Edward crouched and picked up the locket before Kreacher could stop him again.
The silver bit into his fingers with cold. A whisper brushed the edge of his mind, not in words, not yet. More like the shape of a thought trying to enter. Loneliness. Blame. Hunger. Old doors opening in the dark.
His flame rose immediately.
Orange-red light wrapped around his palm, small but steady. The whisper recoiled. The cold did not vanish, but it retreated from his skin like a snake from fire.
Edward turned the locket over.
The S. The serpent. The design.
He had seen it before.
"Wait," he said.
Kreacher straightened. "Master?"
"The library."
"Master just left St. Mungo's."
"The library, Kreacher."
"Master should not run."
Edward was already moving.
Kreacher followed, muttering protests that served no purpose except making the air busier. They climbed the stairs and crossed into the library. Moonlight fell through the tall windows, silvering the dust and the spines of books that had been waiting longer than most people lived. The portraits woke as they passed and began to complain.
Edward ignored them. It was one of the few pleasures of owning the house.
He went to the shelf where Regulus had kept books on Hogwarts history and founder lore. His fingers moved across cracked leather and faded gilt titles until they stopped on a thick volume bound in dark green.
Hogwarts: Secrets of the Four Founders.
The title was dramatic enough to be either useless or dangerous. In pure-blood libraries, those were the two main categories.
Edward opened it on the nearest table. Dust rose. Kreacher sneezed and apologized to the book, because house-elves had complicated priorities.
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Pages turned under Edward's hand. Gryffindor. Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Then Slytherin.
He stopped.
There, beneath a portrait of Salazar Slytherin, was an illustration of the same locket. The serpent. The S. The black-eyed clasp. Under it, neat script recorded what polite historians had dared to write.
Personal heirloom of Salazar Slytherin. Material uncertain. Resistant to known means of destruction. Traditionally associated with the Slytherin bloodline and early founder-era enchantment.
Edward looked from the page to the object in his hand.
"So Father stole a founder's relic from Voldemort," he said.
Kreacher leaned over the book. His eyes widened. "Salazar Slytherin's locket," he breathed. Reverence and horror fought in his face. Both looked exhausted. "No wonder. No wonder Kreacher could not harm it. A founder's treasure. One of the oldest treasures tied to Hogwarts."
Edward closed his fingers around the locket. The flame kept burning between his skin and the silver.
A founder's relic. A Dark Lord's vessel. His father's death. His mother's flame. It would have been almost poetic if poetry were not often just suffering wearing clean clothes.
"Hogwarts will have records," Edward said.
Kreacher looked up sharply.
"Slytherin lived there. Built part of it. Hid things in it, if the stories are even half true. The Restricted Section will have older histories than this. Founder records. Slytherin family accounts. Maybe references to how the locket was made." Edward's voice steadied as he spoke. Grief became easier when turned into work. Work was grief with instructions. "If there is a way to destroy it without being an idiot, Hogwarts is the place to begin."
"No," Kreacher said immediately.
Edward looked at him.
The elf's hands flew up. "No, Master. Too dangerous. Hogwarts is full of children, professors, ghosts, portraits, nosy boys, nosy girls, and headmasters with twinkling eyes. This thing belonged to Slytherin and was touched by the Dark Lord. It must not go near Master unless protected properly. Kreacher will prepare charms. Alchemical wards. A pendant strengthened with anti-curse work. Something with phoenix ash, if Kreacher can obtain it without stealing from birds that bite."
"Kreacher."
"Three layers at least. No, five. Seven would be better. The Malfoys may have amulets. Kreacher can ask without saying why. Kreacher can be polite and slippery."
"Kreacher."
The elf stopped.
Edward opened his palm. The flame rose higher, warm and bright, wrapping the locket without burning it. The cold pressure thinned immediately. The room seemed to breathe again.
"This is the best protection I have," Edward said.
Kreacher's eyes filled.
"My mother left it to me. Father left me the problem. I am not leaving either of them locked in a cabinet because it frightens us."
"It should frighten Master."
"It does."
Kreacher blinked.
Edward looked down at the locket, at the serpent gleaming through the orange light. "Fear is useful. Panic is not."
The old elf stared at him for a long moment. Then his shoulders bent, not in defeat, but in obedience weighted with love.
"Yes, Master," he whispered.
Moonlight lay across the library. The pages of the founder book stirred in a draft that had no business being there. Edward closed the locket in his fist and felt the flame answer beneath his skin.
He had wanted family. He had found one made of letters, dead choices, hidden sweets, and an object that might contain a piece of Voldemort's soul.
It was not what most children received before Hogwarts.
Then again, most children were spared the House of Black. Lucky little bastards.
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