"Merlin's beard!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.
"There was no need—we have quite enough hands—just because you're allowed to use magic now doesn't mean you should whip out your wands for every trivial little thing!"
"We were only trying to save time!" Fred said hastily, wrestling the severely bent knife from the tabletop.
"Sorry, Sirius, mate—didn't mean to—"
Sirius actually cracked his first genuine smile.
By the time they'd managed their chaotic meal, the clock showed half past one. Orli nursed a throbbing headache from the complete pandemonium.
"Why doesn't Kreacher cook?" Orli asked, massaging her temples while pouring orange juice.
"Unless you fancy being poisoned," Sirius replied with sardonic bite.
Mrs. Weasley distributed beef pasties while explaining:
"I need to mention something, Sirius. We've collected items from the writing desk upstairs—they're still rattling about. Snuffboxes, old pocket watches, silver cups... probably harmless trinkets, but I thought you should examine them before we dispose of anything."
"Chuck out whatever you like," Sirius said with complete indifference.
"The curtains are absolutely riddled with doxy eggs too," Mrs. Weasley continued.
"I thought we'd tackle them this afternoon."
Sirius merely shrugged carelessly.
Across from Orli, Tonks entertained Hermione and Ginny by morphing her nose—first into a sharp beak, then shrinking to mushroom-button size with hair sprouting from each nostril. Clearly standard mealtime entertainment, judging by how the girls requested their favorite transformations.
Orli's gaze drifted from Tonks's animated face to Lupin, who was passing stew to Mrs. Weasley with perfect normalcy.
When exactly did Tonks and Lupin begin? A year from now? Earlier? Orli wondered. Tonks was young too—if she could marry Lupin, then perhaps she could also...
Sharp pain lanced through her chest. She forced the thought away.
Under Mrs. Weasley's iron-willed supervision, everyone consumed two generous bowls of stew, three beef pasties, and custard pudding. Thirty minutes later, they reconvened in the drawing room Mrs. Weasley had mentioned.
A long first-floor chamber with soaring ceilings, its olive-green walls buried under dust thick as velvet. The carpet released choking clouds with every footstep, while lengthy moss-green curtains buzzed ominously—as though harboring swarms of invisible bees.
"Cover your faces and take spray bottles," Mrs. Weasley commanded.
"Absolute doxy infestation—I've never witnessed anything so severe—what have the house-elves been doing these past ten years—"
Though Hermione's face was half-concealed behind a tea towel, Orli caught her disapproving glare at Mrs. Weasley.
"Kreacher's terribly old—perhaps he can't manage—"
"You'd be amazed how capable Kreacher becomes when motivated, Hermione," Sirius said through his own muffled coverings.
"When I give the signal, spray immediately," Mrs. Weasley instructed.
"According to these directions, one proper squirt should paralyze any doxy. Once they're stunned, toss them straight into this bucket."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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