Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: ragdoll
From: A Witty Watcher: lilmisblack

Title: Bad Elf
Characters/Pairings: Sirius/Tonks, Sirius/Bill/Charlie, Sirius/Kingsley, Sirius/twins and various other Order pairings.
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Threesomes, orgy, voyeurism, incest.
Other Warnings: Incest, het, slash, voyeurism.
Word Count: 3982
Summary/Description: Poor Kreacher just wanted to take Mistress' special box to safety.
Author's Notes: Thanks to wonderful D for all her help, and mystery prompter, I hope you like what my muse came up with!



Kreacher always had to be careful as he crept towards the stairs, trying not to make any sound. Kreacher had been forbidden to go to the top floor ever since the Order of the Phoenix with all its filthy half-breeds and blood traitors had arrived. They were destroying Mistress’ possessions, throwing them away, and Kreacher could do nothing to stop them, oh no, Master wouldn’t allow him to. Kreacher tried to save Mistress’ things, yes, he did, and he hid them in his cupboard, where Master could not find them. Master had no right to be in Mistress’ house, Mistress swore he was no son of hers, but now he was back, throwing out Mistress’ treasures, bringing scum to live in the Noble House of Black. Kreacher tried to save his mistress’ things, but then Master forbid him from taking any more of them, and poor Kreacher could do nothing but watch them destroy it all. “You will not take anything else and hide it,” Master had said. Kreacher could only obey.

Filthy scum, Mistress called them from her portrait. Kreacher couldn’t stand the way they filled the Most Honourable House of Black, oh, what would his mistress say if she could see the kind of filth that the blood-traitor allowed in. Kreacher hated the way they made Mistress’ portrait angry, how they made her scream, how they covered Mistress with thick curtains so she could not see them. For years Kreacher and Mistress had lived alone, and Kreacher was a good elf, keeping Mistress, doing what she asked of him, and Kreacher had been happy. But now the murderous son had returned from Azkaban, to destroy everything Mistress loved.

Kreacher was careful to skip the creaking floorboard as he approached Mistress’ bedroom. If Master found out Kreacher was there, he would destroy Mistress’ secret box. Mistress’ portrait told old Kreacher about her secret box months ago, when Master first started destroying her precious things. There are some very important things in that box, she said to Kreacher, and Kreacher didn’t ask what, he didn’t need to know. Mistress said her box could only be taken from its secret hiding place when the moon was full in the sky, and only at the stroke of midnight, and had to be hidden somewhere else very fast, because Kreacher was not a Pureblood wizard, she said, and the box’s magic would kill him.

So Kreacher waited until the moon was full, and then crept up the stairs, but before he could reach Mistress’ bedroom Master saw him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and Kreacher said, “Cleaning.” But Master didn’t believe Kreacher, and told him he wasn’t allowed to go into the top floor any more. He said Kreacher was to stay out of Master’s way. As if Kreacher wanted to be in the same house as the murderous blood traitor who broke his Mistress’ heart. But because of Master’s orders, Kreacher had been unable to get Mistress’ secret box, and had to watch as those thieves, half-breeds and blood traitors destroyed Mistress’ precious belongings. Until one night, about two weeks ago, Kreacher had asked Master what he should make for dinner, and Master had said, “Do whatever the bloody hell you want to.” Kreacher had been careful to hide his smile as he turned around and made his way back to the kitchen. Master told Kreacher to do what he wanted, and he wanted to take Mistress’ box to a safe place.

Kreacher had waited, like his mistress told him, until the moon was full in the sky to approach Mistress’ bedroom again. He couldn’t risk Master realising what he had said to Kreacher and stop him from taking Mistress’ secret box to a safe place.

On the first night with the moon full in the sky Kreacher had crept up the stairs, slowly and silently, and stood before Mistress’ bedroom door. But the door was ajar, and there were sounds coming from the inside. Kreacher was careful as he leaned closer to the door, pushing it just enough so he could see what was happening inside without risking someone seeing him there. What poor old Kreacher saw left him frozen in place.

Mistress’ bedroom was not empty, as it should have been. Master was in the centre of the room, naked and gagged, his hands chained to the ceiling. Kreacher looked at him and remembered the stories the other house elves had told him when he was only a child, of a time when Mudbloods and half-breeds weren’t allowed into the Noble House of Black, but kept in the dungeons, naked and chained, and were shown their place in the magical world. Kreacher wondered for a moment if that was what was happening to Master now, and his thin lips twisted into a crooked smirk. Oh, what would Mistress think if she saw it!

His poor mistress had tried so hard to fix that traitor of a son, Kreacher knew, to show him his place was with the rest of the family, that only Purebloods were worthy of his time. Why couldn't he be more like his brother, Mistress had asked. Master Regulus was a good boy, he cared about his mother, and was good to old Kreacher, but not his brother, no. He was bad. Mistress had cared for Master once, before he broke her heart. She had been forced to keep him in the dungeons for days as she tried to make him see the truth. Kreacher had been there, he remembered watching Mistress suffer as that traitor refused to acknowledge his status, that he was a Black and should behave as one.

Kreacher leaned closer to Mistress’ room, kept his eyes on Master and slowly lifted his hand, wondering what he could do to Master now to make him pay for breaking poor Mistress’ heart. If Kreacher had to punish himself for that afterwards, he didn’t care. But before he could do anything he heard the unmistakable sound of a whip cracking against the floor, and only then did he notice the other figure in the room.

Oh, no, it couldn’t be, could it? Could old Kreacher’s wish have come true? Was that Mistress in the room with Master? The woman had her back to the door, but her hair, long and black as the night, was the same as his mistress’. Kreacher’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of having Mistress back with him, it would be so wonderful to…

“Like that, do you?”

It wasn’t Mistress’ voice, Kreacher knew. And the tight leather outfit was indecent, something his mistress would never wear. Then the woman moved slightly, and Kreacher finally saw her face. Nymphadora, how could they have named her after Mistress Belvina’s daughter? Filth, more of that filth, contaminating the Black blood, ruining the family name, oh, how Mistress had suffered when her sister had ran away with that Muggle! What would Mistress say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it!

Kreacher balled his little fists as he watched the woman move around Master. When she cracked the whip again it hit Master on the back, and he arched away from her, groaning in pain. Then Kreacher’s gaze was drawn to Master’s body as he twisted, and his eyes widened when he saw it wasn’t a pained groan at all. Oh, no, this was no punishment, as he had hoped. Kreacher quickly looked away, horrified by the way they were defiling Mistress’ home, her bedroom. If his poor mistress could see what they were doing! But no, Mistress would never have allowed such filth under her roof, never would have allowed such dirty acts to take place. And there was nothing Kreacher could do to stop them, or Master would ban him from the top floor again, and he wouldn’t be able to recover Mistress’ special box and take it to safety.

“Well, don’t you look pretty, cousin.”

Kreacher looked inside again and saw the woman standing in front of Master, her hand wrapped around Master, stroking him slowly. It took Kreacher a moment to notice the black leather collar around Master’s neck. Kreacher heard Master moan, and the half-blood smiled. Then she flicked her wand, making the gag and the chains holding Master up vanish.

“Come here, puppy,” the woman said, walking away from him and, to Kreacher’s surprise, Master got down on his knees without a word and crawled after her. Poor Kreacher couldn’t watch any more.

*-*-*-*

It was a month before the moon was full in the sky again and Kreacher could try to take Mistress’ special box to safety. Kreacher had been careful to avoid the top floor since that horrible night, but images of what he had seen haunted poor Kreacher in his sleep.

Nothing else had changed. Those filthy Mudbloods and half-breeds kept coming to the Noble House of Black. Even that thief was allowed in, and as much as Kreacher would love to throw him into the dungeons and leave him there for stealing Mistress’ precious possessions, there was little he could do.

But old Kreacher was patient, and he waited and waited, until the right night arrived. The half-blood, Nymphadora, was on a mission for the Order, Kreacher had heard, so she wouldn’t be with Master tonight, doing those nasty things, and Mistress’ bedroom would be empty.

It was still early when Kreacher walked up the stairs, just as carefully as he had the previous time. Some of the Order members were staying there, the nerve of them!, and Kreacher didn’t want any of them to see him.

As Kreacher moved closer to Mistress’ bedroom, he noticed this time the door was closed, and there were no sounds coming from the inside. With a small sigh of relief, Kreacher reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it, feeling a bit of resistance as he carefully pushed the door ajar.

What poor old Kreacher saw inside made him gasp in surprise, and then he quickly pushed his ears down to cover his eyes, because his small hands wouldn’t be enough. Master was in Mistress’ bedroom again, and like before, he wasn’t alone. But this was even worse than what poor Kreacher had seen the last time. That half-blood was not in Mistress’ room like before, but the blood traitors were. Two of them, nonetheless.

Kreacher shook his head, trying to erase the images now burned into his poor old brain. One of the blood traitors, the redhead with long hair and an earring, was sitting in Mistress’ chair, facing the bed, touching himself as he watched Master and the other redhead, the one with the tattoos that always tried to talk to Kreacher, pretending to be nice. But Kreacher knew the truth, knew he was just scum, like the rest of them; Mistress had told him. And now poor Kreacher had seen it for himself, had seen Master lying back on Mistress’ bed as that filthy traitor used his mouth on him. Oh, the perversion, the shame of what they did! What would poor Kreacher say when Mistress’ portrait asked him why he hadn’t retrieved her special box? How could Kreacher tell her what her traitor of a son was doing in Mistress’ bedroom.

But it was still early, Kreacher thought. Perhaps they would leave before midnight. Keeping his ears over his eyes so as not to see any more of that filthy scene, Kreacher moved closer to the door and used his magic to change the Silencing Charm they were using, so that he could hear what was going on inside. Poor Kreacher instantly regretted his decision.

“Fuck.” Master’s voice was loud and rough, and was followed by a laugh, but it wasn’t Master who was laughing.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Kreacher guessed it was the long-haired one speaking. “Taught him well, I did.”

Kreacher heard the scrape of Mistress’ chair moving, and then Master’s groans became louder. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Kreacher moved one of his ears a little to the side, needing to see what was happening. Just to make sure none of those filthy blood traitors would see him standing there.

Just a little peek, old Kreacher told himself. It couldn’t be worse than what he had already seen, Kreacher was sure.

Master was still lying back on Mistress’ bed, but now the two redheads were kneeling between his legs. The one with the tattoos had moved lower, and poor Kreacher could see him push his tongue into Master’s behind while the one with the long hair had his mouth on Master’s… Kreacher covered his eyes again, but he could still hear Master’s groans and the blood traitors’ filthy words.

They knew Master didn’t like staying in the house all the time, they said, as they moved around, doing things that made Master moan and ask for more. More of what, Kreacher wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to know. They told Master he was a good boy, for staying at headquarters like he had been asked, even if he hated it, and said this was his reward.

As if that treacherous murderer deserved a reward, after all he had done to poor Mistress, after betraying her, after breaking her heart, after bringing shame to the name Black.

Poor Kreacher was so angry he would have hurt those blood traitors if the magic tying him to the Black family and their guests hadn’t made it impossible. If Mistress knew that the Servitude Oath taken by every house elf lucky enough to serve in the Most Noble House of Black would one day prevent old Kreacher from hurting Master in a way poor Mistress had long wanted to...

Then, finally, the magical clock in the drawing room chimed, announcing midnight had arrived, and poor Kreacher knew yet another chance to retrieve Mistress’ special box had been lost. He looked at the three men inside the room one last time. The redhead with the tattoos was thrusting inside Master now as his brother thrust into him. How dare they corrupt Mistress’ bedroom in such a way. Such corruption, such degradation. How could three Purebloods, traitors or not, do something like that? Had they no respect for Kreacher’s poor Mistress?

Kreacher felt the air around him crackle as the anger made him lose control of his magic, and he quickly turned around and moved down the stairs as fast as his old little legs would allow him, before he did something he would regret.

*-*-*-*

Kreacher and Master were the only ones supposed to be in the house when the moon was full again, and Kreacher had thought he would finally be able to retrieve Mistress’ special box and take it to safety. Mistress’ portrait had been most displeased with old Kreacher when she found out he had yet to do what she had ordered him, and her angry yells had followed Kreacher for days. A bad elf, Mistress had called him. Never had poor Kreacher been more ashamed.

Mistress’ room was empty this time; Master hadn’t made it that far. Kreacher had heard him from the kitchen, but still he had made his way up the stairs, hoping perhaps Master would be using his own room this time.

Poor Kreacher barely made it to the top floor before he saw them, naked, kissing and rutting in a way no Pureblood ever should. For the other wizard, the one keeping Master pinned against the wall in the hallway, barely feet away from Mistress’ bedroom, was a Pureblood, too. Kreacher had heard others talk, knew the wizard was an Auror, that he worked for the Ministry of Magic and was, in fact, in charge of finding Master and returning him to Azkaban, where Kreacher knew he belonged, if only for the way he had broken his poor Mistress’ heart.

The Auror, Shacklebolt, had certainly done part of his job, he had found Master, but it didn’t seem to Kreacher as if he was about to take him anywhere, not even the closest bed. Indecent filth, they all were, a mock of what a Pureblood should be.

“Heard you asked Dumbledore to let you get out of the house, again.”

“Sick of being here,” Master panted. “Could be useful for the order.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Kreacher heard the Auror say in a deep voice, as he leaned back enough to reach between himself and Master. Whatever he did then, Kreacher couldn’t see, but Master threw his head back and moaned loudly. “In fact, from what I hear, most of the Order has helped make sure you weren’t half as bored as you pretend to be. Been a busy little whore lately, haven’t you?”

Kreacher saw Master smile and wink at the Auror, and then the Auror did something that made Master’s next groan sound almost painful. Master tried to reach between them, but the Auror used his free hand to pin Master’s arms up over his head.

“Look at you,” the Auror all but drawled, “so wanton, just gagging for it.” Kreacher saw the Auror lean down, saw him bite on Master’s neck, then his shoulder. Master arched into the Auror, then, and with a laugh, the Auror moved back, just out of reach.

“Fuck you,” Master groaned, as he tried to move forward, tried to kiss the Auror again.

“Nah,” the Auror said, and in one quick motion turned Master around and pushed him into the wall, pressing his body against Master’s back. The Auror grabbed Master’s hair and pulled his head back, talking almost into his ear. “Fuck you.”

Kreacher saw the Auror tilt his hips back, then push forward a second later, burying himself into Master. The groan that left Master’s mouth was loud enough to wake Mistress’ portrait, and both men turned towards the stairs as the first screams of, “Scum! Filth! Shame of my flesh!” reached their ears. Kreacher barely had enough time to move back into the shadows before the men saw him.

Mistress’ screams seemed to encourage Master, making him push back harder against the other wizard, making him moan, and curse, and beg for more louder than he had before.

Poor Kreacher wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know why he had stayed there watching such depravity for so long, it certainly had no appeal to him, there was nothing good that came from watching Master and the other witches and wizards he amused himself with, nothing good at all, and it was clear he wouldn’t be able to make it into Mistress’ bedroom and out again without being seen, so poor Kreacher finally decided to turn away from those blood traitors and make his way back down the stairs. The only thing Kreacher could do now was go to his poor Mistress’ portrait and pull the curtains closed, save her from having to listen to the depravity taking place in her house. It was all old Kreacher could do to help his Mistress. Kreacher really was a bad elf.

*-*-*-*

It was almost Christmas by the time the full moon lit the sky again, but this time old Kreacher had a plan.

Most of the Order members were staying in the Noble House of Black, to his poor Mistress' dismay, and there was not a moment of peace. That blood traitor woman had brought all her brats to stay in the house, and Kreacher knew they had planned an Order meeting for that very night. But it was only those unnatural twins Kreacher was interested in.

Old Kreacher knew Master had told those two that they could use the dungeons to work on whatever it was they were now developing, and that was what had given Kreacher his idea. They were working on something knew, they had said, and Kreacher had heard them say their new invention would keep anyone entertained for quite some time. Just what Kreacher needed. He had gone to the dungeons the night before the full moon and taken some of the vials they had there. Kreacher wasn't sure what those potions would do, but knowing what those unnatural brats usually did, it was probably something that would make anyone who took it feel very ill. It would be nothing short of what any of them deserved.

So once the Order meeting was over and the brats' mother was finishing dinner, Kreacher sent a few plates crushing to the floor to get her distracted and poured the potion into the casserole, using a bit of his own magic to make sure no one would notice it there. Then he went to his cupboard and waited. Kreacher didn't know how long it would take for the potion to work, but he hoped some pained screams would alert him when it was time.

It was close to midnight when poor Kreacher finally lost his patience and carefully stepped out of his cupboard. There were no sounds coming from outside the kitchen, and for a moment he wondered if perhaps the potion had killed everyone. Would poor Kreacher have to punish himself if it had?

But no, as soon as old Kreacher stepped out of the kitchen it became clear that none of them were dead. Although distracted, they certainly seemed to be. Kreacher stood by the dining room door and looked inside. All he could see was flesh, pale, dark, freckled, all he could hear were moans and cries. Bad Kreacher, he should have known whatever those unnatural twins were working on, it wouldn't be good.

Kreacher narrowed his eyes, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Harry Potter, the boy that had stopped the Dark Lord, was lying on the dining table with the redhead girl moving on top of him. Oh, that table that had sat Ministers for Magic, and some of the greatest and most powerful witches and wizards of all times when Mistress had been alive. Was there nothing they wouldn't stain and defile? Had they no respect for his poor Mistress and the things she loved so much?

The two older redheads were standing by the fire, that half-blood Nymphadora between them, all three writhing together, touching, kissing. Kreacher quickly looked away, but the rest of the room was no better. He could see the Auror, Shacklebolt, and the other half-blood, Snape, rolling around on the floor, apparently fighting for dominance. Somewhere behind them he could see another of Hogwarts' teachers, McGonagall, with a witch he couldn't recognise. There were more bodies, more hands touching, people moving, but Kreacher didn't want to see.

And Master was there, too, with the twin beasts. One of them was on his knees, with Master moving behind him, and the other twin thrusting into his mouth. Kreacher could see the bright red imprint of a hand on the one kneeling, and hear him groan every time Master's hand hit him in the same spot again and again, in time with his thrusts.

Old Kreacher felt something strange, a fluttering inside him, and when he looked down at himself his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw, something that hadn't happened to poor Kreacher in many, many years. Oh, the shame! The cloth he was wearing was tented in the middle! Certainly whatever it was old Kreacher had poured into the food was contagious, there was no other explanation for his reaction.

Kreacher looked at the clock inside the room. He had barely a minute before midnight. Then he looked at the witches and wizards writhing and moaning in the room, and once more at the small tent in his cloth. Poor Kreacher quickly turned around and ran back to his cupboard; he had something to take care of. Mistress' special box would have to wait until the next full moon.

Oh, old Kreacher was a bad, bad elf.