Author's Notes:
If someone could leave a review explaining how exactly to reply to an individual review, rather than having to put it in my notes, that'd be great. I know it can be done, I just don't know how.
In other news, I got the sling off my arm today, which means I can type quickly enough to compose at the keyboard. Hopefully I'll be able to finish up some more chapters before I catch up to myself, though I undoubtedly shall reach the point where I've not got another chapter written when it's time to post, but that's at least… four days from now.
Chapter Seven: The House of Black No More
It was a few more days before Hermione was able to make good on her threat. In the meantime, of course, there was plenty to do. As busy as everyone else was, most of Harry's time consisted of hiding in Grimmauld Place from all of the people who wanted to talk to him. Most of the time, he sat staring into the flames of the fireplace. Much of that time, as Hermione bustled through the kitchen and rooms adjacent, she would bring him something to eat. Originally, it was regular snacks - Chocolate Frogs, Every Flavour Beans. After the first day or two, Harry noticed she was bringing him things that were no longer staples of his junk food diet, and that he had not even known were in the house.
All in all, it was not anything approaching flavorful, but he was hungry enough to eat it. Until about the fourth day.
"Gah!" Harry spit whatever it was Hermione had given him out, and it the stack of owl-post addressed to him that he was refusing to open. The stack tilted towards the fire and Harry's wand was out in a second. "Immobulus!" The stack frozen in mid-fall, but rather than fix it, he merely reached out absently and turned it so that when the spell wore off and it fell, it would just fall away from the flames. "What was that, Hermione?" he glared at her accusingly.
Delighted at first to get some reaction from him, Hermione was shocked at the expression on his face. Lupin had not said her cooking was that bad. "It's not that bad. Lupin liked them!" She tried extremely hard not to burst into tears at his lack of appreciation of her efforts. He had only eaten when she had brought him food, and she had become increasingly worried as their supplies dwindled to the level of nothing they were at now.
"Tonight's a full moon. You know he'll eat anything the week before it happens," Harry snapped back.
That comment broke her resolve. She had been trying so hard to snap him out of his depressive state, only to get yelled at when she did. Hermione collapsed to the floor in tears, her worry about her best friend overflowing, her skirt floofing out at the abrupt movement and bunching up to reveal more of her leg than normal.
Harry swallowed at the sight of the creamy white skin of her thigh, then pushed the totally inappropriate thought away to slide down on the floor next to the witch he loved. She started to withdraw from him and he paused, not wanting to hurt her more. "I'm sorry, 'Mione."
At that, she leaned into him, still crying and Harry squeezed her in his arms. He, intelligently, said nothing. After a moment, she started talking, as he had known she would. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know I can't cook, but…" the sobs got the best of her for a moment. "You… you and Lupin weren't doing anything and I… we needed some food."
Harry nodded and squeezed again. "I know, I know. I'm sorry too, Hermione." He tilted her head with his hand so she was looking up at him. "I promise to cook from now on, since I, at least, learned how." His forced smile tried very hard to make light of the fact he had been a virtual slave at the Dursley's.
Hermione smiled sadly up at him. "Thank you." Her smile grew a little wider. "If you can find anything to cook."
In surprise, though he should not have been if he had thought about it, Harry blinked. "So that was the last thing in the cupboard, huh?" At her nod, the questioning continued. "What was it?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. It was all that was left, so I didn't look at it."
Pushing off the floor, he stood, offering her his hand to help her up, when Tonks came crashing out of the fireplace. Tonks attempted to nimbly avoid the half risen Hermione, with the only problem of despite an athletic build and small frame, Tonks was quite possibly the clumsiest person Harry knew.
They all ended up back on the floor in a confused pile. Harry found himself on the bottom, Hermione's knee uncomfortably close to his groin, and a face full of wild pink hair. "Wotcher, Harry, Hermione. Sorry."
"It's okay, Tonks," Hermione replied, sounding oddly muffled until Harry realized Tonks' body was smashing her face into his chest. Tonks, for all her clumsiness, rolled smoothly off the pair and to her feet.
"Hermione, watch your…"
"Hermione, don't…"
Harry and Tonks began at the same time, to unfortunately be cut off by a yowl as Hermione moved and kneed Harry. "Oh no, Harry," she cried, dropping back down to hug him, straightening her leg out carefully and Lupin came into the room.
"What's all the noi…" he began and broke off, taking in the scene of Hermione laying on Harry, both on the floor, she straddling the young wizard's thigh with her skirt shifted indecently high on her legs. "I didn't know you two were so close," he commented lightly, trying to hide confusion among a myriad of other emotions, at this, the second time he had come across them in recent days in a compromising position.
Hermione pushed herself upright quickly enough at that comment, blushing, smoothing her skirt down as best she could. Tonks' laughter did not help at all, as she pulled Lupin out of the room, starting to explain it to him.
Hermione looked down contritely at Harry. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to."
Harry nodded, the pain beginning to fade from his face. As Hermione helped him stand gingerly to his feet, Crookshanks streaked into the room, buzzing loudy. He jumped, and a startled Hermione let go of Harry's hand in surprise to catch her bounding pet. The young wizard stumbled backwards, but managed not to fall over again, glaring at the cat. With effected dignity, he smiled. "Let's go see what it was you made to eat, Hermione."
When he took the first step towards the kitchen with obvious discomfort, Hermione grimaced slightly. "Are you sure you're okay, Harry?"
He nodded. "I've been hurt worse during Quidditch." His reply only made her hate the game even more, despite knowing how important it was to her friend. He continued towards the kitchen, and picked up the tin off the counter. He burst out laughing after a second. "Hermione, how hungry were you?"
"Pretty hungry," she replied suspiciously. "Why?"
"Cause this must be either left over from when Sirius was here or even before that." His expression tightened briefly, tearing Hermione's heart with his horrid pain before the laughter returned to his eyes.
"Sirius?" she questioned, confused. And then jokingly, "What is it, dog food?"
When Harry failed to respond with the appropriate negative, she dropped Crookshanks, who clawed her skirt from hip to hem without breaking the skin to arrest his fall as the young witch extended her arms and rushed forward to take the can from Harry's outstretched hand. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."
He grinned. "No wonder Lupin liked it."
Hermione giggled, dropping her eyes down. Which is when she observed how much leg she was showing thanks to a certain ginger furred creature. "That blasted animal," she exclaimed.
Harry, of course, looked down and grinned. "I like it," he said, trying to hold back a laugh.
Hermione looked up at him and glared. "You would." Then under her breath, soft enough Harry would have to pretend not hear, but loud enough he would, she muttered, "Boys."
Harry pulled out his wand and waved it in the direction of the torn fabric. "Reparo." The skirt quickly knit itself back together.
Hermione glared at Harry's wand, then at Harry. "We're going shopping." Then realizing the time, she added. "Tomorrow."
Harry merely nodded, having expected it, and then looked into thin air. "Kreacher!" he called, summoning the recalcitrant house-elf.
"Foul mudblood and half-breeds, let into Mistress' house, poisoning the air," it was muttering as it walked in. "Yes, Master." The total lack of subservience and inflection made Kreacher's opinion of the new state of affairs in the House of Black perfectly clear.
"Is there any food in this house?"
"No," he replied, then turned, and as he walked away, added in and undertone, "Filthy mudblood slut, blood traitors and half-breeds have eaten it all."
Hermione turned beat red at the first comment, and she grabbed for Harry's wand. With his reflexes honed by playing Seeker, he stopped her before she could do anything rash. "Calm down. You know he's not right in the head. We'll go eat at one of the nearby muggle restaurants."
The young witch nodded, relaxing. "Okay. But you're taking a shower first."
Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. "It has been a while, hasn't it?" After she nodded, he padded into the hallway, and screams began from the entry hall. Harry had completely forgotten about the portrait of Sirius' mother until that moment, but it was a clear and loud reminder. He ran into the hall, Hermione on his heels. "Shut up," he snarled at the picture. Fortunately, the shock of his order paused the screaming long enough for him to wrench the curtains closed. He turned to Hermione. "While I get a shower, would you go take all the other pictures down?" Seeing the gleam in Harry's eyes, she nodded. This was the old Harry back, and she was going to do whatever it took to keep him here.
Twenty minutes later, they regrouped in front of Misses Black's sleeping portrait, Harry holding two large kitchen knives, one of which he handed to Hermione. Her eyes met his in total agreement, then watched as he counted down from three with his fingers.
When he reached zero, they peeled back the curtains, and a startled picture was greeted with the sound of ripping canvas. The sharp knives made two swift cuts each, and the canvas easily peeled from the frame. "Should've been more careful," Hermione said to the picture as they pulled it loose. "If you wanted to stay, you should've stuck the canvas not the frame."
The screams which continued to be heard once the painting was rolled up sounded decidedly odd, and Harry noticed Kreacher wandering in, for once, completely silent, to watch what was occurring. The young wizard smiled at Hermione. "Would you like to do the honors?"
At her nod, he passed his wand to her, and with a grin, she shouted "Incendio!" The canvas burst into flames. There was a thump from behind them as Kreacher dropped dead as the painting burned. Neither of them registered just what exactly had happened, though.
After there was nothing left but ash, Hermione waved the extinguishing spell, then handed the wand back to Harry. He waved the wand with a mutter cleaning spell as he distractedly turned towards Kreacher. Hermione was already kneeling at the elf's side, feeling for a pulse. Harry knelt beside her. "Well?" He tried not to sound expectant.
She looked at Harry. "I don't feel a pulse. I think we killed him."
Harry forced himself not to smile at the idea. "How do you know he should have a pulse?" he questioned reasonably. "Or even that you're looking in the right place?"
Hermione half turned towards him. "I…"
"…read it in a book," he finished with her, smiling gently, so only a little color flared in her cheeks. "While you were researching for SPEW?"
She nodded. "Yes." She stood slowly, and Harry rose with her. "What do we do with him?" she asked Harry.
He shrugged. "No idea. We could just leave him until Tonks deals with it." Hermione made a face. "Alright, we'll put him one of the chairs in the living room." He pulled his wand out, and sent the small dead body floating down the hall in front of him. He returned once the elf was put away. "Shall we go?"
Hermione nodded, and out they went, leaving behind the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black finally devoid of the last reminders of what it had once been.