The Order of the Phoenix

           ’Your?’

           ’Mydearoldmum,yeah,’saidSirius.’We’vebeentryingtogetherdownforamonthbutwethinksheputaPermanentStickingCharmonthebackofthecanvas.Let’sgetdownstairs,quick,beforetheyallwakeupagain.

           ’Butwhat’saportraitofyourmotherdoinghere?’Harryasked,bewildered,astheywentthroughthedoorfromthehallandledthewaydownaflightofnarrowstonesteps,theothersjustbehindthem.

           ’Hasn’tanyonetoldyou?Thiswasmyparents’house,’saidSirius.’ButI’mthelastBlackleft,soit’sminenow.IofferedittoDumbledoreforHeadquartersabouttheonlyusefulthingI’vebeenabletodo.

           Harry,whohadexpectedabetterwelcome,notedhowhardandbitterSirius’svoicesounded.Hefollowedhisgodfathertothebottomofthestepsandthroughadoorleadingintothebasementkitchen.

           Itwasscarcelylessgloomythanthehallabove,acavernousroomwithroughstonewalls.Mostofthelightwascomingfromalargefireatthefarendoftheroom.Ahazeofpipesmokehungintheairlikebattlefumes,throughwhichloomedthemenacingshapesofheavyironpotsandpanshangingfromthedarkceiling.Manychairshadbeencrammedintotheroomforthemeetingandalongwoodentablestoodinthemiddleofthem,litteredwithrollsofparchment,goblets,emptywinebottles,andaheapofwhatappearedtoberags.Mr.WeasleyandhiseldestsonBillweretalkingquietlywiththeirheadstogetherattheendofthetable.

           Mrs.Weasleyclearedherthroat.

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