"I re-uploaded this chapter because I previously published it and it was a duplicate of Chapter 242. So, I re-uploaded it and deleted that duplicate, along with Chapter 243. This chapter is no longer a duplicate."
Chapter 243
Harry heard Fred whisper as he raised the Extendable Ear once more. A moment later, they heard the front door open and then close.
Ron turned to Harry and whispered, "I was really surprised by what Albert said just now. Do you really think that's what's going to happen from now on?"
"I don't know, Ron," Hermione whispered back. "And Harry, don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall."
As they passed the row of mounted house-elf heads hanging on the wall, they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks by the front door, replacing all the magical locks and bolts after the guests had left.
Mrs. Weasley met them at the bottom of the stairs and whispered, "We're eating in the kitchen... Harry, dear, quietly walk through the hall and—"
CRASH!
Mrs. Weasley spun around angrily.
Tonks, who had fallen flat on the floor, wailed miserably, "Sorry... it's that stupid umbrella stand again. That's the second time I've tripped over it..."
But no one heard the rest of her words because a terrible scream suddenly erupted, loud enough to freeze the blood in their veins.
Albert let out a quiet laugh after seeing the way Tonks had fallen, but Lupin shot him a stern look, forcing him to suppress his smile with great difficulty.
The moth-eaten curtains Harry had noticed earlier flew apart. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window at an old woman screaming in agony. Then he realized it was only a life-sized portrait—but unlike any magical painting he had ever seen.
Spittle flew from the old woman's mouth, her eyes bulging wildly, her yellowed skin stretched tightly over her face as she shrieked.
All along the hallway, the other portraits woke up and joined in the screaming. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears.
Albert turned toward the portrait with sadness in his eyes. The woman in the painting was his grandmother on his father's side.
Lupin and Mrs. Weasley rushed forward and tried to pull the curtains shut again, but they refused to close. The old woman screamed even louder, clawing at the air as though trying to tear their faces apart.
"Filth! Half-breeds! Blood traitors! Disgusting creatures! Get out of this house at once! How dare you defile the home of my noble ancestors?!"
Tonks apologized repeatedly while dragging the heavy troll-leg umbrella stand away.
Mrs. Weasley abandoned the curtains and began firing Stunning Charms at the other portraits.
Then a tall man with long black hair appeared from the opposite doorway.
"Shut up, you miserable old hag! Shut up!" Sirius barked as he seized the curtains.
The old woman's face turned pale.
"You blood traitor! You disgrace to your mother!" she screamed at him.
Albert sat silently in his chair with his eyes closed, listening to the meaningless insults his grandmother hurled.
"Be quiet!" Sirius shouted again.
With Lupin's help, he finally managed to force the curtains closed.
Silence fell.
Breathing heavily and brushing his hair out of his eyes, Sirius turned toward Harry.
"Hello, Harry," he said grimly. "I see you've met my mother."
"Your mother...?" Harry asked in shock.
"Yes. My dear mother. We've been trying to remove her portrait for a month, but she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it. Come on, let's get downstairs before she wakes up again."
As they headed toward the narrow stone staircase leading to the basement, Harry asked, "But why is your mother's portrait here? Didn't you say you destroyed all the family portraits?"
"Didn't Albert tell you?" Sirius replied. "This was my parents' house. Since I'm the last surviving Black, it belongs to me now. I gave it to Dumbledore to use as headquarters for the Order. That's probably the only useful thing I've ever done. Unfortunately, I couldn't remove that portrait because of the charm. There's another portrait downstairs—a large one of my wife. Oddly enough, her portrait doesn't move or speak. I still don't understand why."
Harry, who had expected a warm welcome, noticed the bitterness in Sirius's voice.
They entered the gloomy kitchen in the basement.
Most of the light came from the enormous fire blazing at the far end of the room. Smoke from Mundungus's pipe hung in the air like battlefield haze. Heavy iron pots dangled from the ceiling, and a long wooden table occupied the center of the room.
Mrs. Weasley was speaking quietly with Bill at the far end.
Arthur Weasley stood up immediately.
"Harry!" he exclaimed warmly, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "It's wonderful to see you."
Over Arthur's shoulder, Harry saw Bill quickly rolling up several long sheets of parchment.
"Good trip, Harry?" Bill called. "Moody didn't bring you through Greenland, then?"
"He tried," Tonks said, rushing to help him, only to knock over a candle onto the last parchment.
"Oh no—sorry!"
"It's all right, dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed, repairing the burnt edge with a wave of her wand.
In the flash of light, Harry caught sight of what looked like a building blueprint.
Mrs. Weasley noticed him looking and quickly snatched it away.
"These things must be hidden as soon as meetings end," she said sharply.
Bill waved his wand.
"Evanesco."
The parchments vanished.
"Sit down, Harry," Sirius said. "You've met Mundungus before, haven't you?"
The pile Harry had mistaken for old rags suddenly snored loudly and woke up.
"Did someone say my name?" Mundungus mumbled sleepily. "I agree with Sirius."
He raised a filthy hand as though voting.
Ginny laughed.
"Dung, Harry's here," Sirius informed him.
Mundungus peered at Harry through his tangled red hair.
"Oh... right. You're all right then, Harry?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Mundungus fumbled through his pockets, produced a filthy black pipe, lit it with his wand, and soon thick green smoke filled the room.
Then Albert spoke.
Silence immediately descended over the kitchen.
Everyone struggled to process his words.
Harry stared at Albert with narrowed eyes. He didn't know whether to feel grateful that Albert had planned so carefully—or angry that he had allowed him to face the Dementors alone.
Ginny slammed her hands on the table.
"So you knew what would happen and still did nothing?! How can that possibly be acceptable?"
Albert exhaled slowly.
"It wasn't that simple, Ginny. If I had interfered, events might have changed in ways that would hurt us in the long run."
Moody chuckled roughly.
"I like the way you think, lad, but sometimes things are simpler than you imagine. Saving Harry wouldn't have ruined your plans. Isn't he your friend?"
Albert remained silent.
Harry finally spoke.
"So you were thinking about the Ministry all this time? Not about what might happen to me?"
"I was thinking about the bigger picture, Harry," Albert answered quietly. "What happened to you wasn't fair. But if we don't think strategically, we'll always lose to Voldemort."
Sirius frowned.
"Son, strategies mean nothing if we stop caring about the people around us. We're not like Voldemort. We don't sacrifice our friends for our plans."
Albert smiled faintly.
"Don't worry, Father. I haven't become Voldemort. I knew Dumbledore had already arranged protection for Harry. But sometimes difficult decisions are necessary."
Silence settled over the room once again.
Hermione finally sighed.
"Whatever happened, we need to focus on what comes next. If you're right, Voldemort has already begun his plans."
Everyone nodded.
Then Albert revealed something that shocked them all.
"I'm the only person here who knows where the Philosopher's Stone is."
Ron blinked.
"What? Obviously you're going to tell us where it is, right?"
Albert shook his head.
"No. Because I suspect that there is a traitor among us."
Those words exploded like a bomb.
Without another word, Albert left the room.
Feeling troubled, he headed toward the large room where he used to train—the room that contained his mother's portrait.
Slowly, he opened the door.
The room was dimly lit by ancient candles.
And then he froze.
Standing in the center of the room was a mysterious figure about his height, dressed entirely in black robes. His face was hidden beneath a hood.
Only one thing stood out.
On his chest glowed the emblem of a phoenix, burning with yellow and orange flames.
Albert's heart pounded.
The stranger spoke in a calm, dignified voice.
"Albert... did you read the letter I gave you two years ago?"
To be continued...