House of Black

Chapter Three

Harriet woke the next morning with a drunken start, blinking up at the cobwebbed covered ceiling of the abandoned study she vaguely remembered locking herself into the night before. She immediately noticed the presence of several fluffed pillows comfortably tucked under her head, a warm blanket draped over her along with it. There was a heavy weight pressed on her hip, something soft caught in her hand, and it wasn't until she opened her eyes that she recognized it to be Sirius masquerading as the ever affectionate Snuffles, snoring soundly with his head in her lap. The letter she'd written to Dumbledore had mysteriously vanished from the coffee table, and she could only think he had something to do with that.

Careful so as not to disturb the sleeping mass of black fur at her side, Harriet sat up and rubbed her tired eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept like that - couldn't remember the last time she'd not woken up in a cold sweat with a searing pain in her forehead and thoughts of Cedric...

It was impossible to tell from the windows what time it was. Sirius had said they'd been enchanted long ago to only ever show sunny, spring weather all year round, but after so long the magic had worn away. One was stuck on a cold, rainy night and the other opened up to the reddish-brown brick of the neighboring apartment building.

The distinct smell of Mrs. Weasley's cooking hit her nose after a moment, and she knew it was not so early that breakfast wasn't being made. Not wanting to wake Sirius, Harriet tiptoed out of the room, the floorboards creaking in her wake despite all her efforts. The door clicked shut behind her, but there was thankfully no sound of movement beyond it.

Kreacher was out of hiding for once, taking an old wirey brush and scrubbing the walls with what looked like an equally old bucket of water. He looked up and snarled at her, as though she were something very grotesque to look at, and his loose gray skin rippled with new creases.

The house elf only ever made an effort to clean when Sirius ordered him to. Even then he did not use one ounce of magic to do so, taking hours at a time to complete any task. He'd usually stop and glare at someone until he was kicked out again, leaving the job wholly unfinished. Harriet had the feeling Sirius had asked him to clean up around the study because she was in there, which would easily have explained the increase in hostility toward her.

"Filthy wretch, nosey halfing," he sniped, grumbling so low it was hard to make out the words. "Product of sin she is. Rotten. Rotten to the core."

Ordinarily Harriet would have provided him the small kindness of shooing him off back to his hole in the kitchen. She didn't need anybody cleaning up for her sake. But she was already so fed up with him, fed up with everyone. There was only so much she could take. Hermione would have had a conniption if she knew that for even a split second Harriet wanted to kick the elf and see how far he'd go. All over the same pureblood trite he'd been spewing from the second they got there.

"Shouldn't you be cooking our breakfast instead of Mrs. Weasley?" she snapped at him, not at all feeling sorry for wanting to stomp on him anymore as he growled at her like one of Marjorie Dursley's bulldogs. "Don't you think she has better things to do than pick up your slack?"

"Kreacher does not take orders from the misses yet," he went back to spitefully scrubbing the wall, shaking his head so his wrinkly ears flopped. "Not yet Kreacher doesn't."

"I'd turn you out before you took orders from me." The flash of worry in his eyes assured her she'd hit her mark, but then his features reverted back to their usual sourness all too quickly. In light of the threat, he tossed the brush back into the rusted bucket with a sickening 'plop' and drug his feet all the way down to the other end of the hall. Then he sat down heavily, like a child that'd been scolded. Harriet didn't wait around to see him get back to his orders, or even stay to berate him some more. Instead she turned her back on him, storming off in the opposite direction.