Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling

close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.
    ‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers –’
    Tonks apologised over and over again, dragging the huge, heavy troll’s leg back off the floor; Mrs Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand; and a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.
    ‘Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!’ he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs Weasley had abandoned.
    The old woman’s face blanched.
    ‘Yoooou!’ she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. ‘Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!’
    ‘I said – shut – UP!’ roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.
    The old woman’s screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry’s godfather Sirius turned to face him. ‘Hello, Harry,’ he said grimly, ‘I see you’ve met my mother.’

 
     
— CHAPTER FIVE —
     
The Order of the Phoenix
    ‘Your –?’
    ‘My dear old mum, yeah,’ said Sirius. ‘We’ve been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let’s get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again.’
    ‘But what’s a portrait of your mother doing here?’ Harry asked, bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.
    ‘Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,’ said Sirius. ‘But I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters – about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.’
    Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.
    It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.
    Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.
    ‘Harry!’ Mr Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. ‘Good to see you!’
    Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.
    ‘Journey all right, Harry?’ Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. ‘Mad-Eye didn’t make you come via Greenland, then?’
    ‘He tried,’ said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle on to the last piece of parchment. ‘Oh no – sorry –’
    ‘Here, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs Weasley’s charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.
    Mrs Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill’s already overladen arms.
    ‘This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings,’ she snapped, before sweeping off