Book: Courage
Chapter 60
Word Count: 6279
Layla's eyes betrayed her as she found herself taking a quick glance in Harry's direction. He looked thinner and more miserable than Layla had ever seen him. Apart of her felt bad, but then she remembered her conversation at the end of last year and she frowned, quickly looking away from him.
"You guys done shouting? It's rather annoying."
"'Ello, LayLay," Fred grinned. Layla nodded back in greeting, wanting nothing more than to leave the same room that Harry was in. She only came up so he would know that she was there and that it was her house.
"Your hair," Harry muttered in surprise. It took him a minute to even realise that it was Layla. Not only was her hair different, but her clothes and makeup were bolder than the kind of things she usually wore. She'd grown an inch or two and looked skinnier than usual, much like Harry.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you talking to me?" snapped Layla without bothering to look in his direction again. Ron and Hermione exchanged awkward glances.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, even though he had no idea what he was apologising for. "What are you doing here?"
"This is my house," said Layla, finally turning to look at Harry.
"Oh," Harry's eyes widened slightly. "It's nice..."
"Mm-hmm," Layla hummed in response, rolling her eyes, before she turned to Fred and George. "It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, your mum has gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."
"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.
"Tonks told me how to find out," said Layla. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact, the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."
Fred heaved a deep sigh.
"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."
"Snape!" said Harry quickly, tearing his eyes away from Layla, whom he'd been staring at miserably. "Is he here?"
"Yeah," said George. "Giving a report. Top secret."
"Git," said Fred idly.
"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.
Ron snorted, "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us."
"Bill doesn't like him, either," said Ginny, walking into the room after overhearing the last part of the conversation. She glanced at Harry, but she didn't blush and rush off like she used to. Instead, she smiled at him. "Oh, hello, Harry! I thought I heard your voice."
"At the volume he was yelling, it'd be rather hard not to," Layla muttered to Ginny, causing the redhead to chuckle.
"Is Bill here?" Harry asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt?"
"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations."
"What d'you mean?"
"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish—"
"And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons,' sniggered Fred.
"Don't be mean to her," said Layla with a roll of her eyes. "She's sweet. Fleur has actually been writing to me quite a bit this summer."
"Aw, you've got a new bestie," Fred teased, causing Layla to land a slap on the back of his head.
"Charlie's in the Order, too," said George, "but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."
"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. At Harry's words, all the Weasleys, Layla, and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.
"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.
"Why not?"
"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.
"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.
"I think we're well shot of him," said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.
"What's happened?" Harry said.
"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts."
"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."
"You're kidding?" said Harry.
"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain."
"So how come they promoted him?"
"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."
"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.
"Why not?" said Harry.
"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said Layla. She wasn't interested in talking to Harry in the slightest, but she felt awkward just standing there and not saying anything, so she at least tried to join in with the conversation.
"Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."
"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George. "Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession."
"But what's that got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.
"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."
Harry let out a low whistle.
"Bet Percy loved that."
Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.
"He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know— I mean—"
"He means poor," Layla cut in with a roll of her eyes. "Percy had a full-on go at Mr Weasley and basically blamed him for them being poor."
"What?" said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.
"And it got worse," said Ron in a low voice. "He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."
"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron dully. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."
"But Percy must know Voldemort's back,' said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof."
"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and... I dunno... he didn't think it was good enough."
"Because Percy is an utter twa—" Layla began, but was interrupted by Hermione.
"Language!"
"Come on, 'Mione, you know he is," said Layla. "He's acting as if Ced's death was an accident! Like Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew didn't mercilessly end his life! Who else would Percy believe did that?!"
Everyone except Harry winced at the use of Voldemort's name, but Layla didn't seem to care much about the name as she would last year. Not since Voldemort and his little slave killed her first love.
"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.
'Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?' Hermione asked nervously.
"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.
"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?' Hermione asked, still more anxiously.
"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort, it would be headline news, wouldn't it?"
The others, minus Layla, flinched at the sound of the name once again.
Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week."
"But I'd have seen—"
"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."
"What d'you—?"
"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm. "They're just building on Rita's stuff."
"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"
"Oh, no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."
With a sigh, Layla realised that the conversation was all about Harry once again. Harry this, Harry that. Not wanting to stand there and hear his name anymore, she turned and headed out of the room, not thinking that anyone would notice her departure if they were in the same room as the famous Harry Potter. But everyone did notice, exchanging saddened looks and wondering if one of them should go after her, before eventually going back to their conversation.
Layla sat on her bed, fiddling with hair pink and brown hair and stroking Peaches and wondering when her dad would be home. He'd been gone on certain missions and meetings since very early in the morning.
At that thought, her bedroom door opened and—
Speak of the devil.
"Hello, honey."
"Dad!" Layla stood up from her bed to hug Remus. "You're back! I was just thinking about when you'd be home."
"Well, it's been a tiring day," Remus chuckled. Then, he finally took a longer glance at his daughter, his eyes travelling to her hair. His smile faltered and his eyes widened. "Layla Nova Lupin! What have you done to your hair?!"
"Calm down, it's just a little hair dye. I needed a change!" said Layla with a shrug, and then she frowned sadly. "Don't you like it?"
"I mean, it — it looks beautiful," said Remus, his eyes softening slightly at the frown on his daughter's face, before he realised what she was doing. "No, you can't always expect me to fall for that little look, Layla. You have changed your appearance without even asking me."
"Come on, I'll be sixteen in four months," Layla groaned. "Do I always have to ask your permission for everything?"
"Yes, you do. I'm your dad," said Remus. He let out a sigh. "Why would you change how you look? Your hair is beautiful now, but it was so much more beautiful natural. Are you alright? You've never been so spontaneous before."
"I swear I've never felt better," Layla effortlessly lied, walking over to sit on her bed and plastering on a fake smile.
"If you say so," muttered Remus, but he'd known his daughter all of her life. He knew when she was lying. "Come on, dinner's ready."
"I ate," said Layla. Another lie. But again, Remus noticed.
"Actually, I spoke to Molly. She tells me you haven't eaten today. Let's go downstairs and get you some food."
Layla sighed, realising that Remus wasn't going to leave her alone until she ate something.
"I am not in the mood to see anyone, really. Can you just bring something up to me then?"
"Sure, sweetheart," said Remus before leaving the room. He returned two minutes later with a plate of sausages and mashed potatoes. "Here you go."
"Thanks, dad," Layla shot her dad another fake smile and watched him leave the room again. Once Remus had closed the door behind him, Layla dropped the smile and cut the sausages into smaller pieces. "Peaches, Willow. Dinner."
Peaches and Willow happily headed over and began feeding on Layla's food. Layla then picked up a few of pieces of sausage, walking over to Apollo and sliding the sausages into his cage.
She placed a hand on her stomach and sighed. She decided to get some sleep. Since this was her home and she simply had a large bunch of people invading it, Remus had let Layla keep her room to herself. At first, he had asked Layla if both Ginny and Hermione could sleep in her room with her so that they had more space for the others who would occasionally sleep round, but as much as Layla loved the girls, her bedroom was like her fortress and she wasn't willing to share it.
The next morning, Layla found herself being woken up by a loud knock on the door. Ginny peaked her head in.
"Morning, Lay. My mum says breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs us in the drawing room, there are loads more Doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead Puffskeins under the sofa."
"Seriously?" Layla groaned, sitting up and stretching. "I understand that your mum likes things clean, but you do realise that that's just a personal dig at me, my dad, and Siri, right? I try to clean up a bit when I'm here during the holidays but I can't always get around to deep-cleaning this entire house. It's huge! Besides, it's not my fault that our house-elf isn't helpful in the slightest. Kreacher is useless!"
"I know. Ignore my mum. I like your house," Ginny chuckled. "Come on, get dressed and come down for breakfast."
"I'm too tired to eat," Layla smoothly came up with an excuse for not wanting to have breakfast. "But I'll get dressed now and come down soon to help clean."
"Okay," Ginny nodded and left the room. Layla stood up to get changed.
Half an hour later, Layla entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in tapestries. Mrs Weasley, Layla, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George 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. Doxycide.
Sirius then entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats.
"I've just been out feeding Buckbeak," he added, in reply to Layla's enquiring look. "Anyway... this writing desk..."
He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair, 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 shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother, it could be something much worse."
"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs Weasley.
A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails.
"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 filth..."
"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs Weasley. She then crouched down 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!"
Layla 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. Layla 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. Layla picked it up, scrunching her nose up in distaste, and threw it in the bucket.
"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"
Layla 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 Layla under his breath.
The twins had already informed her all about their plans for their Skiving Snackboxes, which were a range of sweets to make you a bit ill to get you out of class. The twins had already promised Layla that she'd be the first one who could use them once they knew that the snackboxes were a success. Anything to get Layla out of fifth year potions.
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. At the foot of the curtains, unconscious Doxys lay crammed in the bucket beside a bowl of their black eggs, at which Crook-shanks was now sniffing and Fred and George were shooting covetous looks.
The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley.
"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs Black's 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 sack 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..."
"Neither do I," said Layla, staring bitterly at the place she'd just seen Mundungus. "Bringing those things into my home. I bloody hate him."
"Don't we all?" Fred chuckled slightly. 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 Shacklebolt. 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—"
"No need," Layla scoffed. "Listen."
So, everybody listened, and sure enough, they could perfectly hear Mrs Weasley 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 Mrs Black again," said Layla with a roll of her eyes. 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.
Acting as though it was the only thing in the room, 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, adding in a clear undertone, "and there its twin, unnataral little beasts they are."
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 the werewolf's daughter, my new mistress, with the unnatural hair, such a miserable girl she is, very rude. How my proper mistress would cry if she saw how my new mistress was treating poor Kreacher. 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—"
"Kreacher, we've talked about this! You don't go around calling muggle-borns such names!" said Layla, very angrily.
"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's—"
"Stop defending him, 'Mione. He knows exactly what he's saying. I'm all for being kind to house-elves, but Kreacher here is barely an elf. He is just a nosy little git who can't keep his big mouth shut," said Layla, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike. "Go do your job and clean something instead of expecting everybody else to do your work for you!"
Hermione gasped quietly, upset that Layla was speaking to a house-elf in such a way.
Kreacher, however, ignored Layla. Despite her being titled his new mistress by Sirius when she and Remus came to live with him, Kreacher had barely ever seen Layla as his mistress and had merely thought of her as the strange girl staying in the house.
Kreacher's 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," Layla scoffed at the same time that somebody else said those exact same words. Layla looked over to see that it was Sirius.
Sirius 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.
"Now, what are you up to?" said Sirius impatiently.
"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 Mistress 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."
The look Kreacher 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.
"Sure, he leaves when you ask him, but not when I do," said Layla bitterly. Sirius turned and the impatient look on his face turned into a smile.
"I guess he simply respects me more," he said, reaching over to ruffle Layla's dyed hair.
"You wish. He hates you more than he hates me," Layla chuckled quietly, fixing her hair.
"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. Layla and the others followed.
The tapestry looked immensely old; it 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 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.
"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 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 Layla.
"Yeah," said Sirius. "Stupid idiot... he joined the Death Eaters."
"You're kidding!" exclaimed Harry.
"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?" Layla asked. It was the first time she was hearing the story about Sirius' father. He rarely spoke of them.
"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 Layla 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. Of course, he sometimes addresses you as his Mistress on my command since I see you and your dad as my family."
"Tonks mentioned something about being related to you, now that I think about it," said Layla.
"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. Layla, however, did not laugh; she 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 Layla 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..." Layla said aloud.
"They're in Azkaban," said Sirius shortly.
Layla 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. Bellatrix is my cousin, but as far as I'm concerned, she's not my family. I haven't seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban."
Sirius turned away from the tapestry, his hands deep in his pockets. He heaved a great sigh, cast a dark look at the tapestry, then he and Layla went to join the others.
Layla, however, didn't eat. It wasn't as if she didn't want to eat, but the thought of food had been making her feel sick to her stomach since the start of summer to the point where she'd only have a single apple a week.
After everyone had finished eating, Layla managed to come up with a very good excuse to Mrs Weasley to get out of cleaning some more, and instead, headed up to her room. There, she grabbed a parchment, quill, and ink, beginning to write a quick letter.
Amos,
Thank you for your last letter. I am glad that you and your wife are doing a little better, but then again, I don't blame you for not being okay. I am feeling the exact same.
I appreciate you wanting me to meet your wife, and as you said, visiting your home would be lovely, but I don't think I can. Please don't take this the wrong way, Amos, because I would love to come and visit you, but seeing your home would only remind me of the plans that Ced and I had made to return to your home together this summer, and instead, I am trapped in my own home, miserable and missing him dearly. However, I will try and visit you and your wife before school starts back up again.
It would be Ced's last year in school, wouldn't it? I wish I could've seen him graduate. He would be so proud of himself.
Your son was everything to me, just as he was everything to you, and I am thankful that I am not alone in missing him every day, though I sincerely hope that you and your wife will be able to recover in your own way from the loss of Ced.
Just remember, Ced wouldn't want us to be unhappy. He'd want us to never forget him, but he'd also want us to be happy.
However, I should really be saying those words to myself, but no words could ever bring me out of the loneliness I've been feeling.
I hope you and your wife are well and I hope to hear from you again soon.
Sincerely,
Layla Lupin
With a sigh, Layla sealed the letter in an envelope and took Apollo out of his cage, handing it to the owl with instructions on where to go, and watching Apollo saw out of her bedroom window.