Hp: Hermione and Darkness

The girls woke to the enticing smell of sausages cooking downstairs. Hermione always looked forward to Mrs Weasley's incredible breakfast spreads. Not only were they delicious, but it was clear that she enjoyed making it all.

Hermione felt bad for Mrs Weasley. Though she disagreed with her, she knew Mrs Weasley was only trying to protect them from danger and stress. Having everyone, including her husband, turn on her last night must have been hard. Hermione hoped cooking breakfast was helping to lighten her spirits.

Hermione and Ginny walked hesitantly into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley had her back to the door at the stovetop. "Good morning," Hermione said.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs Weasley replied.

"Mornin', Mum," Ginny said.

"Good morning, love," Mrs Weasley responded, her tone warm but slightly strained.

"Can we help with anything?" Ginny asked.

Mrs Weasley turned to smile at the girls. "Aren't you sweet! Could you two handle the toast?"

Hermione and Ginny went over to the counter near Kreacher's cupboard to start on the toast. She realised she hadn't seen the poor house-elf for a few days and hoped he was alright. She tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to knock on the cupboard door and see if he was inside.

The girls sat down to eat and were soon joined by Mr Weasley, Fred, George, and Sirius. Mrs Weasley and Sirius wouldn't even look in each other's general direction. It was quite awkward.

"George, can you please go wake up the boys?" Mrs Weasley asked. "We have a big day of clearing ahead of us… and do NOT Apparate up there. Use your legs."

Clearly disappointed, George pushed his chair back from the table and ran upstairs. A few minutes later, a very sleepy Ron and Harry shuffled into the kitchen. Hermione knew better than to try to talk to the boys before they had something to eat in the morning. They were not morning people by any means.

They were also disgusting eaters. Hermione had either completely blocked their disgusting shovelling from her mind, or both Ron and Harry had conspired overnight to eat as messily as possible. Whatever the scenario, Hermione couldn't watch it any longer and went into the drawing room for the day's chores a little early. Soon, everyone else came in, ready to work. Harry, however, had no idea what he was in for.

By this point in the summer holidays, Hermione was used to (and looked forward to) the daily chores. There weren't many times Hermione could stop her head from spiralling, but mindless cleaning certainly was one of those times. It was almost as good as Wizard Chess.

Mrs Weasley handed out clothes and bottles of Doxycide to everyone, who immediately covered their mouths and got ready without any complaint. They had all learned very early on that complaining got them nowhere.

"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs Weasley said to Harry and Ron the moment she saw them, pointing to two more bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad – what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years-"

Hermione frowned. "Kreacher's really old, he probably couldn't manage-"

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a bloodstained bag of what appeared to be dead rats. "I've just been feeding Buckbeak," he added in reply to Harry's enquiring look. "I keep him upstairs in my mother's bedroom. Anyway ... this writing desk …"

He dropped the bag of rats into an armchair and then bent over to examine the locked cabinet, which was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a Boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Mad-Eye have a shufti at it before we let it out – knowing my mother, it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs Weasley. Hermione cringed - they had moved on from ignoring each other to the overly polite stage.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails triggered the previous night by Tonks knocking over the umbrella stand.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius exasperatedly, hurrying out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more: "STAINS OF DISHONOUR, FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS, CHILDREN OF FILTH-"

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs Weasley. She went over to check the page on Doxys in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, which was lying open on the sofa.

"Right, you lot. You need to be careful because Doxy's bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains, and beckoned them all forward. "When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilised, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire and raised her spray. "All right – squirt!"

....

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