The House of Black

Low voices and footsteps mingled with John's dreams that night. They whispered in his ears, twisting around him. White fog filled his vision, flashing pink and green, and the voices were always just out of reach, beyond the oppressive atmosphere of the house. It would not allow him to pass, to see where the footsteps and the voices came from. Some he thought he recognised, buried deep in his memory, but always escaping him.

The morning came, and John felt no more rested than he had the night before, and everything was still tinged with pink. He stabbed moodily at his breakfast, listening to the others upstairs, getting ready to clean out the drawing room.

'That room's got loads of artefacts and things in it, doesn't it?' John asked curiously.

'Do you… want to help clean it?' Sherlock said.

'Well, I'm bored,' John complained. 'And I'm tired of being so useless. I want to help do something.'

'You're not bored, I am,' Sherlock said shortly.

'Right, so it's you dying to get your hands on some of those artefacts, then?'

Sherlock glanced at him, the corner of his mouth turning up.

'I think we should go and help,' John said, wiping his hands on his shirt. 'Some of those things could be dangerous, so I reckon I should get a look at them first. You know, just in case…'

Sherlock grinned and stood up. 'I think you have the right idea. It's for their protection, really.'

'Of course.' John looped his arm through Sherlock's, and they both climbed the stairs to the drawing room.

'Oh, John, dear, you don't need to get stuck in all this,' Mrs Weasley said when she saw him.

They had already begun spraying the curtains that were infested by Doxys.

'No we want to help,' John insisted, even though his head was already swimming from the smell of Doxycide.

Mrs Weasley gave them a sceptical look, but passed them both a cloth mask and a bottle of Doxycide spray.

It was past midday by the time they were done, and Mrs Weasley slumped onto a dusty old sofa. The curtains were sopping wet, but they no longer buzzed. All the Doxys were dead.

'I think we'll tackle those after lunch.' Mrs Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantlepiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects, and Sherlock's eyes shone as he looked at them.

Then the clanging doorbell rang, and everyone looked at Mrs Weasley.

'Stay here,' she said firmly as Mrs Black's screeches started up again. '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 stack 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?'

'Castiel wouldn't like that. They look a little thin,' said Sherlock, casting a critical eye over the cauldrons. 'He read that report on shallow-bottomed cauldrons so many times; he could probably recite it by now.'

John frowned. 'Do you think Dumbledore will bring him here with us?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'He might, he might not. He's a difficult man to predict.'

'You could always ask Mycroft.'

'I could ask, doesn't mean I'm likely to get an answer.'

Fred and George crossed over to the door, listening intently. Mrs Black's screaming stopped.

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

'Might be worth it,' said George

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 shout at someone else,' said Fred, opening the door an inch or so to allow Mrs Weasley's voice to permeate the room, '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, or 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 snuck off when he was supposed to be tailing you, Harry - and there goes Sirius's mum again.'

Mrs Weasley's voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams and John put his hands over his ears.

All the noise was making his head rattle, so he looked around for a distraction. He ended up fixed on Sherlock, as usual, and frowned at the worry he found crossing Sherlock's mind, like a heavy cloud.

'Are you worried about Castiel?' John asked him, just as Kreacher the house-elf sidled into the room.

'Not so much worried as… mildly concerned.'

'It's okay to be worried, he's your friend,' John said gently. 'What's got you so - concerned?'

'I haven't heard from him yet,' Sherlock said. 'I've usually had several letters from him by now.'

John nodded. 'He might just be busy.'

'Have you had anything from him?'

John thought about it. 'No actually,' he frowned, then addressed everyone else in the room. 'Hey, has anyone heard from Castiel?'

They all looked around at each other.

'Nothing,' said Hermione.

'I sent Hedwig to him a few times, but I never got anything back,' Harry said.

Sherlock's frown deepened.

'Do you think he's all right?' Hermione asked.

'It's hard to tell,' John said uncertainly. 'He's so far away, and he's difficult to look at. But he's at home as far as I can see. Can't be in too much trouble, right?' John rubbed his eyes, Castiel's bright figure dazzling him again. 'I'm sure he's fine.'

Sherlock sighed, and John could still feel his uneasiness.

'Why don't we send an owl to Dean, see if he's heard anything?' John suggested. 'Harry, can we borrow Hedwig?'

'Yeah, all right.'

'See, there you go.'

Sherlock nodded distractedly.

'Come on, cheer up. We've still got those cabinets to go through,' said John, nudging him with an elbow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but smiled.

'What do you want, Kreacher?' George said loudly, drawing attention to the ancient house-elf attempting to sneak around the edge of the room.

'Kreacher is cleaning,' he said evasively.

'A likely story.'

Sirius had come up to the room and was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; Mrs Weasley and Mundungus had taken their argument into the kitchen.

'What are you up to?' Sirius demanded.

'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, then 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.'

'Whatever Master says,' Kreacher muttered furiously. 'Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say of she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was-'

'I asked what you were up to,' Sirius said 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, where a moth-eaten curtain was hanging. 'She'll have put a 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.

Sirius swung the door closed once he was gone, and walked across the room, pulling aside the curtain that was concealing a huge tapestry.

It was immensely old, fading, with Doxy teeth marks around the edges, and hung the entire length of the wall. Nevertheless, the gold thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree, dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the top of the tapestry read:

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

'Toujours pur'

'It means "Always pure",' Sherlock said with distaste.

'You're not on here!' Harry said to Sirius, after scanning the bottom of the tree.

'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.'

'Oh look, you're here,' John said to Sherlock, squinting at Sherlock's name.

'Yes, I imagine so. All the pure-blood families are interrelated.'

'Ew.'

'Quite.' Sherlock bent to stare at his own name on the tapestry. 'I think I've done more than enough to have myself removed from this. Fraternising with Muggle-borns and all that. Sirius, would you do the honours?'

'Gladly.'

Sherlock stepped back, and Sirius aimed his wand.

'Reducto.'

Sherlock's name was erased from the tapestry, and he gave a satisfied smile. 'Much better.'

John snorted, and Mrs Weasley came in with a huge tray of sandwiches.

'Lunch!' she called.

John and Sherlock went over to her, leaving Harry to chat with Sirius in front of the tapestry.

'That means you're related to the Malfoys,' John teased.

'Yes, and the Weasleys. There aren't many pure-bloods left, so there's not much choice in who to marry if you want to keep the bloodline pure.'

'That's really horrible.'

'I agree.'

Ron threw himself down beside John on the sofa, stuffing sandwiches into his mouth. 'Nervous about the hearing?' he asked.

John shrugged. 'I keep forgetting about that.'

'I don't see why he should be,' said Sherlock. 'There are witnesses saying he was attacked, which is more than Harry has anyway.'

'What, you think Harry's going to be expelled.'

'Of course not. Dumbledore would never allow it.'

'Hurry up, you two, before all the food's gone,' Mrs Weasley called over to Harry and Sirius.

Sirius sighed and threw a dark look over the tapestry before drawing the curtain back over it.

As soon as the sandwiches were finished, they started on the glass-fronted cabinet.

John sat down heavily the moment the doors were open, all the artefacts pouring out vile energy that made John queasy. He satisfied himself with identifying which were more dangerous from a safe distance.

'Sirius, I don't suppose I could have some of these?' Sherlock asked, examining a silver snuffbox that appeared to contain wartcap powder. 'Mycroft might be able to find some use for them.'

'As long as you're careful,' said Mrs Weasley.

'You won't let us have any of this stuff!' George said indignantly.

'I don't want you messing with it, and doing odd experiments.'

'What, and you think he won't?' said Fred.

'I won't hear any more about it,' Mrs Weasley said firmly, moving onto the next shelf of one of the cabinets.

Sherlock took the box, but slipped it to Fred when Mrs Weasley wasn't looking.

'Careful of that one!' John said, pointing at an unpleasant silver instrument, that looked something like a many-legged pair of tweezers.

Sirius grabbed it and smashed it just as it attempted to stab Harry with one of its many sharp appendages. He then threw it into a large sack, along with several other things that Sherlock, Fred and George had all deemed unuseful.

More things came out of the cabinets, including a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune, and they all found themselves becoming strangely weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the good sense to slam the lid of the box shut. It was thrown unceremoniously into the sack.

There was also a copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, and a heavy locket that no one could open, but made John's head hurt so much he had to lie down. It too went into the sack when John made everyone stop trying to open it.

Several times, Kreacher attempted to smuggle things out of the room, and muttered horrible curses under his breath every time he was caught. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black family crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into tears and left the room sobbing, calling Sirius names under his breath.

'Don't feel too sorry for him,' Sherlock said to John, who was watching Kreacher once again attempt to sneak into the room. 'He's a horrible little thing.'

'If he's so awful, why not just free him?'

'Knows too much about the Order,' said Sherlock. 'And no one else would take him anyway, he's a terrible house-elf.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Right. You'd know all about good house-elves.'

Sherlock turned slightly pink. 'Actually, I freed Melly.'

John stared at him. 'Really?'

'She gets paid a Galleon a week now. She often uses it to take a trip to Dover on the Knight Bus. She thinks it's fun, and she likes the cliffs.'

John grinned and kissed Sherlock. 'That's very sweet.'

'It is not,' Sherlock protested.

'Of course it is. We'll get you all signed up for S.P.E.W. You've still got some badges, right, Hermione?'

'In my trunk,' Hermione laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but skimmed a thumb over John's cheek.

John made to grab another sandwich, but there was a pulse in the room, and his eyes were drawn back towards the curtain that was hiding the tapestry. He shook his head and put down the sandwich. 'Not that hungry,' he muttered.

He wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the cleaning that afternoon, and ended up going to bed early, curling up in the fort.

Everything was silent when John woke that night, but for a faint whispering in his ear. Sherlock was fast asleep beside him, so John quietly crawled out of the fort and snuck out to the drawing room.

It was oddly still in the room, given all of the artefacts that had been desperate to leave the cabinets earlier in the day.

John stared at the opposite wall. The tapestry was calling to him. He stepped apprehensively closer and pulled back the curtain. The names all whispered to him, some louder than others. Bellatrix Black. Rodolphus Lestrange. John shuddered and turned away from, though not before the Longbottoms flashed through him. He looked at the other names. Narcissa Black. Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. The names all got louder and more sinister, and John thought he should leave, but he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch it.

Firstly all he felt was dust, then it was as though all the names screamed at him at once. None of them wanted him touching them, and it was like having Mrs Black screeching at him with the volume turned up by a thousand. He couldn't move his hand, as though electricity were keeping him rooted to the spot. The names all cursed him, screamed awful things at him, and he felt the spectre of the Dark Lord moving behind all of them. All the lights in the tapestry had been blasted away, anyone that might have been a safe harbour for him. He was pulled further and further down the tapestry, his knees buckling. He saw a locket, then the face of a man that looked very familiar, like Sirius, only smaller and less handsome. Something about him seemed gentler, very sad, and very scared, but it was him that loosened the grip all the other names had on John, and finally allowed him to let go.

He fell to the floor with a thump, and found himself too weak to fight off the oppressive darkness of the house. It weighed him down, accumulating on his chest and in his head. He was pressed into the carpet, and after a while, it began to feel quite comfortable. It would be so easy to sleep here. Even the screams began to fade away. He closed his eyes, sinking further and further, until a hand touched his face and he snapped back up, gasping.

'I'm here,' said Sherlock.

John scrubbed his face, still breathing heavily. The curtain had been drawn back over the tapestry. 'Keep me away from that thing,' he groaned, burying his face in Sherlock's chest.

The sound returned to the room, many of the objects in the cabinet tapping on the glass, and the boggart in the writing desk rattled around furiously.

Sherlock helped John to his feet and they went back to their room.

'What d'you reckon that was about, then?' John asked, lying on the bed.

'I think they were all very upset about Muggle-borns and blood traitors in their house, and decided to tell you directly.'

'But that last one…' John trailed off, shaking his head. 'Probably nothing.' He slowly went back to sleep, Sherlock not far away.

The cleaning went on for three more days, but John gave up trying after the second morning, moping around in his room while Sherlock sifted through the artefacts for anything useful or interesting.

'We need to get you out of this house,' Sherlock murmured that evening, while John absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

John shrugged. 'Me and Harry have our hearings tomorrow. I can wait until then.'

Sherlock looked up at John. 'I want you to feel better.'

'Is it hurting you too?' John asked.

'Not like that.'

'Oh.'

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. 'I don't like to see you like this.'

'I don't particularly enjoy it either,' John joked.

'We won't be coming back here next year. I'll find another place.'

'I'm sure you will.'

'You should sleep. They'll want to ask you a lot of questions.'

'Okay.' John shuffled under the blankets, getting himself as comfortable as possible. 'Don't go anywhere.'

'Wouldn't dream of it.' Sherlock kissed his forehead. 'You're not nervous?'

John opened one eye. 'Should I be?'

'You'll be by yourself. That's the sort of thing that would make people nervous.'

'Wait, you're not coming with me?'

'I'm not allowed at the Ministry without special permission.'

John frowned. 'Well, you'll still be in my head, right? It'll be fine.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Go to sleep.'

'You were the one distracting me,' John grumbled, closing his eyes again.

Sherlock watched him sleeping well into the night, and he thought he heard quiet footsteps outside the door after a few hours, but the closer he listened, the quieter the night was, and he decided that it must have been something in John's dreams. He finally went to sleep, putting the hearing out of his mind, at least for a few hours.

Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny and Morgan Teri Befan for the reviews!

See you again soon!