There were only two figures on the tiny island. The first, an elf, with great parachute-like ears adorning the sallow-skinned, bleary-eyed head. Its hands were scarred and bruised, its legs shaking and trembling with fear as it clung so desperately to the second occupant of the cave. The other man was much larger – a human – and had sleek black hair accompanying a slight build and short frame. He gagged, spluttering and begging, as he turned to the elf.
"Kreacher, please! PLEASE!" he wailed, grasping the threadbare pillowcase the elf wore and gazing imploringly into the enormous, teary eyes that looked startlingly disproportional to its small head.
"Master told Kreacher to keep him drinking," Kreacher replied, almost as much begging in his voice as in his master's. "Only one more to go, Master. Then Kreacher will assist Master away from here," the elf said, trying to comfort the trembling boy – but it was impossible to keep the desperation from his voice completely.
The last shell-full of potion was choked down by Regulus before he collapsed onto the rocky surface of the island, breathing shallowly and drifting in and out of consciousness. Dropping the shell into the basin at once, Kreacher hobbled down to his master and took his head into his lap.
"Kreacher is here, Master. Kreacher will keep Master safe." The bony hands began to stroke Regulus' hair tentatively. Kreacher wondered for a moment whether this should be allowed, or whether he would have to punish himself on his return to Grimmauld Place. After all, physical contact was expressly forbidden unless the Master requested it. But his master was not objecting. Instead, he seemed to be trying to wheeze out a message to his elf.
"Kreacher? Kreacher, do you see the locket in the basin?" he asked.
"Yes, Master. Kreacher knows it to be the same as the one Master gave Kreacher before our departure."
"Yes... Yes, that's right." He coughed; traces of the potion trickled from the corners of his mouth as he convulsed. "Swap the two, Kreacher."
Kreacher did as he was told without question. Working for such a family as the Blacks had taught him that he was to do, not ask. Besides, he had always prided himself on being a good elf. The purpose of an elf was to serve, to do as his masters commanded him. That was his place, and he knew it well – the scars on his bony hands and body were the evidence for that. He would not fail his master now, not when he knew he was so close to death. The elf reached into the basin, the twig – like fingers grasping it tightly. There was something strange about it, and Kreacher didn't like it. It was... hissing. Vibrating.
Alive.
There was no time to worry about that now. Kreacher stuffed it into the folds of his pillowcase, and turned his attention to Regulus, who was now vomiting violently onto the rocky island, choking and gasping as the poison grappled with his body. The elf scrambled across the slippery rocks, kneeling beside him and Vanishing the vomit. As intelligent as the Dark Lord was, he had not pre-empted the use of magic besides that of humans, and so had not warded against it. It must be one of the most foolish qualities humans possess, he thought. To be so occupied with your own brilliance you forget you still retain weakness.
"Master has been extremely courageous," soothed Kreacher, patting Regulus' hair gently. "He does not need to strain himself. Master needs to be calm and Kreacher will Apparate them both away from here. It will be alright, Master. Kreacher will keep Master safe."
But Regulus seemed to disagree with Kreacher. He could understand why; from his own experience of the poison he could tell Regulus thought he was going to be far from alright. For once, however, Kreacher seemed to have it wrong.
"No, Kreacher," croaked Regulus, wincing with every word. "Leave me here. I... I will face a fate far worse if I am to return, and I know I am to die eventually anyway."
"But Kreacher..."
Kreacher was distraught – leave his own Master here to die?! The purpose of an elf was to serve and protect – but he could now only fulfil one of those. But Kreacher was a good elf. He would obey orders.
"Very well, Master." Inside, every instinct screamed at him, berated him for not intervening to save his Master's life. But what could he do? He could not go against his orders; that would be like sacrilege to an elf.
"Kreacher, I need you to-"
Regulus broke off, coughing and hacking violently. Blood trickled from his cracked lips, and Regulus' life ebbed with it.
"Destroy the locket, Kreacher. You must promise me that you will. Please." Kreacher was glad of an order it seemed he could fulfil – or at least promise his Master he could. There was something not quite right with that locket. Regulus had never explained to Kreacher what it was, but he knew it must contain Dark magic. However, there was nothing that would bring Kreacher to voice this to his Master, who was growing steadily weaker by the second.
"Of course, Master. Kreacher will do it. Kreacher is a good elf."
"Well done, Kreacher. Thank you. Now, you must leave me. I don't want you to be here when I... I..."
"Yes, Master. Kreacher understands."
He bowed his head. He knew it went against all rules of elf conduct, but he gently placed his arms around the shaking shoulders and squeezed, feeling the shallow breathing beneath him. As much as he would have to punish himself later, he couldn't leave without showing his Master just how much he meant to him. He couldn't.
"Farewell, Master. Kreacher will not speak of this to anyone."
"Thank you, Kreacher."
The elf climbed into the boat, having to jump a little due to his size. He knew he could have Apparated away from that awful cave, but as much as Regulus wanted to be alone to die, he couldn't leave him completely, not whilst he was still alive. The boat left its mooring on the icy shore, and Kreacher began to drift away from the island. The smooth passage would usually be described as peaceful, but to Kreacher it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
His eyes never left the ever-shrinking figure, not as it shook, trembled, and, at last, gave a deep sigh, as if the body was simply tired after a long day's work. He had to look away, though, when the limp figure tumbled from its place on the ricks and landed at the edge of the water.
That was when they moved.
The hands – were they human? They certainly looked like it, but how could they be? No human was green, and bloated, but yet strangely skeletal as it reached towards Regulus' arm. The thin fingers, crowds of them, grasped the thick fabric of his cloak and pulled. More hands, arms, heads began to rise from the black water as Regulus Black was drawn into the dark abyss. He was gone.
Kreacher could not stay, not when he had witnessed what he had. He Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, and, after assuring himself he had not woken any of the house's occupants, barricaded himself into his dark cupboard and began to weep. Kreacher may have seemed to many to be bitter, unfeeling, there to serve and not care, but deep down he felt deeply for the boy he had just lost.
As he curled up on the filthy sheets, he felt something cold and hard beneath him. It was the locket, still thrumming as though possessed. Regulus' words echoed through his head:
"Destroy the locket, Kreacher. You must promise me that you will. Please."
And Kreacher would. Kreacher would finish what his master had started, whatever it was.
Kreacher was a good elf.
A/N:
So, what do you think? I wanted to show a different side to Kreacher, and whilst I know this probably isn't what most people will think of as fitting with this prompt, I do think Kreacher shows an incredible amount of bravery and compassion at this time – which is why I chose to write about it.
I hope you enjoyed it and please leave a review; they help me so much!
Grace xxx