CRASH.

‘Tonks!’ cried Mrs. Weasley in exasperation, turning to look behind her.

‘I'm sorry!’ wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. ‘It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over—’

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she were being tortured—then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

Lupin and Mrs Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not 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 tell. 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.’