Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.
Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. As should be considered par for the course for one of my works, this story contains references to the pagan notion of sentient magic that has been ramped up as typically for the HPverse. This story explicitly references gore and corpses, along with a non-explicit caesarean delivery after the mother has died. There is also repeated use of a particular canon-specific racial slur (Mudblood) by a character known to use it. Please take your personal sensitivities into consideration before and while reading.
Summary (The Metanoia of a Bad Elf): In The Schrodinger Effect, Part 04: Tainted, Kreacher told Harry that he had stolen an elfling and he would take clothes before giving her back. The elf was too relieved that Harry didn't notice his omission about having had her for weeks before guilt forced the revelation of his crime to tell Harry just how confident he was that his master wouldn't even think of that as a possibility. Kreacher also left out vowing to raise her as Dobby would have wanted.
Author's Note (01): It should be noted that this piece is exploring a relatively gappy area of the HP canon: the culture and magic of house elves. Certain things about the actions and behaviors of the four elves given direct "screen time" do not add up with what is said about the species, especially in the 'verse's apocrypha and the direction that fanon typically goes with the creatures. Keeping in mind cultural relativism while reading this fic will be necessary. What is normal for a house elf within their own society and without any outsiders watching them is not necessarily normal to humans. As a head's up, due to the linguistic differences between house elves and humans, there are some seemingly odd terms. Most of this stems from the house elf literal-mindedness and simplistic terms for things. Other bits are because house elves are that simple and naturally live for around 200 years, which would slow the evolution of their phraseology some. This is before taking into consideration the extra syllables they canonically throw into certain places.
Author's Note (02): Fun fact about Vocabulary-Metanoia is a Latin word that roughly translates to "journey of change". In English, it is a noun meaning "process of undergoing a paradigm shift" or "process of changing one's mind, viewpoint, or belief".
Author's Note (03): This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.
The Houses Competition Information:
House: Hufflepuff
Category: Themed (Escape)
Prompts: House Elf [Character/Creature]
Word Count: 2539
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The Metanoia of a Bad Elf
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"You put up your defenses when you leave. You leave because you're certain of who you want to be."
– Bastille, Icarus
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After the masters had finished their gruesome battle and had begun to check over the injured and dead of both sides, the house elves slipped away unnoticed, taking their dead with them. The masters had their celebrations and mourning; the elves may rejoin them later, but right now they had checking of their own to be doing. As much as elves needed the magic siphoned from their masters, there still existed many boundaries between the two races. The masters did things oddly. They wouldn't understand the grief of elves or the abhorrence of having used magic against the wizards. There were few wizards who still understood the Secret Ways, but the elves hadn't forgotten, hadn't closed themselves off to Mother Magic. It was better for the elves to retreat for a bit, to collect themselves before witnessing the unnatural jubilation that the masters would soon be having.
Kreacher was one of the last elves to reach the Hogwarts Den. He had stayed behind just long enough to see his Master safely tucked away in Gryffindor Tower with his Mudblood and Blood Traitors. Master Harry Potter was strange, even among the other masters, but something about him reminded Kreacher of Master Regulus. He would not lose this master. Most likely this one would be his last. Master Harry Potter would be a good master to give the right of his Last Magic. The fact that the wizard had chosen to retreat with his special people instead joining the slowly growing celebration in the Great Hall just confirmed that goodness to Kreacher.
The Den was abuzz with activity. Hogwarts' wards fizzed against the elven magic of the space. Immediately, Kreacher spotted the source. A wizard had apparently found the Den despite it being hidden far away from any area used by the masters. Kreacher felt his old heart freeze for a moment before he began to push forward through the clustered elves. They had left only the nestlings—those elflings too young to leave the magic-drenched areas chosen for a den or nest—and the single breeding dam of the Hogwarts Conclave when they joined the masters in their great battle with the Dark Lord. A wizard here during a time when the Nest was unprotected would only be a bad thing.
Kreacher recognized the wizard that was lying broken in a puddle of blood just a few feet from the entrance to the hidden nest. He had been a friend of Master Regulus when they had been students at the school. Saevus Avery had been a bad wizard in more ways than one before he had joined the Dark Lord. His death would have been the only thing that would have prevented his slaughter of the nestlings, Kreacher knew, and Saevus would have enjoyed every death. Many of the returning elves were wringing their hands and wailing in distress, seeing only the danger of a dead wizard in an elven space. The few not upset were also the few elders of the Conclave.
"Stop this noise!" Kreacher shouted when he finally could not stand the hysterics of the younger elves a moment longer. It was not a good thing to do—he was not a member of this conclave and his master was technically not a student here. He had no more right to speak here than he had earlier when he had convinced them to join the masters' battle. Master Harry Potter most likely wouldn't be upset about Kreacher being a bad elf. Half-blood or not, Master Harry Potter had finished Master Regulus' order for Kreacher and then went even further to avenge Master Regulus. He was a good wizard and probably would be a good master if Kreacher could train him a bit away from his Mudblood.
"Kreacher! Yous cannot speak here!" Dokey the head elf scolded. She was so old that her lovely green skin was fading in spots to a color matching the stones of Hogwarts. Her yarrow-colored eyes were still as sharp as that prickly flower, though, and glaring at Kreacher for his outburst. The tea-colored elf beside Dokey nodded rapidly in complete agreement. Her name was Sopmy, if Kreacher remembered correctly.
"Yous done enough! Nows there's a master dead in the Den!" shouted another elder from the cluster around the head elf, this one the pale color of polished oak. Kreacher thought his name might have been Wabby. "We's gonna be in so much trouble!"
"You cry about nothing!" Kreacher countered even as Dokey hissed at him. He tried to straighten as much as he could, but the stoop of his back prevented the effort for doing much. He felt the weight of every one of his twelve generations of his noble Family, a family now gone in name and barely present in blood. But Kreacher had a nest drenched family magics to sharpen him—he must make the Conclave see. Hogwarts was rich but not in family magics; they wouldn't be able to reason like Kreacher. "No! Listen to Kreacher! Lots of bad wizards are dead above and the good wizards are still gathering them for their counting! Put the bad wizard where the cleaning isn't done or out in the Forest for the Spideys! The masters would not know any different!"
"Kreacher is suggesting lying to the masters?! We's be given clothes!"
The cry came from several directions and Kreacher could not tell who was most upset. Kreacher wanted to hiss and snap at them all. He had forgotten how loud the younger elves of the Conclave were. He wanted the peace of his own nest within the richer magic of his Family's home, but with Master Harry Potter upstairs, he couldn't return quite yet, unless banished. Besides, Wabby was right that this was Kreacher's fault. He had been the one to encourage them to leave the Nest practically undefended. Kreacher stuttered to a realization that had him turning his back to the angry Conclave members to count the nestlings.
"Kreacher! What's yous doing?" Sopmy demanded.
"Counting, you clothes-worthy mop-head! Who killed the bad not-master?"
Silence fell over the Den as the agitated elves finally noticed something other than the dead wizard. The nestlings quivered in their fearful huddle near the entrance to the Nest. Kreacher shuffled closer, despite the angry snarls behind him. One nestling, barely young enough to be counted as such, pushed himself free once he saw the elderly elf coming, conclave member or not. Kreacher rubbed the little one's ears like his dam once did to soothe him after a fright. In response, the elfling launched himself at Kreacher, wrapping his tiny arms around Kreacher's bony shoulders.
"The bad elf did it," the youngling whispered to Kreacher. His voice quavered as he rushed through the information. "Thens Winky got the sticky sauce for us befores she had to hide in the bad spot. Winky told Valky to tells Kreacher that Dobby would be proud of him for helping his Harry Potter Sir beat the Bad Wizard. Dokey says not to be talking about the bad elves but Winky stopped the bad wizard from hurting us. Winky was a bad elf to turn a master's magic that way, but Valky thinks she was really neats."
"That's 'cause Valky has smarts," Kreacher whispered back, "more than some of these used-rags." The nestling giggled at the insult to the adult elves who hadn't bothered to check the young before dissolving into their panic. The skin on the back of Kreacher's neck tightened as one of the elders stomped closer and Kreacher knew he was running out of time. "Where's the bad spot?"
As soon as Valky pointed, Kreacher was moving. Dokey called out his name, but Kreacher ignored the elder. Amid the increased fizzing of the magical clash of Hogwarts' wards and the thickening elven magic in the Den, it was easy to ignore the voice telling him how bad he was being. Kreacher held tight to his connection to his master that told him he was doing the right thing to check on Winky. Master Harry Potter may not have been aware that Winky had mated Dobby, but Master Harry Potter would have wanted Winky healthy regardless of her importance to the dead elf. As a breeding dam, Winky would have been vulnerable anyway but with the damage to Hogwarts from the masters' battle, the backlash from killing a wizard would have been really dangerous.
The magic hiding the nest-box shattered as Kreacher pressed against it with his own. The sparks fell harmlessly on the still occupant curled into the collection of knitted hats and socks that filled the box. The stone floor jarred Kreacher's knobby knees when he collapsed beside the bed. He let out a low keening at the loss he knew his master would feel and a vague helplessness that came with the loss of a not-yet elfling when elflings were already so rare. The fizz sharpened momentarily just as Kreacher spotted the tiny shift of the fabric that made up Winky's blouse, visible only because of how tightly it was stretched over the curve of her stomach. The not-yet still could be! The fizzing changed to a smoother warmth like the welcoming of the Black wards when all the family was happy.
Kreacher blocked out the others as he worked to help the little one escape the prison Winky's body had become. If his actions did not offend, Mother Magic would protect him from their interference. Kreacher had to fight down his own magic's recoil from what was necessary to save the not-yet. He still wrestled it into service to carefully cut into the other elf's flesh. It was wrongwrongwrong, but it was the only way. Master Harry Potter wouldn't be too mad at Kreacher for being such a bad elf. Master Harry Potter liked bad elves. His magic finally submitted under the combined wills of Kreacher and a presumptive order from his master. Within moments, a defiant wail pierced the air.
Kreacher spared a glance at Dokey's murderous expression. The head elf looked as if she would punish Kreacher herself if he gave her half a reason. Maybe it was the months spent with Dobby as he adjusted to serving an unworthy half-blood after over a year serving the no-good blood traitor that broke his poor mistress' heart; maybe it was the bond with Master Harry Potter directly; maybe it was even that he was too old to care what other elves, even the head elder of the most respected conclave of all the Isles, thought of him. All Kreacher knew was that after that single, darting look at Dokey, he turned his attention back to the just-now in his arms and proceeded to let his magic clean the tiny body, weaving in the knowledge of the Secret Ways of Magic. The entire conclave seemed to hiss in unison at the act while Hogwarts purred around him.
Grabbing the deep purple tea-towel folded in the corner of the nest-box, Kreacher wrapped the newly blessed elfling before cradling her close so that he could rise without dropping her. Once standing, he stared down at Winky's violated body. It went against every tradition that said otherwise, but his magic did not restart its previous chant. Kreacher closed his eyes. He was a bad elf already. To do more would just make the potential backlash worse. Master Sirius was a shame to the House of Black but he had the right idea sometimes. In for a knut— Kreacher pushed out with his magic, unweaving Winky's body to properly send her back to Mother Magic, working the free elf's Last Magic into the fragmented wards of the castle she had served since she had no master or family to receive the burst. It was not what a good house elf would do; a good elf would want nothing to do with a bad elf like Winky.
"Yous a bad elf, Kreacher," Dokey declared. Kreacher could hear Sopmy's ears flapping from the force of her rapid agreement. He couldn't just leave his master, but the little one needed to escape more than just her dam. She couldn't stay here, not with the blood that ran through her from her free dam and sire, not when both her parents were dead. "Yous a very bad elf! Your master should give you clothes!"
With all the dignity of an elf of his advanced age should have, Kreacher turned to face the gathered conclave. Even with the recent losses to the great battle above, the Hogwarts Conclave was still nearly a hundred elves strong. However, even Dokey was several generations of masters younger than Kreacher and none of them had ever been bound to family magics like him. With the dual backing of Hogwarts' remaining wards and Mother Magic, Kreacher had nothing to fear from them. Dokey's declaration did not make even a little scrap of Kreacher's demand that he punish himself. It was just words. If this is what freedom felt like, no wonder Dobby had chosen it over a master so many times.
"Yes," he agreed, feeling like laughing for the first time since the Black Madness had eaten his poor mistress' mind, "Kreacher is a very bad elf. It is a good thing that Master Harry Potter Sir prefers bad elves. Kreacher will teach Lily all about how to be a bad elf to the Most High and Noble House of Peverell so that Master Harry Potter will never doubt our badness."
"Yous can't give an elfling a master's name!" Wabby snapped. His ears pressed against his head in distress. His hands were clenched around each other hard enough that the already pale skin had turned white. "She'll refuse to serve the wizards and then she'll starve!"
"You don't know my Master," Kreacher countered. He gave a grin full of fairy-sharp teeth. The implied threat made the skittish young adults jump back, leaving only the trio of elders near him and his precious bundle. Kreacher continued, feeling the truth of every word. "Master would never starve a babe of any kind. Master would starve himself first!" A murmur of disbelief swept through the Conclave and Kreacher spoke over it. "Master is good—not as an elf or a wizard or as a human. Master is simply good in the way that Magic is. He will not care if Lily serves him; he will not care if Kreacher serves him. Master will love us anyway."
No one dared to stop Kreacher as he marched from the Den, not even to try and reclaim the just-born he carried in his arms. When the entrance to the hidden space sealed after him, he was not surprised. Born of the parents she was and despite how rarely not-yets became nestlings, tradition was very clear about what would have been done with the babe. By stealing like he had, Kreacher had guaranteed that neither would ever be welcomed with the elven spaces of Hogwarts again. It may have been a banishment but Kreacher still felt like it was an escape. Kreacher grinned before slipping off to a hidden space near Gryffindor Tower and his sleeping master.
Kreacher could get used to being a bad elf.