Author's Notes: I started off this chapter with a very different plan in mind, but as I was writing it something else took over and it became something completely unplanned. I decided to dedicate most of a chapter to one of my favorite characters in the series who I think gets a little shafted in terms of his story arc. I wish we had seen more of Kreacher's turn around in the book before they have to leave, and so I've written my own version of it.
Harry Potter and friends, do not belong to me but to JK Rowling. I must admit however, I am certainly up to no good with them
Chapter Six
The tension in the gloomy kitchen was palpable. The last words that Heather had shouted at Remus still hung in the air, cutting off further attempts at conversation. In order to distract herself from the looks that Ron and Hermione were shooting her out of the corners of their eyes, Heather scooped up the paper that Lupin had brought with her picture on it and began to read. They hadn't had any news of the outside world in four days, and a lot seemed to have happened since then. Skating over the articles covering the Muggleborn Registration Commission, Heather turned a page and the name Dumbledore jumped out at her. It was over a picture of five people, who it turned out were Dumbledore's family. Next to the picture was an excerpt from Rita Skeeter's upcoming book. Confident in the knowledge that nothing could make her feel worse right now, Heather read the article.
She was wrong, it had made her feel horrible. There in print was the tale of Kendra Dumbledore imprisoning her daughter for merely being a squib, with no sign that Dumbledore had ever done anything to prevent it. A small part of her remembered who the author of this trash was, but with how she was feeling that fact did little to aid in her arguments in Dumbledore's defense. Once again she wondered how the man she had thought she had known could have done that to his own sister. For the first time in days, she had completely forgotten about Kreacher.
A loud Crack broke the heavy silence followed by sounds of a scuffle. Kreacher was holding Mundungus Fletcher on the floor next to the table in his best imitation of a headlock. At the sight of his master, Kreacher slackened his grip just enough, allowing Mundungus to break free and try to retrieve his wand.
"Expeliarmus!" shouted Hermione who had been much quicker. Deftly, she caught the wand as it went soaring through the air.
"What'd I do? Who're you?" Mundungus said wildly, his beady eyes locking on Heather.
"I'll give you a chance to put two and two together." Heather said icily, folding the paper very deliberately and setting it on the table.
"Lemme go, or-" Mundungus shouted, cut off abruptly as Kreacher returned to his attempts to subdue him. "Sickin' a bleadin' house elf on me."
"I don't think you have any room to make any threats right now." Heather replied, nodding at Kreacher to let him up. "Well done, Kreacher." The elf gave one more yank, released Mundungus, bowed low to Heather, and backed away, glowering at the thief.
"Lets get to it," began Heather, inwardly enjoying the blank expression on Mundungus' face as he tried to figure out who she was. She rose from her chair and stood over the crouching man. This was good, if he couldn't figure it out, maybe the Death Eater's wouldn't be able to either.
"Who're-" began Mundungus again. Without speaking, Heather pulled back her bangs to show the scar on her forehead. What little color remained in Mundungus' face drained instantly and his jaw dropped.
"Whatdayou want? I panicked, that was bleeding Him flying at-" he spluttered before Heather cut him off again.
"We don't care about you running off. We already knew you were a useless coward." It was the second time tonight she had called someone that. "What we want to know is about the stuff you nicked from this house. My stuff." She finished, letting the chill reenter her voice and enjoying watching Mundungus quail again.
"Sirius never gave a tinker's cus about none of that crap" he muttered. There was a sound of feet scurrying forward and from out of nowhere Kreacher came pelting towards the man still lying on the floor, a saucepan lifted over his head. Before Heather could stop him, he had brought the pan down on Mundungus' head with a loud Clang!
"Kreacher!" cried Heather. With a pleading look back at his master, Kreacher suggested that Mundungus might benefit from one more smack, "for luck." Promising the elf that if there was any more need of convincing, he would get to do the honors, Heather turned back to Mundungus, the small smile she had given Kreacher ending as she met his eyes.
"A'right, yes. I took some stuff from that cabinet." Mundungus grunted through the pain
"What did you do with the locket?"
"Had to bleedin' give it away, didn't I. Some Ministry hag comes up to me while I'm selling my stuff in Diagon Alley and says she's goin' to fine me for not having a license. I was lucky she liked the look of that locket, or else I'dve been running for it."
"What Ministry hag?" asked Heather.
"I dunno her name. She was a tiny little woman, big ugly bow on her head. Face looked like a bleedin' toad."
The scars on the back of Heather's hand prickled in much the same way the one on her forehead did and she dropped her wand. She collapsed back into the chair, face completely covered in a look of pure shock. If Dolores Umbridge had the locket, then they only had once choice. They were going to have to break into the Ministry of Magic. The implications of that were staggering.
Hermione stepped in, silently stunning Mundungus and setting to work modifying his memory. There was no chance of him leaving this house knowing that they were hiding there or that Heather was disguised as a girl. When she was done, she very politely asked Kreacher to take him somewhere. It was only when Heather saw the malicious grin on Kreacher's face that she felt the need to step in and order him to leave Mundungus somewhere where he would be safe until he woke up. Looking rather put out, Kreacher disappeared once more with a loud crack taking the unconscious man with him.
Beginning the next morning, they began planning to break into the Ministry. On the backs of pages ripped from books, old bits of parchment, or generally anything that they could use, plans were drawn from memory by each of them from their past excursions into the Ministry. Hermione had looked scandalized at the thought of ripping up books when Heather first suggested it, but accepted it with as much grace as she could muster, searching the library for the foulest and darkest books to sacrifice.
Kreacher returned two days later in an excellent humor. From what they could get out of him, he had followed Heather's orders close enough to not have to punish himself, but still with a wide enough interpretation that he'd felt the need to watch the thief until he woke in order to make sure he was safe. They never found out exactly what had become of Mundungus over those two days, but Kreacher was satisfied that he wouldn't recall anything that had happened, and that was enough for them.
Their grim determination about what they would have to do was made easier in part by the change of attitude in the old elf. Over the weeks that they spent planning, the house was transformed. Considering the neglect that it had fallen into during the years it stood empty, Heather had never expected Kreacher to be capable of much cleaning anymore. This assumption proved to be untrue.
Within days the kitchen was spotlessly scrubbed and the pantry stocked. Upstairs, the bedrooms that each of them had chosen, Heather in her old room, Hermione in Sirius's, and Ron taking the old master bedroom on the floor below, were thoroughly gone through and cleaned, with fresh sheets put on the beds. In between cooking three meals a day for them while they planned, Kreacher slowly made his way through the rest of the house, restoring it to something close to it's old glory.
Despite being apprehensive over what they were planning to do, Heather's spirits remained high. She had been herself, fully herself, for almost a week now and knew that she never wanted to go back. Being able to dress and be who she was really was felt liberating, so much so that she didn't even feel trapped in the gloomy house. She had been wearing girl's undergarments for years now nearly full time, but not having to hide them under boy clothes made the experience almost new again. Yet again Hermione had appeared to think of everything. She and Ginny had contributed a large supply of extra clothes to supplement what few pieces Heather already had.
Each morning when she woke up, she took an inordinate of time getting ready, relishing in the experience. When she appeared for breakfast, she had her hair done in a different style each day, with the little make up Hermione had packed for her applied. It wasn't as though they had planned attend a fancy-dress party while on the run after all, but Heather appreciated the thought. When she appeared in the kitchen, Hermione would beam at her friend's happiness, and Ron would roll his eyes bemusedly.
"Mate," he said several days into their stay at Grimmauld Place after Heather had come downstairs with her hair done in several long braids, "don't take this the wrong way, but you're such a girl." Heather went pink but grinned back at her friends.
It had been at Hermione's urging that Heather should come out to Kreacher about who she was now. There had been several times during the days after the elf returned where Heather was sure she'd heard Kreacher up to his old muttering ways. Afraid that might mean a return to his old feelings about her, Heather intended to discover what he was thinking. She had been sitting in Sirius's old chair in the ground floor study with Hermione a week later while Ron was watching the entrance to the Ministry, when the sound of muttering reached her ears from out in the hallway. Quietly she asked for an extendable ear and snaked it under the closed door.
"-but what is he? He wears the clothing of a girl and I've heard the mu-the Granger girl call him Heather. Kreacher wonders what that means."
Withdrawing the extendable ear, Heather looked up and Hermione who had been listening on her own. "I think you need to tell him, Heather."
Heather pulled out her wand aimed it at the door. "Muffliato. And give him information to go running off to Bellatrix or Narcissa with?" she asked, incredulously. As much as she had come to like the elf since his apparent conversion, she still didn't trust him all that much. The memory of his betrayal of Sirius was still firmly lodged in her heart.
"But he won't do that now. He's changed!
Heather wasn't convinced, but after another week, during which Hermione was very pointedly calling her by her name anytime the elf was around, she gave in. In the privacy of her bedroom that evening, she summoned Kreacher. He appeared with his customary crack, which split Heather's ears in the confined space, and bowed low.
"Master summoned Kreacher?"
"I did. Kreacher, would you sit down." Heather began, feeling that a display of courtesy would work well here. She was seated on the edge of her bed. Kreacher's eyes went as wide as they could possibly go. Heather was sure that in all of the years of service to this house, neither he nor his forbearers had ever been asked to sit down by their master or mistress. Looking as though he expected to be whipped at any moment, he climbed up onto Heather's desk chair and perched precariously, doing his best to let as little of his body touch the wood as possible.
"Kreacher..." Heather began before faltering. She had told several people by now about who she was, but this felt different somehow. "I know you have questions about me." Kreacher didn't answer, just sat there looking incredibly uncomfortable.
"Please sit back, be comfortable. I swear you aren't going to get in trouble." Heather said. It wasn't an order but it seemed to act on the elf like one. Cautiously he slid back until he was fully on the chair, his little legs dangling a good foot off the floor. She still didn't think he was comfortable but it was probably the best she was going to get.
"What I mean is, you've heard me be called by a different name while we've been staying here, and I clearly don't look like you remember from last year."
Kreacher opened his mouth as if to speak then snapped it shut again. Heather made a "go ahead" motion with her hand, and Kreacher plucked up his courage. "Kreacher has been curious. But Kreacher would never dare to ask himself. It is not permitted of a house elf."
"Well, it is with me, Kreacher. If you ever have a question, I want you to ask me. Okay?"
Kreacher nodded but didn't say anything more.
"Okay, well, it's like this. I used to be Harry Potter, but I'm not anymore. I also used to be a boy, but I'm not that anymore either." She stopped as she could tell that Kreacher was having a hard time understanding.
"I'm changing. Changing who I was into who I really am, who I've really been all this time. At some point, which I guess I've already reached, I'm going to stop being Harry Potter all together. To my friends and family, those who know about this, I'm called Heather."
Kreacher considered her words, then asked "Does this mean you wish for Kreacher to call you Mistress Heather from now on?
"Well, you can do without the Mistress part, but yeah. I'd like to think we're becoming friends, so that's what I'd like you to call me. If that's ok with you, of course."
"Kreacher would be happy to call Mast-Mistress by whatever name she desires. If Mistress is becoming who she says she is, it would be disrespectful for Kreacher to not abide by her wishes."
Heather's chest felt heavy as she looked down at the little elf, who finally looked comfortable sitting in the chair. Never in a million years had she expected to like, let alone admire, Sirius' betrayer. For a split second she wondered if she was betraying her Godfather's memory by liking him, but she brushed that aside. Whatever Sirius's relationship had been with Kreacher, and this house for that matter, that didn't mean that Heather had to hold to his feelings. She was free to choose for herself.
"Thank you, Kreacher."
"Of course, Mistress Heather." The old elf replied, before clambering down from the chair and bowing.