Not a second passed before she disappeared somewhere on the second floor, and below, right next to me and the Headmaster, the twins appeared from the Apparition funnel. In striped sweaters, as always, impudent and satisfied.
"Sh-sh-sh," one of them hissed, but at the sight of the Headmaster the smirk faded on both, they nodded, but did not linger, disappearing into one of the rooms in the corridor.
"And it's not particularly boring here..." I smiled. "And not particularly tidy."
"Yes, there is that," Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "A week ago the house was empty, and except for the old house-elf there was no one here. For many years. And with magic need to be careful—a very ancient family of dark wizards lived here, and they are—big entertainers for all sorts of dirty ideas capable of sending you to the next world much earlier than the due date. So, Mr. Granger, be extremely careful if you decide to climb into premises not yet inspected..."
"And are there many such?"
"Easier to say which were inspected. Have to limit to own hands, and the current owner of the house... Simply put, he would prefer to burn it than clean up and live here."
"Headmaster?" the double door at the end of the corridor opened, for a moment revealing to us the decoration of a large living room.
A rather imposing man looking about forty appeared in the passage. Wavy black with gray hair to the shoulders, dandy beard, no less dandy expensive suit.
"Sirius," Dumbledore nodded. "Meet our guest. Hector Granger, this is—Sirius Black. Anticipating possible questions—in the crimes imputed to him, he is innocent. Partially."
"Hmm..." Sirius approached us, smiling, and slight madness could be read in his eyes. "Heard."
He held out his hand, and I immediately shook it, holding the nest with the sleeping phoenix with my left.
"I wasn't warned about replenishment."
"No-no, Sirius," the Headmaster shook his head. "Mr. Granger is here exactly as a guest. For three weeks."
"And is this reasonable? But, in any case, I am glad for guests. But could have warned earlier. I would have at least prepared a guest room."
"You were too busy with dialogue with alcohol, seeking truth at the bottom of Ogden's."
"It's hard for me to be in this house in a sober state. Too many far from best memories, Headmaster," Sirius confessed, but without guilt in his gaze.
"In any case, Molly was just going to prepare some room on the second floor. Well and I," the Headmaster took a step back, preparing to turn to the exit from the house, "need to deal with unresolved issues. Meeting in the evening, Sirius. Be kind, finish with the preparation of the living room."
"Why? Can do in the kitchen."
"Listen to the old man, Sirius," the Headmaster looked seriously at Black. "Clean up the house already and stop turning it into a shed more than it is. Here Harry arrives, and what will you say to your beloved godson? 'Look, Harry, what a wonderful old dirty shed I have'? Like that?"
"Tsk..." Sirius clearly did not like both this prospect and the idea of putting the house in order, but, judging by everything, of two evils he decided to choose the lesser. "Good."
"Well excellent."
The Headmaster left the house, and from the second floor... And how many are there in total? In general, Ron and Ginny came down the stairs, and if the second one at the sight of me smiled quite normally and waved her hand, then Ron somehow soured.
"Ah," the sixth grimaced, "Granger. And what did you forget here."
"I live here now."
"What?"
"That."
"Ha-ha-ha," Sirius's laugh was somewhat barking. "Don't get along?"
"And what to get along with him," Ron grumbled and broke through between us to the kitchen, trying to shove me with his shoulder, but I dodged without any difficulty.
The redhead, it seems, wanted to shove thoroughly, with feeling, sense, arrangement, but he is terribly clumsy. Result? He lost his balance and fell in the corridor to the laughter of Ginny and Sirius. Quickly getting up, the sixth turned to us for a moment, grumbled something and quickly went to the kitchen. Ginny stopped in front of us.
"Mom said that can gather for lunch."
Having informed us, she, like Ron, went to the kitchen.
"And why lunch in the kitchen?"
"The dining room so far... unsuitable for use," Sirius chuckled. "Will you have a snack with us? And what is this bird?"
"No idea," I shrugged. "Found near Hagrid's hut. Considering the morals and hobbies of our gamekeeper, it can be anyone."
"That's for sure," Sirius nodded. "Or he was planted on him, knowing that he would not leave the animal in trouble."
"That's for sure."
We went to the kitchen, and I realized that it would not be very correct to call this room only a kitchen. Here are cupboards with dishes, services, and a huge long table, chandeliers under the ceiling. But everything, absolutely everything and even chairs, require attention, everything needs to be renewed, and renewed capitally. On the other hand, if imagine that many wizards should live in this house, and in this kitchen had to cook for many persons and in large volumes, then yes, this is just a kitchen, and not a hybrid of kitchen and dining room.
I took one of the seats at the table, where Ron and Ginny were already sitting. By the way, only entering the kitchen I felt the aromas of ready food. Charms, probably, prevent "leakage" of smells. Just a second later Mrs. Weasley entered too.
"And where did these two go?" she was indignant, going to the stoves, on which stood closed pots and pans.
Without looking she waved her wand somewhere to the side, and plates and other cutlery levitated onto the table, moreover, in a full set—several forks, knives, spoons.
"What is this?" Ron doubtfully twirled a couple of forks before his eyes.
"Since we will be, albeit temporarily," Mrs. Weasley answered, fussing with pots and pans, "living here, then at the table we will behave appropriately."
"And how to use this? Why so many?"
"George!" Mrs. Weasley shouted into the corridor. "Fred! Time to eat!"
Not a couple of seconds passed before these two Apparated to us, taking a place at the table.
"Already, mom!" they answered simultaneously.
"How many times must I repeat not to Apparate in the house?" Mrs. Weasley was indignant.
Sirius, being, as I understood, the owner of the house, simply enjoyed everything happening. Mrs. Weasley first of all organized hot appetizers in corresponding small "containers"... My memory failed here regarding names, but it is good that the rest of the table etiquette is known to me more than enough, because elven, of that era when the elf lived, almost did not differ from human both there and here. Truly, nothing is new under the moon. Amusing, but neither the twins nor Ginny had questions about which devices to use, and how, although for a brief moment uncertainty flashed in their eyes.
"Ron," Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips and looked reproachfully at the sixth. "I told, showed and set not once."
"Don't remember such a thing. What nonsense generally..."
"Snack fork."
"Which one is that?" Ron looked at all this in confusion.
"Sir George," one of the twins turned his head to the other, both of whom sat demonstratively holding posture and in their own manner hyperbolized their every action.
"Yes, Sir Fred?"
"Doesn't it seem to you, Sir George, that with each year our dear brother Ron reveals to us more and more new facets of his hopelessness."
"You are definitely right, Sir Fred. But I'm afraid it is not in our power to change anything."
"Idiots..." Ron grumbled. "Oh, remembered!"
The sixth took one of the forks as if it were a lifebuoy.
"Well done, son," Mrs. Weasley praised him.
Sirius smirked, I smirked, the twins exchanged glances, and Ron, it seems, began to remember what the other devices are for.
In general, lunch went quite quickly, guys scattered who knows where, and Sirius and Mrs. Weasley went with me to choose a room. Of course I asked for a distant one so that there would be no accidental reason for others to look there and distract me from business. Preferably with soundproofing, for even if I will be here not constantly, but I would like silence. As a result, they settled me on the third floor, in the room that previously belonged to Bellatrix Black.
"She dragged all her trinkets and crafts with her to the Lestranges," Sirius spoke about this without enthusiasm and even with slight dislike when we stood at the entrance to the room, inspecting it. "So there is nothing dangerous, useful or personal here."
I was inclined to agree with Sirius. Slightly dark wallpaper, green with silver decor elements, bulky carved furniture made of dark wood, dark curtains with white curtains on the windows. And all this requires bringing into a godly form. Of course, there was no bed linen here either. In general, a rather impersonal, except for the design, room.
"Linen..." Mrs. Weasley began.
"I have everything with me. I am prudent. But even so, I can just transfigure and fix."
"Hmm... Okay," she nodded. "I will not forbid you to conjure in the summer, Hector. After all, you are quite responsible, and quick-witted. And you won't hooligan, unlike my restless blockheads. But no Dark Magic. And this is not moralizing, but safety precautions. We have no one to help in this regard if something happens."
Well yes, during my visit to the Burrow last year I proved myself more than a good novice wizard.
"Dark magic?" Sirius was surprised, and I only nodded, agreeing with Mrs. Weasley.
"Yes, Sirius," I addressed him by name, feeling that for him this would be the optimal address. "The Headmaster issued access to the Restricted Section, where I study maleficism among other disciplines. But I have a head on my shoulders, so I am not going to practice. And I'm not ready..."
Placing the nest with the phoenix in the corner of a large desk, I threw the backpack on a no less bulky, but elegant chair.
"Well... Not for me to read lectures to the young..." Sirius shook his head. "But here I join Molly. Let's do without any Dark Magic. It makes me sick..."
"Owner is master," smile and nod came out by themselves.
"Hmm," Sirius thoughtfully ran his hand over his beard. "I like such an approach to my status in this house. If only others remembered this at least sometimes..."
So remaining thoughtful, Sirius left the room. Mrs. Weasley inspected everything again.
"Do you definitely need nothing else?"
"No, Mrs. Weasley, thank you for concern."
"Well okay. If anything, I will be either downstairs, in the kitchen, or... Or somewhere else. In any case, there is still very, very much work in the house. If anything—go to the noise."
"Agreed," I smiled, and in a moment was left alone with myself in this room. "Okay... Need to improve."
Taking the wand out of the holster, waved, and... Began to conjure. Cleaning everything and everyone, cleaning windows, cleaning curtains and drapes with specific spells—fortunately I studied household magic very diligently. A little magic, and furniture if not took the original form, then worthy—one hundred percent. Quickly organizing a bed for myself, placed other things in a large closet and, settling comfortably at a massive desk, got down to work—calculations do not wait.
Closer to the evening an unknown owl knocked its beak on the window. Amusing. It turns out, owls are not an obstacle for Fidelius. But what then prevents tracking the owl? Or need to receive knowledge of the address directly from a specific wizard? Pity that I did not come across Fidelius charms. Still, although I studied a lot, but more or less systematically, increasingly, so to speak, and simply have not reached such a level of local magic yet.
Letting the owl in, took the letter from its paws. Delacour wrote that he would like to meet in the evening, at seven, in Fortescue's cafe, and discuss a couple of issues. On the spread I wrote about my consent, handed the letter to the owl and sent it on the return journey. Not much left until seven—forty minutes. Quickly putting myself in order, dressed in dark blue, threw a robe over shoulders, made sure that next to the phoenix there is a plate with nuts and raisins, a saucer with water, and I in his person will not remain hungry if I wake up. Putting on the backpack, low, like a bag, left the room and went downstairs. Somehow quiet in the house. No one in the kitchen. My attention was attracted by something on the wall, curtained with black cloth. Interesting, of course, but I won't touch it.
"Walking here all sorts..." creaked a voice, to which I immediately turned around to see an old stooped house-elf with a long hooked nose and sharp ears hanging down. "...Stands here like the navel of the earth... Ran here, you understand, all sorts of Mudbloods and blood traitors... oh, if only my dear mistress saw this..."
The house-elf walked past. Completely cuckoo, what can I say? Not otherwise than from a severe shortage of magic, which is not surprising—sitting here locked up for years, without wizards, without magical creatures, without errands flavored with magic. Releasing a bunch of neutral energy, directed it into the house-elf. He froze, stood, straightened up a little and turned to me.
"This changes nothing," his voice became better, and the look more adequate. "Old Kreacher does not approve."
"But will old Kreacher build dirty tricks?"
"Old Kreacher—a self-respecting house-elf," he looked at me from under his brows. "Old Kreacher will not stoop to harm guests, even if these guests..."
The house-elf clicked a nail on his thumb.
"...are not worth a broken Knut."
And went about his business.
"Pass on, please, to Sirius or someone from adults, that I... By the way, I am—Hector Granger. Pass on that I left on business. When I will be—don't know."
"Old Kreacher will pass on," the house-elf answered without turning around, continuing to slowly go about his business. "Someday..."
Chuckling at such behavior of this old and principled house-elf, I left the house on Grimmauld and Apparated from a dark alley right under the doors of the Leaky Cauldron, into the zone of action of Muggle-repelling charms over the pub.
Not distracted by unnecessary inspection of the few guests of the establishment, I went to Diagon Alley, where towards evening it was crowded, but not as it happens during shopping for Hogwarts.
Without problems reaching the Cafe, where half the tables were occupied, took a free one by the window, and from the cute witch who approached ordered ordinary ice cream with chocolate chips and a mug of hot chocolate.
After some time Mr. Delacour entered the cafe and, quickly finding me with his gaze, sat down at my table.
"Monsieur Granger," he nodded, smiling.
"Mr. Delacour. Will you order something?"
"No-no, I'm here just for a minute. Wanted to tell you that for one acquaintance of ours there is a job according to profile."
"Hm? Are you talking about what I think?"
Mr. Delacour thought for a moment, after which waved his hand and cast privacy charms on the table.
"Spy games—not mine. For the Plague Doctor... As some knowledgeable ones nicknamed him..."
"Does he already have his own fame?"
"How not to be?" Delacour was surprised. "Rumors—they are everywhere. In general, there is work on cleaning a piece of land. Pay handsomely. Quite an ancient site in one of the Scottish spatial lacunae. Mothballed, since managed to stop the growth of the curse, but that, actually, is all. For a hundred and fifty years already stands, burning a small tax and a light fine in the owners' wallet."
"Amount?"
"For work, if everything succeeds, three thousand six hundred. Dare to hope for these six hundred as a percentage for mediation...."
"I will pass on. Don't think the money issue will be a problem."
"Then I will send you a Portkey. It will work the day after tomorrow at ten past noon London time. All the best..."
Delacour hurried to run somewhere on his business, and I only had to finish the ice cream and drink the chocolate. Interesting. Finally something worthwhile.
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