Azkaban

Kreacher

Like every day she slept, Amarea woke up screaming. The demons that haunted her kept her in an endless struggle of pain and terror, not wanting to let go until she was ready to give up all she had.

The room was cold, the familiar feeling seeping back into her bones as she sat up in her bed. A clock on her bedside table read 3:12 AM; no one in the house was awake yet. Breaking the spell on herself, she sinks back into her bed, feeling drained from constantly using a glamor.

The chains on her wrist and ankles continued to tear into her skin, seeming to dig farther into her skin with every passing second. Her cold sweat agitated the wounds, making her curse under her breath. So far, she had tried almost every spell she knew, and nothing was able to break the chains.

Tossing and turning in bed, she thinks about what her future would be like. Everything seemed messed up at the moment; nothing was how it should be. She missed her family, not that there was anyone still alive in it.

She missed her past, not the secret part, but the part where she used to play in the town square with her sister, betting on who could flip the most coins into the fountain. She missed baking bread with her mother every Wednesday, learning spells and languages with her father. Her father was someone she would always look up to; no matter when or where she was, he would hold a special place in her heart. Of course, her mother also did, but her father was different. She was the spitting image of him.

Amarea missed everything about her past. She would do anything to go back and make things right. But for now, she had to endure the heartless world with Voldemort lurking around every corner. She had to hold on. Just a little longer.

—-

Holding the sides of her cloak close to her body, Amarea leaves her room. The doorbell rings, and she groans, already making her way over to Walburga's painting. How she hated that woman, but of course, Walburga had to love her.

"Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth-"

"I hope you're not talking about me, Walburga."

Her voice softens immediately, "Well of course not dear, how could one ever talk bad about you. How have you been deary; good I assume?"

Amarea had no idea why she indulged Walburga; maybe if she continued to she would shut up for longer. "Yes, I suppose the best that I can be right now. What about yourself?"

"I know what you mean. It must be dreadful staying in a house full of blood traitors. I can't wait until the Dark Lord gets his hands on that Potter boy, oh a wonderful day that will be. Have you heard from him?"

"From who," Amarea asks?

Walburga smiles, "Well, the Dark Lord of course. You two were quite close if I remember correctly."

"Yes, I suppose we were. Have a nice day, Walburga." Before the old woman could answer, Amarea shut the curtains closed, walking downstairs to the kitchen.

A range of goods sat on the table, and Sirius had his hand on his forehead as he talked to Mundugus and Kingsley. Sitting down, Amarea listens to their conversation, but it's soon interrupted by Mrs.Weasely.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS! THIS IS COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE. AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE! WHAT DO YOU THINK-"

Amarea quickly exits the room, not wanting to have any part in the conversation. Much to her despair, Walburga started screaming again, making Amarea walk back up the stairs. She seemed to be moving around a lot lately. She saw George about to shut a door, but Kreacher got in between the crack. They hadn't seen Amarea yet.

"Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress. If she knew the scum they've let in her house, what she would say to old Kreacher. Oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do..."

Amarea is about to stop him from continuing his banter, but Fred beats her to it. "Hello, Kreacher," Fred says loudly, about to close the door. Amarea juts her hand in, meeting Fred's eyes.

Kreacher was frozen, "Kreacher did not see Young Master." The house-elf turns around, slightly bowing to Fred. "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry," George asks? "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," he says, and then mutters again, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are."

Amarea clears her throat, making Kreacher look at her. With a cry he drops to his knees, pressing his face against the ground in a bow. "Oh Miss Wyylt, what a pleasure it is to have you in the House of Black again. Please forgive me for not addressing you first. Oh, if Mrs. Black knew I didn't she would have my skin, I beg you not tell her, please. Oh-"

"Yes, yes, I won't tell her." She gives Kreacher a stern look, but he still continues.

"...and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name; what is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know..."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever. "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what they would say. Oh, Mistress Wyllt I feel terrible for you having to stay with such blood-"

"Don't call her a Mudblood," Ron and Ginny scream at him.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispers. "He's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's-"

Fred starts to speak, "Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly-"

"Is it true," Kreacher asks. "Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's that boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it-"

"What are you doing here Kreacher," Amarea asks, her voice icy with buried anger.

"Cleaning, Mistress."

"A likely story," a voice says from behind Amarea. She turns around to look at Sirius. Amarea pinches the bridge of her nose as she watches Sirius shout at Kreacher, finally making him leave the room.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head. I don't think he realizes we can hear him," Hermione says.

"He's been alone too long," Sirius says, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself; but he was always a foul little-"

"If you just set him free," Hermione starts hopefully.

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order. And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house and see how he takes it."

Amarea snorts, clearly amused, "Come this way, we'll show you."