Chapter Two

Kreacher had never seen Master Harry so distressed. Perhaps distressed was not the right word. He was listless instead, eyes growing dimmer with each body they carried out of the hall and each person that came up to him, teary and grateful, to thank him for killing the Dark Lord. He became more and more preoccupied with his thoughts, and slept fitfully, caught in nightmares where Kreacher couldn't reach him.

The old elf twisted his right ear sharply in displeasure. He could not help his Master!

Master Harry was being quiet, so very, very quiet, like old bad Master Sirius was shortly before he died. His eyes glimmered briefly in happiness as he held and fed the little Master, also like Master Sirius was with him. Kreacher was the one who was distressed. Had old Master Sirius walked to his death? Master Harry had- his bond flickered, and Kreacher knew- but he had come back. What if he didn't come back next time?

The children with the carrot hair, and the muggleborn-who-was-not-a-mudblood seemed to agree with Kreacher. They watched his Master with worried eyes, and the blonde girl with the will o'wisp magic of the Fae held on to his arm sleeve when they went to the trial. Miss Cissy and her son were pardoned- nothing could be done for Lord Malfoy- and Master Harry was a witness. The girl's body trembled in the proceeding, and Kreacher, sensing his Master's worry, looked at her with his magic. Miss Luna's body had been defiled, and he told this to Master, but discretely when no one could hear.

Master's voice was quiet when he asked Kreacher if he was sure. His eyes glowed- bright green, the color of death- and his magic coiled around him like a particularly hungry viper. Kreacher's bond thrummed as he nodded, and the old elf felt a little fear, even though he knew his Master's anger was not directed towards him. He had forgotten just how powerful Master Harry was.

Master Harry spent the next night talking to Miss Luna. Then he demanded the Dementor's Kiss for Mulciber and Avery. He had a cold smile on he watched. It was a Black smile.

It was a single moment of life though, in his listless Master. Kreacher was concerned by the lack of happiness in his Master's life, and did not even make a concerted effort to convince him to return to Grimmauld Place, the ancestral house of the Blacks. He was surprisingly pleased- and again, worried- when Master Harry chose to move there with little convincing. Kreacher was comforted by the fact that Miss Andy and the little Master would be living with them, at least for a while. Miss Andy's house was burned down in the course of the war, and she could tell just as quickly as he that Little Master was one of the sole things remaining that brought Master Harry any pleasure.

Kreacher could not deny that he was pleased to be serving a family again, after all of these months separated from his Master. Hogwarts' kitchens were a very welcoming place, and there was always work to be done, but Kreacher was an old elf and set in his ways. He liked to serve a proper family, and bustled around with an energy that belied his years to care for Masters Harry and Teddy, and Miss Andy.

Every month though, he would find the spare time to pop over to Shell Cottage and tidy up the grave of the young, mad elf, Dobby. He knew that Dobby was not properly bonded to his Master, like he, Kreacher, was, but the poor, crazy elf was loyal till the death to Master Harry. Kreacher would consider him to be a proud member of the House Black- though he would sadly be unable to have his head on the family mantle- and as the eldest, and currently only, elf in the household, it was his duty to ensure that Dobby's deathbed was cared for.

He mentioned this, offhand, Master Harry one day when baking Miss Andy's favorite scones, and was rewarded with a rare, approving smile from his Master.

Kreacher treasured those smiles, for rarely did Master Harry smile anymore. He became more and more withdrawn, entering a mindscape ravaged by war and his own tormented thoughts. One day, Kreacher felt his bond waver and knew that his worst fears were coming true.

He had been cooking a thin but nutritious soup for dinner, since his Master's appetite had started to leave him. It was being taken off the stove when Kreacher felt the magic, but he instantly abandoned the heavy cast iron pot, paying no mind to the boiling soup that had fallen in the area he had just popped away from. The old elf appeared in the Master's bedroom- not the Master Room, but the room where old Master lived in as a child, and where Master Harry slept now- and stumbled back in shock.

Master Harry was lying on the bed- no! no! no!- with his wand clenched in his hand and- oh, dear Merlin! no!- blood dripping down his throat. A thin slit across veins that even his own Magic could not heal. Kreacher rushed forward, knobby hands pressing against the cut, eyes bulged in horror, begging his Master to wait- please wait-

"S'ry Kr'cher," Harry gurgled, with a sad, sorrowful smile on his face, "J'st tired…"

Kreacher felt his bond slipping, and mentally grasped with all his strength, pulling it closer even as it started to fade… The old house elf closed his eyes, made a quiet apology to the brave, broken, kind man in front of him, and reaches deeper into his magic. A house elf usually only took a pittance of their Master's magic, hardly anything at all, but now Kreacher reached into Master Harry's core and twisted.

Master Harry screamed, and Kreacher cried and apologized, even as he pulled, and twisted, and tore...

And things went dark, and Master Harry's bond faded faster and faster- more magic pouring, gushing out to Kreacher's unyielding hands, and-

-suddenly, the bond snapped into place.