I know I said I didn't have a chapter for you today. But... here's a short one anyway.
Kreacher POV
Kreacher frowned as he watched Master Potter fussing over Master Malfoy-Black's unconscious form. Master Potter solemnly arranged the blankets, tucking them around Master Malfoy-Black's body. He sat at the edge of the bed, gazing intently at Master Malfoy-Black. Then he leaned in, brushed the hair off Master Malfoy-Black's forehead, and pressed a tender kiss to the skin thus revealed.
Kreacher stood stunned for a long minute, then whirled in place and apparated silently away. He only employed the loud crack to annoy Master Potter. And, anyway, he was attempting to be stealthy.
He reappeared in the kitchen, and soothed his frazzled nerves by whisking into a frenzy of baking, banging together the pots and pans with a bit more force than strictly necessary.
"Master Potter is agreeing. And then Master Malfoy-Black is ruining it all. He is refusing. Refusing." And what followed that refusal… Kreacher banged a few more pots together. Somewhat mollified, he returned to his rant. "Master Potter is not being suited to this House. Master Malfoy-Black is. Why is he refusing? Why should he be caring what Master Potter thinks? And why is Master Potter kissing him?"
Kreacher paused in the act of banging pots together. "Unless…"
He spun into action once more, moving twice as fast as before, the center of a whirling maelstrom of kitchen implements and utensils. Cooking was always a form of stress relief – not that it was helping just now – though he would never admit how much he enjoyed it. His hands flew faster than the eye could see – whipping, mixing, kneading, stirring, chopping, pouring, measuring; spoons and forks and knives and plates and bowls and pans skittered around the kitchen, whisking in and out of the ovens. Cupboards banged open and shut and open – and Kreacher's mind flew faster still.
"Unless Kreacher is finding a way to push them together. Unless they are both being Masters of the House." Kreacher's eyes widened. He'd never considered the possibility – he'd never guessed his teasing leer had skirted the edge of truth! – but now it unfolded before him, a vast, gleaming expanse of possibility. To have not one, but two Masters. Twice the power; twice the wealth. Twice the strength. Yes. Two masters were ideal. Kreacher's former plans and schemes paled and then fell to dust around him.
He nodded abruptly, and all movement in the kitchen ceased. He flicked his fingers, vanishing the mess, cleaning and stowing the dishes, preserving the food for later. He would have to make another visit to the House's libraries and storage rooms. He had plans to make.