Fic: 22 Magnolia Mansions
22 Magnolia Mansions
by minnow_53
Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to JK Rowling and various corporations.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; especially when that woman is an exclusive flat invaded by two uncouth schoolboys.
Rating: PG-13
Era: MWPP, last year at Hogwarts.
AN: Like Childish Things, this story is based on magnetic_pole’s prompt for Small Gifts: A flat that Remus or Sirius hates (or learns to love). It’s yours if you want it, Maggie, with thanks for the double inspiration.
Now crossposted to remusxsirius and the_kennel.
22 Magnolia Mansions
22 Magnolia Mansions saw herself as unequivocally female. The block in which she resided had been designed by the finest woman architect in the Edwardian Wizarding world, a witch called La Corbusière, and her list of tenants included a very young Minerva McGonagall, Andromeda Black, and the renowned novelist KJ Worling, creator of Perry Trotter, a freckled Muggle scamp who got into all sorts of adorable adventures.
Though obviously her leases didn’t stipulate woman tenants, 22 had always taken it for granted that women would live in her. After all, she was a very feminine flat altogether. Her fixtures were of blonde wood, sculpted into dressers and bookshelves with gracefully rounded corners. Her fireplaces bore art-nouveau tiles with floral designs, while the frames of her many mirrors were adorned with fruit and leaves. Even her address, Magnolia Mansions, was feminine: what could be more womanly than that delicate, creamy flower?
Moreover, the architect, with a final, whimsical flourish, had given each flat a woman’s name, engraved in ornate cursive above the front door. Number 22 was Daphne, for reasons unknown, but preferred to think of herself simply by her numeral.
Andromeda Tonks, née Black, was to blame, really, though 22 hesitated to put the blame on a woman. Andromeda remembered the flat from her single days, and recommended the letting agent to her cousin. Coincidentally, the long-term tenant, a rather grim Squib called Thea, was summoned that summer to the bedside of a dying aunt, who left her a lovely Queen Anne house and a million Galleons. She therefore ended her tenancy rather abruptly, leaving behind a scarlet plush sofa and a small table of the sort once known as ‘occasional’. Andromeda’s cousin, who had also inherited recently, wanted to move somewhere more salubrious than a bedsit in Knockturn Alley. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, and the letting agent arranged for the cousin to view at the earliest opportunity.
It was 22’s exhaustion that spawned the misunderstanding. Downstairs had builders in, not reputable builders but real cowboys, without a Silencing Spell or Anti-Vibration Charm between them. When the prospective new tenant arrived, 22 hadn’t slept for a week and was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open.
The upshot was that her impressions were, as she found later, rather erroneous. She assumed that Andromeda would have a female cousin, and indeed the cousin seemed very pretty, with long dark hair and big grey eyes: true, she had a rather deep voice, but so did Andromeda. Her name, 22 gathered, was Syria. The Black family tree contained at least one explorer and a handful of geomancers, so it made sense for the girl to be called after a country.
Syria didn’t linger, but went round the flat at top speed, briefly examining dovetail joints and commenting in her deep voice about the pleasant view. As far as the rather drowsy 22 could see, she had the makings of yet another impeccable tenant. The one fly in the ointment was that she had her boyfriend with her, a boy as golden as Syria was dark, who visibly glowed with love for her. Well, you couldn’t have everything! 22 wasn’t happy about the boy, of course, but if he came in a package deal with Syria, she could hardly complain. She had managed to put up with Ted Tonks, after all, for Andromeda’s sake! Though she shuddered at the recollection, she had to smile fondly at the thought of Andromeda, so pretty and sweet and tidy. 22 Magnolia Mansions loved tidy.
Syria Black liked the flat enough to put down six months’ rent in advance before going off to Hogwarts for the autumn term. 22 hadn’t been empty for any length of time before, and began to feel quite lonely during the long, chilly evenings. She greatly looked forward to seeing Syria again, and getting to know her better.
*
One Saturday in November, the front door finally opened, and heavy shoes - oh, my sweet Lord, heavy boots! - clattered down the woodblock floor in the hall and into the large drawing room, with its east-facing windows that caught the morning sun. 22 winced as she felt her lovely floor scratched and scraped.
Syria flung open a window. ‘Merlin, it’s musty in here! Hey, Moony, can you do one of those watchamacallit charms?’
‘Air freshener.’ The golden boy waved his wand. 22 sniffed disapprovingly at the citrus scent: she preferred floral, as had all her ladies.
Syria turned to the golden boy, her face glowing, grinning widely, and 22, now well-rested and wide awake, was finally able to take a proper look at her. Goodness, Syria really was quite a tomboyish sort of girl, with those strong bones and flat chest! And surely that couldn’t be stubble on her chin?
The flat exclaimed in horror, a sound that made her joists creak in sympathy.
The golden boy said, ‘Hey, what was that?’
Syria, or rather, the boy who had been impersonating Syria, shrugged. ‘Settling. All houses creak and groan a bit when the weather gets cold.’
The golden boy looked unconvinced, and the erstwhile Syria put his arms round him and ruffled his hair. ‘Moony, if you’re worried about bumps and noises you should spend a few nights in Grimmauld Place. There are probably more ghosts than people there. And this is a lovely flat.’
‘Well, it’s very smart,’ the golden boy said. ‘But Sirius, it’s horribly girly, isn’t it? How d’you think James is going to react when he finds we’re living in a place called Daphne?’
Syria, or rather, Sirius, laughed. ‘He won’t. He’ll just come in and out through the Floo. And if you think Daphne’s bad, the flat next door is called Sophronia.’
‘Sophronia’s a nicer name,’ said the golden boy. 22 decided he was one of those stubborn, opinionated males she despised so. As if a Sophronia could hold a candle to a Daphne! Pokey little corner flat that it was!
‘No it isn’t,’ Sirius said. He ran his finger along the bookshelves, checking for dust. ‘Aren’t these great? I’m going to get Kreacher to bring along my books from home. Plenty of room here.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t,’ admitted the golden boy, who seemed slow as well as opinionated. ‘But, you know, I think there’s something hostile about the place. I’m sure it doesn’t like us.’
‘Remus, don’t be so damned sensitive,’ Sirius said, sounding exasperated. ‘Come on, let’s unpack.’
In her agitation about the boots, 22 hadn’t noticed the two massive trunks in the hall. Remus and Sirius dragged them into the drawing room and flung them open, disgorging all manner of horribly masculine things, such as Muggle jeans and shirts, a couple of Bludgers, and a selection of Honeydukes chocolate - far too calorific for a woman. Obviously, Sirius already had quite a few books: the usual school manuals, that all 22’s tenants had, but also paperbacks with titles like Mountaineering for Wizards, The Boy's Guide to Extreme Sports, Advanced Broomstick Maintenance and How to Unwire a Wireless. 22 was aghast, and couldn’t help wondering what horrors were still to arrive via the mysterious creature Sirius had spoken of. Create Your Own Abattoir? Butchery for Beginners?
She was relieved when the books were all out, and the boys took a break. But she felt rather less comfortable when she reflected on her misapprehension that Sirius was Syria, and Remus her loving boyfriend. Well, she could only hope that Remus was nothing more than a flatmate: no doubt males always bonded like this, ruffling each other’s hair and so on! All the same, she wasn’t happy about the way the two of them were now sprawled out against each other on the floor, dreadfully familiar, almost as if...as if they were a couple.
22’s tremor was purely involuntarily, but Remus sat bolt upright and actually squeaked, ‘Oh, no, there’s an earthquake!’
‘You mean the earth moved?’ sniggered Sirius, then said again, ‘Settling. I told you. The place has been empty for a couple of months.’ He pulled Remus down, and his mouth found Remus’s, and 22 could have sworn that they were kissing.
Of course, 22 had no objection whatsoever to girls with girls - that was the natural way of things, that like should cleave to like, and not waste time trying to figure out those crass, aggressive creatures called men. She also understood that women did have to get together with those dreadful beings from time to time to keep the race going. But the thought of two boys kissing made her feel quite faint, and she shut her eyes for a moment to blot out the sight.
‘It’s getting dark now,’ Remus said, in a rather muffled voice, and Sirius replied, ‘Sun gone behind a cloud. Just ignore it.’
They kissed again for what seemed like an eternity, and just when 22 deemed it safe to open her eyes again, Sirius said, ‘Hey, let’s go to the bedroom. Okay?’
‘Is there a bed?’ Remus sounded altogether more amenable now, 22 thought. She couldn’t help but peek as the two of them went into the biggest bedroom, the one with wooden shutters and a fireplace that had been tactfully disconnected from the Floo. There was no bed, unfortunately - the flat was technically unfurnished, bar the last tenant’s leavings - but the boys made a nest on the floor, with a sheet and duvets and even a couple of pillows. Almost as good as a woman’s work, 22 conceded, though she abhorred duvets, which she considered lazy.
The two boys undressed. Obviously, they weren’t as aesthetically pleasing as women, considering they had no curves or breasts and everything dangled untidily outside; or rather, didn’t dangle, though 22 tried not to think about the ramifications. They snuggled down into the duvet, and then there was a lot of heavy breathing and some moaning, and after that silence, until night fell. Then, the boys got up, put on their robes and heavy boots again, and took the Floo to the all-night supermarket in Diagon Alley.
They emerged from the drawing room fireplace at around midnight.
‘I can’t believe the price of those sausages!’ Remus said, and 22 decided that he really was an awfully whiny, complaining sort of boy.
‘Don’t worry about prices, Moony,’ Sirius said. ‘Now shut up and come and help in the kitchen.’
They ate their sausages sitting on the scarlet couch, though at least they used plates, knives and forks. After dinner, they stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and went back to the drawing room, where Sirius produced a bottle of some sort of alcohol. 22 had no objection to a thimbleful of sherry, which was at least refined, but this definitely wasn’t sherry. She pursed her lips in disapproval, though she took care to temper her movements so Remus wouldn’t start squealing again.
‘This couch is so uncomfortable,’ grumbled Remus, shifting and fidgeting. ‘Itchy.’
Sirius slid down to sit on the floor, and took a big swig from the bottle. ‘Not as good as old Ogden’s, but okay for own brand,’ he pronounced, handing the bottle to Remus, who took a slightly smaller swig and then coughed. They both lit cigarettes, one of 22’s pet hates, and again Remus coughed as he took a drag. ‘Bloody novice,’ said Sirius, but not unkindly. ‘Here, pass the ashtray.’
22 was relieved that at least they weren’t dropping ash on the floor, but dismayed that they’d almost emptied the bottle between them. She hoped both boys would have hangovers the next morning.
Whether or not they did, she never discovered, because they left early, before she was fully awake. At around midday on the Monday, a wizened house-elf Apparated in with a pile of books, and arranged them on the bookcase in alphabetical order. Unfortunately, there was not a single Perry Trotter among them, or indeed anything halfway decent. Quite the reverse, in fact! Sirius owned a complete range of Auror novels, with lurid covers depicting girls in scanty robes. 22 had never seen anything quite so vulgar.
*
Remus and Sirius next appeared when the Christmas holidays started. 22 knew all about the Hogwarts timetable after living with Minerva McGonagall for so long, and had been rather dreading the boys’ return. She was especially apprehensive about Remus. No doubt he was the one who’d led Sirius astray, pretending to be a best friend and then starting all that dirty stuff!
This time, the boys had company, two other boys, and a girl with red hair. 22 was disappointed that this seemed to be the only girl these boys knew. Didn’t they have sisters? She could have sworn Andromeda now had a daughter, and perhaps Sirius would invite them both along for tea.
The boy with black hair and glasses, who was apparently called James, was with the girl, which raised him somewhat in 22’s estimation. He sat on the couch with her, smiling rather inanely at nothing, or nothing that 22 could see. She was a pretty girl, with red hair and green eyes, and probably far too good for James, but the flat was disconcerted to see that she spoke often to Remus.
‘How’s your mother?’ she asked, while Sirius was fussing round with glasses and another bottle of that alcoholic stuff.
‘Oh. She’s all right,’ said Remus, going a bit red. ‘Well, she is now. Obviously she was really, really sick the other weekend. We thought she’d got chicken pox, but it turned out to be indigestion. She won’t need any more visiting. At the moment.’
‘I’m so sorry you had to miss the party. We had an amazing time. I don’t know if Sirius told you about Sara - ’
‘I did,’ said Sirius, rather sharply.
The girl ignored him. ‘She’s dying to meet you! I showed her a photo, and she really fancies you.’
Sirius made gagging noises. ‘She must be short-sighted.’
‘Don’t be so rude!’ the girl said. ‘Just because you think you’re God’s gift to women, doesn’t mean you’re the only good-looking boy in the world.’
‘Thanks,’ said James. ‘I hope you’re including me here.’
‘No, I’m not.’
The flat was bemused. Didn’t they know about Remus and Sirius? She had no idea whether their behaviour was considered normal among wizards. Probably not: 22 had a feeling that James and the other boy, the plump one who looked just a tiny bit sly, would run a mile in the opposite direction before they’d kiss each other.
When the alcohol was poured, the five friends drank a toast, ‘To the new flat’. 22 felt quite honoured, and gave a tiny purr: enough for Remus to prick up his ears and say, ‘What’s that noise?’
‘What noise? Come on, let’s have the grand tour. As you can see, this is the drawing room.’
Sirius led them to the kitchen, where the girl exclaimed happily over the wonderful fittings. ‘I’ve heard about these cookers! You can programme them with your wand, can’t you, and they’ll cook anything you like?’
‘If you can do household spells,’ said Sirius dismissively. ‘We can’t.’
He caught Remus’s eye and winked, so briefly that 22 almost missed it.
‘This is my bedroom. We drew lots, and poor Moony got the spare room. Still, it’s big enough.’
22 was all too aware that the boys didn’t have a bed yet, and the nest remained unmade in the middle of the floor.
‘Does Remus have a bed?’ the girl asked.
Sirius flung open the door to the spare room. ‘No.’
‘Sirius, you are a bastard! Hogging all the bedclothes.’
Obviously, the boys hadn’t remembered to put anything in the spare room, which was chilly and a bit musty, because nobody had slept there for months.
‘Mine are still packed,’ Remus said hastily. ‘I mean, I was at my parents'house just before we moved in, wasn’t I, and didn’t have time to get anything ready.’
When the tour was over, everyone except Sirius got into the Floo, with a great noise and clatter, and 22 was bewildered. Where had they all gone?
Sirius, for his part, went to the kitchen, and started to open cupboards and bang saucepans, humming happily as he waved and swished. Noodles, perfectly cooked and aromatic with spices, twirled round the end of his wand, and he popped a dish of sweet and sour pork into the oven. ‘I thought we had vinegar - damn. Oh, here it is!’ He pulled out a bottle that looked suspiciously like the Squib heiress’s best balsamic, and carefully prepared a steaming cauldron full of hot and sour soup. As he worked, stirring egg into rice, frying chicken with sesame and honey, checking the soup for seasoning, he hummed a carol the flat recognised from Andromeda’s day, something about Good King Grindylow. It was obviously a Black family special.
By the time the others scrambled out of the Floo again, Sirius’s meal was ready. He hastily banished the pots and pans to the sink, and Transfigured several old, mismatched bowls into silver foil containers: the flat was a bit confused as to why he’d do that, especially as each container seemed to have a cardboard lid. He then carried them into the drawing room, placing them carefully on the Squib’s occasional table.
‘We’ve got an amazing tree!’ Remus said. ‘Look, Sirius!’
The wonderful double blue spruce, one of the finest from Diagon Alley’s Christmas Tree market, was eventually placed in front of the bow window. Even 22 had to agree that it had style: no doubt the girl had chosen it.
‘Let’s decorate it after lunch,’ Sirius said. ‘I ordered in a Chinese,’ he added, a shade too casually, the flat thought.
They all sat on the floor to eat - 22 actually had to avert her eyes at that point - and there was silence for a while.
‘Fabulous food,’ the girl said. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘The Golden Globe. Camden High Street. They’re absolutely the best.’
‘They really are,’ Remus said, and 22 was sure she could hear him chewing! No doubt his mouth was open as well. Sirius’s lies about the food were bad enough, but she simply could not abide noisy eaters.
By mid-afternoon, the tree was fully decorated, and 22 grudgingly admitted that her tenants had made a reasonable job of it, though the girl had done all the charm-work and designed the most beautiful baubles.
22 was expecting the boys’ furniture to be delivered at any moment, but bedtime came and went and nothing had arrived at all. What was worse, the boys’ messy, half-emptied trunks were still smack bang in the middle of the drawing room. This, to 22’s mind, seriously spoiled the effect of the tree.
*
The furniture still hadn’t been delivered by the following night. There was no point fretting about it, 22 thought, though she felt she had every reason to despise her new tenants. She mentally listed their worst points, eventually deciding that their passion for fresh air annoyed her most. She was freezing all the time, and had to suppress her shivers in case Remus started bleating on about ghosts and what-not. Serve them right if they got pneumonia and had to go back to school early!
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than something terrible happened: something even worse than those confounded open windows. Remus was reading quietly on the scarlet couch with Sirius sitting next to him. A moment later, Sirius was gone, and there was a big, black dog in his place. 22 blinked and blinked again, then closed her eyes and counted to ten, but when she opened them the big dog was still there.
Her involuntary intake of breath may have sounded like the faintest breeze, but Remus frowned.
‘Padfoot, this flat is definitely haunted. I can feel a cold spot right here.’
Padfoot? Padfoot? Oh, Lord, it really was a dog! And what a disgusting creature it was too! Had 22 worn robes, she would have gathered up her skirts to avoid the slightest contact with the brute. As it was, she backed away from it as far as she could.
However, Remus obviously didn’t even notice the slight commotion. He was transfixed by the big dog, which barked, and chewed at the arm of the couch. When Remus laughed, shamelessly encouraging it, it clawed playfully at her beautiful skirting boards.
As far as 22 understood her lease, which was a fair amount - the hated Sophronia had recently housed a solicitor, and 22 had also found her useful - there were no pets allowed. Not even a tiny Kneazle, or a budgie or a hamster: absolutely no animals, and therefore, it followed, no Animagi either. 22 wasn’t an idiot, and knew all about Animagi, thanks to Minerva McGonagall. Admittedly, Minerva had sometimes sat in cat form, but there was something beautiful and peaceful about a cat which there definitely was not about a dog.
As if to confirm this, Padfoot started running round and round the Christmas tree like a beast possessed. Remus said, ‘Don’t be such an idiot! You’ll knock it over,’ but the dog persisted. Remus eventually went to his trunk and removed a small parcel wrapped in silver foil.
‘Okay, Padfoot. Have an early Christmas present.’ He opened it and tossed the dog what appeared to be a nasty Muggle toy, a plastic bone with red bits that looked like blood. Padfoot wagged its tail, and howled a bit, then worried the bone with its nuzzle while Remus patted its head.
22 had seen more than enough. She closed her eyes. For the first time in her seventy-five years, she understood what her tenants meant when they complained of a headache.
*
22 hadn’t much experience of Christmas Day. Her ladies generally spent the bulk of the festive season in their families’ country houses, returning after Boxing Day with armfuls of lovely presents: scent, silk scarves, dress-robes in beautiful rainbow colours, and once, in the case of Andromeda Black, a truly wondrous collection of tiny handkerchiefs embroidered with four-leaf clovers.
On Christmas Eve, her headache still raging, 22 wished that Remus and Sirius would hurry up and pack their bags, then Disapparate to wherever they were planning to go for Christmas. She could hardly wait to see the back of them. She’d have a long, restorative sleep, and with any luck, they’d go straight on to Hogwarts so she wouldn’t have to put up with them again until Easter.
By ten o’clock in the evening, she decided they were cutting it a bit fine. At eleven, she tried to convince herself she was only seeing things when they lit a fire in the drawing room fireplace and cuddled up together in front of it. And then, they started that horrid, noisy groaning and moaning which always set her dreadfully on edge.
‘They’ll go to sleep afterwards,’ she reassured herself, but not a bit of it! At least she managed a quick nap before she was woken by Sirius calling from the kitchen, ‘Moony! Where’s my wand?’
Remus shouted back, ‘In the bathroom.’
‘Thanks!’
22’s headache returned with a vengeance.
They finally went to bed, or rather, to floor, around four in the morning, after a lot of clattering of pans and shouting about turkeys and puddings and prongs, though what prongs had to do with Christmas 22 had no idea. She briefly relaxed, exhaling slowly, being careful not to let her walls or floor move in case she woke the boys and they started shouting again.
They didn’t. But they did begin to snore: first Remus, then Sirius, and as soon as one subsided the other would start.
True, women did snore - 22 was well aware of that. However, women snored in a ladylike way, a snuffling rather than a snarling. Remus and Sirius could have woken the dead, but unfortunately they didn’t wake each other. 22 had no idea how either of them could sleep through the racket they were making. She certainly couldn’t! She sat awake all night, occasionally uttering a small, hiccupping sob that sounded like the gentlest of breezes down the chimney.
*
On Christmas Day, the boys got up early, obviously wildly excited.
‘Don’t look, Moony,’ Sirius shouted as he ran to his trunk and removed at least twenty beautifully-wrapped presents to distribute under the tree.
Remus came in, and cried, ‘Oh, Padfoot, you shouldn’t have! I’ve hardly got a thing for you. I thought we were just doing one present each this year.’
‘But I like to spoil you a bit, Moony,’ Sirius said, ‘Especially as the damn moon is tonight.’ 22 didn’t understand the bit about the moon, but she gritted her teeth and willed them please not to touch each other for at least five minutes, because their shouting was bad enough, and if the other noises started she would implode.
The boys settled down on the floor with mugs of coffee. 22 flinched as she felt the hot liquid directly on her woodblock. The Squib’s small table might as well not have existed, for all these Neanderthals cared!
‘There’s that cold spot again,’ Remus remarked. He handed Sirius a small package. ‘Happy Christmas, Padfoot.’
Sirius beamed, and spent a good five minutes shaking the parcel, and feeling it and sniffing it. Had he been able to understand her, 22 would have grumbled, ‘Get on with it already!’
Eventually, Sirius carefully removed the wrapping paper and took out a small box containing something 22 couldn’t quite discern, though she squinted for a good few minutes, so much so that Remus said, ‘It’s dark in here,’ and turned on the light. She could see that it was something shiny and golden, rather like Remus himself on first impression, and Sirius fastened it round his neck.
‘Now,’ Sirius said. ‘Your turn.’
He handed Remus a flat package, and, to his credit, Remus tore it open immediately, revealing a copy of Woodwork for Wizards.
Sirius looked at him anxiously. ‘Remember what we were discussing the other day? How we could make our own furniture?’
Remus’s face lit up. ‘Amazing! Like a bed - ’
‘And a kitchen table. Look, here’s something to go with it.’
Remus eagerly tore open an oddly-shaped, wedge of a package, lifting out with care what looked like a saw. 22 knew all about saws. A jigsaw had helped shape her dressers and bookshelves: not a pleasant experience, but the results were well worth it.
Remus twanged the saw experimentally. ‘You know Muggles play these as musical instruments?’
22’s headache was beginning to shade into what Andromeda Black had called a migraine. Her vision was now impaired by a bright, castellated line.
Remus turned off the light and settled eagerly to his next parcel. ‘I need to pay you a Knut for the saw, Padfoot.’
Sirius laughed. ‘Make that two Knuts, when you’ve opened this one.’
Remus’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘Padfoot! Is this what I think it is?’
‘I hope so! A genuine Muggle drill. I paid a fortune for it in Knockturn Alley. Well, it’s not so much the drill as the spells you need to work it. Listen.’
22 would never have dreamed that anything could top the racket of the builders downstairs, the ones who had deprived her of sleep for so long that she inadvertently allowed boys into her sanctum. But then, she had never before heard a Muggle drill.
‘You can start by drilling a few holes in the wall for pictures,’ Sirius suggested. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you open your next present.’
‘Let me have a go now,’ Remus said, and applied the point of the drill to the wall above the carved mantel, triggering a combination of noise and pain that sent the flat over the edge.
For a minute, everything went blank, and then 22 roared.
She didn’t just roar: she bellowed, and shook with utter, blind rage, until every scrap of wood in her splintered. She bellowed until her mirrors lay shattered on the floor, and her windows blew out with a mighty explosion. The ashes in the fireplace, still smouldering, were fanned by the downdraught, and flared into uncontrollable flames, consuming the broken fixtures with an ominous crackling and clouds of black smoke.
Seconds after the fire caught hold, 22 heard another loud crack, as Remus and Sirius Disapparated. She could have sworn Remus said, ‘See? I told you there was something wrong with that flat!’ After that, she heard nothing but the sound of sirens as a fleet of fire engines screamed up to Magnolia Mansions.
*
During the long, dark weeks and months that followed, 22’s one consolation was that Remus had missed out on the rest of his Christmas presents. She certainly hoped he was brooding about them as much as she was!
She blamed him and Sirius entirely for the disruption she experienced when the shell of number 22 was restored and rebuilt. The new architect was a man, and nowhere near as sensitive as La Corbusière. The charred remains of her beautiful wooden fixtures and fittings were replaced by nasty cheap hardboard and melamine, with every potentially rounded corner squared off in the modern fashion. She certainly did not consider this a happy ending.
As for Remus and Sirius, she had no idea what happened to them, and frankly, she didn’t care.
End
by minnow_53
Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to JK Rowling and various corporations.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; especially when that woman is an exclusive flat invaded by two uncouth schoolboys.
Rating: PG-13
Era: MWPP, last year at Hogwarts.
AN: Like Childish Things, this story is based on magnetic_pole’s prompt for Small Gifts: A flat that Remus or Sirius hates (or learns to love). It’s yours if you want it, Maggie, with thanks for the double inspiration.
Now crossposted to remusxsirius and the_kennel.
22 Magnolia Mansions
22 Magnolia Mansions saw herself as unequivocally female. The block in which she resided had been designed by the finest woman architect in the Edwardian Wizarding world, a witch called La Corbusière, and her list of tenants included a very young Minerva McGonagall, Andromeda Black, and the renowned novelist KJ Worling, creator of Perry Trotter, a freckled Muggle scamp who got into all sorts of adorable adventures.
Though obviously her leases didn’t stipulate woman tenants, 22 had always taken it for granted that women would live in her. After all, she was a very feminine flat altogether. Her fixtures were of blonde wood, sculpted into dressers and bookshelves with gracefully rounded corners. Her fireplaces bore art-nouveau tiles with floral designs, while the frames of her many mirrors were adorned with fruit and leaves. Even her address, Magnolia Mansions, was feminine: what could be more womanly than that delicate, creamy flower?
Moreover, the architect, with a final, whimsical flourish, had given each flat a woman’s name, engraved in ornate cursive above the front door. Number 22 was Daphne, for reasons unknown, but preferred to think of herself simply by her numeral.
Andromeda Tonks, née Black, was to blame, really, though 22 hesitated to put the blame on a woman. Andromeda remembered the flat from her single days, and recommended the letting agent to her cousin. Coincidentally, the long-term tenant, a rather grim Squib called Thea, was summoned that summer to the bedside of a dying aunt, who left her a lovely Queen Anne house and a million Galleons. She therefore ended her tenancy rather abruptly, leaving behind a scarlet plush sofa and a small table of the sort once known as ‘occasional’. Andromeda’s cousin, who had also inherited recently, wanted to move somewhere more salubrious than a bedsit in Knockturn Alley. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, and the letting agent arranged for the cousin to view at the earliest opportunity.
It was 22’s exhaustion that spawned the misunderstanding. Downstairs had builders in, not reputable builders but real cowboys, without a Silencing Spell or Anti-Vibration Charm between them. When the prospective new tenant arrived, 22 hadn’t slept for a week and was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open.
The upshot was that her impressions were, as she found later, rather erroneous. She assumed that Andromeda would have a female cousin, and indeed the cousin seemed very pretty, with long dark hair and big grey eyes: true, she had a rather deep voice, but so did Andromeda. Her name, 22 gathered, was Syria. The Black family tree contained at least one explorer and a handful of geomancers, so it made sense for the girl to be called after a country.
Syria didn’t linger, but went round the flat at top speed, briefly examining dovetail joints and commenting in her deep voice about the pleasant view. As far as the rather drowsy 22 could see, she had the makings of yet another impeccable tenant. The one fly in the ointment was that she had her boyfriend with her, a boy as golden as Syria was dark, who visibly glowed with love for her. Well, you couldn’t have everything! 22 wasn’t happy about the boy, of course, but if he came in a package deal with Syria, she could hardly complain. She had managed to put up with Ted Tonks, after all, for Andromeda’s sake! Though she shuddered at the recollection, she had to smile fondly at the thought of Andromeda, so pretty and sweet and tidy. 22 Magnolia Mansions loved tidy.
Syria Black liked the flat enough to put down six months’ rent in advance before going off to Hogwarts for the autumn term. 22 hadn’t been empty for any length of time before, and began to feel quite lonely during the long, chilly evenings. She greatly looked forward to seeing Syria again, and getting to know her better.
*
One Saturday in November, the front door finally opened, and heavy shoes - oh, my sweet Lord, heavy boots! - clattered down the woodblock floor in the hall and into the large drawing room, with its east-facing windows that caught the morning sun. 22 winced as she felt her lovely floor scratched and scraped.
Syria flung open a window. ‘Merlin, it’s musty in here! Hey, Moony, can you do one of those watchamacallit charms?’
‘Air freshener.’ The golden boy waved his wand. 22 sniffed disapprovingly at the citrus scent: she preferred floral, as had all her ladies.
Syria turned to the golden boy, her face glowing, grinning widely, and 22, now well-rested and wide awake, was finally able to take a proper look at her. Goodness, Syria really was quite a tomboyish sort of girl, with those strong bones and flat chest! And surely that couldn’t be stubble on her chin?
The flat exclaimed in horror, a sound that made her joists creak in sympathy.
The golden boy said, ‘Hey, what was that?’
Syria, or rather, the boy who had been impersonating Syria, shrugged. ‘Settling. All houses creak and groan a bit when the weather gets cold.’
The golden boy looked unconvinced, and the erstwhile Syria put his arms round him and ruffled his hair. ‘Moony, if you’re worried about bumps and noises you should spend a few nights in Grimmauld Place. There are probably more ghosts than people there. And this is a lovely flat.’
‘Well, it’s very smart,’ the golden boy said. ‘But Sirius, it’s horribly girly, isn’t it? How d’you think James is going to react when he finds we’re living in a place called Daphne?’
Syria, or rather, Sirius, laughed. ‘He won’t. He’ll just come in and out through the Floo. And if you think Daphne’s bad, the flat next door is called Sophronia.’
‘Sophronia’s a nicer name,’ said the golden boy. 22 decided he was one of those stubborn, opinionated males she despised so. As if a Sophronia could hold a candle to a Daphne! Pokey little corner flat that it was!
‘No it isn’t,’ Sirius said. He ran his finger along the bookshelves, checking for dust. ‘Aren’t these great? I’m going to get Kreacher to bring along my books from home. Plenty of room here.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t,’ admitted the golden boy, who seemed slow as well as opinionated. ‘But, you know, I think there’s something hostile about the place. I’m sure it doesn’t like us.’
‘Remus, don’t be so damned sensitive,’ Sirius said, sounding exasperated. ‘Come on, let’s unpack.’
In her agitation about the boots, 22 hadn’t noticed the two massive trunks in the hall. Remus and Sirius dragged them into the drawing room and flung them open, disgorging all manner of horribly masculine things, such as Muggle jeans and shirts, a couple of Bludgers, and a selection of Honeydukes chocolate - far too calorific for a woman. Obviously, Sirius already had quite a few books: the usual school manuals, that all 22’s tenants had, but also paperbacks with titles like Mountaineering for Wizards, The Boy's Guide to Extreme Sports, Advanced Broomstick Maintenance and How to Unwire a Wireless. 22 was aghast, and couldn’t help wondering what horrors were still to arrive via the mysterious creature Sirius had spoken of. Create Your Own Abattoir? Butchery for Beginners?
She was relieved when the books were all out, and the boys took a break. But she felt rather less comfortable when she reflected on her misapprehension that Sirius was Syria, and Remus her loving boyfriend. Well, she could only hope that Remus was nothing more than a flatmate: no doubt males always bonded like this, ruffling each other’s hair and so on! All the same, she wasn’t happy about the way the two of them were now sprawled out against each other on the floor, dreadfully familiar, almost as if...as if they were a couple.
22’s tremor was purely involuntarily, but Remus sat bolt upright and actually squeaked, ‘Oh, no, there’s an earthquake!’
‘You mean the earth moved?’ sniggered Sirius, then said again, ‘Settling. I told you. The place has been empty for a couple of months.’ He pulled Remus down, and his mouth found Remus’s, and 22 could have sworn that they were kissing.
Of course, 22 had no objection whatsoever to girls with girls - that was the natural way of things, that like should cleave to like, and not waste time trying to figure out those crass, aggressive creatures called men. She also understood that women did have to get together with those dreadful beings from time to time to keep the race going. But the thought of two boys kissing made her feel quite faint, and she shut her eyes for a moment to blot out the sight.
‘It’s getting dark now,’ Remus said, in a rather muffled voice, and Sirius replied, ‘Sun gone behind a cloud. Just ignore it.’
They kissed again for what seemed like an eternity, and just when 22 deemed it safe to open her eyes again, Sirius said, ‘Hey, let’s go to the bedroom. Okay?’
‘Is there a bed?’ Remus sounded altogether more amenable now, 22 thought. She couldn’t help but peek as the two of them went into the biggest bedroom, the one with wooden shutters and a fireplace that had been tactfully disconnected from the Floo. There was no bed, unfortunately - the flat was technically unfurnished, bar the last tenant’s leavings - but the boys made a nest on the floor, with a sheet and duvets and even a couple of pillows. Almost as good as a woman’s work, 22 conceded, though she abhorred duvets, which she considered lazy.
The two boys undressed. Obviously, they weren’t as aesthetically pleasing as women, considering they had no curves or breasts and everything dangled untidily outside; or rather, didn’t dangle, though 22 tried not to think about the ramifications. They snuggled down into the duvet, and then there was a lot of heavy breathing and some moaning, and after that silence, until night fell. Then, the boys got up, put on their robes and heavy boots again, and took the Floo to the all-night supermarket in Diagon Alley.
They emerged from the drawing room fireplace at around midnight.
‘I can’t believe the price of those sausages!’ Remus said, and 22 decided that he really was an awfully whiny, complaining sort of boy.
‘Don’t worry about prices, Moony,’ Sirius said. ‘Now shut up and come and help in the kitchen.’
They ate their sausages sitting on the scarlet couch, though at least they used plates, knives and forks. After dinner, they stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and went back to the drawing room, where Sirius produced a bottle of some sort of alcohol. 22 had no objection to a thimbleful of sherry, which was at least refined, but this definitely wasn’t sherry. She pursed her lips in disapproval, though she took care to temper her movements so Remus wouldn’t start squealing again.
‘This couch is so uncomfortable,’ grumbled Remus, shifting and fidgeting. ‘Itchy.’
Sirius slid down to sit on the floor, and took a big swig from the bottle. ‘Not as good as old Ogden’s, but okay for own brand,’ he pronounced, handing the bottle to Remus, who took a slightly smaller swig and then coughed. They both lit cigarettes, one of 22’s pet hates, and again Remus coughed as he took a drag. ‘Bloody novice,’ said Sirius, but not unkindly. ‘Here, pass the ashtray.’
22 was relieved that at least they weren’t dropping ash on the floor, but dismayed that they’d almost emptied the bottle between them. She hoped both boys would have hangovers the next morning.
Whether or not they did, she never discovered, because they left early, before she was fully awake. At around midday on the Monday, a wizened house-elf Apparated in with a pile of books, and arranged them on the bookcase in alphabetical order. Unfortunately, there was not a single Perry Trotter among them, or indeed anything halfway decent. Quite the reverse, in fact! Sirius owned a complete range of Auror novels, with lurid covers depicting girls in scanty robes. 22 had never seen anything quite so vulgar.
*
Remus and Sirius next appeared when the Christmas holidays started. 22 knew all about the Hogwarts timetable after living with Minerva McGonagall for so long, and had been rather dreading the boys’ return. She was especially apprehensive about Remus. No doubt he was the one who’d led Sirius astray, pretending to be a best friend and then starting all that dirty stuff!
This time, the boys had company, two other boys, and a girl with red hair. 22 was disappointed that this seemed to be the only girl these boys knew. Didn’t they have sisters? She could have sworn Andromeda now had a daughter, and perhaps Sirius would invite them both along for tea.
The boy with black hair and glasses, who was apparently called James, was with the girl, which raised him somewhat in 22’s estimation. He sat on the couch with her, smiling rather inanely at nothing, or nothing that 22 could see. She was a pretty girl, with red hair and green eyes, and probably far too good for James, but the flat was disconcerted to see that she spoke often to Remus.
‘How’s your mother?’ she asked, while Sirius was fussing round with glasses and another bottle of that alcoholic stuff.
‘Oh. She’s all right,’ said Remus, going a bit red. ‘Well, she is now. Obviously she was really, really sick the other weekend. We thought she’d got chicken pox, but it turned out to be indigestion. She won’t need any more visiting. At the moment.’
‘I’m so sorry you had to miss the party. We had an amazing time. I don’t know if Sirius told you about Sara - ’
‘I did,’ said Sirius, rather sharply.
The girl ignored him. ‘She’s dying to meet you! I showed her a photo, and she really fancies you.’
Sirius made gagging noises. ‘She must be short-sighted.’
‘Don’t be so rude!’ the girl said. ‘Just because you think you’re God’s gift to women, doesn’t mean you’re the only good-looking boy in the world.’
‘Thanks,’ said James. ‘I hope you’re including me here.’
‘No, I’m not.’
The flat was bemused. Didn’t they know about Remus and Sirius? She had no idea whether their behaviour was considered normal among wizards. Probably not: 22 had a feeling that James and the other boy, the plump one who looked just a tiny bit sly, would run a mile in the opposite direction before they’d kiss each other.
When the alcohol was poured, the five friends drank a toast, ‘To the new flat’. 22 felt quite honoured, and gave a tiny purr: enough for Remus to prick up his ears and say, ‘What’s that noise?’
‘What noise? Come on, let’s have the grand tour. As you can see, this is the drawing room.’
Sirius led them to the kitchen, where the girl exclaimed happily over the wonderful fittings. ‘I’ve heard about these cookers! You can programme them with your wand, can’t you, and they’ll cook anything you like?’
‘If you can do household spells,’ said Sirius dismissively. ‘We can’t.’
He caught Remus’s eye and winked, so briefly that 22 almost missed it.
‘This is my bedroom. We drew lots, and poor Moony got the spare room. Still, it’s big enough.’
22 was all too aware that the boys didn’t have a bed yet, and the nest remained unmade in the middle of the floor.
‘Does Remus have a bed?’ the girl asked.
Sirius flung open the door to the spare room. ‘No.’
‘Sirius, you are a bastard! Hogging all the bedclothes.’
Obviously, the boys hadn’t remembered to put anything in the spare room, which was chilly and a bit musty, because nobody had slept there for months.
‘Mine are still packed,’ Remus said hastily. ‘I mean, I was at my parents'house just before we moved in, wasn’t I, and didn’t have time to get anything ready.’
When the tour was over, everyone except Sirius got into the Floo, with a great noise and clatter, and 22 was bewildered. Where had they all gone?
Sirius, for his part, went to the kitchen, and started to open cupboards and bang saucepans, humming happily as he waved and swished. Noodles, perfectly cooked and aromatic with spices, twirled round the end of his wand, and he popped a dish of sweet and sour pork into the oven. ‘I thought we had vinegar - damn. Oh, here it is!’ He pulled out a bottle that looked suspiciously like the Squib heiress’s best balsamic, and carefully prepared a steaming cauldron full of hot and sour soup. As he worked, stirring egg into rice, frying chicken with sesame and honey, checking the soup for seasoning, he hummed a carol the flat recognised from Andromeda’s day, something about Good King Grindylow. It was obviously a Black family special.
By the time the others scrambled out of the Floo again, Sirius’s meal was ready. He hastily banished the pots and pans to the sink, and Transfigured several old, mismatched bowls into silver foil containers: the flat was a bit confused as to why he’d do that, especially as each container seemed to have a cardboard lid. He then carried them into the drawing room, placing them carefully on the Squib’s occasional table.
‘We’ve got an amazing tree!’ Remus said. ‘Look, Sirius!’
The wonderful double blue spruce, one of the finest from Diagon Alley’s Christmas Tree market, was eventually placed in front of the bow window. Even 22 had to agree that it had style: no doubt the girl had chosen it.
‘Let’s decorate it after lunch,’ Sirius said. ‘I ordered in a Chinese,’ he added, a shade too casually, the flat thought.
They all sat on the floor to eat - 22 actually had to avert her eyes at that point - and there was silence for a while.
‘Fabulous food,’ the girl said. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘The Golden Globe. Camden High Street. They’re absolutely the best.’
‘They really are,’ Remus said, and 22 was sure she could hear him chewing! No doubt his mouth was open as well. Sirius’s lies about the food were bad enough, but she simply could not abide noisy eaters.
By mid-afternoon, the tree was fully decorated, and 22 grudgingly admitted that her tenants had made a reasonable job of it, though the girl had done all the charm-work and designed the most beautiful baubles.
22 was expecting the boys’ furniture to be delivered at any moment, but bedtime came and went and nothing had arrived at all. What was worse, the boys’ messy, half-emptied trunks were still smack bang in the middle of the drawing room. This, to 22’s mind, seriously spoiled the effect of the tree.
*
The furniture still hadn’t been delivered by the following night. There was no point fretting about it, 22 thought, though she felt she had every reason to despise her new tenants. She mentally listed their worst points, eventually deciding that their passion for fresh air annoyed her most. She was freezing all the time, and had to suppress her shivers in case Remus started bleating on about ghosts and what-not. Serve them right if they got pneumonia and had to go back to school early!
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than something terrible happened: something even worse than those confounded open windows. Remus was reading quietly on the scarlet couch with Sirius sitting next to him. A moment later, Sirius was gone, and there was a big, black dog in his place. 22 blinked and blinked again, then closed her eyes and counted to ten, but when she opened them the big dog was still there.
Her involuntary intake of breath may have sounded like the faintest breeze, but Remus frowned.
‘Padfoot, this flat is definitely haunted. I can feel a cold spot right here.’
Padfoot? Padfoot? Oh, Lord, it really was a dog! And what a disgusting creature it was too! Had 22 worn robes, she would have gathered up her skirts to avoid the slightest contact with the brute. As it was, she backed away from it as far as she could.
However, Remus obviously didn’t even notice the slight commotion. He was transfixed by the big dog, which barked, and chewed at the arm of the couch. When Remus laughed, shamelessly encouraging it, it clawed playfully at her beautiful skirting boards.
As far as 22 understood her lease, which was a fair amount - the hated Sophronia had recently housed a solicitor, and 22 had also found her useful - there were no pets allowed. Not even a tiny Kneazle, or a budgie or a hamster: absolutely no animals, and therefore, it followed, no Animagi either. 22 wasn’t an idiot, and knew all about Animagi, thanks to Minerva McGonagall. Admittedly, Minerva had sometimes sat in cat form, but there was something beautiful and peaceful about a cat which there definitely was not about a dog.
As if to confirm this, Padfoot started running round and round the Christmas tree like a beast possessed. Remus said, ‘Don’t be such an idiot! You’ll knock it over,’ but the dog persisted. Remus eventually went to his trunk and removed a small parcel wrapped in silver foil.
‘Okay, Padfoot. Have an early Christmas present.’ He opened it and tossed the dog what appeared to be a nasty Muggle toy, a plastic bone with red bits that looked like blood. Padfoot wagged its tail, and howled a bit, then worried the bone with its nuzzle while Remus patted its head.
22 had seen more than enough. She closed her eyes. For the first time in her seventy-five years, she understood what her tenants meant when they complained of a headache.
*
22 hadn’t much experience of Christmas Day. Her ladies generally spent the bulk of the festive season in their families’ country houses, returning after Boxing Day with armfuls of lovely presents: scent, silk scarves, dress-robes in beautiful rainbow colours, and once, in the case of Andromeda Black, a truly wondrous collection of tiny handkerchiefs embroidered with four-leaf clovers.
On Christmas Eve, her headache still raging, 22 wished that Remus and Sirius would hurry up and pack their bags, then Disapparate to wherever they were planning to go for Christmas. She could hardly wait to see the back of them. She’d have a long, restorative sleep, and with any luck, they’d go straight on to Hogwarts so she wouldn’t have to put up with them again until Easter.
By ten o’clock in the evening, she decided they were cutting it a bit fine. At eleven, she tried to convince herself she was only seeing things when they lit a fire in the drawing room fireplace and cuddled up together in front of it. And then, they started that horrid, noisy groaning and moaning which always set her dreadfully on edge.
‘They’ll go to sleep afterwards,’ she reassured herself, but not a bit of it! At least she managed a quick nap before she was woken by Sirius calling from the kitchen, ‘Moony! Where’s my wand?’
Remus shouted back, ‘In the bathroom.’
‘Thanks!’
22’s headache returned with a vengeance.
They finally went to bed, or rather, to floor, around four in the morning, after a lot of clattering of pans and shouting about turkeys and puddings and prongs, though what prongs had to do with Christmas 22 had no idea. She briefly relaxed, exhaling slowly, being careful not to let her walls or floor move in case she woke the boys and they started shouting again.
They didn’t. But they did begin to snore: first Remus, then Sirius, and as soon as one subsided the other would start.
True, women did snore - 22 was well aware of that. However, women snored in a ladylike way, a snuffling rather than a snarling. Remus and Sirius could have woken the dead, but unfortunately they didn’t wake each other. 22 had no idea how either of them could sleep through the racket they were making. She certainly couldn’t! She sat awake all night, occasionally uttering a small, hiccupping sob that sounded like the gentlest of breezes down the chimney.
*
On Christmas Day, the boys got up early, obviously wildly excited.
‘Don’t look, Moony,’ Sirius shouted as he ran to his trunk and removed at least twenty beautifully-wrapped presents to distribute under the tree.
Remus came in, and cried, ‘Oh, Padfoot, you shouldn’t have! I’ve hardly got a thing for you. I thought we were just doing one present each this year.’
‘But I like to spoil you a bit, Moony,’ Sirius said, ‘Especially as the damn moon is tonight.’ 22 didn’t understand the bit about the moon, but she gritted her teeth and willed them please not to touch each other for at least five minutes, because their shouting was bad enough, and if the other noises started she would implode.
The boys settled down on the floor with mugs of coffee. 22 flinched as she felt the hot liquid directly on her woodblock. The Squib’s small table might as well not have existed, for all these Neanderthals cared!
‘There’s that cold spot again,’ Remus remarked. He handed Sirius a small package. ‘Happy Christmas, Padfoot.’
Sirius beamed, and spent a good five minutes shaking the parcel, and feeling it and sniffing it. Had he been able to understand her, 22 would have grumbled, ‘Get on with it already!’
Eventually, Sirius carefully removed the wrapping paper and took out a small box containing something 22 couldn’t quite discern, though she squinted for a good few minutes, so much so that Remus said, ‘It’s dark in here,’ and turned on the light. She could see that it was something shiny and golden, rather like Remus himself on first impression, and Sirius fastened it round his neck.
‘Now,’ Sirius said. ‘Your turn.’
He handed Remus a flat package, and, to his credit, Remus tore it open immediately, revealing a copy of Woodwork for Wizards.
Sirius looked at him anxiously. ‘Remember what we were discussing the other day? How we could make our own furniture?’
Remus’s face lit up. ‘Amazing! Like a bed - ’
‘And a kitchen table. Look, here’s something to go with it.’
Remus eagerly tore open an oddly-shaped, wedge of a package, lifting out with care what looked like a saw. 22 knew all about saws. A jigsaw had helped shape her dressers and bookshelves: not a pleasant experience, but the results were well worth it.
Remus twanged the saw experimentally. ‘You know Muggles play these as musical instruments?’
22’s headache was beginning to shade into what Andromeda Black had called a migraine. Her vision was now impaired by a bright, castellated line.
Remus turned off the light and settled eagerly to his next parcel. ‘I need to pay you a Knut for the saw, Padfoot.’
Sirius laughed. ‘Make that two Knuts, when you’ve opened this one.’
Remus’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘Padfoot! Is this what I think it is?’
‘I hope so! A genuine Muggle drill. I paid a fortune for it in Knockturn Alley. Well, it’s not so much the drill as the spells you need to work it. Listen.’
22 would never have dreamed that anything could top the racket of the builders downstairs, the ones who had deprived her of sleep for so long that she inadvertently allowed boys into her sanctum. But then, she had never before heard a Muggle drill.
‘You can start by drilling a few holes in the wall for pictures,’ Sirius suggested. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you open your next present.’
‘Let me have a go now,’ Remus said, and applied the point of the drill to the wall above the carved mantel, triggering a combination of noise and pain that sent the flat over the edge.
For a minute, everything went blank, and then 22 roared.
She didn’t just roar: she bellowed, and shook with utter, blind rage, until every scrap of wood in her splintered. She bellowed until her mirrors lay shattered on the floor, and her windows blew out with a mighty explosion. The ashes in the fireplace, still smouldering, were fanned by the downdraught, and flared into uncontrollable flames, consuming the broken fixtures with an ominous crackling and clouds of black smoke.
Seconds after the fire caught hold, 22 heard another loud crack, as Remus and Sirius Disapparated. She could have sworn Remus said, ‘See? I told you there was something wrong with that flat!’ After that, she heard nothing but the sound of sirens as a fleet of fire engines screamed up to Magnolia Mansions.
*
During the long, dark weeks and months that followed, 22’s one consolation was that Remus had missed out on the rest of his Christmas presents. She certainly hoped he was brooding about them as much as she was!
She blamed him and Sirius entirely for the disruption she experienced when the shell of number 22 was restored and rebuilt. The new architect was a man, and nowhere near as sensitive as La Corbusière. The charred remains of her beautiful wooden fixtures and fittings were replaced by nasty cheap hardboard and melamine, with every potentially rounded corner squared off in the modern fashion. She certainly did not consider this a happy ending.
As for Remus and Sirius, she had no idea what happened to them, and frankly, she didn’t care.
End