repeated Harry. 

"Oh yes," groaned 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."

He rocked back and forth rapidly, his breathing 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. . . and there was a boat. . .

"There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it. . ."

He quaked 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 basin. . . he filled it with more potion. . .

"And the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher behind. . . ."

"How did you get out?" asked Harry quietly. They all stood in horror at the agony the elf must've endured.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he sniveled, raising his eyes to meet Harry's.

"You Disapparated, didn't you?" asked Diana. He nodded, lowering his eyes back to the door.

"But you can't Apparate in or out of the cave," countered Harry. "It's like Hogwarts."

"Elf Magic is much stronger than ours," explained Hermione.

Diana added, her voice icy, "He would've never suspected elves could have magic that he didn't. He sees them as inferior; he would've never accounted for their magic when he created the cave."

"The house-elf's highest law is the master's bidding," said Kreacher. "Kreacher was told to come, so Kreacher came home. . ."

"So what happened when you came back?" asked Harry.

"Master Regulus was very, very worried. . ." said 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. . ."

"How did you get in?" asked Ron. "You have to have You-Know-Who or Vera's blood, don't you?"

"Kreacher Apparated with Master Regulus," Kreacher said. 

"And he made you drink the potion?" asked Harry.

Kreacher, surprisingly, shook his head. "M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a necklace like the one the Dark Lord had and he told Kreacher to take it, and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets. . ."

Kreacher began to sob, his whole body shaking as he tried to breathe each word between gasps of air.

"And he ordered---Kreacher to leave---without him. And he told Kreacher---to go home---and never 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. . ."

Diana closed her eyes, and Hermione gave a gasp. She could see it: the ghostly face eerily similar to Sirius', the green glow of the torturous potion. She could see him screaming and crying, just like Dumbledore had, and she could see Kreacher conflicted with two choices: his love for his master or his duty to perform his bidding. She could see the pain on Regulus' face and the horror on Kreacher's, his terrified eyes peering at his master who writhed in agony. Diana understood it quite well; having watched her mentor be tortured by the emerald potion and later be killed, Kreacher had had the same experience with Regulus. Regulus Black was yet another soul ripped from existence by Voldemort.

Watching Kreacher cry for his master that died for trying to prove himself good, Diana knew that along with Dumbledore and Mad-Eye, Sirius and Harry's parents and Cedric Diggory, she was going to fight for Regulus Black.

"So you brought the locket home," coaxed Diana gently and Kreacher had spiraled into a sobbing mess. "And you tried to destroy it?"

"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," he said quietly. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work. . . So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the only way to destroy it was to get inside of 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 happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave. . ."

The rest that came out of his mouth was now incoherent, for he had begun sobbing so hard that he couldn't catch his breath. His body trembled and he rocked back and forth, back and forth on his feet.

"I don't understand you, Kreacher," said Harry finally, sitting back on his heels. "Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them. . . ."

Harry shook his head as if clearing his thoughts and sat forward on his knees, steeling himself.

"Er. . . Kreacher. . . I am going to, er, ask you to do something," he said.

Kreacher's eyes widened, though he did not mumble profanities like he had done in the past, he turned his wide, damp eyes to Diana, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile.

"Kreacher, I want you, please, to go find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket---where Master Regulus' locket is. It's really important, and we want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to---er---ensure he doesn't die in vain."

Kreacher halted and watched with wide eyes.

"Find Mundungus Fletcher?" he croaked.

"And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place," said Harry. "Do you think you could do that for us?"

After a moment, Kreacher gave a determined nod and clambered to his feet.

Diana pulled the faux locket out of her packet and crouched in front of him.

"Kreacher," she said politely, speaking to him as an equal. "I'd like it if you'd have this." She set the locket into his fragile palms. "I'm sure Master Regulus would have wished for you to have it."

This kind gesture sent Kreacher back into a tailspin. After trying to calm Kreacher for a solid thirty minutes, he finally wiped his eyes and stood, his face hard and his brows drawn together in determination. With his fists at his side, he gave them all a resolute nod, giving Ron, Harry, and Diana a bow and giving Hermione an odd twitch. He gave a soldier's solute and Disapparated with a loud crack, and the silence closed in on them once more.

Come find me, the diary said.

Her eyes glanced the rectangle bulge in her inside pocket.

I will, her eyes said back.

update! sorry i haven't updated in a little while. thank you for reading, and once again, you guys are awesome!