Chapter One: Who Are You?
Grimmauld Place, December 1st, 2000.
Alice Fenwick severely underestimated Harry Potter when he told her the state of the house. The amount of cursed items, doxies, boggarts, spiders, mice and overall junk was beyond anything she could have imagined. And back home, she had redone a fair share of abandoned houses.
Two years before - when the great war was finally over - her parents had moved back to the UK, to open up a branch of their family's magical home restoration business.
Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick had not only longed to be back to their birth country, but saw a great business opportunity in helping families all over the country rebuild their homes. Alice had stayed behind at first, hesitant to leave the only home she had ever remembered.
She ran the business in Washington D.C by herself with a great deal of success, renovating houses all over the United States, until her parents needed her help with the massive workload back in London.
Number 12, Grimmauld Place was her first job back in the country. Harry Potter himself had walked into their shop - hand in hand with his fiancé, who had to be one of the most beautiful women Alice had ever seen - and contracted their work. He told her briefly about how his Godfather had given him this house, and that it was filled with difficult memories.
The couple wanted to redo it entirely and lend it to St. Mungus to use as a branch of the Janus Thickey award, which Alice thought to be a very sweet gesture. H
Harry paid for the whole thing upfront (along with a generous bonus), and told her that the house was in terrible shape.
At first, she had given him a three-month deadline, to be confirmed after a through assessment. And what an assessment it was proving to be!
Every three days she had to send Harry a larger deadline, when every room she ventured into seemed to do its best to try to kill her in some way.
Harry didn't care. He seemed not to want anything to do with the place, except if it meant giving it away. What Alice thought was touching was that the man seemed to be more concerned for her safety than for the house's - a sentiment that few of her clients ever shown.
That evening, she was nearly finished with assessing the house - after three entire weeks no less!
Alice had been inside two bedrooms on the topmost floor: both seemed to have belonged to teenagers. The first was barely habitated, and even felt generic to her. From the few personal effects she was able to find, she felt that the owner was arrogant and proud of his heritage; his letters said "mudblood" a lot, and some of the books lying around revolved heavily around dark magic. The second bedroom was a funny one - more lively and relaxed, in contrast to the entire gloomy house - and seemed to belong to the kind of person she would have loved to meet.
Muggle pictures of scantily-clad girls, motorcycles, and even scantily clad girls on motorcycles lined the walls. She noted down they were stuck with a permanent sticking charm (those were a bitch to get rid of!), and then conjured up a few curse-blocking labeled boxes (that she had been using a lot in this house) - clothes, books, mail & personal papers, linen, etc...
With a flick of her wand, clothes and linen begun folding up on their own and getting inside the appropriate boxes. Alice checked the mattress for hidden belongings (you never know with old houses), and found a few letters stored inside.
She laughed to herself as she read one letter from a person called James, where he recounted his friend's prank on someone at Hogwarts, when the boy - who she assumed owned this room in the past - had turned someone into a human-canary combination right at lunch time.
'Canary cream is overrated, mate. The novelty worn off pretty quickly. Everyone is sort of expecting it nowadays.
You figuring out the spell combination was a stroke of Genius (with capital G!), and if I did not laugh every time I remember the whole thing, I would be jealous!'
She chuckled once again and placed the letter inside the box.
When levitating the mattress and then vanishing it, something that wasn't there before fell to ground with a soft 'thud'.
Alice levitated the book, noticing it was a leather-bound black journal. Flipping it open, she found it had her own name written in a neat cursive in a piece of parchment attached to the first page.
'Alice Fenwick,
Take care of this for me, will you?'
Had an owl been here? Did Harry or Ginny send this?
Alice tested it for hidden messages and spells. It was magical, but there were no curses or hexes in it, thankfully. Maybe a letter to Harry and Ginny would explain it all.
At last, when she was done with assessing the final floor she charmed the postbox out front to deliver every letter she placed inside to where it was needed. It was a neat trick she had learned and perfected throughout the years of work. It made communicating with the owners a lot easier and faster than owling back and forth.
Before picking up her things to leave, she wrote Harry a letter, placed it inside the package with the journal and put it inside the mailbox:
'London, December 3rd, 2000.
Dear Harry and Ginny,
Don't be alarmed if this package randomly appeared somewhere weird. I placed an enchantment on the postbox so my letters can appear where needed, to make communication faster. Usually it is set to appear on your own postbox, but my folks tell me that wizards in Great Britain are more used to owl post - and therefore don't usually have a postbox. So I'm guessing this spell combination can be a bit unpredictable here.
If you prefer other types of communication, please let me know. I find owls to be very reliable, but they can take a while to deliver the messages.
On another note: I have just finished assessing the house, and I have to say: you were right - so far, this will be the most challenging work of my career!
I've dealt with vampires, ghouls, garden gnomes, doxies, cursed items and countless boggarts (besides the regular house plagues, of course)… But never with most of those in the same house.
As you may know, there are a lot of items stuck on the walls with permanent charms - namely: the horrendous elf heads, the woman's screaming portrait and several smaller portraits, the creepy family tree and several clippings of muggle magazines (which I found to be extremely amusing). I have a few spell combinations that may help remove them, but I am sorry to say that it will result in them all being destroyed beyond repair.
If there's any of those item you would like to salvage, I've found that cutting the wall around it and then scraping it "to the bone" per se, is a good alternative - but it increases the workload, because we would have to rebuild the part where it was before.
I will, as per your request, get rid of everything unsalvageable and/or dark - no questions asked; I am myself pleased to see them gone.
However - even though you said you didn't care for anything - I will save up things of a personal nature so you can decide what to do. I know what you told me, but in my experience, clients always end up regretting it.
In regards to the screaming woman's portrait - that you both warned me about. I fear that we have been acquainted by now, but I am very sorry to inform you that she is not pleased with having me 'desecrating her ancestor's home', or something.
The final deadline for this place will be six months. I will dedicate my full time to restoration and renovation work.
In a couple of months, when I am done with the clean up, we can meet up and discuss the new design for the home. I understand you'll want the healer in charge of the ward to look it over as well, so I will let you both know when the safest time is.
I did find this notebook in one of the bedrooms, addressed to me. I couldn't find any explanation about what to do with it, so I am forwarding it back.
Feel free to stop by and check on the place anytime.
Talk to you both soon.
Alice Fenwick'
Grimmauld Place, December 1st, 1980.
'I never thought I'd be back here,' Sirius Black thought to himself as he stood in front of his childhood home.
Upon aparating there, he went into safety mode first: checking the wards and adding protective spells of his own to make sure nobody was hiding inside, or that it hadn't been disturbed. Now, he found he didn't quite know what to do.
When he had left, nearly seven years before, it was meant to be permanent.
Then whenever he caught himself thinking about his mother passing, he pictured himself living alone in his flat, reading her obituary at the Prophet, long after the war was over. Maybe James would even be there to nod solemnly in support, like he always did in the big moments.
His over-dramatized imaginary self would be taken over by many emotions. Morbid curiosity, for one; disinterest; relief; and even the unthinkable: a bit of a traitorous sadness, that he would never admit out loud to feeling.
Despite hating the woman enough to fantasize about her death, having a parent die was still a strange situation to be in. He felt a strange sadness when his father had died two years prior. Not mourning, and definitely not grief; just sadness and resentment. Now Walburga was dead too, and strangely, he felt absolutely nothing. The only shock was the fact that she had left him this house.
Sirius couldn't even bring himself to enter it.
He knew his mother was insane, but didn't the old hag hate him enough to remove him from the will?
He was fairly certain that she had blasted him off that damned tapestry. Then why leave him this horrible place?
In his mind the most likely scenario was that she forgot to make changes after he ran away. Either that, or his mum believed a blood traitor Black was better than having her precious Ancient and Most Noble home pass on to any other family name.
Andromeda being married to a muggle made her out of the question. Both Bellatrix and Narcissa would have been more obvious choices than him. Of course, then the house would no longer be the "House of Black", but rather a branch of the Lestrange or Malfoy estate.
Sirius shook his head in contempt, and decided to get over himself and just get inside to see what had become of the place. Maybe even burn it to the ground, while at it.
With an exasperated look, he wished within himself for some of that Gryffindor courage. His hand was almost at the doorknob when the postbox in the wall suddenly glowed.
He approached it carefully, noticing that the iron engraving of "Black" had lit up in a silvery light, signaling the arrival of mail. He had never used this before - his family was more partial to owl post.
Curiosity beating common sense, he opened it without even checking for curses or poisons, and found a thick envelope containing a dark leather-bound journal, with a letter inside.
He read it two times, and still felt very confused about the whole thing.
Alice Fenwick… Why was that name familiar?
He could feel the answer hovering over his mind, but couldn't quite put a finger on it.
Wasting no time in thinking it through, he drew his wand and muttered 'geminio', and was left with two of the same journal. Then, he waved it over the book in elaborate patterns, making the pages shine in a soft green light - both journals felt warm to the touch but quickly went back to normal.
He thought this was a bit of a long shot, but this Alice person made him curious enough to attempt it.
If this did ended up working, at least he would have found a better way to communicate with the Order in missions.
Sirius wrote a response on the first page of the book, and placed it back inside the mailbox. The "Black" engravings shone softly, and when he opened the box again he found that the journal was gone. Curiously, he opened his own copy to find his writing on the first page.
Interesting.
Without so much as an extra thought, he aparated back to his apartment to write James about his findings.
Any thoughts of his parents or his childhood home long forgotten.
Grimmauld Place, December 4th, 2020.
The next monday Alice aparated straight into the basement of Grimmauld Place.
Throwing her backpack carelessly on the floor she begun unpacking all of the necessary equipments: doxycide, more labeled anti-curse boxes, cleaning rags, products and food for the day.
Her game plan was simple: start from bottom to top. Today she would clean up the basement and the kitchen. If she worked hard enough, the only thing she would have to do on the following day would be to get rid of the carpet.
When she was all set, she ran up to the postbox to see if Harry or Ginny had gotten around to replying. She was surprised to find the same notebook from two days ago inside, with writing on the first page. The letter wasn't from either of them, though.
'Grimmauld Place, December first, 1980'
Alice noted that '1980' had been circled and underlined about three times.
'Greetings, Alice Fenwick.
If your descriptions of this house weren't so accurate, I would believe you might have the wrong one. Although, the fact that this letter is from the distant year 2000 is a clear sign of insanity - either mine or yours, we should honestly place a bet (I do feel like I've been losing my mind lately, so it would be a fair one).
That is not even what alarms me the most.
What I can't understand is how you were able to find this house, let alone enter it, with all of the wards in place. Even though I own it now, it was extremely difficult to disable some of the spells and curses my father placed to repel muggles, bystanders and… well, me. There's also the fact that we have a Fidelius Charm here.
I've checked all of the wards, and it seems no one has been here in over six months - ever since my dear mother died.
So who are you?
I can feel your story will likely be a wild one, but I do confess to be curious - and very bored, so make it interesting.
Sincerely,
Sirius Black'
This wasn't Harry's handwriting… Or Ginny's for that matter. Hurriedly, she checked the postbox once again to make sure her letter wasn't there.
"Well," She noted to herself, "I guess I'll need to owl them a fresh one."
Alice checked that the note on the journal's first page had the same handwriting as the person who sent her the letter - refined, and well practiced.
She summoned her self-inking quill with a flick of her wand, and pressed the journal against the stairs' handrail before writing a response.
'December 4th, 2000 (No, the date is not wrong)
Dear Sirius,
Unfortunately, there's nothing interesting to be said about me.
I am simply the magical home contractor employed by the owners of Number 12 to tear this place down and then rebuild it for a better purpose. Judging by your bedroom, I am willing to bet you fully support this decision.
And while we're on the subject of bets: I'm not insane, but I wholeheartedly put my money on you.
If you do think it's 1980, maybe it's time you went outside and read a newspaper. You've got quite the catching up to do.
Sincerely,
Alice
P.S: I love the decor in your room. It is my personal favorite in this madhouse, and I assume it says a lot about who you are as a person.
Alice smirked to herself at her friendly-yet-witty reply, and was about to close the book, when she noticed, abruptly, words forming right below what she had written.
Author's Note: I have about seven chapters written to this story so far, which makes for a very consistent posting schedule. Reviews would be great!
I must say that I got the idea of Harry donating the house to St. Mungus wasn't mine. I've read it in a fanfic once, but can't really remember which. Will edit this if I end up stumbling on it again.
My posting schedule is tuesdays and saturdays. Been working on consistency, and I guess a quarentine is a great way to jumpstart those pesky habits.