A/N: This is a rewrite of a story that I started a long long long time ago. I'm returning to it because I still like the idea. This story is kind of AU, because I started it before DH, and possibly before HBP, so some information might not be entirely cannon, and my OC is definitely not cannon.
Tales of Eleven Grimmauld Place
Chapter One
It was raining in London that day.
The rain falling on the street created watery ripples on our upstairs window. They crawled over the glass, distorting and blurring the gloomy landscape outside. I buttoned up my corduroy jacket and went downstairs, opening the door and stepping out into the downpour. The raindrops pelted me incessantly, and I raised my face to the sky, letting my lips and cheeks catch as many as possible, and then feeling them slide down to my neck. I recalled one of my sister Petunia's favorite quotes, "Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain." I twirled lightly, balling my hands into fists and smiling. Mid-twirl, the sudden noise of a door slamming jerked me out of my trance, and I looked up, afraid that I would embarrass myself in front of the neighbours yet again. A boy with long, black hair bolted out the door. He was fast. He didn't stop when he got to the street, but just kept running – on and on until I couldn't see him anymore. How very curious, I thought. What was he running from?
I looked back at his house, number twelve. It was gloomy, which was unsurprising, as all the other houses on Grimmauld Place were too. There was a certain grandeur about it, though. It appeared older than the other houses on the street, and appeared to have been there much longer, too. There were vines creeping up the sides, almost to the top windows, and the panes in the glass were a funny shade of yellow. I was surprised that I had never noticed this house before – it was quite interesting, actually. But before I could think too much about it, mum came walking up the street holding her purse close to her side and pulling her coat around her frail figure. She was rubbing her eyes and walking quickly.
"Hi mum!" I called out to her from my post on the front steps. "How was work, today? You better hurry inside before you catch cold."
She didn't respond. As she came up to me, she gave me a look as though she didn't want to be tried, and said, rather sternly, "Not now, Melva. Go get your sisters. We have to go somewhere." I was slightly taken aback. It wasn't like mum to not even say a simple hello. But the look on her face compelled me to obey without protesting, so I ran back into the house to find Lily and Petunia. Mum stood on the porch, hugging herself.
"Lily! Petunia!" I called loudly, running up the stairs. "Mum's home, she says we're going somewhere!" I dashed in to Lily's and my room. She had apparently been reading Jane Eyre, but was sitting up and slipping into a pair of shoes.
"Where are we going?" she asked, curious.
"I've no idea, but mum seems really upset. And she called me Melv-a. Something must be up." At that moment, our older sister Petunia walked into the room, checking her dark curls in a hand mirror.
"What's going on?" She asked absent-mindedly, patting her hair into place. Her dress was pressed to perfection and her smile was a pearly white as she checked it in the mirror. I silently scoffed at how wonderful she was – how pretty, how sweet, how superb in every way.
"We're going somewhere." I repeated, trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. "Mum's waiting outside, we should probably hurry."
"Alright." She glided out of the room, and I exchanged a disgusted look with Lily.
"Let's go before I lose my lunch!" She said, smiling mischievously and walking towards the door. I followed, and we met mum on the porch, Petunia joining us soon afterwards with a large umbrella in tow.
"Thought we might need this." She said, once again flashing her bright and cheerful smile.
"Thank you, Petunia." Mum, replied, strangely monotone. She started walking quickly down the street, leaving us with no choice but to follow her.
Once we were on the underground, we sat in silence. Mum had not given us a hint as to where we were going, but the questions silently flew around the four of us like little bees – buzzing, but still always slightly out of reach. I was surprised to see that we had gotten off in a shadier part of town. It was getting late and it would soon be dark. Mum led us down a couple of main roads and then into an alley. The walls were covered with graffiti, but strangely, there was a dilapidated red telephone booth, which mum led us into.
"We came all the way here to use the telephone?" Lily whispered to me as the four of us packed into it. Mum picked up the phone and dialed a number. Suddenly, a cold woman's voice came out of nowhere, filling the booth with her icy words.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
Mum's voice had become shaky now. "Er… Alice Evans, Petunia Evans, Lily Evans, and Melva Evans." She took a deep breath and continued. "Emergency."
Lily looked at me and raised one eyebrow, and I shrugged in response, which nudged Petunia on the arm. She elbowed me in the rib in response, and I stepped on her shoe, muddying it with the dirt from the London streets, sticking my tongue out. She gasped and scowled at me, retrieving a tissue from her pocket to clean off the mud. In the meantime, four silver badges were dispensed from the change return slot and mum ordered us to put them on. Mine read, "Melva Evans, Emergency" I pinned it to my shirt, still wondering what the emergency was. Before I could wonder much longer, however, the telephone booth started submerging into the earth. All was dark for about a minute, until the booth arrived in the biggest room I had ever seen.
Everything was stone and dim lights. The hall was wide and long, and I felt extremely small. I silently wondered if all telephone booths had secret buildings beneath them. The main focus of the room was a gigantic fountain, with some strange looking creatures and a tall man in a pointed hat holding a stick. The walls were lined with fireplaces, but most of them didn't have a fire lit and if there was one, it was a funny green colour. How very strange this all was – Lily's mouth was hanging open and Petunia looked surprised as well, but remained as prim and poised as always. Mum was making her way to a small booth with a very large man behind it. They seemed to recognize each other, because the man waved and smiled at us.
"Alice Evans, is that you? It's been a while. Are these your girls? They're beautiful!" The man seemed congenial enough, but something was a little awkward in his tone, and his smile was a little crooked. Mum seemed close to tears.
"McKinnon, McKinnon! Tell me it's not true!" she cried. It frightened and surprised me to see my mother like this – vulnerable, desperate, and upset. It was as if everything she was obviously holding back previously had come crashing through her built up walls. McKinnon's face became downcast – he had obviously realized that he wasn't going to be able to get himself out of whatever was going on. He cleared his throat and started fiddling with a paper on his booth.
"Yes, Alice. It's true. He's gone."
Mum's eyes immediately welled with tears, and she sunk to the floor, grabbing her hair as if she wanted to pull it out. "No, no, no!" she whispered between sobs. Lily dropped to the floor next to her and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear.
"What is it mum?" she asked gently, but mum just shook her head. I glanced at McKinnon, who was looking quite uncomfortable.
"I think we should take our mum home now." I told him, and he just nodded. I helped Lily help mum to her feet, and we both put our arms around her, supporting her back to the telephone booth lift. We stepped inside, and there was a button with an up arrow on it, which Petunia pressed, looking almost as awkward as Mr. McKinnon.
By the time we made it home, mum's eyes were red and puffy, her face was tear streaked, and her hair was wet and hanging tangled from the still persisting rain. We sat her on the couch, and she looked up at us.
"Oh, girls! You don't deserve this!" she cried.
"Don't deserve what, mum?" I asked, wary of what the answer would be.
"Your… your father has p-p-passed away."
"Mum, that's impossible."
"People die all the time, Lily! It's not impossible - don't tell me that! Do you think I would be blubbering like this if it were impossible? Nothing is impossible! Now, please leave me alone, girls." Mum had positively exploded. She stormed away to her and dad's bedroom, crying and fuming at the same time. The three of us just stood there, stunned.
"Lily, you don't think…"
"You heard what mum said." She had turned cold. Mum had never gotten angry with us like that before. Petunia had sat down on the couch and was staring blankly into space. When we needed each other most, my sisters had retreated into themselves, leaving me confused and dazed, and alone.
I suddenly remembered the dark haired boy from that morning, and decided that taking a leaf from his book was the best I could do. I approached the door and jogged down the porch steps. When I met the sidewalk, I let my legs go. My footsteps bounded on the cement, plodding through puddles, and racing away. I did not know where, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Stopping would mean facing what I feared the most and acknowledging the pain of my family and the inevitable truth that was chasing me. Everything was happening too fast – the strange telephone booth and atrium, my father's supposed death, and my sisters' reaction. I couldn't handle this.
My foot had suddenly met a raised crack in the sidewalk. Before I knew it, my body was scraping across the cement, skinning my knees, palms, and cheek. I tasted a small drop of blood at the corner of my mouth from my cheek and lost it. A flood of tears started flowing from my eyes, mixing with the rain on my face. I dug my palms into my eyes and cried. After a few minutes, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I felt like someone was watching me. Looking up, I saw the black-haired boy, a few steps away. He was staring at me, a mixture of pity and confusion in his eyes.
"Oh, bloody hell," I cursed, both embarrassed and angry. I stood up and turned away from him, facing back towards Grimmauld Place, and started walking away. I heard him hurrying to catch up with me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine." I replied, quickening my pace. He quickened his, too.
"You don't seem fine."
"Oh, what gave it away?" I asked sarcastically.
"I'm sorry, I just thought…"
"It's fine."
"Ok, well…"
I caught a glimpse of my house. The lights were off, and I thought duly of what was waiting for me inside. I turned around, surprising the boy.
"Where were you running this morning?" I asked.
"Well, er… Away, I guess."
"From what?"
"My family."
"Me too." I agreed. "Now lets go." I started walking in the opposite direction.
"Well… where?" he asked, following.
"I dunno, where did you go?"
"To the park."
"Then we'll go to the park."
"You do realize it's late, right? Weirdoes hang out at the park this late."
"Well, we'll just have to deal with them, won't we?" We were both silent for a few minutes. When we arrived at the park, I sat on a bench and he sat next to me.
"So, what's so bad about your family?" I asked, trying to distract myself.
"Well, I guess you could say… that I don't really fit in. My whole family's rather… narcissistic? Is that the word? No, but I guess you could say they're very aristocratic and judgmental. And I hate it." It sounded like he was beating around something, but I let it be, because every family has their secrets, and it seemed like they weren't mine to know.
"They're aristocratic? And they live on Grimmauld Place? That's rather strange, considering the state of things around here."
"Well, I guess it's all rather complicated. What about your family – what's wrong with them?"
I took a shuddering breath. "Well, there's nothing wrong with my family, per se. My mother is wonderful – she's never said a mean or nasty word to any of us. I have a twin sister named Lily who's always there for me, and my sister Petunia is beautiful and poised and perfect. And my father…" I stopped speaking because a small electric shock had just danced its way up and down my spine, sending a cold shiver through my entire body. I fought back the tears – crying in front of this boy was not an option I wanted to face right now. "My father's dead."
Hearing myself say it out loud was powerful – it somehow made the fact solid, and truthful.
"Is that what you were crying about, earlier?" he asked, gently.
"Yes… and no." I considered what I had really been crying about. "My sisters kind of shut themselves up, and I felt like I had nowhere to go."
"So you went wherever you could go, right?"
"Yes. And that's where you come in, I guess."
"I guess so." I looked over and smiled at him. He was nice.
"Well, I had better go home." I said, standing, and wiping a stray tear from my eye. "It's getting late."
"Starting to worry about the weirdoes, now, huh?" The boy joked, staying seated.
"Ha. Ha." I laughed sarcastically. "You're not coming?'
"No, I'm rather enjoying this rain."
"Alright. I'll see you later, then."
"See you."
I walked off down the street, back towards 11 Grimmauld Place, alone.