Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
Summary: A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. A reckless coward and a meek hero. Brotherfic, not slash.
Kreacher waited.
He waited as he had been bid to by his master while his race instincts of several millennia of servitude battled against his own personal desire to return to the cave he had just disapparated from. He wanted to see his young master, to see with his own eyes whether Regulus was alive or dead, to see if his body was injured or mutilated and to see whether he could recognise his own master any more. Deep down, he knew that there would be no escape now for either of them. Just as Regulus had undoubtedly been dragged down into the murky depths of the lake by the raging Inferi that so jealously guarded the locket, Kreacher too had sunk. He had sunk into a lifetime of loneliness as a House Elf bound to a house that no one would come home to.
Kreacher waited.
As he sank down to his knees and leaned against the very wall he had so lovingly scrubbed clean for his mistress the day before, he thought of the days gone by. He thought back to the day when his mistress had returned from her parent's house, which she had retired to when she found out that she was pregnant with her first child. Kreacher's own mother had been alive then and it was through the folds of the pink towel she used as clothing, that the curious young elf had received his first glimpse of the oldest son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The baby had been barely a week old and was swaddled in fine silver cloth, lined with emerald green. His exhausted mother had relinquished her son to another woman who accompanied her and gone to soothe away the tedious journey with a hot bath. On being separated from its mother, the baby started crying and pulled at the retreating wisps of her hair as she walked away, not bothering to turn back. The other woman made hushing noises and rocked him in her arms to quieten him, but the boy kept wailing. He was determined to see his mother and no one else would do.
Kreacher's mind then wandered to another day, as different from the first as possible. Regulus had been born at Number 12 Grimmauld Place itself, with a team of Healers from St. Mungo's present. By that time, Kreacher was older and his mother had died less than three months ago. He was still silently mourning her loss, although he was happy to see her head on the plaque that now adorned one of the corridors. He always took special care while cleaning them because in his mind, they were the greatest tribute to House Elves that any wizard had ever bothered to create.
The new baby was wrapped up in cloth just as his brother had been. However, the pattern was different. This time, the cloth was a dark shade of green while the lining shone silver. Its brightness caught the light from a chandelier above and momentarily dazzled the Elf. Just as his sight returned, he felt a stinging sensation on his left ear and looked up to see his master glaring at him.
"This gentleman said that he would appreciate a glass of water," said Mr. Black curtly, gesturing towards a Healer who stood next to him. The two men immediately resumed their conversation and no further notice was taken of Kreacher by either of them. As he hurried towards the kitchen, Kreacher sneaked a quick glance at the baby. He couldn't tell whether it was a girl or a boy but he thought it looked rather peaceful as it slept, gently sucking its thumb.
Kreacher waited.
He remembered the day that news of their heir's Sorting had reached his master and mistress. He could vividly recall their furious words and violent gestures. Their marriage was not a particularly happy one but they rarely quarrelled, preferring to harbour their wounds and grudges. Even when they did do so, it was almost always Kreacher's mistress who initiated the fight with her hot temper and outspoken nature. However that day, the master had lost control and screamed at the mistress that it was all her fault and she had quietly listened, growing whiter with each accusation. This wild departure from the norm had shaken the son still at home and he had retreated to his bedchamber, where he sobbed the night away.
Kreacher had been taught that curiousity and conscientiousness were qualities that every young House Elf must strive to cultivate as the former helped one to understand a master's wishes before they were voiced and the latter helped fulfil them. He had followed the sounds emanating from Regulus' bedroom until he discovered their cause and tentatively knocked. The noise had ceased immediately and Kreacher heard the boy inside stand up and his footsteps reach the door. However, Regulus merely locked the door from within and sat down, this time leaning against the door.
The slightly confused House Elf outside withdrew at this clear indication that his presence was unwelcome but when Regulus opened his door at midnight, there was a covered plate of dinner there.
Ever-watchful, Kreacher saw him stare at the plate for a long time, before finally picking it up and taking it inside his room. Only when the sound of noisy chewing reached his pricked ears, did he go to sleep.
Kreacher waited.
The day of Regulus' first departure on the Hogwarts Express flitted across his eyes. Like most other eleven year olds, his master was excited yet scared. None of his brother's cool confidence hung around his nervously hunched shoulders. Kreacher thought that he had never seen the boy look smaller than he did at that moment, with his hair combed back neatly and eyes bright. For a second, the House Elf was reminded of the shining silver that had blinded him on the day of Regulus' birth. He handed him his brand new trunk and received a small, distracted smile in return. Just as he was about to bow again, he heard his mistress approach and turned. She waved him away with a careless gesture, her eyes fixed on her son.
Kreacher could see the lump in his master's throat as he fought back tears and stared at the floor. Kreacher stood back and pretended to dust a curtain meticulously, while attempting to eavesdrop on what passed between mother and son. However, no words were exchanged between them. Mrs. Black merely looked at her younger son, her face a stony mask. But her eyes were more vulnerable than the House Elf had ever seen and they carried a hint of pleading although her expression betrayed no such emotion. She said evenly, "Goodbye, Regulus." As she walked away, he thought he saw a small sparkle touch the floor in front of her and hurried to wipe it before it could stain the carpet.
Kreacher waited.
He felt friction as his tired body sagged against the wall. The same sparks had burned away a once amiable relationship between two brothers.
When Regulus had returned from his first year at Hogwarts, his reception had been very different from the one his brother had received. Sirius had been greeted by his mother's coldest stare and father's tacit absence. Regulus was treated to her rare smile and his father's gruff but approving welcome. It made him squirm uncomfortably as Sirius, as the older, had naturally been their parents' favourite earlier. He looked at his brother for help but Sirius merely shrugged and walked away, handing Kreacher his trunk and telling him to keep it in his room. Regulus watched as his brother walked away into a world of politics, centuries-old rivalries, House pride and so much more that he was too young to fully comprehend. A slight restraint had indeed crept between them in the previous summers since Sirius came home a Gryffindor but it hardened into something real that day. Their constant friction and polite exchanges that holiday made Kreacher wonder who the almost farcical act between them was being staged for. Was it their absent parents or equally absent friends or perhaps even housemates who barely knew their first names?
Kreacher waited.
That year, summer had been bright and noisy in the square outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The sun shone brightly but its light also heated the earth to almost unbearable levels of warmth. It was too much of a good thing.
Inside the House too, heated words were exchanged between two frustrated parents and a rebellious son. Each side refused to understand the other. None had to courage to acknowledge that they might be mistaken.
Sirius was convinced that he was doing the right thing by rebelling. His friends had taught him how wrong his parents were. He would be different from the rest of his family; he would not fight against Muggleborns but for them. Not for Voldemort but against him. He would change the world. People like his parents would see how wrong they were.
But he was ruled by recklessness and a love of rebellion more than actual courage. It does not take much bravery to run away from home when you already know that your friends will support you. As far as Kreacher knew, the boy had never known what it was truly like to be a runaway. He had had a roof over his head and soft pillow under it the night he left home.
He did not know much about Houses or schools. His main concerns were closer to home such as the cleaning of the hearth and the removal of pesky stains from cooking pans. But an enthusiastic young female Elf who served at Hogwarts had once told him about the four houses that divided yet sought to unite the Wizarding World.
Gryffindor for the noble, brave hero.
Slytherin for the cunning, shrewd coward.
Kreacher wondered if there were things such as mis-Sortings.
He was an Elf prone to over-thinking the tiniest of details. It was this ability of his that had once led Druella Black to grudgingly bestow a word of praise on his sparkling tiles. But it did not take him much thought to realise that there had clearly been a mistake in the Sorting. To his mind, Regulus was far braver than his brother because he stayed. He stood while his brother ran away.
He wondered how Sirius Black could ever hope to convince the world at large; how he thought he could fight for Muggleborns when he couldn't even convince his parents of his point of view. His parents may have been misguided and wrong in their way of thinking but in the end, it was people like them who made up the majority of the Wizarding World. It was the prejudiced purebloods who truly controlled the Ministry through their deep pockets and deeper connections. If he could not succeed in swaying just two of them to take the view that Muggleborns deserve equality then how could he persuade them all? How did the boy plan to change the world?
Kreacher couldn't care less whether it was foolishness, cowardice or a mere demonstration of teenage angst that made Sirius run away but he still fondly remembered the day when his mistress had blasted the blood-traitor off the family tree with the flourishing wandwork that was typical of her.
Kreacher waited.
Years passed after that incident. The blood-traitor conveniently shook off the family that he disliked and never bothered to contact them again. Accidental meetings were met with almost childish displays of aversion. To Kreacher, this was the final straw in his hatred of his master. He knew that it was wrong to dislike one's masters but he couldn't help himself. If this was the influence Muggleborns had on people perhaps his mistress had been right all along.
Kreacher waited.
The next few scenes were far too recent, far too raw for the House-Elf to recall without a shudder running through his thin body. They flashed past him, in a multi-hued pantomime: His youngest master, his only master after the death of his father, came home one day smelling of tobacco when he was seventeen. Another day, he came home with a rambunctious group of friends, although he seemed a little ill at ease in the midst of their merry-making. On yet another occasion, he has arrived with a single friend who wore a dark hood and spoke softy. The two of them conferred at length in his mistress' parlour while she was out and Kreacher caught a glint of white blonde hair in the twilight when the man finally stepped out.
A week later, Regulus had come home with an expensive present for his mother. Shortly after, exactly one year before this fateful day, he had come home with his pale face glistening with sweat. But his eyes were alive with triumph and a smug smile that Kreacher had never seen before was fixed on his lips. He embraced his mother and showed her something that the short House-Elf could not see and for the first time in her life, the loud Mrs. Black uttered soft words of praise to her son. Eight months after this incident, came the second most surprising event in Kreacher's life. His master ordered him to assist the Dark Lord in whatever manner the terrifying Lord desired.
Kreacher waited.
He blocked most of the consequent trials that he had faced from his memory. He had no wish to relive those moments ever again, even if it was merely through his imagination. Instead, he focussed on his last memory of his master: Regulus had never been the most confident of young men although he often tried to disguise this fact in front of his peers. But his master remained calm and composed as he ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin and replace it with a fake that he handed him.
Kreacher waited.
He closed his eyes so that he would not have to see the scenes that followed that particular minute. But he could still hear his master's anguished cries as he drank the vile potion in the basin. He could hear the sound the dead bodies of the Inferi made as they broke through the surface of the water. The same feelings of utter helplessness that he had felt then overcame him and he was forced to listen to the command that had killed his master. "Go back!"
Kreacher waited.
Regulus Black, his master, was a hero, whether the world acknowledged it or not.