To Have and To Hold
"M-master –"
The house elf bowed carefully, meticulously averting his eyes from any part of his master's being.
"Mas-master," He squeaked again, "The m-mistress has – has a message, to be delivered to you in reply to your honor's summons, oh my master." The creature began to quake as it felt the master's glare smoldering the crown of his lowered head.
"Well then, if it's from the mistress, by all means get on with it." The sneer in his master's smooth tones was unmistakable. The ongoing discord between his master and mistress was legendary. This message, however, might bring the entire thing to a head. Nobody was quite sure which they would prefer to be the final victor.
The house elf swallowed – audibly.
The master whirled and pointed at the unfortunate creature, and the poor thing began to rise steadily in the air. He squeaked in dismay.
"Did I not tell you," The master hissed, bringing his index and thumb fingers close together as though pinching material, "To get on with it?"
The house elf's throat began to constrict. "Y-yes, oh venerable master." He choked out. His dangling feet began to kick and flail as his windpipe began to close.
"And," The master's voice lowered to a sinister level, "You are aware of these worthy gentlemen surrounding me, all waiting most patiently for the entertainment owed them as my guests?"
When the creature failed to answer, the master made a particularly vicious twist of his hand, as though breaking something thick.
The house elf squealed piteously as his shoulder popped from its socket. A few of the "gentlemen" laughed.
"Y-yes, oh divinity which is mine to serve!" The pitiable creature gasped.
"Then tell me," The master's voice lowered still more, a barely audible growl, his ice clinking in his glass with each word. "What –" Clink. "Is –" Clink. "The message?"
"She – she says she won't come, oh most worthy of masters." The house elf reported fuzzily. His voice sounded funny to his too large ears, as though he'd been drinking. A gurgle of some kind escaped his lips.
"She refuses."
He had meant to add some sort of honorific to the end of that statement, but found he couldn't remember quite how to work his tongue.
The glass shattered.
Had he remained conscious as his filthy body dropped to the floor, he would have realized he needn't worry; his master's attention had been wholly diverted.
As it was, he had just enough time to watch the black clad feet of his master disappear as he bolted for the grand, incomparable staircase of Malfoy Manor. Then the fuzzy blackness, prodding for some time, engulfed him, and he knew no more.