Chapter 9: A Grim Discovery
Harry awoke to a slight weight on his chest. He blinked in confusion, unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there, and then sat up abruptly. The weight on his chest fell away and he could now see the blurry figure of Hermione sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. She pulled her hand back slowly and he realised that must have been the weight he had felt.
"Harry?" she asked softly. "How are you feeling?"
Harry could feel some sort of damp fabric tied around his neck and he reached up remove it, but Hermione stilled his hand with her own. "It's soaked in anti-venom. You have to leave it on for a little while longer," she explained.
Harry stared at her for a moment, slowly remembering the events of the afternoon. His wild search for Kreacher… the bite from the doxies… and then Hermione's panicked face…
"Why is everything blurry?" he asked thickly. There was an awful pressure behind his forehead and he felt disoriented and slow.
She plucked his spectacles off the bedside table and pressed them into his palm. He slid them back on and immediately the room around him returned to focus. "Thanks," he said.
"How are you feeling?" Hermione repeated.
"A bit embarrassed that I was brought down by doxies," he muttered.
Hermione's worried frown gave way to an exasperated look. "Harry, you know doxies can be incredibly dangerous, especially when their territory is disturbed. You're lucky we had anti-venom in the house, or you would have had to go to St. Mungo's for treatment," she declared. After a moment, her face became pensive and she peered at him curiously. "Harry, when those doxies attacked, you… did something. You knocked them away, somehow. Do you remember?"
Harry stared at her blankly, wondering what she was on about. "I don't really remember much after I was bitten."
Hermione was still giving him a strange look as if she wanted to question him further, but then she looked down at her lap and seemed to let it go. "Never mind," she sighed. "Here - you should drink some water."
She handed him a glass decanter that had been sitting on the bedside table and he drank from it greedily. When he had swallowed the whole thing, she took it back from him and something in her face softened. "Do you want some more? I can go get some."
She moved to stand, but Harry's hand snapped out and encircled her wrist, tugging her back down beside him. "We need to find Kreacher," Harry stated. His voice was low and hard.
"Harry…" Hermione began hesitantly, "if you find Kreacher, what do you intend to do?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," Harry admitted. "I just know we need to find him."
"Harry, I know what he did was unforgivable, and what happened to Sirius was so- so horrifying, and I'm very angry at Kreacher, too," Hermione breathed out in a rush, "but he didn't know better, did he? He was raised in this awful house, and enslaved, too… and I'm not excusing what he did, Harry, so please don't think that, but you mustn't act rashly if you find him, because-"
Harry tightened his fingers on her wrist and she stilled immediately. "Hermione, you don't know how angry I am at Kreacher for the role he played in Sirius's murder," Harry said quietly. "But I'm not looking for him to punish him, or- or to get revenge. I want to find him because he's working against us. He could be plotting anything, and he's already found a way to get past the enchantment preventing house elves from harming their masters, so that's clearly no obstacle. Not only that, but he must have somehow known Voldemort's plan for me. How else could he have played his part so perfectly? Someone must be in his ear - and it's not someone friendly to us."
At his words, Hermione's eyes widened in growing alarm. "I- I hadn't really thought about that, but oh, Harry, you're right. You must be right. How could he have known…?"
"We have to search this house from top to bottom until we find him," Harry instructed gravely.
"Professor Lupin is looking right now, actually," Hermione revealed. She glanced towards the closed door of the room. "I had to wake him up when you- when you passed out. You were much too heavy for me to move on my own, so he brought you up here to his room. When he asked what happened, I told him what you were doing, and Harry, he looked murderous. He's been making a horrible racket searching for him. I had to shut the door so you could rest."
Harry could not help but feel slightly relieved to hear this information. Despite his words to Hermione, he wasn't sure what he might be capable of if he found the treacherous house-elf. Harry didn't know if he wanted to find out - it was probably better all around if Remus were to find Kreacher first.
Harry moved to slide out of bed, but Hermione pressed her free hand down on the centre of his chest. "Harry, you really should rest some more," Hermione implored. "The anti-venom needs time to work through your system. It's only been four hours-"
"Four hours?" Harry parroted incredulously. "I've been out for four hours? It's going to be nightfall soon! Remus needs to be locked in the basement and then he won't be able to keep searching."
"Harry!" Hermione snapped. "Please calm down. I'll find Remus and I'll help him into the basement. Then I can look for Kreacher."
"If you think I'm going to let you search for him on your own, you've gone round the twist," Harry said darkly.
Hermione looked halfway between pleased and offended. "I'm perfectly capable-"
"Hermione, I know you're capable," Harry interjected. "You're the most capable witch I know. But I still wouldn't let you do something like this on your own. It's too dangerous. House elves are powerful creatures - I've seen Dobby knock Lucius Malfoy clear across a hallway without much effort."
Hermione was staring at Harry's hand still wrapped around her wrist. Her cheeks were slightly pink. "Then we'll just have to postpone the search until you're well again so we can look together."
"Hermione, I can't lay here in bed when Kreacher could be lurking around doing who knows what. I'm perfectly fine, anyway. You obviously took good care of me." To prove his point, Harry let go of her wrist and stood up smoothly beside the bed. He rapped his fist against the centre of his chest as if to demonstrate his health. "See?" he said.
"Harry," Hermione sighed and stood up, as well. She caught his eye and gave him a stern look. "If you start to feel light-headed, you have to promise you'll tell me. I mean it."
Harry nodded. "All right. Let's go find Remus."
This did not prove difficult. The moment Hermione opened the bedroom door they were able to hear a muffled clattering from the floor below them. They turned together and tracked the sound down the stairs into a small room just off the landing. Inside, there were piles of old things covered in patterned sheets to protect them from dust. On the far side of the room, Remus took hold of a sheet and ripped it into the air like a magician revealing his trick. When he saw there was nothing but an old lamp underneath, he dropped it carelessly and moved on to another.
"Professor Lupin," Hermione called gently.
The werewolf jerked his head up and, for a moment, Harry saw a strange, mad look in his eye. But that quickly vanished when he realised who was speaking.
"Oh. Hermione," Remus said and straightened to look at them, "and Harry, too, I see. Good to see you up and about. You frightened poor Hermione here out of her wits."
Harry turned to see Hermione flushing slightly. "I didn't mean to," he apologised, feeling a bit guilty that he had not noticed.
"Well… I don't blame you for your single-mindedness," Remus confessed stonily. "I'm ashamed that I haven't put any thought into Kreacher's whereabouts before now. After everything that's happened- my thoughts have been so scattered lately."
Harry understood this feeling quite well. He nodded his agreement. "Remus, have you had any luck? I checked most of these rooms already, but I was- well, I probably wasn't too thorough."
A scowl passed over Remus's face and he lifted another sheet to check underneath. "I haven't seen the slightest trace of that foul creature," he growled. "But he must be here somewhere, Harry. You are the house's master now. He cannot leave without your permission - very powerful magic prevents it."
Hermione looked deeply surprised by Remus's casual assertion that Harry owned Grimmauld Place, and she pinned Harry with a look that clearly wondered when he might have shared this with her. Harry winced slightly.
"Have you tried the attic, yet?" he asked, turning back to Remus. "I haven't been in there. Or the library either, now that I think on it."
"Or the basement," Hermione reminded significantly. "Professor, the sun will be going down soon. You need to get ready."
Remus looked shocked and stilled as if he were sensing how near it was to rising of the moon. "I- yes, you're right. I lost track of time… I'd best go right now."
Quietly, the three made their way down to the kitchen. Remus looked unsettled.
"Professor, Hermione and I will keep looking for Kreacher," Harry assured as he lifted the slat off its brace and opened the door for him.
For a moment, it looked like Remus might protest this course of action, but he must have seen something in Harry's eyes that stopped him. Instead, he nodded grimly. "Be careful. Both of you."
With that warning, he turned and disappeared down the stairs. Harry closed and barred the door behind him.
When he turned to face Hermione, she was staring into space with a thoughtful look on her face.
"So where do you reckon we should start?" Harry wondered, raking his hand through his hair. "Library, maybe?"
"Harry, do you remember last year, at Christmas?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Sirius told us about Kreacher's den, under the boiler?"
Harry stared at her, shocked that he hadn't thought to look in such an obvious place. "Do you think he might still be there?"
"Well, I'm not sure, but it would be a good place to start, don't you think?"
"It's brilliant, Hermione," Harry assured. "I can't believe I forgot about it."
Together, they walked into the hall just outside the kitchen and hesitated just outside of the cupboard door. Hermione reached down to turn the door handle, but Harry stopped her with a hand on the back of her neck.
"Wands out before we go in," Harry ordered.
"Harry, we aren't allowed to use magic!" Hermione protested. At his look, she coloured slightly and sighed. "Oh, all right."
They drew their wands and went inside.
The cupboard was exactly as they remembered - dark and filthy - with the only light coming from a hint of flame licking around inside the softly-whistling boiler. A terrible stench permeated the room.
"What smells so bloody awful?" Harry muttered, scrunching up his nose as the horrible odour assaulted his senses.
"It's too dark to see," Hermione complained and Harry ducked outside to grab an oil lamp from one of the sconces in the hall. Hermione smiled gratefully when he returned with it, and the flickering light spilt over the room.
Harry strode forward with his wand in one hand and the lamp in the other and knelt in front of the small space beneath the boiler where Kreacher had made his nest. The old, torn blankets were still there, as were the pilfered knick-knacks and the small crumbs of mouldy food. There was one new addition, though - Harry could see maggots writhing and undulating among the filthy rags.
Hermione made a soft noise of disgust and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"It doesn't look like anyone's been here in a long time," Harry observed. He poked listlessly at the pile with his wand, wondering where else they could look.
Hermione squeezed his shoulder with some urgency. "Harry, give me the lamp."
Harry turned his head to look up at her before holding the oil lamp out for her to take. "What is it?" he asked. "Do you see something?"
With the lamp in hand, Hermione moved over towards the massive pantry shelf that loomed in the corner of the room. It was littered with various bottles and sacks, but nothing that appeared out of the ordinary at Harry's first glance.
Hermione knelt down near the far side of the shelf and seemed to be peering at something on the ground. Harry stood up to join her.
"Harry, look!" she whispered fervently. "There are scratches all along the floor here. I think this shelf has been moved recently."
In the lamp light, Harry could clearly see deep grooves in the dusty floor that lined up perfectly with the edges of the shelf. They continued along the wall a good four feet before stopping. He rubbed his long fingers along the scratches and stared up at the wooden shelf sceptically. It was truly immense and looked very heavy. "You think Kreacher might have moved this? How? I'm not even sure I can do it."
Hermione bit her lip. "There's no way to know for sure that Kreacher was the one that moved this, Harry," she pointed out. "But if it was him, then he must have been using magic."
"Of course there's a way to know for sure," Harry countered. "We'll just have to move it ourselves."
"Harry, we really should wait for Professor Lupin!" Hermione protested. "It looks really heavy!"
Harry gave her a look that clearly suggested he would not be waiting until morning. She sighed and held the light higher to make it easier to see.
"I can get some leverage if I could somehow get in between the shelf and the side wall. Then I'll be able to use my legs to push it back - it's just moving it away far enough to do that that's going to be a challenge," Harry explained. He ran his hand over the shelf absently. "Let's take everything off of it before we try to move the thing."
Hermione nodded and they began to empty the shelves methodically, moving everything onto the floor on the far side of the room. When they were done, Hermione set the lamp down near her feet. "We should get some more light," she said and walked into the hall. When she came back, she had three more oil lamps in her arms and she placed them around the room.
"Good thinking. Let's try it, then," Harry said. He positioned himself on the side of the shelf where the grooves were and took a firm grip on the wood. He hunched over so he was low to the ground and began to pull with all of his might.
Hermione hurried over to help him and slowly they inched the shelf across the floor. When it was about a foot from the side wall, Harry let go and dropped onto his back on the floor, breathing hard through his nose. His bite-wound was throbbing angrily under his bandage. Hermione sat down next to him, rubbing her aching hands.
Harry turned his head to glance at her in the lamp light. "All right there, Hermione?" he asked quietly.
"Just tired," she confirmed. "Harry, do you think there's a door behind the shelf?"
Harry looked contemplative. "I don't know. It seems logical, though. All these wizarding houses probably have secret passages and the like."
"If Kreacher is back there, what are we going to do?" Hermione whispered.
Harry's eyes flashed. "I want to find out why he did what he did. And we have to know who he's been talking to."
Hermione worried her lip, but said nothing. Harry climbed to his feet and offered her a hand. She looked at it for a moment before taking it and he pulled her up smoothly.
"Let's keep going," he said. He moved to the other side of the shelf - the side that had previously been pressed into the corner - and slipped in between it and the wall. He pressed his back against the shelf and slid down until he was somewhat hunched over before pushing against the wall in front of him with his feet. The shelf jerked forward and Harry kept pushing until it was four feet down the wall from its original position.
Hermione gasped and Harry jerked his head to see what she was looking at.
Behind the shelf, there had been no doors or secret passages. Instead, there was a hole. Pieces of broken wood lined the opening liked jagged teeth, and bits of plaster and mouldy wallpaper peeled away from it like skin from a wound.
Inside the hole was another nest of rags and on top of the nest was Kreacher. He was dead - decapitated - and his head rested near the feet of his rotting body. This was the source of the awful smell.
Hermione moaned pitifully and Harry went to her, hesitating a long moment before enfolding her in his arms. Over her shoulder, he stared at the macabre sight. Whatever fury he had been gripped with earlier that day died away at once.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cried into his shirt. "How could he? It's just not right!"
Harry briefly wondered what she was talking about before he noticed the long, shaving razor that had fallen onto the nest beside Kreacher's body. Brown blood stained its surface. This had clearly been the instrument of the house elf's death.
Kreacher had killed himself.
"How could he?" Hermione whimpered again and her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. "It's so awful I can hardly stand it."
She was crying in earnest now and Harry did not know what to do. Awkwardly, he rubbed the space between her delicate shoulder blades and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "Hermione," he murmured, but couldn't think of anything else to say.
Eventually, her crying subsided and the two stood quietly in each other's arms in the flickering light. When he felt it was safe to, Harry took hold of her shoulders and gently moved her away from him so he could look at her face.
"He killed himself," Hermione said dully. "He was always talking about being 'properly beheaded' like his ancestors. I- I know what he did was terrible, but he didn't deserve this. He didn't know any better."
Harry nodded wordlessly and took her wrist to lead her from the room.
~: --------------------------- :~
In the relatively bright light of the kitchen, Harry and Hermione began to discuss what they had seen.
"But why would he kill himself?" Harry wondered. He traced a stain on the kitchen table with his finger and sighed. "With Sirius dead, he had the house to himself - isn't that what he wanted?"
"I don't know, Harry," Hermione admitted. "I've done a lot of research on house elves. The enchantments we've used to enslave them are very powerful. If they disobey their masters, the magic compels them to punish themselves, and usually brutally. Maybe- maybe by taking part in Sirius's death, the enchantment somehow forced him to take his own life?"
Harry looked appalled. "That's horrible. How did we even enslave them in the first place? They seem pretty powerful when they put their minds to it."
"Well, there's a lot of debate about that in the books I've read on the subject," Hermione said. "After the Goblin Wars, a lot of magical races were envious of the successes Goblins had had fighting against wizards and the improvement in their station in magical society after our treaty. In the end, Goblins were given control of our entire financial sector and were left to basically govern themselves - it really is an enormous amount of power for a race that most witches and wizards consider 'inferior' to our own.
"For a few dozen years following the Goblin Wars, many other magical races decided to orchestrate their own rebellions, with varying degrees of success. Merpeople, for instance, posed enough of a threat that wizards allowed them to completely divorce themselves from magical society, and they've been independent ever since. Other races weren't so lucky - like House Elves. The elves had their own rebellion, but somehow… we subdued them. And as punishment for their rebellion, we enslaved them. No one knows exactly how, anymore."
Harry brooded over this and rubbed absently at his bandage. "But if the enchantment is that powerful that it forced him to kill himself, it should have kept him from leaving the house, shouldn't it have?"
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "I think so."
"So how did Kreacher know of Voldemort's plan at the Department of Mysteries, then? If he couldn't leave the house, how did he communicate with whoever tipped him off?"
Hermione frowned and her brows scrunched in thought. "I'm not sure…"
"It just doesn't make any sense. Only members of the Order can get into this house, and none of them could have possibly known Voldemort's plan," Harry murmured, more to himself than Hermione. "Except… maybe Snape?"
But Harry did not seriously consider this. Snape had looked genuinely surprised when Harry had tried to tip him off about the situation while he was in Umbridge's office. And the Potions professor must have alerted Dumbledore - why else had the Order shown up so quickly?
"No, not him, either," Harry muttered. "But who else could it be? Kreacher never talked to anyone outside the house - we never had visitors. And he never really talked to anyone inside the house, either, to be honest. Well, no one except… except… hang on."
"What?" Hermione questioned anxiously. "What have you thought of?"
"That portrait!" Harry growled, leaping to his feet. "That portrait of Mrs. Black! He called it his mistress and was always skulking about, talking to it. And we know that she's not loyal to us. I bet she's been commanding Kreacher to spy on us this whole time!"
The blood seemed to drain from Hermione's face. "Harry, it's still here! We couldn't get it down, remember? It even stumped Professor Dumbledore."
"There has to be a way," Harry declared, pushing away from the table and striding into the drawing room. Hermione jumped up to run after him.
Harry looked around the room for a moment before his eyes settled on the iron fireplace poker. He ripped it out of its stand and stalked up the stairs to the landing.
"Harry, wait!" Hermione shouted after him. "That's not going to work!"
But it was too late. Harry ripped open the curtains covering Mrs. Black's portrait and took a mighty swing. The moment the iron rod touched the portrait, a great burst of energy erupted around it, knocking Harry clear off his feet and slamming him into the wall behind him.
"Harry!" Hermione cried and stumbled to her knees next to him, sliding her hand behind his head and into his hair. A terrible lump was already beginning to form. The bandage around his neck began to stain red - his bite wound was starting to bleed again. "Harry, are you all right?"
"Sodding hell," he groaned, tipping his head forward so his chin rested between his knees. He felt like he might pass out.
Horrible, shrieking laughter drew their attention. Mrs. Black was watching them from her portrait, her yellowed eyes rolling wildly. "Putrid boy and his mudblood whore! Perversions of my home! Get out! GET OUT!"
Harry slumped forward and shakily climbed to his feet. "Shut up," he rumbled coldly.
Hermione's arm wrapped around his chest, leaning him against her to help support him. "Harry, come on," she implored, and together they stumbled down the stairs, the high laughter following after them.
Harry leaned against the wall to get his bearings back and Hermione watched him worriedly. "Harry, you mustn't always rush into things without thinking - you could have been seriously hurt."
"She's spying on us," Harry muttered. His head ached fiercely and he closed his eyes. "She's been spying on us the whole time. We have to do something."
"As long as she's in that portrait, we can't touch her. There's extremely powerful magic warding that frame."
Harry said nothing and leaned his face against the wall. The cool plaster felt refreshing against his skin. Hermione bit her lip and moved to rub his back when she stopped cold. On the wall next to Harry, a manic-looking woodsman stared crazily out from a portrait of a dark forest.
She turned her head and saw two other portraits - one of a hard-faced man wearing a neck ruff and the other of a young black-haired woman who was sneering at them in disdain. In the kitchen, she knew, there were two more paintings, both landscapes. And nearly all the bedrooms upstairs had at least one.
There were portraits everywhere in Grimmauld Place.
"Harry," she whispered urgently. "Harry, I think I have an idea."
He cracked one eye open and then the other, looking at her in curiosity. "Tell me."
"It's the frame that's protected, Harry - the actual physical portrait. Not Mrs. Black herself," Hermione explained. "If we could somehow coax her out of her frame, we could trap her in another one and then get rid of her!"
Harry looked at her intensely. "How?" he asked. "She must have another portrait somewhere outside of this house - that's how she's passing along and receiving information. If she leaves this portrait, won't she just go to that one?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Well, she could… but those two portraits are connected. Whatever she sees or hears in this one, she sees and hears in that one. So if we did something awful enough, she would move to another portrait in this house instead, just to get away."
Harry looked at her in surprise and dawning hope. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Hermione assured. "I know all about magical portraits. I read about them in-"
"Hogwarts: A History," Harry cut in. "Keep going."
Hermione looked mildly affronted. "Harry! Do you think I've only read that one book? No, it was in The Sorcerer's Paintbrush. I checked it out in third year after the Fat Lady was attacked. I wondered about it, you see - how she moved into the other portraits to hide? Do you remember?"
Harry motioned for her to continue impatiently.
"Well, I remembered reading about this. As long as a portrait is hung on a wall, its occupant can move to any other portrait in the house. But only in the same house, and only if the portrait she's moving to is also on the wall," she informed. "Subjects with more than one portrait can move between those, too, no matter how far away they are. But those portraits are always connected, like I explained."
Harry stared at her for a moment after she finished. "So all we need to do is lure her into another portrait and then take it off the wall to trap her?" he said finally. "Hermione, you really are brilliant, you know."
She flushed rather prettily. "Well, we still have to think of something that will be obnoxious enough for her to leave the portrait."
Harry considered for a moment. "Go get your earmuffs," he instructed. "The ones you use for potting mandrakes in Herbology. And get mine, too. They're in my trunk. Hurry!"
Hermione only spared a momentary look of confusion before racing up the stairs to do as he asked. Harry marched back into the drawing room. He grabbed the old victrola and lifted it off its cabinet. He hauled it carefully up the stairs and set it down casually in front of the screeching portrait of Mrs. Black. When she saw what he was doing, she stopped cursing and looked at him warily. "What are you doing, you loathsome boil?" she asked him snidely.
Harry said nothing and stared back at her darkly.
Hermione appeared on the end of the landing, huffing and holding a stitch in her side from running. She held the earmuffs up for Harry to see before noticing the victrola. Comprehension dawned in her eyes and she grinned.
They both tugged on their earmuffs and Harry tapped the victrola with his wand. Instantly, Mrs. Black's shrill voice was drowned out by the sound of thousands of bats screeching. Harry drew his wand against the volume adjustment until the sound was loud enough to vibrate the walls, sending clouds of powdery dust falling from the ceiling. Soon after, the crystal chimneys of the oil lamps began to burst in showers of glass.
Harry and Hermione heard nothing beneath their magical earmuffs, but they could see Mrs. Black with her mouth open in a horrified scream. Her hands were clapped over her ears and she bent and huddled, cowering from the noise, until finally she disappeared off the edge of the portrait. Instantly, Harry and Hermione raced down the hall in the direction she went.
They stopped at each portrait they came to, but they did not see Mrs. Black. Harry motioned to Hermione that he wanted to say something to her, but she shook her head and pointed to her earmuffs. Taking him by the arm, she dragged him up to her room and fished a stack of parchment and a quill from her trunk. She held them out and Harry took them and began to write.
How will we find her? There must be dozens of portraits here, and she can keep moving between them, can't she?
Hermione frowned and grabbed the quill.
We can start taking the portraits she's not in off the walls. That will stop her from moving to them.
Harry read this and nodded. He re-inked the quill before writing again.
Let's start with the ones closest to the victrola. She's likely gone as far away from the noise as she can, so she won't be in any of those.
Hermione signaled her agreement and they took off back towards Mrs. Black's empty portrait. One by one they began to pull the portraits down from the wall. When they finished with the landing, they moved to each bedroom, checking every painting before pulling it to the floor. Once, they just glimpsed Mrs. Black stepping out of a portrait of a grizzled sea captain just as they entered a room, but they were too slow to trap her. They ripped that portrait down, too.
They continued through the house in this manner, spotting her twice more, but they were always too slow to pull down the painting she was in.
Finally, they spotted her stepping out of the side of a portrait in a room three doors down from Harry's, and he turned on his heel without waiting for Hermione to remove it from the wall and dashed into the hallway. He ripped one of the oil lamps from its sconce as he ran and kicked open the next door.
This was Sirius's old room, and just above the bed, Mrs. Black stepped into the painting of the lagoon. She saw Harry at once, and turned to move out again, but he was already in motion. He drew his arm back and hurled the lamp like a quaffle, sending it across the room with its flame trailing behind it like a comet. It struck the painting with dead-on accuracy, knocking it from its nail and dropping it onto the bed. The still-lit lamp fell beside it and not a moment later, the bedclothes were aflame.
Harry stared at the flames in shock. A hand fisted in the sleeve of his shirt, and he turned to see Hermione standing beside him with her other hand over her mouth.
The painting began to sizzle and spark, as it, too, began to burn. The sea in the lagoon reflected the orange flames harshly, and Mrs. Black waded into the water in panic, shaking and yelling and waving her spindly arms.
Together, Harry and Hermione watched as the painting was engulfed in the fire before the flames began to lick at the wall behind the bed. Shocked out of his stupor by the reality of this sight, Harry took hold of Hermione's arm and dragged her from the room.
He let go of her promptly and dashed down the hall into the bathroom where they had been cleaning his linens just this morning. His sheets and pillowcases were as they had left them, floating in the stale water. His filthy duvet was folded up on the floor. Harry grabbed it and threw it into the claw-foot tub before rapping his wand sharply on the tap. Water rushed out and began dousing the fabric just as Hermione appeared in the doorway. Getting the idea, she held the sheets under the water, turning her head to stare into Harry's eyes anxiously.
After a moment, they pulled their soaking bedclothes from the bath and raced back into Sirius's room. The wallpaper above the bed was bubbling and peeling away from the heat, and Harry knew that soon it would catch fire.
He tossed the duvet over the centre of the bed, crushing it down with his hands and smothering the flames. He could feel the intense heat of the fire on his face and his earlier dizziness began to return.
Hermione threw her wet sheet down next to him and slapped at it with her hands in a panic.
Under this onslaught, the flames began to die, before finally they were drowned entirely. When he was sure it was safe to, Harry rolled off the side of the bed to slump to the floor. Hermione stumbled to her knees beside him. They stared at each other mutely, both in shock over what they had just done.
Harry felt some strange mirth bubbling inside him. He began to laugh, his shoulders shaking, and Hermione watched him in confusion for a moment, before she, too, began to shake with silent laughter. They grabbed each other's forearms and laughed and grinned, hearing nothing through their earmuffs but the pounding of their own blood.
When their laughter began to die away, they looked into each other's eyes and both could read what the other was thinking as clearly as if it had been spoken out loud: Can you believe what just happened?