[Book 3]
❝ 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝. ❞
Voldemort is back, only the Ministry just wouldn't see it. Instead, they send the Pink Plague to Hogwarts and accuse Serena's father, the acquitte...
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• Serena Black •
"I must be cruel, only to be kind."
"What are should we do?" asked Ginny early in the afternoon, listlessly propping her head on her hands. "I'm sick of chess, I'm bored of Goblin Stone and Mum says Exploding Snap is too loud because it wakes Sirius' mum."
"We could go bug Kreacher," Ron suggested as he rocked back and forth on one of the chairs at the table in the drawing room.
"Ronald!", Hermione admonished him sternly in response, slapping the redhead on the upper arm.
"He's hideous, Hermione," he retorted, rolling his blue eyes. "He's not like Dobby or Winky. He's just like Mrs Black, he hates Muggles and Muggleborns and thinks we're all blood traitors."
Serena sighed and caught herself coming to the grizzled elf's defence, "It's only because he's been taught to think like that, he can't help it."
The Weasley snorted in disbelief and rolled his eyes. "Are you going to start with the Spew crap now too? Besides, you're not the one to judge because you're the only one he doesn't insult."
"It's not Spew!" Hermione then indignantly sparkled, and smugly declared, "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare!"
"Guys!" now Ginny interjected again with an annoyed groan. "We already leave Kreacher alone, but I'm still bored!"
She wasn't wrong, because there wasn't much for the teenagers to do at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. This realisation hit them now that most of the rooms had been thoroughly cleaned and cleared out and boredom was almost suffocating them now. For days now, they had watched Ron beat almost everyone at Wizard's Chess at least ten times and were already looking forward to Mrs. Weasley having work for them.
Serena was so lost in thought about possible activities for the day that she was violently startled when suddenly, out of nowhere, two people landed next to her with a plop. "Oh, could you please not do that?" she grumbled, rolling her eyes and trying not to let on how high her pulse had jumped.
"We could," Fred grinned and winked. "But we won't."
She sighed and saw in the corner of her eye Kreacher saunter into the room. He took no notice of either of them at all and seemed to pretend he hadn't noticed them at all. With a hunched back, he merely shuffled slowly and doggedly through the parlour, muttering to himself in a low and hoarse voice, "Mean old blood traitor, whose brats defile my mistress's house. Oh my poor mistress, if she knew what scum he has let into her house. What would she say to old Kreacher.... Oh what a shame, mudbloods and werewolves and thieves and traitors."
