I will always find you

OOTP 3

"Your — ?” Harry said shocked.

“My dear old mum, yeah,” Sirius said finally releasing Ella.  “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, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

“Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,” Sirius said. “But I’m the last Black left well me and Ella, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” They followed Sirius to the bottom of the stairs and through a door leading into the basement kitchen. It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. 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, a thin, balding, redhaired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

“Harry! Ella!” Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking Harry's hand vigorously. “Good to see you both!” Bill was hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

“Journey all right?” Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. “Mad-Eye didn’t make you come via Greenland, then?”

“He tried,” said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. “Oh no — sorry —”

“Here, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. Mrs. Weasley noticed Harry looking at the parchment. 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,” she 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, both of you” Sirius said looking at his daughter and godson. “You’ve met Mundungus, haven’t you?” The thing that looked like a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore and then jerked awake.

“Some’n say m’ name?” Mundungus mumbled sleepily. “I ’gree with Sirius. . . .” He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused making Ella laugh slightly. Ginny giggled.

“The meeting’s over, Dung,” Sirius said, as they all sat down
around him at the table. “Harry and Ella have arrived.”

“Eh?” said Mundungus, peering balefully at Harry through his
matted ginger hair. “Blimey, so ’e ’as. Yeah . . . you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand, and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him in seconds.

“Owe you a ’pology,” grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

“For the last time, Mundungus,” called Mrs. Weasley, “will you
please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we’re about to eat!”