𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗸, harry potter

˗ˋ 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH KREACHER ARRIVES

. . .

The Rosier girl had sat in that armchair for a good while, sitting perfectly still with her legs crossed, the only movement her turning the page of the stupid book that Sirius had given her. 

Around her was utter chaos, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione spraying the curtains and doxies flying out of them, throwing them into a bucket. And despite the loudness, Aviana had not moved, staying completely quiet and turning the page. 

It continued on until past midday when Mr Weasley finally removed her protective scarf, sank into a sagging armchair, and sprang up again with a cry of disgust, having sat on the bag of dead rats that had been moved there when George almost tripped over them. 

"I think we'll tackle those after lunch." Mrs Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with languages, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottlewith a large opal set into the stopper, full of what they were quite sure was blood.

"Can I get my pick of them?" Aviana asked, the crowd of Gryffindors looking over them. "The silver boxes look good for my jewellery and the opal from the crystal bottle I could get set in a necklace. The daggers would be great if I could get them cleaned up."

They didn't answer her, and Aviana stood up, shutting the book and resting it on the side. "Count me out, I'm not interested in any of that." She stepped towards the door, just as the bell for the front door began to ring. 

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs Black's screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches. Aviana, if you must leave, go straight up to your room."

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down ontothe doorstep "Mundungus!" said Hermione. "What's he brought all those cauldrons for?"

Aviana sighed, not exactly wanting to sit back down in the old armchair with the Lockhart book, she made her way over to the window, peering over Hermione's head. 

"Probably looking for a safe place to keep them," said Harry. "Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?"

"How nice Potter. To Mundungus Fletcher, dodgy cauldrons are worth more than the boy who lived." Aviana commented, Hermione making a face and backing away from the Rosier girl.

"Ha ha." Ron replied. "I'd like to see you fight the dementors whilst they attack your cousin."

"Ron.." Harry made a face and the ginger looked over at his best friend, the Potter boy slowly shaking his head. 

"You forget that I could, Ronald. Harry proves witness. Besides, I don't think they would attack any of my cousins." Aviana shrugged. 

"Blimey, Mum won't like that.."  said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening intently. Mrs Black's screaming had stopped again. "Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley," Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. "Can't hear properly... d'you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?"

"Might be worth it," said George. "I could sneak upstairs and get a pair-" But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quiteunnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice.

"We are not running a hideout for stolen goods!" Mrs Weasley shouted. Aviana made her way back over to the chair, tossing the Gilderoy Lockhart book onto the old armchair, a cloud of dust rising from it. She listened as the others talked.

George made to shut the door to drown the noise, but before he could do so, a house-elf edged into the room. Except for the filthy rag tied like a loinc loth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, bat like ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snoutlike.

"Merlin, is this what the Black house-elf has come to?" Aviana commented as she stared in disgust at the house-elf, ignoring Hermione rolling her eyes. 

The elf took absolutely no notice of them. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, toward the far end of theroom, muttering under its breath all the while in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrog's, "...Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress's house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame ofit, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do..."

"Hello, Kreacher." said Fred very loudly, closing the doorwith a snap. The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see Young Master," he said, turningaround and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added,perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"And what about me? I didn't hear you say anything about me" Aviana asked, the house-elf turned around, mumbling something. "If this was two hundred or so years ago, you would be hanging off the roof by your feet and your head would be impaled on the weathervane on the house down the street."

The two girls in the room gasped, and the boys glanced at each other. "Mind your language." Aviana finished, and Kreacher mumbled his obedience. "Thank you." The Rosier girl switched from her left leg crossed over to her right, looking down at her nails, picking at the side of the black polish. 

There was a certain aura with the Rosier girl that none of them could quite figure out. She was constantly changing, from one extreme to another. It seemed to depend on who she was with, or what time of day it was. 

But as of right then, they hadn't really seen her use her upbringing as a weapon. She knew exactly how Kreacher needed to be treated and that was that. 

And none of them could figure out why everything just made her seem so strange.

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