Chapter Six

Kreacher knew that the Dark One's parasitic soul had only left his Old Master Harry when the young man had heroically walked through the Veil. He knew this, for Kreacher's soul still shuddered at the abrupt unravelling of his bond, that had snapped without will or warning, and far too quickly for Kreacher to intervene. It had left a scar on his mind that Kreacher doubted could ever heal, and for this among many other reasons, the old elf refused to take that path.

The only rule he would stand by is that Young Master Harry would not be harmed. Kreacher's poor, shriveled, blackened, old heart could not take it.

Having determined this, he attempted to consider another method for disposing of those foul artifacts, but realized that his own powers would fail him. House elves were tricky creatures when it came to the realm of magic. There were two common branches of Wizarding magic that were exercised in daily life: Transfigurations and Charms. The former Art would change the nature of an object or being, while the latter would imbue additional characteristics to the subject. A Warming Charm cast on a wizard, for example, would imbue the concept of heat to the surrounding air, and then anchor that altered substance to the wizard in question.

However, these alterations would be finite, and dependent on the strength and duration of magic running through the subject. Some may last for a long time- years, decades, centuries even- but at some point, the magic will fade, and the integrity of the original subject would be restored. By this knowledge, and at its most simplest form, the Arts of Alchemy and Enchantment were to turn the finite pieces into a permanent masterworks, for Transfiguration and Charms respectively.

House elf magic worked at the crossroads between Alchemy and Enchantment, but was objectively more powerful than either field. The former could permanently change a log into a cushion, and the latter could permanently impose the characteristics of a cushion onto the log, but a house elf managed both. Kreacher was capable of imbuing the concept of 'softness' onto the log, and changing the very idea of what a log would be.

Had a wizard cast a replicator spell at an enchanted log, the copied object would not have the same enchantment impressed upon it. If a wizard replicated a log changed by the magicks of a house elf, then the copied object would be just as soft as a cushion, for the house elf had changed the very essence of a subject.

This was a great and terrible power, but by the nature of its possibilities, restricted by the Laws of Magic. Kreacher was limited to using his power- first in the betterment of the Young Master, and followingly, by Mother Magic's protection of the soul, the mind, and the body of her subjects. He could not conjure food or noble metals, his mind was protected by virtue of his Master's compassion, and the essence of any subject that he may change, could just as easily be undone by another of his kind.

Thus, despite his great power, Kreacher could not find a reasonable solution to his Master's dilemma.

At least, he could not find a solution by himself, but perhaps others may be able to help him? Kreacher immediately disregarded the old man with the impressively long beard, or any of his minions. The Headmaster had known that the Dark One survived for well over six years now, weakened by the sacrifice of Young Master's Mudb- Muggleborn- mother, but had yet to handle the problem. Incompetent, he was. Utterly, and thoroughly incompetent.

Not to mention, that he was also a believer of the drunken woman's prophecy, which spoke of gullibility on top of said incompetence. Kreacher would even wager a month's worth of chores that he was to blame for Young Master's abuse.

Kreacher would exact the proper revenge on Young Master's behalf. Sure, he could not prove the old man's guilt, but, if not in this matter, he had probably wronged the House Black in some other way.

Kreacher then turned his attention to his Young Master's non-human allies, for his friends were young, and also made in poor taste (Kreacher knew that he could no longer call the bushy girl 'Mudblood', but that didn't mean he had to like her). The goblin had proved traitorous, the winged-horse creature lacked intelligence, the man-horse creature would not help him… perhaps the bird? Kreacher also considered his fellow soldier in the war for his Young Master's health and happiness, before shaking his head. Dobby's excessive enthusiasm to serve Harry Potter was laudable, but he was still bound to Miss Cissy's foolish husband.

Kreacher sighed. His poor Master had such few allies to turn to in his time of need. This was likely the old man's fault as well somehow.

Phoenixes were prideful, independent beings of fire and air, so despite the bird's questionable loyalties, Kreacher popped outside the Headmaster's Office. Extending his ears, the old elf determined that the old man was absent (fortunately for him for Kreacher was a vengeful elf), and snapped his fingers. When he appeared inside of the room, all of the portraits were in stasis, and not a single alarm had been triggered. It was a hallmark of the human reliance and blind trust of house elves that no wards had been placed to prevent Kreacher's entry, and no magic cast to counteract his own.

Despite the full absence of any sort of defense whatsoever, and the firebird that peered at him with benevolent curiosity, Kreacher waited. A moment later, another pop signaled an elf of much younger age, who nodded respectfully in acknowledgement of Kreacher's experience and wisdom.

"Haves youse businesses for Master Dumbles?" The elf inquired.

Kreacher raised a single eyebrow of condescension, and the other elf squirmed in his place.

"Not giving yours namesies first?" Kreacher chided, "Youse is shaming yours Master. I is Kreacher, Head Elf of House Black. And youse?"

"Tippy, sir," the elf, Tippy, squeaked, shamefully, "I is the cleaning elf on duty, sir."

Kreacher nodded. "I is needing more importants elf, Tippy. Bringing Maelis here."

The elf nodded, and popped away, trusting Kreacher to abide by the social conventions and uphold the honor of his Family. That trust was well-placed for Kreacher had stood by patiently, until an almost as old elflein in a neatly laundered pillowcase appeared. Kreacher promptly offered her a bow, much to the other's surprise.

Maelis was an elflein that Kreacher had immense respect for, from his years working alongside the Hogwarts elves. She had become the first Head Elflein in Hogwarts, a leader among elfleins in an elf's world. Before he had worked under her firm guidance, Kreacher had believed in the view that an elflein had no place outside of the kitchens, the house rooms, or the caring of elflings. Certainly it was the prevalent view his early years, and while Kreacher was not one to stick too closely to convention, certain social mores had to be upheld.

Maelis had been thoroughly unimpressed by that attitude, and had refused to set him to work until he learned to still his tongue. Kreacher had done so- begrudgingly- but after several months of watching her subtly undermine the Dark One's forces, the old elf was surprised to find his silent resentment turn into genuine admiration. She was truly a credit to Hogwarts Castle.

(That Maelis had been quite terrifying as she cheerfully hacked a Death Eater to pieces did not hurt her case).

"Hellos Kreacher of House Black," Maelis said politely, not offering a curtsy in return, "What businesses youse Master have here?"

"I needs to speak with the Phoenixes," Kreacher replied, "My Masters has problems that the bearded one's bird can fix. Kreacher comes here to tell youse that."

The dark-green skinned being nodded in understanding. "Only if the Fawksies says okay, and I needs to stay here with youse."

Kreacher folded his stiffened joints and glowered back. Regardless of his admiration, he was not a sloppy, wet-behind-the-ears elfling that needed to be supervised! "Kreacher will not break anything!"

"Maelis understands, but the Headmaster Sir doesn't like strangers in his office-room," the elflein folded her own arms, "Maelis won't tell anyones what youse say."

"Even youse Master?" Kreacher asked suspiciously.

"Maelis doesn't have a Master," she swiftly corrected, "Maelis serves Lady Hoggywarts. If youse is nots hurting Hoggywarts, then Maelis won't say anything to Headmaster Sir. But if Headmaster Sir asks, then I has to answer."

Kreacher accepted the compromise begrudgingly. "Wills Fawksies talk to Kreacher?"

A red-feathered head cocked itself to the side, and ancient, black eyes seemed to peer into the shriveled elf's soul. Kreacher was almost intimidated by the restrained power radiating from that gaze, but he stood firm and bared his teeth back. He was the proud Head Elf of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black! He had served the man who forced a Dark Lord into mortality! He was the servant of a boy who conquered death!

Then a happy, sing-song chirp burst into existence, and Kreacher cringed. Good Merlin, was that piercing sound painful to his sensitive hearing!

Still he had received an acceptance- probably- and the determined elf forged on. "I needs to talk to Fawksies about the bad snake-man. Firsties, I needs to know that youse won't tell anyone."

A small pause, and then another affirmative chirp. "Kreacher is the servant of the brave and noble Master Regulus, who founds that the bad snake-man cannot dies. Master Regulus knews it was because of an evil locket, and he dies to gets the evil locket outs of the caves…"

Speaking concisely, Kreacher quickly shared all of the information that he knew, excepting for the fact that he had travelled back to this time. Instead he told them of how brave Master Regulus knew there was more than one soul jar, and hypothesized that one of them had been hidden in Hogwarts. Judging from the way Maelis' eyes narrowed at that knews, Kreacher felt that he had gained a ready ally for his Young Master's side.

Once he had croaked his way through it all, Kreacher fell silent and waited for the majestic bird to reply. He did not expect for Fawkes' to take a few hops forward, nudge a tattered hat off the shelf, and catch it on his head. Much to the male elf's bemusement, a wide tear then formed on the brim of the black cloth.

"Ah, it's been so long since I could properly converse with someone!" A cheerful, musical voice echoed out of the brim, "Albert normally can't stand sharing his voice, but this time it was important enough for him to give in."

Kreacher blinked. "And youse are?"

"Gwyneth Gryffindor at your service!" The fire-gold phoenix cocked his (her?) head again, and Kreacher thought it would fall off his (her?) head. "You may prefer to call me Fawkes instead, though honestly… that man and his naming abilities! Ah, but I digress. You would like my counsel for your problem, yes?"

Kreacher dumbly nodded.

"Well, my dear time-travelling elf," Gwyneth kindly ignored the gaping Kreacher, "The solution is imminently simple. We must engage in a little arson, jailbreak, and untimely death!"

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