12 Grimmauld Place.
This was the home of Sirius and Regulus, the Black family home.
This wizarding dwelling possessed layers of magical protections and was hidden within an ordinary Muggle residential area.
Numbers 11 and 13 flanked it, yet no one had ever noticed the missing number 12, or questioned why a number was absent.
Dumbledore and Shawn suddenly appeared in the dead of night in the square.
Ding, White Lord escort mission completed, reward 2000 tier-one faith points.
After landing, Shawn could not care about the joy of the mission's completion, suppressing the urge to vomit.
Apparition was clearly not something his young body could endure; only Shawn possessed an adult's willpower, otherwise he would likely have collapsed already.
Dumbledore very much admired Shawn's willpower, yet wore an apologetic expression; it had been the middle of nowhere just now, and he had had no other choice but to Apparate.
He had no idea how Shawn had traveled alone to such a remote place to pay respects to his father, nor how much hardship he must have suffered-he was truly so filial.
Dumbledore first meticulously used magic to clear away the wrinkles and dirt on Shawn's tailcoat, and only then lifted his gaze toward houses 11 and 13, suddenly feeling a slight headache-he indeed knew where the Black family home was.
Yet without the owner's consent, even the formidable Dumbledore could not find it in a short time.
"Whoosh."
Just as Dumbledore was preparing to force his way in violently, a diminutive figure appeared before the two of them, gazing excitedly at Shawn, who was still clutching his chest.
Shawn looked at this house-elf with bat-like oversized ears who had appeared, wearing a garment made of rags; his face full of wrinkles and aged appearance were enough to prove he was very old.
"Are you, are you the young master? You're finally back, Kreacher is so happy."
After recognizing Shawn through their bond, the old house-elf Kreacher began speaking excitedly while shedding tears and hopping around Shawn.
As he spoke, Kreacher began to beat his head against the ground, thumping the floor loudly.
"It's all useless Kreacher's fault for not being able to take care of the young master, letting him suffer in the dirty and lowly Muggle world. But Kreacher had no choice, he had to obey Master Regulus's orders and couldn't go see the young master-that would have harmed him, wails."
Watching this old house-elf's baffling performance, Shawn finally understood this race's twisted values.
The ancient wizards of those days were truly ruthless, their gaslighting skills top-notch.
Dumbledore was clearly quite accustomed to the house-elves' ways, pointing it out to Shawn.
"This is a magical creature humble and subservient to the extreme, and very obedient to its master's commands. Since you are the head of the Black family, quickly make this house-elf stop; he's going to bash himself to pieces."
Shawn had already anticipated this, yet still nodded to express his gratitude, before ordering Kreacher.
"Kreacher, I order you not to punish yourself."
Kreacher paused, actually stopping his actions, yet wept even louder.
"Wails, it's all useless Kreacher's fault, the young master is so kind,..."
Shawn felt a slight headache, while Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile.
"Well, Shawn, since your family still has a loyal house-elf, he will guide you home and take meticulous care of you. I will drop you off here."
Shawn had no intention of detaining him either. Facing Dumbledore, even though the man always wore a cheerful and benevolent expression,
he felt immense pressure until he had some skills of his own.
Before Regulus's incident was verified, no matter how exquisite his prior performance as a filial son had been, in Dumbledore's mind he would likely still bear the label of a Death Eater's son.
Shawn bowed slightly in thanks.
"Thank you, old sir, for bringing me back. Sorry for the trouble."
Dumbledore looked at the polite Shawn, rubbing the little fellow's head.
"Call me Professor or Headmaster from now on. Tomorrow you should receive your Hogwarts acceptance letter."
After blinking, Dumbledore Apparated away; he needed to rush to that cave overnight to investigate, as some guesses still needed to be verified quickly.
After all, Harry would be starting school this year, and certain plans had to be put into motion.
Shawn let out a breath, dazed for a good while, when the hem of his clothes was suddenly tugged. Lowering his head, he saw Kreacher, his eyes red as lightbulbs, looking up at him eagerly.
"Kreacher, take me home."
"Yes, I'm taking the young master home."
A happy Kreacher snapped his fingers, and Shawn only felt the world spin as he instantly appeared in a dim room.
Before he could marvel that the house-elf's displacement magic seemed easier than a wizard's Apparition, a shrill old woman's voice suddenly rang in his ears.
"Damn Kreacher, not sleeping in the middle of the night, you lowly beast-hmm? You are, you are,..."
Kreacher had originally intended to punish himself, but then excitedly introduced him to a portrait.
"Mistress, this is the young master, the son of the noble Master Regulus. He has come home today."
Shawn felt a slight ache in his brow, looking up at a painting on the wall. Although the old woman in the painting wore noble attire, her expression was twisted and drool still hung from the corners of her mouth.
At this moment, the crazed old woman's effort to squeeze out a kindly expression was even more hair-raising.
"Has my grandson returned? Wonderful! Regulus was good at everything, but why did he have to send you to that dirty, lowly Muggle world? Darling, what is your name? I am your grandmother, Walburga Black."
"Hello, Grandmother. My name is Shawn."
Right now, Shawn didn't much feel like arguing with a portrait fanatical about Pure-blood Supremacy to the point of madness, and fought the urge to pull the curtains shut.
If he remembered correctly, in the room in the old house where the family tree was kept, there seemed to also be a portrait connected to the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office, depicting the most unwelcome and sarcastic headmaster, Phineas Black-considered his great-great-grandfather.
He made up his mind never to go see these perverts.
He politely greeted Walburga, then let out an exhausted expression.
With the family now having an heir, the old woman was no longer mad, saying with heartache,
"Shawn, are you too tired? Kreacher! Hurry up and take my darling to wash up. Remember to use the best!"
Kreacher joyfully led Shawn upstairs.
Looking at this dilapidated, gloomy, and oppressive old house, Shawn somewhat regretted returning to the old home so early; there was no electricity or lights here, and it was rather frightening.
Yet a house-elf was indeed a house-elf, and they truly had a hand when it came to housekeeping. In less than half an hour, he had tidied up a clean bedroom for Shawn.
Moreover, judging by Kreacher's excitement, he would likely be busy all night without showing a shred of old age.
When Shawn lay down on the bed, thinking that he was not some malicious slave owner, he instructed the respectful Kreacher.
"Go take a bath yourself in a moment, and by the way, change into clean clothes. You can continue cleaning tomorrow."
At these words, Kreacher instantly panicked, then began punishing himself, pulling the curtains across and starting to strangle his own neck.
"Bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher, failing to serve the young master well. The young master doesn't want me anymore, actually wanting me to bathe and change into clean clothes-I might as well just die. Kreacher will not be a house-elf nobody wants."
Shawn had watched the movies and read the books, knowing the habits of house-elves; speaking nicely was useless.
"Kreacher, stop right there! I didn't say I don't want you. It's just that I like cleanliness, and you're filthy-I simply can't accept it. Now I order you: go take a proper bath first, then change into a clean pillowcase, and finally tidy up a room to live in. I forbid you from living in the cupboard. This is an order! Talk back again and get out of the Black family."
Kreacher was dumbfounded. He wanted to say something but didn't dare, and could only mutter under his breath as he walked out the door.
"The young master is too good to Kreacher, this is wrong. But what can Kreacher do? The young master's orders must be obeyed."
Shawn shook his head and lay back down on the bed, not dwelling further on Kreacher's issues; he could slowly train him later.
Then he hurriedly summoned the system.