Chapter Text
Hope Jenkins used to be the golden child twenty-something years ago. Now she’s not. Not golden, and clearly not a child anymore.
She wakes up every day at five, makes sure there’s enough food in the kitchen for Remus to fix something up, then tries in vain to rush the coffee maker. The front door rattles behind her as she hurries to her sturdy old bycicle (named Gretel) and pedals away in the quiet of their neighborhood.
Her first client lives two minutes away and books every workday morning from half past five till six and a bit, which gives Hope just enough time to air out their house, sweep whatever dust has managed to settle, wipe the kitchen spotless for their breakfast and, finally, wake up the elderly Finnish couple so they can go on a very pleasant (read: dreadful) morning run while she cleans up their room and the rest of the upstairs.
If she finishes quick, Hope gets herself a pastry from the shop next door and bolts on the way to her second location, texting her boy to make sure he’s awake (or at least awake enough for school), and he usually replies with a photo of the grilled cheese sandwich he’s just made.
If Remus doesn’t answer in the first five minutes, she calls. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Then finally on the sixth, he’ll pick up with a cracking voice, so funny and sweet that Hope has to stop herself from teasing him this early. She misses gentle mornings with her son, but again, he’s a “big kid now”, as he himself stated at the ripe age of twelve. Soon he’ll be saying he’s a “big teen now”, but that thought leaves a hollow ache in her chest, knowing he’d probably say it in a gentle, gut wrenching way when leaving for college in a few years.
But nope! Hope Jenkins is a very busy woman - she doesn’t dwell on such realities much, so after telling Remus “bore da, anwyl” and bothering him enough to make sure he’ll probably make it to his first class on time, she hangs up and pushes the pedals faster on her way to Grimmauld place.
She arrives around half past six. Seeing it so early often gives her the heebie-jeebies, especially in winter when the sun can’t favor it in any way. Even now, when gentle golden rays peek through September clouds, the mansion seems untouchable. Undesirable, in a way. A front porch with no personality except a rocking chair too old to be stable. Dozens of windows, too grim and lifeless, with no curtains adorning them. No ivy growing up the side of the bleak stone wall surrounding their front yard, though it’d look magical. And something Hope truly can’t stand.
Cold, freezing indifference.
She knocks politely on the door before it swings open, revealing the family’s live-in butler, something-something Kreacher, who looks just as sour as the house. He nods briskly in acknowledgedment before letting her in and, occasionally, giving instructions on what she might have to do extra that day. Hope nods absentmindedly, discarding her shoes and already making her way through the kitchen, living room, other living room (for the guests), pantry, back yard, checking everywhere for dust or other imperfections before making her way upstairs with Kreacher on her tail, sometimes mumbling about her too-quick steps.
She’s used to the dance by now. He’ll make his way to the main bedroom right by the staircase while she takes her sweet time walking to the end of the corridor, checking which paints need dusting today and wondering if Walburga might let her bring some flowers in tomorrow (they both know she’ll say no. Hope will still try though). Finally, she reaches two doors at the very end, one on her left and one on her right. The wall in front of Hope could use a window, at least that would give the boys some well-earned sunshine…
But again, it’s not her house. And she’s quite glad for that, even if she’s had to clean it for the past ten years.
It’s usually Remus’ choice on which door she first knocks on, even if he’s unaware of that. It’s mostly up to whatever he does that morning. If he sends her a lovely picture of some salad or even pancakes with a little “left some for you on the table <3”, she’s turning left. If he texts back a mischievous photo of himself eating strawberry jam on burnt toast or some smiley bacon and eggs, she turns right. If he indulges in a guilty sweet treat on his way to school, she turns left.
If he forgets or skips breakfast, she always turns right.
And today is no exception as she gently pounds a familiar rhythm on the heavy oak door leading to the older Black boy’s room.
If he’s in a good mood, Hope can hear Sirius jump out of bed and make his way to her in mere seconds before twisting the knob and dragging the massive, heavy door opening in a single swing. In those mornings, she laughs before ruffling his hair as gravity finally catches up to him and he almost stumbles.
“So, did you sleep well?” she’ll usually ask. Sirius shrugs before smiling charmingly (or at least his best attempt at charm)
“Quite. I’d say it was a very pleasant night” he’ll respond, and then add with a smaller but genuine grin: “though I think tonight will be even better. I’m sleeping over at the Potters.”
Then they’ll stand in his doorway for a good few minutes, laughing at Kreacher’s displeased voice from the main bedroom’s doorway, where he’s surely arguing with a disgruntled Orion spewing vile threats over being awoken.
They’ll both ignore the days when Sirius doesn’t have enough energy to get up and Hope has to step in, gently caress his forehead until he wakes and sometimes hold him as he breaks down, memories of late night fights, harsh words and harsher hands breaking through the gentle morning haze.
Hope can ignore that, just for Sirius’s sake. Just for a moment. They can pretend she’s just a funny young maid, Kreacher is just a grumpy old butler and Mr Black is just a moody morning person.
As he finally makes his way to the bathroom, Hope wanders in and sets everything straight – the bed, the blinds, the piles of papers on his desk. She then spins around and marches to the other door.
This one has been adorned with a lovely little plate, dating back just one or two years:
“Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black”
Hope still chuckles to herself every morning when she sees it, though.
This time, she’ll knock gently, and regardless of day, there’ll be some light ruffling and moving around on the other side before a soft voice calls out either “come in” or “wait a second” or “pardon me for a moment, miss Jenkins”.
Then Hope will enter and find a very sleepy boy, fourteen but looking much smaller, leaning against his headboard and rubbing vigorously at his eyes.
“Bonjour, Regulus” she’ll greet in a singsong voices, the word silly in her thick accent before she waltzed in and draws the curtains. Regulus will hiss like a venomous little vampire but won’t complain.
“G’morning, miss Jenkins” Regulus will respond with a yawn and stretch, back popping so loud even Kreacher (who’s still convincing the Black parents they have a full day ahead to get up for) can probably hear it, and Hope winces in sympathy. She’d never put Remus through gymnastics or ballet if it meant such brutal, guaranteed pain and brittle, crackling bones like Regulus has. Her poor cariad has enough on his plate already.
Despite being younger, Regulus often hides things better than Sirius. However, Hope is a mother. And that gives her special powers.
Specifically, the right vision to see his slightly hunched shoulders, the right song to hum as to not scare him and the right mindless conversation to keep him from spiraling in an episode. Today is one of those morning she uses all those powers while he absently nods.
And when he goes to the bathroom as she’s making the bed, he’ll stop by the doorstep and mumble back a little “Merci, Hope” before bolting out.
Hope will smile, then get to work.
She’ll set out breakfast. Help her friend, the new cook (a.k.a., Magnolia “Maggie” Evans, a.k.a. Remus’s friend’s mother) with putting a charcuterie board together. She’ll dust, sweep, and clean.
Then Hope will be done by breakfast time. It’s a coin toss whether she has any cleanings or clients to attend to after, up until lunch. She’ll come back to Grimmauld place later, around lunchtime, to clean up, do laundry, and sweep the place thoroughly.
She’ll try to leave the chill of the mansion behind, though it’s hard to. Hope supposes it’s fair, though. She’s been doing the same things for the past decade. She’s seen more of Orion’s glares and Walburga’s scowls at breakfast than she’s seen her son at that time in the mornings.
But oh well. C’est la vie, right?
Twenty-something years ago, Hope Jenkins wouldn’t have believed her current reality. Working as a maid, living with her only son in a little house in a bigger, richer neighborhood. Watching Remus grow up a bit lonely, but still oh so very lovely – though it takes some time to get to that side of him. Doing other people’s menial work and finding it only mildly infuriating when she’s treated as inferior.
Young Hope had wanted to be a doctor. Get a good degree, maybe help her sister Faith move out of their dingy old family house, find a good man later in life, settle down and maybe have a few kids. Maybe three. But preferably two.
But that reality is far away, because Hope Jenkins has made some real big mistakes. There were things so unimportant that she exaggerated – the occasionnal lower score, the missed study group meeting, the necessary discussion with her parents about their finances and whether or not she could even think about med school without a scholarship.
But she didn’t see the worst one. No, she didn’t see Lyall Lupin coming her way. He made it all look fine. Made her feel like a goddess most of the time. Powerful. Invincible. Unstoppable. They were young, and they had everything ahead, and no one could convince them otherwise-
And then she ended up pregnant at eighteen.
But that was more than fifteen years ago. Now, Hope doesn’t have time to think too much about that. She has to text Remus to come over to Sirius and Regulus’s after school for an hour or two while she finishes work, before they both head home on their bicycles and collapse on the couch. Then she’ll ring up Maggie and ask if she’s free to go thrift shopping this weekend. Then she’ll call Faith and check up on her little niece and nephew all the way in Wales. Then she’ll make a quick dinner and watch Love Island with Remus after he finishes whatever other homework he has.
Yeah. She will.
Hope Jenkins doesn’t have much time for the past. Her present is good enough as it is. She’ll stick stubbornly to it for as long as she can.
There’s no more time for maybe in her life. The last time she indulged that, her reality fell apart, and she won’t repeat that same mistake. No.
And she doesn’t have time for big mistakes now.