Coup de Foudre [Fred Weasley] [5]

⚡️ Chapter 8 ⚡️

Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather, Sirius, turned to face him, speaking fairly grimly, "Hello, Harry, I see you've met my mother,"

"Your –?" Harry asked, shocked.

"My dear old mum, yeah," Sirius replied. "We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again,"

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?" Harry asked, bewildered, following Sirius as he went through the door from the hall that lead to the kitchen.

Vega let the others go past her before following behind them. Hermione glanced over to make sure she wasn't fleeing back to their bedroom but Vega assured her she wasn't. Her head was pounding from hearing Walburga Black screaming so closely and now she was second-guessing if she wanted to stay here at a place where she was constantly spooked by so many things and people.

Dora gave her an apologetic look and placed an arm around her back as the two cousins walked down the flight of narrow stone steps to the kitchen where everyone was gathering up. Vega readied herself from Fred and George's sudden appearances as well.

"Hasn't anyone told you?" Sirius asked Harry. "This was my parents' house,"

"I'm sorry, I forgot to mention that," Vega said.

"It's okay," Sirius assured her fairly quickly. "I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters – about the only useful thing I've been able to do,"

By the end of his sentence, Vega could see the hardness and bitterness creep back into Sirius's voice. On the other hand, it was clear that Harry hadn't quite expected such a welcome. They all filed into the kitchen together.

A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags.

Mr. Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table. Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed when he saw who was in the lead, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

Behind him, Bill started to roll up the lengths of parchment that were left on the table.

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called out, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," Dora replied, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. Vega bit her lower lip. "Oh no – sorry –"

"Here, dear," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. Vega felt bad for Dora.

In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm, Vega glanced at Harry, who seemed to have caught what was on the parchment. And Mrs. Weasley must've noticed it, too, for she snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's heavily laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," Mrs. Weasley snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered "Evanesco!" and the scrolls vanished.

"Sit down, Harry," Sirius said. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"