Chapter 6 The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Black

Mrs. Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim.

‘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.’

‘Asleep, yeah, right,’ said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them goodnight and they were climbing to the next floor. ‘If Ginny's not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs then I'm a Flobberworm....’

‘All right, Ron, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley on the second landing, pointing them into their bedroom. ‘Off to bed with you.’

’ ‘Night,’ Harry and Ron said to the twins.

‘Sleep tight,’ said Fred, winking.

Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind Harry with a sharp snap. The bedroom looked, if anything, even danker and gloomier than it had on first sight. The blank picture on the wall was now breathing very slowly and deeply, as though its invisible occupant was asleep. Harry put on his pyjamas, took off his glasses, and climbed into his chilly bed while Ron threw Owl Treats up on top of the wardrobe to pacify Hedwig and Pigwidgeon, who were clattering around and rustling their wings restlessly.

‘We can't let them out to hunt every night,’ Ron explained as he pulled on his maroon pyjamas. ‘Dumbledore doesn't want too many owls swooping around the square, thinks it'll look suspicious. Oh yeah ... I forgot....’

He crossed to the door and bolted it.

‘What're you doing that for?’

‘Kreacher,’ said Ron as he turned off the light. ‘First night I was here he came wandering in at three in the morning. Trust me, you don't want to wake up and find him prowling around your room. Anyway...’ He got into his bed, settled down under the covers, then turned to look at Harry in the darkness. Harry could see his outline by the moonlight filtering in through the grimy window, ‘what d'you reckon?’

Harry didn't need to ask what Ron meant.

‘Well, they didn't tell us much we couldn't have guessed, did they?’ he said, thinking of all that had been said downstairs. ‘I mean, all they've really said is that the Order's trying to stop people joining Vol—’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Ron.

—demort,’ said Harry firmly. ‘When are you going to start using his name? Sirius and Lupin do.’

Ron ignored this last comment.

‘Yeah, you're right,’ he said, ‘we already knew nearly everything they told us, from using the Extendable Ears. The only new bit was—’

Crack.

‘OUCH!’

‘Keep your voice down, Ron, or Mum'll be back up here.’

‘You two just Apparated on my knees!’

‘Yeah, well, it's harder in the dark—’

Harry saw the blurred outlines of Fred and George leaping down from Ron's bed. There was a groan of bedsprings and Harry's mattress descended a few inches as George sat down near his feet.

‘So, got there yet?’ said George eagerly.

‘The weapon Sirius mentioned?’ said Harry.

‘Let slip, more like,’ said Fred with relish, now sitting next to Ron. ‘We didn't hear about that on the old Extendables, did we?’

‘What d'you reckon it is?’ said Harry.

‘Could be anything,’ said Fred.

‘But there can't be anything worse than the Avada Kedavra curse, can there?’ said Ron. ‘What's worse than death?’

‘Maybe it's something that can kill loads of people at once,’ suggested George.

‘Maybe it's some particularly painful way of killing people,’ said Ron learfully.

‘He's got the Cruciatus Curse for causing pain,’ said Harry, ‘he doesn't need anything more efficient than that.’

There was a pause and Harry knew that the others, like him, were wondering what horrors this weapon could perpetrate.

‘So who d'you think's got it now?’ asked George.

‘I hope it's our side,’ said Ron, sounding slightly nervous.

‘If it is, Dumbledore's probably keeping it,’ said Fred.

‘Where?’ said Ron quickly. ‘Hogwarts?’

‘Bet it is!’ said George. That's where he hid the Philosopher's Stone.’

‘A weapon's going to be a lot bigger than the Stone, though!’ said Ron.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Fred.

‘Yeah, size is no guarantee of power,’ said George. ‘Look at Ginny.’

‘What d'you mean?’ said Harry.

‘You've never been on the receiving end of one of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, have you?’

‘Shhh!’ said Fred, half-rising from the bed. ‘Listen!’

They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.

‘Mum,’ said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed. A few seconds later, they heard the floorboard creak outside their door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly listening to check whether or not they were talking.

Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted dolefully. The floorboard creaked again and they heard her heading upstairs to check on Fred and George.

‘She doesn't trust us at all, you know,’ said Ron regretfully.

Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs. Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs.... In fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was saying, ‘Beauties, aren't they, eh, Harry? We'll be studyin’ weapons this term....’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him.... He ducked....

The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George's loud voice was filling the room.

‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead puffskeins under the sofa.’

Half an hour later, Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

‘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's face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley.

‘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, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, 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 shifty at it before we let it out—knowing my mother, it could be something much worse.’

‘Right you are, Sirius,’ said Mrs. Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been 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 clown the stairs as Mrs. Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: ‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of flith...’

‘Close the door, please, Harry,’ said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mothers portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, ‘Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's Cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore....’

Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the doxy party.

Mrs. Weasley was bending 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 doxys 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 immobilized, just throw them in this bucket.’

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.

‘All right—squirt!’

Harry had been spraying only a few seconds when a fully-grown doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide; it froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud thunk, on to the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.

‘Fred, what are you doing?’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘Spray that at once and throw it away!’

Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

‘Right-o,’ Fred said brightly, spraying the doxy quickly in the face so that it fainted, but the moment Mrs. Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.

‘We want to experiment with doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes,’ George told Harry under his breath.

Deftly spraying two doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘What are Skiving Snackboxes?’

‘Range of sweets to make you ill,’ George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs. Weasley's back. ‘Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half—’

‘"—which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom.” That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway,’ whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs. Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. ‘But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end.’

‘Testers?’

‘Us,’ said Fred. ‘We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies—we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat—’

‘Mum thought we'd been duelling,’ said George.

‘Joke shop still on, then?’ Harry muttered, pretending to be adjusting the nozzle on his spray.

‘Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet,’ said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs. Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, ‘so we're running it as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the Daily Prophet last week.’

‘All thanks to you, mate,’ said George. ‘But don't worry ... Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the Daily Prophet any more, ‘cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore.’

Harry grinned. He had forced the Weasley twins to take the thousand-Galleon prize money he had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop, but he was still glad to know that his part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs. Weasley. She did not think running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.

The de-doxying of the curtains took most of the morning. It was past midday when Mrs. Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats. The curtains were no longer buzzing; they hung limp and damp from the intensive spraying; unconscious doxys lay crammed in the bucket at the foot of them beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crookshanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.

‘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, a number of 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 what Harry was quite sure was blood.

The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.

‘Stay here,’ she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. ‘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?’

‘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 closely. 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 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 shouting at someone else,’ said Fred, with a satisfied smile on his face 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 ever 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 before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and, though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, ‘...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. Still lacing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, ‘Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is.’

‘Sorry?’ said George. ‘Didn't catch that last bit.’

‘Kreacher said nothing,’ said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, ‘and there's its twin, unnataral little beasts they are.’

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter.

‘...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 tentatively. ‘Harry Potter.’

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

‘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, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry.

‘Is it true? 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.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ he said evasively.

‘A likely story,’ said a voice behind Harry.

Sirius had come back; 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, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike 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. ‘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 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. ‘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.’

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.

‘—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 pleaded, ‘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, ‘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. Harry and the others followed.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) 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 closely.

‘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, staring at him.

‘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 then 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. Potters 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!’

‘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 high in front of her, balancing a huge tray loaded with sandwiches and cake on its tip. She was very red in the face and still looked angry. The others moved over to her, eager for some food, but Harry remained with Sirius, who had bent closer to the tapestry.

‘I haven't looked at this for years. There's Phineas Nigellus ... my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had ... and Araminta Meliflua ... cousin of my mother's ... tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal ... and dear Aunt Elladora ... she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays ... of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see Tonks isn't on here. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her—he's supposed to do whatever anyone in the family asks him....’

‘You and Tonks are related?’ Harry asked, surprised.

‘Oh, yeah, her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin, said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely. ‘No, Andromeda's not on here either, look—’

He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa.

‘Andromeda's sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so—’

Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

‘You're related to the Malfoys!’

‘The pure-blood families are all interrelated,’ said Sirius. ‘If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods our choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed. But there's no point looking for them on here—if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's the Weasleys.’

But Harry was now looking at the name to the left of Andromeda's burn: Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double line to Rodolphus Lestrange.

‘Lestrange...’ Harry said aloud. The name had stirred something in his memory; he knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.

‘They're in Azkaban,’ said Sirius shortly.

Harry looked at him curiously.

‘Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior,’ said Sirius, in the same brusque voice. ‘Rodolphus's brother Rabastan was with them, too.’

Then Harry remembered: He had seen Bellatrix Lestrange inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, the strange device in which thoughts and memories could be stored: a tall dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes, who had stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort, her pride that she had tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction that she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.

‘You never said she was your—’

‘Does it matter if she's my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I'm concerned, they're not my family. She's certainly not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D'you think I'm proud of having a relative like her?’

‘Sorry,’ said Harry quickly, ‘I didn't mean—I was just surprised, that's all—’

‘It doesn't matter, don't apologise,’ Sirius mumbled. He turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I don't like being back here,’ he said, staring across the drawing room. ‘I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again.’

Harry understood completely. He knew how he would feel, when he was grown up and thought he was free of the place for ever, to return and live at number four, Privet Drive.

‘It's ideal for headquarters, of course,’ Sirius said. ‘My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call—as if they'd ever have wanted to—and now Dumbledore's added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore's Secret-Keeper for the Order, you know—nobody can find Headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is—that note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore....’ Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. ‘If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now ... well, my mothers portrait should give you some idea.’

He scowled for a moment, then sighed.

‘I wouldn't mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I've asked Dumbledore whether I can escort you to your hearing—as Snuffles, obviously—so I can give you a bit of moral support, what d'you think?’

Harry felt as though his stomach had sunk through the dusty carpet. He had not thought about the hearing once since dinner the previous evening; in the excitement of being back with the people he liked best, and hearing everything that was going on, it had completely flown his mind. At Sirius's words, however, the crushing sense of dread returned to him. He stared at Hermione and the Weasleys, all tucking into their sandwiches, and thought how he would feel if they went back to Hogwarts without him.

‘Don't worry,’ Sirius said. Harry looked up and realised that Sirius had been watching him. ‘I'm sure they'll clear you, there's definitely something in the International Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life.’

‘But if they do expel me,’ said Harry quietly, ‘can I come back here and live with you?’

Sirius smiled sadly.

‘We'll see.’

‘I'd feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys,’ Harry pressed him.

‘They must be bad if you prefer this place,’ said Sirius gloomily.

‘Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left,’ Mrs. Weasley called.

Sirius heaved another great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Harry went to join the others.

Harry tried his best not to think about the hearing while he emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for him, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

‘It's OK,’ 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.’

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Harry saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already doxy-filled pocket.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was 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; a number of 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 smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.

‘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 very hard over the next few days. The drawing room took three days to decontaminate. Finally, the only undesirable things left in it were the tapestry of the Black family tree, which resisted all their attempts to remove it from the wall, and the rattling writing desk. Moody had not dropped by headquarters yet, so they could not 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 left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.

Snape might refer to their work as ‘cleaning', but in Harry's opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, ‘Master must do as Master wishes,’ before turning away and muttering very loudly, ‘but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudblood and traitors and scum....’

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione's protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius's mother to start shrieking again, and for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, though to Harry's relief they never came face to face; Harry also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger. Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help. Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley's eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

Despite the fact that he was still sleeping badly, still having dreams about corridors and locked doors that made his scar prickle, Harry was managing to have fun for the first time all summer. As long as he was busy he was happy; when the action abated, however, whenever he dropped his guard, or lay exhausted in bed watching blurred shadows move across the ceiling, the thought of the looming Ministry hearing returned to him. Fear jabbed at his insides like needles as he wondered what was going to happen to him if he was expelled. The idea was so terrible that he did not dare voice it aloud, not even to Ron and Hermione, who, though he often saw them whispering together and casting anxious looks in his direction, followed his lead in not mentioning it. Sometimes, he could not prevent his imagination showing him a faceless Ministry official who was snapping his wand in two and ordering him back to the Dursleys’ ... but he would not go. He was determined on that. He would come back here to Grimmauld Place and live with Sirius.

He felt as though a brick had dropped into his stomach when Mrs. Weasley turned to him during dinner on Wednesday evening 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.’

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and tried to keep eating his chop, but his mouth had become so dry he could not chew.

‘How am I getting there?’ he asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.

‘Arthur's taking you to work with him,’ said Mrs. Weasley gently.

Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

‘You can wait in my office until it's time for the hearing,’ he said.

Harry looked over at Sirius, but before he could ask the question, Mrs. Weasley had 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,’ said Sirius through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips.

‘When did Dumbledore tell you that?’ Harry said, staring at Sirius.

‘He came last night, when you were in bed,’ said Mr. Weasley.

Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry lowered his own eyes to his plate. The thought that Dumbledore had been in the house on the eve of his hearing and not asked to see him made him feel, if it were possible, even worse.

威斯里太太面色严峻的跟着他们到了楼上。

　　“我要求你们所有人直接上床睡觉，不许再聊天，”当他们到达一楼的时候，威斯里太太说道，“明天我们还有的忙。我希望金妮已经睡着了，”她对着荷米恩补充道，“因此尽量别吵醒她。”

　　“睡觉，是的，非常正确，”弗来德小声说道，这时荷米恩已经向他们道过晚安，兄弟两个正向楼上爬去，“如果金妮没有上床睡觉，而是等着荷米恩告诉她我们刚才在楼下谈论的所有事情，那么我就是一个．．．．．．”

　　“好了，罗恩、哈利，”威斯里太太现在在二楼，指示他们进卧室，“上床去睡吧。”

　　“晚安！”哈利和罗恩对双胞胎兄弟说道。

　　“睡个好觉！”弗来德眨眨眼睛说道。

　　威斯里太太在哈利的身后猛的把门关上了。卧室现在看起来比第一次看见的时候更加的黑暗阴森。墙上的那张空画正在缓慢而深长的呼吸，仿佛它上面那个看不见的居住者也睡着了。哈利穿上他的睡衣，摘下眼睛爬到他冰冷的床上，而与此同时罗恩把猫头鹰笼子放到衣柜的顶端以安抚海维与小猪，它们正在到处吵闹，翅膀发出不安的沙沙声。

　　“我们不能让它们每天晚上都出去觅食，”罗恩一边穿上他的栗色睡衣一边抱怨着，“丹伯多不想让太多的猫头鹰在广场周围乱窜，他认为这看起来十分可疑。哦，是的．．．我差点忘记了．．．”

　　他穿过卧室走向门口并且把门栓上了。

　　“你这么做是为什么啊？”

　　“克瑞彻”罗恩关灯的时候说道，“第一夜我睡在这里，他凌晨三点跑过来游荡。相信我，你不会乐意被吵醒然后发现那个家伙在你的房间里游荡。无论如何．．．．．．”他上床躺进被窝里，然后转过来在黑暗中看着哈利；通过肮脏的窗户透进来的月光使的哈利能够看清罗恩的轮廓，“你在想什么？”

　　哈利不需要询问罗恩的意思。

　　“是的，他们并没有告诉我们很多我们无法猜测的东西，是吗？”哈利一边回忆他们在楼下的谈话一边说道，“我的意思是，所有他们真正告诉我们的就是，凤凰指令正在尽力组织人们加入福尔—”

　　从罗恩哪里传来一阵尖锐的呼吸声。“—魔鬼，”哈利平静的说，“你准备什么时候开始使用他的名字？天狼星和卢平干的。”（哈利觉得被貌似慷慨的天狼星和卢平这两只老狐狸给耍了，因而发泄不满）

　　罗恩没听见最后一句。

　　“是的，你是正确的，”他说道，“我们已经知道了他们告诉我们的每一件事情，这些事情我们通过顺风耳都已经了解了。唯一没听过的一小段就是—”

　　啪的一声。

　　“哎哟！”

　　“小声点，罗恩，你妈妈也许会回来看看。”

　　“你们两个站在我膝盖上了！”

　　“是的，好吧，看来瞬间移动魔法在黑夜里更难施展。”

　　哈利看见弗来德和乔治模糊的轮廓从罗恩的床上跳下来。弹簧床面发出了呻吟，而当乔治坐到他脚边的时候哈利的床垫被压沉了几英寸。

　　“那么，你见过那个东西吗？”乔治一脸渴望的说道。

　　“天狼星提及的武器吗？”哈利问道。

　　“还能是什么，”弗来德接着说道。

　　“但是这个世界上没有什么比阿瓦达索命咒语（这个咒语是前作提及的三大禁咒的最后一个，也即死亡咒语，是伏地魔杀死哈利父母的咒语，当伏地魔对哈利施展的时候出现意外，结果伏地魔几乎被杀，而哈利则留下一道闪电形状的疤痕）更加糟糕的东西，是吗？”罗恩说道，“什么东西会比死亡更糟呢？”

　　“也许它是某种能够同时杀死成千上万人的东西，“乔治推测道。

　　“也许它是以某种特别痛苦的方式杀人的东西，”罗恩沉重的说道。

　　“伏地魔已经有了钻心咒（三大禁咒第二位，即痛苦咒语，能使人痛不欲生但是却死不了）让人痛苦，”哈利说道，“他不会需要任何比这个咒语更有效的东西。”

　　卧室里一片平静，哈利知道其他人象他一样，正在奇怪那是一种怎样的恐怖武器呢？

　　“那么你认为现在谁得到了这种武器呢？”乔治问道。

　　“希望是我们这边的，”罗恩有点紧张不安的说道。

　　“如果真是这样的话，丹伯多可能把它藏起来了。”弗来德说道。

　　“藏在哪里？”罗恩很快说道，“霍格瓦彻吗？”

　　“我打赌肯定是在霍格瓦彻！”乔治说道，“那正是丹伯多隐藏魔法石的地方。”

　　“但是一件武器应该比一块石头大的多！”罗恩说道。

　　“这可不一定，”弗来德说道。

　　“是的，体积并不是威力的保证，”乔治说道，“看看金妮就知道。”

　　“你的意思是”哈利问。

　　“你大概还从未尝到过她的击妖魔法，对吧？”

　　“嘘！”弗来德从床上半坐起来，“听！”

　　他们安静下来。脚步声正在上楼。

　　“妈妈，”乔治说道，接着几乎在一瞬间伴随一声巨响，哈利感到床脚的重量消失了。几秒钟之后，他们听见门外的楼板吱吱作响：威斯里太太在门外倾听，以检查他们是否正在交谈。

　　海维和小猪寂寞的大声叫喊。楼板再次吱吱作响，他们听见威斯里太太上楼检查弗来德和乔治去了。

　　“你知道吗，她完全不相信我们，”罗恩懊恼的说道。

　　哈利确信自己睡不着，这个晚上发生了太多的事情要考虑，因此他满心期望能够清醒的躺上几个小时全部咀嚼一遍。他想继续与罗恩谈话，但威斯里太太的脚步声再次下楼来了，而她一离开哈利就清楚的听见其他人都上楼去了．．．．．．实际上，许多有脚的生物都正在卧室的门外轻柔的跑来跑去，而魔法生物饲养课的老师哈格力正在讲课：“他们很漂亮，不是吗，哈利？这个学期我们将要学习这种武器．．．”接着哈利就看见这种生物的头部变成了加农炮，并且正在瞄准他．．．哈利猛的蹲下．．．接下来他所知道的事情就是，他在床单下面暖和的缩成一团，而乔治响亮的声音充满了房间。

　　“妈妈说起床了，你的早餐在厨房里，吃完以后她要你待在画室里，这里有超出她想象的大量的害虫，而且她又在沙发底下发现了一窝死掉的害虫。”

　　半个小时之后哈利和罗恩迅速的穿戴整齐并吃了早餐，接着进了画室，这是一楼一个长形的房间，有着高高的天花板，橄榄绿的墙面上覆盖着厚厚的灰尘。地毯每次有人踩上去的时候就会发出一股灰尘形成的烟雾，长长的，苔绿色的天鹅绒窗帘正在嗡嗡作响，仿佛里面有一大群看不见的蜜蜂。威斯里太太、荷米恩、金妮、弗来德和乔治都来了，他们用一件衣服包住鼻子和嘴巴的样子显的十分奇特。而在他们每个人的手里都拿着一大瓶黑色的液体，瓶子的末端都装着一个喷嘴。

　　“把你们的脸包起来并拿上一个喷雾器，”威斯里太太一看见哈利和罗恩就说道，并指了指一张长腿桌子上面两个更大的装满黑色液体的瓶子。“这里真是虫子窝，我从来没有见过虫子出没的如此猖獗—在最近十年里那些小精灵们都干了些什么—”

　　荷米恩的脸虽然半隐藏在一条茶色毛巾里，但是哈利明显看见她向威斯里太太投去一个责备的目光。“克瑞彻真是太老了，它也许无法管理—”

　　“如果克瑞彻想管的话你会很惊奇的发现它有多么能干，荷米恩。”说话的是天狼星，他正提着一个看上去装满了死老鼠的血淋淋的包走进房间里，“我刚刚喂了巴克比克（就是前作那只险些被砍头，最后载着天狼星一起流亡的鹰头马身的怪鸟）”他回应着哈利询问的眼神补充道。“我把它留在楼上我妈妈的卧室里。不管怎么说，．．．这张写字台．．．”

　　天狼星把包扔进了一张扶手椅子里，然后弯腰检查一个上锁的橱柜，哈利现在才首次注意到那个橱柜，它正在轻轻摇晃。

　　“好的，莫莉，我十分确定这是一个波奇（一种远距离传送装置），“天狼星一边通过锁孔向里面窥视一边说道，“在我们打开它之前也许我们应该让魔眼来看看—我了解我妈妈，它有可能是个很糟糕的东西。”

　　“你是对的，天狼星。”威斯里太太说道。

　　他们都在用一种小心翼翼的，礼貌周到的方式交谈，这十分明显的告诉哈利两个人都没有忘记昨天晚上的争执。

　　一声巨大的叮当作响的铃声从楼下传了上来，紧跟着的就是震耳欲聋的尖叫声和哀号声，昨天晚上唐克丝在碰倒那个伞架的时候就触发过一次。

　　“我告诉过他们不要按门铃！”天狼星恼火的说着，急匆匆的跑出房间。他们听见他脚步声洪亮的下楼，而布莱克夫人的尖叫声又再一次的响彻大厅：

　　“你这个家族的耻辱、肮脏的杂种、血统的叛徒、污秽的孩子．．．”

　　“请把门关上，哈利，”威斯里太太说道。

　　哈利花了很多时间才关上画室的门；他想要听听楼下发生了什么事。天狼星显然已经尽力关上了盖在他妈妈肖像上的窗帘，因为老太太已经停止尖叫了。他听见天狼星走出大厅，然后前门响起了铁链滑动的声音，接着他听见一个他认为是肯斯雷·沙克雷波尔特的低沉的嗓音说道：“赫斯提（希腊神话中的女灶神，这里可能指火神）刚刚放过我，而她现在拿走了穆迪的斗篷，我认为我应该给丹伯多留一个报告．．．”

　　感觉到威斯里太太的目光落在他的后脑勺上，哈利懊悔的把画室的门关上并重新加入了除虫队伍。

　　威斯里太太正在弯腰查看一本打开并放在沙发上的书，这是一本吉德洛．洛哈特（前作密室之迷中出现过的一只绣花枕头式的人物，做过哈利的一任黑魔法防御课教师）写的家庭害虫防治指南。

　　“很好，你们大家，你们要很小心，因为这些害虫会叮人，他们的牙齿是有毒的。我这里已经提供了一瓶解毒剂，但是我希望没有人需要用到它。”

　　威斯里太太把腰直起来，站在窗帘的正前方，并招手示意他们都上前来。

　　“当我下命令的时候，你们就马上开始喷药水，”威斯里太太说道，“我希望它们会朝我们飞过来，但是这种喷雾器的说明书上写着仅仅一次成功的喷射就可以麻痹它们。当它们被麻痹的时候，就把它们扔到这个桶子里。”

　　威斯里太太小心翼翼的走出火线，并且举起了她自己的喷雾器。

　　“预备—喷射！”

　　哈利仅仅喷了几秒钟就有一只浑身绿色的害虫从一堆折叠好的布料里面飞了出来，它的光亮的，甲虫一样的翅膀发出呼呼的声音，微小的针尖一样锋利的牙齿裸露着，它精灵一样的身体上覆盖着厚厚的毛，而它的四只细小的拳头愤怒的紧握着。哈利用一阵杀虫剂将它喷了个正着。它在半空中僵住了并且掉了下来，发出了一声令人惊讶的巨响，躺在了旧地毯的上面。哈利把它拣起来并且扔到了桶子里。

　　“弗来德，你在干什么？”威斯里太太尖叫道，“马上喷它并把它扔掉。”

　　哈利向这边看了看。弗来德的食指和拇指之间抓着一只正在挣扎的虫子。

　　“好的—”弗来德轻快的说道，他迅速的朝这只虫子脸上喷了一下然后虫子就昏倒了，但是在威斯里太太转身的一瞬间他迅速的把虫子塞进了口袋里。

　　“我们要用虫子的毒液实验我们的削蛇盒，”乔治低声的告诉哈利。

　　当虫子直接向哈利的鼻子飞过来的时候，他技巧熟练的同时喷下来两只虫子，哈利靠近了乔治并且用嘴角嘟噜着“什么是削蛇盒？”

　　“这是一系列会使你生病的糖果，”乔治一边小声说道一边用机警的眼神望着威斯里太太的背影。“放心，并不是什么严重的疾病，仅仅是当你感到有必要的话，让你病到足以中途退堂。弗来德和我在这个夏天就正在开发它们。它们是双重功效的，有颜色的咀嚼片。如果你吃了黄色的那一半呕吐药剂的话，你将剧烈呕吐。一旦你已经冲出教室跑向医院的时候，你就吞下紫色的那一半—”

　　“—这将使你恢复舒适感，并且使的你在一个小时里按自己的选择从事休闲活动，而不是陷入毫无意义的厌烦之中。”“总之，那就是我们在广告里要提出的，”弗来德小声说道，他已经站到了威斯里太太视线之外的边缘地带，并且正在地板上扫荡几只昏迷的虫子，把它们放到口袋里。“但是这种糖果仍然需要一点工夫才能最终完成。现在我们的实验者有一点小麻烦，他们在吞下紫色药片之后需要一段足够长的时间才能制止呕吐。”

　　“实验者？”

　　“是我们，”弗来德说道，“我们轮流服用。乔治制作了昏迷的花色制品—我们都厌倦了流鼻血的奶油杏仁糖—”

　　“妈妈认为我们两个正在决斗，”乔治说道。

　　“那么，搞笑商店的计划还在进行吗？”哈利嘟噜着，假装是在调整他的喷雾器的喷嘴。

　　“是的，但我们仍然没机会获得启动资金，”弗来德说道，当威斯里太太在再次袭击之前用围巾擦着眉毛的时候，他的声音更低了，“因此我们在目前用邮购的方式运作它。我们上周在每日先知报上登了广告。”

　　“这都得感谢你，伙计，”乔治说道，“但是不用担心．．．妈妈对此一无所觉。她不再读每日先知报了，‘因为每日先知报正在诽谤你和丹伯多’”

　　哈利笑了。他曾经强迫威斯里家的双胞胎两兄弟，接受了他在三巫师争霸赛中赢得的几千帆船币的奖金，以帮助他们实现开设一家搞笑商店的雄心壮志，而他仍然很高兴的知道他们的进一步计划没有被威斯里太太察觉。威斯里太太从来就不认为开一家搞笑商店对她的两个儿子来说是个合适的职业。

　　清理窗帘蛀虫的行动花费了几乎整整一个上午。时至正午，威斯里太太最终脱下了她的保护性的围巾，倒进了一张扶手椅子里，并带着一声因厌恶而发出的尖叫再一次从椅子里跳起来，因为她正好坐在了那个装满死老鼠的大包上。窗帘不再发出嗡嗡的响声了，它们因为密集的喷雾而变的柔软潮湿，垂了下来。在他们的脚下丧失意识的虫子密密麻麻的躺在桶子里，桶子的旁边是一个装满虫子黑色的卵的大碗，克洛克山克斯正在嗅着这只碗，而威斯里兄弟也在贪婪的盯这这只大碗。

　　“我想午饭之后我们将解决它的问题，”威斯里太太指了一下壁炉架子两边一边一个的放着的，积满灰尘的玻璃橱柜。橱柜里面摆满了各种不成对的东西（橱柜是一对，所以习惯上里面的东西应该是对称的），一把精挑细选的生锈的短剑，几只爪子，一卷蛇皮，数量众多的银色盒子，上面刻满了哈利看不懂的文字，而所有物品当中最令人讨厌的是一个装饰华丽的水晶瓶，上面塞着一块巨大的猫眼石，里面装满了哈利确信是鲜血的液体。

　　门铃的叮当声再度响起。每个人都看着威斯里太太。“待在这里。”当布莱克太太的尖叫声再次从下面传来的时候，威斯里太太抓起那只装满死老鼠的大包平静的说道，“我去拿点三明治。”

　　她离开了房间，小心翼翼的关上了身后的门。几乎同时的，每个人都冲向窗户并通过楼梯台阶往下张望。他们可以看见一颗长着蓬乱头发的头顶，和一组摇摇晃晃保持平衡的坩埚。

　　“蒙顿格斯！”荷米恩说道。“他带着那些坩埚干什么？”

　　“也许是在寻找一个安全的地方摆放它们，”哈利说道，“那也许是他受命跟踪我的那天晚上跑去搞的勾当？挑选销赃的坩埚？”

　　“是的，你是正确的！” 弗来德说道，这时前门打开了，蒙顿格斯吃力的端着他的坩埚，穿过前门并且从视野里消失了，“哎呀，妈妈不喜欢…” 他和乔治穿过画室并站到门边仔细的听着。布莱克太太的尖叫声已经停止了。

　　“蒙顿格斯正在和西斯里还有肯斯雷说话，”弗来德的眉头皱了起来小声说道。“不可能听见…你认为我们是否值得冒险使用顺风耳？”

　　“也许值得，”乔治说道，“我可以偷偷摸摸的到楼上拿一对—”

　　但是就在此时从楼下传来一声巨响，这使得顺风耳完全没有了用武之地。所有人都可以清楚的听见威斯里太太正在用她最高的嗓门咆哮着。

　　“我们没地方为偷来的东西挪出一个藏匿点！”

　　“有时我喜欢听见妈妈对别人咆哮，”弗来德的脸上带着一种满意的微笑说着，他把门拉开一英寸左右，这样可以让威斯里太太的声音更清楚的传进房间里，“这是如此优美的改变。”

　　“—完全不负责任，好象没有你拖进来的这些销赃的坩埚我们就会因为缺少经费而愁眉苦脸—”

　　“这群白痴正在让她步步进逼，”乔治摇摇头说道，“你必须尽早的拦下她的话头，否则她就会象沸腾的蒸汽一样滔滔不绝的说上几个小时。自从蒙顿格斯在受命跟踪你的期间擅离职守以来，妈妈早就想找个机会修理他了。哈利—现在是天狼星的妈妈再度发飚。”

　　威斯里太太的丧失了开始的尖锐，而尖叫声从大厅的肖像处传了过来。

　　乔治试图关上门以抵挡噪音，不过在他这么做之前，一只房屋小精灵进到房间的边上。

　　除了把一串肮脏的老鼠绑成一根带子围在腰间以外，它全身赤裸。它看上去很老。皮肤看来比它的身体大好几倍，尽管它象其他的房屋小精灵一样光秃秃的不长毛，但是大量的白色眉毛在它巨大的、蝙蝠一样的眼睛上方冒了出来。它的眼睛充满血丝并且是潮湿的灰白色，而它肉色的鼻子同样十分巨大，或者更贴切的讲象猪嘴。

　　这只小精灵绝对没有注意到哈利和其他人。它的行为仿佛象是看不见他们一样，它驼着背，慢吞吞的走着，固执而迟缓，一直走向房间的最里面，它所发出的喃喃自语声在他的呼吸里嘶哑、深沉，就象一只牛蛙一样。

　　“…闻起来就象一条排水沟或者是一个罪犯的靴子，但是她也好不了多少，肮脏衰老的血统叛徒带着她的乳臭未干的孩子们，把我的女主人的房子弄的乱七八糟，哦，我可怜的女主人，如果她知道这些家伙把些什么垃圾带进来的话，她会对老克瑞彻说些什么呢，哦，这真是可耻，小孩、狼人、叛徒，还有小偷，可怜的老克瑞彻，它能干什么…”

　　“你好，克瑞彻，”弗来德猛的关上门大声说道。

　　这只小精灵停下了脚步，不再喃喃自语，并且带着一种十分明显的不确定的神情开始感到惊讶。

　　“克瑞彻没看见小主人，”它转过头对弗来德鞠了一躬。仍然站在地毯边上，它用正好能听见的声音补充道，“这是一个血统叛徒的一个肮脏的乳臭未干的小孩子。”

　　“对不起？”乔治说道，“不要加上最后那点。”

　　“克瑞彻什么也没说，”小精灵向乔治第二个鞠躬，用一种清晰的低音补充道，“这是他的双胞胎兄弟，他们都是异乎寻常的小畜生。”

　　哈利不知道该笑还是不该笑。这只小精灵直起身体，眼睛充满恶意的瞪着他们，并且很显然的相信他们听不见它说话，所以它继续嘟噜着。

　　“…这里还有些小孩，厚颜无耻的站在这里，哦，如果我的女主人知道的话，哦，她会怎样尖叫啊，这里还有个新来的男孩，克瑞彻不知道他的名字。他来这里干什么？克瑞彻不知道…”

　　“这是哈利，克瑞彻，”荷米恩试探性的说道。“哈利波特。”

　　克瑞彻苍白的眼睛睁大了，它嘟噜的更快了，而且比刚才更加的愤怒。这个小孩正在象朋友一样的和克瑞彻说话，如果克瑞彻的女主人看见它这个样子的话，哦，她会说—”

　　“不要叫她乳臭未干的小孩！”罗恩和金妮同时愤怒的叫道。

　　“没关系的，”荷米恩小声说道，“它现在已经出神了，它不知道自己在说什么—”

　　“别骗你自己，荷米恩，它知道的很清楚自己在说些什么，”弗来德看见克瑞彻的脸上充满了厌恶。

　　克瑞彻还在嘟噜着，它的眼睛看着哈利。

　　“这是真的吗？这是哈利波特吗？克瑞彻能够看见那道伤疤，这一定是真的，就是这个小男孩阻止了黑暗公爵，克瑞彻怀疑他是怎么做到的—”

　　“放过我们大家吧，克瑞彻，”弗来德说道。

　　“不管怎么说，你在干什么？”乔治问道。

　　克瑞彻的大眼睛转向乔治。

　　“克瑞彻正在清洁，”它推脱的说道。

　　“一个合适的借口，”哈利身后一个声音说道。

　　天狼星已经回来了；他正在门口对着这只小精灵怒目而视。客厅里的吵闹声已经消失了；也许威斯里太太和蒙顿格斯已经把他们的战场移到了厨房。

　　看见了天狼星