I will always find you

OOTP 4

Fred caught Ella on her way to the toilet.

"What is it with us and meeting near the toilet" Fred joked making Ella smile slightly. "Look El I'm sorry for not writing and hiding things from you"

"It's fine"

"No it's not but Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you and Harry anything and I hated hiding things from you so I concentrated on creating new joke products and forgot to write at all" She smiled at him and reached up to kiss him on the cheek.

"I forgive you Fred" He smiled before pulling her to him and kissing her properly.

•····················•✦•･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆.•✦•····················•

The next morning they all found themselves in the drawing room which was a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss-green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that everyone was grouped, all looking rather
peculiar, as they had tied cloths over their noses and mouths. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.

“Cover your faces and take a spray,” Mrs. Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. “It’s Doxycide. I’ve never seen an infestation this bad — what that house-elf’s been doing for the last ten years” Hermione’s face was half concealed by a tea towel but Ella saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs. Weasley at these
words.

“Kreacher’s really old, he probably couldn’t manage —”

“You’d be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione,” said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. “I’ve just been feeding Buckbeak,” he added, in reply to Harry’s inquiring look. “I keep him upstairs in my mother’s bedroom. Anyway . . . this writing desk” He dropped the bag of rats onto an armchair, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which was shaking slightly. “Well, Molly, I’m pretty sure this is a boggart,” Sirius said peering through the keyhole, “but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shifty at it before we let it out — knowing my mother it could be something much worse.”

“Right you are, Sirius,” said Mrs. Weasley. They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Ella quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before. A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

“I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!” said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying back out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs. Black’s screeches echoed up through the house once more:

“Stains of dishonor, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children
of filth . . .”

“Close the door, please, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley. Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing room door. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mother’s portrait because she had stopped screaming. Mrs. Weasley was bending over to check the page on doxies in Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa. “Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because doxies bite and their teeth are poisonous. I’ve got a bottle of antidote here, but I’d rather nobody needed it.” She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains, and beckoned them all forward. “When I say the word, start spraying immediately,” she said. “They’ll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they’re immobilised, just throw them in this bucket.” She stepped carefully out of their line of fire and raised her own spray. “All right — squirt! Fred, what are you doing?” said Mrs. Weasley sharply. “Spray that
at once and throw it away!” Ella glanced at her boyfriend. Fred was holding a struggling doxy between his forefinger and thumb.