Growing up Pureblooded

Newfound Respect

     Sirius came upon Kreacher scrubbing the kitchen floor. He had always hated the miserable old elf, though he had to admit that his behaviour had changed for the better in recent years. Kreacher never spoke ill of his master, nor gave any indication that he thought poorly of him. Sirius had at first thought that the old bastard had perhaps had a real change of heart, but then Cassiopeia had explained how Pollux had strictly commanded the elf to honour Sirius wholeheartedly, and Kreacher had no choice but to obey. Strange how elf magic worked.

     When Kreacher noticed that Sirius had come into the room, he stopped his work, turned around and bowed very low. "How may Kreacher serve his kind and merciful master?" the elf droned in a monotone that betrayed no real feeling. "Is good Master hungry, perhaps?" The elf continued in a loud whisper that the foul creature clearly thought was inaudible to all but himself. "Mistress hated brave and heroic Master, said he was no son of hers, but Master Pollux commanded Kreacher to think and speak only good of his excellent, virtuous, powerful, handsome master, and Kreacher is an obedient elf, even when his munificent, generous, thrice-blessed master does not appreciate him or even deserve..." Kreacher broke off his muttering and began to bash his head against the stone floor. Clearly he had a hard time fulfilling Pollux's orders.

      Sirius was torn between amusement and repulsion at the elf's actions, but ultimately his better part prevailed, and he half-heartedly commanded Kreacher to stop abusing himself. The elf complied instantly. "Kreacher, I've come to talk to you about Master Regulus," Sirius began, and his late brother's name was enough to launch the elf into a wave of worshipful ecstasy.

     "Master Regulus was a great and good wizard," he intoned in a reverent whisper. '"A worthy scion of his noble and ancient family. He was the joy of his father's eyes and the delight of his mother's heart." "Yes, yes," Sirius snapped impatiently. "I've come about his locket."

     Kreacher froze and turned very pale. "Master Regulus's locket, sir?" "That's right," Sirius replied. "Master Regulus came to me before he died and asked for my help in his mission. I intend to finish what he started. Do you know where to find the locket that he took from the cave? I need to destroy it."

     Kreacher dissolved in tears, and began bashing himself against the wall until Sirius told him once again to stop, and forbade him from punishing himself any further until they had completed their conversation.

     "Master Regulus commanded Kreacher to destroy it," he sobbed. "Kreacher did everything he knew, but nothing worked. The locket was protected by powerful magic Kreacher was not understanding. Kreacher punished himself, and tried again. Over and over, but Kreacher failed to carry out his master's orders."

     Sirius was not a cruel man, nor did he harbour any particular hatred for house elves in general. Some, such as Mopsy, he quite liked. Others, such as Roquefort, he appreciated for their utility, but never much thought of when he didn't need them. However, he had always had a deep loathing for Kreacher, a loathing that was all the more deeply rooted because Sirius knew the elf reciprocated it in full. When Sirius was a young child, Kreacher had been the enforcer of his mother's will, the tattle-tale who went running to his mistress whenever Sirius placed a toe out of line. He had faithfully served Walburga Black since her own days in the cradle, and, as so often happens with lonely, isolated mistresses and their devoted servants, she had favoured him with a degree of intimacy and trust that she afforded no wizard or witch. When she had finally become, after much plotting and scheming on her part, mistress of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, she had promptly decapitated Kreacher's mother and placed the house completely under the elf's capable charge. He had wasted no time in imprinting the house with his beloved mistress's character and style, and soon everyone had learnt that to defy Kreacher was to defy Walburga Black, something that even her husband never dared to do. Kreacher, more even than most house elves, had transformed himself into a simple extension of his mistress's will, and Sirius had never made much of an effort to distinguish between the two.

     But now, as the old elf sat weeping on the stone floor, mourning his dead master and the mission he had failed to accomplish, for the first time Sirius managed to see Kreacher as someone with feelings of his own. He would never like Kreacher – they had far too much history between them for that ever to happen – but he could and did feel the first stirrings of pity towards him. In one way, at least, Kreacher was not all that different from Sirius himself: they had both lost everything they held dear.

     "Kreacher," Sirius said softly. "Bring me the locket. I have a way to destroy it forever, and you will be able to fulfil Master Regulus's last orders." Kreacher looked up at his master dubiously. For his part, the elf had despised his mistress's eldest son from the beginning. Walburga's first labour had not been an easy one – she had the Healer put her to sleep for the second, whilst neither she nor Orion had any desire for a third – and Kreacher had been angry with the baby for the pain it had caused his dear mistress. Sirius had gone on to take so very much of her time and attention, and Kreacher had grown quite envious of the boy. Then the child had proven manifestly unworthy of his mother's love, a disappointment to the entire family, and Kreacher had hated him for dishonouring his birthright and disgracing the beautiful witch who had given him life.

     But Master Regulus, the kind and dutiful boy who held a place in Kreacher's heart next to Walburga's own, had devoted his short life to becoming everything a Black was meant to be, and had been rewarded for his efforts with his mother's distant affection and his father's vague approval. Kreacher, however, had loved the boy passionately from his cradle, and lavished on his young master all of the considerable adoration of which a house elf is capable. When Master Regulus had asked for Kreacher's help, the elf had been honoured to obey him, and when the young wizard had given his own life in Kreacher's stead, the elf had devoted all his energy to carrying out his master's final command. His failure in this regard weighed heavily on the poor creature's conscience, and, suspect Master Sirius though he might, he could hardly pass up the opportunity at long last to destroy the evil locket for which Master Regulus had made the ultimate sacrifice. He looked up into Master Sirius's stormy grey eyes – so similar to Regulus's – and nodded slowly before scampering off and retrieving the locket from its hiding place. When he returned to the kitchen, he laid the locket at his master's feet and waited.

     Sirius stooped down to pick it up, the locket for which his brother had perished. Having spent so much time around Horcruxes in recent days, he knew instantly that this was the real thing. It throbbed with Voldemort's dark power. Sirius tossed it carelessly into the empty grate in the fireplace and sent forth the deadly flames from the tip of his wand. The Horcrux cried out in pain, then vanished into ash.

      "Thanks, Kreacher," Sirius mumbled, then left the room. The house elf watched him depart with newfound respect.