"...You lit their kitchen on fire?"
"Of course I did! The Weasel matriarch's chicken was not frying properly! I just had to help!"
"..."
"I didn't know that flaming chickens disliked fire," Harry muttered petulantly.
"THAT WAS AMAZING!!!!"
"Sirius, why in Merlin's name are you here and not with the...flaming chickens?"
"It's charred chickens now, Tom!"
"...shut up, Harry."
"I'm here -oi, do shut up ickle godson of mine- because nothing was burnt and now the entire Order is up on my back about lifting nonexistent fire-extinguishing charms that they think have been instated on the estate!"
"..."
"Aw, Tom, don't give him that look! He's just a puppy!"
"Excuse me? My own godson? Insulting me???"
"Stop being so dramatic Black."
"By the way, Siri. Grimmauld isn't an estate."
"And there are no fire-extinguishing wards surrounding the Black Residence."
"But then what am I supposed to tell the Order?!" Sirius blubbered.
"You're supposed to tell them that, 'no Mrs. Weasley, Grimmauld Place has no such extinguishing wards. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be in my room thank you.'"
Sirius gave a sort of semi-salute before jumping unceremoniously into the fire and getting whisked away by a flurry of green flames and curse words.
"Now, are you going to tell me the real reason why you lit the kitchen on fire?"
"...shut up, Tom."
"Aww! Copying my words already, baby?"
Harry's face did not turn cherry red.
----------
"IT'S YOU!"
"Who knew you could be so dramatic, Potter," Harry deadpanned as he brushed past the irate, red-faced fat little blob of flesh.
"I know it's you! You lit it on fire! You're trying to undermine the Order! I bet you've gone Dark! I bet you're a spy for You-Know-Who! I bet you-"
"Do shut up."
Silencing spells were very handy when it came to such instances.
------------
For the next couple weeks until school started, Harry burnt exactly sixty-four items belonging to the Order and fireproofed the Black Family ancestral items.
He also muggle-proofed the Library.
He may have changed the wards so Granger couldn't get in.
But that didn't mean he had to let her know.
Alex Potter's futile cause for finding something that classified Harry as "Dark" was looking him in the face, but he still tried.
Key word: tried.
Sirius stayed out of Harry's business mostly out of fear for his sanity (not that he had much left) and spent most of his time being unhelpful to the Order, incurring Dumbledore's ire, and dropping by the Castle to annoy his cousins.
Molly Weasley scurried around making a disgrace of her born Family's name. Harry very much doubted that Ignatius Prewett and Lucretia Prewett (née Black) would be proud. Out of all the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and of all the belongings Harry set fire to, she had the most singed things (probably because she had the most things).
At least he succeeded in burning Weaselbee's Weasley sweater.
Speaking of the Weaselbee, Ronald Bilius Weasley was being the best (worst) stupid, brainless lackey that ever walked the Earth. He followed Alex's every order and hence was acting like some sort of really bad stalker to Harry.
Meaning that he tried to follow Harry and got caught.
Every.
Single.
Damn.
Time.
-----------
The sky was black, and the skeletal trees out on the plaza groaned and creaked under the wind's fury. A little light shone, bobbing, in between the trees.
Flicker in.
Flicker out.
Like a persistent candle that sputtered out just enough to lose its light and then regained its previous fervor when the wind finally had to take a breath.
The skittering of the leaves across the inlaid brick was just enough to muffle the sound of a snapping twig somewhere in the undergrowth.
Now, my dear reader, I wish you to imagine you are overlooking this scene and you have seen the cloaked figure by the inconsistent light of the lantern she carries, but you cannot determine who she is. You drift closer to her and soon, you determine a lock of curly black hair that slips out from under the hood but is just as quickly drawn back with a pale hand.
You must stop now, because she will be alerted of your presence due to the homenum revelio she has cast around the surrounding area. Bellatrix Lestrange is, after all, a fairly capable witch.
'What is she doing here, flitting between these bare trees for a look across the plaza?' you wonder.
Well, if you must know, she has come to kidnap one Horace Slughorn, the ex-Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master. The one man in the world who has the secret to Lord Voldemort's immortality lodged in his head.
It is your privilege as a reader to know that it is said man who Dumbledore has been visiting periodically for several months in order to cajole said information from him. So far, he has been unsuccessful (as he is with most things) but Bellatrix is here to eliminate any chance of him ever speaking a word about it to anyone.
Tom Riddle was Slughorn's favorite student.
Bellatrix, of course does not know half the things I have told you. All she knows is that her Lord has given her the order to take ex-Professor Slughorn out of his house alive and bring him to a room specially arranged for him in the Castle.
The witch only hopes he does not shy away from an ex-member of his Slug Club.
Which he probably will, she surmises, because she is a wanted Azkaban escapee and known Death Eater.
Wonderful.
----------
Horace Slughorn's house is a mess.
Bellatrix is disdainful as she picks up her skirts and gingerly moves forward into the room for fear of stepping on something less than pleasing for her feet. She feels around for a clear spot and stands, with her back to the open door so that her silhouette is projected imposingly into the interior.
She waits.
And waits.
And-
"Albus! I know it's you!" a reedy voice calls from the parlor. "I will tell you again that I will not accept the position!"
'What position?' Bellatrix wonders. But still, she has no time for such thoughts.
She gathers herself and opens the parlor door as serenely as she can.
"No, Professor. But, I do hope your hospitality will extend to me."
Slughorn stilled.
He was a pudgy man with a ring of graying hair on his otherwise shiny bald head. He had bushy gray eyebrows that Bellatrix knew to move this way and that when he lectured his classes. And though wrinkles creased his face, Bellatrix was struck by the realization that he looked very similar to what she remembered.
"A-Albus?"
"No, sir."
The "sir" slipped out naturally from seven years of calling him that.
"Gwenog? Gwenog Jones?" his voice was quieter, but a hint of dread lay in its layers.
"No, sir."
There was silence for a moment and all Bellatrix could hear was the fire, crackling and popping in the hearth.
Then, a whispered word.
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
She knew that he had known from the moment she stepped in the room and from the sound of a voice he had thought he would never hear again.
"So you have finally found me."