Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 18: The Greasy One

Happy Mother's Day! My gift to you all - a new chapter. It's short, but I think it's funny.

Kreacher POV

Kreacher banged around the kitchen, in what was becoming something of a habit. He would probably find it worrying, if he stopped to think about it. He flicked his fingers in irritation, sending ingredients and dishes zooming about the room. Cupboard doors banged open and shut, sensing his mood, and the air was soon filled with puffs of flour, splashes of milk, and bits of flying food. He whirled about, mixing, stirring, pouring, scooping – then he turned, startled. Everything stopped. Two glass bowls had collided midair, and shattered spectacularly. Glass shards littered the floor.

Kreacher regarded the glass pieces with a twinge of regret. Those had been his best mixing bowls. He snapped his fingers without much hope; the pieces only shivered slightly. They'd already been repaired one too many times. He sighed, vanishing the mess.

From the moment the Masters had blazed into the House, Kreacher's life had been changed. His world had been turned on its head so many times in the past weeks, he didn't think he'd ever recover. The Masters had breathed life into the old House, filling it with laughter and arguments and noise, as only teenage boys could.

It had been so long since Kreacher had heard laughter. That had been the first time those bowls had been broken and repaired – the day Master Potter made Master Malfoy-Black laugh.

Kreacher sighed again. His life was so different now – a life, not just an existence. Even the House had changed, shifted, re-imagined itself. It was shrugging off the heavy gloom it had been cloaked with for centuries. The wallpaper was gradually lightening, the ceilings were inching higher, the candles were burning brighter. The shadows were retreating.

Kreacher knew his past self – the cranky, miserable self he had been only a few weeks ago – would have despised the changes. Would have sabotaged the Masters, served them inedible food, made their lives miserable as only a disgruntled House-elf could. But the new Kreacher... The new Kreacher welcomed the light and laughter. His life had been dark and miserable and lonely for so long; now he was drawn to the boys like a moth to flame. And they both burned so very bright...

Kreacher banged the pans he was holding viciously together. Then he scowled and spelled away the dents. "The greasy one is being determined to ruin all of Kreacher's work! Kreacher is not saying a word when Masters Potter and Malfoy-Black be missing dinner. Kreacher is not saying a word when they is making those sandwich abominations after they is not eating the dinner Kreacher has left for them. And now the greasy one is being taking them away. Kreacher is not being able to do anything about his plans. All those plans... This is not being able to be borne!"

Another dish shattered, and Kreacher waved his arm behind him, vanishing it without turning to look. What did it matter, when tomorrow the Masters were leaving? When his life would return to the unending gloom?

He had overheard Master Potter talking to the greasy one over the floo. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, exactly, but he'd been preparing to nudge Master Potter towards Master Malfoy-Black again. They needed all the help they could get. "And now it is being ruined. Ruined! Because the greasy one and the bossy one is being sure that Master Potter and Master Malfoy-Black is being safer with those idiot muggles!" Kreacher sniffed. He'd listened to Master Potter haltingly confessing some of what he'd lived through, with those muggles. He could fill in the blanks well enough – he was no stranger to cruelty, after a lifetime of serving the Blacks. Not that the current Masters were cruel...

"Not that they is being Masters. They is being gone tomorrow, and then Kreacher is being alone again." He banged his head on the table. It felt good, so he did it again. Then he remembered that Master Potter had forbidden him to punish himself. Not that he was, exactly. But Master Potter probably wouldn't understand. He banged the pans together again instead. The sound was nearly as satisfying as that of his forehead hitting the table, so he did it again and again.

"Kreacher! Stop that infernal racket at once!" Master Malfoy-Black's annoyed voice floated in from the study, and Kreacher sighed. He surveyed the hopelessly dented pans, and then vanished them, too. He would have to make a trip to Diagon Alley for more dishes. If the Masters ever came back. He gazed at his failed efforts at food preparation sadly, vanished the lot, and then disapparated with a sad little pop.