Draco sat in silence as a few gusts of wind swept past him before a quiet pop from behind him captured his attention.
In a spot that was formerly vacant now stood an old house elf who wore a tattered pillowcase as clothing and a scowl on his face. At the sight of Draco, though, his eyes softened.
"Master Draco! Oh, Master Draco, I is missing you," said the little house elf, bent over and breathing heavily. His eyes glinted with ghosts of tears, ready to be released at any moment.
Draco grinned, letting himself sink further into the soft grass and dirt underneath him.
"Hello again, Kreacher."
At the mention of his name, Kreacher perked up ― his overly large ears twitching and his hands wringing each other. He smiled softly and made his way closer to Draco. He watched as the little creature tip-toed so gently across the soft grass towards him and wondered what he had to endure that he would be so happy to see Draco Malfoy.
And, of course, his mother's simple grave.
Draco let his eyes follow Kreacher's movements, and he watched intently as his ears drooped and fell as his eyes landed on the rectangle tombstone. It was too familiar a comparison to the way Draco's heart felt every time he apparated to this dreaded mass of a building.
"I is missing Mistress, too," Kreacher choked out, failing at biting back a sob. Draco had to look away, looking down into the grass and focusing on singular blades as tears ran down Kreacher's cheeks in a valiant effort to beat each other to the ground beneath him.
A faint pop was heard and Draco looked up to find Kreacher with a little hand duster, sweeping it across his mother's engraved name.
This is how he had found Kreacher so long ago ― cleaning the grave sight he seemingly knew about right away. Draco had asked him that night after the shock wore off why he had been back here and where he went in the first place.
Kreacher thought this answer obvious ― Draco could tell by the monotone in which the elf replied. That night, Draco learned that despite his ties to Number 12 Grimmauld Place and the sad excuse for a chosen one that now commanded him, Kreacher was still loyal to the Black family.
And who else did that happen to be but Draco himself.
So, from then on, Draco would meet Kreacher every so often when the little elf could get away. Draco would talk to Kreacher and his mother while Kreacher ran around trying to clean the simple tombstone until there was not a single spot upon it. Draco found it quite endearing if he was honest, although he would never admit it to himself or Kreacher, but he knew his mother was aware.
He also knew Narcissa was grateful.
"Tell me, Kreacher," Draco began as the elf wiped down the tombstone with a wet rag he had conjured and scrubbed vigorously, vashining the hand duster away. "How is the Order?"
Every time Kreacher and Draco met, the conversation always seemed to find its way back to the Order of the Phoenix. This was for purely selfish reasons, to help convince himself that he was above it all, knowing the plans for both sides of the war. It made Draco feel better about the continuation of his Death Eater membership.
Tonight, however, the reasoning behind this question had shifted.
Draco wasn't stupid. He was far from it. He knew the Order had not told every person they could find about Granger's new... commitment. He wanted to find out who really knew what was happening and exactly how much they knew. Although they promised it, Draco did not necessarily trust the Order with his life or wellbeing. He understood full well this plan was more risk than reward on his part.
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Unbound
FanfictionHarry Potter has been killed and Lord Voldemort now reigns. As the Second Wizarding War ends, the Dark Lord enacts a repopulation effort for the production of Death Eater children. Draco Malfoy has climbed up the ladder to become the Dark Lord's rig...