Hey this is an old story I found on a thumb drive that I never finished and wanted to so here go's! I think the original idea was to write a story that was about exploring 12 Grimmauld Place because at the time I had just finsihed reading Anne Rice's Witching Hour which has a ridiculously long section depicting the main characters wandering through the decrepit old house one of them had just inherited and I wanted to do something like that but I think I fell kind of short. Oh well, I hope you guys enjoy. The title is from the song Hometown Blues. The actual lyric is Won't nothin bring you down like your hometown. It has nothing to do with the story but i was stumped for a title so i settled.
The exterior of number 12 Grimmauld Place was the pinnacle of austerity but it's dismal facad was nothing compared to the severity of it's interior.
For Sirius it was the second worst place in the world. He wasn't self pitying enough to say that it was the worst. Azkaban was the worst and as it stood, Grimmauld Place came no where near it's level of morbidity but in the list of places he had been in his life it was a close second.
As he stood on the threshold late at night, it took a tremendous force of will to put his foot over the front step. He had promised himself that he'd never come back but that had been a boy's promise and the promises of youth were so seldom feasible in the years that followed them.
As he stepped over the rotting door mat and into the dark hall he felt the house press over him like a blanket. It was gloomy and oppressing and it took him a moment to see the place as it really was. For one very brief moment he could see it as it had been in 1977, the last year he'd lived there. He could see it clean and and yet without shine because so little light perforated the room. He could see the carpet spotless and dust free but as his eyes adjusted he saw that it was nothing of the sort.
For one thing, the hallway runner was faded and moth eaten. How he couldn't guess. There was no light to dim it. He waved his wand and ignited the hall lamps. Slowly an orange glow filled the passage and on down he could see the cobwebs and dust. A faint rustling caught his attention and he stiffened, weighing the possibilities. No one should have been able to get in. He raised his wand and crept silently down the hall, wondering briefly if the old elf Kreature was still alive.
Then suddenly a loud shriek filled the air and he sprang back against the wall, chest jumping and wand at the ready. He looked wildly from side to side but the shrieking persisted and after a moment he realized it was a woman and there were no words, just loud, grating screams. His eyes found a portrait a few feet away and with hesitance he crept towards it. The noise seemed to be emanating from it.
It was a large and ugly painting of his mother. He stared at it, face a mix of curiosity and revulsion. After a moment the portrait seemed to realize who he was and the screams grew louder and shriller but more defined. She was ordering him out. He squinted at her face. Time had not been kind to her since he had run away. She was older and worse looking than he cold have imagined. For one thing, her skin had yellowed to the color of old parchment and her face had turned sunken and hollow. Her eyes had yellowed too and were bloodshot. They rolled back in her head and simultaneously popped. He wrenched himself backwards and glared at her with wide eyes. She was awful, worse even then he remembered. After a moment's hesitation he grabbed the curtains on either side of her portrait and drew them shut. Somehow she managed to put up a fight but eventually her screams died and he could hear the angry muttering of the other portraits on down the hall. He stood uneasily for a minute before he moved on down the hall.
The air was thick with dust and at times he had to move his hand in front of his face to make it breathable. He hesitated at the stairs. The steep flight lead up into darkness. Feeling that it was probably not in his best interests to hit that right away he turned towards the dining room. Immediately he regretted it. The room was musty and a layer of grime covered every surface. He ran a hand over the oak dining table and regretted it. He wiped his hand on his robes and stopped to glance around. With a wave of his wand the chandelier over head illuminated, although it's light was heavily muffled by more hanging cobwebs. He let the dim light fill the room and then drew out a chair. It was heavy and stuck to the floor. He dusted off the seat and sat himself at the table.
He had come back to London as soon as he had heard about Voldemort returning. This was the best hiding place he could think of. He looked around the room with distaste and remembered past family dinners. When he had returned to London he'd needed a place to stay. Grimmauld Place had been the first thing to come to mind but he'd put it off. After a week he'd gotten tired of the streets and come calling.
He looked around the room again, gloom settling over him. The grimy walls and accumulated dirt didn't help. He glanced at the side door that lead down to the kitchen and groaned. He had wanted to check out the rest of the house. He'd been tossing the idea that the Order could use the place as a headquarters. He didn't even know if Dumbledore would take his offer. He glanced back at the hall and rubbed his eyes. It had been his plan to look over the house and see if it was in any condition to let others into but after a quick look at an aging grandfather clock that somehow still managed to tell the time he decided to leave it for the next morning. More than any dirt or grime he was worried that there might be something potentially dangerous hidden in one of the rooms.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something moving again and watched as a small figure darted out of sight into the kitchen. He frowned and watched it. Whatever it was it was alive and apparently scared of him. He thought it could wait until morning.
Groaning he tucked in his chair and headed back into the hall, leaving the room light up. He carefully made his way up the stairs and stopped uneasily on the second floor landing. In the years since he'd left home his mother had managed to collect a great deal of new belongings. A quick look told him they were mostly garbage. He headed up to the third floor and found his bed room. A quick glance at his mother's room gave him a wicked idea. He'd left Buckbeak in an old warehouse for the night. With a grin he knew he'd found the beast's a new home.
With a decidedly hard twist of the handle he managed to open his bedroom door and stopped. Things looked different. In the dim light from the windows he could see his mother had made some changes. He waved his wand and light the bedroom lights and frowned. Some one had torn down the curtains and there were several black spots where his mother had tried to blast off the pictures he'd hung. He smiled a little, seeing that she had failed. Still, several things had been smashed and a few of the posters he hadn't fixed to the walls lay stiff and curling on the floor. Some of them had even been ripped. He stepped over a broken broomstick and sat heavily on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up as he sat down.
The bed was filthy and rather than deal with it he turned into a dog and curled up. He would check the rest of the house in the morning and then go and find Buckbeak.
When the first rays of morning light showed through the windows, Sirius stretched and resumed human form. For a moment he was bleary and something strange settled over him. A kind of deja vue took him and for a very brief time he felt like he was a teenager again but all too soon reality came back and he looked on at a room in shambles.
The first focused thing that met his eyes was the picture of his friends and he studied their faces. In the long summers between school years the picture had always made him feel better and given him hope that school would come quickly. Now as he looked at it he could remember feeling those things but new and heavier thoughts came with them. Finally he wrenched his eyes away and looked over his room.
After a quick pause he stooped and stacked a pile of old school books into a corner and deposited some of his broken personal belongings into the trash can. When he was satisfied that the room was in some semblance of order and his mother's hand was no more he set off for the rest of the house.
Whatever was lurking in the kitchen would have to wait. He headed to the very last door on the landing and took a flight of stairs to the attic. His plan was to canvas the house from top to bottom before pitching his idea to Dumbledore. Once in the attic he wrinkled his nose. There was a nasty smell of mothballs filling the narrow room. He walked carefully along the center isle, the rotting, green floor runner sending up spurts of dust as he walked.
He stopped first at a large chest and opened it. It had been magically enlarged and was filled with thick rugs, all rolled up. He hoisted one out and unrolled it. By it's standard the rugs in the chest were in very good condition and more importantly, completely harmless.
The next chest he opened contained a large number of portraits, most of the occupants had vacated their frames in search of brighter pastures, the others however were dozing quietly. He sorted through them before shutting the lid. Most of the chests he checked had preservation charms places on them and the contents had not been damaged over the years. This was particularly useful when he found not only a chest containing linens but also sets of robes. Pleased he hauled arm fulls down to his room and set them on the end of the bed.
The next room he looked into was his parents'. He had never spent much time in it before and had little interest in doing so now. He glanced around and saw that of all the rooms it was the cleanest. That wasn't saying much but it did say someone came in and attempted to clean. He thought of the figure in the kitchen again and had a sinking feeling he knew who it was.
He took a quick look into his brother's room and then shut the door. Everything was neat but incredibly dusty and there was little in it he was interested in. He shut the door and poked his head into the third floor sitting room. It was dusty and rather cold. The windows were so covered in grime that the rays of light falling over the furniture were gritty and dreary. This room, as with the others, was decorated primarily with green and silver and there were quite a few serpent insignia adorning the furniture. Even worse the Black family crest was either painted or carved onto every stationary surface possible. He found it to be an insurmountable testament to ego. The room however was rather comfortable. It had been his parents' private sitting room and he had only been allowed in a few times. He imagined that with a little work it might be put back into working order. A dry and crumbling newspaper told him no one had been in the room since the year before his mother died. Perhaps she had ceased using it.
After a quick run down the stairs he poked his head into the spare bedrooms. They were all the same, neat but dusty and eerily frozen in time. The bathrooms were filthy as well but a quick check told him the water still ran and the toilet still flushed.
The drawling room too was a mess, the wallpaper was peeling and flaking away. He tore off a few ribbons and let them fall. A faint rustling came from the curtains and he gave them a wide berth. The rest of the furniture was mildewed and smelled sour although the wood was still good and the cane chairs only needed dusting.
The next door he tried refused to open no matter what he did and he eventually gave up and let it sit. The following one contained a large number of potion vials and sinister looking bottles all labeled neatly with words like Youth no. 1 and Youth no. 2 and on down the line. The next row contained bottles labeled: Young and beautiful. He had never been allowed to play in this room and now with a sense of curiosity he examined the bottles distastefully. They all appeared to be related to staying young. He shut the door and proceed on down to the first floor.
Here he entered the library, only to find it in much the same shape as the other rooms. The books were old and mildewed and hadn't been moved in decades. The room smelled like mildew too and he wrinkled his nose. Everything in the house was perpetually frozen in time. His mother had made sure of that. She had preserved every last detail of the house. From her own parents' furnishings to that of her great grand parents. He frowned with distaste and headed down to the kitchen.
It was there that he held out his wand. Whatever was down there and he had a good idea who it was, was lurking.
"I know I'm not alone here." He said loudly.
Raspy breathing was coming from inside the pantry and he turned and threw open the doors. Out tumbled a very old but recognizable elf. Kreature hissed and grumbled and got to his feet sloppily. "Trespassing. . ." He muttered. "Not allowed. . . my poor mistress will be so angry. . ."
"I'm not trespassing, it's my house." Sirius spat, wondering if the elf had failed to recognize him.
"Very, very unfortunate. A shame. Said he wasn't coming back. Lied to his poor mother again. Aught to be ashamed."
"So you do know who I am."
Kreature looked up at him, dislike evident on his ugly, withered face. "Kreature knows who master is. Kreature remembers. He remembers."
"Well does he remember how to clean?"
Muttering continually, Kreature picked up a filthy rag and began trying to polish the hearth. Sirius watched him for a moment. Before he heard the elf ask oilily: "Is Master staying long? Kreature was unprepared for master's arrival last night. He woke his poor mother. She was very upset. Very upset."
"I'm staying." Sirius muttered darkly. "And other people will be coming soon so start cleaning. This place is filthy."
"Nasty friends coming. My poor mistress will be sick with grief."
"Grief never made her sick, it was her own screaming."
Kreature shot him a nasty look and continued wiping the same spot which grew no cleaner but did seem to take on a king of shine just the same.
Sirius for his part returned to library where he took a door to his father's study and found some parchment and ink. Then he sat and wrote out his proposal to Dumbledore. He would find an owl when he went to get Buckbeak that night. The next thing he did was start a fire in the library hearth and check a silver pot of floo powder. To his satisfaction it was perfectly good.
He shouted Remus's address to the green flames and waited. A few seconds later he was looking out into a small hotel room. He'd received a letter from Remus a few weeks before and had replied telling him that he planned to offer his house to the Order. Remus was, as he looked out, sitting at a small table reading the Daily Prophet and frowning. He jumped when he heard Sirius clear his throat. Sirius cast a sidelong glances around him. Remus's hotel room was shabby and worn but it was cleaner than his own house.
"You startled me." Remus said quietly. "Did you make it to the house okay?"
"Wouldn't be talking to you if I hadn't."
Remus nodded. "Are you going to offer it to the Order?"
"Yeah. It's filthy though."
"Well that gives you something to do, doesn't it?"
"I was going to ask if you wanted to come and join me. Bit lonely here with only the old elf."
"Your house elf's still alive?"
"Yeah, had a run in with him this morning. Told me I was trespassing."
Remus made an amused noise. "I think I can come. Let me get my bags. I only checked into this place this morning." Sirius waited a few moments and the pulled back and Remus stepped into the fire. A few seconds later he was standing in the library looking around mildly and dusting off his clothes.
For Remus it was a first. He had heard many things about Sirius's home over the years but this was the first time he had ever been in it. He bent and squinted at the bookshelves. Most of the titles were related to the dark arts. "You always made it sound so clean." He said with a slight grin.
"Hilarious." Sirius muttered. "Come on, you can put your stuff in one of the guest rooms.
"I don't know how long I'll be staying, Dumbledore has a job he says he wants to me to do."
Sirius was slightly let down by this but quickly schooled his face to hide it. "Well, until then you can help me around here."
Remus cast a wary eye around him. "Joy." He said.
"Yep."
Over the next few days different members of the order began making their appearance on the step. Molly Weasly charged into cleaning with an army of unwilling soldiers and Sirius found himself roped into it as well. Snape had made several snide comments on his first visit. And then some more on his second. Sirius had wanted to punch him but hadn't. Buckbeak had taken up residence in his parents' bedroom and much to his delight had shredded their bed on his second night. Still, even with the house now full of people he was not much cheered there were far too many memories and far too much resentment trapped inside of the walls and although there was plenty to keep him busy Sirius could not help but dwell on them. Snape's frequent comments did not make things easier and at times his temper flared.
His mother screamed every time someone rang the bell and at one point Molly had gotten into a screaming match with her which turned out to be quite amusing. Eventually she had ordered that no one should ring the bell again. This was not strictly followed and the screaming persisted. The assortment of oddities they found littering the house could not have been labeled as pleasant but to his relief Sirius found nothing that could be described as inherently dangerous.
So to me the last half when Remus arrives and after seems at odds with the rest of the story and the ending feels abrupt but then again I'm finishing this thing almost two years later and the end isn't really the focus. Thanks for reading and I hope you guys enjoy.