Title Black Mulberry: The Hogwarts Hexad and WHOSE Stone Now ✅

nxrthmizu — 3 Slinking into the kitchen as quietly as he could, Harry tried not to reel back from the smell. He quickly found the source of it— A huge, metal tub by the sink. Inside the tub were what appeared to be decade-old kitchen rags soaking in grey water. Knowing how much Aunt Petunia hated questions, Harry decided to keep his mouth shut. Aunt Petunia had already made breakfast that morning— A surprise, really. Harry had expected to have to do it, but he didn’t say anything and moved to clean the pans that Aunt Petunia had used. The smell of his Aunt’s dishwasher— Lemon— Soothed his emotions more than they should. Washing the dishes and cleaning in general always did make the scruffy, small boy feel calm. The chores were a routine, something that he was always expected to do, something that was consistent, quite unlike his Uncle’s unpredictable temper. “What’s that terrible smell?” Dudley, unlike Harry, had no qualms about keeping his mouth shut. Then again, Harry supposed the boy didn’t have to be on the receiving end of Aunt Petunia’s tight-lipped glare everytime a sentence finished with a question mark. “Harry’s new school uniform.” Aunt Petunia brushed it off, like the tub of grey matter was a minor issue at most. Meanwhile, Uncle Vernon had already made his way into the kitchen, and he, like his son, scrunched up his nose at the repulsive stink. Plopping onto the chair (Harry wondered how long it would be until the chair legs gave way), the man opened the newspaper while Dudley banged his stick on the table, making Harry wince. When Harry was on his last pan (For the thousandth time, he wondered if Aunt Petunia must use that much oil when cooking breakfast), there came a click from the letter box, and the flop of letters on the doormat. Without even looking up, Uncle Vernon instructed from behind his paper: “Get the post, Dudley.” “Make Harry get it.” Responded Dudley defiantly. “Get the post, boy.” Harry paused, wondering for a moment if he would get reprimanded for leaving the last pan unwashed before he retrieved the post. In the span of half a second, he decided that he didn’t want to risk it, and rinsed the pan as quickly as the water flow would allow. Wiping his hands on one of Dudley’s old pants, Harry set the pan onto the drying rack and quietly walked out of the kitchen, passing his cupboard on his way to the front door. Lying on the doormat forlornly were three letters— A postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge, who would mostly leave him alone if he was quiet; A brown envelope that Harry guessed was either the electricity or water bill, and lastly a thick letter, made with yellowish parchment. Curiosity got the best of him as he brought it to the top, eyes bulging when he read the first line. Mr H. Potter