Blake hadn't moved since her parchment finished glowing.
Her eyes were glued to it, lips barely moving.
"Black…"She whispered it again.
"Black… my last name is Black…"
She didn't understand what that meant in the magical world.
Not yet.
But finding her family name—any family name—had shattered something inside her.
Something lonely.
She repeated it again, stunned.
Almost hopeful.
I squeezed her shoulder gently and signaled to the goblin.
"Send for the vault and property managers of our families," I said.
"And do not enter until I summon you."
The goblin bowed—deeply—and hurried out.
Blake didn't even notice.
Her voice was tiny.
"Black… Do you think… do you think they'll want me?"
My chest ached.
"Do you want them?" I asked back, softly.
She blinked, startled by the question.
"I… I don't know," she whispered.
"I mean—if they're magical… and they abandoned me—why? What if they hate me? What if they think I'm—"
"Blake."
She stopped.
"Look at the bottom of the parchment," I said gently.
"See that name? 'Kreacher.'"
She frowned in confusion.
"Call it."
"What?"
"Just say his name."
She hesitated—then whispered:
"…Kreacher?"
POP!
A loud crack echoed through the room, and a small creature materialized onto the stone floor.
Blake yelped.
Big bat-like ears, bulbous eyes, a hunched back—the creature looked confused for half a heartbeat…
Then its gaze landed on Blake.
Recognition slammed into him like lightning.
His eyes widened.
His thin chest trembled.
"Young Miss!" Kreacher squeaked, voice shrill with emotion. "Young Miss has come! Young Miss has entered the wizard world and called Kreacher!"
Before Blake could react, he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her ankles.
Blake—shocked, frightened, overwhelmed—instinctively kicked.
Kreacher flew backward in a perfect arc and slammed into the nearby wall with a squeal.
Blake gasped in horror.
"Oh—oh no—are you okay?! I'm so sorry—I didn't mean—"
She scrambled toward him.
Seeing her concern, Kreacher burst into loud, wailing sobs.
"Young Miss is so KIND! She cares for Kreacher's poor bones! Kreacher frightened Young Miss on their first meeting—bad elf, BAD elf—!"
He started banging his head against the wall.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Blake panicked and looked at me desperately.
"What do I do!? How do I stop him!?"
"Order him," I said calmly.
"He has to obey you."
She turned to Kreacher.
"STOP!" she squeaked.
He froze mid–head smash.
She took a breath.
"…It's an order."
Kreacher slowly straightened, breathing shakily, but no longer harming himself.
Blake exhaled in relief.
"What is he?"
"He is a house elf, remember we read in history books. They serve wizard families." a look of understanding flashed in her eyes.
I walked over and gently nudged him away from the wall.
He glared at me instantly—pure, unfiltered murder in his eyes—as if my existence offended him.
But when I pointed back to Blake, his entire demeanor shifted.
"Your Young Miss doesn't know who you are," I said. "Or who her family is. Shouldn't you tell her about her parents?"
Kreacher's huge eyes flicked between us.
He didn't move.
I looked at Blake.
"You have to release him."
She nodded.
"Kreacher… you can move."
The elf stood fully upright and turned to face her—eyes filled with trembling awe and devotion.
He bowed so low his nose touched the floor.
"Young Miss," he whispered, voice breaking,
"Kreacher will tell you everything."
Blake's hand trembled in mine.
Kreacher bowed again.
"Young Miss is daughter of Kreacher's most noble master… Regulus Arcturus Black."
He placed a trembling hand over his chest.
"And of a muggleborn witch who was kind and gentle… your mother."
Blake's breath hitched.
My heart stopped.
Regulus Black.
Of all people…Blake was his daughter.
Kreacher continued, voice cracking with emotion:
"They were both sixteen… still at Hogwarts. They cared greatly for each other."
A sad smile twisted his wrinkled face.
"But Mistress Walburga—your grandmother—was a strict follower of the pureblood ways. She would have been furious… she would have punished Master terribly."
Blake flinched.
"So Master Regulus decided to keep you safe, away from the main Black family."
He wrung his hands.
"Your mother left Hogwarts after Christmas that year. Kreacher was ordered to watch over her… to watch over you."
Blake swallowed hard.
Her knuckles were white around my hand.
Kreacher continued, his voice quiet and heavy:
"In mid-June, Master Regulus returned from school. Your mother… she went into labour that very night."
He shut his eyes.
"She… she did not survive the birth, Young Miss."
Blake's breath broke into a tiny, strangled sound.
I stepped closer.
Kreacher's voice trembled:
"Master was devastated. Grief-stricken. He held you… he cried for you… and for her."
A tear slipped down Blake's cheek.
"But Master Regulus was still a student. And he had gotten involved with… bad people."
His voice lowered to a whisper.
"Dark people. At your grandmother's insistence."
Blake's eyes widened.
Her heartbeat hammered against my arm.
Kreacher wiped his nose with his toga.
"He could not raise you. Not then. Not around those people. It was far too dangerous."
He took a shaky breath
"So Master ordered Kreacher to take you to a safe place. An orphanage. Until he finished school."
Blake froze.
"But… he never came," she whispered.
Kreacher let out a broken, keening sound.
"Master Regulus died soon after graduating."
His ears drooped.
"Before he passed… he told Kreacher to keep watching you. To protect you. To make sure you grew up safe."
He looked up at Blake, eyes shining.
"Kreacher came often… hiding in shadows… watching Young Miss play. Young Miss was happy."
His voice warmed, soft as a lullaby.
"Kreacher saw Young Miss playing with the quiet boy… this boy."
He pointed at me.
Blake blinked, startled.
"Master Regulus would have been very happy," Kreacher whispered.
"To know you were never alone."
Blake's tears finally fell.
And Kreacher, shaking, bowed low enough to touch the floor.
"Young Miss… you are Black.
Kreacher is yours.
Always."