AN: No notes for this one. I've got the formatting down, we're all good this time.

Chapter Four:A Quiet sort of Grief.

"Dobby, I'm going to talk to Kreacher... any last advice?" He said, still looking out the window. He caught a flapping sound and looked back at Dobby with a grin; the elf's ears were flapping as he shook his head. "Right. Thanks Dobby, keep an eye out for Snape, would you? I'd like to know when he gets back."

"Dobby will listen to the wards, sir, while sir is too tired." He said, looking very, comically almost, serious, before popping out, presumably to attend whatever duties Dumbledore had offered him.

Harry shuffled and wriggled and punched his pillows until he thought he looked vaguely in control of his body. He was so, utterly, bone achingly tired; it had been a long day in a series of long days and little sleep.

"Kreacher!" He tried to get that commanding sound that Snape managed, hoping it would help him get off on the right foot. The elf's 'pop' was messier, and louder, than Dobby's but still prompt.

"Master mudblood Harry Potter sir calls Kreacher. Does he have work for Kreacher? Should Kreacher iron his toes for letting Master Sirius throw away Master Mudblood's inheritance? Mistress would not be pleased, oh no..."

Harry listened carefully this time, skipping over the insults and threats of self harm to try and work out how to go about this. The elf was still hung up on his previous masters, mistresses, whatever, that probably needed sorting. His request for work was sneered but it was the one line that Kreacher looked at Harry to deliver, so it probably was as important as Dobby had implied... He cleared his throat.

"Kreacher, I am your Master now, the orders of previous Masters, and Mistresses," He added, just in case Kreacher decided Walburga Black wasn't included in 'Masters'. "Are to be disregarded completely. You will have a new set." Harry waited for the shocked look on the elf's face to settle for a moment before continuing, fingers crossed where Kreacher couldn't see them.

"Your orders are as follows, in order of priority; you are to present yourself in a manner fitting of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, clean, fed and neat, at all times, particularly in the company of a witch or wizard. You are not to contact or be seen by anyone who does not know the location of this House." Harry stressed the house deliberately, hoping to invoke some of the pride he may or may not have had in serving the ancestral Home of Black, while using the Fidelus to limit his outside contact. He took a deep breath before continuing, being so forceful used a lot of air.

"You are to clean and make safe the rooms of this House, in as swift a manner as you are able, without getting sick." He was trying to keep as many loopholes closed as he could, not easy when you're thinking on your feet and trying to prevent a mad old elf from hurting himself. "Any cursed, hexed, jinxed or otherwise malignant magical items that could cause harm to the Master or his guests," Wow, now he was speaking in the Royal Third, never a good sign, "Are to be cleaned and made safe, if possible, and stored in the attic. Once the initial cleaning is complete, you will evaluate these items and bring any in need of further repair or curse breaking to me, in a sealed box. I will require explanation of any curse removals or repairs you are unable perform yourself before handing it on to professionals."

Harry mentally crossed his fingers and toes before starting his final order, it could well be a deal breaker;

"In cleaning the House you are not to speak to the portraits. I am appalled by the dust and fading I have seen, so its clear you've spent too much time talking, when your duty has been their care, not their entertainment."

He let that lot sink in, for a moment; with that, he hoped that the cantankerous old witch couldn't poison the elf further, but it could be decidedly upsetting so...

He'd had a vague idea about what he was going to say, particularly about the Heirloom-time-bombs all over the House but he looked back over what he had actually said, just in case he had missed something obvious.

"Do you understand, Kreacher? I order you to ask for any clarification you require, now and in the future." He watched the little elf wring his hands for a moment, then tug on his ears, before his question tumbled out.

"Kreacher understands, but not all mean thingsies are Kreachers to 'make safe'! The Master Prince Potions Master carries poisons, many, nasties, stinkies and killers. But they are his, not of the House! Kreacher cannot 'make safe'!" the elf whined, pulling on his ears again.

Prince? Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; he was too tired for this. How to word it...

"Items belonging to guests are to be left alone, with the exception of laundry left out. Dangerous or questionable items should be monitored; if there is a risk to the health of a Guest, report it to me. Potions ingredients are permitted, despite their occasionally dangerous nature." I feel like a lawyer.

Harry noticed a big oversight then, and shook himself slightly;

"Orders from members of the Order of the Phoenix are to be obeyed, within reason, if they don't countermand a direct order from me, then they take priority over standing duties. In addition, you are to Obey orders from Headmaster Dumbledore," Again, heavy emphasis on Obey, "As if they are from myself. Orders from Headmaster Dumbledore that countermand my own are to be obeyed until such a time as you can consult me for clarification."

Harry felt safe dropping the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black act then; if that hadn't established his authority, nothing would. The poor little elf looked thoroughly shocked, but not unhappy. Fingers crossed. Harry slumped back into his pillows again, would this day never end?

"Dismissed, go get cleaned up." He croaked tiredly. Harry thought that Kreacher's pop was a little cleaner this time, was it an indicator of House elf sanity? He sighed, he'd find out soon enough.

He rolled onto his side, punching his pillows into a more comfortable shape, and stared out the window. The sun was just about down; only the occasional cloud had a lick of sunlight on it. His window must face east, he thought. Had Sirius liked the sunrise? That one had snuck up on him; he choked for a second before letting out a quiet sniffle and rubbing his eyes dry on his sleeve. Maybe he could ask Remus.

Carefully, gently, he let himself think about his Godfather. He managed not to think about how or why he had died, so staving off the guilt, but it gave him a chance to grieve, at least. It was tiring, but at least he was still awake. He even smiled, albeit rather sadly, when he remembered Sirius' antics as Padfoot.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*

He didn't know how much later it was when Dobby popped back into the room but the sky was orange-black with streetlights and had been for a while.

"Professor Master Potions Master has returned, Mr. Harry Potter sir." Dobby's naming habits never failed to amuse, Harry thought as he sighed out a long breath in relief.

"Thanks, Dobby. Is he alright?" He asked, rolling over onto his other side, facing the door and hence, Dobby.

"Severus Snape is stubborn, Harry Potter sir! He is not letting Dobby help him into bed!" That sent a jolt though Harry,

"I bet he isn't. How injured is he?" He asked sitting up and swinging his legs out from under the covers.

"Severus Snape says he is not injured at all, but Dobby is seeing the shaking and is knowing that Severus Snape has felt great pain!" Harry quirked a sardonic grin, at least he'd know when Dobby was annoyed with him, he wondered if his middle name would get thrown in there too.

"Cruciatus then. Pass me a robe, would you?" the irate house elf snapped his fingers and a black school robe flew out of the wardrobe and hung in mid air for Harry to pull on over his rumpled clothes. The bed post proved a great help in getting his balance, he'd been lying down all afternoon after all. "Do you know your way around his Potions stocks?" He asked the muttering elf as the robe helped him on with itself.

"Dobby is knowing exactly the potion Severus Snape should be taking but no, Severus Snape is a stubborn Potions Master!" Harry sighed again, as he shuffled out of his room, realising as his socked feet hit the wooden bits of floor that someone had taken his shoes off for him. He couldn't decide if it was nice or embarrassing. "Right, show me the way." He just hoped it wasn't down stairs. "Longest day... ever... bloody hell." He added his own mutterings to the spurned house elf's'.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

As it happened, Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor, was housed just down the hall. The man's door was open, but Harry knocked anyway. The voice that emerged was not entirely what he was expecting; Severus Snape, yes, hoarse and exhausted sounding? No. Swearing, certainly not;

"Sod off you malingering old Coot! You have my report; now go on your sickeningly merry way!"

Wow, Harry could see why Dobby's feathers were ruffled, though he imagined that the Headmaster had taken it in his stride.

"I appreciate being considered an adult, but old is taking it a little far, Professor." He maintained an expression of light humour for as long as he could as he poked his head around the half-open door. He wasn't used to concealing his emotions though and a frown crept in when he saw his Professor sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. The room was very similar to the Master's bedroom, wooden floors, lots of rugs, and so on, but done in darker greens and some tree-bark browns and dark greys. The potion master obviously hadn't allowed as much fussing as Harry had; his trunks and boxes remained mostly packed and the room devoid of personal artefacts, apart from the mask, of course. It was carelessly tossed on the chest of drawers, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Harry shuddered briefly; in all his visions, it wasn't the muggles or blood traitors or mudbloods who suffered the most; they just died, but the Death Eaters had to come back. Their expressions were locked away behind those masks so that only the screams escaped. Time and time again he had witnessed curses flying, not at victims but at comrades, if Death Eaters even had such a thing.

His comment earned him a very hard glare. "Get out, Potter." He spat, struggling to stand, or at least make it to the bed.

"Can't do that, sir. Dobby said you wouldn't take the post-Cruciatus potion." He said, approaching his Professor warily. "Just let me help, sir."

More glaring, "That potion will knock me out for fourteen hours; I need to brew." Harry, not quite ignoring the man, just not letting it stop him from helping, pulled Snape's arm over his shoulder and hauled the man most of the way to his feet. He wasn't tall enough to get him the rest of the way but it was enough to get him onto the bed. They were both panting after that but somehow, Snape managed to keep talking. "Your precious Order members could die, simply because I took that potion!"

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't an unreasonable argument, Harry knew that Snape provided all the Infirmaries potions, but at the same time, he doubted that Snape would be able to brew anyway, not with tremors like that. "Fine. Dobby!" The elf stepped forwards, into Snape's room from the hallway.

"Go to the floo, look for a note from the Hogwarts Infirmary to Severus Snape, if you find one, bring it straight up." He joined Snape as the elf popped away, sitting on the edge of his bed, too tired to care about the glare. It was much weakened by the man's tremors, anyway.

"Look, Professor, if Madam Pomfrey hasn't got any requests, will you take the potion? You and I both know that Voldemort isn't going to attack anywhere in a while. Not after losing so spectacularly."

There was a heavily aggravated sigh from Snape; "That would be... unlikely, true." He still sounded non-committal, at best.

"Look, sir, you rushed off after the Triwizard tournament but I know you brewed that potion for me, the next day. I was hit twice, I'm pretty sure you've had more than that this evening and I know how bad I felt; please take the potion." The quiet was slightly unnerving so he glanced at the Professor briefly; he was being stared at, intensely. "I won't be able to sleep until you do."

"Brat. Your hero complex will destroy you, eventually, I guarantee it." He was scathing, but Harry detected a touch of bemusement and incredulity.

"Dobby has a note from a Poppy to Severus Snape, Master Harry Potter, sir." Dobby reappeared, hovering nervously in the doorway. Had Snape banned him from entering his room without permission while he was 'being stubborn'? The note was still warm from being near the fire. He unrolled it quickly and read it aloud;

"SS,

Severe cases transferred to St M's, remaining patients stable. Top up's for Heal-All, Sleeping Solution and Curse Breaker Draught needed before September. No urgent requests.

Thanks for the Dragon's Breath, came in handy. Look after yourself.

PP."

Snape was semi-slumped against the pillows by that point, black fabric pooling around him. Harry just looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh very well!" he snapped eventually, scowling, "Dobby, fetch me the potion labelled 'C46.B', a pain reliever; level three, and a Heal-All. Go!"

Harry didn't think the man would appreciate his presence for much longer, though he did have a moment of worry when he remembered just how many buttons Snape's robes had. His help wouldn't be asked for or appreciated though, so he pushed himself back to his feet and started for the door.

"Good night, Professor." Harry said as he stepped out,

"You too, elf, be gone." Snape's acerbic tone followed him out into the corridor, along with the sound of potion's vials being jostled. Dobby closed the door behind them and trotted to Harry's side.

"Master Potion's Master is being a good wizard, sir, just... stubborn." He commented, looking, if anything, a little smug.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Harry said, frowning slightly. Seeing someone so seemingly indomitable with tremors and muscle weakness shattered the illusion Snape liked to hold tight around himself. "Would you make sure there's a cup of tea waiting for him when he wakes up? He should come 'round at around eleven tomorrow morning." Maybe that would ease the man's foul mood a little. Dobby's ears flapped loudly, the house was really quiet, Harry noticed, as he nodded. Harry wondered who was living there, apart from himself and the Potions Master, or was it just being used as a HQ, for meetings and deployment? He'd try and find out in the morning.

"Dobby will, sir. Now, Harry Potter is to be taking his potion and sleeping!" Dobby looked up at him sternly and wagged a finger at him, even as he opened the bedroom door.

"Right, won't see me arguing." He couldn't have been more glad to see his bed. He was still exhausted, even after resting all evening. He supposed staying awake to avoid cripplingly painful visions wasn't all that restful after all.

"Mr Harry Potter is needing some pyjamas! Or does he sleep naked?" Harry, midway through getting out of his robes groaned and dropped his head into his hand. Elves.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

Eventually, Dobby was reassured that, yes, Harry needed some pyjamas and, yes, Dobby could take his measurements to Madam Malkin's in the morning but that Harry would be just fine in a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants, just for one night.

Harry climbed into bed on the side nearest the window, not bothering to close the drapes as he watched Dobby draw the curtains over the orange-lit London sky.

Dobby was buzzing with excitement about his mission into Diagon Alley, as Harry was drifting off under Dreamless Sleep, he could have sworn he heard Dobby say "He will make a list, Dobby will. Yes, yes. Trousers, shirts, sockses, pie-jamas, trainings; Master did get blood all over them! Robes..."

Harry slept with a faint smile on his face right through 'til morning.

XX*XX*XX*XX*XX*XX

He woke up at about nine, after a solid twelve hours. His snitch clock, which Dobby had put on the right-hand-side bedside table, informed him that it was Time for Breakfast. At the Dursleys, he'd been getting up later, since he usually worked himself into exhaustion at two or three in the morning leaving him to sleep restlessly through until around eleven. However, he'd had an early night the night before and despite yesterday being officially the Longest Day Ever, twelve hours was all Dreamless sleep could give him. He supposed he should get used to getting up at a more normal time now, anyway, since there would be Order members around, and in preparation for the eight o'clock starts back at school in a months' time.

Thinking of which...

"Date, please." He croaked at the clock, which 'blinked' a golden eyelid and changed from a clock face to a date, specifically the 26th of July. It would be Dobby's birthday tomorrow, he mused. With that, he hauled himself upright and padded over to the bathroom, wondering what he could conspire with Mrs Weasley, to get him.

It was definitely good to have his own shower, he thought as he let the steam build up before getting in. He'd loved hot showers the minute he'd had one in first year and had never really had the opportunity to indulge regularly. The two Dorm showers were shared between five teenage boys, god forbid he take more than ten minutes, and Quidditch showers were pretty rushed since practices were squeezed in around lessons and curfew.

He tipped his head into the spray with a happy sigh; he should make time for this, seriously. Eventually, he started soaping up, using a large block of cinnamon soap that Uncle Vernon had got for Christmas once but never touched; hiding it in the back of the cabinet instead. Harry figured it was fair game, since he'd probably never remember its existence. He managed to get it up his nose while he was soaping his hair and sneezed violently, sending himself into fits of chuckles as he finished rinsing off.

When he emerged, he discovered that Dobby had been busy again; his best/least worn jeans, a "Weasley is our King!" t-shirt and his best fitting Weasley jumper were laid out on the bed next to neatly folded underwear and a pair of socks. He dressed quickly, in case Mrs Weasley decided to come up and restrict him to his bed, and then went downstairs to find some food.

He smelled breakfast before he reached the kitchen; bacon, eggs and something sweet that he hoped was pancakes. He shuffled down the last few steps and entered the kitchen, grinning;

"Good morning Dobby!" He greeted the busy little elf, peering over his head to look in the frying pan; bacon, mushrooms, smelling fantastic, and a bowl of eggs ready to be cracked into the oil.

"Good Morning Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Pancakes is on the tables." He said, pointing a finger at the bacon to make it flip over.

"Thanks, it smells brilliant." He retreated to the table where a place was set at the head. Pancakes there were, but there was also strawberries, sugar and lemon juice, butter, syrup and jam. He sat down without further ado, though he did wonder briefly how Dobby knew what he liked on his pancakes, and set to making a pile of strawberries, sprinkled with white sugar, down the middle of one, then rolling it up and dribbling a bit of lemon juice on top. There was a satisfied noise from the hob and the sound of eggs being broken.

Harry was surprised at how hungry he was, given how little he'd eaten over the holidays so far. Maybe Dobby's chicken soup the night before really did have magical qualities, it had certainly tasted amazing. He polished off four pancakes and half the bowl of strawberries before turning to the cooked breakfast Dobby had put beside him.

"Oh, have you seen Kreacher? How's he doing?" He asked as he sandwiched a fried egg between two pieces of buttered toast.

"Dobby is seeing an elf that is looking like Kreacher, but is clean and busy." Dobby hovered at the table, just to Harry's right. "Nice old house elf Kreacher is polishing silvers in the Drawing room." He looked proud, of him or Kreacher, Harry couldn't tell. He looked back down at his sandwich and contemplated it before he lifted up the top slice of toast to add some strips of bacon. This done, he picked the whole thing up and took a bite. Melted butter, crispy toast, crunchy bacon and just enough runny egg yolk...

Once he'd chewed and swallowed, he thanked Dobby with a huge smile.

"You can sit with me, if you want, have a pancake?" Harry had only dented the stack; there were still a good number under the heating charm. Dobby looked speculative but eventually scrambled up into the chair to Harry's right.

"Dobby will join Master Harry and be having tea, but Master Harry is not to invite House elves who is not free to the table!" he said squeakily, wagging a finger at him. Harry nodded solemnly;

"Yeah, I can see how that would upset them." He wondered if Dobby had had another go at Hermione yet, for her S.P.E.W campaign, not that it was going anywhere, fast. Dobby nodded in agreement, not looking the least bit sad for his fellow elves, just quietly determined. He poured himself his tea from the pot in the middle of the table, well; the tea poured itself and levitated over to him, anyway. Harry watched as it was doctored with large amounts of sugar, but no milk.

"Hey, Dobby... Did you ever cook for Sirius?" Harry asked, once he'd finished his sandwich. He didn't look at his friend when he asked, staring at his plate instead.

"Dobby did. Dobby is helping the Order look after itself." Harry glanced up to find Dobby with wet eyes, stirring his tea. "Dobby is sorry he was not cooking when Master Harry Potter was in the fire."

"Yeah, me too. I wish Kreacher hadn't been there at all." He dunked the strip of bacon he was fiddling with in the yolk of his second egg, "But I wanted to ask if you knew his favourite food, or something, or how he took his tea... things I didn't get a chance to learn about him."

Something about this house was settling, like just because Sirius was gone, it didn't mean he was gone. Like; Harry could remember his longing at the foot of the long table with his feet up on the wood, reading the Prophet and debunking articles; staying as far away from Tornado Weasley as he could get while still being provided with tea and scones, the sneaky little mutt. It was easier to think of him when he could put together happy memories, instead of just seeing the same one over and over. It still made his eyes burn, and his chest tight, but something dramatic had changed over the last twenty four hours.

"Milk, one cube of sugar, and a spoon to stir, always." Dobby croaked, blowing his nose on his tea towel before picking up his cup of tea and warming his hands on it. "Master Sirius was liking Treacle Tart, because it was, is Master Harry's favourite."

Harry choked on a laugh, "Bloody Sirius bloody Black... being all sentimental and making me cry, all over the place..." he pushed what remained of breakfast away and pillowed his head on his crossed arms. He was smiling through the tears, at least.

"He was liking his steak, too. With pepper and butter, but would not eat his spinach! And always, feetses on the table, no matter how many Prophetses Mistress Mrs Weasley rolled up..."

Harry laughed and cried in turns as Dobby cleared up his breakfast and kept up the light commentary. He wondered if this was what a wake was supposed to be like; food and teary reminiscence. He thought Sirius would have liked it.