Mrs Weasley followed them upstairs, her expression stern. "I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing. "We've got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep," she added to Hermione, "so try not to wake her up."
Hermione gently opened the door to their room, feeling Mrs Weasley's watchful eyes on her back. Ginny lay in bed, snoring lightly. The creak of the door caused her to stir slightly, but soon the soft, rhythmic breathing resumed.
Hermione smirked, knowing Ginny was wide awake and putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. Mrs Weasley lingered for a moment longer, then continued up the stairs with the boys. Hermione closed the door quietly.
"Bloody hell," Ginny said, sitting up straight as soon as the door clicked shut. "I am one year - ONE YEAR - younger than you all, and I couldn't listen? That's rubbish."
"I know, it's not fair," Hermione said, sitting on her bed. "But I do feel bad for your Mum-"
"No, she just likes to micromanage and control everything," Ginny interrupted, pacing like a caged lion. "Especially me. Just because I'm a girl, I can't possibly be trusted to be treated like an adult."
"I don't think that's-"
"Oh, that's exactly it." Ginny stopped pacing, hands on her hips, staring Hermione down. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Well, what did you learn? You are going to tell me, aren't you? Or do you think I'm too young too?"
Hermione felt a flash of frustration, recalling Harry's earlier anger. She took a deep breath, deciding to handle this differently. "Hey, I'm not the person you're mad at," she said firmly. "You don't have to project your anger onto me, Ginny."
Ginny blinked, then dropped her hands from her hips. "You're right. I'm so sorry, Hermione."
"It's okay," Hermione replied. "And, of course, I'm going to tell you! Are you mad?"
Ginny's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she sat on her bed, facing Hermione. "Okay, start at the beginning."
"Well, they didn't tell us much that we haven't already figured out for ourselves. Basically, the Order is trying to recruit new members and dissuade others from joining He Who Must Not Be Named," Hermione explained.
"Right, makes sense."
"But they let something very interesting slip: in addition to quietly attracting people to join his side, You Know Who is also looking for some sort of weapon… something that he didn't have before."
"What is it?"
"They didn't say, but they implied that the only way he could get it was by stealth, and that's probably why You Know Who is keeping a low profile," Hermione said. "But, whatever it is, it's very powerful, and the Order is very nervous about it."
"More powerful than the Killing Curse?" Ginny echoed Harry, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, it seemed like it," Hermione said, frowning. "But I can't possibly guess what it could be or where it could be hiding."
"Do you think Dumbledore has it?"
Hermione was just about to admit she had no idea when they heard Mrs Weasley's footsteps just outside the bedroom door. Both girls dove under their blankets, trying to stifle their giggles. Hermione held her breath, feeling Mrs Weasley's scrutinising gaze. She didn't even attempt to fake snoring, knowing she wasn't as skilled as Ginny at acting.
Finally, the door shut. Hermione waited a few more moments, her heart pounding, until Ginny peeked at the door and confirmed the coast was clear.
"I don't know if Dumbledore has it," Hermione whispered. "But I sure hope he does for everyone's sake. Come on, let's grab some sleep so we can discuss it with the boys some more tomorrow."
Ginny nodded, settling back into her bed. Hermione also laid down, her mind racing with thoughts of the mysterious weapon and the danger lurking ahead.
The girls woke to the enticing smell of sausages cooking downstairs. Hermione always looked forward to Mrs Weasley's incredible breakfast spreads. Not only were they delicious, but it was clear that she enjoyed making it all.
Hermione felt bad for Mrs Weasley. Though she disagreed with her, she knew Mrs Weasley was only trying to protect them from danger and stress. Having everyone, including her husband, turn on her last night must have been hard. Hermione hoped cooking breakfast was helping to lighten her spirits.
Hermione and Ginny walked hesitantly into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley had her back to the door at the stovetop. "Good morning," Hermione said.
"Good morning, dear," Mrs Weasley replied.
"Mornin', Mum," Ginny said.
"Good morning, love," Mrs Weasley responded, her tone warm but slightly strained.
"Can we help with anything?" Ginny asked.
Mrs Weasley turned to smile at the girls. "Aren't you sweet! Could you two handle the toast?"
Hermione and Ginny went over to the counter near Kreacher's cupboard to start on the toast. She realised she hadn't seen the poor house-elf for a few days and hoped he was alright. She tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to knock on the cupboard door and see if he was inside.
The girls sat down to eat and were soon joined by Mr Weasley, Fred, George, and Sirius. Mrs Weasley and Sirius wouldn't even look in each other's general direction. It was quite awkward.
"George, can you please go wake up the boys?" Mrs Weasley asked. "We have a big day of clearing ahead of us… and do NOT Apparate up there. Use your legs."
Clearly disappointed, George pushed his chair back from the table and ran upstairs. A few minutes later, a very sleepy Ron and Harry shuffled into the kitchen. Hermione knew better than to try to talk to the boys before they had something to eat in the morning. They were not morning people by any means.
They were also disgusting eaters. Hermione had either completely blocked their disgusting shovelling from her mind, or both Ron and Harry had conspired overnight to eat as messily as possible. Whatever the scenario, Hermione couldn't watch it any longer and went into the drawing room for the day's chores a little early. Soon, everyone else came in, ready to work. Harry, however, had no idea what he was in for.
By this point in the summer holidays, Hermione was used to (and looked forward to) the daily chores. There weren't many times Hermione could stop her head from spiralling, but mindless cleaning certainly was one of those times. It was almost as good as Wizard Chess.
Mrs Weasley handed out clothes and bottles of Doxycide to everyone, who immediately covered their mouths and got ready without any complaint. They had all learned very early on that complaining got them nowhere.
"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, 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 frowned. "Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage-"
"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had 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 dropped the bag of rats into an armchair and then bent over to examine the locked cabinet, which was shaking slightly.
"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a Boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shufti at it before we let it out – knowing my mother, it could be something much worse."
"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs Weasley. Hermione cringed - they had moved on from ignoring each other to the overly polite stage.
A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.
"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs Black'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. She went 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 Doxy's 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 spray. "All right – squirt!"
Hermione took a deep breath and sprayed as fast as her hands could squeeze. Doxys were everywhere. A particularly large one with shiny beetle-like wings and needle-sharp teeth flew directly towards Hermione's face. Two sprays later, Hermione finally hit her target, and the Doxycide struck the creature right in the face. It froze in midair and fell onto the carpet below. Just before Hermione could pick it up, another smaller Doxy flew past her ear. Hermione spun and started chasing it around the room.
"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"
Hermione looked over to see what Fred was doing but lost track of the runaway Doxy.
"'Mione, watch out!" Ron said, squirting a stream of black Doxycide directly over Hermione's shoulders. "Got 'em," Ron said, stepping over to Hermione and the now-stunned Doxy. Ron looked at her with the grin she loved so much. She grinned back, almost as frozen as the Doxy on the carpet, forgetting all about the rejected kiss.
"Erm, 'scuse me," Ron said, lightly grabbing her hips. Electricity shot from her hips to her stomach. Then, before she knew it, Ron moved her out of the way. The flutter in her stomach immediately stopped as soon as she realised Ron wasn't flirting with her… he was just trying to get the stunned Doxy and put it in his bucket.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she would not let them fall. She felt so foolish yet again, but she couldn't let Ron know. "Sorry," she said as casually as she could and quickly crossed to the other side of the room.
She could feel the ball of panic rising steadily in her stomach. She hated feeling stupid like that. It was the worst feeling in the world. Hermione tried some breathing exercises to get through the initial panic and then channelled all of the anger she felt at herself for being so dumb into the bottle of Doxycide and the war against the creatures.
Three bottles later, Hermione had gone quite a few minutes without thinking about Ron, instead focusing on the task at hand. Only when Mrs Weasley accidentally sat on a bag of rats was Hermione brought back to the present.
"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, several tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages Harry could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of most definitely blood.
The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley.
"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats from the armchair as Mrs Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."
Mrs Weasley left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed to the window to look down 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?"
"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 intently. 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-"
But at that precise moment, an explosion of sound from downstairs rendered Extendable Ears entirely unnecessary. All of them could hear precisely 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 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 since he sneaked off when he was supposed to be following you, Harry – and there goes Sirius's mum again."
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 Kreacher edged into the room before he could do so. Hermione's heart ached for him. He was basically naked except for a filthy rag tied like a loincloth around his waist. He was ancient, and his skin seemed to be several times too big for him. Hermione also suspected the poor creature was going deaf and maybe even going blind because he never seemed to notice them at first. He would always shuffle around hunchbacked, unaware of anyone in the room. There was also a very good chance he suffered from some sort of dementia because he was constantly muttering incoherence under his breath.
"...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. Hermione was still angry that he was forced to call them all masters. Still facing the carpet, he muttered something else Hermione couldn't quite hear.
"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."
"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George. Kreacher knew the twins were being sarcastic and trying to make fun of him. Hermione heard him mutter, "And there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are," and, frankly, didn't blame him for the insult. He glanced her way, and she smiled at him to show him that at least one person cared.
"...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, ignoring his words. "Harry Potter."
Kreacher's pale eyes widened. "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 and Ginny together, very angrily.
"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered. "He's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's-"
"Don't kid yourself, Hermione; he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred.
"Is it true?" Kreacher asked. "Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar; it must be true; that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Kreacher wonders how he did it-"
"Don't we all, Kreacher," said Fred.
"What do you want, anyway?" George asked.
Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George. Hermione could see the fear in his eyes.
"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.
"A likely story," said a voice from behind them at the door.
Sirius had returned; 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 Sirius and to the disgust of Hermione, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout-like nose on the floor.
"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"
"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, 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. Finally! Kreacher was standing up for himself! "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 were 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."
While Kreacher couldn't disobey a direct order, Hermione was happy to see the detestable look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him and that 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 said, stating the obvious. "I don't think he realises we can hear him."
"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little-"
"If you could just set him free," said Hermione hopefully. She knew she was taking a risk but felt compelled to at least try. "Maybe-"
"We can't set him free. He knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house see how he takes it."
Sirius walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. The tapestry was immensely old; it faded and looked like Doxys had gnawed it in places. Hermione had looked at it a few times over the summer holidays but only a little closely. She noticed the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back 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're not on here!" said Harry 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."
"You ran away from home?"
"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."
"Where did you go?" asked Harry.
"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen, I got a place of my own. 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. I was always welcome at Mr and Mrs Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."
"But... why did you…?"
"Leave?" Sirius 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."
Sirius 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 Sirius, "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!"
Hermione frowned. Did Harry really not get it? Apparently, Sirius was equally as exasperated at Harry's cluelessness.
"Come on, Harry, 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?"
"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 before her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. Having already looked at the tapestry and researched all of the pure-blood families in their third year, Hermione followed the others to get some food, leaving Harry and Sirius back at the family tree.
Hermione kept the pair in the corner of her eye, however, because she wanted to catch Harry's reaction to Sirius being related to the Malfoys. When Hermione saw the connection, she was only slightly surprised. The Sacred Twenty-Eight were all basically interrelated - that's the only way they could remain pure-blood.
Hermione saw Harry step back in surprise and look at Sirius with astonishment. He must have finally seen it. Hermione grinned to herself; Harry was so predictable.
She took a seat next to Ginny and grabbed one of the sandwiches. Ron was already on his second and well on his way to a third. Disgusted, Hermione turned to face Ginny so she wouldn't have to watch Ron stuffing his face.
"So, are you nervous about your O.W.L.s. this year?" Ginny asked.
An Ordinary Wizarding Level (often abbreviated O.W.L.) was a series of subject-specific standardised tests taken during Hogwarts students' fifth year. These exams were administered by the Wizarding Examinations Authority and had been around since at least the late 1800s. Each subject had its own O.W.L. exam. The score achieved by a student on a particular O.W.L. determined whether or not that student would be allowed to continue studying in the more advanced classes of that subject in their sixth and seventh years. If students did not score high enough on a subject's O.W.L., they would no longer be allowed to take that class. Exam scores also determined what job a student could have after graduating from Hogwarts.
Needless to say, Hermione was terrified.
"Never mind," Ginny laughed. "Your face just went greener than a Slytherin's robes. I got my answer."
"How can I not be?" Hermione asked. "They basically will determine the rest of my life."
"If you need help studying this year, I don't mind helping," Ginny said.
"Thank you!" Hermione said, honestly touched. That was a perfect example of why Ginny was her best friend - instead of saying something like, "You'll probably just get 'Outstanding' on all of them," Ginny instinctively knew how unhelpful that was. Flattery doesn't help you get good grades.
"Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left," Mrs Weasley called to Harry and Sirius. Hermione and Ginny continued their small talk while Harry and Sirius got the last of the sandwiches (much to Ron's dismay).
The afternoon chore was cleaning out the glass-fronted cabinets. Many of the objects there seemed reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a nasty bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds, his bitten hand developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.
"It's okay," he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal. "Must be Wartcap powder in there."
They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy locket that none of them could open; several 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 save different things from the sack that clearly had sentimental value for the poor elf. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Hermione had never heard before. Hermione wanted to join in on the cursing.
"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 kept them all working hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate. Finally, the only undesirable things left were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk. Moody had not dropped by Headquarters yet, so they couldn't be sure what was inside it.
They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor, where they found spiders as large as saucers lurking in the dresser. Ron hurriedly left the room to make a cup of tea and returned after an hour and a half. Sirius threw the china, which bore the Black crest and motto, unceremoniously into a sack, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames. All of the occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.
Life at the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black continued the same way for the rest of the summer. The only exciting, out-of-the-ordinary happening was when Professor McGonagall attended one of the Order of the Phoenix meetings.
"Professor McGonagall!" Hermione exclaimed, running to greet her favourite professor.
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall smiled. "Having a good summer holiday, I trust?"
"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said. "I wanted to ask you, do you happen to know when we will be getting our Hogwarts Letters? I was hoping to find out what books I'll need and…" Hermione paused pointedly. "...and if there was anything else I should prepare for." She was confident Professor McGonagall understood the implication: Hermione wanted to know if she had been selected as Gryffindor Prefect.
"You should be receiving them soon," Professor McGonagall said. Hermione searched her face for any indication or hint but saw none. Her heart sank. Maybe she didn't get it?
"Oh, okay," Hermione said. "Thanks, Professor."
"Of course, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. "I look forward to working more closely with you this year," she added with a brief flick of her eye that could be construed as a wink. Hermione's heart quickened with a flash of hope. Maybe she would be prefect after all.
A few days later, at dinner, Mrs Weasley turned to Harry and said quietly, "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."
Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny stopped talking and looked at Harry. He nodded and tried to keep eating his food, but Hermione could see the tension in his eyes and the stiffness in his shoulders. His nerves were clearly on edge.
"How am I getting there?" Harry asked Mrs Weasley, his voice tinged with anxiety.
"Arthur's taking you to work with him," Mrs Weasley said gently.
Mr Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry from across the table. "You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing," he said.
Harry glanced over at Sirius, and before he could voice the question that was clearly on his mind, Mrs Weasley preemptively 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," Sirius interjected through clenched teeth.
Mrs Weasley pursed her lips.
"When did Dumbledore tell you that?" Harry asked, staring intently at Sirius.
"He came last night when you were in bed," said Mr Weasley.
Harry looked as surprised as Hermione felt. She had been up most of the night with her nightmares but had no idea the headmaster had come to Headquarters. It seemed odd to her that the headmaster had not taken the opportunity to see Harry, especially the night before such an important hearing. The weight of this realisation made Hermione feel a deep sense of unease. She watched Harry's expression shift from surprise to a mixture of hurt and confusion.
Sensing the need to shift the mood, Hermione gently said, "You'll be fine, Harry. Just remember, we're all behind you."
Harry gave her a weak smile, but she could still see the worry in his eyes. The room fell into a contemplative silence, the air thick with unspoken fears and anxieties. As dinner continued, the weight of the upcoming hearing loomed over them all, casting a shadow on their otherwise warm gathering.