A/N: Hey gang! So, yes, a little late, but it is up! Time to get in to the Kreacher Problem, enjoy!
Sirius knows something's wrong a split second before Harri screams, and when she does, he's already moving, bounding down the stairs. He barrels into the living room, fists up, only to find Harri and Kreacher.
Fuck. So, the nasty little bootlicker was still alive.
"Alright?" he asks tightly, decidedly not looking at him. His fists are balled at his side and something dark and twisted inside him urges him to take a swing, to knock the tiny motherfucker to the ground and pound his horrid little face—
"Yeah, sorry, just startled," she says. She turns to Kreacher, an apologetic look on her face. It's then that Sirius notice's that Kreacher's got his mother's jewelry box clutched in his gnarled hands. "I'm really sorry about your box. I was just looking."
"Isn't mine, nasty little half-blood," Kreacher croaks. "It's my mistress's. My poor, poor mistress who would wither away at the thought of filthy hands on her most precious—"
"Your poor, poor mistress is long dead," Sirius tells him savagely, only to see the way his face scrunches up in anguish.
"Poor mistress lived just long enough to see her blood soured," Kreacher says reproachfully. "You are a filthy little criminal, besmirching the house where you were raised. No respect from the brat."
"If I could send you packing, I would," Sirius tells him darkly. The threat of his freedom shuts him up, thank Merlin. Sirius contemplates it briefly, but there's no way that Kreacher will keep their secret. Best thing to do is to keep him, Sirius realizes dejectedly.
"Is this the house elf?" Harri asks with a frown.
"This is Kreacher, last protector of the most noble house of Black," Sirius sneers mockingly. "Look how he's let the house fall into to ruin. What would dear old mum say about it?"
"The traitor speaks of his mother. The blood and womb he betrayed?" Kreacher asks, though it's mostly to himself. Sirius scowls.
"Go make yourself useful, you nasty twat," he says. "This house is disgusting." With that, Kreacher ambles off, glaring darkly at the two of them.
"You weren't very nice to him," Harri says, surprising him. She's got her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face, and for a second, she wavers between Harri and James. Sirius swallows the lump edging its way up his throat.
"He's not a very nice house elf." Harri shakes her head unconvinced.
"He could be," she insists. "He won't be nice unless you're nice first, but you're just being mean." Sirius balks at the embarrassment of being scolded by a not-yet-seven-year-old. James had been the same, the one and only time he'd been to Sirius's house, prattling on about how he needed to be kinder to Kreacher. Neither of them knew what it was like, though, to be thrown over the coffee table and whipped until his skin bled, all while Kreacher stood watching in the corner, a nasty gleam in his eyes.
"Go wash up," he says gruffly. "I'll get us something to eat."
When it's just him in the parlor, Sirius takes a deep breath, forcing himself to control his temper. He won't let it flare up in front of Harri. He is not his father.
He ventures into the kitchen trying to see if there's anything salvageable in there. If Kreacher's alive, he must be eating something. Scrounging through the cabinets yield only a half eaten loaf of moldy bread, old enough that the smell of it makes even him retch a little. Looks like they'll have to subsist on biscuits until they can figure something else out.
"Will new master starve Kreacher?" That awful bullfrog croak startles him and he jumps, finding Kreacher slinking around doorway. "How will new master come up with ways to punish Kreacher, for he so likes to see me in pain?"
Sirius recoils, biting back a snarl. He is not his father, and he will not react like him. Orion would half backhanded Kreacher across the room by now. Despite his pride at his blood status, he'd always favored the muggle way of 'discipline'.
"You'll shut up and do as you're told," he says sharply. "And you'll treat Harri with respect."
"The brat?" Kreacher exclaims. "The half-blood filth that besmirches the—"
"Shut. Up," he says through gritted teeth. "I forbid you from talking about anyone's blood status!"
Kreacher makes a horrible noise in the back of his throat, tears streaming in his big, milky eyes. He glares at Sirius, pointed shutting his mouth with an audible click.
"Clean up the kitchen," Sirius says, walking briskly out of it. Old memories he hasn't thought about in nearly a decade surface up, swirling around his mind tauntingly.
He finds Harri in the hall, investigating the awful umbrella stand. It's too big, nearly blocking the narrow hallway, but Orion was too proud of it to get rid of it. Apparently, Sirius's great-grandfather had made it himself, from the leg of a troll he'd hunted and killed.
"I'd leave it if I was you," he says. "The thing reeks and it stays in your hair and clothes."
Immediately, Harri jumps back, embarrassment tinting her dark cheeks rosy. Sirius takes her hand to lead her back to the parlor. He imagines it embarrasses her a bit, to be led like a child, but it's grounding. Sirius can breathe easier if all he has to do is focus on taking care of her.
"I'm sorry that I called you mean," she says softly, sitting on of the decorative poofs. "I didn't mean it."
"S'alright," he says. "Kreacher's always tried my temper."
"Sometimes I get really upset, too," she says. "Bad things happen, and people get hurt."
"What do you mean?" Harri only shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. Kreacher chooses then to amble in, giving a sweeping bow.
"Kreacher hopes the kitchen is to Master's liking," he croaks.
"Thank you for cleaning, Kreacher," Harri says. He pulls up abruptly, shocked. He turns sharply on his heel and strides out. Sirius can't remember if anyone had ever thanked Kreacher for anything in his life.
"Is he angry?" Harri asks, confusion etched on her little face.
"Don't mind him," Sirius tells her. "Let's go see if the kitchen is actually clean." It occurs to Sirius then, as they're inspecting a surprisingly clean kitchen, that Regulus had done that. He'd said please and thank you to Kreacher always, even when their father had beat him for it. He swallows back the pain of thinking of his brother, fetching Harri's rucksack.
They treat themselves to a dinner of biscuits, and to both Sirius's and Kreacher's surprise. Harri lays a few out on a saucer to bring to house elf. He snatches it from her hands, retreating to slink down in his hidey-hole of preference.
That night, Sirius stokes up a fire, which releases a barrage of insects. Harri and Sirius stomp them out or sweep them away, dumping as many of them out the window. She's not squeamish, but she doesn't like being surprised. After making sure the parlor is insect-free, they settle down for the night in a pile of old blankets Sirius salvaged from an airing cupboard. He turns into Padfoot and Harri curls against his side.
The next morning, Sirius wakes alone, freezing and human. He ambles to kitchen, where to his utter astonishment, Kreacher is pouring tea for Harri. She tries to help him, but he smacks her hands away, telling the "nasty brat to watch it's dirty fingers."
"What's all this?" he asks, taking a cautious seat. Unsurprisingly, Kreacher does not serve him tea, instead slinking away and muttering darkly to himself.
"I found Kreacher this morning doing magic!" Harri exclaims. "I asked him what sort of magic he could do, and he said anything."
"House elves do whatever they're ordered to," he says automatically. "Where did you get the tea, Harri?"
"I asked Kreacher if he could make me look different and he did!" Indeed, her hair is slightly blonde around the bottom and her skin is lighter than he's seen in. He watches as it goes darker and her eyes go from ice blue to bottle green.
"So, you went into town?" he asks, trying to keep his voice even. His heart hammers in his chest and wild scenarios run through his mind. He's starting to feel a little faint actually.
"Well, Moony packed me some muggle money, so I thought I'd get a few things. It's alright, I know how to run errands." She eyes him carefully, and clearly, he's not doing a good job of controlling his face because she shrinks back, looking rather small.
"Padfoot, have I done something wrong?"
"Listen very carefully," he says, trying to quell his panic. She's alright, she's here, and they're both safe. "You are never to leave this house without me, do you understand?"
"But—"
"Do you understand?!" He demands, leaping up out of his chair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If anyone sees her, if anyone understands who she is, she'll be taken and he'll never see her again. James—
Harri nods, face pinched up in fear. Instantly, Sirius rears back, ashamed of himself.
"I'm really sorry," she says softly, head down. With that, she troops dejectedly out of the kitchen, wringing her hands. Sirius slumps back in his seat, taking a few deep breaths. That's when he notices the packet of his favorite crisps on the counter.
Fuck.
Harri knows she's a foolish little girl. It was foolish to think she could live here with Padfoot and that Moony would come soon. It was foolish to ask Kreacher to show her magic. It was especially foolish to leave without asking Padfoot first.
She understands why he's angry with her. If anyone catches them, they'll take him away, chuck him in prison for something he didn't do. She sniffles softly to herself as she packs. Surely, he'll understand how foolish she really is, that Aunt Petunia was right when she said she was a horrid difficult child. Surely, he'll send her back, so it's safer for him.
Harri sits on the steps with her rucksack, waiting.
"Harri?" Padfoot makes his way over, a grim expression on his face. "Can I sit?" She nods and he takes a seat a few steps down from her.
"Are you going to send me away?" she asks dully.
"Is that why you've got your ruckie all packed?"
"I'm sorry I made it not safe for you," she admits. She understands that she's got to go back to the Dursley's, as sad as it makes her, because she makes it too unsafe. Suddenly, she's being swept into Padfoot's arms, and he tucks her head under her chin.
"Harri, the most important thing in the world to me is you," he says, his voice rumbling through his chest. "I only care that you're safe, do you understand? That's why I lost my rag. I didn't mean to, but it's fucking terrifying thinking of everything that could happen to you if you're out there alone."
"Are you still angry with me?" She asks. To her embarrassment, tears prick in her eyes, but she blinks them back. She is not a baby.
"Of course not, Hazza," he promises, pulling away slightly. "We're a team, yeah?" She nods eagerly, a smile finding it's way to her face.
"I promise not to go out anymore," she says. "Besides, I haven't got any more money." Padfoot bursts into laughter, shaking with it. After that, Harri and Padfoot put away the rest of the shopping. Harri had bought a few packets of biscuits, two sandwiches, tea, and a small jug of milk. Reluctantly, Kreacher cast a charm on one of the cabinets to keep it cool.
Padfoot takes her and Kreacher around the entirety of the house and they check the wards, which Padfoot explains are long sheets of magic that protect the house. Padfoot yells at him to fix them wards, but Harri asks nicely and he does, not before he calls her a brat. She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't matter. Padfoot grumbles about how he listens to Harri and not him.
They spend the rest of the house cleaning, slowly excavating the rooms. Harri manages to find Padfoot's old room, but he dives in there before she can, closing it whilst turning bright red. He promises to let her in once he's done "redecorating".
Finally, they collapse back in the parlor, in front of the fire. Harri gobbles down her sandwich hungrily. She's exhausted, but she's never been happier to clean. Padfoot is so funny, always making her laugh. He tells her all about her dad, about how they used to joke around at school.
When it's bedtime, Harri curls against Padfoot-the-dog, pleased. She drifts off slowly, counting back her favorite days. This is definitely one of them, plus the day Padfoot found her, the day she, him, and Moony all sat around the fire eating cheese toasties and reading books. There's another one, but she's not sure if it's really even real, one where she sits with her mum and dad, just talking to them.
The next morning, Harri wakes to a weird noise, like a tapping on the window. She pulls herself away from Padfoot-the-dog, who snuffles softly, still asleep. Harri gasps softly; there's an owl at the window.
"Padfoot," she whispers shaking one of his paws. "Padfoot, wake up!"
"What is all this noise?" Kreacher moans, shuffling into the room, a frown marring his face. "Owls at all times of the day, keeping the whole house awake. My poor mistress, restless…"
"Whazzgoinon?" Padfoot-the-human says, sleepily pulling himself up to his feet. He crosses over to the window, wrenching it open. Harri hurries over to the kitchen, filling a teacup with water and grabbing one of the remaining biscuits.
Harri lays it out for the owl, who gulps down the water. The owl gives a soft hoot, leaning against her hand. Padfoot extracts the letter from his foot, unfurling the parchment.
"What does it say?" she demands, tugging on sleeve. Padfoot snickers, ducking out of her grasp. She giggles, chasing him and barreling into him. Padfoot lets out an "oof", buckling a little. He hefts Harri up on his lap and they read the letter together.
Dear Harri and Padfoot,
Things alright here. HM left without saying too much. Very cryptic but does not suspect anything. Will be by as soon as possible. Sent some muggle money to keep you two afloat.
Stay safe,
Moony
