NOTE

Again, I have taken some minor liberties with the setting to suit my purposes.

12. Grimmauld Place

"Grim old place, isn't it?" Remus said, as we got through the door. I couldn't help but smile at the pun. It was the kind Fred would have made. And it was quite true. The entryway was dark, even after a pale lamp slowly faded to light.

We held our breath tensely, waiting for some terrible thing to happen. Only after a long moment did I hear a disturbing sound, like water dripping somewhere nearby, high and cold. I turned my head towards the sound and realised that it was coming from behind old velvet curtains on the wall. As it grew to a spiteful muttering, I remembered that the curtains hid the portrait of Sirius's terrible mother.

"Right," said Remus, also hearing the wicked voice. "First order of business…"

I watched as he ripped the velvet curtains apart and, looking into the painted face of the now-screeching woman, said, "Farewell, Walburga," in a bitter voice. Then he aimed his wand at the painting, and it suddenly disintegrated, taking crumbling pieces of the wall along with it. But the terrible voice was gone.

"Good riddance," he said. When he turned to me there was no remorse in his face. In fact, there was a little bit of joy. "Let's stay together until we're certain everything's safe," he said. I nodded, and we proceeded down the corridor.

I had a few memories of this house from Christmas of my sixth year, when Fred and George were in their seventh and Harry and his friends were in their fifth. It had briefly been a place of warmth and joy, but now it had sunken back into dust and darkness. It was not the kind of place I fancied spending a month, and making it habitable again would be an arduous task. But really, I didn't think the house was too bad. It had good bones, and with enough love put into it, maybe the deep feeling of generational cruelty would, in time, wear off. There were big windows that looked out on the trees in the garden across the cobbled street, and let in enough light. Once we washed them it would fill and warm the large rooms.

After checking the house and detecting no dangers, we separated to begin the initial clean-up. For starters Remus took the parlour and I took the kitchen. A bit scared of the cupboards, I began with the long wooden dining table.

My magic was still a bit faulty despite being slightly more reliable since Hogwarts. I had to focus hard, but eventually succeeded in clearing the table with a simple charm. The dishes stacked themselves haphazardly on the counter, and the dusty serviettes landed in a pile by the door. I dusted and scrubbed the table by hand, sneezing frequently. I also swept the floor, and saw a mouse skitter around the corner as the broom accidentally knocked over a pail of ashes by the stove.

Then I finally braved the cupboards. In one of them I found eighteen wine bottles, and decided to hide them, not wanting Remus to start drinking again. "Diminuendo," I whispered to them, and they all shrank to where it was manageable for me to carry them in my arms.

I went through a small blue door, and descended into the cold, dark cellar. I got a creeping feeling even though I knew that there was nothing hiding in wait for me–Remus and I had been down here just an hour before. Nevertheless, after leaving the shrunken bottles in the corner, I hurried up the stairs and latched the door behind me.

After another hour the kitchen was clean. The wood warm and shining in the healthy lamplight, the pots, plates and bowls gleaming. My body was exhausted, worn and tired from the work, and my hands were sore and stiff. I had to collapse in one of the chairs for a minute, letting the full weight of my exhaustion sink onto my shoulders.

"Oh–bloody hell–" I heard Remus saying. It didn't sound urgent, so I slowly followed the sounds of his cursing out to the back garden.

It was overgrown with wooden vines and Remus was attempting to magically wrangle them into a kind of orderliness on the trellises. But the vines were not amused, and were tapping him on the head with each new attempt. I saw his struggle and giggled a little. "Though I should at least try," he said. But he came off it, and came inside. It was getting dark, and had started to snow.

We showed each other our work. "It's divine," Remus said of the kitchen. He had restored the parlour beautifully. The fireplace was lit, and everything was clean. For the first time I saw what colour the rug was meant to be; it was beautifully woven, dark blues purples and greens.

We agreed that it was more than enough work for the first day. Both of us had forgotten to eat, and Remus went out to get food from one of the muggle shops. I wanted to go along as well but knew that, although I'd grown up among muggles until I was ten, Remus was more adept at blending into their world than I was. I sat on a bench in the park across the street while I waited for him to return. It still felt strange to be out and about in the real world, without feeling the constant threat of danger and death. He came walking back around the corner with two paper bags in his arms, limping slightly. I went to help him, insisting on taking one of the bags. We stood waiting until a single muggle walked out of sight down the street, before making Number Twelve show itself.

We set our things down in the kitchen.

"Really brilliant work, Wilma," he said again, and I couldn't help but flush slightly with pride.

"I noticed your limp," I said, as we unpacked the groceries. "Do you know of anything that will help it?"

"Not really," he said. "Don't worry, it isn't bad. Go and rest and I'll take care of dinner."

He did have an odd amount of energy, and I realised that this time of the month was probably his best. I took the time to doze on the couch in front of the hot, crackling fire. Remus woke me some time later with a careful hand on my shoulder, and at once I could smell the delicious dinner he had prepared. We sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed it together in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Afterward, I offered to clean the dishes, and he wandered off into the upper regions of the house.

There had been some herbs and teas left over when I'd checked the contents of the kitchen cupboards earlier. Once I'd dried the dishes I looked for chamomile and st john's wort, which Poppy had recommended. Luckily I found them both, and with them I made a poultice with a mortar and pestle. It gave off a pleasantly sweet and dry odour. I climbed the stairs with the mortar in my hands, calling for him.

Come to find out he had cleaned up two of the guest rooms. "I thought we said no more work tonight," I scolded, but really I felt bad that he'd done all of this work on his own.

"It's fine," he dismissed. And he really didn't look too diminished. The rooms weren't restored to perfection, but the prospect of sleeping in one of the beds wasn't as grim as it had seemed when I'd seen them earlier.

"I made you something to try," I said, and showed him the poultice. "I don't know if it will work, but I spoke to Poppy. If you want, you might try it."

His eyes warmed. "Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," I said.

He took the mortar from me gently. "I promise I'll use it on my hip tonight."

The rooms were of equal size and quality, so there was nothing to argue over. It was quite late, past eleven, and we bid each other good night.

I still had the same carpet bag of clothes I'd packed for Hogwarts. Andromeda had washed them all while we stayed at her home, and they had acquired a soft lavender scent. I pulled out my soft pyjamas and slipped between the blankets expecting to fall fast asleep.

Alas, I wound up staring at the wall, eyes wide open. I assumed it was the unfamiliarity of the place, but I just couldn't let myself relax enough to fall asleep. I let my mind calm, watching the snow falling outside the tall window.

It was perhaps an hour later that I heard Remus's door creaking open, his soft footsteps in the hall, and another door. I listened closely, and soon followed the sound of quiet crying. I stayed in my bed as long as I could before my empathetic heart forced me to investigate.

I stepped into the corridor in my dressing gown, and slowly made my way to an open doorway at the other end. I saw from the old plaque on the black door that it had been Sirius's childhood bedroom. Remus was sat in his pyjamas on the end of the bed, his face buried in one of Sirius's shirts. His soft moans had turned to sobs.

I had spent so much time being anxious about Nymphadora that I'd forgotten about this other terrible grief of his. Probably it was also the overload of hiding his emotions while at Andromeda's house; all of it boiling over at the same time, now.

"Remus?" I said softly from the doorway. "Do you want someone near you?"

"No," he cried, his voice shaking heavily. "No, go away, please."

I felt that I needed to give him ample space to respect the boundary, and knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I just went downstairs. I coaxed the fire back to full strength and sat in front of it.

He came down some time later, his face drawn and exhausted, his hair a mess. "Sorry you saw that," he said.

"I've cried enough in front of you," I corrected him.

"Tea?" he said.

"Yes, please."

I'd always been wary of Sirius when I'd known him. He was a good man, and I'd trusted him, but underneath his good humour was a pain that was too deep for me to ignore. I could feel it whenever I was around him, and it made me afraid. Now that I had been through the agony of war myself, I understood him more. I only wished that I hadn't avoided him so much when he'd been alive. I must have read him wrong, if a man like Remus could have loved him so much.

I couldn't help but wonder, as I watched him escape to the kitchen with hunched shoulders, whether there had been something deeper than friendship between Remus and Sirius.

He came out with two delicate cups of tea. "Disgraceful," he said, "we've got to get some proper mugs." I moved over on the couch and he sat down next to me, staring into the fire.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

He shrugged, and stood up to peruse the bookshelf. I stayed long enough to finish my tea before growing tired again.

"Off to bed?" said Remus, when he saw me stand up.

"I think so, finally."

"I should, too, I s'pose."

We both walked up the stairs by the warm light of his wand.

"Good night again," I said, as we parted ways at the top of the stairs.

"Sweet dreams," he said, before he closed his door.

There was a lot of push-pull in the relationship over the following days. I realised that, under the goodness of having a purpose to fulfil, my throat and heart were full of anxiety. I didn't know where we stood. One minute Remus was very giving and open with me, and the next he was closed off, looking at me like I'd been sent to tell him the worst news of his life. I tried to relax, allow the uncertainty of what we meant to one another. A relationship like ours couldn't be anything but complicated. If we would ever reach a kind of ease, we would have to work for it.

The poultice I'd improvised worked well, and I made a habit of making it for him before bed each night. I knew, though he protested, that he deeply appreciated the relief from his pain.

We spent our days mostly alone, restoring separate rooms as we had done on the first day. The guest rooms were fully restored, as well as the old rooms of the Black family–all except Sirius's, which remained untouched. The door stayed closed for the remainder of our stay, as far as I knew, though Remus might have snuck in while I was asleep.

Though it was less difficult for me than for Remus to be in that house, it had stored away some sad memories for me as well. I found, in the attic, a photograph of Fred and me from Christmas in my sixth year, when Arthur had been hurt and we'd all stayed at the Order headquarters for the holidays.

It was hidden by some discarded boxes and wrapping paper from that year, that everyone must have forgotten about. I couldn't imagine how I had left the picture behind, but there it was. I gasped when I saw it, and picked it up as though my fingers might cause it to disintegrate.

I was hiding in Fred's chest, camera-shy as always, while he laughed right into the lens. He tucked his chin to look down at me with his mischief-maker's grin, and tucked my hair behind my ear.

My heart heaved in my chest. It felt like I was going to be sick, or to die. I rocked back and forth there on the attic floorboards with the photo pressed against my chest for a long time.