⚡︎
┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑 *•. ┄┄

𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔

────── *•. ⚡︎ .•*──────

The kitchen was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr. Weasley and Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet as Hermione sat down next to Ginny on the table.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no—sorry—"

"Here, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand.

Mrs. Weasley had seen Harry looking into the parchment on the table. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's heavily laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered "Evanesco!" and the scrolls vanished.

"Sit down, Harry," said Sirius. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

"Some'n say m' name?" Mundungus mumbled sleepily. "I 'gree with Sirius. . . ."

He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused. Ginny giggled and Hermione snorted shaking her head.

"The meeting's over, Dung," said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. "Harry's arrived."

"Eh?" said Mundungus, peering balefully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. "Blimey, so 'e 'as. Yeah . . . you all right, 'arry?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand, and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him in seconds.

"Owe you a 'pology," grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs. Weasley, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly."

The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large and immediately Ginny and Hermione stood up. Ginny went to collect cutlery and Hermione went to get plates. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey—"

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forward.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.

"Er—no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today—"

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets, and food from the pantry. Hermione saw from the corner of her eyes Harry and Sirius talking and she smiled at the interaction, she was about to put the plates down on the table when a screech was heard and she almost dropped them all.

"Fred—George—NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED—I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS—JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward and wrenching the bread knife out of the table. "Sorry Sirius, mate—didn't mean to—"

Harry and Sirius were both laughing. Mundungus, who had toppled backward off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet. Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from whence his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age—"

"—none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! Percy—"

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden. Hermione looked up at Fred, who was now next to her and subtly reached for his hand. She felt his fingers entwine with hers and squeezed his hand reassuringly. They let go quickly as to not attract unwanted attention, though Hermione could still feel the lingering feeling of his hand, and the wink he sent her way was also extremely annoying.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly and everyone quickly sat down, Hermione conveniently ended up next to Fred and Ginny.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said, "I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing-room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius indifferently.

"The curtains in there are full of doxies too," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius, causing Hermione to look at her dad as she had caught the sarcasm in his voice. Sirius looked back at her and gave her a fleeting smile.

She then turned to look ahead to see Tonks entertaining Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with a pained expression, her nose swelled to a beaklike protuberance like Snape's, shrank to something resembling a button mushroom, and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. This, of course, was a regular mealtime entertainment, after a while Hermione and Ginny started requesting their favorite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks . . ."

Dinner went by joyfully and two helpings of Mrs. Weasley's delicious chocolate cake later Hermione's eyes started to feel tired. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with rapidity. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary. Hermione silently reached out for his glass but he snatched it away and she pouted slightly.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so—"

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're too young."'

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen—"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

"'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand—"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kindly face looked dangerous. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George's heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back" (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), "he has more right than most to—"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and—"

"—and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius, "and more than some—"

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still—"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently.

"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly, and Hermione saw from the corner of her eye James smiling sadly at Sirius.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and—"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he say, "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters—"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally, she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts—not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture—from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others."

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry's best interests at heart—"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it? What about Hermione?"

The room went silent and every head turned to Hermione, Mrs. Weasley realized her mistake and her mouth closed shut. Fred saw as Hermione's eyes went wide and grabbed her hand below the table just as Sirius rose from his chair. "What about Hermione?" he echoed coldly, "Do you honestly think I meant to do that? Sent her away? I didn't have a fucking choice—"

"—Sirius there are children—"

"—Save it, Remus. It wasn't my choice! It was to keep her safe! Why one earth would I want to give up raising my own daughter? Or even go to Azkaban?" Sirius asked coldly and Molly's face softened.

"What are you talking about?" George asked from his seat looking at the adults in the room, his brows furrowed in confusion. Hermione looked at him and bit her lip, her gaze then turned to Sirius who was looking at her already.

"Your own daughter?" It was Ginny who asked this time.

Sirius took a deep breath to calm down and cleared his throat, "Well, now that it's out there. Meet Hermione Aria Black, my daughter."

"Well that was a bloody dramatic introduction," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, avoiding the gaping looks from George and Ginny. "I still go by Granger though. Secrecy purposes of course," she added.

"What?!" George and Ginny both exclaimed loudly and only then looked around, seeing that no one was in the same state as them, "You all know, already?"

"Yeah. . . ." everyone answered and they huffed.

"Well now that we settled that—more questions can be asked later—I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Lupin continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once.

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny—Ron—Fred—George—Uh—Hermione—I want you out of this kitchen, now."

There was instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. "I absolutely forbid—"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They are of age—"

"They're still at school—"

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

"I—oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't—won't you?" he added uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

" 'Course I will," Harry said. Ron beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Ginny—BED!"

"I'm gonna go too, actually," Hermione announced and stood up, "Fill me in later."

She then followed the raging storm of red hair out of the room. The latter mumbling and cursing at her mother all the way up the stairs, and by the time they reached the hall, Mrs. Black's earsplitting shrieks were added to her ranting and Hermione's laugh.

As soon as they entered their bedroom, Ginny rounded up on Hermione, her eyes narrowed and Hermione winced—apart from Mrs. Weasley, she was surely the only Weasley Hermione was scared of (when she was in a bad mood of course).

"Why in the bloody hell didn't you stay downstairs? Huh? You could have told me what was going on!" Ginny screeched and Hermione discreetly started stepping backward onto her own bed, a sheepish smile on her face. "AND how come you didn't tell me you are the daughter of Sirius fucking Black?!"

"Language, Ginevra!" Hermione gasped dramatically but at Ginny's narrowed eyes she clamped her lips together, clearing her throat. "Well, first, I'm tired. Second I wasn't supposed to tell? I dunno—you didn't ask?" Hermione asked sheepishly.

"Because it's bloody normal to ask someone if they're Sirius's daughter?"

"Well, now that you put it like that. . . ." Hermione mumbled and Ginny huffed rolling her eyes, shaking her head. And then a laugh passed through her lips, causing Hermione to smile amusedly. Soon, Hermione and Ginny were both laughing hysterically and it took them some time to calm themselves down enough to put on their pajamas. 

The next thing Hermione knew, she was waking up because of the sun shining on her face. She rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, brushing her teeth, and getting dressed she went back to her room. She noticed Ginny was gone so she sat down on her bed and opened a magazine. Eventually, she fell asleep again.

That is until a hand was shaking her awake, prompting Hermione to swat it away. She groggily opened her eyes and sat up, seeing Harry sitting on her bed, smiling at her hair. She huffed and glared at him as she put it into a messy bun.

"George just came to wake me and Ron up. Our breakfast is downstairs and we need to go to the drawing-room. Something about doxies, " Harry explained as Hermione nodded groggily taking in his face. She was sure she had felt something when she was around him, but as of late she didn't. But she needed to know if that was true or it was Fred's kiss messing with her mind, so what better time than when you're high on sleep and can't think straight?

"Hey, Harry—Can I try something?" Hermione asked tilting her head to the side.

"What?" said Harry, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her. Hermione shifted on her bed coming face to face with him, just inches away from each other.

"I just want to test something. . . ." she whispered and softly pressed her lips against his. 

She felt Harry tense up in surprise but he eventually kissed back. The thing was, there was nothing there. No fireworks, no sparks—not even some firecrackers. They pulled away after a couple of seconds and Hermione licked her lips, frowning as Harry awkwardly scratched his neck—his face as red as the Weasley's hair.

"That was—Um. . . ." Harry began awkwardly and Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Awful?" she finished and if possible he got redder.

"Yeah. I mean the kiss was—I mean—You're a good kisser—I mean, it felt—"

"Like kissing a relative?" said Hermione, raising an eyebrow at him, trying hard not to laugh at his awkwardness.

"Pretty much," Harry said, sighing in relief that it wasn't a one-sided feeling.

"Well, we sort of are god-siblings. . . ." Hermione mumbled with a slight grin and Harry's mouth opened in an 'o'.

"Oh, right."

"We're not awkward or anything now, are we?" said Hermione after a couple of seconds of awkward silence. Harry snorted at that.

"I'm already awkward, Mimi, so nothing changed for me in that department," he said and Hermione laughed, feeling relieved.

"I'm so glad, I really couldn't bear to lose you Prongslet, my heart. . . it would kill me," Hermione said dramatically serious, "I'd've been left with a hole that would soon eat away anything left and I would crumble and perish, moths would eat my clothes, voltures would take my body, and soon enough, my bones would be—"

"As much as I'm finding this amusing, it's also disturbing, so why don't we head down to breakfast so we can help afterward?" Harry said with a laugh mixed with a grimace, cutting her off.

"Fine. As you wish Mr. Relative, " Hermione said standing up and Harry chuckled. "Can you give me a ride then?"

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded, "As you wish, Ms. Relative. Hop on." 

Hermione jumped on his back and they made their way downstairs. A huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. She didn't have doubts anymore.

Both of them found Ron already eating in the kitchen and half an hour later, the three, who breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing-room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar, as they had tied cloths over their noses and mouths. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs. Weasley said to Hermione, Harry, and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to three more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad—what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years—"

"You'd be surprised with what he does when he wants to," Hermione mumbled and she heard a laugh like a bark behind her.

"I was just about to say that," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. 

"I know," Hermione smirked giving him a knowing look only her dad, Mrs. Wesley, and the daft duo got.

"Cheater," Sirius mumbled and she laughed. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Harry's inquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk . . ."

He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair; then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out—knowing my mother it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs. Weasley. They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices obviously not having forgotten their argument from the day before.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying back out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: "Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth . . ."

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley.

As Harry closed the door, Hermione took to put a rag around her mouth and nose—painfully reminding her of her old life when she had to wear masks all the time.

Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxies in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains, and beckoned them all forward.

"When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyze them. When they're immobilized, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire and raised her own spray. "All right—squirt!"

Hermione grimaced as she kept hitting the Docies in the face causing them to freeze and fall on the ground. She then used wandless magic to levitate them (one of the basic spells she knew how to do) to the bucket because there was no way in hell she would touch them willingly.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"

Hermione looked around and saw Fred holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

"Right-o," Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued to spray.

The dedoxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxies lay crammed in the bucket at the foot of them beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.

"I think we'll tackle those after lunch." Mrs. Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects.

The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down onto the doorstep. Everyone except Hermione, who continued to lay on the floor having died from the "exercise". She was almost falling asleep when—

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!" This yell made Hermione jump up into a seated position.

"I love hearing Mum shouting at someone else," said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face as he opened the door an inch or so to allow Mrs. Weasley's voice to permeate the room better. "It makes such a nice change." Hermione smiled sadly at this but loved how both the twins could change every situation into a positive situation without trying so hard.

"—COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE—"

"The idiots are letting her get into her stride," said George, shaking his head. "You've got to head her off early, otherwise she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she's been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry—and there goes Sirius's mum again—"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams from the portraits in the hall. George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, Kreacher edged into the room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ". . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do. . . ."

"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are." At this Hermione laughed making them all snort and Kreacher turned to her.

"Kreacher did not see Mistress Black," he said bowing down and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Stop that Kreacher, Reggie wouldn't want you to bow so neither do I, " Hermione said with a small smile and she caught Regulus smiling at her in the corner of the room. The elf made a sobbing noise and looked at Hermione with teary eyes.

"It's the first time Mistress talks about Master Regulus. Mistress should talk more of him, " he said and turned away continued to mutter under his breath until his eyes landed on Harry.

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's that boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it—"

"Don't we all, Kreacher?" said Fred.

"What do you want anyway?" George asked.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted onto George.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said a voice behind Harry. Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black —"

"—and it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart —"

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed again and said, "Whatever Master says," then muttered furiously, "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was—"

"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it—"

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher."

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was redolent of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

"—comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, with a daughter too, she mentioned Young Master Regulus, they say the traitor is a murderer too—"

"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably, and he slammed the door shut on the elf.

Sirius walked across the room, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry and the others followed.

"You're not on here!" said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree. "Hermione either!"

"I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home—Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."

"I'm not there because I'm disowned by association," Hermione said with a smirk and Sirius shook his head in amusement.

"You ran away from home?"

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."

"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him.

"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's during the school holidays, and then when I was seventeen I got a place of my own, my Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold—he's been wiped off here too, that's probably why—anyway, after that, I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."

"Did you sleep in the dog house?" Hermione asked and the group choked down a laugh as Sirius mock glared at her. "What, it's a fair question?"

"Nah. The Potters allowed me to have my own room as long as I kept the mud outside, " Sirius said with a smile and they laughed.

"But . . . why did you . . . ?"

"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand through his long, unkempt hair. "Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them . . . that's him."

Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name Regulus Black. The date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

"But he died," said Harry.

"Yeah, trying to go against Voldemort," said Sirius sadly. "Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters only to have a change of mind."

"You're kidding!"

"Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" said Sirius testily.

"Were—were your parents Death Eaters as well?"

"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren't alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things. . . . They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first."

"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Oh no," said Sirius. "I don't know how he died. I do know now that he was doing something right for the first time ever."

Hermione rolled her eyes at this at the same time as Regulus who was flipping Sirius off from behind him. "I think that's bullshit," said Hermione, "He must've been somewhat good if he was friends with mum."

Sirius looked at Hermione with a sad smile and just nodded in response, that was when Mrs. Wesley came upstairs her wand high in front of her balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. "Lunch," said Mrs. Weasley. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. Hermione moved along with the others eager to get some food in her system to get her energy high up again.

She sat down on the floor next to Ron and Ginny and immediately started eating. Everyone was so tired and starved they didn't talk at all at first and when they did they started telling stupid jokes or chit-chatting about everything and anything.

"Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left," Mrs. Weasley called after a while.

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, and he and Harry went to join the others.

Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days. The drawing-room took three days to decontaminate; finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk; Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so they could not be sure what was inside it.

They moved from the drawing-room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron, and Hermione on his trail, left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half).

The next few days passed by and soon was the evening before Harry's trial. Luckily Hermione remembered to mention the change in time and room before going to sleep that night.

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