Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
THE SONG OF SOLOMON
Chapter 5: The Vow
Kreacher found his master huddled against the corner of the room, his body half leaning against the window and his quill feverishly scribbling on a stack of parchment propped against jean-cladded thighs. Half of the profile was obscured by bridesmaid dresses hanging on the door of the armoire, and the white dress robe Kreacher had ironed hours ago remained strewn on the bed.
The room was almost dark, the night descending as a storm raged outside the windows. The only source of light was a soft Lumos from Harry's wand, which had settled in the furrow between the pages of a book that was held open on the carpet. Eyes darted sideward towards it occasionally, a slight frown setting on the concentrated face before they returned to the parchment and the quill took flight again.
Kreacher hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. Pieces of parchment had been filled already, crumpled into small spheres of checkered black and white that littered across the floor.
Harry's distress deepened as time passed; his chin sank lower towards the chest and his hand paused with increasing frequency to push up the spectacles and massage the eyes behind them. The task resumed only after a barely audible sigh and a quick glance at the rain streaming down the glass pane, his lips quivering in sync with the fluttering of feather in his grip, the scratching sound becoming more audible as the pressure mounted between the tip and the parchment.
The snapping of the quill startled both Harry and the house-elf alike. Kreacher gave a small yelp and his master jerked his head to face the doorway. In the shadows the green eyes were brilliant as ever; yet, Kreacher noticed, they were highlighted below the lashes by a faint shimmer that was never there before. It dissipated as Harry rose, blinking furiously, the corner of his mouth lifted in poor imitation of a smile as he posed a question by a series of quick hand gesturing - first a few downward points, followed by repeated rotation of his fist by the mouth. His throat was throbbing violently despite the silence, as if an invisible lump had been stuffed down his mouth and he had lost the ability to speak.
Kreacher stared in confusion but his master did not seem to notice; in quick paces the man fleed the room, his steps almost breaking into a sprint as they made the descent down the staircase. The elf watched the shadow cast from the lights below disappear; Harry must have somehow understood his invitation then. He was probably famished too.
The servant entered the room and with a snap of fingers collected the discarded balls of paper at his feet. The tip of Harry's wand was still emitting light, and Kreacher could see on the page the titleSong of Solomon, and a block of text below that was framed by a haphazardly drawn square, above which "the vow" was written in Ginny's flowing script.
The same passage was copied over and over again on the piece of parchment Harry had had on his lap. The scrawl was barely legible, with blobs of ink accumulating at corners of alphabets where the quill had pressed too hard, and it terminated abruptly with a smudge of black that was undoubtedly the consequence of the breaking of the tip. Kreacher could make out some of the words, something about seals over heart and arm, flames of fire and waters that quenched and drowned. He tutted in disapproval and gathered the parchment into the rubbish pile. No wonder Harry had such a difficult time committing them to memory - they were unnecessarily complicated. Without a doubt, the handiwork of Muggles.
Hopefully a dinner of steak and kidney pie and treacle tart would cheer him up and give him strength, Kreacher thought. He muttered a Nox to the holly wand, and as he shrunk the refuse into a portable heap, he looked out of the window and saw a crescent moon peering behind disbanding clouds.
Kreacher gave a satisfied smile as he Apparated with a pop. It would be beautiful tomorrow, and a hero like his master certainly deserved a life filled with sunlit days.