Thanks for all those great reviews! :)

DarkNutDestroyer: Thanks! :) I think you're right about Sirius and Remus, especially with Remus I was still sort of figuring out his character while I was writing it, so he is a bit all over the place. (Sirius, too, probably, but with him I at least have the Azkaban excuse...) I'm hoping to improve on that now that I've decided where they are both heading, character-wise.

Rouvas7x7: Sorry to disappoint, but this is not a Wolfstar fic. I don't have anything against that pairing, but personally I'm quite a big fan of RemusXTonks, so that's where this will eventually go. However, since this is set quite early it will still be a while until that emerges, so if you dislike that pairing don't worry, it won't come up for a bit.

Eniluap12: I definitely plan to continue this for quite a while - so far I've got a rough outline for the story until at least PoA - although I won't do so continually and in one story. There will be time leaps one one-shots for inbetween. But generally, this should go on until DH. (Fingers crossed)

The servant's lament

„Sirius? Don't you think this is going a bit too far?"

Remus stopped in his tracks as he overlooked the musical debauchery in front of him. In the three days that it was working, the record player already had thoroughly won Harry over.

Remus doubted that the boy cared much about what sort of music was being played – as long as it was loud and fun; he had not taken well to Remus' Genesis album – but rather the fact that Sirius was acting so enthusiastic about it, singing and dancing and urging Harry to do the same.

And Remus really didn't have anything against it. The muggle repellent spells saved them from angry neighbours, and after seven years of a shared dormitory Remus was pretty good at silencing spells. And while he would never admit this to Sirius, he had sort of missed the loud, unapologetic Rock and Punk that Sirius and James had played during their time at Hogwarts. Wonderful as the Dire Straits might be, after six years of solitude they had gotten a bit depressing.

But they were lines to be drawn. And coming into the study and finding a little boy cheerfully, and very out of tune, bawling "I am an antichrist" was one of them.

"The Sex Pistols? Padfoot, he's seven!" Remus struggled to make himself heard over the cacophony that was the trio of Johnny Rotten, an escaped convict and the boy who lived.

"Exactly!" Sirius grinned as he showed a – very rusty – dance move to Harry, who enthusiastically copied him, "he doesn't know what any of these words mean anyway. You like anarchy, Harry?"

"Yes! Annacky!"

"Oh for the loved of..." Remus started to mutter, walking over to the record player and putting a very sudden stop to the record. Two identical looks of scandalized protest were shot his way, but Remus quickly cut them off. "I'm afraid it's time for bed, Harry, it's past eight, and it's not the weekend yet."

"Just one more song! Sirius was going to teach me how to air-guitar!"

Remus shot an irritated glance towards Sirius, who even had the audacity to grin at him, but forced himself to keep a level face for Harry. "I'm sure he can teach you tomorrow. Now, off to brush your teeth, and if you're good Sirius can read you a chapter before bed, what do you say?"

Harry frowned. "Okay," he said quietly, picking up his stuffed stag from its place on the back of the sofa where it had been allowed to watch. "But can you read to me? You do the voices better."

Struggling to hide a smile, or even a smug look towards Sirius – he was rather annoyed at him – Remus nodded. "Of course, if you want me to. I'll be up in a bit, alright?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, and quickly bound over to Sirius to hug him. "Night, Sirius! We can listen to more music tomorrow, can't we?"

"Most certainly, Prongslet," Sirius grinned, picking Harry up and twirling him around before setting him back on the ground. "And maybe we can even get Moony to sing with us. That'd be fun, wouldn't it?"

"Yes!" Harry grinned brightly and ran from the room, bobbing his head in what was presumably an imitation of Sirius' head-banging.

As soon as he was out of sight, Remus turned to his friend. "Care to explain?" he prompted. "This is hardly music for his age, Padfoot."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Come on, they're harmless. I'm not teaching him to set cars on fire or anything."

"Sooner or later he's going to ask what the words mean. Can't you at least stick to the Who?"

Despite them being Sirius favourite band – up until their seventh year he had repeatedly tried to convince the Marauders to start a cover band, despite the fact that none of them even knew how to hold a guitar the right way up – he did not look too pleased.

"You're very boring, Moony."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Well, you wanted to be the fun parent, so I have to be." Not wanting to expand the argument further, he added, "I am glad to see he's cheerful again. You were worried about him, weren't you?"

Sirius nodded. "Seems to have sorted itself out," he said with a slight frown, rubbing the back of his head. "Maybe I was just imagining it." He slumped onto the sofa and lazily summoned the box with his records that Remus had brought from Gringotts. "By the way, may I just say how pathetic it is to see that your record collection hasn't changed at all while I was gone? All of your albums are from at least eight years ago!"

Remus rolled his eyes again.

"Yeah, well, so are yours," he muttered, quickly heading upstairs before the pillow that Sirius had flung at his head could hit him.

"Talking 'bout my geeeneration!" Harry hummed, bobbing his head to the tune playing inside his mind. It was very catchy. He stopped, frowning at the parchment in front of him. It really had looked better in his imagination, but there was nothing to be done about it.

He had spent the last hour or so sketching the Oompa-Loompa from memory, although it had been hard to remember what he had looked like exactly from only the short glimpse he had gotten.

After the success with the coffee, he had returned with full vigour to his task of finding the strange creature. His first step had been to investigate the room that he had seen it in.

It was one of the smaller ones, but covered in just as much dust and cobwebs as the rest of them. At first he had thought it was only by chance that the Oompa-Loompa had been there, because it really didn't look like a place that anybody would live in. But on further inspection he had discovered a tall cupboard. Its top shelves were filled with the same assortment of expensive but ancient looking silverware that he had seen in all the other rooms, but on the lower half it had doors, about three feet high. One of them had stood open, and so, curious, Harry had peaked inside.

His first impression had been of a nest. A heap of dirty rags filled the small space, with the distinct dent of someone sleeping in it. What was even stranger were the various items strewn about it. There was a framed picture of a very scary looking woman – Harry actually recognized her as a smaller version of the mean portrait in the hallway, though this appeared to be a photograph and was thankfully silent – a few silver objects that to him didn't look different from the other ones strewn about the house, and several other things that didn't seem very remarkable to him.

This must be where he lives, Harry realized, excitement rushing through him, I found his home!

Then, another realization hit him.

He lives in a cupboard. Like me.

He frowned. Why did the Oompa-Loompa live in a cupboard? There seemed to be enough spare rooms.

But then, there had been a spare room in the Dursleys home, and Harry had still been put in the cupboard.

Was someone forcing him to live in there? But who?

The thought saddened him, so he quickly searched for other options. Maybe the Oompa-Loompa liked living in a cupboard?

His heart beat faster. What if it was a vampire? But then he realized that Dudley hadn't even known about magic, so his tales about vampires were probably just inventions to scare Harry.

He was very small. Maybe he feels safer in a small room.

Harry could sympathize with that; the tall, dark hallways in this house had been intimidating to him, too at first.

He surveyed the assembled items. It reminded him of what he knew about magpies, who collected shiny things to decorate their nests with. Were Oompa-Loompas like magpies?

Another, newer looking item caught his eye. Carefully, he reached around the photograph to pick it up. It was a chocolate frog card. He didn't recognize the person in it – he looked rather mean, if Harry was honest – but the name sounded familiar.

Phineas Nigellus

Phineas…There had been a lot of Phineas' on the tapestry. The last name was wrong, but maybe he was a cousin? Harry and Dudley didn't have the same name, either.

He turned the card around to read it.

Phineas Nigellus (1847 – 1925)

A renowned expert in curse-breaking and author of several books.

He began a career in politics as temporary member of the Wizengamot where he used his substantial wealth to campaign for the abolition of the "human" status of muggles. He later went to Hogwarts where he taught Arithmancy for several years before becoming headmaster in 1912.

Generally known as the least popular headmaster in the school's history.

Harry frowned. Mr Nigellus didn't sound like a very nice person, if he was honest. And there was no mention in there about whether he might be related to the Black family.

So why would the Oompa-Loompa want to keep this card? He searched around the nest, but there were no further chocolate frog cards. So he had kept this one specifically…

At least it now made sense to Harry why the Oompa-Loompa had taken the chocolate frog and not the cookie – it hadn't been the chocolate he was after but the card.

And he kept a portrait of the screaming woman, too. Maybe he just liked evil people…did that mean he was evil, too? Harry didn't want to think so. He was sure there was a reason for it, somehow.

After that discovery Harry had started to leave his daily offering of coffee in front of the Oompa-Loompa's nest. Feeling guilty for having invaded the creature's privacy he had left a letter of apology with the first mug, and asked a few questions about the Oompa-Loompa in the hope that the shy inhabitant might relent to written communication, but while the letter had been gone when Harry had retrieved the empty mug the next day, there was no reply.

Refusing to let this discourage him Harry had decided on other methods to find out more about the Oompa-Loompa. He had left two chocolate frogs with the coffee on Tuesday, but while both had evidently been opened, both chocolate and cards – Circe and Adalbert Waffling – were still there the next day.

He had taken to lurking inside the room, or the corridor next to it, in the hope of catching the Oompa-Loompa, but so far without luck. Once he heard the voice again, but he had stumbled on the stairs in his haste to get there, and the resulting noise must've scared the creature off, because the room was empty when he got there.

"Harry?" He jumped at the knock behind him, and hastily pushed his drawing under the pile of blank parchment. Turning around he found Sirius smiling at him, and hoped his face didn't look too guilty.

But except for an amused smirk at Harry's haste, Sirius didn't react at all. "Remus and I were going to try and clear out the drawing room today, and I was wondering if you wanted to fight some more Doxies."

Harry's eyes grew big, the Oompa-Loompa immediately forgotten. "Cool! Do…Do I get to ride on Padfoot again?"

Sirius grinned. "Of course! That's the only proper way to fight Doxies; everyone knows that."

..-

"Good Godric…" Remus muttered when Sirius flicked his wand to start the record he'd brought up. "Are you serious?"

Sirius merely grinned. "Always. Never seen Apocalypse Now? This is how you're supposed to go into battle!"

"I…we're fighting the Doxies; they're the ones who can fly. Really it should be them who play- " But Sirius had already transformed into a dog, and Harry, who did not seem to mind Wagner in any way, enthusiastically scrambled onto his back.

As he prepared himself for another long afternoon of trying to save Harry from being bitten or crashing into something while Padfoot raced around the room madly, Remus wondered, not for the first time, why he had even bothered to bring the record player with him from Gringotts.

Complaining about loud music...you really are getting old, aren't you? He grimaced at that thought, and decided to be a little bit more tolerant.

In the end, it "only" took them three hours to exterminate the last of the Doxies. After that, though, came the more unpleasant part of cleaning out all of the ancient family heirlooms that still filled the shelves and cupboards.

They waited till after Harry was in bed, as neither of them wanted to risk him getting cursed by whatever dark magic might reside in them. And, Remus suspected, Sirius didn't want Harry asking any questions that might betray his own history with the house.

"What about these? If we clean them, they're still usable."

Sirius snorted, staring at the set of wine glasses that Remus levitated from the top of the liquor cabinet. For Black standards, they were positively plain, lacking even the standard family crest that seemed to be attached to every last moth hole in this house. Apparently that did not win them Sirius' favour, though.

"Urgh, throw them out. They were from Aunt Lucretia; I can practically smell her blasted perfume when I see them."

Remus didn't know who Aunt Lucretia was, but learning from previous mistakes he did not ask. As a general rule, nobody in Sirius' family was actually a nice person.

Shrugging, he levitated the glasses into the big bin bag in the middle of the room. "Guess I don't have to ask about the rest of these, then?"

Sirius shook his head, not even bothering to look, but after a few seconds added: "Actually, leave the alcohol. Never know when we might need it."

Remus hesitated, feeling uneasiness rise in him. He had been surprised, if he was honest with himself, that Sirius hadn't mentioned it before, or even gone out himself to buy some. Back in their youth the animagus had always been the quickest to suggest a pint, or maybe something stronger. And yet, Remus had hoped that in the face of Harry's presence his resolution might last longer.

"Padfoot..."

"I'm not gonna drink it with Harry here," Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes. "Just...leave it, alright?"

The uneasy feeling stayed, but Remus silently obliged. Sirius isn't an idiot, he reminded himself, he would never jeopardize Harry.

He's not really himself all the time though, is he? A quiet voice in the back of his head countered. He might...

"What about all this?" he asked, not wanting to dwell on it further, and quickly went on to inspect a large glass display showing various medals. "There's actually an Order of Merlin in here."

Sirius, who was systematically burning a huge stack of ancient letters, snorted once more. "Probably Granddad's. He basically bought it, after hearing that Abraxas Malfoy had one. Throw them away, before Kreacher finds a way to save them."

Obligingly, Remus sent the contents of the display case towards the bin bag. "Shouldn't we do something about him?" he asked thoughtfully, remembering the ancient looking house elf that had greeted them when they first came here. He was ashamed to admit that he had almost forgotten about him. "You can't keep him looked upstairs forever."

Sirius looked unconcerned. "Can't I? It's not like he's going to starve, and judging by the state of this house he wasn't doing any cleaning anyway. Look, you don't know him. He's a filthy little git, and he'd only find a way to scare Harry if I let him come downstairs. Frankly, I'd set him free if I didn't know he'd go straight to Narcissa."

Remus sighed. "If you say so," he said, unconvinced. His own experience with house elves was very limited – the only pure-blood house he'd regularly gone to were the Potters, and Euphemia and Fleamont hadn't owned an elf – but from what he'd seen, Sirius' treatment of Kreacher was less than ideal.

"Just...you should really tell Harry about your family."

Burning the last letter and flicking the ash towards the bin bag, Sirius shrugged. "I will if you tell him about the furry little problem"

Remus didn't answer. I'll tell if you will. It had been going like this for days now, with no sign of either of them conceding. Apparently Harry really would have to find out for himself.

Marvellous. There's absolutely no way this is going to end in disaster...

It was in the middle of the night when Harry woke up, but even though he still felt tired, he could not go back to sleep, however hard he tried. His dreams had been strange, full of disembodied voices tiny little creatures that vanished as soon as he turned to look at them.

Also, he was thirsty.

Harry hesitated. On most days, Sirius or Remus left a glass of water on his nightstand in the evening, but tonight, after the business with the Doxies, they must've forgotten.

It's only across the corridor...but the corridor was terrifying at night.

But he was really thirsty.

After a few more minutes of contemplation if he should wake Sirius – his godfather had told him to just knock on the wall really hard whenever he had a nightmare, and he'd always come and get him – Harry decided to go on his own.

It was ridiculous to be afraid. The pirate couldn't come inside, there were no vampires, and the wardrobe he had left open overnight so that no dragon could hide in there. (A trick Remus had shown him.)

And he had Prongs with him, after all.

Determined, he pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed, searching for his slippers. It was rather cold, and so he also took a jumper. Thus equipped he carefully made his way towards the door, opening it just a crack to peer into the empty hallway.

It was dark like his room, the weak light from the street lanterns flooding in through the narrow window above the stairs. Nothing moved.

Carefully, he opened the door further. It creaked in its hinges, but the sound quickly faded into quietness. Taking a deep breath and pulling Prongs protectively to his chest he stepped outside.

Part of him expected a monster to jump out at him, or maybe the portrait to start screaming. When nothing of the sort happened, relief flooded through him. But he was just about to make a dash for the bathroom when he heard it.

Low, grief-stricken wailing, muffled by a wooden ceiling.

He jumped and almost screamed when for a split-second he thought a ghost would come for him. But then he realized that he actually knew the voice. And knew where it came from.

His heart pounding madly in his chest, Harry made a decision.

The higher floors were scary even by daylight, but somehow the excitement about finally hearing the Oompa-Loompa again banished fear into the far corners of his mind.

Why was he sad? Was he hurt? He wondered if he should wake up Sirius, but somehow his feet just carried him further up the stairs.

The wailing grew louder, and this time Harry had no problem understanding the words as he grew closer, although what he could hear was interrupted by sobs and cries of anguish.

"They took it! They too it all! Kreacher...the Master took it all away, all the treasures, the noble...Kreacher tried, tried is best to serve the noble House, but the Master...oh, what would Mistress say? Bad Kreacher!"

Another sob, and the sound of something heavy hitting against wood.

Harry hesitated. The last time he had tried to talk to the creature it had fled, and he didn't want to scare it again. But it sounded very miserable, and maybe he could help...

Harry decided to knock. That was only polite, after all, as Remus and Sirius never entered his room without knocking (or sometimes barking) either.

Carefully he lifted his fist and rapped it against the ancient woods a few times. The sobbing stopped instantly, replaced by the sound of heavy breathing.

"Mr...Mr Oompa-Loompa?" Harry asked timidly. "Are you alright?"

A squeak sounded from behind the door. "Bad Kreacher! Brat mustn't see Kreacher!" Then there was a plop, and Harry knew without opening the door that the Oompa-Loompa had gone.

His hand slowly fell down again as he tried to contemplate what had just happened.

If he wasn't mistaken, the Oompa-Loompa called himself Kreacher. It was a strange name, Harry thought, but then he was a strange person.

And apparently someone had taken his treasure away. Harry remembered the nest he had seen, and wondered who on earth would steal things like that. But there had also been something about a master, and serving...was Kreacher a slave? Was Master the same person who made him live in the cupboard? And who was it? Were there more people like Kreacher living in this house?

The brat mustn't see Kreacher...

Harry assumed that the brat meant him. He'd been called brat a few times by Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, and he assumed that it wasn't a very nice word. Maybe Kreacher was mad at Harry for having snooped around his cupboard?

But why wasn't Harry allowed to see Kreacher? Another rule by this mysterious Master?

"Harry?"

This time he really did squeak, jumping into the air when the voice sounded around him.

Remus stopped, quickly brining up his arms in a calming gesture. "I'm sorry, Harry! I didn't mean to scare you...What are you doing up here?"

Remus looked like he had already been in bed; he was wearing a faded blue pyjama and his hair looked almost as bad as Harry's did.

"I..I was going to get a glass of water, and then I heard something," Harry said slowly, wondering if Remus had heard the Oompa-Loompa too, and if he was angry that Harry had disobeyed orders.

There was a flicker of concern in Remus' eyes, but his smile stayed. "Really?" he said, coming to stand next to Harry and looking around the deserted corridor. "What was it?"

"Dunno," Harry muttered quietly, looking down in the hopes that Remus wouldn't read the truth in his eyes.

But his luck held, and Remus seemed to believe him. "Probably just a portrait," he said, throwing one last glance behind him before putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and gently guiding him back towards the stairs. "They start arguing sometimes. But you really shouldn't have come up here on your own, Harry. Remember what Sirius and I told you?"

Harry ducked his head, feeling guilt creep up in him. Remus had lapsed into his teacher voice which always made Harry want to confess all his sins. But he stayed strong and simply gave a meek nod. "That it could be dangerous and that I shouldn't touch anything. But I didn't touch anything!"

Remus smiled. "Good. Now how about you go ahead back to bed and I bring you that glass of water?"

Relieved, Harry nodded and rushed back to his own room. But on the way his eyes fell on the door to the drawing room, still opened form the cleaning campaign, and the big bin bag that stood in its middle. It wasn't closed properly, and Harry could see various silver items poking out of it.

He stopped, remembering Kreacher's nest, and a smile crept onto his face. Suddenly he knew how he might help the Oompa-Loompa.

I'm with Sirius; I'd totally play Sex Pistols to a kid...probably a good thing I don't have any.

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