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sinandcinnamonTitle: And Hijinks Ensued (or, How Spike Lost His Mind, and Most of His Hair), Ch 5
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sinandcinnamon and xanfan27
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter
Pairing: Xander/Fred/George, with possible subpairings
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 eventually
Words: ~1800
A/N: This is our first combined effort written for the express purpose of launching the new fanfic archive site The Crossroads of Fan Fiction, http://www.thecroff.com
________________________________________________________________________
Wizards didn't think much of house elves. Not that they didn't value them, although Hermione would happily debate that, but just that a wizard rarely took the time to think about them beyond their immediate usefulness.
It wasn't really that surprising. After all, house elves rarely called attention to themselves, let alone to any sort of house elf culture or society. If you were born a wizard, you grew up surrounded by them, as ubiquitous as leaves on a tree, and thought no more about them than you did the clusters of greenery dressing the elms in the garden. Muggle-born wizards gave them a little more thought, but being thrust into the wizarding world was an experience thoroughly gilded in strange and wonderful discoveries; amidst wands and brooms and all the other brightly fantastic new things, the drab, quiet little creatures who washed the dishes and mended your socks drew little attention, and for the most part faded into the background of the world having never been an object of much curiosity.
Things were very different from a house elf's point of view. While they prided themselves on being quiet and humble, a house elf was intensely aware of their lineage, and one of their strongest instincts was to bring no shame to that line. Wizards might rise and fall and rise to grace again, all within one lifetime, but a house elf carried the weight of generations of actions.
Kiblin contemplated his place as he carefully readied a tray for the newest guests. He had, like any other elf, been brought up to know and value all the elves that had come before him, and had known since he was very young that he was privileged to be born into such a prestigious line. Through the ages, his ancestors had served many great and powerful wizards, oftentimes wizards so powerful as to rule the wizarding world.
House elves, it should be noted, did not discern between Light or Dark wizards; they'd observed that the judgment of good or evil often rested upon who was in power, and it was power they paid mind to.
Brushing an errant sleeve back, Kiblin closely examined the tray for streaks or tarnish, its mirror-like surface reflecting his thoughtful face. Finding it acceptable, he turned and considered the many glasses and goblets available, repeatedly tugging at falling socks and unwinding scarves as he did so. His unruly attire was bothersome, but he endeavored to focus his attention on the task he had been assigned, rather than dwell on the mundane details of his own state.
He could hear tittering in the background as he perused the shelves, and knew he was the object of the other elves' amusement. It wasn't his clothes, although he knew they mocked him for them. House elves were usually thinly clad in cast off tea towels or pillowcases, not wrapped in layers upon layers of wool and linen, hats and socks and shawls and even one shameful petticoat hidden beneath his breeches. To dismiss a house elf, you see, a wizard gave the elf an article of clothing. Kiblin had received many articles.
It was a mystery to him as to how he could be so unlucky; he had been born to a distinguished and noble line, under a stern but powerful master, and had been trained in his duties by the very finest of house elves amongst the staff. He should have been impeccable, an efficient and admirable paragon of an elf, a source of honor for the other elves of his line.
Instead, he'd found himself tumbling from master to master as each dismissed him in turn. He couldn't understand it. It seemed that the harder he'd tried to please each new wizard, the quicker they were to get rid of him, leaving him desolate and searching for yet another place in which to belong. He'd fallen further and further from each position until he'd at last found himself without a master, and unable to obtain a new one. His shame and desolation had at last led him to seek refuge in Hogwarts. He tried valiantly to soothe his troubled heart by telling it that he served Dumbledore, whom all elves agreed was a powerful wizard indeed, but on the worst days he knew the truth: he was an elf with no master. It was the greatest disgrace he could imagine.
But it was nothing new, and it wasn't what the other elves were whispering and sniggering about. No, it was his assignment.
Word had spread quickly amongst the elves that muggles had been allowed into the great wizarding school, beings lower even than squibs, humans with no magic at all, without even the knowledge of the world of wizards. Few house elves had ever even seen such a wretched creature (some insisted that they did not even really exist, but were a fairy tale made up to scare recalcitrant young elves), and the news had caused quite a commotion when it reached the kitchens.
Their disquiet grew when they learned that along with the muggles, who troubled their thoughts enough on their own, there was a vampire, a dark creature. This terrible news had come from Piffoly, the head house elf of the castle, who had been charged by Dumbledore himself to assign the guests a house elf to serve their needs. Kiblin's heart sank as he saw Piffoly's smile; he knew himself to be in disgrace with the head elf, who seemed to blame him, even more than his wizard masters had done, for the numerous unfortunate and unlucky accidents which befell Kiblin as he performed his duties.
It came as no surprise when Piffoly laid the burden of these muggles and the vampire upon his well-clad shoulders. He'd been given a task before even meeting his temporary masters, the duty of gathering blood by which the vampire must feed, lest it give in to its dark nature and glut itself on the blood of the noble and innocent young wizard children within the school.
Even as he felt sullied and dishonored to have fallen so low, Kiblin did his best to keep the stain of his debasement from touching his new masters. For as low and ignoble as these creatures must surely be, they were honored guests of the great wizard Dumbledore, and they were his masters now, however temporary. Kiblin found some measure of solace in that fact. He'd withered within the nameless and transitory service at the school, struggling to uphold his laudable lineage as best he could without a regular master and slowly losing himself to the anonymity of the hundreds of interchangeable students. At last, at last, he had specific masters to which he was accountable, a trio of masters whom he could study and learn to please, a way to regain some semblance of pride in his place within this vast school. He selected the perfect dark goblet, and filled it with the pig's blood he'd been instructed the vampire was to be given. After running a final careful eye over the tray, he nodded approvingly, and disappeared from the kitchen.
________________________________________________________________________
Kiblin cringed and contemplated disappearing back to the kitchen as the vampire stalked across the room to him, eyes full of the promise of pain. Only the knowledge of the disgrace and mocking laughter that would befall him if he fled kept him in the room as the dark creature advanced, waves of barely-leashed violence rolling off of it. The tray lay abandoned and unnoticed on a small table in the sitting room, and Kiblin strained to think of how he could have displeased his new masters so soon.
It couldn't be the blood or the goblet or the serving tray, for the vampire hadn't even glanced at them. The trembling house elf turned his gaze towards his other two masters. Perhaps the vampire's dark nature had simply been too sorely tested by the nearness of powerful wizard blood, and had finally snapped once he was locked away in the suite, away from the tempting sustenance? However, the other two masters stood in the furthest corner, glaring at him with hatred and even a touch of fear, mumbling to themselves about glory. Perhaps it had all been a trap, an evil attempt to do... something... to the school, for the glory of the Death Eaters! Yes, that was it! Perhaps they'd thought he was Dobby, or that they could use him to get to Dobby, whom everyone knew was the single personal house elf to the great Lord Harry Potter himself! Ever since Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, the Death Eaters had been eager for revenge.
Just as Kiblin was preparing himself to appear in Dumbledore's office and warn him of his guests' treachery, the door to the sitting room opened. It was the werewolves! Although they were dark creatures themselves, Kiblin and the other house elves had been assured that masters Lupin and Osbourne were trustworthy and good. Kiblin seized upon this lucky opportunity, eager to enlist aid in detaining the criminals while he warned the Headmaster.
“Master Lupin! Master Osbourne! The muggles and the vampire is evil and plotting to capture Harry Potter! They must not be let to escape!” Kiblin cried desperately, causing looks of shock to appear on their faces. Of course they would be surprised to learn of such perfidy from the guests, but he must not let their surprise overcome them, lest the loathsome servants of the vanquished Dark Lord get away. “Bind them, quickly, with many ropes! And you may bite them, hard and vicious bites for hurting them and making them unable to be escaping from the castle!”
But the werewolves remained frozen and unmoving, and Kiblin's heart was distraught, wondering if it was some strange magic that muggles had and wizards knew nothing of, some ensnaring power that the muggles or the vampire had used to disable the werewolves and prevent them from helping him. Kiblin turned in horror to see if they would ensnare him next, using this mysterious power to prevent him from warning the Headmaster. To his surprise, they looked just as frozen and disbelieving as masters Lupin and Osbourne did.
They just stared at each other for a moment: the treacherous guests with shock and confusion at his sudden outburst, Kiblin with dread and resignation that he would be unable to warn and save Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Then the dark haired muggle blinked rapidly, and shook his head as if throwing off a dream or hex.
“Wait, what?” the muggle said.
Authors:
sinandcinnamon and xanfan27Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter
Pairing: Xander/Fred/George, with possible subpairings
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 eventually
Words: ~1800
A/N: This is our first combined effort written for the express purpose of launching the new fanfic archive site The Crossroads of Fan Fiction, http://www.thecroff.com
________________________________________________________________________
Wizards didn't think much of house elves. Not that they didn't value them, although Hermione would happily debate that, but just that a wizard rarely took the time to think about them beyond their immediate usefulness.
It wasn't really that surprising. After all, house elves rarely called attention to themselves, let alone to any sort of house elf culture or society. If you were born a wizard, you grew up surrounded by them, as ubiquitous as leaves on a tree, and thought no more about them than you did the clusters of greenery dressing the elms in the garden. Muggle-born wizards gave them a little more thought, but being thrust into the wizarding world was an experience thoroughly gilded in strange and wonderful discoveries; amidst wands and brooms and all the other brightly fantastic new things, the drab, quiet little creatures who washed the dishes and mended your socks drew little attention, and for the most part faded into the background of the world having never been an object of much curiosity.
Things were very different from a house elf's point of view. While they prided themselves on being quiet and humble, a house elf was intensely aware of their lineage, and one of their strongest instincts was to bring no shame to that line. Wizards might rise and fall and rise to grace again, all within one lifetime, but a house elf carried the weight of generations of actions.
Kiblin contemplated his place as he carefully readied a tray for the newest guests. He had, like any other elf, been brought up to know and value all the elves that had come before him, and had known since he was very young that he was privileged to be born into such a prestigious line. Through the ages, his ancestors had served many great and powerful wizards, oftentimes wizards so powerful as to rule the wizarding world.
House elves, it should be noted, did not discern between Light or Dark wizards; they'd observed that the judgment of good or evil often rested upon who was in power, and it was power they paid mind to.
Brushing an errant sleeve back, Kiblin closely examined the tray for streaks or tarnish, its mirror-like surface reflecting his thoughtful face. Finding it acceptable, he turned and considered the many glasses and goblets available, repeatedly tugging at falling socks and unwinding scarves as he did so. His unruly attire was bothersome, but he endeavored to focus his attention on the task he had been assigned, rather than dwell on the mundane details of his own state.
He could hear tittering in the background as he perused the shelves, and knew he was the object of the other elves' amusement. It wasn't his clothes, although he knew they mocked him for them. House elves were usually thinly clad in cast off tea towels or pillowcases, not wrapped in layers upon layers of wool and linen, hats and socks and shawls and even one shameful petticoat hidden beneath his breeches. To dismiss a house elf, you see, a wizard gave the elf an article of clothing. Kiblin had received many articles.
It was a mystery to him as to how he could be so unlucky; he had been born to a distinguished and noble line, under a stern but powerful master, and had been trained in his duties by the very finest of house elves amongst the staff. He should have been impeccable, an efficient and admirable paragon of an elf, a source of honor for the other elves of his line.
Instead, he'd found himself tumbling from master to master as each dismissed him in turn. He couldn't understand it. It seemed that the harder he'd tried to please each new wizard, the quicker they were to get rid of him, leaving him desolate and searching for yet another place in which to belong. He'd fallen further and further from each position until he'd at last found himself without a master, and unable to obtain a new one. His shame and desolation had at last led him to seek refuge in Hogwarts. He tried valiantly to soothe his troubled heart by telling it that he served Dumbledore, whom all elves agreed was a powerful wizard indeed, but on the worst days he knew the truth: he was an elf with no master. It was the greatest disgrace he could imagine.
But it was nothing new, and it wasn't what the other elves were whispering and sniggering about. No, it was his assignment.
Word had spread quickly amongst the elves that muggles had been allowed into the great wizarding school, beings lower even than squibs, humans with no magic at all, without even the knowledge of the world of wizards. Few house elves had ever even seen such a wretched creature (some insisted that they did not even really exist, but were a fairy tale made up to scare recalcitrant young elves), and the news had caused quite a commotion when it reached the kitchens.
Their disquiet grew when they learned that along with the muggles, who troubled their thoughts enough on their own, there was a vampire, a dark creature. This terrible news had come from Piffoly, the head house elf of the castle, who had been charged by Dumbledore himself to assign the guests a house elf to serve their needs. Kiblin's heart sank as he saw Piffoly's smile; he knew himself to be in disgrace with the head elf, who seemed to blame him, even more than his wizard masters had done, for the numerous unfortunate and unlucky accidents which befell Kiblin as he performed his duties.
It came as no surprise when Piffoly laid the burden of these muggles and the vampire upon his well-clad shoulders. He'd been given a task before even meeting his temporary masters, the duty of gathering blood by which the vampire must feed, lest it give in to its dark nature and glut itself on the blood of the noble and innocent young wizard children within the school.
Even as he felt sullied and dishonored to have fallen so low, Kiblin did his best to keep the stain of his debasement from touching his new masters. For as low and ignoble as these creatures must surely be, they were honored guests of the great wizard Dumbledore, and they were his masters now, however temporary. Kiblin found some measure of solace in that fact. He'd withered within the nameless and transitory service at the school, struggling to uphold his laudable lineage as best he could without a regular master and slowly losing himself to the anonymity of the hundreds of interchangeable students. At last, at last, he had specific masters to which he was accountable, a trio of masters whom he could study and learn to please, a way to regain some semblance of pride in his place within this vast school. He selected the perfect dark goblet, and filled it with the pig's blood he'd been instructed the vampire was to be given. After running a final careful eye over the tray, he nodded approvingly, and disappeared from the kitchen.
________________________________________________________________________
Kiblin cringed and contemplated disappearing back to the kitchen as the vampire stalked across the room to him, eyes full of the promise of pain. Only the knowledge of the disgrace and mocking laughter that would befall him if he fled kept him in the room as the dark creature advanced, waves of barely-leashed violence rolling off of it. The tray lay abandoned and unnoticed on a small table in the sitting room, and Kiblin strained to think of how he could have displeased his new masters so soon.
It couldn't be the blood or the goblet or the serving tray, for the vampire hadn't even glanced at them. The trembling house elf turned his gaze towards his other two masters. Perhaps the vampire's dark nature had simply been too sorely tested by the nearness of powerful wizard blood, and had finally snapped once he was locked away in the suite, away from the tempting sustenance? However, the other two masters stood in the furthest corner, glaring at him with hatred and even a touch of fear, mumbling to themselves about glory. Perhaps it had all been a trap, an evil attempt to do... something... to the school, for the glory of the Death Eaters! Yes, that was it! Perhaps they'd thought he was Dobby, or that they could use him to get to Dobby, whom everyone knew was the single personal house elf to the great Lord Harry Potter himself! Ever since Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, the Death Eaters had been eager for revenge.
Just as Kiblin was preparing himself to appear in Dumbledore's office and warn him of his guests' treachery, the door to the sitting room opened. It was the werewolves! Although they were dark creatures themselves, Kiblin and the other house elves had been assured that masters Lupin and Osbourne were trustworthy and good. Kiblin seized upon this lucky opportunity, eager to enlist aid in detaining the criminals while he warned the Headmaster.
“Master Lupin! Master Osbourne! The muggles and the vampire is evil and plotting to capture Harry Potter! They must not be let to escape!” Kiblin cried desperately, causing looks of shock to appear on their faces. Of course they would be surprised to learn of such perfidy from the guests, but he must not let their surprise overcome them, lest the loathsome servants of the vanquished Dark Lord get away. “Bind them, quickly, with many ropes! And you may bite them, hard and vicious bites for hurting them and making them unable to be escaping from the castle!”
But the werewolves remained frozen and unmoving, and Kiblin's heart was distraught, wondering if it was some strange magic that muggles had and wizards knew nothing of, some ensnaring power that the muggles or the vampire had used to disable the werewolves and prevent them from helping him. Kiblin turned in horror to see if they would ensnare him next, using this mysterious power to prevent him from warning the Headmaster. To his surprise, they looked just as frozen and disbelieving as masters Lupin and Osbourne did.
They just stared at each other for a moment: the treacherous guests with shock and confusion at his sudden outburst, Kiblin with dread and resignation that he would be unable to warn and save Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Then the dark haired muggle blinked rapidly, and shook his head as if throwing off a dream or hex.
“Wait, what?” the muggle said.
