Chapter 4: The noble and most ancient house of Black.

Chelbell2016:

Selena's POV:

Mrs Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim.

"I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing, "we've got a busy clay tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep," she added to Hermione and I as we head towards my bedroom where we were all staying, "so try not to wake her up."

Hermione and I say goodbye to the guys and head into the bedroom. As predicted Ginny is still awake.

"What did they say?" She asks nicely and I smile before both Hermione and I retell the events of what happened downstairs.

"What kind of weapon could be worse then the killing curse?" Hermione wonders out loud.

"I don't know," I say before rubbing my arms. "But I can guess what else he wants. Me... for my power."

The other two both give me sympathetic looks.

"No one in this house or in the order is going to let them get you," Ginny promises.

With that comment we all begin to get ready for bed.

"SELENA!" A voice yells in my ear and I fall out of bed.

I groan and then as I glance up I scream.

"RYAN!" I yell jumping into the arms of my cousin. "You're here. I thought you weren't coming for a few more days!"

"Meh we decided to come early," he says as we finally separate. "Dad will be here later he had to head out to do something. Um also Mum has been moved to St. Mungo's she's hanging in there but we don't know how long for. Mungo's has more experience with her disease."

I nod and hug him before Fred knocks on my door.

"Hey mum wants you to hurry up and have breakfast and then were going to tackle the drawing room," he says rolling his eyes. "Ryan she politely asks that you join us."

Ryan glances at me and I shrug.

Half an hour later Ryan and I enter 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, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, Harry and Ron were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. 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 says to Ryan and I the moment she sees us, pointing to two 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 -"

Hermione looks unamused at Mrs Weasley.

"Kreachers really old, he probably couldn't manage -"

Kreacher's the house elf that lives here. He doesn't like the fact that I am one of the only young people who can order him around. He glares and calls me names when my father isn't around.

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," dad says, as he just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Harry's enquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk . . ."

He drops the bag of rats into an armchair, then bends over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a Boggart," dad says, 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.

"Hey dad where's mum?" I ask noticing I haven't seen her all morning.

"Bed she's not feeling very well," he says but he seems happy for some reason.

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!" dad says exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. We hear him thundering clown the stairs my grandmother's screeches echoed up through the house once more:

"Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth ."

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

Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; I could tell that he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs.

Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined us all.

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

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because Doxys 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 paralyse them. When they're immobilised, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.

"All right - squirt!"

I hadn't been spraying for more than ten seconds when a Doxy came flying out of the curtains at me. Shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. I caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide. It froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. I picked it up and threw it in the bucket.

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

I looked round. Fred was 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.

"We want to experiment with Doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,' George told Harry and I under his breath. Deftly spraying two Doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth,

"What are Skiving Snackboxes?" I ask not having heard of there latest invention.

"Range of sweets to make you ill," George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs Weasley's back. "Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half -"

" - which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom." That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway,' whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray Doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. "But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end."

"Testers?" Harry asks him.

"Us," said Fred. "We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies - we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat -"

"Mum thought we'd been duelling," said George.

"Joke shop still on, then?" Harry muttered, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.

"Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet," said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, "so we're running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week."

"All thanks to you, two mates,' said George. "But don't worry . . . Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet any more, 'cause of it telling lies about you two and Dumbledore."

Harry grinned. We had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand Galleons prize money we had won in the Tri-wizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop, but I was still glad to know that our part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs Weasley. She did not think running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.

The de-Doxying 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. At the foot of them unconscious Doxys lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crook-shanks 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: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages I could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what I am quite sure is blood.

The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs Blacks 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 on the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a suck of precariously balanced cauldrons.

"Mundungus!" said Hermione. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," said Harry. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"

"Yeah, you're right!" said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. "Blimey, Mum won't like that . . ."

He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening closely. Mrs Black's screaming had stopped.

"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. "Can't hear properly . . . d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair - Ryan there one of our inventions."

But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"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."

" - 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 your dear grandmother again Selena."

I glare at him hating that that portrait is of my fraternal grandmother.

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 entered the room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old.

The elf took absolutely no notice of any of us as he begins his usual mutterings. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath 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 into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and 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 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 lacing 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 look to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there its twin, unnataral little beasts they are."

"Kreacher," I warn and he glances at me.

"Didn't say anything young mistress," he says while bowing at me.

I could tell that Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter.

". . . and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know . . ."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever. "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say -"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron, Ginny and Ryan together, very angrily.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his tight mind, he doesn't know what he's -"

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry.

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, along with young mistress, Kreacher wonders how they did it -"

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

"What do you want, anyway?" Ryan demands from him.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards Ryan.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said a voice behind Harry.

Dad had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; perhaps Mrs Weasley and Mundungus had moved their argument down into the kitchen.

At the sight of dad, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout-like nose on the floor.

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

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated."Kreacher lives to serve lie Noble House of Black -"

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

"Dad," I say giving my father a reaproachful look as I don't like the way he treats the elf.

"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," snapped Sirius. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed again as he spoke.

"Whatever Master says," he 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 full 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, they say he's a murderer too -"

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

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," Hermione pleaded, "I don't think he realises we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mothers portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little -"

"Dad!" I scold. I mean its no wonder Kreacher treats us like this. He expects abuse from my father.

"If you could just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe -"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order" said dad curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."

Dad walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. We all followed and I look around in amazement.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was laded and looked as though Doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as I could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:
'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Toujours pur'

"You two aren't on here and neither is your mother Selena!" said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree closely.

I also notice this and it makes me a little upset. I weren't even born when dad fell out with his mother. Why take it out on your unborn granddaughter.

"I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred 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 guess she didn't feel the need to add you and your mum because I wasn't married at the time."

"You ran away from home?" Harry asks clearly a little shocked.

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough. My mother didn't support my relationship with Anna and I could not imagine myself without her."

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

"Your dad's place, most of the time or your mums summer home Selena,' said Dad. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dads in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen I got a place of my own with Ana. 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. We was always welcome at Mr and Mrs Potters for Sunday lunch, though."

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

"Leave?" Dad smiled bitterly and ran his fingers 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."

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

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

"But he died,' said Harry.

"Yeah," said Sirius. 'Stupid idiot . . . he joined the Death Eaters.'

"You're kidding!" Harry and I say at the same time.

"Come on, you two, 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?" Harry comments.

"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 pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, 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. "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he: was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."

"Lunch," said Mrs Weasley's voice.

She was holding her wand high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Harry and I remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry.

"I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus; . . . my great-great-grandfather, see? . . . least popular Headmaster Hogwarts ever had . . . and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother's . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal . . . and dear Aunt Elladora . . . she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays . . . of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her - he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him - '

"You and Tonks are related?" Harry asked, surprised and I nod with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin," said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely. "No, Andromeda's not on here either, look -"

He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa.

"Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so -"

Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. I smiled and shook my head at him. Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

"You're both related to the Malfoy's!"

"The pure-blood families are all interrelated," said Sirius. 'If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods our choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for then on here - if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys."

But Harry and I are now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Lestrange . . ." Harry said aloud. But I knew straight away who the woman is and it makes my blood boil just thinking about it.

"They're in Azkaban," said dad shortly and I can tell he doesn't like the subject.

Harry looked at him curiously.

"Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch junior," said Sirius, in the same brusque voice. "Rodolphus brother Rabastan was with them, too."

Then Harry remembered. We had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside grandfathers Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.

"You never said she was your -"

"Does it matter if she's my cousin?" snapped Sirius and I wince at his tone but he doesn't seem to notice. "As far as I'm concerned, they're not our family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having a relative like her?"

"Sorry," said Harry quickly, "I didn't mean - I was just surprised, that's all -"

"It doesn't matter, don't apologise," Sirius mumbled and I can see the look of guilt apon his face. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. 'I don't like being back here,' he said, staring across the drawing room. "I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again."

I smile slightly at him. "At least your not alone."

He smiles back and I can tell hes thinking about my mother.

"It's ideal for Headquarters, of course," Sirius said. "My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call - as if they d ever have wanted to - and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore is Secret Keeper for the Order, you know - nobody can find Headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is - that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore." Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. 'If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now . . . well, my mothers portrait should give you some idea.

He scowled for a moment, then sighed.

"I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you, to your hearing - as Snuffles, obviously - so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?"

I could tell that my fathers words made Harry's worries about the trial come back full blast.

"Don't worry," Sirius said. Harry looked up and realised that Sirius had been watching him. "I'm sure they'll clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life."

"But if they do expel me," said Harry quietly, 'can I come back here and live with you and Anna?"

Sirius smiled sadly.

"We'll see," he said and I can tell that he doesn't want to get his hopes up.

"I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys'," Harry pressed him.

"They must be bad if you prefer this place," said Sirius gloomily.

"Hurry up, you three, or there won't be any food left," Mrs Weasley called.

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Harry went to join the others. After one more glance backwards I also move forwards to eat.

I am beginning to get very tire of cleaning this house as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Dad sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

"Its OK," he said, as my mum moves forward with worry in her eyes. examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, "must be Wartcap powder in there."

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; I spotted George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already Doxy-filled pocket.
They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and we all began to feel weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy locket that none of us could open; a number of ancient seals; and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius's grandfather for 'services to the Ministry'.

"It means he gave them a load of gold," said Sirius contemptuously throwing the medal into the rubbish sack.
Several times Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large go den ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names that I had never heard before.

"It was my father's," said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. "Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father's old trousers last week."

Mrs Weasley and my mother kept us 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.

We moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where we found spiders as large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.

Snape might refer to their work as 'cleaning', but in my opinion we were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, 'Master must do as Master wishes,' before turning away and muttering very loudly, 'but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudblood and traitors and scum . . .'

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room. My mum places a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down and he strokes her cheek.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for all of us underage members of this household to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though we gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation we were able to sneak before Mrs Weasley recalled them to their tasks.

Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry's and my relief they never came face to face; Harry told me that he had also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger.

Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help. Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by.

Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

I could see the look of fear in Harry's eyes as Mrs Weasley turns to him the night before his trial and says. "I've ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight, too. A good first impression can work wonders."

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew. I smile gently and take his hand under the table. When he glances at me I continue to look down with a blush in my eyes.

"How am I getting there?" he asked Mrs Weasley and my mum trying to sound unconcerned.

"Arthur's taking you to work with him," said Mrs Weasley gently.

Mr Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

"You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing," he said.

Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs Weasley had answered it.
"Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for Sirius to go with you, and I must say I -"

"- think he's quite right," said Sirius through clenched teeth.

"Sirius we don't want you in danger," mum says and I can tell there is something we don't know.

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips.

"When did Dumbledore tell you that?" Harry said, staring at Sirius.

"He came last night, when you were in bed," said Mr Weasley

I glare at my plate. My grandfather had not spoken to me at all over the summer. Had I done something to him. Was he angry at me for some reason.

I head upstairs but stop when I see Harry staring in the bathroom mirror with the door open. I knock on and say. "Are you okay?"

He turns and shrugs before he steps outside of the room.

"I'm nervous," he explains and I step forwards and take his hands.

"Harry I'm sure you'll be fine," I say as I feel myself get closer to him.

"But what if I'm not," he says and I can see the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. "What if they expel me and I am forced to go back to the Dursley's. What if... What if Sirius' can't take me on... what if I never see you again-"

I cut him off as I step forward and push my lips against his. He seems shocked for a second before he kisses me back. After we stop for a few seconds it is quite.

"That was for good luck," I say before running up the stairs and into my room.

I can't believe I just kissed him. But he didn't say anything did he hate it?

I'll ask him if everything goes okay tomorrow.

Chelbell2016:

Sorry these are taking so long my lappy was broken so updates were slow but my lappy is fixed!