After a full day of rest, Alan finally recovered his spirits. He shared a quick breakfast with Augusta before using the Longbottom family fireplace to travel to the Leaky Cauldron. It was time to take formal possession of his new property.
No. 277 Diagon Alley, the three-story building Alan had acquired from Torquil, sat quietly on the street. Although it was located on the south side of the Alley—which was notably less frantic than the north side—there was still a steady stream of pedestrians passing by the storefront. Returning now, Alan could finally enter through the front door with full legal justification.
Upon entering, he re-examined the interior with a critical eye. The main entrance on the first floor was positioned exactly in the center of the building, featuring a single door with a metal frame and glass upper half, currently obscured by a heavy curtain. Large display windows flanked the entrance, but they too were draped in fabric, leaving the ground floor dim and somber.
Alan pulled back the curtains and blinds, allowing direct sunlight to flood the space. It was clear the building had been designed for commercial use, and Alan had no intention of changing that, though every lock in the house would be replaced immediately.
With the lights on, he could finally take in the full scale of the first floor. The flooring and walls were constructed from the same smooth, regular stone bricks found on the upper levels. The space was a vast, open hall, nearly thirty meters wide and sixty meters deep, covering over two hundred square meters. Even if he partitioned half of it for a shopfront, it would remain incredibly spacious.
Empty, dust-covered shelves lined the side walls. Toward the rear, a fireplace sat aligned perfectly with the flues of the basement and the upper floors. The air was thick with a dull, stuffy scent.
"It looks like the ground floor hasn't been used in years. Those Death Eaters likely just used it as a hallway to reach the stairs," Alan noted. "At least it's dry. Let's start with a deep clean."
He focused his magic, conjuring a localized whirlwind that swept through the room. It gathered the dust from the floors and shelves into a tight sphere before he vanished it out the window. He followed this with a calculated Aguamenti to wash the stone surfaces, dried the interior with a quick heating spell, and left the windows open to air out. Soon, the hall smelled fresh and clean.
Alan repeated the process for the second and third floors. In the areas where the Death Eaters had been camped, he used a specialized Extraction Charm to pull lingering stains and odors from the carpets, sofas, and wall crevices.
"Now for the third floor. I noticed last time that the room layout felt artificial; not every wall is made of the original stone."
He used a Shrinking Charm to clear out the five guest rooms, removing the cheap furniture and bedding. They were identical to the spares he'd seen in the basement—functional but low-quality. He had no desire to use anything touched by the previous occupants, so he gathered it all for disposal.
As he felt along the walls, his suspicions were confirmed. These rooms had been partitioned with temporary mud bricks, and the doors had been crudely cut into the frames. Alan began a systematic demolition, smashing the temporary walls and clearing the debris until only the original stone structure remained.
Stripped back, the third floor revealed its true form: two large rooms and a generous reception area. The washroom was connected to the master bedroom, creating a layout far more suitable for a private residence.
"This is much better," Alan nodded, satisfied. "Plenty of space. Once it's refurnished, it'll be perfect."
He spent the rest of the day purchasing furniture and decor from both Diagon Alley and Muggle London. With magic to assist in the hauling, the logistics were simple. He refurnished the master bedroom with thick carpets, velvet curtains, and a mahogany four-poster bed. By the time he finished, the room finally felt like a home. Replacing every lock in the building provided the final bit of peace of mind.
"Habitable at last," Alan said, clapping the dust from his hands. "A fixed residence of my own. No more relying entirely on others during the holidays."
But he wasn't finished. He sat at his new desk, spread out a sheet of parchment, and began to sketch. He needed an entirely new defensive suite for the building. He had nothing but contempt for the clumsy wards the Death Eaters had used; he intended to turn his home into a fortress.
"For detection, I'll incorporate the Malice Perception runes I've been researching. Standard alarm spells are a baseline, but I need counter-surveillance measures for the chimneys and sewers as well."
"Anti-Alohomora seals on all doors and windows. The upper floors need one-way Confusion and Silencing Charms so I can see out, but no one can look—or listen—in."
"An Anti-Apparition field is mandatory. I'll layer the floors with delayed Tracing and Tracking spells so I'll know if anyone has intruded while I was away. And the walls need a specialized Anti-Intrusion ward with a strong physical repelling effect."
"Basic Protego and Peacekeeping wards... maybe some physical trigger traps too, like magical mines. I could even set up a network of two-way mirrors for internal surveillance, though finding Cairo-grade glass in Britain is a chore."
He filled the page with a dense, complex defensive plan. Now, he simply had to wait for Yulia to deliver his payment so he could afford the materials to build it.
Alan returned to the Longbottom estate via his own fireplace just in time for dinner. A day later, the long-awaited reply arrived from the Travers family.
"So, the items are gathered," Alan mused, scanning the letter. "Efficient. I suppose they really are in a hurry."
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