Kreacher hissed and clutched his chest as a searing pain cleaved his heart in two.
''No. No, not again…'' he whimpered, rendered motionless while his dread reached new and ridiculous heights.
He felt the rupture of the bond like a physical wound. His magic raged and wailed at the unfairness he was dealt with again.
He gulped down his fright as blinding, silent tears slid down his sallow cheeks, seemingly unstoppable.
He was a proud house elf, the trustworthy elf of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
He never showed emotion, bar contempt and disgust, in front of worthless wizards, ever adept at stirring their ire and pointing out their shortcomings acerbically.
Mayhap he grinned inside, but he did not let it surface.
It had been years since he'd known either the ability or the want to show any cheerful sentiments.
On any given day anger, disinterest, and annoyance were among the most often used expressions. Those emotions were known and comfortable and revealed no weakness.
They kept him safe, and in so many regards they helped him remember...
However, this gut-wrenching agony tore down his pride, shredded his sanity, and drowned his very being under the weight of his plight.
He lost his dear Master Regulus years ago and the wound was still fresh, forever seeping droplets of anger, shame, and self-loathing.
He was weakened once by the sour taste of regret. He failed his Master and had not loved him enough to either keep him away from Voldemort and his ilk or see him rescued.
His wrath propelled him and allowed him to carry on. He thrust aside such frailty deep down in his heart and devoted the rest of his days to keeping the Noble Black name alive and clear Master Regulus' name.
He managed to survive thanks to his will and his resolution to see his Master's truth revealed and his name cleared.
Surprisingly, Sirius Black, the ungrateful child, managed to do something good before he joined the rest of the family on the other side. He left the Ladyship to his estimable goddaughter and his miserable life took another turn.
He loved her truly. She was kind and brave and powerful, virtues his previous masters revered.
She was more than what met the naked eye and his empathetic elven magic felt the dark power simmering under her skin, waiting for a way out.
But…
Why was he fated to relieve the loss again?
Why did he have to suffer endlessly?
Without losing another moment, he ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, ignoring the curses and hexes flying above.
When he reached the gate, he closed his eyes tightly and balled his small hands into fists.
He called to the remnants of her signature, trying to pinpoint her location. His magic cried in desperation when he felt a bit of hers.
He disappeared right away, hoping against hope to find her before it was too late.
His heart dropped to his feet when he saw her in Hagrid's arms, definitely not moving.
Kreacher crashed onto his knees as his throat closed up.
Clamping his lips, meaning to show not even an ounce of his current fright by way of his quivering lips, he felt helpless for the first time since Master Regulus' demise.
At last, he became alone and no one could save him anymore...
His head bowed, and Kreacher pulled himself to his feet.
It wasn't over.
He didn't survive all these years to lose everything to the monster who destroyed his life over and over again.
There must be something, anything he could do.
He raised his head for a fleeting moment and glanced up.
He blinked away his tears, entranced by the moonlight. He didn't register the cries and curses and the battle raging inside Hogwarts' walls anymore.
His Mistress was gone, why should he care about the rest of the useless, tawdry fools fighting for something so meaningless?
As the fading link almost disappeared, Kreacher renewed his resolution and closed off his core around the last bit of his Mistress' signature.
He wouldn't let go, never.
Spurned into swift action, he tugged with all his might for he would either find a way or die trying.
He exerted more force in his struggle against whoever was taking her away and dwindling her existence.
Sweat covered his face despite the chilly night and he patently ignored the shaking of his hands as he exhausted his core to its limits and way beyond.
House Elves were much more capable of wielding advanced magic than wizards, their own brand of wandless magic was peerless and as a Senior Elf and a member of the Noble Black family, Kreacher was a master of his craft.
He wouldn't lose, not again, not again, not again….
His vision started getting hazy and clarity became elusive but Kreacher spared no effort to give the last bit of his life energy.
Thus, the notable elf felt some of the tension leave him for he could not fathom a more honorable ending.
While he fell to the floor in a heap, a nasty smile distorted his blue lips. Fate might have played with him for years, taking everyone he held dear, but Kreacher would die as a Black elf, proud, forever faithful to his Masters.
His last thought before darkness claimed him was:'Now, I'll join Master Regulus and Mistress Hespera.'
"You're a bothersome fellow, aren't you Elf?" Kreacher's eyelids twitched, revealing bulbous brown eyes as the scratchy voice sighed mockingly.
He rose slowly, making sure to hide his weakness, and gasped at the sight that greeted him.
House Elves weren't only stronger, they were more sensitive to magic and able to discern when they were in the presence of otherworldly power,a Deity.
Despite his frailness, he bowed until his pointed nose grazed the gleaming white marble.
"Your Reverence, Your Highness…" he stuttered almost unintelligible for the choking fragility of his voice.
Death snorted. "Be at ease little Elf. I am not here to torture you."
When he closed his eyes and breathed out, Death added. ''And if you really held me on a high pedestal, you should have died in peace and gifted me your soul. Did you have to fight me till the last bit of magic you got in your mortal body?"
Kreacher opened his mouth to speak and his breath was released so that the words came out wispy. ''I know I should apologize for going against Mother Magic's teachings and fighting the Deities' verdict. Yet, I can't. I shall not lie in your presence."
A chuckle that sounded more like a hiss came from under the pitch-black cloak. "And I applaud you for your honesty Elf. Your previous Masters taught you well."
Kreacher gulped, averting his gaze, and shuddered as he felt an ice-cold finger touch his naked chest. "I see your heart Kreacher son of Tally. All that you seek is your Masters' company. Despite my twin's games, you remained true, you remained loyal, you remained devoted."
Kreacher's heartbeat tripled in time, and he was fairly certain Death must feel his racing pulse in his hand. He clamped his lips and a muscle ticked in his cheek fighting the tears.
He gave enough today, and now he would join his precious Masters and enjoy eternal bliss. The time for sorrow was over; he should celebrate the end of his suffering.
"That's why I will recompense you. But not in the way you are thinking." Death's voice was definitely smug if someone could decipher some nuances from the frigid tone.
He curled his fingers into a fist and waited for the next words to either enliven him or kill all his hopes.
"You will join your cherished Masters, yet not in the way you think. I will give you another chance, something I sorely do but…"
Death stopped and he felt his penetrating gaze despite the abyss that was his face.
"You will take care of my Mistress and ensure her comfort. You will stay by her side no matter what, always steadfast and true. Your only Mistress from this day on is Lady Hespera Peverell."
Kreacher gasped, but the sound was lost as Death's chuckles reverberated in the vast, scarce, painfully white room.
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