Percy Jackson and the Department of Mysteries [Book 5]

17) Seriously, Kreacher, You Make Sirius Serious (what an original joke)

"I think we'll tackle those after lunch," Mrs. Weasley pointed at some dusty glass cabinets around the mantelpiece. They were filled with a bunch of weird artifacts, the only one of interest to me being the set of daggers, because I could end my suffering caused by cleaning in a second.

The doorbell rang, and like the children we were, we all turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll get it," I said cheerily, moving toward the door.

"No," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "Stay here. All of you." She snatched up the bag of rats as Walburga started screeching. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

"Grab the paper for me too, please," I called, and Mrs. Weasley nodded, shutting the door behind her as she left. All at once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down at the doorstep. Thankfully, I'm not everyone, and sat in the now rat-less chair.

"Mundungus!" Hermione said. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," I said, fiddling with the hem of my shirt out of boredom. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing Harry? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"

"Yeah, you're right!" Fred grinned. "Blimey, Mum won't like that..." He and George shared a look and crossed to the door, opening it slightly. Walburga had stopped screaming.

"Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Fred informed us, muttering. "Can't hear properly... d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," George nodded. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair —"

All of a sudden, a disturbingly loud explosion of sound rendered the ears pointless. We could all hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was yelling.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!"

"Shit, we're not?" I straightened in my seat. "I've got some stuff I need to get rid of, then."

Harry snorted, and the yelling continued. "— 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," George shook his head, experienced in this particular subject. In fact, he looked kind of pleased to hear her yelling at someone else. "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 disappeared under the shrieks from Walburga. George moved to shut the door to block out the noise, but my least favorite being living in this hell house edged in.

Kreacher was completely naked (which I would have been fine with if he were hot and likeable, but he was neither of those things) except for a loincloth tied around his waist that was just as filthy as him. He was old, and had tufts of white hair sprouting from his ears. His skin was wrinkled and seemed like it should belong to someone a lot bigger than him, and his face was squashed. His nose was large and his eyes were small, gray (ugly gray, not Draco gray), and bloodshot (would you believe the author if she said as soon as she wrote the word bloodshot the song she was listening to said it as well? To be fair, the song is called Bloodshot).

He seemed to take no notice of us, but I knew he knew we were there. Kreacher slowly shuffled to the other side of the room, muttering slurs and other not so nice things, "... 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, Muddbloods and werewolves and half-breeds and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do..."

"Hello, Kreacher," Fred spoke loudly, shutting the door with a snap.

Kreacher froze, stopped muttering, and then gave a very unconvincing jolt of surprise, "Kreacher did not see young Master," Kreacher turned and bowed to him, and didn't look up from the carpet. "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" George looked somewhat amused. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," the house-elf bowed to George, and added in an undertone, "and there's it's twin, unnatural little beasts they are." I snickered, and Kreacher straightened, scowling as he eyed us all. "... and there's the half-breed, smiling, laughing, oh if Mistress only knew what he was and who he loved, she would not have it, no, no, she wouldn't have it..."

"I will piss on you," I told Kreacher decidedly, but he decidedly ignored me.

"... and the Mudblood, the girl one, standing there as bold as brass, oh if my Mistress knew, oh how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name, what is he doing here, Kreacher doesn't know..."

"He's the stripper they hired for my birthday," I said. "They should ask for a refund."

"This is Harry, Kreacher," Hermione quickly interjected, Harry looking surprisingly offended. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's eyes had gone wide, and he muttered more ferociously, "The boy Mudblood and the girl Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though they is my friend, if Kreacher's Mistress saw him in such company, oh what she would say —"

"Don't call them Mudblood!" Ron and Ginny angrily yelled at the same time.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said softly, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's —"

"Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," I said, somehow more softly than her.

Kreacher turned his 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?" Fred said (still rhymes).

"What do you want anyway?" George said (still doesn't rhyme).

Kreacher's gaze shot towards George, "Kreacher is cleaning."

"A likely story," a voice behind us spoke. I turned to look at Sirius, who looked pretty serious.

Spider-Man was really good. My favorite Spider-Man movie yet. Really sad, though. Me and my friend wore pajama pants to the movie, and his mom almost didn't let him wear his, so I would've been alone and awkward. Thankfully, he explained, and we got the pants. I almost got to see it twice, but sadly didn't get to. Sad. I had a can of peaches today. And a can of olives. Some ice cream. Four slices of bread. A tiny candy cane. I think that's all I've eaten. I am the pinnacle of self care. The prime of my life, my growing and powerful youthful body, I am a temple, and I run on bread.

Anyway, I hope you guys have had a spunky Saturday, and I'll see you on Monday CT. Love ya!