Summary: Fed up by the not so eloquent speeches shot her way by the late Walburga Black, Hermione decides to take matters into her own hands with a little help from Sirius. No pairings.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone created in the Harry Potter series. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I merely like to take the characters out of their boxes, dust them off, and play with them every once in a while. I make no money while doing so.

A/N: This is set between The Goblet of Fire and The Order of the Phoenix, during the summer before Harry comes to Grimmauld Place. In case you don't guess from my profile or the not-so-subtle hints herein, I am not in any way, shape, or form a Hermione/Ron shipper, so while I don't actually bash the character is this little one-shot (too badly), I also don't acknowledge JKR's canon couples.

Hermione Granger quietly entered the dark and dank home of the Order of the Phoenix. Her objective was very similar to the one she had the majority of her third year. She was not to be seen.

She had been trapped in the house for a week with a taskmaster named Molly Weasley who continued pushing her youngest son and her into forced, combined cleaning tasks. It was nice that Mrs. Weasley seemed to like her, but any romantic notions toward her youngest son were merely pipedreams as far as Hermione was concerned.

In the week she'd resided in the cesspit called Grimmauld Place, she'd come to despise the painting of the former Mrs. Black almost as much as Sirius did. Of course it was also charmed against magical attacks, so no matter what silencing charms or blasting hexes Padfoot tried, it didn't make a mark on the portrait or frame, much to the vicious amusement of an overly smug Mrs. Black. The woman was simply dreadful, and it was no wonder her eldest son ran away from home at sixteen. Honestly, she didn't know how he lasted that long.

The prior day, Molly enlisted Hermione and, of course, Ron to clean the floor and walls in the front hallway, which led to the young witch being berated for hours on end by the foul portrait. No matter how many times Sirius came out and yelled at her to shut up and pulled the curtains closed, the woman screeched and hurled her filthy epithets nonstop. It didn't help that Ron refused to keep his gob shut, or even to speak in a quiet enough tone to not repeatedly set off the old bat.

After being subjected to hours of verbal abuse, Hermione reached her breaking point. She cornered Sirius after dinner that night, and asked him to put his Marauder skills to good use. Hermione promised he would be rewarded greatly if he could distract the Weasleys for an hour or two in the morning.

Sirius had to admit, he was intrigued. According to his godson's letters, Hermione wasn't one for pranks, but she could be slightly vengeful if pushed hard enough. He wasn't certain what she planned, but his monotonous existence in his hellish childhood home led him to quickly agree.

Now she returned, triumphantly at that, with a generic plastic bag from the hardware store in hand. The curtains were drawn around Mrs. Black's portrait, and from the faint sounds of yelling coming from the direction of the kitchen, it sounded as if Sirius found a way to distract the Weasley matriarch quite well.

Hermione was afraid to leave her purchases in the front hall. Who knew what would happen if Kreacher found the items! Therefore, she kept the bag looped around her wrist, and gripped the thin plastic with her hand as a secondary safeguard.

When she entered the kitchen, Hermione cleared her throat several times before she was heard by the arguing occupants. Molly Weasley's face was impressively redder than her hair, but Sirius looked positively anticipatory, his eyes sparkling when they noticed her return.

Hermione asked if she could speak with Sirius in private. Molly tried to ship her off to find her dear Ronniekins to help in the cleaning, but Sirius put his foot down. They were in his home as his guests. If Hermione wanted an audience with him, he would grant it. After all, he owed her a life debt, didn't he?

Molly sputtered, but couldn't come up with anything to counter his logic. Hermione tried to hide her smile, but the corners of her mouth twitched anyway, giving away her amusement.

Sirius led the young witch to the library and cast a few silencing and locking charms at the door. Once their privacy was guaranteed, Hermione revealed her covert purchases, and explained the muggle items to the giddy master of the house.

"I'm afraid that you will have to use them yourself, Sirius. I'm quite sure if I were to do so Kreacher would show up and blast me into the next century. But, as distasteful as it is to me, you're his master so he can't harm or disobey you," she ruefully explained.

Sirius didn't care to advise her that Kreacher was just as likely to try and harm him for what they were plotting, but that his bond wouldn't let him do so. If the elf tried to stop him, despite Sirius' direct orders, the bond would require his death. This didn't phase him in the least after all the trauma Kreacher caused him during his childhood. Sirius remembered quite clearly his mother ordering the elf to beat him for being sorted into Gryffindor, and the elf's gleefully mad expression as he used elf magic to leave him bruised and bloody.

He, however, suddenly decided on a different course of action. Sirius didn't want to risk Hermione's safety after all, so he called Kreacher to him.

The dirty and crotchety old elf popped into the library where Sirius started to instruct him to go to his room and remain there until he called for him.

Hermione tugged on Sirius' sleeve, and tugged him down to whisper in his ear. The man's eyes grew wide, and he wondered why he'd never thought of the idea before. He remembered Lily once said that wizards didn't have a lick of common sense. He was afraid he'd just proven her correct.

"Wait! Before you go, Kreacher, from here on out, I, as Lord Black, command you to not follow the commands or beliefs of your old mistress, my mother. I command you to ignore her portrait, and to ignore any other Black aside from me or my godson, Harry Potter, until I give alternate instructions. As far as you're concerned, they don't exist."

Little did he know just how important those new orders would be in about eleven months' time, but that's another story.

The old elf looked positively scandalized, and shook a bit, pulling on his ears. Finally in the end, he bowed to Sirius.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," and then he was gone, popped away to his room as previously ordered.

Once he released the privacy charms on the library, Sirius grabbed Hermione's hand and led her through the house to the entry hall. His step was quick and eager, and his eyes sparkled with unfettered mischief. It had been years since he was able to plan a prank. The fact that it was on his own mother just made it even better.

Hermione opened the bag, and removed a metal container. She gave it a few shakes before handing it over to her partner in crime. A second item, a mini-paint pan was withdrawn from the bag, along with a thick, bristled paint brush.

Sirius worked the cap free from the can before he poured a healthy amount into the pan Hermione held. He soaked the brush in the liquid, trying to saturate the bristles completely before he quietly pulled the curtains back from his mother's portrait. There she sat, snoozing in her hard backed chair, chin resting on her chest, with light snores emanating from the canvas.

As quietly as possible, Sirius dragged the brush around the edges of the painting, soaking it with the harsh chemical. His mother slept on, and his psychotic elf seemed to be obeying his command to remain in his room. They just might get away with this, he thought gleefully.

The portrait startled awake when the brush grazed against her arm. Immediately Mrs. Black glared at her disgrace of a son and the disgusting mudblood whore. She prepared to let loose another onslaught of insults, and tried to stand up. She found herself unable to do so, though. It was almost as if she was trapped in a smaller space. Walburga Black actually bumped her head on some invisible ceiling in her own portrait. Her eyes widened as she quickly looked around and found that the majority of her painting's background, which had been the family library, was missing with only miscellaneous flakes of paint still showing.

That little bitch smiled at her, and continued rubbing some silvery and squishy looking blob over her canvas. The nerve of that cretin to touch the painting of a pureblood such as herself! Ready to unload a verbal thrashing to surpass all those previous, she was derailed when she felt something jab at her bottom.

She looked down and saw her son with some contraption in his hand, a thick wooden handle with dark brown strands of something attached to the end. They looked like a sort of animal hair strapped together in a thick grouping. The strands rubbed against her bottom once more, and Walburga let out a yelp. It actually burned.

"What are you doing, you ungrateful brat," she shrieked.

"What I was never able to do while you were still alive," Sirius cheerfully responded. "Silencing you once and for all."

The paintbrush moved to her feet, and they burned with each stroke. Walburga's portrait shrieked in pain.

"Stop that! Stop that at once! I command you, you ungrateful blood traitorous whelp! Kreacher! Kreacher! Come at once and stop them! Kreacher!"

As soon as she called for the twisted old elf, Sirius grabbed the steel wool from Hermione's hand. He had commanded Kreacher to ignore the painting, but the elf was so conditioned over the years to listen to his mother he did worry. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to be injured in all of this should the bloody elf disobey him. She was providing the most fun he'd had in years after all.

When Kreacher didn't appear, Sirius turned back to his mother's portrait, or what was left of it. He grinned at his mother brightly.

"Kreacher now obeys the current Lord Black. I've instructed him to ignore you, mother. Unless you plan to rise from the dead and hex me, we have…what did you call it again, Hermione?"

"A home improvement project, Sirius," the girl smirked at the outraged portrait.

"Yes, yes, a fitting name indeed! A home improvement project to complete."

Walburga knew she lost any chance possible to save her portrait, to remain in her noble house, and to try and torture her disgusting offspring. Oh, if only her younger son had lived!

"Know, Mother, that this will be the final time you ever see this house, or hold any sway over who enters, and what happens here. Your vicious rule ends here and now."

She continued to scream even as the brush drenched the painting in turpentine over and over. Once the canvas was dripping with the liquid, Sirius handed Hermione the brush, and took the steel wool to work over the canvas, rubbing away any trace of the woman once known as Walburga Black.

Sirius was elated. He was finally rid of his vile mother.

He put down their weapons of destruction, grabbed Hermione's hands and danced a jig with her right there in the front hallway.

That's how Molly Weasley found them five minutes later, singing and dancing up a storm.

"What on earth is going on here," she asked, face clearly showing her bewilderment.

"Hermione was just giving me a lesson, Molly. She's absolutely brilliant. Did you know that?"

Molly's eyes squinted at the lord of the house. He had quite a reputation with the ladies in his day, and she would not put up with his shenanigans, especially if they centered around an innocent young girl like Hermione.

"What kind of lesson," she asked warily.

Hermione beamed at her and waved a hand at the now destroyed portrait of Walburga Black.

"How to Remove a Wizarding Portrait 101. It's a beginner's class, but Sirius passed with flying colors."

The Order feasted well that night in celebration of Sirius and Hermione's accomplishment.

Tonks loudly demanded to know what her cousin planned to do with the blasted troll leg umbrella stand at the front door. Hermione silently mulled over their options. Hmm, the house was under the Fidelius. Maybe the front stoop could use a planter with some flowers to brighten up the place. It looked like she would be making a trip to the gardening center tomorrow.