Chapter Six

This was written by Sarah Liz B, so all credit goes to her!

My father had sometimes told me of his trips to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He never told me in details what went on there, but I suspected this was for my own safety, as he'd never before had reason to withhold any information from me.

As the Unplottable house emerged between houses 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place, I checked to ensure nobody was on the sidewalk while Harry, Ron and Hermione speculated on the traps set in the house. I sighed impatiently. I knew that, besides being the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, this house belonged to the late Sirius Black. I scowled at the name, remembering stories of my father's childhood. That aside, Black was an ancient family. Surely they kept a house elf or two around to open the door? What were those three waiting for?

I marched past the three and right up to the door. Before the protests of my companions (it was still rather difficult to think of them as my husband and his friends) registered in my mind, I'd pressed the doorbell.

What a mistake.

Although muffled considerably by the walls of the house, loud shrieking immediately erupted from within. Startled, I jumped away from the door.

"FILTHY MUDBLOOD SCUM, BLOOD TRAITORS, DIRTYING THE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

"Oh no…" Harry groaned, as Ron glared at me.

"What the—" I started, as the door slowly creaked open. A rather ugly house elf with a scowl on his face appeared from behind the door. The piercing shrieks grew louder.

"Hello, Kreacher," Hermione said politely, over the painfully loud din. "May we come in, please?"

"FILTH! SCUM! A STAIN ON THE NOBLE CREST OF BLACK!"

Kreacher narrowed his beady eyes. Catching Harry's stern look, he opened the door to admit us, seemingly reluctant and muttering under his breath.

"Welcome back, Master Potter." The tone in Kreacher's voice didn't seem very welcoming. "Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are here also, Kreacher sees—"

"UNGRATEFUL WENCHES! DIRTY BLOODY TRAITORS!"

"Kreacher, just go shut Walburga up, would you?" Harry yelled. Kreacher seemed to scowl more.

"Filth, living in Mistress Black's house…" Kreacher began to mutter to himself. Shortly after, the piercing shrieks stopped.

"What is that all about?" I asked. Ron glared at me.

"You pressed the doorbell! You woke her up! Did you do that to alert any nearby Death Eaters that we're here?" he snapped accusingly. I was beginning to have enough of the Death Eater jabs.

"How was I supposed to—"

"Mia, Ron, quiet!" Hermione shouted. We both stopped, glaring at each other. She muttered a few spells in the entrance hallway. Nothing happened. "No traps?" she said quietly to herself. "I would have thought that Dumbledore…" She tentatively took a step forward. "Guys, I think it's safe," she said.

We wandered through the house, me following Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was late at night now, and as we wandered into what looked like the kitchen, I realized I was hungry. We all quickly realized that none of us could really cook more than a boiled egg, except, of course, for Hermione.

"No, 'Mione, let Kreacher do it," Ron said, "He's a house elf, it's what he's supposedto do."

"It wouldn't be fair," Hermione started. "House elves—"

"KREACHER!"

The house elf appeared, scowling again at Harry's command.

"What is it the Master wishes?"

"Can you please make us something to eat?" Harry asked, in a soft but not particularly kind tone. I guessed he was trying to appease Hermione as much as he could: I'd heard about S.P.E.W. Kreacher scowled and nodded. "You'd do well to treat Ron, Hermione and Mia well, too, Kreacher," Harry warned him.

Kreacher appeared to notice me for the first time. "Does Master have a new friend?"

"Yes, she is a f—" He stopped for a moment, seeming to take something in. "Kreacher, this is my wife." I started at this declaration. Although it was true, it had never really registered to me. "This is Mia Potter."

By the looks of things, Hermione and Ron hadn't really realized I was Mrs. Potter either. Kreacher bowed. "Mistress Potter, Mister Weasley and Miss Granger are all—"

" Mrs. Weasley now, Kreacher," Hermione said softly. Perhaps Harry introducing me as Mia Potter had reminded her she was also married. Kreacher gave her a slight bow in recognition. The four of us left for the living room, leaving Kreacher to resume his muttering.

"Blood traitors marrying Mudbloods… If Kreacher's Mistress knew…!"

I followed my husbandand his friends towards the living room. I noticed along one wall a small curtain, which was evidently covering a framed picture of some sort. A small plaque read 'Walburga Black'. I made a mental note to ask Harry about it later.

The three of them were talking about something when I entered the room.

"Harry's right, Ron, it'll do us no good in worrying," I heard Hermione say.

"But the Ministry—"

"Hello," I said, announcing my entrance while simultaneously cutting off Ron, who looked annoyed that I'd done so. Two birds with one stone. Harry greeted me and Hermione gave me a small smile. Ron glared so I smirked back at him. "I told you that you shouldn't worry about your family. I'm pretty sure they're capable of defending themselves."

"Like you'd care," Ron muttered. "You probably organized the whole thing."

" I'm the one who found you," I snarled, " I'm the reason you're here now. Stop with the constant berating. In case you haven't realized, Snakeman isn't waiting on our doorstep. I helped you to fight Dolohov and Rowle. Do I need to remind you why I'm even here?" Ron was silent. I continued my rage. "I'm here so that Snakeman doesn't get Harry. The moment that Harry and I spend more than 48 hours apart, he knows instantly where Harry is. He's not stupid: he knows that you and Mrs. Weasley—" I spat out the reference to Hermione "—will be wherever Harry is. Then he gets the three of you."

Ron opened his mouth, but I cut him off again.

"Before I married Harry my name was Gibbs. Mia Gibbs , not Snape. Think of my father whatever you will, but don't assume that I'm Snakeman's little schoolgirl informant. I'm better than that." I turned to Harry. "I know a little of the Black history. Slytherin since the beginning of time, except for yourgodfather. He, as much as he was a git, was able to break away from his family's reputation of having a pureblood mania. Don't I deserve that same consideration?"

At this moment Kreacher chose to appear with a plate of sandwiches. I took two and sat in a chair as far away from the stunned trio as I possibly could. The bread was stale, the lettuce warm and wilting and the main filling, which I thought was some form of chicken, was pasty. Time passed in silence, a whisper occasionally between Harry, Ron and Hermione. After a while, I got up. The silence was deafening and I just wanted to sleep.

"Goodnight," I said curtly to the three. I left to go upstairs and find an empty bedroom. I heard someone get up and follow me. Quickening my pace, I nearly took the stairs two at a time.

"Stop!" Hermione's plea made me turn around on the landing. "You're right," she continued, "You do deserve that same consideration. I forgot that you'd been made to marry Harry and my nerves at Bill and Fleur's wedding almost got the better of me. I'd like to apologize."

I looked at her and turned around. "Fine," I said through gritted teeth. Hermione stepped up next to me. "Have you ever considered the reason why we never encountered any traps when we entered the house?" she asked me.

"No," I replied. "Why?" We turned to enter a bedroom just off to our right.

"I think it was because you rang the doorbell," Hermione said, slowly. "It must have disarmed the traps."

"That makes sense," I said. "Those who know the house wouldn't ring the doorbell because of the shrieking, and a Death Eater isn't likely to be polite and wait for Kreacher to open the door." I gave Hermione a small smile as we stepped onto the threshold of the bedroom.

And both of us were blasted onto our backs.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The sounds of Harry and Ron's footsteps could be heard thundering up the stairs.

"What happened?" they both shouted at once. I growled as I got up. Hermione winced as she did so.

"Something is stopping us from entering the room," I hissed. "A ward of some sort, perhaps."

"KREACHER!" The house elf appeared. Was that scowl permanently etched onto his face? "Hermione, Mia," Harry continued. "Try to go into the bedroom again." We did so and were both blasted back once more. "Kreacher, why is this?"

"Harry," Hermione started, "What makes you think that Kreacherhas anything to do with—"

"It is a Marriage Ward, Master Potter," Kreacher stated.

"A what?" We all stared at Kreacher as if he'd grown a ponytail.

"A Marriage Ward. It is to ensure that a married couple may only share a room with each other. It is as old as the noble house of Black."

We all stared at each other. Ron nodded slowly. Of course he'd be okay with this. His wife was his best friend. It didn't really matter if they shared a bedroom. Harry and I, however…

"So… I have to share a room with Harry?" I asked Kreacher.

"A bed, Mistress Potter."

"A bed?" I squeaked.

"Yes, Mistress Potter. The Black family always wished to ensure fidelity in marriage."

Ron and Hermione tried to enter the room that had rejected Hermione and me together. Sure enough, they were allowed in. Harry had already entered another room. 'Sirius Black' was what the plaque on the door said. Kreacher disappeared, scowling as much as he had before.

I entered the room I was supposed to share with Harry and swallowed. What on Earth was in store for me now?