mirrorball

chapter seven

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too quick for him.

"Expelliarmus!" Mundungus's wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it. 

Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs: Ron rugby–tackled him, and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch. "What?" he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron's grip. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' 'ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha've I done, lemme go, lemme go, or— " 

"You're not in much of a position to make threats," said Harry. He threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus's nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.

"Kreacher apologizes for the delay, Master. Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end." 

"You've done really well, Kreacher," said Harry, and the elf bowed low. 

"Right, we've got a few questions for you," Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once. "I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an' that was bleedin' You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn't wanna do it— " 

"For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated," said Clara, glaring fiercely at Mundungus. He was the reason Moody was dead. Clara thought he deserved a fairly gruesome punishment. At this thought, Clara suddenly became very guilty. Godric, what was wrong with her? He did deserve it, why was she being so soft?

"Well, you're a bunch of bleedin' 'eroes then, aren't you, but I never pretended I was up for killing myself— " 

"We're not interested in why you ran out on Mad-eye," said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus's baggy, bloodshot eyes. "We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum."

 "Well then, why the 'ell am I being 'unted down by 'ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblet again? I ain't got none of 'em left, or you could 'ave 'em— " 

"It's not about the goblets either, although you're getting warmer," said Harry. "Shut up and listen." Harry's wand was now so close to the bridge of Mundungus's nose that Mundungus had gone cross-eyed trying to keep it in view. Clara wished Harry would just hex him already. "When you cleaned out his house of anything valuable," Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again. "Sirius never cared about any of the junk— " 

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. 

"Call 'im off, call 'im off, 'e should be locked up!" screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again. 

"Kreacher, no!" shouted Harry. Kreacher's thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. 

"Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?" 

Ron laughed. 

"We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you can do the honors," said Harry. Harry's green eyes were still focused on Mundungus, and Clara could see the anger growing in them.

"Thank you very much, Master," said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.