Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets

, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him within seconds.

‘Owe you a ‘pology,’ grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

‘For the last time, Mundungus,’ called Mrs. Weasley, ‘will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!’

‘Ah,’ said Mundungus. ‘Right. Sorry, Molly.’

The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

‘And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand,’ Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. ‘No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey—’

‘What can I do, Molly?’ said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forwards.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.

‘Er—no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today.’

‘No, no, I want to help!’ said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried towards the dresser, from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius and Mundungus, who was still blinking at him mournfully.

‘Seen old Figgy since?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘I haven't seen anyone.’

‘See, I wouldn't ‘ave left,’ said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, ‘but I ‘ad a business opportunity—’

Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped on to Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absent-mindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.

‘Had a good summer so far?’

‘No, it's been lousy,’ said Harry.

For the first time, something like a grin flitted across Sirius's free.

‘Don't know what you're complaining about, myself.’

‘What?’ said Harry incredulously.

‘Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights.... I've been stuck inside for a month.’

‘How come?’ asked Harry, frowning.