House of Black

Chapter Two

Following his rousing party the night before, the young man who lived in number 11 Grimmauld Place had indulged himself in a bit of a lie-in. This allowed Harriet to finally put a face to the name as she and Mr. Weasley slowly made their way up the sidewalk. The man's eyes were bloodshot and weary as he trotted down the worn steps to his stoop, a rubbish bag fit to burst and clinking with empty bottles held loosely in his hand. From what she understood, the haggard look was not unusual for him. Members of the Order coming into the headquarters from the outside were always complaining that their neighbor was up at some ghastly hour again, drinking and playing his obnoxiously loud music.

Harriet had never heard him herself. The headquarters was soundproofed against all other buildings in the area. Nothing could come in or out, Lupin had explained, though that hadn't stopped Mrs. Weasley from griping about 11's lack of common courtesy.

The man snorted as Harriet and Mr. Weasley approached, sounding sick, before stuffing his garbage noisily into the bin on the curb. He squinted hard against the sun, using his shirt to wipe off the sweat on his forehead, and then retreated back into his building.

"Funny. Muggle systems, I mean..." Mr. Weasley commented quietly as 11's door closed shut. "They have no way to expel it themselves so they have someone else take it away for them. I never have been able to figure out what happens to it after. One man's trash is anothers treasure and all that, I suppose? Ah, well..."

Mr. Weasley checked left, right, then behind him nearly four times before he was satisfied that there were no spies or muggle stragglers in sight. Not that they would see much of anything if there were. When at least three cars had passed by and he'd finished ducking his head around the mailbox, he turned to her and asked, "You remember what the note said, Harry?"

Harriet did remember, though she could hardly figure out why he would ask her that. It was common place information to her now. Just before it had burned up in her hand, the note had said that Grimmauld Place 12 was located between - as the thought entered her head a house inflated in the middle of the complex, pushing the buildings on either side of it out of its way. Mr. Weasley stepped forward and tapped his wand calmly on the black painted door that appeared and in turn it made several loud, metallic clicks.

The two of them entered the warm foyer, shrugging off their jackets and hanging them on the antique severed troll leg which served as a rack. Mrs. Weasley could be heard in the kitchen, pans rattling. "WOULD YOU GIVE IT A REST ALREADY? You're worse than the children! You've been under my feet all morning, Sirius, I'm sure they'll be back soon. Remus, tell him they'll be back soon, he doesn't listen to me - what was that? Was that the door?"

Mrs. Weasley's head popped out into the foyer seconds later, flour mixed into her hair and caked generously on her apronless dress. "You're back already? What's happened, is everything alright? I wasn't expecting you back until at least dinner! Oh-oh dear..."

"Let's not talk about it now, Molly," Mr. Weasley warned his wife gently, nudging Harry in the direction of the stairwell. "You go up to bed, Harry. Get some rest."

Harriet slipped past them both with the intent of doing just that, but Sirius had been anxiously waiting to see her again and had already turned the corner after Mrs. Weasley. All too quickly he swooped down upon her, taking her head in his hands and forcing her to look deep into his eyes so he could see the extent of the damage for himself. Her eyes burned and she wanted nothing more than for him to let go of her, for him to not be leaning his forehead against her own like that. She jerked away, but he merely tucked the top of her head under his chin and raised a hand to pet her hair, locking his other arm around her waist. Something horrible tried clawing its way up her throat, and in that moment she wished for nothing more than to not be standing there.