Written for my own 335 Pairing Bonanza (1/335 - DobbyElladora)

Mistress Black

"Eve!"

Elladora stormed into the kitchen, hands on hips, and glaring at the old house-elf, who was standing in dirty rags with a tray of biscuits and tea spilled around her.

"Eve is sorry, Miss," the house-elf stammered. "It was an accident."

Elladora only watched her, not at all amused. "This is not the first time it's happened, Eve," she said. "It's the fifth in a week."

Eve blushed.

"You're getting old."

Eve only looked at her feet, shuffling uncomfortably. "Eve is sorry, Miss," she said again.

"Come with me." Elladora didn't wait for the house-elf to follow. She simply grabbed the creature from the scruff of her rags and dragged her through the dark halls of Number Twelve.

That evening, Eve became the first of what would be many house-elves to find their heads on display in the Black House at Grimmauld Place.

…

Dobby felt sick staring up at all the heads stuck to the walls. He hated this place, he hated everything about it. He hated what the Blacks stood for, he hated the grumpy pureblood-loving house-elf, Kreacher, who lived here, and he certainly hated Miss Black.

It was the first family Dobby was supposed to serve, and Miss Black was his mistress. He had been almost excited to finally serve someone. By house-elf standards, Dobby was only a few years short of still being a child. His mother had been taken from him, sent to serve a family in Germany, and Dobby had been left alone. He had searched for many years trying to find a family that might treat him well, but they were hard to come by. The Blacks, especially, were not a family he'd wished to start his time as a slave for, but they had been the only option. Miss Black was cruel to her elves, and if Dobby had known that before, he would have run away.

Now, however, he was bound.

"Dobby, is it?" The elderly witch regarded Dobby with much scorn. Age had done nothing for her appearance. She was rotund, short, and had large glasses that took up most of her face. She had never been overly beautiful, but she had to at least have been prettier than she was now. She had never married, and Dobby now understood why.

Not even a house-elf thought her a pretty woman.

"Yes, Mistress," Dobby responded, bowing low – a compelling feeling inside of him he couldn't resist. He had to bow to her. He had no choice.

"I see you've seen my past servants." Miss Black pointed to the wall of heads. There were three there now, all looking as horrified as the next. Dobby couldn't begin to imagine their last thoughts before they'd realised their lives were about to end. "Best hope a house-elf like you doesn't turn too old, too quickly."

Dobby swallowed, and then bowed again. "Dobby is but a child, Mistress," he said. "Dobby still has many more years to serve his mistress."

She smiled without humour at him. "That is very good to hear," she said. "Now, I want you to go and start on my washing. It's upstairs on the third floor. I want it washed, dried and folded by tonight. It's been weeks since I last had it done – who'd have thought it would be so hard to find a wretched house-elf around here?"

Dobby resisted the urge the snap his fingers and make something very bad happen to his new Mistress. If he did that now he would be shamed for the rest of his life. Instead, he bowed for a third time. "Dobby will have it all done before tonight, Mistress."

"Good. Now go."

…

There were no other words for Dobby to say other than he hated Mistress Black. She was cold, cruel, and quite frankly, she was dead boring. While Dobby washed, cleaned and cooked for her she would spend most of her time in her bedroom, writing letters, or yelling at Dobby. She threatened him more than once a day that if he didn't do as she asked she'd find her head on the wall with the others. It was the only reason Dobby worked so hard, if he was being honest. Dobby would live every day in the hope that one of them might be his last with Mistress Black.

Dobby served seven years with his first mistress.

It wasn't until winter of 1931 came that things changed. Mistress Black was getting very old now, she could barely walk. She was suffering – from what she referred it as – old age. Something, she put bitterly, was what Muggles usually suffered from at that age.

It was growing cold, snow was falling, and Dobby couldn't stoke the fire high enough to keep her old bones warm. She didn't even have the energy to bark orders at him anymore.

With a satisfactory smile, Dobby knew that this winter would be his last with Mistress Black.

Dobby was the one to find her that January morning. Mistress Black didn't come downstairs for breakfast. There was no yelling from above, and no orders being thrown at him. Dobby wasn't stupid – he had guessed what might have happened – but he still went to investigate anyway.

She was lying on her bed, blankets covering her frail figure. It was as if she was just sleeping. Even though she had mistreated him Dobby couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he moved to pull the covers over her still body.

"Thank you, Mistress Black," he said, patting the cover. For Dobby was free.

At least, he realised, for a few days until he would be sent to another family to serve.

This time he hoped they would be nicer.

These pairings were decided by a generator, so some weird things will pop up from me every once in a while. I took it at liberty at house-elves can live for a while longer than humans, as myth has most elves.

I hope you enjoyed!