Voldemort sat alone in his chamber, his crimson eyes narrowed as he gazed at the flickering flames before him. He had spent the past week confirming what he had dreaded—the diadem was no longer a Horcrux. It had somehow returned to the Ravenclaw Tower, probably the soul inside it gone. The ring, too, had disappeared, likely taken by either Dumbledore or Dante Malfoy. And the locket? It was replaced by a worthless fake, its true fate unknown.
That left only the cup. His last remaining fragment of assured immortality.
His fingers twitched with frustration. This was beyond a mere inconvenience—it was a disaster. He had counted on those Horcruxes to secure his survival, but now they were vanishing one by one, and with them, his confidence in his own invulnerability. He had planned for every possibility—except this. Had he truly walked the path of no return? Was he doomed to die in a few years, as Dante had so casually proclaimed?
His mind reeled as he recalled Dante's words.
"A fool who couldn't understand why splitting the soul should be done only once won't figure out how to mend it in the short time he has left"
Voldemort clenched his jaw. He was the greatest Dark Lord in history. He had delved into the deepest secrets of the Dark Arts, uncovered magics long forgotten, and yet, even he had never come across a method to restore a fractured soul.
Dante had spoken with such certainty, as though the answer was obvious. And that was what terrified Voldemort the most.
He had no confidence in fixing what he had done. He had always assumed that if his body was ever destroyed, his Horcruxes would be enough to sustain him. But now, with so many of them gone, his future seemed fragile. He had believed himself untouchable, yet reality was beginning to close in on him like a vice.
His thoughts shifted to Dante. The boy prodigy was unlike anyone Voldemort had ever encountered. He had power, knowledge, and a terrifying sense of detachment. Dante knew the Dark Arts better than Voldemort himself, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. Could he help? Would he help?
No.
Dante Malfoy had too much power, no threat or incentive would sway someone like him. Voldemort would find no ally there. But perhaps... perhaps there was another way.
His mind drifted to Bellatrix Lestrange, his most devoted follower. She was Dante's aunt. If anyone could persuade him, it would be her.
But what should he tell her? The truth? No, he couldn't afford to reveal his weakness. He had no illusions about the nature of his followers—many served him out of fear, others for personal gain, and only a handful out of true loyalty. If they discovered that their Dark Lord was not as immortal as they believed, their faith would crumble and along with it their loyalties. He would lose everything.
No, he would need to be careful. Bellatrix was his only hope, but even she could not know the full extent of his predicament.
For the first time in decades, Voldemort felt something foreign and repulsive coil in his chest—helplessness. He had always been the predator, the one in control. But now, he was the one scrambling for answers, the one desperately searching for a way out of his impending doom. And that, above all else, filled him with fear.
___________
In the dark recesses of Grimmauld Place, Kreacher glared at the intruders who had taken over his master's home. The noble Black family's residence had been reduced to a gathering ground for those who neither understood nor respected its legacy. His blood boiled at the sight, but he could do nothing about it, all because of that ungrateful, evil child, Sirius. His master's house, the pride of his ancestors, now sullied by strangers.
His thoughts drifted to Regulus Black, his true master, the only one who had shown him kindness and trust. Kreacher clutched his hands together, despair washing over him. The locket remained. The cursed locket that Regulus had given his life for. Nothing Kreacher did could destroy it, and each failed attempt only deepened his sorrow and regret. His master's last order was unfulfilled, and the weight of that failure crushed him.
Then one day, amidst the endless chatter of these intruders, he overheard something that seized his full attention. They spoke of the Dark Lord and something called Horcruxes—objects that contained fragments of his soul, binding him to life unnaturally. A young man named Dante Malfoy had explained it to them, revealing that several had already been destroyed.
Kreacher's eyes widened. Could it be? The locket carried whispers, dark magic that latched onto the minds of those who bore it. Could it be one of these Horcruxes? Kreacher was no master of the dark arts, but if what this Dante Malfoy said was true, then there was hope. Kreacher clenched his fists. He had no allegiance to these intruders, but he knew the Malfoys. Narcissa Black had married into their family, and though they had once served the Dark Lord, they had since turned against him, much like Regulus had done.
Days passed, but Kreacher kept mulling this over. His master's last order had to be fulfilled. There was no longer a Black line to serve, but he would see his duty to the end. His only hope lay with Dante Malfoy.
Summoning every ounce of courage, Kreacher apparated to Malfoy Manor. He knew well that the house-elves of noble families recognized one another. With Dobby's assistance, he was granted an audience with Narcissa Malfoy. He bowed low, his voice trembling as he pleaded, "Mistress Narcissa, Kreacher begs you to allow him to speak with Dante Malfoy. It is for the sake of Master Regulus's last order."
Narcissa's expression softened. She had always held affection for her younger cousin Regulus, unlike the detestable Sirius, and hearing Kreacher's plea stirred old grief in her heart. "Come," she said after a moment of silence. "I will take you to him."
Dante sat in his room, engrossed in a book, when the door opened. Narcissa stepped in with Kreacher beside her. Dante raised an eyebrow, setting his book down.
"This is Kreacher, a house-elf who once served the Black family," Narcissa introduced. "He has come with a request related to my cousin Regulus Black."
Kreacher wasted no time. He bowed low before Dante and, voice shaking, begged, "Master Dante, please help Kreacher fulfill Master Regulus's last order. It is why he died."
Dante's curiosity piqued. "Explain," he ordered.
Tears welled in Kreacher's eyes as he recounted the story of Regulus's sacrifice—the boat across the cursed lake, the potion that drained his master's strength, the command to take the locket and destroy it, the heartbreaking moment when Kreacher was forced to leave him behind. As he finished, he unwrapped the locket and presented it, hands trembling.
Narcissa wiped away silent tears, mourning her cousin's fate. "Why didn't he order you to save him?" she asked softly.
Dante glanced at the locket before answering. "It could be that the potion drained his will to live, or perhaps he thought dying in secret was the safest way to protect his family. Either way, this locket is indeed a Horcrux." He extended a hand. "Give it to me."
Kreacher obeyed without hesitation. Dante took the locket in his palm and pointed his wand at it. "Expecto Electrunom."
A surge of crackling red lighting pierced through the locket. The soul fragment within let out a shriek before being obliterated into black smoke. The locket, now nothing more than an empty piece of metal, fell silent.
Dante tossed it back to Kreacher. "Your master's last order is complete. The Horcrux is no more."
Kreacher caught the locket, staring at it in disbelief. Then, as realization dawned, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his knees. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face as he clutched the locket to his chest.
"Master," he sobbed, rocking back and forth. "Kreacher did it! Your last order is complete… your last order is complete… your last order is complete…"
Narcissa turned away, unable to bear the sight, her own sorrow heavy in her heart. Dante simply watched in silence. The past had finally been set right, and Regulus Black's sacrifice had not been in vain. Dante watched this old elf who had so much loyalty to his dead masters. For more than a decade, the elf wanted nothing to complete his master's last order. And for that, Dante hated this elf.