Always cheerful. Always helpful. Always cleaning places that had just been cleaned last week.
But that ... Dobby creature was the worst. Traitorous miserable elf. It actually seemed happy to be wearing clothes! And always, always it was hounding Kreacher. Following him. Watching him work. Reporting back to the young master, no doubt. Wicked Half-blood! Disloyal Muggle lover! Unworthy to clean Kreacher's bedding, but somehow he was the head of the Black household. Kreacher did not understand how that could be.
Oh, how Kreacher fought the magic! Tried to leave, tried to go see the beloved Mistress Narcissa or Mistress Bellatrix. But he couldn't. Bound here, to these horrid kitchens in Hogwarts. Bound by the command of his master.
"Kreacher!"
Kreacher felt the call, deep in his bones. The call came, and go he must, to seek his master wherever he was. With a rude gesture to Dobby, he popped away.
Black Manor! Oh, to be home again, in the house of his mistress! The feeling was there, the magic, the blessed history of purity! It wrapped around Kreacher like a warm blanket.
But there was the master. Nasty vile master. Kreacher would spit at him. If he could. There he stood, in the front hall, by the mistress. Oh, lovely mistress. He could hear her voice ringing out. Always a pleasure in his ears to hear, always a joy to obey!
"Kreacher!" The wicked master was speaking again.
"Kreacher is here, Master." Kreacher replied, then muttered to himself "Worthless spawn of a Mudblood." Then louder, again, "How can Kreacher serve?"