Harry only had a fleeting moment to wonder what this was all about, because a second later, his question was answered. A dirty, decrepit-looking house elf shuffled into the room. He was wearing a filthy tea towel, and had an extremely sour and bitter expression on his wrinkled face. "Yes, Master?" he muttered in a low, gravelly voice. His gaze shifted to Harry, and if possible, his face grew even more disgusted.
"Bring us some chicken sandwiches and some pumpkin juice," Sirius demanded, surprising Harry with the harshness of his tone.
"Yes, Master," the elf said again, bowing so low that his nose reached the floor. As he shuffled out of the room, Harry heard him murmuring to himself. "Stupid fool of a master returning to our ancient and noble house, and he brings the Potter whelp into my sanctuary. Oh my poor mistress, what would she say if she knew the deeds of her blood traitor son? He broke her poor heart when he ran away from the fine nobility of ..."
"Shut up, Kreacher, and get us our food," Sirius snarled furiously, glaring so hard at the little elf that it actually looked painful. "My mother didn't have a heart to break, you foul excuse for an elf."
Harry couldn't help gaping in shock at the abrupt change in his godfather's demeanor. The look on his face had been downright frightening while talking to the elf, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't blindsided by it. True, he'd seen Sirius vibrating with anger before, when he and Remus had confronted Peter a year ago. But Harry would never have suspected that such a tiny elf would elicit such rage and hatred from the man.
But Harry was also shocked at the things the elf had muttered under his breath. Sirius had said he hated this house, and had run away when he was sixteen. He'd said his parents were the worst kind of people. Had Kreacher been part of the family the entire time? The elf had also used the term "blood traitor" when referring to Sirius. Harry had heard Malfoy and his cronies use that term, too. Slowly, several puzzle pieces began to fit together, and he once again was astonished at the fact that Sirius had brought them here even though it held such awful memories for him.
But still, the way Sirius was treating Kreacher made Harry feel intensely uncomfortable. But he instantly felt guilty for thinking so. After the length Sirius had gone to just to keep him safe, he didn't think he had a right to feel this way. And the things Kreacher had muttered had been abominable, after all. But there was something pitiable about the state of the elf, and Sirius's attitude towards him made Harry feel rather on edge.
There were a few seconds of very awkward silence, and then Kreacher returned, holding a tray with two chicken sandwiches and pumpkin juice on it. He plunked it down on the table next to the couch. "Here you go, Master. For you and the Potter boy," he croaked, the expression on his face still unchanged. "Master can call Kreacher if he requires his services again." Once again, he bowed so low that his nose touched the floor, then mumbled so softly that it took effort for Harry to hear him, "Kreacher is wondering what his old master and that Potter filth are doing here in my precious mistress's house. If it were up to Kreacher he'd have never let them in here. Oh my poor mistress, she would never let those vermin invade and infest her beautiful home, no, she would not."
"SHUT UP, KREACHER!" Sirius roared at the elf, making Harry jump. "You're the vermin around here! GET OUT AND GO BACK TO YOUR BOILER ROOM!"
And Kreacher did, without saying another word.
After Kreacher had left the room, Harry simply sat on the couch, staring wide-eyed at Sirius. The chicken sandwiches and pumpkin juice sat very close to him, but Harry didn't go and retrieve them. His mind was lost in the past, flashing back to things he didn't want to remember.
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
"It's disgusting, how witches and wizards make house-elves obey their every command. Why doesn't anyone try and help them?"
"Oh give me a break, Hermione. They. Like. It."
"Shut up, Ron, and stop being an insensitive prat!"
"I'm not! I'm only telling the truth!"
"Harry? Kiddo, what's wrong?" Sirius's concerned voice pulled Harry out of his reverie. "Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?"
Without thinking, Harry blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. "Why did you treat that house-elf like that?" he asked, willing the flashbacks to stop. Sirius isn't Lucius Malfoy, he told himself angrily. Sirius wouldn't treat Kreacher like Lucius treated Dobby.
Sirius looked truly surprised by the question. "Oh, Kreacher?" He gave a bitter snort. "He's an ugly, foul, slimy little urchin," he said, his gray eyes dark with something unfathomable, and Harry had the distinct impression that the man was lost in his own flashbacks. "I've always hated him."
"But ..." Harry started, but didn't know how to finish. How could he tell Sirius the story of Dobby without making it sound like he was comparing his godfather to Lucius Malfoy? The two were nothing alike; he couldn't imagine Lucius caring for Draco the way Sirius was caring for him.
Sirius studied Harry's face, truly taking in the tinge of fear in his eyes. Instantly, his expression softened, and all the remaining anger and hate left his eyes. "Kiddo, did I scare you?" he asked quietly, the color draining from his face.
Harry looked at him, stricken. "You ... you were just so angry," he mumbled. "He's a really nasty elf, but you ..."
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered, truly looking appalled now. "I never meant to scare you. I ... that elf just makes me so angry. I lose myself when I'm around him."
.....
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