CHAPTER TEN: HALF THIS CHAPTER BROUGHT TO YOU COURTESY OF TVTROPES. YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. I TROPE.
CHAPTER TEN, "KREACHER'S TALE": *opens with just about the most heart-melting Ron/Hermione tableau in all of existence*
HARMONIANS: OKAY OKAY WE GIVE.
HARRY: Meanwhile, I have no love to rely upon, just Dumbleangst.
HARMONIANS: *whimper* Our version of canon would have prevented all this…
HARRY: *seriously, I swear, what with all the crap that went down last chapter, wakes up thinking solely of the rumors about Dumbledore's one-hundred-year-old neglect of his sister*
HARRY: Well, what did you want me to think about, the damn Ministry falling? Honestly, for all the hoopla, I don't see how that will make any difference to this series.
NARRATIVE: Harry could not stand lying there in Grimmauld Place with nothing but bitter thoughts for company.
NARRATIVE: … even though you would have thought he'd built up a tolerance for that sort of thing in Book 5.
FANDOM: Well, he's growing up. So, narrative, what sort of action are you providing us with now that doomsday has come and gone? More action? More adventure?
NARRATIVE: Oh, we're going to wander around Sirius's and Regulus's childhood rooms and angst some.
FANDOM: :-/
HARRY: *admires Sirius's Muggle pictures of bikini-clad girls*
HARRY: *er, wait... admires Sirius's nerve in putting them up. Not the pictures themselves. Not at all!*
HARRY: Ooh, another token of Marauder nostalgia. Can I take it with me?
THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK: *is apparently really addicted to Permanent Sticking Charms*
HARRY: Aw, but I really wanted some backstory nostalgia to dampen my spirits this morning…
LETTER WRITTEN BY LILY POTTER: Yoo-hoo, sweetie, over here!
HARRY: Oh… my… God…
THE LETTER: Hi Padfoot! Mind if I throw Marauderic nicknames around like candy at a parade?
So I'm writing to you on Harry's first birthday, as you're apparently out on one of those vague Order missions that would so enliven the series of my titular son if we knew the details of. I used to think those missions were a bitch, but I'm starting to envy you, you sly chronic-broomstick-giving godfather, you, now that James is going stir-crazy here under Fidelius—in a way that so strangely parallels your later fate. Ahem.
JAMES: *via the heavenly King's Cross intercom* Soul-brothers.
SIRIUS: *Always, brother.
THE LETTER: For canonical verisimilitude, let me name-drop Petunia, Quidditch, Bathilda, Invisibility Cloaks (that are so totally not Deathly or Hallowed or anything like that), and Wormtail and the McKinnony death he apparently orchestrated in the same sentence. Oooh, ominous.
To round off, let me play "sadistic mother" and cut off this letter where Harry is really getting interested, you know, the part where I could shed some light on Dumbleangst!
No generic letter-ending love for you, I'm saving it for Stalking Sev—
Lily. :-)
HARRY: ORPHANIC ANGST LIKE NOW. *whimper*
HARRY: All right, I've recovered enough to reread the letter and actually think about these contents. And I will chew on the questions very thoughtfully, but here are some of the questions I will not ask:
HOW IS IT: *that this letter wound up here at all? surely Sirius wasn't chilling at Grimmauld when he first received it, so how come he has here now?*
DID PETUNIA REALLY: *send Lily Christmas presents?*
AND WHAT THE HELL: *is going on with first war chronology?*
OBSESSIVE FANDOM: *collective head goes a-splode*
HARRY: *blissfully ignorant* This letter is going in my mokeskin of cherished treasures. *happy sigh*
HARRY: So here's this letter to Sirius written by my dead mum.
HERMIONE: Oh. That's nice.
HARRY: And a picture of me as a baby on a toy broomstick, look.
HERMIONE: Very sweet.
HARRY: So it seems as though someone was searching the house.
HERMIONE: Yeah.
HARRY: I bet it was the Sole Object of My Eternal Ire.
HERMIONE: Snape? Pshaw. Why?
HARRY: Looking for info on Dumbledore? Stalking my mum two decades after her death?
HERMIONE: Maybe.
HARRY: You know Bathilda Bagshot? Author of -
HERMIONE: *lights up with interest* A History of Magic! I can't believe your dead parents knew her! She was an incredible magical historian!
HARRY: *snorts* Yes, yes, Hermione, it's very exciting. Now do try to get a hold on yourself.
HERMIONE: Oh… I get it… orphanic angst… *understanding smile*
HARRY: Hermione, don't do that, you know I hate Understanding Smile.
SIGN ON DOOR ACROSS FROM SIRIUS': Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Fond-of-His-Middle-Name Black, Bitches.
NARRATIVE: Excitement trickled through Harry, but he was not immediately sure why.
READERS: *trying to shout through the fourth wall* OH WE BLOODY WELL KNOW WHY, AND DON'T YOU DARE FAIL TO MAKE THE CONNECTION, SCAR-BOY.
HARRY: Hermione! I found R.A.B.!
READERS: FINALLY! God, we were on that two years ago.
HARRY: So, maybe we should enter-without-the-express-permission-of-Regulus-Acturus-Black. (Bitch.)
HERMIONE: Not without Ron! He's so useful and patient when we explore backstory.
THERE'S ALSO A SCHOOL PHOTO: *in Regulus's room*
REGULUS: *basically didn't bother to do his own interior decorating, he just looked at whatever Sirius did and customized it for himself*
HARRY: He tried to help destroy Voldemort's soul… and he played Seeker… Yes, I see myself in this dead-by-backstory character, too…
RON AND HERMIONE: So not interested in your innocent heroic heart, Harry…
TRIO: *diligently searches*
FANDOM: We know damn well it's not here, so can't you guys just try Summoning it?
HERMIONE: Guys! Wait! We can just try Summoning it.
ACCIO: *nothing*
RON: So the locket's not here?
HERMIONE: No, we have to keep searching anyway, in case it was merely unSummonable.
RON: GRR.
FANDOM: What he said.
HERMIONE: Wait… I'm remembering Book 5…
FANDOM: ABOUT TIME.
HERMIONE: We saw a locket…
FANDOM: And you threw it out…
HERMIONE: And we threw it out…
HARRY: ALL RIGHT, KREACHER, IT'S "THIRD PERSON" TIME!
FANDOM: House-elves… *groan*
KREACHER: Kreacher is still ugly and filthy, thanks for asking. And Kreacher still HATES WEASLEYS AND MUDBLOODS.
HARRY: Well, I… order you not to do that.
KREACHER: AND KREACHER HATES YOU, HATED MASTER.
HARRY: Glad we're clear.
HARRY: So, innocent question, where's the locket?
KREACHER: *time to do a Dobby!*
HARRY: No, Kreacher! No self-abuse antics! I want to talk to you first, then you can beam yourself. I'll help.
MUNDUNGUS: *stole the Horcrux over Kreacher's protests, which is why, boys and girls, you shouldn't rely on house-bound house-elves to be your guard dog*
KREACHER: Kreacher now will take bad Master and blood-traitor and the M-word on another holiday to the Fifth Dimension of Backstory.
HARRY: That's what we paid for.
KREACHER: So once upon a time, in a place awfully damn close to here, there were two sons of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, one prodigal and one dutiful—
HARRY: We KNOW.
KREACHER: Kreacher is getting there. *sob*
KREACHER: So Voldemort, with his equal-opportunity ways, asked for a house-elf, and took me to *sob* the place Dumbledore took Master Harry in HBP…
HARRY: Yes, the parallelism isn't lost on me either…
KREACHER: So the Dark Lord used Kreacher to do his evil bidding and totally kicked the dog afterwards, but this fantasy series will now answer the question of what would happen if the kicked dog got away after the dramatic movie shot of the Dark Lord billowing away and leaving some pathetic freak underling to die…
KREACHER: And basically what happens is that Dark Lords get really, really screwed.
READERS: *munching popcorn* Cool.
KREACHER ESCAPES: *because Regulus told him to*
REGULUS WAS FAR TOO MUCH OF A STAND-UP BLOKE: *to have Kreacher drink the potion instead of him when he went to destroy the locket*
HARRY: Look at his heroic, if not-so-innocent, heart! He looks like my Sirikins, too. I thinks I likes him.
READERS: That was somewhat of an unnecessary sacrifice. Why not order this magically kick-arse Kreacher to Apparate him out after drinking the potion?
HARRY: Unnecessary sacrifice, you say? Yes, I have so bonded with this dead character.
KREACHER'S TALE, ACCORDING TO HERMIONE: drives home the point that house-elves' magical enslavement is horrid.
Kreacher had to obey Regulus's injunction to silence even when Mrs Black, head of household, demanded explanations. Apparently, house-elves must obey the orders of everyone in their households. This gives us a pretty good idea of parlour games among the rich and sadistic type of Dark wizarding families that seem to populate this 'verse:
HYPOTHETICAL MASTER: Jobey, do whatever Mistress tells you!
HYPOTHETICAL MISTRESS: Jobey, whatever Master tells you, mind you don't do it!
HYPOTHETICAL JOBEY THE HOUSE-ELF: *ungrammatical wailing and frenetic self-abuse*
HYPOTHETICAL KIDS: Go for your head, Jobey! The head! *crunch* Yeah!
HYPOTHETICAL HOUSEHOLD: Ah, it's good to spend quality time exploring the limits of logic with the family.
HARRY: Kreacher, I just don't understand you and your dishonorable ways.
HERMIONE: *eyetear of girly compassion* Harry, don't you get it? He's a brainwashed slave. He doesn't understand honor, he just responds to kindness. Like he didn't get from Voldemort or Sirius. Hint, hint.
HARRY: *rubbing his head from where the hint hit him* Okay, okay, I get it.
HARRY: *painfully kind* Er, Kreacher, darling… darling murderer-of-my-Sirikins… could I ask you… if asking means ordering… to go play guard dog with Mundungus Fletcher?
KREACHER: KREACHER WANTS TO CHASE MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER INDEED. AND BASH HIS TOBACCOEY BRAINS IN.
HARRY: Phew, this "kindness" thing isn't too bad (you get to rough up just as many people!) Okay, well, I want you to have this memorial to Master Regulus too—
KREACHER: Master Harry is too kind! *SOB*
HARRY: Aw shucks—
RON: No, Master Harry is too kind, now we're going to have to put up with that horrible screechy sobbing for another half-an-hour.
HARRY: Whoops.
RON: Sheesh, nice job setting it off, hero.