The Anti-Heroine || A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter LXXVIII

CHAPTER LXXVIII:

Harry's POV:

When Kreacher came to Harry in a panicked fury the day before the inauguration ball, Harry was both happy that the old elf felt he could go to him for help, and outraged by the urgent news that Kreacher had brought him—apparently Mrs Weasley had started to go through Grimmauld Place's drawing room, his drawing room, and get rid of anything she considered Dark or bigoted. Harry honestly didn't understand what Mrs Weasley was thinking— who came into someone else's house and started to throw out things they didn't like?

He followed the furious house elf to the drawing room, feeling quite furious himself, barely taking note of how Charlie, when he stormed by the redhead, groaned; "oh shit, what now?" before following after him.

The door of the drawing room was slightly ajar and he could hear Mrs Weasley commenting to someone; "I can't do anything about the tapestry, it seems to be permanently stuck to the wall—" and he interrupted with a loud thud as he shoved the unresisting door fully open with enough force that it smacked into the wall.

"What the hell are you doing!?" he shouted at Mrs Weasley, storming over to the shocked-looking woman and tearing from her arms the sack she was holding. A glance inside the sack revealed several coiled snakeskins and rusty daggers, an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper full of a dark liquid he was pretty sure was blood, a beautiful music box and a number of tarnished silver boxes inscribed with foreign languages— Harry recognised one as Old Norse from his Ancient Runes class.

A rough and unexpected shove to his shoulder in his distracted state had him stumbling backwards, automatically pulling out his wand as he glared over at George Weasley— apparently he'd been the one Mrs Weasley was speaking to. Fred Weasley was nowhere in sight, but seeing the twins apart wasn't unusual anymore— Fred didn't like to be around people, and he apparently suffered a great deal of pain from his injuries and had to rest. Harry was viciously satisfied, but George had been twice as much of an annoyance to deal with, as if in an attempt to make up for Fred's absence.

Like now, when uncaring of the witnesses in the room the red-head had actually laid his hands on Harry in an act of violence. "Watch it, Potter!" George snarled, one hand moving to his wand too. "Don't you talk to my mother like that!"

Kreacher, with a malevolent hiss, got between Harry and George, his long, bony fingers poised in front of him, ready to click. "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor!" He croaked angrily, his large eyes fixed on George. "Messing up my mistress's house, oh my poor mistress, and threatening my master under my master's own roof!"

"Oi! Everybody, calm down!" Charlie said loudly, fixing the whole room with a glare. "And someone explain what the f-heck's happening!"

"I don't have any idea, that rude little boy just stamped in here and—" Mrs Weasley started to exclaim indignantly, but Harry interrupted her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing with my stuff?" he demanded.

"Watch it, you spoiled little shit!" George immediately shouted back at him, the tip of his wand sparking dangerously.

"George, what the hell?" Charlie exclaimed, aghast. "Go for a walk and calm down, for Merlin's sake— now, George!"

Still with a vicious snarl on his face and his wand twitching in his white-knuckled grip, George shot Harry a last, filthy look before storming from the room. Charlie exhaled loudly, before turning to Mrs Weasley with a frown. "Mum, what are you doing with Harry's stuff?" He asked.

"I— It's Dark!" Mrs Weasley protested, her arms now crossed defensively across her chest. "I don't feel comfortable living in a house with Dark artefacts just lying around!"