SILENT [1] || HARRY POTTER ⚡️

thirty-nine ; half nobles

a/n: wow! i updated! And it's super long (like over 4,000 words!).

unedited. published 1/14/17

"I don't know what Harry's so grumpy about," is what Darcy retorted when Ginny had felt incredibly "bad" for said boy.

In one way, some could say Darcy Black was jealous. Though, she would say she's just grumpy that Harry got his questions answered, meanwhile she's trying to do the quadratic formula as to why she couldn't know about the Order.

Secrecy was one that Darcy had a long-term hate for. And maybe, during the summer, she suspected that her aunt and her boyfriend were sneaking off to some form of group, to help with fighting Voldemort. (That, and there was the sneaking suspicion that Ophelia and Remus were having a little alone time. Though, Darcy saw them sucking face even at home).

Then, there was her father, Sirius Black, not paying a considerable amount of attention to her. This...this got to Darcy in a spiraling and heated anger that needed to be diffused by letting it out. But, she couldn't without waking the entire house up.

It was the morning after. Darcy was up the earliest, still not ridden with her anger.

"Hello dear," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice surprised to see one of the kids up. "Would you mind waking up the others? Got a long, long day ahead of us!"

Darcy was groggy, but did as she asked. She slowly walked up the stairs, catching a sight of the old elf that was hanging around the first tier.

"Morning," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She got distracted, watching Kreacher stow away some ugly tarp. "What do you have there, ugly?"

The elf glanced up, his eyes wide. "Grimy half blood," he said. "Watching, talking and staring at Kreacher so oddly. Mistress would not want me to talk to her..."

Shrugging, unfazed by the elf's talk, Darcy glanced up at the stairways. Already, she heard the voice of George loudly waking up others.

"You got them up?" called Darcy, her eyes squinting.

"Yeah!" two unison voices replied.

Taking that as the OK to leave, Darcy headed back down to the kitchens. She heard the bombarding footsteps later, and soon enough, the group had towels wrapped around their faces. Though, after spraying Doxycide, Darcy quit and retired to a rusty armchair. (Plus, there was the short "morning" that Sirius and she shared before he went off again, leaving Darcy feeling her chest boil.)

"That was horrific," coughed Darcy, her hand waving in front of her face.

"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 that could not be understood and, least pleasant of all, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what was most likely blood.

The clanging doorbell rang again. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley.

"Stay here," she said firmly, snatching up the bag of rats as Mrs. Blacks screeches started up again from down below. "I'll bring up some sandwiches."

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down onto the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons.