SuperPotterLock - The Order of the Phoenix

The House of Black

Low voices and footsteps mingled with John's dreams that night. They whispered in his ears, twisting around him. White fog filled his vision, flashing pink and green, and the voices were always just out of reach, beyond the oppressive atmosphere of the house. It would not allow him to pass, to see where the footsteps and the voices came from. Some he thought he recognised, buried deep in his memory, but always escaping him.

The morning came, and John felt no more rested than he had the night before, and everything was still tinged with pink. He stabbed moodily at his breakfast, listening to the others upstairs, getting ready to clean out the drawing room.

'That room's got loads of artefacts and things in it, doesn't it?' John asked curiously.

'Do you... want to help clean it?' Sherlock said.

'Well, I'm bored,' John complained. 'And I'm tired of being so useless. I want to help do something.'

'You're not bored, I am,' Sherlock said shortly.

'Right, so it's you dying to get your hands on some of those artefacts, then?'

Sherlock glanced at him, the corner of his mouth turning up.

'I think we should go and help,' John said, wiping his hands on his shirt. 'Some of those things could be dangerous, so I reckon I should get a look at them first. You know, just in case...'

Sherlock grinned and stood up. 'I think you have the right idea. It's for their protection, really.'

'Of course.' John looped his arm through Sherlock's, and they both climbed the stairs to the drawing room.

'Oh, John, dear, you don't need to get stuck in all this,' Mrs Weasley said when she saw him.

They had already begun spraying the curtains that were infested by Doxys.

'No we want to help,' John insisted, even though his head was already swimming from the smell of Doxycide.

Mrs Weasley gave them a sceptical look, but passed them both a cloth mask and a bottle of Doxycide spray.

It was past midday by the time they were done, and Mrs Weasley slumped onto a dusty old sofa. The curtains were sopping wet, but they no longer buzzed. All the Doxys were dead.

'I think we'll tackle those after lunch.' Mrs Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantlepiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects, and Sherlock's eyes shone as he looked at them.

Then the clanging doorbell rang, and everyone looked at Mrs Weasley.

'Stay here,' she said firmly as Mrs Black's screeches started up again. 'I'll bring up some sandwiches.'

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head, and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.

'Mundungus!' said Hermione. 'What's he brought all those cauldrons for?'

'Probably looking for a safe place to keep them,' said Harry. 'Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?'

'Castiel wouldn't like that. They look a little thin,' said Sherlock, casting a critical eye over the cauldrons. 'He read that report on shallow-bottomed cauldrons so many times; he could probably recite it by now.'

John frowned. 'Do you think Dumbledore will bring him here with us?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'He might, he might not. He's a difficult man to predict.'