A Black Comedy

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"You bad Master!"

Harry winced as he woke up and hissed in pain when wincing aggravated his tender cheek. He groaned in general discomfort.

"Kreacher thought you were just different. Kreacher thought you were quirky. But Kreacher was wrong!"

"What?" Harry blearily asked, realizing there was a house elf standing on his chest.

"You bad Master! Bad, BAD!"

Harry opened his eyes and saw the house elf in question was holding up the Daily Prophet. The entire front page was a giant article entitled:

"Lords Black Outduel Lord Voldemort!"

with a smaller subheading:

'Dark Lord retreats after gruesome broken neck.'

The picture showed Harry on his knees and the Dark Lord floating immobile as his head faced the wrong direction. The moving image had Sirius running into frame, then disappearing and running into frame again, in an eternal loop.

"Oh," Harry said watching the picture and remembering why he felt so crappy.

"No-good muggle-loving Master!" Kreacher spat. "Shame on you! Fooling Kreacher into thinking you're a good Master when Master knew Master was a bad Master. Bad!"

"Right," Harry said. "Get off me, Kreacher. That's an order."

Kreacher hopped down and stalked away angrily. "Filthy evil Masters hurting the Dark Lord. Tricking Kreacher into helping muggle-loving blood traitors."

"And leave the paper," Harry added. He was forced to quickly duck as the folded newspaper was thrown at his head and the elf disappeared down the hall.

Harry kicked his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Urh…" Harry groaned in pain. He drew his only remaining wand, the ash one with a unicorn hair and used his good hand to scourgify his clothes and sheets.

Harry walked slowly and deliberately towards his bathroom and turned on the tap. He splashed water on his face, gently rinsing the dried blood off his cheek, neck, and arms. He saw scrapes, scratches, and purple bruises all over his body. He exhaled tiredly and looked at himself in the mirror. "You look like crap," he told his reflection.

"And you're talking to a muggle mirror," the mirror snootily replied.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Harry said with a frown, before wincing in pain from frowning.

"Right," the mirror chided before standing up straighter, thrusting his hips forward, and mockingly staring Harry's eyes, "I'm a star. I'm a star. I'm a big bright shining star."

"Hey!" Harry indignantly scolded. "That's not an accurate reflection of me and you know it."

The mirror image rolled his eyes. "You're running late."

"Crap," Harry said glancing at the clock in his bedroom. He tossed on his clothes and grabbed the magical newspaper Kreacher had so kindly left behind.

Harry banged on Sirius' door and stuck his head in. "Time to wake up. We're supposed to be in front of the Wizengamot in three minutes."