Marauder crack

The Rise of the Elves

Whore, whore, whore, whore, whore, old fucking whore, rotten fucking fucking whore. Sirius hates his mother so bad. Shithole house. He hates the noble and ancient house of the Black, with its deep-rooted traditions and its tapestries and its eighteen cutlery for each Dinner. But above all, those days, if he hates something, it's those pigs, fucking stupid, unbearable elves who make and break to the liking and dislike of their his August-like mother. Old bitch fucker whore with his complacent fucking slaves, submissive, resigned as shit.

It's July, and the annual Black party is coming up and all London is talking that it will be historical, mythical, epic. The largest gathering of the magic community since that time the Ministry of Magic decided to put a "Happy Hour-Night" to celebrate the fifth centenary of Morgana's death. In the social circles that Sirius's brothers frequent and comment on DETAIL BY DETAIL during dinners, the party is already known as the triple M. The Biggest Move since Merlin! At least, so titled in the society section of "The Daily Prophet." And because of the disgusting preparations, in 12 Grimmauld Place, there are not only more elves than usual. There are more elves than in Hogwarts. More than in all magic schools of the world TOGETHER.

The house seems about to burst, so Sirius is starting to call this phenomenon "Elven overpopulation" and everywhere, anywhere you go, from the first to the fifth floor, he only finds elves cleaning the silver, elves making beds for guests, elves waxing floors for the dance, elves cooking, serving, baking, and there are so many that literally, he's actually going crazy, and he would rather take his nails off one by one before having to spend a single second in that house, a damn, disgusting, a stupid second more.

Usually, the elves inspire him pity, those poor wretches. However, he is beginning to believe that one day he will have to kill them all or die trying. It is an almost prophetic conviction.

He has been home for two weeks. Two weeks out of the castle. But no owls from Remus. That bastard shitass couldn't just ignore him!

Two weeks and not a single Hogwarts news.

They knock on the door to his room. He recognizes those tiny knuckles.

- Fuck Off!

-Mrs. Black wants us to clean your room, Master Sirius.

He recognizes the shrill voice of her mom's favorite elf of hers.

- Kreacher! If you don't want me to dismember you, dismember you to make mince and Foie Gras for you to become hippogriff food, stop knocking on that filthy door again!

The elf walks away, grumbling.

And Remus still doesn't write. To James, apparently, yes. He does have fucking time to write to him. Even Peter comments on Hogwarts news in his letters from him. Sirius can take anger, and he is used to anger but he's starting to feel something pressing on his heart and that sssshitting pain is not so easy to get used to.

It's too late to get a werewolf out of your heart.