Is it strange to see a house-elf in the house of a pure-blood wizard family? Not surprising!

For an ancient and wealthy wizarding family, house-elves were as commonplace as the air conditioners, refrigerators, and washing machines in the homes of rich Muggles.

This kind of little thing that can take on all the housework, work hard and never betray, can be said to be the most perfect slave, and every rich wizard family will try to get one or two.

And for this kind of oppressive and exploitative behavior, wizards have long been accustomed to it, and they will not feel the slightest embarrassment.

Even Clark's aunt, Molly Weasley's family, only lamented that their family was too poor, and that there was a ghoul living in the attic above her head, not a house-elf, who couldn't help her with some of the housework.

However, it was the first time Clark had seen such an old house-elf.

Yes, it was a living house-elf, not some ornament hanging on the wall.

He was already very old, older than all the house-elves Clark had ever seen, and his dark green skin was full of wrinkles, as if he had several times more than his body actually needed.

Although his head was as bare as all house-elves, there was a large pile of white hair growing out of his two large bat-like ears.

Of course, compared to his old age, the house-elf's clothes were very light, and he was almost naked except for a dirty rag around his waist, like the loincloth used by men in tropical countries to cover his body.

This age and this kind of attire made him look both bleak and pitiful.

At this moment, the house-elf stood like a sculpture at the corner of the gloomy staircase, with its back bent and standing still.

He seemed to have just spotted Clarke, and even as he bent over, he tried to turn his head upwards and looked at Sirius Black in surprise with his big, bloodshot, gray eyes.

and behind him, Harry and Clarke.

And after seeing Harry and Clarke's appearance clearly, the house-elf's face was immediately mixed with an indescribable strange expression, and the big watery eyes were quickly stained with a hint of disgust-

Clark felt this very clearly, and his telepathy could clearly perceive that the house-elf was in the same state as a wizard saw a goblin in his yard.

"What did poor old Kreacher see, the young master of a ruined family, who had disappeared for more than ten years, and today he brought back two little cubs of unknown origin to ruin my mistress's house."

The guy's voice was slow, like a bullfrog making a low cry there, and his eyes were full of disdain.

As he said this, he bowed deeply to Sirius, who was ridiculously low, his large pig-like nose flattened directly to the ground.

It can be seen that he must be very reluctant to do this action, it is just the instinct of his house-elf to ask him to respect his master.

So, Clark and Harry could hear it very clearly, and he was pressing his nose to the ground, and he was saying in a very soft voice:

"The young master is a nasty, ungrateful, lewd billet who broke his mother's heart—oh, my poor mistress, who swore not to recognize his son, and now he is back, and he is still a murderer—"

Harry looked confused, and Clark forced a smile and looked at Black, who seemed to be able to see the beating veins on Blake's forehead even as he stood behind.

"My mother has no heart, Kreacher," Sirius said angrily, "she's living entirely on resentment, no! She was lifeless, she was dead. ”

"Whatever the young master says," Kreacher straightened up, muttering indignantly, "the young master is not even worthy to polish the soles of his mother's shoes, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how much the mistress hated him, how disappointed he was—"

He bowed again when he said this, quite a bit I made mistakes, I apologized, but I just didn't change my posture.

Harry pulled Lablake's sleeve at this point and asked in a low voice, "Who is he?" ”

"Kreacher, the house-elf who serves the Black family." Sirius paused for a moment and added, "A crazy guy, you don't have to worry about him. ”

"Kreacher is not crazy, Kreacher just didn't see the two young masters."

The elf bowed to Clark and Harry again, only now they heard that the guy wasn't saying anything good.

The loser brought back two cubs, whose names he didn't know.

What is he doing here? Kreacher didn't know. Kreacher only heard that they had one to live in the mistress's house.

If the poor mistress knew that the young master had actually brought such scum into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, what a shame! ”

In this way, Harry didn't know if he should greet this house-elf, so he could only wave his hand awkwardly, "Hello, I'm Harry, Harry Potter." ”

Seeing Clark talking to him, Kreacher's two pale eyes suddenly widened, and the words in his mouth were even more angry than before.

"That little cub actually talks to Kreacher as if he were my friend, and if Kreacher's mistress sees him with such a man, oh, what will she say-"

"Hey, be respectful, he is my godson, he will live here in the future, and he is also your master!" Blake said angrily.

But Kreacher was still muttering to himself as if he hadn't heard it at all.

"Is this true? Is it really Harry Potter? Kreacher saw the scar, it must be true, it was the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher didn't know how he did it, the Dark Lord was so powerful-"

"Enough, shut up! Stand up," Sirius roared, grime, "what the hell are you trying to do?" ”

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf said with his head bowed, "Kreacher has worked for the noble Black family all his life—"

"But the house is getting darker and darker day by day, and it's so dirty." Sirius didn't seem to believe him.

"Young Master always likes to make little jokes," Kreacher said and bowed again, but Blake wasn't so easy to fool.

He said coldly, "I asked you what exactly you were going to do?" Every time you come out and pretend to clean, you sneak everything into your room and don't let us throw it away. ”

"Kreacher will never let the young master take anything from the house from the right place."

The elf said, and then quickly muttered, "If the tapestry is thrown away, the mistress will never forgive Kreacher, the tapestry has been in this house for seven centuries, Kreacher must keep it, Kreacher will never let the young master, and the little cubs destroy the tapestry—"

"I knew it was going to be." Sirius said, casting a contemptuous glance at the opposite wall, "I have no doubt that she will recite a permanent paste spell behind the tapestry, but I will not hesitate if I can get rid of it." ”

"Alright, get out of here, Kreacher, get out of here and get over before I can't help but kill you."

The elf looked at Blake incredulously, as if he didn't expect Blake to let him go so easily.

However, he did not dare to disobey his master's order, so he could only drag his two feet towards the basement not far away.

As he walked, he cast a hateful glance at Sirius, all the while keeping the words in his mouth.

- When he came back from Azkaban, he pointed fingers at Kreacher.

Oh, my poor hostess. What would she say if she saw the house like this, the vile villain came in, her baby was thrown out, she swore not to recognize his son, and now he is back, and he is said to be a murderer—"

Harry couldn't help it at this time, and retorted loudly: "Sirius has been proven innocent, he didn't kill anyone, he's a hero now!" ”

"No need to tell him that!" Sirius glared at Kreacher in disgust, "He won't listen, he used to be like this, a hateful house-elf, you'll have to pay attention to it at home in the future." ”

As he spoke, he picked up an umbrella stand and threw it in the direction of Kreacher.

"Shut up, Kreacher! If you howl again, I'm going to kill someone!" ”

It was only after the thing was taken off that he seemed to react, "Oh oops, I forgot-"

Before Blake could finish speaking, Harry and Clark were drowned out by a horrible, deafening, creepy scream.

The velvet drapery covered with insect eyes on the wall of the corridor suddenly dispersed without the suppression of the umbrella stand.

For a moment, Harry thought there was a window behind it, and behind it was an old lady in a black hat screaming desperately, and the voice was as tight as if she was being beaten—

Then he realized that it was just a life-size portrait of magic, the same as the one in Hogwarts Castle, but he had never seen such a realistic and unpleasant portrait in his life.

The old lady was drooling, her eyes were rolling, and the yellow skin on her face was taut from screaming.

Farther away, in the foyer, the other portraits were awakened by her and began to scream, a sound that almost deafened people's ears.

Only Clark looked at the portrait with interest, "It's really interesting, I've never seen this kind of magic painting, and sure enough, it's one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families, and the Black family still has something." ”

In conventional magic painting, the artist follows the subject day and night, watches his every move, grasps the aura of the other party, paints a portrait, and then uses magic potions to refine it to give it vitality and wisdom.

The magic painting made in this way actually has nothing to do with the model, but is just an imitation that resembles the deceased, which is specially used to hang on the wall for the deceased's family to relieve the pain of lovesickness.

However, Clark can clearly feel that the old lady in front of him is not as simple as a portrait, she really has soul fluctuations!

Although this fluctuation is subtle and faint, Clarke, as a [Psychic Warlock], can be sure that he is not mistaken.

"That's interesting."

Clark remembers seeing in the family collection that the subject sacrificed his soul to the painting before he died, so that his soul would remain on the portrait.

This situation may seem to lead to eternal life, but the results are not as good as imagined.

First of all, the soul that resides in the magic painting is just a fragment of the soul of the deceased, between the remnant and the soul, which seems to live in the painting, but it is only a self-deceptive way to prolong life.

In addition, the life of living in the magic painting is not so good, and perhaps for pure painting, they do not have the meaning of "living".

But the sad thing about this sacrificial golem is that they still retain some of the consciousness in front of them, which makes their lives a kind of prison torment.

In particular, some portraits even have to watch their own descendants gradually become scarce, and the family state is declining, and they themselves are powerless.

This kind of pain is very inhumane, so there are very few wizards in the wizarding world today.

Even if some wizards were willing to endure this pain, the magicians would refuse.

"It seems that the Black family must have a familiar magician who is even willing to take risks for their family. But this Mrs. Black is also a miserable person. ”

Clark can imagine how desperate Sirius Black's mother must have been to get to this point.

She lost her son in middle age, and her youngest son, who pinned the hopes of the family, died at the hands of the Dark Lord, and she did not dare to take revenge.

The eldest son was another unsuccessful person, not only was he assigned to Gryffindor, but he also mixed with the Potter guys every day, and was even removed from the family and imprisoned in Azkaban.

Seeing that this pure-blooded wizard family, which has been inherited for thousands of years, is about to decay and be cut off in her own hands, she may have only this way.

Even if it was to decay, even if it was to be cut off, she would widen her eyes and see the last step—until the last shred of hope was gone!

This was both torture and redemption for her.

"Brute! Slut! Filthy and sinful son! Bastards, freaks, ugly bastards, get out of here! How dare you defile my ancestors' home—"

Clark looked at the portrait that was still noisy, and suddenly felt sad for the old woman.

The tide of the times is rolling forward, and these families with blood as their inheritance will eventually be annihilated in the years, leaving only a wail that belongs to the old era.

I don't know what kind of fate their Puwit family will end up with.

Perhaps, only the gods, only by sitting on the throne in the starry sky, can they barely escape this kind of reincarnation.

Looking at the farce in front of him and feeling the ruthlessness of fate, Clark's heart suddenly became a little firmer.