Sirius led the group up the stone steps to the front door—a door with no keyhole, its surface blackened and mottled with age, a silver serpent-shaped knocker gleaming dully in the gloom.
Drawing his wand, Sirius tapped the door. A cacophony of metallic clanks and rattling chains echoed from within, and then, with a long, creaking groan, the door swung open.
"Would you believe it—they never even changed the unlocking spell," Sirius muttered, half amused, half annoyed. He waved everyone inside, all the while discreetly patting Lupin on the arm. Lupin, face unreadable, glanced at Douglas beside him, then quietly placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, signaling him to slow down.
Douglas stepped over the threshold into utter darkness. A wave of damp, moldy air, tinged with the stench of rot, slammed into him.
Under Sirius's watchful eye, Douglas's wand snapped into his hand. Instantly, he cast a Bubble-Head Charm and an Armour Charm on himself, then swept the entryway with a detection spell. At the same time, Dobby, standing at Douglas's side, snapped his fingers. A row of ancient lamps along the hallway walls flickered to life, casting a wavering, eerie glow that barely held back the shadows.
In the dim light, the entrance hall emerged—a place of faded grandeur and neglect. Wallpaper hung in tatters, peeling away in great swathes. The carpet, though not filthy, was threadbare from years of wear. Overhead, a chandelier shaped like a spider's web drooped from the ceiling, its candles long since burned away and never replaced. A serpent-shaped candlestick sat on the entry table, equally bare.
Douglas took it all in at a glance. Wasn't there supposed to be a house-elf living here? Judging by the state of the hall, he couldn't sense a trace of daily life. Even his detection spell had only revealed a handful of magical traps.
A sudden suspicion struck him. He turned to look at Sirius, who was now staring fixedly at the ceiling. Lupin let out a dry chuckle, while Harry remained oblivious, still trying to work out what was happening.
Sirius had meant to play a harmless prank on Douglas, but hadn't expected him to be so—well, dogged—layering himself in protective magic the moment he stepped inside.
A shrill scream shattered the uneasy silence: "Who are you! Who dares set foot in the noble house of Black? Get out… KREACHER! KREACHER!"
The screech came from a portrait near the entryway, and in its wake, the other paintings began to wail as well.
Sirius frowned, a complex mix of emotions flickering across his face. "That's my mother. Four years after I went to Azkaban, someone wrote to tell me she'd died… She never liked me."
"It's you! The disgrace of the family, the abomination I gave birth to! Shame of the house, filthy, wicked child—how dare you bring outsiders to defile my ancestral home… Kreacher, where are you? Drive them out—drive them out!"
An ancient, hideous house-elf shuffled into view, clutching a bloody dead rat. The moment he saw Sirius, he froze.
Sirius's lip curled in disgust. "I'm the last heir of the Black family. Are you really going to try and throw me out, you useless old thing?"
Kreacher muttered under his breath, but didn't move to obey the portrait's orders.
He shuffled closer, stowing the dead rat in a battered satchel slung across his body—rat's blood seeping through the threadbare fabric. He wore nothing but a filthy, tattered rag, his loose skin hanging from his bones like a second, sagging garment.
Bloodshot eyes fixed on the floor, Kreacher bowed deeply as he passed Mrs. Black's portrait, then again as he stopped before Sirius.
"How could Kreacher ever throw you out, Master Sirius? You are the last heir of the noble House of Black, the true master of this house. Oh, my poor mistress's son… Such shame, bringing all sorts into the noble Black ancestral home—Mudbloods, werewolves, and a disgusting house-elf who wears clothes…"
Sirius's temper snapped. "Shut up! Move aside, now!"
Kreacher stiffened, then bowed again. "Oh, Master wants Kreacher to move aside. Kreacher will go now."
All the while, the portrait of Sirius's mother continued to shriek and curse, her voice echoing through the hall.
Sirius strode toward the portrait, the others following close behind. Douglas, still swathed in protective spells, carefully traced Sirius's exact footsteps.
Lupin, watching from behind, couldn't help but give a wry smile. Douglas's caution was something else.
As Dobby passed Kreacher, he pulled a chocolate from his pocket and offered it. Kreacher turned away in disgust, refusing even to look at him. Dobby sighed softly and set the chocolate on a nearby table.
Douglas shot Dobby a surprised look. Was this really the same Dobby who always seemed bursting with cheer? Maybe all that reading lately had taught him to sigh, too.
The portrait loomed life-sized on the wall—a furious old woman in a black bonnet, screaming as though she were being tortured. Spittle flew from her lips, her eyes rolled wildly, and the yellowed skin of her face stretched taut with rage.
"Shut up!" Sirius snarled, showing not the slightest hint of filial affection. He grabbed at the frame, trying to wrench the painting from the wall, but it wouldn't budge—not even when he drew his wand.
Douglas, seeing this, flicked his own wand. A Silencing Charm rippled across the walls, and in an instant, every portrait fell silent. The world was suddenly, blessedly quiet.
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