Chapter 4
By the way, mother. No one cried at your funeral, just wanted you to know.
I would've advised you to scrap Cissa and Bella from your line of heritage, mother. (Especially Bellatrix, Narcissa at least had the decency to pretend to be sad) But you can't, because you're dead. And according to the law passed after the Hayward affair in the year 352, a ghost can't change the will he or she made when alive. (See? I told you those history books of mine would come useful some day.)
Now, dear dead mother, you may be wondering how I could ever be so ruthless to say, or write, such a thing. But you see, I have witnessed you breaking down in our house, mother, and you're way less scary now.
Yelling competitions with one's own portrait is an excellent way to make one's image crumble, mother, trust me on this one.
As a matter of fact, your portrait is yelling again, and I might start to think its volume may even surpass you at your prime, mother. It's driving Kreacher crazy. (And maybe me too, but I was already infected a little with the Black-madness before death, so who knows? No sane person would've done what I did.)
Ah, yes.
I have not told you about that yet. What I did, I mean. It was le plus grand paragon of Gryffindor temerity, mother. Something I decided in a brief moment of rashness.
Something you would've disowned me for, something Kreacher pleaded me not to do.
Kreacher, poor Kreacher. Who I left behind with a task I couldn't fulfill myself.
I left him with a burden, mother. Did you know that he was the last one I spoke to? The last one to see me alive? He is the one I owe the most. More than I owe Sirius, for I owe Siri just as much as he owes me. More than our legacy, I've been an outstanding student and a respected member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. No shame I've brought onto its name.
Yes, I surely owe my little friend the most in this world. May the task I left him be completed and may he find peace after.(And maybe I'll be in peace with him)