Hi there! :)
First of all, let me express my disbelief that you, dear reader, are reading this, knowing this is a Kreacher/Giant Squid fic. (I dare not say pairing...)
I randomly stumbled upon the fic Just R e a c h Out, by Schermionie. At first, the thought of that pairing scarred me for life, but the poem was actually very good, so you should definitely check it out! :) Then I saw that it had been inspired by Mew & Mor's Weird Pairings (M&MWP), so I checked out their page. If you haven't ever seen it before, let me tell you that when they say weird pairings, they mean it. How in Merlin's name do they come up with that stuff? :P
But, by some weird twist of fate, I found myself inspired to write a "Greacher" story. Now, I couldn't bring myself to write about them having romantic feelings for each other... *shudder* But I came up with this, which I personally don't think is half bad! Did I really just write 1234 words about Kreacher and the Giant Squid? Why yes, I did, and surprisingly, I quite like the result.
So this fic is dedicated to Schermionie for that great poem, and to mew-tsubaki and Morghen for thinking up that unique pairing in the first place. ;)
And I sincerely doubt I need to say this, but since most people do, I figured I'd write this anyway. I don't own Harry Potter. Unfortunately.
I was used. Taken advantage of. Left alone. Alone in this wide, miserable world of agony.
This was not the case, once. Once, I was Master's elf. The one Master I ever readily served, the one Master I ever trusted, the one Master I have ever loved.
But Master Regulus is gone. And Mistress Walburga is gone, and even that blood traitor, that muggle-loving disgrace... yes, even Sirius Black is gone. Because everyone always leaves. Always.
And always I am left alone. Alone in this wide, miserable world of agony and torment.
Now all I have left is but a poor copy of my beloved Master's locket, along with a mudblood, a blood traitor, and a half-blood who dares call himself Master. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. The boy who couldn't care any less about an old elf like me, and who doesn't even think twice about using Master Regulus' good name to get me to do his will.
Oh, how I long to be free; for yes, even the terrifying idea of the dreadful thing freedom is, is still more beckoning to me than being a slave to Potter. A slave to someone who doesn't understand. A slave to someone who doesn't wish to understand.
Oh yes, I long to be free, for being free would mean peace. The peace I feel I rightfully deserve. I am alone, alone to grieve and mourn, alone to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Oh, of course, the weight of the Wizarding World lies upon he who dares call himself my Master, for only he can stop the Dark One.
But even he cannot save me from my own soul. No one can.
Agony. Torment. Distress. Loss.
There is no end to it, no end to the pain. There is only loneliness, as far as the eye can see.
And here I am, on Hogwarts grounds after all these years. The last time I set foot on the premises was when Master Regulus started his long search for the Dark Objects. Yes, he believed that some were hidden inside the castle itself, and he had brought me along for the ride. But he hadn't found any.
Hogwarts had not revealed any of her long-held secrets to Master, and thus he retreated to his research. It was many more months of hiding before he lost his life in that cave.
And now he, the Potter boy, he tells me to bring the thief back. The thief who stole the Dark Object. The Object I do not want to ever lay eyes on again, the Object for which Master lost his life. No, no one could ever understand.
My wishes, my feelings. I have them still, after all these years. And yet they don't matter. I have to ignore them, to repress them in order to please the boy whom I refuse to call Master.
So I do. It is the life of a house elf.
That Dobby – what does he see in him? He is just a spoiled, attention-seeking brat who thinks about nothing but himself. He does not care for lowly beings such as us. But maybe that is not true. I have seen him, yes, I have spied many a time. The Potter boy does not treat Dobby like he does me.
No, because he has seen into my soul. He has seen that I do not deserve to be treated kindly by any means. He knows what dark deeds I have done, he knows that I am responsible for so much pain, so much misery, so much death. I wish I could die, because the pain and the misery are too much. Because the agony and the torment might just drive me mad, mad like the Dark One is.
Maybe the Potter boy is not so bad, after all. It is not his fault I do not deserve kindness. It is not his fault that I have killed Master Regulus. I deserve to be alone.
Yet here I am, wishing someone understood.
I met Dobby in Diagon Alley. He says he heard me mutter about the Dark Object and Harry Potter. According to him, the thief had just been at Hogwarts, stealing from the Potions laboratory, hoping to find something he could sell to those twin blood traitors.
So we came to Hogwarts, but the thief is long gone. Thiefs do not tend to linger. If only Master Regulus hadn't lingered in that cave, he might still be alive. And I would be cleaning the Black Family goblets and plates, or the fireplace or even Mistress Walburga's frame. Instead, here I am, at Hogwarts after all these years, remembering thoughts which are best left alone.
All because of one boy. One boy who dares call himself Master.
Dobby is about to bring us to Knockturn Alley, I can hear him telling me it is the most likely place to find the thief. But his voice is but a whisper in my mind, for I am alone. Alone with my thoughts, as always.
It was then that I heard it.
A howl of despair, a sound that shattered the very core of my being. Was it weeping? Wailing, whining, whimpering? I shuffled forward as best as I could, my broad feet digging in the wet sand. I walked on the shore of the Black Lake, moving closer and closer to the moan of the storm.
The storm. I hadn't even noticed that the sky had turned grey, lightning illuminating the heavy clouds. Rain poured from above, reflecting my mood, reflecting the lament of the Giant Squid.
I disentangled myself from Dobby's grasp as he tried to apparate me away. Still I moved closer to the churning waves, rustled up by the monster who lived deep in the black waters. The monster who lived alone.
Just like me.
Dobby grows more insistant. I push him to the ground, the mud seeps into his colourful knitted clothes. I give not a thought to the fact that he is soaking wet from the storm, because I am the one who feels drenched to the bone. But it has nothing to do with the storm, and everything to do with the one other soul in this world to perhaps be as lonely as I.
I hear his voice. Potter's voice, calling me back home. For yes, even though I might feel like a prisoner, I do have a home. I have to share it with people who care nothing about me, but I have a home, and I am free to go wherever I like except if I am told otherwise.
But the Giant Squid is truly a prisoner. A prisoner of the lake, a prisoner of his own home. Always he is alone, in all senses of the word. At that moment, my soul reaches out to his, and I wish I were able to give comfort, in any way I can.
Potter calls again. Probably wants a report. Dobby is getting up, looking indignant at having been pushed in the mud. I take his hand, and we apparate together.
Somehow, I don't feel so alone anymore. I had wished somebody would understand, but now I wish he'd understand. I wish the Giant Squid would understand that no one is truly alone, as long as there is someone to share that loneliness with.
So, erm, yeah. Hope I did a good job writing Greacher!
This is the third fic about this pairing in the entire HP fandom, guys, and the first one not to be a freeverse poem. xP
Review? ^^"