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 and Delilah, "so try not to wake her up."
Delilah didn't believe that, but didn't argue. It wasn't worth it.
Hermione bid them goodnight before heading to their room, Delilah following in her wake.
On her way Delilah grabbed her bag, which she had left in the hall as no one had seen fit to tell her where she was sleeping.
As soon as Hermione opened the door Ginny, who had been sitting on her bed, jumped up.
"What happened? What did they tell you?" she immediately asked.
"It's your mum's decision, not ours. I don't think we should tell you," Hermione stated as she closed and bolted the door.
"I think it's fine," Delilah argued. "Most of it was obvious anyway, except that one bit."
Hermione bit her lip but nodded.
"I suppose that's true... ok. I guess it doesn't hurt anyone."
Ginny grinned at Delilah.
"Basically Voldy is trying to get more followers and they're trying to convince people he's back. Oh, and Sirius said that Voldy's trying to get something he didn't have last time, and everyone freaked, so it must be important," Delilah summarized. "Hermione, why did you bolt the door?"
Shrugging, Ginny answered, "Kreacher, sometimes he comes wandering in at night unless we bolt the door."
"Creep," Delilah murmured. Hermione bristled.
"It's not his fault, he's used to no one being here, it's a lot for him to take in."
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Come off it, 'mione, he's a lunatic."
Hermione bristled but didn't argue.
A long time later, after they all had silently got ready for bed, Delilah was still awake, staring at the ceiling. She wished she was already at school. She wished she could apparate like Fred and George. She wouldn't be able to apparate inside Hogwarts grounds, but maybe she'd go to Hogsmeade, or even Diagon Alley. She would be able to do her own thing and not worry about Harry or Voldemort.
Sighing, she rolled over. Those thoughts were no good. She was stuck in Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The next morning everyone grouped in the drawing room. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, and Delilah were standing around the buzzing curtains with cloths tied around their noses and mouths when Harry entered the room. Of course, with everything he did, everyone's attention immediately turned to him.
"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 —"
Despite Hermione's face cloth, Delilah was positive she was sending Mrs. Weasley a reproachful look.
"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 response to all the confused looks. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway... this writing desk..."
He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Delilah noticed, 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 quite plainly told 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 back 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 dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth..."
"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley.
Harry slowly closed the door, obviously trying to eavesdrop.
Mrs. Weasley bent over to check the page on doxies in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.
"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies 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 paralyze 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!"
They had only been spraying for a few seconds when the doxies came flying out. Delilah sprayed the ones that came near her. Suddenly she was glad she had made Midnight stay in her room.
Delilah laughed as she saw Fred and George trying to smuggle some into their pockets. Unfortunately Mrs. Weasley noticed them as well.
"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"
"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 explained under his breath.
Delilah nodded. Their venom could be helpful for those.
Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "What are Skiving Snackboxes?"
Delilah moved away. She already knew what they were, so instead she focused on the task, purposefully leaving some on the floor just outside of Mrs. Weasley's range of sight for Fred or George to pick up.
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 doxies 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 Delilah could not understand and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what looked like blood. In fact, it probably was.
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 onto 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 again. "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 gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.
The elf took absolutely no notice of Delilah and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of the room, muttering under its breath all the while 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 in 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 then 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 facing 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, unnatural little beasts they are."
Delilah stared. She didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all very 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 and girl, Kreacher doesn't know their names, what are they doing here, Kreacher doesn't know..." the
"This is Delilah and Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Delilah and 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 that 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 onto George.
"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.
"A likely story," said a voice behind Delilah. Sirius had come back; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway.
The noise in the hall had abated; Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus had probably moved their argument down into the kitchen. At the sight of Sirius, 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," Sirius snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."
Kreacher bowed again and said, "Whatever Master says," then 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 redolent 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, and he slammed the door shut on the elf.
"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione pleadingly, "I don't think he realizes 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 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, where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Delilah and the others followed.
The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies 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 the Middle Ages, maybe even earlier.
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 astutely, 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, staring at him.
Delilah and the others waited awkwardly in the background.
"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 during 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. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."
"But... why did you...?"
"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran a hand 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. Wow. His observation skills were outstanding.
"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 purebloods in charge. They weren't alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, 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.
Delilah went for the food. Let Sirius and Harry have a bonding moment, it wasn't like she cared. Lies, lies, and lies.
She moved over to Fred and George.
"How're the boxes coming along?" she quietly asked.
They both nodded.
"Good, just need to find a way to make the Puking Pastilles give you time to swallow the other half," Fred answered.
"We're having a hard time figuring it out though. We will eventually," George added.
She nodded. That made sense. She had been wondering about that as well.
"Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any food left," Mrs. Weasley called to Sirius and Harry, interrupting their conversation.
Delilah didn't have time to ask Fred and George more questions while they emptied the glass cabinets that afternoon. It 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 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."
He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Delilah saw George wrap his 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; also 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 that made Harry look aghast. Honestly, it was as if he had never heard them. Then again, he probably hadn't.
He hadn't been in the Slytherin Common Room after all, other than in their second year.
"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 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 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 Mudbloods 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 Delilah 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 he never stayed long; Delilah also caught sight of her Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, though 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 Remus, 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 passersby.
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.
Delilah was glad for something to do. Sure it was painful, she had gotten many infected scratches — Mrs. Weasley had to care for most of them — and plenty more bruises and scabs.
At least she wasn't as stressed as Harry. It was obvious he wasn't sleeping well, but he refused to admit it or accept help. Delilah didn't remind him that the Ministry couldn't expel him, it would just remind him of the hearing, a topic he desperately tried to avoid.
Wednesday, the day before the hearing, Delilah was positive she would have to be the one to pop Harry's bubble. No one else seemed able. At dinner Mrs. Weasley proved her wrong.
"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," Mrs. Weasley said.
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all stopped talking and looked over at Harry. He nodded and tried to keep eating his chops, 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.
"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.
Delilah didn't know what they were talking about, but she assumed it had something to do with Sirius's house ban and the hearing. He probably wanted to escort Harry. Even though she didn't like Sirius that much, Harry did, and if Sirius walked into the Ministry they would catch him. Probably at least, they were all idiots.... But Dumbledore was right. It was too risky. Even biased gits could be smart.
He came last night, when you were in bed," said Mr. Weasley. Sirius stabbed moodily at a potato with his fork. Harry dropped his own eyes to his plate. Delilah narrowed her eyes. Why would Dumbledore not even talk to Harry? The night before his hearing nonetheless?
Delilah pushed her questions away. There was no use wondering what couldn't be answered.