Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (9 page)

'Who's Kreacher?' he asked.

The house-elf who lives here,' said Ron. 'Nutter. Never met one like him.'

Hermione frowned at Ron.

'He's not a nutter, Ron.'

'His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother,' said Ron irritably. 'Is that normal, Hermione?'

'Well - well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault.'

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.

'Hermione still hasn't given up on SPEW

'It's not SPEW!' said Hermione heatedly. 'It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too.'

'Yeah, yeah,' said Ron. 'C'mon, I'm starving.'

He led the way out of the door and on to the landing, but before they could descend the stairs -

'Hold it!' Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further. They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something.'

The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harrys guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix…

A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harrys eyes. Looking up, he saw Ered and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear towards the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they all began to move towards the front door and out of sight.

'Dammit,' Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.

They heard the front door open, then close.

'Snape never eats here,' Ron told Harry quietly. Thank God. C'mon.'

'And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry,' Hermione whispered.

As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

'We're eating down in the kitchen,' Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. 'Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall it's through this door here -'

CRASH.

'Tonks!' cried Mrs. Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.

'I'm sorry!' wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. 'It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over -'

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured - then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed; and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

Lupin and Mrs. Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

'Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers -'

Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor; Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

'Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!' he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned.

The old woman's face blanched.

'Yoooou!' she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. 'Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!'

'I said - shut - UP!' roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.

'Hello, Harry,' he said grimly, 'I see you've met my mother.'

'Your -?'

'My dear old mum, yeah,' said Sirius. 'We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again.'

'But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?' Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

'Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house,' said Sirius. 'But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters - about the only useful thing I've been able to do.'

Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.

It 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 them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son 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.

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

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

'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 toppling a candle on to 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. In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.

Mrs. Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already overladen arms.

'This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,' she snapped, before sweeping off towards 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?'

The thing Harry had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore, then jerked awake.

'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.

'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, 'Any?'

'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 within 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. 'No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey.'

'What can I do, Molly?' said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.

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 towards 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. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.

'Seen old Figgy since?' he asked.

'No,' said Harry, 'I haven't seen anyone.'

'See, I wouldn't 'ave left,' said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, 'but I 'ad a business opportunity -'

Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.

'Had a good summer so far?'

'No, it's been lousy,' said Harry.

For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's face.

'Don't know what you're complaining about, myself.'

'What?' said Harry incredulously.

'Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights… I've been stuck inside for a month.'

'How come?' asked Harry, frowning.

'Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix… or so Dumbledore feels.'

There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the Headmaster. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.

At least you've known what's been going on,' he said bracingly.

'Oh yeah,' said Sirius sarcastically. 'Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time… asking me how the cleanings going -'

'What cleaning?' asked Harry.

Trying to make this place fit for human habitation,' said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. 'No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist - hasn't cleaned anything in ages.'

'Sirius,' said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to the conversation, but had been closely examining an empty goblet. 'This solid silver, mate?'

'Yes,' said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. 'Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.'

That'd come orf, though,' muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.

'Fred - George - NO, JUST CARRY THEM!' Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Harry, Sirius and Mundungus looked round and, within a split second, they had dived away from the table. 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 towards 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; 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 to wrench the bread knife out of the table. 'Sorry, Sirius, mate - didn't mean to -'

Harry and Sirius were both laughing; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from where 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 as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer on to 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.

'Let's eat,' said Bill quickly.

'It looks wonderful, Molly,' said Lupin, ladling stew on to 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.

'I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, 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 Doxys, too,' Mrs. Weasley went on. 'I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.'

'I look forward to it,' said Sirius. Harry heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he was not sure that anyone else did.

Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance that resembled Snape's, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment, because Hermione and Ginny were soon requesting their favourite noses.

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

Tonks obliged, and Harry, looking up, had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.

Mr Weasley, Bill and Lupin were having an intense discussion about goblins.

They're not giving anything away yet,' said Bill. 'I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it.'

'I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who,' said Mr Weasley, shaking his head. They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?'

'I think it depends what they're offered,' said Lupin. 'And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?'

'He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment,' said Bill, 'he hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know -'

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

'… and then,' choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, 'and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, “'Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!” And I says, “Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?” And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place -'

'1 don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,' said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forwards on to the table, howling with laughter.

'Beg pardon, Molly,' said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. 'But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong.'

'I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,' said Mrs. Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccoughing. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Harry looked round at his godfather.

'Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus,' said Sirius in an undertone.

'How come he's in the Order?' Harry said, very quietly.

'He's useful,' Sirius muttered. 'Knows all the crooks - well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you.'

Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and the waistband on Harrys jeans was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something as the jeans had once been Dudley's). As he laid down his spoon there was a lull in the general conversation: 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.