Chapter 179: Buried Darkness
"What's this? It doesn't look like a specimen…" Harry reached out instinctively—
Only for Sirius to yank him back sharply.
"That's not a specimen," Sirius said, his expression darkening, "but it's far more dangerous than one."
"This… is a device the Black family used to punish so-called traitors within the family."
He paused, a flicker of something bitter crossing his face.
"If my mother hadn't died early… I suspect she would've made me experience it myself."
"…That's extreme," Russell frowned. "That thing looks lethal. What kind of mother would—"
Sirius let out a hollow laugh.
It was a double-layered crystal vessel.
Inside, black sand flowed endlessly on its own. Mixed within the upper layer were hundreds of tiny human teeth.
Each time the sand settled at the bottom, distorted screaming faces appeared faintly along the inner glass.
Sirius cast a Shield Charm over it.
"The Chrono-Devouring Hourglass," he said quietly. "Used by the Blacks to punish those who made 'grave mistakes.'"
Harry leaned closer, noticing names etched into the teeth.
"Orion Black… Rabastan Black… these are your family members!"
"Yeah," Sirius nodded, his voice distant.
"My uncle Alphard Black—one of the few who treated me kindly—opposed pure-blood ideology."
"They forced him to inhale the sand."
"He endured what amounted to two hundred and thirty-eight years of solitary confinement… and at thirty-two, his mind finally broke. He took his own life."
Inside the hourglass, thirty-two teeth were found.
Six of them belonged to Black children who hadn't even turned eleven.
One of the teeth suddenly swelled—
Its jaw snapping open with a shriek:
"Traitor to pure blood! You will burn in hellfire—"
"Silencio!"
Russell reacted instantly, cutting off the sound.
Silence returned.
"—Whoa… that's a huge heart."
Harry's voice trembled slightly as he pointed nearby.
Inside another glass container floated a massive, dark-purple heart—about the size of a basketball. Veins crawled across its surface, pulsing violently every ten seconds, each contraction releasing a low, wolf-like howl.
"That one…" Sirius said, his tone cold.
"I remember it well. A 'trophy' from the 1893 werewolf purge."
He tapped the glass lightly with his wand.
The heart flared with crimson veins.
"The head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the time was tied to the Black family."
"They captured a werewolf leader, submerged him in stabilizing potions, and used the Cruciatus Curse to force him to remain in human form for three months…"
"Until his heart mutated into… that."
"What does it do?" Harry asked quietly.
Sirius gave a faint smile.
"If a werewolf is nearby—day or night, full moon or crescent—they'll transform instantly."
"And they'll obey whoever holds the heart."
"The Ministry even used it to hunt werewolves… until one day it stopped working."
"A werewolf tore out the throats of three trainees—after that, it was returned here."
"…And over there," Sirius said, raising his wand and pointing toward a shadowed corner.
"Take a look at that."
Coiled around a framework of snake bones was a mass of dark-green vines. Each leaf bore yellow markings like the slit pupils of a serpent. At the core of the plant lay the skeleton of a house-elf, its finger bones still clutching a broken bronze collar.
"This," Sirius said quietly, "was my grandfather's 'gardening masterpiece.'"
For once, his expression carried a trace of sadness.
"Emily was once my grandmother's favorite house-elf."
He pulled aside the vines with his dragonhide gloves, revealing the branding on the skeleton's neck—beneath the twisted Black family crest were the words:
"Blood Purifier."
"A Muggle once wandered into the garden at Grimmauld Place and picked a Venomous Tentacula. Emily refused to blind him with a hot iron… so—"
Sirius took a slow breath.
"He fed her to the plant. Then used dark magic to fuse their hatred together. Every thorn on this vine secretes three different lethal toxins."
Harry frowned. "It's… avoiding the light?"
"No," Sirius replied, flicking his wand to send a trail of sparks toward it. The vines instantly lashed out, thorns dripping corrosive slime that hissed against the stone floor.
"It's waiting."
"If anything living comes within two meters, it—"
Mid-sentence, Sirius pulled off his glove and let the vine wrap around his hand. The moment it touched his bare skin, it withered rapidly.
"The Black bloodline suppresses it," he said, lifting the shriveled tendrils.
"Ironic, isn't it? A tool meant to punish traitors… undone by blood itself."
"That one's interesting."
At some point, Wednesday had wandered over to a tall cylindrical container, gazing up at its contents.
Inside a column of blood-red liquid floated a grotesque creature stitched together from different remains:
Raven wings.
A witch's hand.
The hind leg of a Graphorn.
And a human female face that shifted constantly, never settling on one identity.
Sirius's tone turned grave.
"That's a byproduct of Horcrux research."
"My uncle, Orion, was obsessed with creating a vessel for immortality. He kidnapped twelve witches, stripped their faces and fragments of their souls… and stitched them together."
"He intended to transfer his own soul into it."
He tapped the glass lightly.
"But something went wrong."
"His soul did enter the body… only to be torn apart by the remnants already inside."
Tap. Tap.
The shifting face suddenly opened its eyes.
There were no pupils—only blank white.
"Long time no see… uncle," Sirius murmured.
The creature didn't speak.
It only stared back at him—empty, watching.
"…It's time to get rid of all of this," Sirius said at last, resolve settling in his voice.
"These jars are just the tip of the iceberg."
With a sweep of his wand, black cloth draped over every container.
"There's another basement beneath this one. Worse things are stored there."
"My uncle Alphard once stitched Muggle souls into the bodies of hounds… creating guard beasts that could recite sonnets."
"Can I have them?"
Wednesday suddenly looked up.
"Or… I can buy them."
Sirius blinked, caught off guard.
"…Even after hearing all that?"
He scratched his head awkwardly.
By now, he had a fairly good understanding of her tastes—and they were nothing like those of ordinary girls.
"…Let's talk about it later," he said at last.
It wasn't stinginess.
He just knew—
These things were far too dangerous.