The Champion's Legacy

Chapter 4: Discussions


Author's Note: I realise the plot progress is slow, but I expect it to be that way this year, since there's just so much to cover. Fifth year was a year where everything changed, and with the plot points provided by the Tumblr post, the repercussions for each of them need to be fleshed out well. So yes, this story will be considerably longer than the first one.

Hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. Please also excuse the horrible chapter name – suggestions?

Many thanks to Dorothea Greengrass for beta-reading this chapter.


Disclaimer: Recognisable portions in this chapter have been taken from the Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and the associated characters of the series, in my story.


Previously on "The Champion's Legacy"…

There was a very awkward pause. No one seemed to know what to say, although it seemed to Harry like they were waiting for him to continue the conversation.

Channel your anger, Harry…and pick your battles.

Daphne's advice repeated itself in his mind, as he contemplated the argument he'd just had. Lupin was right – he was not a child anymore, but the adults in his life were acting with his best interests in mind. It wouldn't do any good for him to get angry at them for doing so. Voldemort deserved his rage, not them.

'I understand, Professor,' he said, hoping he sounded as genuine as he felt. 'And…thank you.'

'Very well,' said Lupin, clasping his hands in front of him. 'What would you like to know?'


The days following the discussion about the Order of the Phoenix and its activities in the basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London, were the most unusual and uncomfortable Harry had ever spent while in the company of the Weasleys.

Mrs Weasley had adopted a slightly frosty attitude towards both him and Sirius. Harry knew she was still upset over the fact that, despite her reservations on telling Harry anything more than what he needed to know, the rest of the Order members considered Harry's demands for information quite justified – even if it was just, as Lupin had said, a general picture of what was going on. The fact that she had been unable to restrict Ron, Hermione, and the twins from staying behind was, in Harry's opinion, salt in an open wound.

They had, at least, agreed on one thing that Harry certainly needed to know: why had his retrieval party from Privet Drive consisted of Mr Weasley, Tonks, and Hermione only? Especially when Dumbledore knew of a potential Death Eater attack, and presumably had the full Order at his command?

'Unfortunately, he didn't,' Mr Weasley said sadly.

'What?'

'No one else from the Order was available,' he explained, 'except Tonks and I. We had just returned to Headquarters from another mission when we received the tip.'

'From whom?'

'Mundungus Fletcher,' said Sirius. 'He's a crook, so he hears things we usually don't. When he heard a few people whispering about you and attacking Privet Drive, he tipped off Dumbledore at once.'

'Okay…' said Harry slowly. 'But why bring Hermione then?'

At this, Mr Weasley looked a little sheepish. 'Ah yes, well…' he cleared his throat. 'We had thought that maybe, as a familiar face, Hermione would help in calming you down, in case you were ticked off.' He smiled apologetically.

Harry had the grace to look slightly abashed – he had been annoyed at the lack of news from his friends and Sirius.

'Well, it worked,' said Harry, with a grin towards Hermione. 'But I don't think you factored in the Dementors, did you?'

'No, that we did not.'

Mr Weasley, who had sided with the rest of the Order, also seemed to be on the receiving end of some of Mrs Weasley's ire; Harry had caught the latter glaring and frowning at her husband on more than one occasion in the following few days. He felt a little guilty about it – after all, he had been less than polite to both of them during the discussion. Mr Weasley, however, appeared to have noticed his expression, and reassured him that he had nothing to feel guilty about.

'Molly – and I as well, for that matter – see you as one of our own, Harry,' Mr Weasley told him one evening. 'She is a mother, and will always want to protect her children from any harm. She's just taking time to get used to the fact that our children are growing up, and may not need that protection anymore.'

Harry only managed a nod; he was greatly touched by what Mr Weasley had said about them seeing him as one of their own. An unexpected wave of shame cascaded over him – they were as good as family, and he was not about to become another Percy.

He opened his mouth to apologise for his words that evening, but Mr Weasley nodded knowingly, and patted his shoulder.

'It's alright, Harry,' he said.

'But –'

Mr Weasley shook his head. 'You were right – you are no longer a child, and you deserve to know what is going on. Molly knows this as well – she's just having a tough time accepting it.' He looked Harry in the eye, while gripping the young teenager's shoulder tightly. 'We will always be there for you Harry, don't worry.'

It was only after Mr Weasley said those words that Harry realised how much Mr and Mrs Weasley's approval mattered to him, and how disappointed he was at upsetting the two of them. It was a heady and unusual feeling – the sensation of being cared about, of being wanted. He could do nothing more than nod in response to Mr Weasley's words – he didn't trust himself to speak just yet.

Mr Weasley patted his shoulder once more before leaving the room.

After that eye-opening, and slightly emotional conversation, and after taking a few minutes to collect himself, Harry resolved to apologise to Mrs Weasley. He still stood by what he had said in the kitchen that evening, but he knew he could have phrased his desires a lot better. Mrs Weasley hadn't deserved that.

He half-expected another row with her, or at least cold, distant responses, but was unexpectedly surprised – and taken quite off-guard – when Mrs Weasley hugged him tightly upon hearing his apology.

'Oh Harry, you didn't need to apologise,' she said, sniffling a bit as she pulled back to look at him fondly. Harry felt his chest clench a bit – how could he have even thought of speaking to her in that manner?

His embarrassment obviously showed on his face, for Mrs Weasley gave a watery chuckle.

'You're as good as my son, just like Hermione is like my daughter, and I only want to see my children safe and happy.' She sniffed again, before giving him another tight hug, and then telling him to run along so that she could finish preparing dinner.

Harry had barely left the room when he met Sirius, leaning against the wall with a wide grin on his face.

'I'm very proud of you, Harry,' said Sirius, and Harry felt his face burn at the praise. 'I'd been telling the Order you needed to be informed, but they were all for listening to Dumbledore's instructions.'

There was a certain flattened tone of voice in which Sirius mentioned Dumbledore's name, which indicated to Harry that his godfather wasn't too happy with Dumbledore, either. He felt a sudden upsurge of affection towards Sirius, and the rather childish question that had been plaguing him since his last day at Privet Drive burst out of him before he could stop it.

'Why doesn't he trust me, Sirius?'

The tone of his voice was almost in complete contrast to Sirius' earlier flat tone – it sounded desperate and lost. Sirius gave his godson a sympathetic look.

'He does trust you, Harry,' said Sirius softly. He stepped forward and pulled the young boy into a hug. 'We all trust you, never forget that. He just wants to –'

'– protect me, I know,' said Harry, his voice muffled against Sirius' t-shirt. 'But I can't be protected – you know that.' He pulled back, looking up into the eyes that had not yet lost their haunted look, courtesy of Sirius' long incarceration in Azkaban. 'Voldemort's going to come after me – he's wanted me dead since I was a baby.'

Sirius stepped back and regarded Harry with a critical eye. 'I know he is,' he said, in an uncharacteristically serious voice. 'It's no secret that he's been after you for a long time now, but I don't want that to ruin your life, Harry.'

Harry looked at his godfather, nonplussed. 'What do you mean?'

'Don't let yourself be consumed by Voldemort's obsession of you. Don't let him control your life through his irrational desire to kill you. I want you to enjoy your time here, and once you return to school, too. And whatever you do, do not succumb to any self-pity or self-recrimination over what happened in June.'

Harry nodded, finally understanding the truth in his godfather's words.

'And don't worry about the Ministry, either,' continued Sirius, his voice now reminiscent of a dog's growl. 'They'll come around soon enough, and when they do, I'm not sure I'd want to accept their apology.'

Harry chuckled, feeling slightly better at the show of affection and support from his godfather. The feelings of abandonment and frustration at having being left alone at Privet Drive had all but disappeared. He was now in the company of people who cared for him, and cared about what happened to him – and that meant more to him than anything else at that moment.


With Harry having cleared the air and apologised to Mrs Weasley, her frostiness towards him and Sirius diminished, and she became much like her old, mothering self again. Tensions around the house, which had increased after that evening's discussion, diffused almost overnight; the upshot of this was that everyone felt cheery enough to get involved in the monumental task of cleaning out the house.

With over fifteen rooms and probably double the number of closets and cupboards in the gloomy house of the Blacks, there was plenty of work to go around for everyone who was staying there permanently, and even for those who merely visited once in a while. Tonks, who had her own flat in London, and Lupin, who was in residence, but often left for long periods of time to undertake mysterious work for the Order, came by quite regularly to help in the cleaning – or, as Ron had quite succinctly put it, 'the war against the house.'

Harry had to agree with that statement. Aided and abetted by Kreacher, the old Black family house-elf, the house seemed to be putting up a pretty good fight against the intruders to its once filthy and lonely existence: from murderous ghouls and bolt-shooting grandfather clocks, to ancient purple robes that attempted to strangle anyone who tried to remove it from the wardrobe, number twelve, Grimmauld Place seemed to be doing its best to resist any change to itself.

Slowly, but surely, however, the occupants of the house seemed to be winning: they had managed to clean out most of the bedrooms, thereby allowing people to sleep comfortably without fear of anything lurking in locked wardrobes in the corner, or behind old and tarnished portraits. The dining room on the ground floor had been cleaned too – meetings of the Order were now held exclusively in the basement kitchen, while their meals were served in the cleaned-out dining room.

Harry had taken Sirius' advice to heart, and was now determinedly having fun as he worked and cleaned with the others. He often joined the twins in their occasional pranks against Ron and Bill – when the oldest Weasley brother was around – but sometimes chipped in with a few good pranking ideas for Sirius and Lupin to implement upon the rest of the occupants of the house. He found himself laughing more, and enjoying the company of his favourite people in the world.

There were times, however, when the work ceased, and he was left alone, that thoughts of the upcoming Ministry hearing would return to him. He knew he had an iron-clad case of acting in self-defence in a life-threatening situation, and he had three witnesses who could testify in his favour, but there was still a sliver of doubt that pricked at him…what if he was expelled? What would he do then? The idea was so terrible, so foreboding, that he dared not voice it out loud – he was sure the others would give him pitying, commiserating looks, and those were the last things he needed right now.

It was during these times that he missed Daphne the most – she would have known what to say to cheer him up and comfort him; she always knew it. Harry couldn't begrudge her going for a holiday, while also protecting her family from the Death Eaters and Voldemort, but he was disgruntled and, truth be told, a little upset, that she couldn't have stayed behind. If anyone could have helped him with the hearing, he was sure it would have been her. He had even taken to perusing through her earlier letters, grinning at her snarky and sarcastic words about her sister and Hogwarts, and smiling wistfully at her priceless pieces of advice.

Sirius seemed to have noticed his occasional switch to a gloomy, thoughtful mood, and insisted that he focus on whatever task they had on their hands, rather than worrying about a hearing that was still a few days away. Harry also suspected that his godfather had spoken to the Weasleys and Hermione about his worry, for after the first few times of brooding on his own, he noticed he was never left alone at any time of the day. Even Ginny, who had never been able to talk to him directly without blushing and stuttering, was proving to be a good friend. Harry was touched by their gesture, and though he did not say so, knew that they knew how he felt.

The upshot of this magnanimous show of support meant that he was finally able to find time to speak to Ron and Hermione alone, without any fear of prying ears or watchful eyes. It was during one such conversation that Harry was able to ask Ron and Hermione a few questions, which he'd been meaning to ask for a while now.

They were in the room which Harry shared with Ron on the second floor of the house. Fred and George had retreated to their own room in the floor above; no doubt they were working on a new product for the Skiving Snackboxes they wished to develop and sell at Hogwarts. Ginny had been cajoled into helping her mother cook dinner, and Sirius was in the attic, feeding Buckbeak the Hippogriff. The rest of the Order were either out on missions, or at their day jobs.

'Finally,' grumbled Ron as Hermione shut the door and joined them to sit on the bed across from the two boys. 'I've done so much work the last few days, I feel like a house-elf.'

'Well, now you know how it feels like, maybe you'll be more interested in S.P.E.W.!' said Hermione hopefully. She opened her mouth to continue, but Harry cut her off.

'Drop it, Hermione,' he said, and she shut her mouth with a soft snap, but directed a glare towards him. Harry ignored her.

'So…what d'you reckon?' asked Ron. Harry and Hermione didn't need him to explain to know what he was talking about. They hadn't had the chance to discuss what the Order had told them after dinner that night – they had been so busy with work and cleaning the house.

Before Harry could answer, Hermione turned to him; Harry was startled to see that her eyes were slightly watery.

'Did you mean it, Harry?' she asked tremulously. 'Did you mean what you said, about – about you against You-Know-Who?'

Harry stared at her. He had no idea how to respond to her – should he tell her what he really thought about it? That he was quite sure it would boil down to him against Voldemort? Or would it be too much for them? Then again, what good would it do to not tell them about this? Hadn't they stuck by him through everything?

He nodded, speaking over Hermione's horrified gasp and Ron's pensive look.

'It's more like Voldemort is going to keep coming after me until the end. I mean, he tried to kill me when I was just a baby. He all but said so that night…' he swallowed; talking about the graveyard was still an uncomfortable experience, 'he said he had tried to kill me, when he ended up losing his powers instead.'

By the end of it, Hermione was crying silently, and Ron looked as though he was fighting back tears of his own. Neither of them knew what to say – nor, for that matter, did Harry. He had never seen either of his friends get this emotional, and the less that was said about his ability to handle crying girls, the better. The fact that they were getting this worked up over his suspected eventual encounter with Voldemort meant so much to him…Harry couldn't think of a way to describe how he felt.

He settled for scooting across the bed and wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulder, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder; his other arm clasped Ron's in a tight grip. They sat that way for several minutes, until Harry decided to pierce the veil of silence.

'I'm not going to die,' he said softly, trying to reassure both his friends, and to an extent, himself. 'In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, he hasn't had much luck in killing me so far.'

His quip earned a watery chuckle from Hermione, and a ghost of a grin on Ron's stoic face.

'Nor have his Death Eaters, for that matter. Certainly not the ones who tried at Privet Drive.'

They had learned from the Order that the three Death Eaters at Privet Drive were new recruits: eager to impress their new master and gain his favour, they had attempted to take Harry from Privet Drive that night without Voldemort's approval. Quite unfortunately for them, it backfired rather spectacularly: Harry still winced at the rage he had felt through his scar later that night – the unbridled rage of Voldemort which he had unleashed upon those three young wizards. Two of them were killed on the spot, and Harry privately thought the last one would be extremely lucky if he could ever walk again.

'And if I do go down…' he continued, his expression grim, 'I'm going to make sure he and his minions come with me.'

They said nothing more for another few minutes, then Hermione sat up, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. 'This is stupid – of course you're not going to die.'

'At least, not right now,' said Ron, but he was grinning.

'Ron!' said Hermione, sounding scandalised.

Harry sniggered at Hermione's expression. 'You are too easy to wind up, Hermione,' he teased.

'I am not!' she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at both of them, who were now laughing out openly. She couldn't hold it for very long, though – their laughter was contagious, and soon, she joined them in their mirth.

Once they had subsided, Ron said, 'Anyway…what d'you two think?'

'Well, they didn't tell us much, did they?' said Harry, shifting into a comfortable position. 'Convincing people that Voldemort –' both Ron and Hermione flinched '– is back, trying to stop people from joining the Death Eaters…nothing new there.'

'Yeah, you're right,' said Ron. 'We got all that off the Extendable Ears, didn't we, Hermione?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes. The only new bit was the mention of You-Know-Who's other plans…and something else that I noticed.'

'You did?' asked Ron. 'What's that now?'

'Well…I'm not really sure, but when Harry said it was going to be him against You-Know-Who, I saw Lupin and Sirius exchange looks – as though they knew something about it already.'

Ron stared at her. Harry, however, said, 'What, you think they know I'm going to have to face him in the end?'

'I know it sounds far-fetched, but strangely, it makes sense as well,' said Hermione. 'Doesn't it?'

'You're not making much sense to me at the moment,' said Ron. Hermione ignored him.

'They did the same thing when they mentioned the weapon, too,' she continued. 'It seems too much of a coincidence to me, to be honest.'

Harry thought on this for a moment. Did Sirius and Lupin really know what was going to happen? Were they already aware that he would have to face Voldemort at the end of it all? Or was it just that they knew Voldemort was after him?

That didn't make much sense to him either.

You've never made much sense.

Shut it.

'What intrigues me, though, are those 'other plans' that Sirius mentioned,' she went on.

'Let slip, more like,' said Ron. 'They never mentioned that when we eavesdropped on them, did we?'

'Is that what they're guarding, then?' asked Harry.

'Could be,' said Ron slowly, comprehension dawning on his face. 'Yeah, that could be it – guard duty for that weapon.'

'What kind of weapon could You-Know-Who possibly want that he didn't have last time?' asked Hermione, a slight frown on her face.

'Dunno,' said Harry. 'It's got to be really powerful if they're talking about guarding it all the time, though.'

'Blimey, I hope it's on our side,' said Ron.

'I wonder where they're hiding it,' mused Hermione.

The mention of the weapon being hidden had reminded Harry of something he'd wanted to ask Ron; he turned to his red-headed best friend and asked, 'You still haven't heard from her yet, have you?'

Ron looked at Harry for a moment, nonplussed, but then understood, and shook his head. 'Not a word since that letter two weeks ago.'

Harry frowned in concern. 'What d'you reckon happened to her?' he asked.

'Dunno,' said Ron with a shrug, but he too seemed a little worried. 'I haven't heard from the guys either. Maybe they've just gone on holiday?'

'Who on earth are you two talking about?' asked Hermione confusedly.

Harry stared at her. 'Iris Parkinson, of course. I thought you knew of our arrangement with her before we left Hogwarts last term.'

Hermione looked thoroughly bewildered at this pronouncement, so Harry and Ron took turns to explain what the two of them, Adrian, and Terence had come up with.

'She was to check in with either Ron or Adrian every week during the holidays,' said Harry. 'Just a simple letter that she was fine, no problems, that's all.'

'Adrian and I were getting them until two weeks ago, when it suddenly stopped,' continued Ron, picking at a loose thread on the bed covers, his blue eyes faintly tinged with anxiety. 'We agreed not to send anything to her place – it's too dangerous – so I can't even contact her.'

'And Adrian…' began Hermione, her sentence hanging questioningly.

'Is also out of contact, apparently,' replied Harry, as Ron nodded in confirmation. 'So is Terence.'

Hermione's eyes had widened slightly as she considered the implications of this news. Neither Adrian nor Terence were associated with the Death Eaters – their families had remained neutral before Voldemort's downfall in Godric's Hollow, and they had never publicly indicated otherwise, instead choosing to stay out of the way altogether. If they were not contactable…

And Iris Parkinson not reachable either – had she disappeared? Or worse…

'That is not good,' she declared.

'You don't say,' said Ron wryly. He had succeeded in pulling out a number of threads from the covers, and the hole in the sheets was now becoming bigger with his ministrations. 'I can't think of any manner by which I could contact them.'

'Never mind that,' said Hermione, a tad impatiently. 'What could have possibly happened to them?'

'I'm trying not to think about that, to be honest,' admitted Ron. 'Besides, I'd rather reach out to them and find out, than fret about it without a solution.'

Hermione looked at him with Harry could only surmise was an impressed expression – something that he was feeling as well. Ron had certainly grown up if he was now worrying about the welfare of Slytherins – a far cry from his behaviour at the start of their fourth year.

'I mean, it's not like I could simply Apparate over there and find out, is it?' Ron was continuing his verbal wondering about the possible options of contacting the Slytherins. 'They're bound to have some sort of wards that prevent us from getting in, of course. That's assuming I even know where they live.'

Hermione, meanwhile, was gnawing on her bottom lip in worry as she contemplated the problem. Harry did not doubt for a second that by now, she would have thought of over five different solutions – if not ten – but would have discarded them in the most logical manner possible. If there was one person who they could count on to find an answer, it was Hermione.

As Harry watched her absently, she began to rock back and forth slightly on the edge of the bed, her hands twisting in her lap. Her forehead was creased in a small frown, and she was muttering softly to herself.

'It's not like I could simply Apparate over there and find out, is it?'

'I can't think of any manner by which I could contact them.'

'…some sort of wards that prevent us from getting in…'

And, with the memory of a loud CRACK in the forefront of his mind, the answer came to Harry.

'Dobby,' he whispered.

CRACK!

'Wha – AHH!'

'Harry Potter, sir!'

The three of them almost jumped out of their skins; and in Ron's case, quite literally out of the bed and onto the floor. With considerable shock surely reflected on his face, Harry looked at the diminutive form of Dobby the house-elf, who looked exactly as how he had last seen him in the Hogwarts kitchens in March, just before Easter: the pencil-shaped nose, bat-like ears, long fingers and feet, and the strangest ever assortment of garments and mismatched socks.

Dobby was beaming at him, tears of happiness brimming in his round, tennis-ball eyes – which was more than what could be said for his two friends: Ron, still on the floor, was massaging his arm on which he had landed, rather awkwardly; while Hermione's hand was over her heart, evidently trying to calm herself down from the shock appearance of Dobby.

'Dobby? But – how – I don't –' began Harry.

'Dobby heard Harry Potter call for him, sir,' said Dobby simply, as though that explained everything.

Harry stared at him. 'But how did you hear –'

It was Hermione who answered, in a voice that only just resembled her calm demeanour. 'House-elf magic is complicated, Harry. I suppose he realised you needed some help, didn't you, Dobby?' she asked, turning to the elf, who nodded brightly, his ears flapping as he did so.

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as confused as Harry felt.

'But why did you ask for Dobby, Harry?' said Hermione.

Harry shook his head slightly before he responded, 'He can help us find out where Adrian, Terence and Iris are.' At their bewildered gazes, he elaborated. 'You said it yourself, Hermione: house-elf magic is complicated. But it's also different from our magic, so the wards won't detect him. Plus, he can make himself invisible without any trouble.'

His voice had risen in excitement as he finished – an emotion that didn't seem to be mirrored on his friends' faces. He snorted impatiently, then turned to Dobby.

'Could you do it, Dobby?' he asked.

'Harry Potter sir wants Dobby to find out what happened to Masters Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs, and Miss Iris Parkinson?' At Harry's confirming nod, Dobby drew himself up to his full height – a sight in itself, as though a soldier was answering his general's call. 'Dobby will do it for Harry Potter, sir, Dobby will find out what has happened to them!'

'Excellent!' said Harry jubilantly. A moment later, he added, more out of caution than anything else, 'Just don't attract attention to yourself, Dobby. And don't be seen by anyone – just find out what's happened, and come back and tell us.'

'Dobby understands, Harry Potter, sir!' squeaked the little elf. 'Dobby is honoured that the great Harry Potter sir would ask him for his help – and Dobby will help him, of course!'

'Thanks, Dobby,' said Harry genuinely, and Dobby's eyes filled with tears again. A moment later, the elf Disapparated with another loud CRACK.

Ron stared at the spot where Dobby had been standing, and then back at Harry.

'Well…' he said, 'that's one problem solved.'

Before Harry or Hermione could say anything in response to that statement, muffled footsteps could be heard from outside the door. A second later, the door swung open, revealing a rather concerned looking Mrs Weasley.

'Is everything alright, dears?' she asked. Her eyes then fell upon Ron, still sprawled on the floor. 'What on earth are you doing on the floor, Ron?'

'Harry told him a joke, and he fell down from the bed while laughing,' said Hermione promptly, before Ron could respond. Harry and Ron stared at her, half-shocked, and half-impressed.

'Well, you'd better wash your hands before you come down for dinner, they look filthy. Same goes for you two,' she added, retreating from the room. 'Dinner will be ready in five minutes, so I expect you all down there by then.'

'We'll be there, Mrs Weasley, thank you,' said Harry with a smile, which Mrs Weasley returned before shutting the door with a snap.

Ron gaped at Hermione, his face a mixture of pride and astonishment. 'You just lied – to my mum!'

'Well, you didn't expect me to tell her the truth, did you?' huffed Hermione a little defensively. 'She wouldn't have appreciated the explanation that another house-elf was here, who we've now sent on some espionage mission, would she?'

'Espi – what?'

'Oh, never mind,' said Hermione with another huff. She stood up and made her way to the door. 'Come on, let's go.'

Ron watched her go, before turning to Harry, a full-blown grin on his face.

'We've finally corrupted her!' he declared enthusiastically.

Harry gave an amused snort as he followed Hermione down for dinner.


At dinner that night, Mrs Weasley informed them all that they would finally tackle the drawing room the next day. She had been trying to put it off until Moody came around to have a look at the writing desk – which she was sure housed a Boggart – but with nearly the rest of the house having been made almost fit for human inhabitation, there seemed to be no reason to postpone it any longer.

And so, after they had breakfasted quickly, Harry and Ron entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor of the house with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. Harry could see little puffs of dust rise into the air every time someone stepped on the carpet – just like it had been in the hallway below – and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with angry, invisible bees.

Merlin, this place is a mess.

Understatement of the century.

'What has that house-elf been up to?' he wondered out loud, just as Sirius entered the room with a bloodstained bag of dead rats.

'Nothing,' he said grimly, dropping the bag on an armchair, which exhaled a rather large cloud of dust and dirt. 'Hasn't cleaned this place properly for ten years, not since my mother died.'

Harry saw Hermione give Sirius a rather reproachful look.

'Kreacher's quite old,' she said, 'he probably couldn't manage –'

'You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,' said Sirius sharply. Hermione fell silent, but still looked a bit disgruntled at the lack of sympathy being displayed towards Kreacher.

Harry had run into Kreacher more than once during the course of their cleaning spree, and he had to agree with Sirius: despite being really old and feeble, the house-elf seemed to be more than capable of maintaining those places which he felt were worth his time. Harry had spotted him one evening cleaning the large portrait of Mrs Black, muttering quietly to himself about 'blood-traitors' and 'shame of the family'.

'Come over here, you lot,' called out Mrs Weasley, and Harry, Ron, and Sirius made their way carefully across the room to join the rest of them near the buzzing curtains. She pointed them to three tea towels and three large bottles of black liquid with nozzles at their ends. 'Cover your faces and take a spray,' she continued. 'It's Doxycide, we're going to spray the curtains with this. Be careful though – they're likely to come out at us, but the book says one good spray would do it. When they're unconscious, throw them in this bucket.'

Spraying the Doxies was strangely satisfying in a way, thought Harry, as they began squirting the Doxycide at the little creatures that came flying out of the curtains. It reminded Harry of de-gnoming the garden outside the Burrow, only that the fresh summer air and the smell of Mrs Weasley's cooking wafting along the gentle breeze was replaced by the dank, dark and gloomy house that was number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and the stench of mouldy furniture, clothes, and, in their present state, Doxycide-infested curtains. Still, the fact that he was actually doing something, instead of twiddling his thumbs and being cut off from everyone else – like he had been at Privet Drive – was definitely a plus point. Even if he wasn't directly helping the Order in their efforts against Voldemort, it felt good to be part of a larger group once again.

Harry felt especially glad when Fred and George informed him about their burgeoning plans for their joke shop. He had forced them into accepting his Triwizard Tournament winnings at the end of last year, and was pleased to see that they had been utilising those funds the way they wanted. Harry still felt that, as he had done at that time, they all needed a laugh these days. At least Fred and George now had the capacity and money to do so – which could only be a good thing. The fact that Mrs Weasley was still unaware of his part in helping them further their plans was, in Harry's opinion, most welcome; he had no intention of upsetting her once more that summer.

Once they had cleaned out the curtains – which now hung limp and damp from their intensive spraying – and the unconscious Doxies were unceremoniously gathered in the bucket to the side (Harry saw Fred and George shoot covetous looks at it when their mother wasn't looking), they trooped downstairs for lunch. Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley were there as well, and they all had a relaxed meal with the two Aurors and the tired looking werewolf.

'Will you be joining us in the afternoon, Remus, Tonks?' asked Mrs Weasley, as she ladled out steaming stew for them. 'What about you, Kingsley?'

'Can't stay long, Molly,' replied Kingsley in his deep voice. 'Scrimgeour's been asking us funny questions – wants to know where we've been going.'

'Oh yeah,' said Tonks. 'He was especially interested in what happened with the Death Eaters at Privet Drive that night.'

'D'you think Scrimgeour could be swayed to our side?' asked Mr Weasley interestedly.

Tonks and Kingsley shared a glance before the latter responded. 'I don't think so, Arthur,' he said. 'His inquiries were more for why Tonks was there, of all places.'

'It was my day off,' said Tonks defensively. 'They shouldn't care what I'm doing on my day off.'

'We know, dear,' said Mrs Weasley soothingly.

Lupin had to head out once again too, so once they finished lunch, the three adults in questions said their goodbyes to the rest – quietly enough, so as to not wake up Mrs Black's portrait or draw Kreacher's attention. Then, Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius returned to the drawing room. With a flick of her wand, Mrs Weasley removed the damp curtains and sent them zooming downstairs for her to launder later. That job done, she turned to the dusty, glass-fronted cabinets on either side of the mantelpiece.

'Right, everyone ready?' she asked. 'Let's get to it, then.'

Emptying the cabinets was a lot of hard work, and required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. A very odd assortment of objects there were, too – a selection of rusty daggers that, when held, let out a slight hum, though nobody could figure out why; a coiled snakeskin that reminded Harry a bit of the Basilisk snakeskin lying before the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts, partly due to its green tinge, and tarnished silver boxes which were inscribed with languages Harry could not understand. One of them turned out to be a rather vicious snuffbox, which promptly decided to bite Sirius when he reached for it, causing his skin to develop an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove. Harry noticed Fred and George eyeing the box with interest, even as Sirius healed his skin with a tap of his wand.

It seemed that they had picked a rather busy day to clean the drawing room: Mrs Weasley had to be called away several times to answer the door by Hestia Jones – who was relaxing in the dining room below, while Sirius inevitably ended up hurrying downstairs after her to close the curtains around his mother's portrait. The frequent breaks slowed their progress, but it served as a great source of entertainment for them. Fred had managed to snag a few Extendable Ears from his room during a particularly long break, trying to listen in on the whispered conversations downstairs. They didn't get much, however, but with the frequency of visitors hurrying in and out of the house, they figured something big was happening.

'D'you reckon someone's been captured?' asked Ron, as Mrs Weasley and Sirius hurried downstairs yet again.

'If they have, I hope it's a Death Eater,' said Fred.

'As long as it's not someone from our side,' said Ginny.

'Oh, don't say that,' said Hermione worriedly.

At that moment, Mrs Weasley returned, slightly out of breath at having to climb up and down so many times. Sirius trailed after her, an odd expression on his face that Harry couldn't place – was it worry?

'Well,' panted Mrs Weasley, 'let's hope that's the last of the visitors for now. Right you lot, come along.' And with surprising vigour, she resumed the cleaning of the cabinets.

Mrs Weasley's hopes were fulfilled – they encountered no more interruptions from visitors to the house after that. They did, however, have to contend with Kreacher, who sidled into the room several times and attempted to smuggle things out under his loincloth. They almost always caught him at it though, with the house-elf muttering furious curses under his breath when Sirius forced him to leave the room after every such incident. These interruptions, while not as frequent or long-lasting as the ones caused by the stream of visitors earlier, nevertheless broke their rhythm of cleaning.

This became particularly irksome when they had to battle on two fronts – against Kreacher, and against the items themselves. A many-legged pair of tweezers scuttled across the mantelpiece like a spider in a desperate bid for freedom, and jumped onto George's outstretched arm when he had tried to catch it; thankfully, Fred and Ginny were able to seize it and smash it with a truly ancient looking book. A closer inspection by Hermione revealed it to be Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, which she picked up with a look of awe and reverence on her face.

'I've always wanted to read this,' she whispered softly, staring at the cover. 'Could I borrow it, Sirius?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Go ahead,' he said. 'Not like I need it anyway.'

Hermione's face lit up, and after she placed the book carefully to the side, she returned to help them, her expression betraying her excitement at finally getting to read that book.

It was almost evening by the time they finally finished with the cabinets; at long last, Mrs Weasley called a halt to their efforts, declaring it a job well done for the day. The cabinets were not clean, but they were certainly empty – Mrs Weasley and Sirius had ensured they scoured every nook and cranny of those dusty old cupboards, determined not to leave anything behind. The results were now three bulging sacks of discarded items and debris near the entrance to the room, with a few more finding their way into Fred and George's pockets.

The twins, being of age and legally allowed to use magic outside of school, volunteered to levitate the sacks down to the basement, where the rest of the rubbish collected from the other rooms was being stored until the Order could properly dispose of them. It was just as the entire group descended the stairs to the first floor landing, the twins and Sirius in the lead with their wands pointing at the floating sacks, that several things happened at once.

Out of the blue, a silvery form burst into the house from the front door, startling everyone into jumps, shrieks, and hurriedly drawn wands. The shock of the Patronus' sudden appearance caused the three levitators to lose their concentration – the sacks succumbed to gravity and crashed to the floor, a few of their contents scattering in all directions. Hestia Jones charged in from the dining room, her wand drawn and ready to start cursing anything that wasn't supposed to be there.

In the midst of all this, the Patronus shifted to a form of a cat, which spoke quickly and urgently in McGonagall's voice.

'Molly, please prepare for their arrival. Albus and I are coming now.'

It was a good thing the message was quick, for no sooner did it end, that the curtains covering Mrs Black flung open – the crashes and screams had woken her up, and she began to shriek at once.

'Filth! Scum! How dare you befoul the noble house of my fathers!'

Sirius hurried over to draw the curtains over her portrait, even as her yells woke the other portraits up, and they began screaming too, adding to the cacophony echoing around the hall. Hestia rushed to help Sirius, while Fred and George began stunning the other portraits to sleep.

'Oh my,' said Mrs Weasley breathlessly, her hand over her heart. She seemed rooted to the spot – Harry could tell that the sudden announcement by McGonagall had rattled her, and she was unsure as to what to do.

Even as the noise level reduced with the efforts of Fred and George – Sirius and Hestia were having little luck with Mrs Black themselves – the diminutive form of Kreacher appeared in the area. Spotting the rubbish strewn across the floor, he gave an audible croak of joy, and, with speed that defied his age, bounded forward to save what he could. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could only watch, being just as surprised as everyone else, as the house-elf pocketed a few ancient rings and seals, the distinctive box that held the Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius' father, and curiously, a heavy locket with an ornate engraving of the letter 'S' upon it – one that none of them was able to open.

It was to this scene that Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, with the new guests in tow; as they entered the house and came into the vision of everyone else, more than a few jaws fell open.

For one, the new guests look startled at who their expected hosts were – especially the alleged mass murderer on the run from the Ministry for the last two years.

For another, Albus Dumbledore was shocked at the sight of Kreacher clutching the heavy locket, muttering quite audibly under his breath, 'Master Regulus' locket, Kreacher must destroy it, Kreacher will not allow the blood-traitors to take it from him…'

And finally, Harry's mouth literally fell open as he stared at the girl with blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes.

'Daphne?!'


To be continued…