A/N: This story was born of a winter spent reading a lot of Dickens, Waugh and many Sherlock Holmes stories. Needless to say stories of upper class, English families with dark secrets have been brewing in my imagination. Enjoy.
1.
The hansom cab bounced furiously as it made its way down the stony country lane. Inside the carriage, Remus Lupin clung onto the door handle to avoid being jolted out of his seat. Feeling nauseous and slightly irritable due to the slow progress they were making, he slid open the carriage window and hailed the coach-driver.
"My good man, how much longer do you suppose the journey will last?" Remus called, raising his voice above the clip-clop of the horse's hooves.
"I reckon we're about 'alf a' mile away now, guv'nor," the affable cabbie replied whilst tugging at the horse's reins to quicken the pace. "You should be able to see Glengarney House once we're past them trees there."
"Thank you," Remus replied. He left the window slightly ajar and felt the cool country air brush past his cheeks. It was such a pleasant change to breathe in fresh, clean air; far easier on the lungs than the smoky, squalid air of London. At least the surroundings of Glengarney House were picturesque, Remus thought to himself, even if the reputation of the house's owner was rather murky.
The previous morning, Remus had received an owl from Marston's Tutoring Agency, which demanded his immediate presence in their office. Not that this was anything unusual; making what little money he could from tutoring, Remus was well used to being called to the agency every week or so to be looked over by a potential employer. In most cases, Remus was not offered the position; when the potential employer saw the state of his robes (perpetually ingrained with the grime of the London streets, despite his best efforts) and his unkempt, often beleaguered appearance the employers decided that 'yes, perhaps it would be best to employ a female tutor, after all it is the common practice'.
So when Remus arrived at the tutoring agency's offices, at the narrow end of Diagon Alley, he was well prepared for yet another failure. He hurried up the creaking flight of stairs to the manageress's office, making an attempt to comb his hair with his fingers and hoping that the fatigue that had followed last week's full-moon was not still showing on his face.
"You're late, Lupin," snapped Miss Marston, as Remus entered the small office. Miss Marston was an imperious, heavyset witch who always sported an elaborately tall wig, which in Remus's opinion made her look as though she was trying to balance a collection of ugly, misshapen fruit upon her head. Hovering just behind Miss Marston's chair was Mr Wickers, her spiteful assistant.
"I see you've made your usual half-hearted attempt at sprucing up your appearance, Lupin," Wikers sneered, as Lupin took his usual seat in front of Miss Marston's desk.
"I am sorry I am late," Remus said, doing his best to keep his temper cool. "This office is, as I am sure you know, quite a distance from my neighbourhood but I came as quick as I could."
"Tardiness is not a reputation I want for my tutors," Miss Marston said in her deep voice, "but that is not what I want to discuss today, Lupin. We have had a request for your services."
Remus was not sure he had heard that correctly, "A – a request? For my services? From whom?"
"From Sirius Black, from the Black family of Glengarney Estate," Miss Marston replied, her wig wobbling as she spoke. "You are aware of the Blacks, I presume?"
Remus nodded. The Black family had a notorious reputation, and Remus doubted whether there would be anyone in London wizarding society who had not heard of them. Immeasurably wealthy and with a history of scandal and insanity dating back to the Dark Ages, members of the Black family regularly appeared in the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet. The current generation of the family were no less infamous than their ancestors. Orion Black, the patriarch, had earned himself a reputation for dabbling in just about every excess imaginable – alcohol, infidelity and gambling to name but a few. It was rumoured that Orion Black had inherited the madness that ran in the family, when two years ago he disappeared after murdering one of his own servants. His body was discovered in northern Siberia some six months later. Walburga Black, his wife, passed away shortly after.
Orion and Walburga had two sons. Regulus, the youngest, was a renowned magical lawyer and philanthropist, leading many to believe that he would become the next chief of the Wizengamot. But that was not to say that Orion and Walburga's sons had managed to shake of the family's black reputation, for Sirius, their eldest son, was the most notorious of all. He had been jailed twelve years ago for the heinous slaughter of his best friend James Potter and his young wife, Lily. It was said that Black had murdered them due to lovers' jealously, and that he had been having an affair with Lily Potter. Sirius had been released from Azkaban the previous year, amid much public outcry, having been cleared of all charges due to what the Daily Prophet termed as a 'legal technicality'. But why on earth the new head of the Black family required a tutor, Remus had no idea.
"I did not know Mr Black had children," he said, trying to cover some of his surprise.
"With that family, I'm surprised that it's just the one illegitimate child that's crawled out of the woodwork," said Miss Marston haughtily as Wickers nodded smugly behind her. "However, the child he wants you to tutor is a young man of fourteen years, name of Harold."
The meeting continued in much the same tone. Miss Marston impressed upon Remus that under no circumstances was he to bring shame on the agency. No one had lasted in the Black service for more than a year, and Mr Black thought someone of stronger stature was needed, not a lady.
"You fit the bill, Lupin," Miss Marston conceeded, "even though it looks like a strong wind could finish you off."
Remus ignored the jibe. Any one of the facts about the Black family's history would be enough to put even the most hard-hearted tutor off, but Remus knew he had to take what he could get. Having been sacked from six tutoring positions in the last two years, he was extremely surprised – as was Miss Marston – that Black had selected his application over everyone else registered with the agency.
He had agreed to take up the position, and signed the contract Miss Marston had drawn up. Having once again been impressed upon the importance of upholding the agency's reputation, Remus had left the office to gather his meagre belongings and leave for Glengarney House, some thirty miles out from the city, the next morning.
As the carriage drew level with the copse of trees the cabbie had pointed out, they passed a sign at the roadside declaring that they were now within the grounds of Glengarney Estate and that any trespassers would be cursed. Entering through a set of imposing wrought iron gates Remus saw a dilapidated farm house at the edge of the estate. Two red headed boys glowered at the carriage as it passed, shovels in their hands.
The carriage trundled down the gravel drive and Remus got his first glimpse at the stately manor house. There was no getting past the fact that Glengarney had a formidable appearance; numerous chimneys rose like spires from brickwork that was blackened from damp and age. The front of the house was shrouded in shadow, despite the afternoon sunshine. As he drew closer Remus saw that the grand house had in fact fallen into a state of abject disrepair; weeds sprouted from gaps in the brickwork and the east wing of the house appeared to be subsiding under its own weight. Another red-headed youngster was lugging riding equipment across the yard into a nearby stable. Remus climbed out of the carriage, collected his battered suitcase and paid the cabbie his fare. With a brief wave of farewell, Remus watched the carriage trundle back up the drive the way it had come.
Remus shot a glance over to the red-headed farmhand, who had stopped his work to stare at the newcomer. He had the same dejected manner as the two boys by the gate, and Remus wondered vaguely why he wasn't using magic to move the heavy equipment. He waited a few moments, expecting the farmhand to make some sort of introduction and show him into the house, but it became clear that such a welcome was not forthcoming. Feeling slightly miffed, Remus walked up to the massive oak front door and used the silver knocker – shaped like a serpent – to announce his arrival. He heard the knocks echo loudly throughout the house.
He was just beginning to think that he had become part of some elaborate hoax, or that Black was indeed as mad as everyone said, when he heard a window being wrenched open above him. Paint and lint cascaded down onto him as a young boy with a shock of untidy black hair stuck his head out of the window to peer down at him.
"Sorry! Please, come inside and I'll be right down to meet you, the door should be unlocked." the boy called.
Feeling a tad apprehensive, Remus gently pushed against the door which opened with an ominous creaking sound. He stepped into what surely must once have been a grand entrance hall. A wide sweeping staircase in front of him led up to upper floors, the wooden banisters speckled with holes from woodworm. There were damp patches on the ceiling and the wall-paper had peeled away from the walls in some places. A rattling sound behind the skirting board indicated Remus had just disturbed a Doxy nest or, possibly, rats. The heavy drapes were closed to the afternoon sunshine and a deep gloom pervaded the hall.
Remus heard the thudding of footsteps from the landing above him and the young boy appeared at the top of the staircase, He bounded down to Remus, eyes bright and face alight with happiness. The contrast was so stark when compared to the gloominess of the house; it was like a bright and happy spirit living in a dead, decaying shell.
"You must be Harold, I presume," said Remus as the boy stopped in front of him.
"Yes, I am," he shook Remus's hand. "And you must be Professor Lupin. I'm apologise for not meeting your coach, but I didn't hear it come down the drive and Sirius is still asleep."
Remus checked his watch; it was 3.30 in the afternoon. "Is your godfather sick?"
The boy laughed. "Oh no – he just keeps unusual hours, that's all. You can leave your bag here, Kreacher will bring it up for you. Shall I show you to your room?"
"Yes, please do Harold," said Remus.
"Oh, call me Harry," he said as they climbed the stairs. "Nobody ever calls me Harold."
"Harry it is then."
* * *
His rooms were surprisingly bright and airy. The sharp smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air, and the large double bed, made up with fresh linen, looked most inviting. Relief swept through Remus, he was half expecting to be kept in something akin to a dungeon. His feelings must have shown on his face for Harry gave him a smile and said, "Me and Ron, on of the farm workers, helped clean it up a bit for you."
"Thank you, Harry. This is most agreeable," said Remus, taking off his hat and outer coat, draping them across his desk chair.
Harry looked proud of himself. "We take our evening meal at six thirty in the dining room – you are welcome to join us."
"Thank you again, Harry, but I think it's best if I just take my meals in the kitchen. I wouldn't want to presume myself above my station."
"I do not think Sirius would have a problem with it, but if it suits you."
Harry then showed Remus quickly around the rest of Glengarney House. There were countless portraits lining every corridor and room; generations of long dead Blacks presiding over their domain. They all had the same chiselled nose and high cheekbones, Remus noticed. One large portrait outside the library was covered by thick green-velvet curtains that trailed across the floor, as he passed Remus thought he heard the occupant snoring. Lastly, Harry showed Remus the door that lead down to the basement kitchen an left him to procure some supper, having arranged to meet for lessons at nine o'clock the following morning.
Remus took the steep, narrow staircase down into the kitchen. It was warm and bright in here. An array of highly polished copper pots were hanging from hooks along one wall, and a scrubbed wooden table ran the length of the room. Over by the sink, hand washing a pile of dirty plates was a plump red-headed woman. She stopped what she was doing as Remus entered and introduced himself.
"I am Molly Weasley," she said, not accepting Remus's outstretched hand. "And forgive me if I forget your name, but tutors come and go so often from this goddamn house that it's hardly worth my time to remember all the names." She gave Remus a once-over taking in his threadbare robes and tired appearance. "I can't say I'm holding out much hope for you lasting either, no offence, dear."
Feeling rather affronted Remus grudgingly accepted the ham sandwich and goblet of ale Mrs Weasley fixed for him. He ate quickly, not feeling welcome in the small kitchen. He excused himself as politely as he could and headed back up to his rooms.
It did not take him long to unpack his small collection of possessions from the suitcase that had been brought up to his room. Feeling that he would rather get into bed at that moment, so as not to dwell any longer on the curious situation he had found himself in, Remus began to retire for the evening. He had just pulled his frayed nightshirt from the wardrobe when there came a knock at the door. He did not have time to reply before it opened and an old, wizened house elf entered the room.
The elf looked at Remus with a disdainful sneer on its sour face.
"The master would like to speak with you in the library, immediately."
To be continued....
