Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

regretfully.
    Harry was sure he would not be able to fall asleep; the evening had been so packed with things to think about that he fully expected to lie awake for hours mulling it all over. He wanted to continue talking to Ron, but Mrs Weasley was now creaking back downstairs again, and once she had gone he distinctly heard others making their way upstairs … in fact, many-legged creatures were cantering softly up and down outside the bedroom door, and Hagrid the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was saying, ‘ Beauties, aren’ they, eh, Harry? We’ll be studyin’ weapons this term … ’ and Harry saw that the creatures had cannons for heads and were wheeling to face him … he ducked …
    The next thing he knew, he was curled into a warm ball under his bedclothes and George’s loud voice was filling the room.
    ‘Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more Doxys than she thought and she’s found a nest of dead Puffskeins under the sofa.’
    Half an hour later Harry and Ron, who had dressed and breakfasted quickly, entered the drawing room, a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Mrs Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George were grouped, all looking rather peculiar as they had each tied a cloth over their nose and mouth. Each of them was also holding a large bottle of black liquid with a nozzle at the end.
    ‘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’s face was half concealed by a tea towel but Harry distinctly saw her throw a reproachful look at Mrs Weasley.
    ‘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, then bent over to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, 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.
    They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement of the night before.
    A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that had been 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.
    Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mother’s portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s saying, ‘Hestia’s just relieved me, so she’s got Moody’s Cloak now, thought I’d leave a report for Dumbledore …’
    Feeling Mrs Weasley’s eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the Doxy party.
    Mrs Weasley was bending 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