At the top of the first flight of stairs, Harry could already here the heated argument that was raging in Hermione’s room. He could tell from the voices that they were trying to keep the noise level down so as not to set off Mrs Black’s portrait but were finding it increasingly difficult.
“I honestly don’t understand you,” came a bewildered sounding male voice. “I mean, is that what you think I am like? You honestly must think I haven’t the slightest bit of decency in me. I’m telling you it was a genuine mistake and I’m really sorry. I wouldn’t do that to you Hermione, you know that,” the voice continued.
Harry was intrigued. He was accustomed to Ron and Hermione falling out, but this sounded infinitely more serious than their usual wrangling.
He heard Hermione sniff. “Ron, I trusted you and now I don’t see how I can trust you anymore.”
Harry heard someone get up and begin to move towards the door. He hastily backed away to the edge of the stairs to make it seem like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on their conversation. The door opened and Hermione walked out, blowing her nose and wiping her swollen eyes. “Harry!” she exclaimed and moved towards him enveloping him in a hug. Harry hugged her back, momentarily forgetting the row he had just overheard.
Harry was pleased to see Hermione again. He worried that she seemed so upset as she continued to hug him tightly. He made a mental note to try and find out later what had happened, but thought better of bringing it up now. When Hermione had finally let him go, she led him back into her bedroom.
Ron was sitting on the bed, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor. He hardly even seemed to hear them come in. When he did, he smiled and stood up. “Harry, it's good to see you, when did you get here?” he asked.
Harry noticed that Ron kept glancing at Hermione apprehensively while he was talking. Harry was immensely curious as to what had just happened. Hermione, however interrupted before any questions could be asked. “Lets go downstairs for supper. I think that may have been what Harry was coming up here for “ to tell us that supper was ready?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Harry. He had temporarily forgotten about what it was that he was supposed to be doing when he came upstairs.
All three of them trooped downstairs. Harry knew that he would be afforded no further chance of enquiring as to what the row had been about. There were too many people milling around the kitchen chatting for him to have any chance of cornering Ron.
Supper was interrupted by a clanging at the front door, followed almost immediately by the screams of Mrs Black’s portrait. Harry realised almost at once, that instead of time diluting the yells and curses of Mrs Black, she was actually a lot worse than she had been previously.
Whereas before Mrs Black had screamed and cursed those people who were Muggle lovers and were befouling the ancient House of Black, now her curses sounded a tad more sinister to Harry. “Traitors beware, the time has come for vengeance to fall sweetly. None will escape, none will be untouched. Those disloyal to the ancient pureblood ways will pay. It has already begun,” he heard her wail.
Harry had stopped eating, his fork halfway between his plate and mouth. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to what Mrs Black was screaming. Harry couldn’t understand why not. He found the hair was standing on end on the back of his neck. It was the tone of voice that Mrs Black used, she sounded confident that what she was saying wasn’t just the threats of a bewitched portrait.
Fred had noticed that Harry wasn’t eating. “She has branched out a bit this year hasn’t she Harry?” he said, referring to the portrait. “Just as crazy as ever, the best you can do mate, is just continue to ignore her.”
Harry nodded and continued to eat, as the yells of Mrs Black became muffled. Obviously someone had succeeded in closing the drapes on the portrait again.
After dinner had finished Harry was happy to make his way upstairs with Ron and fall into bed. He felt exhausted. Returning to a Grimmauld Place that was without Sirius had taken its toll on him emotionally. He had tried to keep up face during dinner, but was finding it increasingly difficult. The void was immense.
He kept remembering Sirius sitting at supper at his side. The way he would lean his chair back on two legs, his long untidy hair falling into his eyes. Being back here just brought too many painful memories back to Harry. He missed Sirius so much that it felt like a physical pain.
Harry found he didn’t even have the energy to discuss the row he had overheard between Ron and Hermione with Ron now that they were in the privacy of their own room. Ron must not have wanted to talk about it either because he made a big show of yawning and telling Harry how exhausted he was. Harry changed and fell into bed. He glanced at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus just long enough to realise that it was empty before falling into a deep sleep.
Harry awoke early next morning, while the room was still only bathed in a half-light as morning arrived. He glanced across at Ron to see him still sleeping soundly. Harry heard a creak on the landing outside his door, thinking it was probably the Weasley twins sneaking downstairs to feed their enormous appetites, he jumped out of bed, and pulling on a sweater over his pyjamas, made his way quietly out of the bedroom.
The hallway was deserted and Harry couldn’t hear any sounds emanating from the downstairs of the house. Upstairs from where he stood, Harry thought he heard the creaking of a closing door. Intrigued now as to who was up at this unearthly hour, Harry cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor. Here were a number of bedrooms where the rest of the Weasley clan slept. All was peaceful here. Harry looked up the stairs to the third floor of the house.
This was somewhere that was rarely visited by those residing in Grimmauld Place. Sirius’s room was located up there along with many other rooms which had not as yet being ‘de-blackmagic’d’ (as Ron liked to refer to the cleaning of the enormous house).
Harry slowly began to climb, not sure why he felt guilty about doing so. All the same he went quietly so as not to alert Mrs Weasley to his being out of bed. When he reached the darkened hallway he looked left and right, taking in the many doors, most of which were closed.
Except for one. About half way down the corridor, the second last door on the right remained slightly ajar, an unnatural light spilling out onto the corridor. Slowly and cautiously, Harry approached. He carefully pushed the door to open it fully, jumping as it creaked noisily on its hinges. Harry found himself looking into a very dilapidated room. It looked like it had once being a library. Dust coated books lined the shelves along the walls.
In the centre of the room stood a large writing desk. An armchair was pulled up close to it “ the back of the chair facing towards Harry. The desk was littered with books and bits of parchment. Directly across the room from the door, light was pouring harshly through the dusty window, whose drapes were half open.
For some reason Harry felt his breath catch and his unease grow. He sensed there was someone sitting at the table, their presence shielded by the back of the large antique armchair.
Harry found himself drawn magnetically towards the chair. He had to see who sat there. Slowly he circled around the armchair and table so that he would be looking at whoever sat there face to face. His hearth hammered in his chest as he tried to move quietly, not wanting to alert the person to his presence.
As he neared his goal, Harry found himself almost too frightened to look up. Once again the hairs were rising on the back of his neck, adrenalin pumping through his veins. Harry realised that he didn’t have his wand with him, but something told him that he wouldn’t need it. He had just experienced some kind of premonition. Harry knew who it was that he was going to see sitting in the armchair, but that didn’t ease his nerves.
As he found himself in front of the table “ Harry raised his eyes slowly to the being in the armchair, and just as he had predicted, found himself staring into the face of his Godfather.