Hogwarts, a Scholar Becomes a God

Is it strange to see a house elf in the house of a pureblood wizarding family? Not surprisingly!

For an ancient and wealthy wizarding family, house elves are as common as air conditioners, refrigerators, and washing machines in rich Muggle homes.

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

As for this kind of exploitation, wizards have long been accustomed to it, and they don't feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

Even Clark's aunt Molly Weasley and her family just lamented that their family was too poor and there was a ghoul living in the attic above their heads instead of a house elf, so they couldn't help her share some housework.

But this was the first time Clark saw such an old house elf.

Yes, that's a live house elf, not some wall decoration.

He looked very old, older than all the house elves Clark had ever seen, and his dark green skin was full of wrinkles, which seemed to be several times longer than the actual needs of his body.

Although his head was bald like all house elves, his two large bat-like ears had a lot of white hair growing out of them.

Of course, compared to his old age, this house elf's clothes are extremely thin. Except for a dirty rag around his waist, like the loincloth used by men in tropical countries to cover their bodies, almost all of their bodies are covered with clothing. It's naked.

His age and attire made him look miserable and pitiful.

At this time, the house elf was standing at the corner of the dark stairs like a sculpture, with his back bent and standing still.

He seemed to have just discovered Clark and the others. Even though he was bent over, he still tried to turn his head upward and looked at Sirius Black in surprise with his big, bloodshot, gray eyes.

And behind him, Harry and Clark.

After seeing Harry and Clark clearly, the house elf's face was immediately mixed with an indescribable strange expression, and his big watery eyes were quickly filled with a trace of disgust——

Clark felt this very clearly. His telepathy could clearly detect that the house elf was in the same state as a wizard seeing a goblin in his yard.

"What did poor old Kreacher see? The prodigal young master who disappeared for more than ten years came back today with two unidentified brats to ruin my mistress's house."

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

While saying this, he also bowed deeply towards Sirius. His body was so low that it was ridiculous, and his big pig-like nose was flattened directly to the ground.

It can be seen that he must be very reluctant to do this action. This is just his house elf instinct asking him to respect his master.

Therefore, Clark and Harry could clearly hear him pressing his nose to the ground and saying in a very soft voice:

"The young master is a nasty, ungrateful bastard who broke his mother's heart - oh, my poor mistress, she swore she wouldn't recognize him as a son, and now he's back, and they say he's a murderer ——”

Harry looked confused, while Clark suppressed a smile and looked at Black. Even standing behind him, he seemed to be able to see the beating veins on Black's forehead.

"My mother has no heart, Kreacher," Sirius said angrily. "She lives entirely on resentment, no! She has no life in the first place, she is already dead."

"No matter what the young master says," Kreacher straightened up and muttered angrily, "the young master is not even worthy of cleaning the soles of his mother's shoes.

Oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving the young master, how she hates him, how disappointing he is—"

When he said this, he bowed again, quite like I made a mistake and I apologized, but I just wouldn't change my attitude.

Harry pulled Black's sleeve and asked in a low voice: "Who is he?"

"Kreacher, a house elf who serves the Black family." Sirius paused 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, but at this time they also heard that what this guy said was not good.

"The prodigal also brought back two cubs, Kreacher doesn't know their names.

What is he doing here? Kreacher didn't know. Kreacher only heard that one of them was going to live in the mistress' house.

What would the poor mistress say to old Kreacher if she knew that the young master had let such a scum into her house? How shameful! "

With such a performance, Harry didn't know whether he should say hello to the house elf, so he could only wave his hand awkwardly, "Hello, I am Harry, Harry Potter."

Seeing Clark talking to him, Kreacher's two light-colored eyes suddenly widened, and the words he muttered were even more angry than before.

"That brat actually talked to Kreacher as if he were my friend. If Kreacher's mistress saw him with someone like that, oh, what would she say-"

"Hey, be respectful, he is my godson, he will live here from now on, and he will also be your master!" Blake said angrily.

But Kreacher seemed not to have heard it at all and was still mumbling to himself.

"Is this real? Is it really Harry Potter? Kreacher saw the scar. It must be real. He is the boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Kreacher doesn't know how he did it. The Dark Lord So powerful——"

"That's enough, shut up! Stand up quickly," Sirius shouted with a livid face, "What on earth do you want to do?"

"Kreacher is cleaning the house," the elf lowered his head and said again, "Kreacher will serve the noble Black family all his life-"

"But the house is getting darker every day. It's so dirty." Sirius didn't look like he believed him.

"Master always likes to crack a little joke," Kreacher said and bowed again, but Black was not that easy to fool.

He said coldly: "Let me ask you what are you planning 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 would never let the Master take anything from its proper place in the house."

The elf said, and then started talking quickly, "If the tapestry is thrown away, the mistress will never forgive Kreacher. The tapestry has been in this family for seven centuries, and Kreacher must keep it. Kreacher will never let the young master and those brats destroy the tapestry——"

"I knew that was the case," said Sirius, casting a contemptuous glance towards the opposite wall. "She will cast another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the tapestry, I have no doubt about it, but if I can get rid of I will never hesitate about it."

"Okay, get out of here, Kreacher, before I can't help but kill you, get out of here and let us pass."

The elf looked at Black in disbelief, as if he didn't expect Black to let him go so easily.

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

As he walked, he cast a hateful look at Sirius, all the while mumbling something.

"——Back from Azkaban, he was bossing around Kreacher.

Oh, my poor mistress. What would she say if she saw the house like this? A scoundrel came in, her baby was thrown out, she swore she wouldn't recognize him as her son, and now he's back, and it's said he's a murderer --"

Harry couldn't help it anymore and retorted loudly: "Sirius has been proven innocent. He did not kill anyone. He is now a hero!"

"You don't need to tell him this!" Sirius glared at Kreacher who was walking away with disgust. "He won't listen. He was like this before, a hateful house elf. You need 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 as if to vent his anger.

"Shut up, Kreacher! If you keep howling, I'm really going to kill someone!"

It was only after the thing was taken away that he seemed to react, "Oh, no, I forgot-"

Before Blake could finish his words, Harry and Clark were drowned by a terrible, deafening, blood-curdling scream.

The velvet curtains covered with insect holes on the corridor wall suddenly fell apart after no longer suppressed by the umbrella stand.

For a moment, Harry thought that there was a window behind it. Behind the window, an old lady wearing a black hat was screaming desperately. The sound was loud and tight, as if she was being tortured -

Then he realized that it was just a life-size magical portrait, like the one in Hogwarts Castle, but he had never seen one so realistic and so unpleasant in his life.

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

Farther away in the hall, other portraits were awakened by her and began to scream so loudly that they were deafening.

Only Clark looked at the portrait with interest, "It's really interesting. I have never seen such a magic painting before. It is indeed one of the twenty-eight sacred families. The Black family has something."

In conventional magic paintings, the painter follows the person being painted day and night, watching his every move, grasping the person's spirit and aura, drawing a portrait, and then refining it with magic potion to give it vitality and wisdom.

The magic painting produced in this way actually has nothing to do with the model. It is just an imitation that looks very similar to the deceased. It is specially used for the family of the deceased to hang on the wall to relieve the pain of lovesickness.

However, Clark could clearly feel that the old lady in front of him was not just a portrait, she really had soul fluctuations!

Although this kind of fluctuation is very secretive and weak, Clark, as a [Psychic], can be sure that he is not wrong.

"This is interesting."

Clark remembered that he had seen this situation in the family's collection of books, that is, before death, the person being painted used his own soul as a sacrifice to make a blood sacrifice to his own magic painting, so that his soul could Stay on the portrait.

This situation seems to allow a person to gain immortality, but the result is not as beautiful as imagined.

First of all, the soul that resides in the magic painting is just a fragment of the soul of the deceased, somewhere between the residual thoughts and the soul. It seems to be living in the painting, but it is just a self-deception to extend the life span.

In addition, the life living in the magic paintings is not so beautiful. Perhaps for pure portraits, they do not have the meaning of "living".

But the sad thing about these sacrificial golems is that they still retain part of their previous consciousness, which makes their life a kind of prison-like torture.

In particular, some portraits even have to watch their descendants gradually become fewer and fewer, and the family status declines day by day, but they themselves are powerless.

This kind of pain is very inhumane, so there are very few wizards doing this kind of thing in the magic world today.

Even if some wizards are willing to endure this kind of pain, those magic painters will refuse verbally.

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

Clark could imagine how desperate this mother of Sirius Black was to reach this point.

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

The eldest son was incompetent. Not only was he assigned to Gryffindor, but he also hung out with the Potter guys every day. He was even expelled from the family and imprisoned in Azkaban.

Seeing that this pure-blood wizard family, which has been passed down for thousands of years, is about to decline and die at her own hands, she may have only this option.

Even if it is going to decline, even if it is going to be cut off, she will keep her eyes wide open and see the last step - until the last bit of hope is gone!

This was both torture and salvation for her.

"Beasts! Bitch! Dirty and sinful scoundrels! Bastards, freaks, ugly monsters, get out of here! How dare you desecrate the home of my ancestors-"

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

The tide of the times is rolling forward, and these families whose inheritance is based on blood will eventually be annihilated in the years, leaving only an unwilling wailing that belongs to the old era.

I don’t know what the fate of the Prewett family will end up in.

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

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

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