Certain Dark Things || Book Two

viii. a most sullen house-elf

Harriet woke to the ugliest creature she had ever seen poking her in the face.

The strength of its miniature glower could've matched Professor Snape's, had the creature been more than three feet tall, stooped, and covered in sallow, sagging folds of flesh. It wore a pillowcase of all things, the hem tatty and impatiently stitched, nose bulbous and red while white hair sprung from its large ears in thick bushels.

"It's awake," it croaked.

Harriet flung herself backward, away from the creature, and slammed her head into a solid wood headboard. Stars burst before her eyes. "Ow!"

The lumpy, hunched thing grinned nastily at Harriet. "The blood-traitor's daughter is telling Kreacher to check on the half-blood."

"Who—?"

He—or Harriet thought it was a he, a goblin of some kind, maybe? A very rude goblin—hopped off the bed and landed on the floor with a solid thump. Below, Livi stirred the bed skirt and hissed with menace, causing the creature to round his eyes and back away, glaring at the scaled tail poking out from the fabric. He disappeared out the door, leaving it ajar, and Harriet flopped back onto the mattress.

Right. I'm at Elara's house, in her bedroom.

She stared at the ceiling for a long minute and didn't move, didn't do much of anything aside from breathe and let the memories from the night before float through her head like gross, mucky water. Harriet felt like she was drowning in that water, so she squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them wide, taking in such a sharp breath her chest ached. It's okay. I'm okay. It's okay.

Harriet studied the room, the funny posters mostly hidden behind tacked up parchment and the garish Gryffindor colors, Elara's trunk open at the bed's foot with its tidy contents open for inspection. Harriet thought of her own trunk and cursed herself for an idiot as she sat up, pushing the pads of her fingertips into her shut eyes until she saw stars. How could she leave the bloody trunk behind?

Livius slithered out the open door after the creature, his scales creating the softest rasping sound as his belly rubbed on the old floors, and Harriet hissed, "Don't go scaring people."

"Sss...."

Sighing, Harriet wriggled her way out from under the counterpane and fumbled for her glasses on the nightstand, knocking her wand off in the process. The stick clattered on the floor and Harriet, swearing under her breath, dropped to her knees to look beneath the bed, pushing aside the blanket Livi had made an impromptu nest from so she could snatch up her wand and strap it and her brace to her wrist. She wasn't going to forget it again.

She glanced at the blurred edge of her shadow, softened by the weak light, and whispered, "Set?"

No response came, which didn't surprise Harriet, really; Set chose when to make his presence known and not a moment beforehand—typically manifesting just long enough to save her life or throw said life into mayhem. She wished he'd stop throwing things at Parkinson, no matter how loathsome she could be at times.

Rising, Harriet shut the door and shuffled out of her borrowed nightgown, pulling on her clothes from the day prior even as she shuddered and grimaced when the weight of the old shirt settled on her scrawny shoulders. She'd almost forgotten about Kevin until he poked his head out from the pocket and hissed his irked defiance.

Harriet sidled out of the room and into the dark hall, peeking about the gloomy space with hesitation before following the thumps of movement to the next door down. Elara stood by the hearth inside, going through a crooked dresser with what looked like an old fireplace poker, dropping moth-eaten trousers and ancient shorts onto the floor while watching Livi from the corner of her eyes. She seemed vaguely wary—and Harriet guessed she should be, given that Livi killed a man last night.