Chapter 19
Hermione finished her last letter with a flourish to her signature, taking extra care to tightly roll and seal it neatly with a wax stamp of the Black family crest. Things were moving quickly with Sirius’s case now, and these letters would secure her position as a representative of the Black family, as well as authorizing Gringotts to transfer funds to the Barrister traveling from America to represent Sirius. Luckily Gringotts considered themselves outside Wizard law, and did not concern themselves with such things as whether or not their client was a fugitive as long as their rules were followed. She gathered the letters and carefully tucked them into a leather satchel she had found in the closet of her bedroom, adding a drawing she had found in the drawer of the desk.
She hadn’t seen Kreature in a few days, but wanted to be ready when the old elf appeared again, and thought he’d enjoy the drawing. Stopping in front of the mirror near the door she smoothed her hair and fidgeted with the charm the necklace she had made that morning. She had transfigured her pink bear into a small bear charm she could wear around her neck. Her official story was hiding the bear this way would avoid suspicion, no one could ask where the bear had come from and find out about her midnight adventure with the twins. The truth was more complicated than a simple cover story. Hermione liked having it with her, being able to lay her hand over it and remember the cool sea breeze on her cheeks, hours of laughter, and her heart feeling so full it could burst. After they had crept back into Grimmauld Place that morning, she had fallen asleep the instant she hit the mattress, waking up curled around the giant bear. She’d indulged herself in cuddling the oversized animal for a few sleepy moments (and if she imagined herself cuddling a certain red haired boy in place of the pink bear, that was her personal business, thank you very much) before becoming concerned that the appearance of the stuffy was rather suspicious.
She made her way down the hall and knocked softly on the door of the room Ron and Harry were sharing. The boys were playing wizard chess, while Ginny lounged on one of the beds and thumbed through a magazine.
“Harry, can I borrow Hedwig please? I have some letters to send.” She asked, walking over to study the chess board. Ron was clearly winning, having taken all of Harry’s pawns and closing in on his knight.
“Sure thing Hermione.” Harry said brightly, unconsciously moving his knight in the direct path of Ron’s Bishop.
“Writing to Vicky?” Ron said darkly, his Bishop sliding forward and smashing it’s scepter into the horse of Harry’s knight, shattering the piece and sending the knight limping off the board. Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored his petulant question.
“So violent.” Hermione muttered, ignoring Ron and crossing the room to Hedwig. She stroked the snowy owl gently and spoke softly to her about her destinations, before tying the letters on and sending her on her way. Ron glanced up at her every few moments, his mouth twisted down and brow furrowed. He’d been hostile to her since she had told them about listening in on the order meeting and the night out. She’d only given the boys the bare details of sneaking out with the twins, figuring keeping the details private was not a secret but rather simply her personal business. Ron had also jumped to defend his mother, claiming Hermione must have misunderstood her motherly concern as hostility. Hermione had chosen not to delve into that fight, she had no desire to turn Ron against his mother simply because the woman had an issue with her.
The boys (and Ginny) refused her invitation to join her in the library, setting up another chess game instead as Ginny tapped her nails with her wand and changed her nail polish colors. She made her way alone, peeking under tables and into dark corners as she walked, hunting for the old elf that crept around the house.
She was just about to give up and continue on to the library when she spotted him. Kreature was crouched under a table in the foyer, across from the open space where Walburga’s portrait had formerly resided. He was rummaging through the trash bin beside the table, so intent on his task he did not notice her approach.
“Mistress…where did that blood traitor…oh, my mistress…Mast-Master throws out your picture but Kreature…ah!” The old elf muttered as he dug into the bin, pulling out a small silver picture frame with a satisfied sigh. He clutched the frame to his bony chest and sat, tears rolling down his wizened cheeks.
“Kreature.” Hermione said softly, sinking to a squat beside him. The elf jumped in surprise and hissed, clutching the frame tighter in his long fingers.
“Mud-mu-Mistress.” He choked out, glaring at her with loathing.
“This must be very hard for you, so many changes.” She said with sympathy. The elf said nothing, leaning away from her as his eyes darted to the side. Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out the drawing she had tucked into it earlier. She had seen Kreature’s distress every time photographs and trinkets were removed as they cleaned and repaired the house, and thought perhaps he needed something to remember his former masters, just, without said memento having the ability to order him around and fill his mind with hate. The drawing she had found in her desk drawer seemed like a perfect peace offering (after confirming with Sirius that he had no interest in keeping any image of his mother). The image of Walburga was hardly more pleasant than her portrait had been, her furrowed brow and pursed lips capturing her eternal disapproval, but it was blessedly still and silent. Beside her in the sketch was Regulus, his face expressionless and his posture stiff. The intricate lines and shading gave life to the features of the drawn figures, almost as detailed as a photograph.
Hermione held the sketch upright, offering it to Kreature. His wide eyes darted from the parchment to her face, as his mouth twisted. Tentatively he reached an arm out and gently traced the lines of Regulus’s face.
“Master Regulus.” He whispered. He looked up at her face again, suspicion and hope warring for dominance in his eyes.
“It’s for you, Kreature. Regulus drew it, a long time ago.”
Slowly, Kreature took the drawing from her hand, keeping his eyes on her as if he expected her to snatch it away. She gave him a small smile and rose, understanding the cantankerous elf needed space.
“I spoke to Sirius. He said he doesn’t mind if you keep the photographs he’s tossing out, as long as they don’t speak.” Sirius had actually said, “I don’t give a fuck if the little gremlin wants to snog old pictures as long as he’s not taking orders from batshit portraits.” , but Hermione felt that was a bit too mean to convey. She continued on her way to the library, as Kreature watched her from his spot under the table, his expression unreadable.
George
George sat in the dimly lit Gothic library, surrounded by towering bookshelves and the musty scent of old books. He quite liked the library of Grimmauld place, from the stained glass windows lining the far wall, the reading alcoves tucked into the spaces between the floor to ceiling bookshelves, to the giant Victorian chandeliers of twisting serpents lighting the space. There were several work tables and desks, and it reminded him a bit of the Hogwarts library. He considered this one better, however, as he didn’t have to sneak into it in the middle of the night to avoid the stern faced librarian who absolutely could not take a joke. Also, aside from a few highly suspicious books Hermione and Sirius had locked away, everything interesting was readily available, no need to pick locks and break wards (unlike the restricted section in Hogwarts, which he and his twin had been regularly breaking into since second year).
His work was spread out on the table before him, stacks of parchment, books standing on end, propped up for quick reference as he scribbled in his ledger. He blew out a frustrated breath and ran his fingers through his hair. No amount of creative accounting could make the numbers do as he wished. He and his brother’s life savings, plus the money Harry had generously given them after the tournament wouldn’t be enough. Owl orders from classmates and those they referred brought in a steady trickle of income, but not much. If we rent rather than buy, only file for a few of the patents, and wait on fireworks…maybe … his attention was suddenly drawn away from the numbers on the page by the smell of lavender.He looked up and his eyes were immediately drawn to Hermione, curled in a threadbare wing-back chair under one of the stained glass windows. Her delicate features were framed by the soft glow of the flickering candle on the table beside her. He lost himself to the play of candlelight in her curls, loving the way the light caught the golden highlights in her hair.
He tried to focus on the ledger in front of him, but his eyes kept drifting back to the enchanting girl across the room. She seemed lost in her own world, completely absorbed in the book she held in her hands. He wondered what she was reading, grinning at the thought of wandering over to ask. He wondered if she would play the game, tell him it was ‘A book, of course.’, or if now she would actually tell him. He imagined brushing a curl over the curve of her ear as she told him all about her book, then he would lean in and-
Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when she finally looked up and their eyes met. A shy smile played on her lips, and George felt a rush of warmth flood through him. Then her eyes dropped back down to her book, back in whatever world she was lost to.
“Whatcha up to brother?” Fred said loudly, throwing himself into the seat opposite George. George jumped, startled out of his daydream by his brother’s sudden appearance.
“Uh-Ledgers.” He cleared his throat. “Just crunching the numbers again.” He looked down, and realized he had spilled his ink well on the book in front of him.
“Damn!” He cried, pulling out his wand to siphon the ink off his work. Fred leaned forward on his elbows, glancing at the mess , then turned and looked over his shoulder, following where his brother’s gaze had been locked.
“Ahhhh. Distracted, are we?” He said playfully.
“What? No, I’ve been at this all morning! We need to-” George said, looking up at his twin. His traitorous eyes couldn’t help but drift to the seat by window again. Fred grinned.
“Did my womb-brother just lie to me?” He said with mock fury. “The utter betrayal!”
“Would you keep your voice down?” George hissed. “Fine, alright, I was a bit distracted.”
“Can’t say I blame you. My mind’s been on our date all day.” Fred rocked his chair back on two legs and crossed his arms behind his head. “Bloody amazing.” He hummed.
“I think a girl needs to know it’s a date for it to be one.” George mumbled, bending over his ledger once more.
Fred snored. “Semantics.” He shrugged. “Felt like a date.”
“Anyway, I’ve run through the numbers seven times today. It’s not enough. Even if we find a storefront in time, we won’t have the fund to buy all the potion ingredients and file patents.”
Fred slapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll work it out. Let’s make the skiving snackboxes-”
“A priority, yes. But still-”
“Don’t worry, George. We’ll make it happen.” Fred smiled at him, and George felt reassured by his brother’s confidence, feeling the warm glow of his brother’s conviction in his own chest. Pushing aside his worry, he switched gears to work on his list of potion ingredients, quantities needed, and current prices. He pulled out a new sheet of parchment and began listing them in order of importance, as Fred pulled the ledger to himself and paged through it, frowning thoughtfully.
“Maybe Dung can find some of this on the cheap.” He mused.
“hmm.” George agreed. He cast one last glance at the girl by the window, then redoubled his effort to focus on the task at hand.
Fred
Fred groaned and pushed the ledger aside, having hit his limit of maths for the day. He and George had been working on their business model, product lists, supply lists and rental spaces for hours now, and he desperately needed a break. It wasn’t that he minded doing the more serious work of the business they were building, but he struggled with it more than George, much preferring the hands on elements of creating their inventions. Especially if said elements involved gunpowder and explosions. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed Hermione had switched to a window seat, curled on her side around Crookshanks as she read. She hand her head propped up on her palm, her other hand deep in her Kneasle’s fur. A golden chain on her neck glittered in the candlelight, and Fred saw the charm resting against her collarbone was a tiny bear. Like the one I won her. He thought smugly. He turned his body to a more comfortable angle, trying to figure out how she was turning the pages. They turned at regular intervals without her touch, somehow never interrupting the flow of her reading without a wand or incantation. I’ll have to ask her what that one is, He thought, adding it to the mental list of spells he was determined Hermione teach him.
He was just about to suggest to his twin it was time to leave the library in search of real fun, perhaps with their favorite curly-haired companion, when they were interrupted by a ghostly blue dog leaping onto their worktable. The patronus opened it’s mouth and Sirius’s voice spoke, a slight echo to his words.
“Boys! I’ve cracked the wards on the 3rd floor potions room! Come and see!” The dog then bounded off, playfully nipping at Crookshanks as it raced past Hermione’s window seat and disappeared.
The twins shared a quick look and shoved off the table in unison. They were halfway to the door before they doubled back and carefully packed away their work, locking it in a cabinet. Fred shuddered to think what his mother would say or do if she found it, and they had put far too much work in to leave it out in the open and at risk.
Sirius was sitting on the steps at the top of the third floor landing, smoking a cigarette as he waited. He was tapping the ashes in a dish that looked suspiciously like an Order Of Merlin metal they had thrown out of the upper study. Catching Fred’s glance at his ashtray, Sirius grinned and stubbed out his cigarette. “It was my father’s. Order of Merlin for 'Special Services to the Ministry'. Means he gave them a lot of money to pass whatever evil nonsense he cooked up.” He stood and crossed to the door his patronus had mentioned.
“You really got it open?” Fred asked excitedly, as George said,
“Why was it so warded in the first place?”'
“Yes, and it last belonged to my Uncle Alford. He was my favorite, a decent chap, so as you can imagine, nothing like his sister. He was quite the potioneer, and a Healer with St. Mungo’s. When he lived here, this was his space. At a guess, I’d say it was to piss off my mother, making a part of her house inaccessible. “ He frowned, considering the door. “Although it’s just as likely he make something so toxic the room had to be sealed off. Maybe…stand back a bit.” Sirius waved his wand in an intricate design and tapped the door three times. The sound of rusted metal grinding filled the air for a moment as the old locks released. The wood door creaked and groaned as it swung open, releasing a cloud of dust that had settled over the years into the hall.
Sirius threw out a protective arm and knocked the twins back and out of the way of the dust cloud.
“Let me make sure the air is safe, stay back.” He raised his wand, aiming it at the drifting dust cloud. “Repertum salus!” He cried. A yellow light shot from his want, growing in size until it fully illuminated the space with it. The yellow slowly shifted to green, and dissolved. Sirius turned to the twins with a smirk.
“Safe!” He proclaimed, stepping inside first. The twins followed, slack jawed as they took in the room.
It was spacious, (suspiciously so, as the door was directly between two bedrooms) with three large potion tables dominating the floor space. The tables were heavily stained and scarred with perhaps centuries worth of potion making. Dusty shelves lined with jars of mysterious ingredients filled the dimly lit chamber, their yellowed, curling labels faded with time. The air was heavy with the scent of dried herbs and exotic spices, but surprisingly was free of the damp, mildewy scent that lingered in most of the house. There was a large desk in the corner, covered in stacks of books, and beside it, a shelf with rows of cauldrons in different sizes. It was perfect.
“It’s perfect!” Fred said aloud, running his hand over a large scorch mark on the table nearest him.
“You really don’t mind if we use it?” George questioned. He could feel the doubt radiating off his twin, the suspicion to this being too good to be true.
“This room, and everything in it, is yours.” Sirius said sincerely. “My uncle loved a good joke. I think he’d be pleased his things were being used for something again, something good.”
“Sirius, mate, this is-”
“Too generous, all these ingredients-”
“Cost a fortune, don’t you-”
Sirius waved a hand to stop them. “No one’s touched this room in twenty years. Anything still usable, is yours.” He turned to go, leaving them to explore their new space.
Fred crossed the room and began sifting through the stack of books, as George walked around the room, studying the jars on the shelves.
“Fred.” He whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I think…it’s everything we need. All the stasis charms are intact…it’s..”
“Brilliant.” They said together in awe.
They set to work cleaning and taking stock immediately. Fred’s earlier metal exhaustion vanished as he contemplated all the possibilities of having their own, fully stocked potions lab. Lists no longer seemed tedious and boring as they made a careful inventory of what they now had at their fingertips. Weasley Wizard Weezes, here we come.