The previous night at Number 12, Grimmauld Place had been eventful, at least at first. Dobby had words with the resident house-elf, Kreacher, who looked to be at least three times Dobby's age, and wore nothing but a tea rag that had been fashioned into a loin cloth. He had almost dropped dead at the sight of Dobby's garments, then upon finding out that Harry Potter was his owner, preceded to call Harry a good-for-nothing blood traitor who was as good as dead. Harry had walked in on the exchange directly after this comment to find both Dobby and Sirius lunging at the old elf. They probably would have succeeded in tearing him apart limb from limb had they not both been held back, Dobby by Harry and Sirius by Mr. Weasley.
One thing that Harry found peculiar was the sinister feeling he got from the house they were staying in, caused especially by the abundance of serpent-featuring artwork spread throughout it. At dinner Harry had asked why such a creepy-looking place that looked to be owned by supporters of Voldemort was being used as headquarters for a group dedicated to fighting him. He was shocked to find out that the house was none other than Sirius' family's. Apparently the whole Black family was full of muggle-hating, Slytherin-sorted, pureblood-worshipping nutjobs, and Sirius had been one of the few black sheep, so to speak.
He lost the chance to keep talking to Sirius when the many others eating with them had kept on the constant questions about the dementor attack, then moved on to praising Harry for the numerous things he had done in years past. After a minute or two of this, he stopped trying to be modest and just sat back, letting the others speak about him.
He found it incredibly odd for Aunt Petunia and Dudley to be at the table eating with them. The two of them, like Harry, chose not to participate in the conversation, but still had gapingly shocked expressions at the stories of Harry's misadventures over the years. Most of it had been exaggerated, compared to what Harry had remembered about it. He had just been doing what needed to be done all of those times, and he felt that anyone would have done the same things that he did. He certainly wished that someone else would have done all of it.
Since dinner was so late, people retired to bed after desert, and Harry missed the chance to catch up with Sirius again. After a lot of goodnights, Harry and Ron got back into the room that they would be sharing and passed right out in their respective beds.
It was now 6 in the morning. Harry had been awaken by Ron's snores and could not fall back asleep. When he was half a second away from grabbing his wand and trying out a silencing charm on his friend, a knock occurred on the door. Harry got out of bed and headed for the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Dumbledore at the threshold, looking worn-out but smiling.
"Good morning, Harry. I'm terribly sorry for the earliness of my visit."
"Oh, it's okay Professor. Ron's snoring kept me from going back to sleep anyway. Um," He really didn't know what to say to the man who he had defied in a manner that, in retrospect, seemed slightly destructive the previous night. "What did you need, sir?"
"I was wondering if you would accompany me to the library downstairs. I have a few things to speak with you about, and I would think that a nice quiet room would suffice compared to Mr. Weasley's snores."
Harry nodded. He asked for a quick minute to put on some jeans and a t-shirt, because he felt severely under-dressed in his pajamas compared to a fully-robed Dumbledore. Not that regular muggle clothes were much better, but it was better than a tank top and pajama pants.
Dumbledore led Harry downstairs, the two of them walking in silence. Harry had felt this awkward in very few situations throughout his life. He didn't regret breaking up Number 4's blood wards in any way, but he didn't want to find himself on the bad side of his school headmaster, especially when he was the one wizard that Voldemort ever feared. They got into the living room, where Dumbledore headed for a bookcase. He moved his finger along each book's spine on the row directly in front of this face and stopped at the book entitled Parseltongue for Prats. He pulled the book halfway out, then slid it back into place. Like out of one of the muggle spy movies Harry had seen the Dursleys watching from time to time, the book case slid to the side, revealing a stair case.
