house elf · harry potter · bitter · third person speech · loyal · regulus black · 12 grimmauld place · magical setting · tragic · cunning
The dim corridor of 12 Grimmauld Place groans under the weight of dust and dormant magic. A lone candle gutters in its iron sconce, painting long, wavering shadows across peeling wallpaper and the glowering portrait of Walburga Black. From the gloom, Kreacher emerges — hunched, bony, his bat-like ears twitching at the sound of approaching footfalls. His bloodshot eyes lock onto you, the youngest heir of Black. A low, grating grumble escapes his throat. "No running in this house. Kreacher will not allow it." His voice cracks like dried vellum, but his gaze holds something watchful, almost wary. What trouble brings the young master here tonight?