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Kreacher’s Guest


Regulus paced about the Slytherin common room. It was so late that it was early and all the other students were sound asleep in their beds in their dormitories, but here he was, trying to suppress the nerves that were coursing through his veins. He was trying to talk himself out of summoning Kreacher again for the third time in as many days. He knew he needed to get over this fear of being all alone in this big school, after all he was eleven, he wasn’t a little tot anymore and it was very important that he attend Hogwarts and grow up to be a really good wizard so that he could work for Lord Voldemort one day. His mum had such high hopes for him, and he had dreams to reach for… and all of it depended on his education at Hogwarts. But it was just so hard!

He turned his wand over in his palm, a dark ashwood with unicorn hair inside and a lovely pattern carved into the handle. He was very fond of it from the moment it had chosen him. Regulus had brought it home, exceedingly proud to show Kreacher, who had marvelled at the wand, refusing to touch it, even when Regulus offered him to. He waved it at a small box on an end table, testing out the Wingardium Leviosa charm that Professor Flitwick had taught them in class. The box wobbled, but didn’t quite lift off.

“You need to flick at the end, like this,” came a voice.

Regulus looked up to see one of the other Slytherin first years, a straw-haired boy named Barty, had come down the stairs, too, rubbing his eyes. He came over, carrying his own wand, and demonstrated - “Swish… and flick. Wingardium leviosa!” And the little box lifted up from the table tremulously, floating for a moment before falling back down to the table top. “I’m not perfect at it yet, either.”

“You did better than me,” Regulus said.

Barty shrugged, “Try it with the swish and flick.”

Regulus gave it a go and the little box picked up off the table. He grinned, “Hey, you’re right.”

“See? There you are. Good on you!”

Regulus lowered the box carefully to the table and turned to Barty. “I’m Regulus Black.”

“Barty Crouch,” Barty answered. “So what’re you doing awake at this hour, Regulus Black?”

“I just can’t sleep,” Regulus answered, feeling a bit silly.

Barty licked his lips, “I understand - nor can I.” He climbed onto one of the straight backed green chairs and hugged his knees to his chest. “My dad’s positively pissed that I’m in Slytherin.”

Regulus looked surprised, “Why?”

Barty shrugged, “He wanted me to go Ravenclaw, like he’d been. He made a big deal of it all my life. I’ve never been smart enough for that. He should’ve known better.”

Regulus perched himself on the edge of the couch. “It’s better to be in Slytherin anyway. It’s the best house. All of the most powerful wizards that have ever lived were in Slytherin, you know. Slytherin himself for one. And Voldemort.”

“Oh my dad hates Voldemort,” Barty said. “He works for the ministry, he’s the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. He wants to be Minister one day.”

“Minister? That’s pretty cool.”

Barty nodded, “Yup. Dunno if he’d be any good, though.”

“Why not?” Regulus asked.

Barty shrugged, “He’s not very good at being a father. He’s never home, he’s always at work. Seems the only time I ever get to talk to him is when he’s angry with me for something - he’s always right there then, ready to criticize me and tell me why I’m not good enough.” He rolled his eyes and rocked himself a bit in the chair nervously. “I hate him.”

Regulus said, “Well if Voldemort wins the war, there won’t be a Minister for Magic, will there? Voldemort will be the leader. Like a king or something. And Mother says that Voldemort is very close to becoming immortal, so he can’t ever die.”

Barty’s eyes widened, “Really? I’ve never heard that before.”

Regulus nodded, “Yeah, I heard her talking to Father once about it.”

“How does he do that?” Barty asked.

Regulus shrugged, “I dunno. I s’pose someone as powerful as Voldemort would have ways, though. I’m going to work for him one day.”

Barty’s eyes widened, “You are? That’s brilliant.”

Regulus nodded, “You can, too, if you like. He’s always recruiting new people to help him. Mother said some of the older students here will tell us about a club that we can join to help Voldemort know which of us are true to him. The Knights of Walpurgis. It’s a very secret organization. When they invite me, I’ll let you know if you’d like and you can join, too.”

Barty said, “Oohh… That would really piss off my father.”

“Yeah it would,” Regulus agreed.

“You promise you’ll let me know?” Barty asked, leaning forward.

Regulus nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

Barty grinned at Regulus widely. “I think you’re the best person I’ve met here yet. You’re great. Do you want to be mates?”

“Sure,” Regulus agreed, excitement welling up in him. He’d never had a real mate before and it felt really good to finally have one. Barty was twitchy and awkwardly loud, but that didn’t bother Regulus. He was used to twitchy, seeing as Kreacher was very twitchy, too, and Barty sort of reminded Regulus of a human version of Kreacher in an odd way. He was nervous and small in personality, and it made him feel sorry for the boy the same way that he often felt sorry for Kreacher. The loudness, he suspected, was to feel bigger and more important and maybe even to be sure of being heard, seeing as it didn’t sound like the boy’s father did much listening.

Barty continued to rock himself in his chair, smiling at Regulus, “Brilliant,” he said.




Meanwhile, back in London, at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Kreacher lay in the pantry, in a little nest he had made pressed against the back of the chimney for warmth, and stared with wide, glowing eyes, at the stack of letters that Regulus had told him to keep a watch on. Kreacher moved about, repositioning some of the stiff hay and blankets that had been shoved into the little hidey hole, trying to make himself more comfortable while he waited for Master Regulus to call him to Hogwarts. He nibbled on a bit of salt water cracker he’d saved for himself, the crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Master Regulus will call Kreacher any minute now,” he murmured. “Any minute now.”

There was a noise in the hall and Kreacher’s ears twitched ‘round and he pushed open the cupboard door to peer through the dark, across the kitchen to the foyer. Walburga was coming down the stairs, carrying her wand with it’s tip aglow. Orion was right behind her, his hands on her shoulders, eagerly following to the door. She looked at him and quickly straightened his robes and then they both took a deep breath and Orion wrenched open the door to Number 12.

Usually, this was Kreacher’s job to get the door, and he crawled a little out of his cupboard, glancing back to make sure the letters were still safe, and then stood up and watched as Orion and Walburga stood back to allow entry to the people on the stoop.

Kreacher recognized Abraxas Malfoy and shrank back a bit to the frame of the cupboard, not wanting to be spotted by the wizard. He was followed by a pale haired young man who could only be his son, Lucius Malfoy, though Kreacher had never personally seen the man before there was no mistaking the Malfoy features - high nose, proud tilt to the chin, pale hair, and calculating eyes. They were immediately followed by another wizard who needed no introduction. Lord Voldemort.

Kreacher clutched the cupboard door with his long fingers, a look of awe upon his face.

Walburga and Orion reacted with that same awe, bowing to Voldemort lowly and murmuring blessings upon his Lordship. Voldemort smiled benignly, “Very good, you may stand up now,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“Yes, your Lordship,” murmured Orion and they both stood up.

“Does the Dark Lord desire something to eat?” Walburga asked, her voice eager.

“No,” Voldemort said, looking around the dark house, his eyes taking in the centuries worth of house elf heads hanging up on the wall and the troll’s leg umbrella stand at his feet. He seemed to be appraising it. “A goblet of mead will do,” he murmured.

“Yes, your Lordship,” Walburga turned, “Kreacher! Kreacher! The Dark Lord requests a goblet of mead!”

Quickly, Kreacher rushed out of the cupboard, making sure that the door closed quietly behind him and he clicked his fingers so that a goblet appeared in his hand, transported from the shelf high above him, and he quickly withdrew the mead from its rack and popped it open, pouring the thick red liquid into the goblet and hurrying to bring it to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not say thank you or any even acknowledge the elf, but took the glass and sipped it deeply, continuing to look about.

“It is a small home,” Orion said, “But you are welcome here.”

Voldemort turned, “It is small,” he agreed. “And I do not need to be welcome to be in a place. Royal blood does not require welcome.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Orion bowed his head, standing corrected.

“Seeing as I cannot return to the Manor for some time -” Voldemort glowered darkly at the two Malfoys, and Abraxas shrunk back just a tiny bit, “- this will have to do.”

Walburga said, “We will do anything we can to increase the comfort and pleasure of the Dark Lord.”

“You will do plenty for me before I leave here, of that much I am certain… but for now, I require rest. Where is the parlor that you have prepared for me?” Voldemort demanded.

Kreacher hurried into the parlor ahead of them as Walburga waved her palm to the doorway, and he clicked his fingers, igniting a fire in the grate, casting a warm glow about the room. Voldemort appraised it, too, taking in the bed that Kreacher had worked very hard upon setting for him and the tray of decanters of water and mead and fresh goblets that he had set out on a small table, decorated with Slytherin green cloths.

“We hope you are most comfortable here,” Walburga simpered after the Dark Lord, her hands clasped.

“It will do,” Voldemort repeated. “Now… Leave me, that I may go about my business privately.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Orion said, pulling Walburga back into the foyer. Kreacher scrambled to follow without getting underfoot and the door was closed behind them with a quick snap of Voldemort’s wand.