Chapter 15
The week had passed swifty, with Hermione packing as much into her waking hours as possible. By the time her curls hit the pillow each night she would be asleep, having pushed herself to exhaustion cleaning, reading, working on Sirius’s case, and spending time with the twins. The boys seemed to be everywhere, and conveniently free whenever they ran into her, and always ready to help with whatever project she had set herself for the day.
Logically, she knew that pushing herself like this was a way to avoid dealing with the bigger issues weighing on her, but since it was, for the most part working, she carried on. She had stubbornly refused Mrs. Weasley’s chore list each day, choosing her own projects instead. This unfortunately kept her away from Harry and Ron much of the time, as they refused to deviate from the matriarch’s dictates, but they had managed to find a few hours here and there. Sirius had pulled Harry aside one day to discuss his potential pardon, along with Harry’s potential adoption. Harry was thrilled at the news, not as thrilled to be told it needed to be a secret for now, for all but Lupin, Sirius, Hermione and Harry. He sulked about not being able to tell Ron, causing a quarrel between Hermione and Harry, leaving an awkward tension between them for the last few days.
After the elf heads, it was the portraits of Sirius’s ancestors slated for removal. She remembered too well the feeling of their judgemental eyes in the dark, and couldn’t wait for walls to be free of them. Hermione had asked Sirius what he wanted to do with them, to which he suggested ‘an ancestor barbecue’. Lupin had suggest a more even tempered plan of storing them in the attic, as “You never knew when the long memories of the magical paintings could come in handy”. Hermione and the twins had spent two days removing every portrait from the walls of the house and lugging them to the attic, where they were neatly stacked. The portraits themselves protested their storage, crying about disrespect, family honor and shame.
With that task done, she was ready to tackle what she considered the biggest project, namely removing the permanently stuck portrait of Walburga Black haunting the foyer. Three days, two books, eighteen different spells and several hours of listening to the painted nightmare scream obscenities later, she sought out Sirius. She found him in his bedroom, tossing Buckbeak dead rats from a bloody sack.
“Hey Sirius.” She said from the doorway.
“Afternoon Kitten. Come to see Buckbeak?” He gestured to the hippogriff, currently lounging in a nest of velvet pillows and old quilts covered in intricate embroidery. He lifted his head and considered her, giving Hermione an impression of a King on his throne.
“Hello Buckbeak.” She said softly, bowing low to the stately beast. Buckbeak tilted his head, considering her for another moment before bowing his head and accepting her. He angled his neck out to her, inviting her touch. She stroked his feathers gently, and he let out a soft coo.
“So, what’s on your mind Kitten?” He tossed the bag to the side and sat on the edge of his bed, folding this hands over his knee.
“It’s your mum’s portrait. I’ve tried everything. Fred even tried to incendio it, but she put so many layers of protective charms on the damn thing, it’s impossible!” She huffed out a frustrated breath.
Sirius sighed. “Hermione, you don’t have to put this on yourself. Mooney and I tried everything we could think of before you all came to stay, we’ll just carry on. Ignore her.” He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She knew he had been hopeful that they would find a way to remove the offensive piece, that every word out of Walburga’s mouth cut him as deeply as a blade.
“Well, I have an idea, but it’s a muggle solution and I wanted to know if it’s OK to try.” She twisted her hands.
Sirius barked out a laugh. “Hermione, I wouldn’t care if you took out the whole damn wall as long as I never had to look at her face again.”
Hermione smiled. “Actually, that’s just what I had in mind.”
Fred and George had procured demolition tools from somewhere (refusing to say where exactly, only an enigmatic “we have our ways”) and conjured yellow hardhats and googles, plunking one on Hermione’s head with a tandem, “Safety First!”. Hermione giggled when they transfigured their clothes into “Traditional muggle construction gear”, which was apparently tight blue jeans, white tank tops, leather gloves and hard hats. They kept her laughing, posing in exaggerated ways with their tools and cracking jokes. Hermione resolved to not be distracted by their arms on display, even if they were quite nice, tanned and muscular. I guess Quidditch isn’t all bad. She mused, before coming back to herself and refocusing her efforts.
Determined to rid Grimmauld place of Walburga once and for all, they armed themselves with the sledgehammers and set out to smash through the crumbling wall that her portrait was permanently affixed to. With each swing of the sledgehammer, the teenagers felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement as they watched the bricks crumble and fall to the ground. The sound of their laughter echoed through the empty house, mingling with the clang of metal against stone and Walburga’s enraged shrieks. Sirius watched from the staircase as the wall finally fell, opening the space between the foyer and the downstairs study. All that remained of the former wall was broken bits of plaster and wood, Walburga’s portrait clinging stubbornly to a large chunk of plaster and wallpaper that had fallen with her. She howled and cursed them, tearing at her hair and clothes.
“I may not care for the rest of my ancestors but it seems cruel to subject them to her.” Sirius said thoughtfully, stepping forward and kicking the edge of the golden frame.
“YOOOOU!” Walbura howled. “I SHOULD HAVE STRANGED YOU IN YOUR CRIB YOU UNGRATFUL WELP!”
Sirius sneered down at the image of his mother.
“Missed your chance, Mother.” He stretched out the honorific, twisting it into a vile insult. “You may have made sure this painting would last forever, but you are dead.” He turned away, taking a deep breath. Hermione stepped forward, laying her hand on his arm. Sirius clasped his hand over hers for a moment, then gave her a sad smile. The twins stood off to the side, unusually serious.
“I think the crypt is the best place for the dead, don’t you?” She asked him softly. His smile widened, and his eyes had a wicked gleam.
“You know I think your right, Kitten. I think I’ll lay my dear mother to rest.”
The twins started quietly vanishing the rubble as Sirius lifted his mother’s portrait, ignoring her screams and threats and turned on his heel, disappearing. He returned a moment later, looking lighter than Hermione had seen him. A movement near the back of the hallway caught her eye, and she saw Kreature, twisting his filthy towel/loincloth in his gnarled hands, huge tears dripping from his large eyes.
“Mistress!” he moaned, rushing forward to pick up a chunk of plaster from the floor. He hugged it tight to his scrawny chest and looked up at Hermione, his tear filled eyes blazing with fury.
“You!” He snarled “Mudblood brat, took away my mistress!”
“Kreature!” Sirius barked, and though his murderous expression remained, the tiny elf snapped to attention at his Master’s tone.
“Sirius, don’t, he’s upset-” Hermione began, her tender heart aching for the confused creature.
“No, Hermione.” He looked down at the elf. “Kreature, Walburga is dead. She’s been dead for a decade. The only Mistress in this house is Hermione. You will treat her with the respect of her station, and you will not say the word ‘mudblood’ again, do you understand?” He said firmly, but not unkindly.
“She is…Mistress?” Kreature asked, cocking his head at Hermione and assessing her.
“You will treat her as such.”
“Sirius, he doesn’t have to-”
Sirius turned to her. “Hermione, I know how you feel about elves. But this one is stuck with us and this is the only thing he understands.”
Hermione nodded, a tight feeling in her chest as she accepted this was how the situation needed to be handled, no matter how she felt about elf rights. Kreature gave her a jerky bow, his eyes still angry and leaking tears, and disappeared with a CRACK.