He set the locket on a flat stone.
"Step back, Kreacher," Victor said, already reaching inside his robe.
The elf scrambled behind a tree without argument.
Victor withdrew the basilisk fang.
He aimed the fang at the locket.
The serpent engraving split open with a sharp metallic snap.
A rush of dark magic burst outward, cold and oppressive. The air thickened. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the ground.
Then the voices began.
Whispers layered over one another, rising into overlapping murmurs.
You need me…
You cannot protect them without me…
You will fail…
The locket glowed faintly green, and from within its open casing, a distorted image began to form—features twisting, eyes hollow and accusing.
The forest seemed to dim around him.
Victor did not step back.
He drove the basilisk fang downward.
The venom struck the locket's heart.
A high, inhuman scream tore through the clearing. The metal writhed as if alive, black smoke spilling outward before collapsing inward on itself. The image shattered.
The locket split cleanly down the middle.
The whisper stopped.
Silence returned to the woods.
Kreacher slowly stepped forward once the screaming ceased.
The elf stared at the split locket lying lifeless on the rock, the dark smoke already thinning into nothing.
His large eyes trembled as he approached it, as though expecting it to move again.
It did not.
Kreacher fell to his knees.
"Master Regulus's command…" he croaked, voice breaking. "It is finished."
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it. Kreacher tried… Kreacher failed…"
His shoulders shook once.
"Now it is done."
Victor watched him quietly.
"Yes," he said calmly. "His order is fulfilled."
Kreacher bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the earth.
"Kreacher thanks young Master," he whispered hoarsely. "Master Regulus's work… is complete."
"Then, Kreacher, let's return," Victor said, checking his pocket watch. 11:30 a.m.
He had told Hermione he might visit her when he is work done.
He might as well keep that promise.
With a sharp crack, Kreacher Apparated them back to Grimmauld Place. Victor did not linger. He stepped outside, letting the house disappear behind him as it had before.
Using magic openly in Muggle London would be reckless.
He had Apparated near Luna's home without concern—wizarding property, minimal risk. London, however, was different.
Inconvenient.
He walked to the nearest main road and hailed a taxi, paying in Muggle currency. The ride passed quietly through busy streets until the driver slowed in a residential neighborhood.
"Eight Heathgate," the driver said.
Victor stepped out, adjusting his coat.
A neat brick house stood before him, garden trimmed, curtains drawn halfway against the afternoon sun.
The door opened after a moment.
A man stood there—mid-forties.
"Yes?" he asked politely.
Victor inclined his head slightly.
"Good afternoon. I'm Victor Malfoy. I attend Hogwarts with Hermione."
There was a brief pause.
Recognition flickered.
"Ah," the man said slowly. "One of Hermione's school friends."
Behind him, a familiar voice rose from inside the house.
"Dad? Who is it?"
Footsteps hurried toward the doorway.
Hermione appeared—then stopped short.
"Victor?"
She blinked at him, clearly not expecting him to take her threat about letters so literally.
"You said I should write," Victor said calmly. "I decided to begin with something more efficient."
Hermione's surprise lasted exactly one second.
Then her face lit up.
"Victor! You actually came!" she said, stepping forward at once. "Dad, this is Victor — I told you about him. He's in my year."
Victor entered the house, noting the neat hallway, framed photographs on the walls, the faint scent of something freshly baked.
Hermione shut the door behind him and turned back with barely contained excitement.
"You said you might visit," she said quickly. "You didn't say today."
Victor tilted his head slightly. "Should I go back, write a letter, wait for a reply, and then return properly scheduled?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged him inside. "Don't be ridiculous."
Her father gave a small amused smile and disappeared toward the kitchen.
"So how did you come here?" Hermione asked, sitting beside him and turning to face him fully. "Did your parents drop you off?"
"My mother dropped me at a wizarding house," Victor replied calmly. "I left from there and took a taxi."
Hermione stared. "A taxi?"
"Yes."
"With what did you pay?" she pressed. "You grew up entirely in the wizarding world."
"With pounds," Victor said evenly. "Did you think I'd attempt to hand over Galleons?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You even know how taxis work?"
"I am not completely ignorant of the non-magical world," he replied. "If it were Draco, perhaps the driver would have been very confused. But I came prepared."
Hermione folded her arms. "And the people you're staying with won't notice you've disappeared like this?"
"I made arrangements," Victor said simply.
***
Lunch was simple and warm.
"So, Victor, you grew up in a wizarding family?" Mrs. Granger asked, studying him with polite curiosity. It wasn't just small talk; she had clearly heard his name often enough whenever Hermione spoke about school.
"Yes," he replied politely. "Though it is not so different from yours, aside from the presence of magic."
Mr. Granger leaned forward slightly. "And what does your father do? Is it… some sort of magical profession?"
Victor paused only briefly.
"We are… financially comfortable," he said evenly. "My father manages our family's assets and investments."
That was safer than explaining Ministry influence, political maneuvering, and certain… ideological associations.
Mrs. Granger nodded, clearly trying to picture what that meant.
"And Hogwarts?" she continued. "Hermione says it's a boarding school."
"It is," Victor said. "Structured. Competitive. Very old."
Hermione cut in eagerly, correcting small details and adding commentary whenever she thought Victor was being too vague. The conversation flowed naturally after that. By the end of lunch, both her parents seemed reassured.
At three o'clock, Victor stood.
"Thank you for the hospitality," he said with a slight incline of his head.
Hermione walked him to the door.
"You're leaving already?"
"I have somewhere else to be."
She narrowed her eyes slightly but didn't press.
"Write to me," she said firmly.
"I will."
He stepped outside, walked a short distance down the street, and hailed another taxi.
This one took him to Charing Cross Road.
The sign of Leaky Cauldron hung modestly between two Muggle storefronts.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 70🔥
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