Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Remus frowned at the note he’d just received. It seemed Harry might not be doing well. By all accounts, this should be a nice break from the turmoil at school he’d been experiencing, but perhaps not. Remus had hoped it would be a quiet few months for him, time enough to mourn his godfather before sixth year.

Remus gave an explosive sigh, and shook the thoughts of Sirius away. He reread the letter.

Professor Lupin,

I don’t know who else to write about this. I tried to address it to Professor Snape, but my hand refused to address it. Must be a serpent’s curse or something. Anyway, I know Harry trusts you more than him.

Harry sent me a letter today, and I think someone needs to go check on him. He would never admit it, but he doesn’t have the best life with his relatives. It makes him screwy in the head and he won’t let my brothers and I hex them or prank them, let me just put it that way.

It’s hard to explain, but he’s less present in his letters. And after spending weeks there, he doesn’t share any details of his life with them. I thought he didn’t trust me for the first few years, but I think he pushes thoughts of home away so much that he forgets it all. He doesn’t want to think of it at least as much as he wouldn’t want anyone to find out any details. I hope he forgives me for telling you even this much.

Hedwig should be bringing Harry my reply soon, and I wrote that you might stop by. She was pretty lethargic and hungry though, and Mum said she needs a couple days’ rest with extra food.

Ron Weasley

P.S. I’m sorry you lost Sirius. I know you were close. Harry took it hard, too, but you knew him differently than he did. I can’t imagine something happening to Harry or Hermione. 

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face, setting the letter aside. He might have really fucked up here. A distracted letter from a teenager was one thing, but Harry would never willingly mistreat Hedwig, or forget to feed her.

A doe patronus darted through the wall of his sitting room, and Remus stood, immediately tense.

“Lupin, your final dose is ready. Do come by quickly, it does not keep well,” Snape’s dry baritone rang out from the delicate deer, which turned and vanished the way it came. 

His wand in hand, he apparated from where he stood directly to the back step of the house of Severus Snape. It baffled him that he was even privy to such delicate information as to where Snape lived when not at Hogwarts, but he managed to hide his surprise when Snape grumbled out the address a month ago.

The door swung open just as Remus raised his hand to knock, and there Snape stood. He, like Remus, wasn’t wearing robes atop his clothes, and he looked a lot smaller than he did the last time they’d spoken. He was wearing black trousers and a black shirt, impressive for the heat, until Remus stepped inside and realized Snape had charmed his house to such a cool temperature that he almost wished he’d brought a sweater.

“Feels nice in here,” Remus commented politely to Snape’s back. He grunted in response and disappeared around the corner. Remus felt it was rude to follow at his heels, so he shifted his weight with his hands clasped behind his back.

“In here,” Snape said after a moment.

Feeling foolish, Remus went into a small but decently kept kitchen. He stepped up to the table, where Snape was picking up the familiar steaming goblet.

Remus tried to thank him again, but was brushed off with a wave of Snape’s hand.

“Well,” he said, steeling himself for the assaulting taste, “Cheers,” and swallowed the Wolfsbane as quickly and efficiently as he could manage.

The potion burned everything it touched; the thin inner skin of his lips, his tongue, his gums, his throat, all the way past his heart. The sensation always lingered for several minutes, and he shuddered once as he set the empty goblet on the table.

Snape watched him with no expression as he drank, but his eyes tightened in what might be satisfaction when he set down the empty cup. Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed he would never let Remus forget how he’d missed his last dose at Hogwarts over two years ago, now. The memory of Harry’s and his friend’s shrieks of fear as he transformed wasn’t something to scoff at, though.

Snape ushered him back towards the door without ceremony. It seemed Remus would not be needed to stay and chat, not that they ever had before.

Remus had nodded in thanks again and was hovering a foot outside when Snape cleared his throat behind him.

He looked behind him to see Snape with one hand outstretched expectantly.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He drawled.

Remus felt his face lose color. Did Snape expect payment after all? He hadn’t brought any money with him. Not that he’d ever carry enough gold for an entire Wolfsbane cycle, Merlin. 

Several weeks ago, to his utter surprise, Severus Snape had informed him that Remus would be accepting a month’s worth of Wolfsbane, for no payment whatsoever.

Remus could barely comprehend what he’d offered, the both of them leaving the Hospital Wing shortly after the ministry battle. Nothing made sense to him really, since that day.

At first, he’d suspected Dumbledore had had a hand in this shockingly merciful offer, but the disdain in Snape’s eyes had shifted to reveal something worse:

Snape pitied him.

Remus remembered bristling, ready to shout loudly enough to echo through the stone halls of Hogwarts that he didn’t need his , or anyone’s help. Handouts were for the weak and vulnerable, and he was neither. Sirius was…he was gone, and he’d have to be strong, now, without him.

Again.

Instead of rejecting the charity and standing tall, he nodded to Snape. He’d stuttered his appreciation as the tail of Snape’s robes swished around the corner, having turned away the instant his kindness had been accepted. He seemed to enjoy walking away from Remus mid-conversation.

“Stop thinking, you idiot, you’ll only hurt yourself. I need the alarm. For the boy.”

Remus blinked, then shoved his hand into his pocket, swallowing back a curse of embarrassment.

“Of course, here.” He hurriedly placed the charmed alarm into Snape’s waiting hand. It was a chess piece, oddly enough; a little gold knight. He’d never asked Dumbledore why he chose such a thing to alert them when Harry left the bounds of the blood wards.

Just as he let it go, the knight unsheathed his sword and began to shout incoherently.

Remus thought he could make out the words “To arms!” but he couldn’t be sure. Its voice sounded a lot like a chipmunks’ squeaks.

It wasn’t a huge concern. Remus had had the thing on him for several days and it had alerted him twice. Harry was a teenager, and a Gryffindor. If he knew Harry at all, he’d be bored to tears at home, probably itching for something to do or to see.

Something as paltry as a vague rule would hardly give him pause. They never had for Remus and his friends.

He had two thoughts at once. The first was the memory of Harry, screaming and struggling to tear free from his arms, as Sirius fell through the veil. That had been mere weeks ago. Whatever Harry was up to, it may not be safe. Even Ron Weasley was concerned, and that was through letters alone.

The second thought was that he’d never seen the knight parry a wand. Snape had raised his to tap the knight’s helmet in order to acknowledge the alarm and silence it.

“Blasted thing,” Snape snarled. He quickly tried again, successfully ending the alarm. The knight teetered a bit as it sheathed its toothpick of a sword and snapped back into its resting position.

“If it left a gouge, I’ll take it out of his hide,” Snape grumbled, inspecting his wand for damage.

Remus was briefly amazed that Snape would threaten Dumbledore, even out of earshot, but he realized Snape had been referring to Harry.

He opened his mouth to defend him, but Snape carried on, “If the little imbecile won’t heed the boundary line, I’ll have to go remind him myself.”

That wouldn’t do, not at all.

“Don’t bother yourself with it, Snape,” Remus said quickly. “I’ll go.”

His stomach sank with the implication that something may actually be wrong. The odd behavior from the knight and Snape’s willingness to go to Harry in person was a concerning combination.

“Do it quickly, then. If you waste my work this month by mauling the precious Boy-who-Lived and a horde of muggles, I will transfigure you into a mouse and feed you to the boomslang in my cellar ,” he hissed, and then the door had closed in Remus’ face.

His last thought before he apparated to Surrey was that Sirius would have laughed until he cried if he’d heard Snape’s oddly concerned yet horrifying warning.

Laughed, and then found a way to turn the boomslang invisible or something.

At the end of the day, Sirius had never tolerated threats to the people he cared about.

-

Apparating twice paired with the pressing effects of the final dose Wolfsbane left Remus winded. He was inside the tunnel that marked one edge of the blood ward’s reach. It was immediately too hot, even out of the sun. He breathed deeply, trying to get air to the bottom of his lungs, when a faint scent caught his attention.

A scent he knew: Harry’s.

Remus would never admit it, in fear of dying of mortification, but he noticed he became needier leading up to the full moon. After starting at Hogwarts and making friends, he’d realized, to his horror, that the wolf he became wanted to be surrounded by familiar scents, the scents of those he valued. As monstrous as the wolf was, he wanted his loved ones safe, even if being protected by a turned werewolf was far from it.

This resulted in behaviors Remus was recognizing now, as he stomped towards the smell, his concern expanding behind his ribs. He had to consciously uncurl his snarl as Harry’s scent strengthened just as he caught sight of white fabric crumpled behind a tree.

With a shaking hand, he lifted a ragged t-shirt off the ground. It was large, wrinkled, and covered in dirt and grime.

And what was definitely Harry’s blood.

He swallowed around a wolfish growl that rolled out of his throat.

Something was very wrong, and Remus needed to do something about it.

Before he could truly panic, his eyes caught on the bent and broken grass around the shirt’s hiding place.

A single set of footprints, which had to be Harry’s.

He dropped the shirt, as it would only distract the wolf that was still distraught with worry, and followed the footprints. They ended on the paved path, but Harry could only have been walking along it in this direction.

Remus soon came upon a line of buildings, trailing away down a narrower street than Harry’s neighborhood. It was reasonable that Harry had gone to the store, Remus assured himself. He pretended his heart wasn’t racing and stepped inside.

Harry’s scent, his living, healthy scent was here. Remus was so relieved that he would have sworn he could feel the warmth of Harry’s body heat even all these meters away.

He approached quickly, thoughtlessly; all he knew was that he needed to put a hand on him, to be sure his senses weren’t deceiving him.

Remus said something, and Harry replied, but he was barely paying attention.

Harry had clearly been in a fistfight, and recently.

Irritation flooded Remus, and he had to fight it from showing on his face.

The blood on his shirt hadn’t been that plentiful, now that he thought about it. It hadn’t been enough to mark a serious injury.

Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, and it made his face difficult to look at. He was, all at once, too many people he’d lost. Lily’s green eyes blinked at him, nervous and guileless in an odd combination. James’ mouth twitched, his shoulders tightening when Remus’ hand did, and he let Harry go.

Worst of all was the reminder of Sirius. The poorly hidden evidence of a fight that seemed to have gone in his favor. Who had he hurt? Who had he targeted as the outlet for his grief and pain? How often was this happening?

When he asked, Harry’s face closed off immediately.

It hurt, but it was familiar.

Also familiar was the intense worry. James and Sirius, the wonder duo, had made sure of that. When he wasn’t envious of their closeness, he was wondering why they were late to class, if they were hurt or hurting someone, if they would leave Remus behind.

His boyhood insecurities were anything but relevant right now. He focused on his conversation with Harry.

Something wasn’t right with Harry, but Remus couldn’t grasp it fully. He could attribute all his concerns to the trauma of losing Sirius, but that didn’t feel right. The wolf’s instincts drew his attention to the defensive set of his shoulders, the absence of life in his eyes and flitting gaze. His clothes, too, were much shabbier than one incident of fighting.

Remus had an uncomfortable theory that the clothes Harry wore had not been purchased with him in mind, but what he didn’t know was why it bothered him so much. People had to make do with second hand clothing all the time; he was no elitist.

And then Harry asked him to buy alcohol.

He hadn’t thought Harry was one for vices, but apparently he didn’t know him as well as he thought he had. Certainly, he’d been through enough in the last several years to warrant it, but that didn’t make it alright.

He wondered what Sirius would have said to Harry in this situation.

Sirius would offer him a drink with supervision, perhaps. Or maybe he would express his disappointment. Sirius’ father had been a piece of work after drinking, as Remus had found out long after Sirius was free from his parents.

Yes, he would be disappointed. And so was Remus.

Harry was given the time to recover from a truly horrible year, and he was wasting it breaking rules and putting himself in unnecessary danger. Remus would need to keep a closer eye on him.

If only the full moon wasn’t hours away, he could invite Harry to stay with him for the night. His guest bedroom was still made up for Sirius. It would be a good opportunity to sit down and have a serious discussion about the choices Harry had been making lately.

When Harry handed him the shopping list, it only deepened his worry. To make a teenager grocery shop for the household was a little odd, but not terribly concerning. Given Harry’s recent behavior, it was a reasonable task to get him out of the house for a bit. Perhaps it was a weekly chore assigned to him.

But Petunia Evans was not the type of person to forget a law. Especially one that could embarrass her family; a charge for underage drinking could definitely do that.

Now that the relief of finding him had worn away, he took the time to really look at Harry. The purple beneath his eyes and the pallid grey on his cheekbones showed a persistent exhaustion. The way he carried his shoulders, thin and slumped, was nothing like the proud, energetic stance of James. He needed help, but Remus wasn’t convinced he could be a real help to Harry at this point.

The sight of him made his heart ache anyway, and when Harry flinched as he reached for him, the ache in his heart deepened into a crack.

Whether Remus could help or not, he would return to see Harry again. As soon as the blasted full moon was over, he’d come back and get some real answers.

Remus apparated a third and final time to the front walkway of his house. Magical exhaustion rushed over him like a thick cloak had settled over his body and pulled down. It was an effort to lift his hand to the doorknob, and to raise his foot over the small step inside.

As wonderful as Wolfsbane was, the side effects were annoying.

It wasn’t late, but he was too tired to do anything but undress and climb into bed. The shuddering pain would wake him later, when the moon would rise to strip him of his humanity for a few hours.

-

His body twitched and broke. At some point, his writhing had dumped him onto the hard wooden floor, and he felt his hands curl, his nails slightly catching in the wood grain as they lengthened into claws. Every bone snapping crinkled behind his teeth until he was finally in his wolf form. It hurt, it would always hurt, but the Wolfsbane took away the worst of it. 

Best of all, he didn’t have to lock himself away like normal. The potion would keep him aware enough to be able to sleep here in his own room. No bloody animal carcasses when he woke in the forest, no aching joints from the chains in the attic. The worst thing that would happen as a result of his curse tonight would be the shedded wolf hair left on his blankets.

His gratefulness was expressed in a high-pitched whine that he cut off as soon as he noticed.

Padfoot would have been worried if he’d heard it, snuffling his great furry head right into Moony’s face, then darting around him in hopping circles.

Even the most recent full moon had been that way, with Padfoot full of vibrancy, no trace of his time in prison, save for some extra cuddling as the hours neared dawn. Not even years in Azkaban had ruined Sirius’ comforting presence.

Remus had been suspicious for weeks after they’d reunited, waiting for Sirius to break. It would be expected and entirely natural. It should be normal to react to bad things badly. Or so he thought.

He’d cried, had nightmares, had more nervous tics; but they were rare. When Sirius insisted he was fine, Remus had no choice but to believe him.

Sirius was either insane with his ability to not be affected by his circumstances, or perhaps, more frighteningly, Remus had never known Sirius as well as he imagined. 

Moony padded over to the corner of the room, where he’d already prepared quite the extravagant, wolf-friendly pile of blankets to use as his bed for the night. He hated finding the coarse fur in his bed and on his pillows, so the floor would have to do.

When he had doubts about his relationship with Sirius, he liked to bury the thoughts far into the recesses of his mind and think no further of them.

But seeing Harry so despondent today had unnerved him, and so he settled his snout on his paws, and thought.

Harry and Sirius seemed like opposites in many ways, but they were both troublemakers, both kind but brought chaos wherever they went.

Harry was softer, quieter.

Now that he was actively comparing them, Moony realized with a jolt that he had no examples of Harry courting chaos. The times he’d given him a headache had actually been something that happened to Harry, not something he’d sought out himself. 

Being caught with the Marauder’s Map after curfew was one thing, but Harry had been investigating a murder related to his parent’s death at the time.

What did he know, then? Harry had been roughed up, but hadn’t gone home to change. He’d finished his errand instead, an errand that really shouldn’t have been his responsibility, especially since he’d been asked to buy wine as a minor.

He’d looked grim, but that could be attributed to grief from the school year. He’d flinched away from Remus, winced when he shouldn’t have.

Harry had shut Remus out, and was cagey when asked questions.

He huffed a breath, fighting against the drowsiness of the Wolfsbane. This felt important.

He should have paid more attention to their interaction. He’d been thinking of his dead friends and how much they would worry over him.

He shouldn’t have been so quick to judge Harry for things James and Sirius used to get in trouble doing, like drinking and fighting. Now that he was solely focused on his memory of Harry, he didn’t believe he was involved in either.

A tree bent in the breeze outside his window, casting a shadow through the sharp moonlight. The flicker it made on the floor of the room distracted him, alert to possible threats. He raised his head, ears poised. When the seconds passed and the house remained silent, a thought slid into place.

It wasn’t distrust of Remus that he’d seen in Harry, it was fear. He’d found him in a safe little store, away from whoever had fought him, in the town where he’d been raised, surrounded by his family and perhaps some muggle friends. 

And Harry was afraid.

His ribs vibrated with a low growl. Moony was tired, but he desperately wanted to make his way to Surrey, to stand guard over Harry himself until he could transform into someone who could protect him best.

Whoever scared Harry would regret it.

He realized he’d been worrying at the knit blanket that had wrinkled between his paws, the heavy yarn sliding in his teeth, soothing and satisfying the sudden urge to bite. He released it and buried his nose in it instead, sighing.

Tomorrow, then. When he was human, he’d be collecting Harry himself.

-

For all his complaining about the somnolence of Wolfsbane, Moony had paced the floors of his bedroom well into the night, fretting and planning. He’d had to convince himself to settle again multiple times over, because fleeing to Surrey in the dead of night instead of during the day was a terrible, catastrophic idea. 

For some reason, his intent to kidnap Harry didn’t seem as drastic if he did it during working hours. 

He’d finally worn himself out utterly mere hours before dawn, unable to take another step. When he woke, his body was only partially on the mass of blankets, having collapsed before Mooney could reach it.

Thus, Remus was late.

He hadn’t suggested a time to visit Harry yesterday, but his worry was a potent thing, writhing in his gut like an annoyed snake. Any extra time was time wasted.

After a cursory clean-up and dressing in whatever clothes were closest to his reach, he’d set off for Harry’s house. It was already well into late morning by the time he apparated back to Surrey.

Remus hesitated as he exited the tunnel, the other direction this time. Had Remus ever even walked this way before? He knew the way, and which house was Harry’s, but had he really never seen it himself?

A grave sense of d éjà vu settled in him. When Sirius sought safety at the Potter’s house between Hogwarts’ terms, Remus had had the same realization. Not once had playful, jovial Sirius invited them over to Grimmauld Place for a weekend visit, or to meet his family over a holiday. By the time Sirius had taken James up on his offer to live with him, Remus had assumed Sirius was extremely private about his personal life, maybe one of those children who are intensely embarrassed by the mere existence of their parents.

Remus had understood, at least a little. He certainly never invited his friends to his cottage in the woods, with his quiet, warm bedroom settled beneath the dark, gloomy attic that featured in many of his nightmares.

He gathered himself as he quickly approached the correct house on Privet Drive: Number 4. He’d been wrong about Sirius for years, and he could only hope he was wrong about Harry now. 

He hoped he hadn’t left Harry to suffer in any way, under any roof.

He rang the bell, and waited.

There were several long seconds of silence, in which Remus glanced to the side of the road, where a muggle car probably parked when it was here. Was the whole family out for the day? He felt a vague disappointment, but also relief. Maybe the Dursleys and Harry were on a family outing, having lunch together or going shopping. Maybe Remus had worried himself into a senseless storm, and Harry, while not completely alright, wasn’t being hurt in his own home.

The sound of clattering footsteps approached the door, and Remus had a wild second where he thought Harry was about to greet him wearing a smart pair of heels as a prank, when Petunia Evans opened the door and glared at him.

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. Something felt missing.

“What do you want?” She hissed.

Ah.

“Mrs. Dursley, hello,” Remus said. He was already intensely uncomfortable. There was very clearly no happy family outing happening today, and he felt stupid for hoping otherwise. “I’m here to speak with Harry, we’d made plans for the afternoon.”

“He’s not in, I sent him to the shops. You just missed him,” she said it loudly, as if speaking to someone behind her.

“Well, that can’t be, he was just there yesterday, wasn’t he?” Remus asked, trying for politeness. His stomach plummeted as she blushed faintly, caught in the lie.

“What business is it of yours? You’ve never bothered to wonder where the brat was off to before. Every summer he comes back looking worse and worse. The world of freaks don’t seem to care about him either. I haven’t even seen your face since before my dear, idiot sister died.” She sneered at Remus. “The years haven’t been kind to you, have they? I almost didn’t recognize you. Mr. Loopy or something.”

At least she wasn’t pretending at politeness. Remus swallowed his anger as best he could.

“If he’s not at the store, where is he then?”

She scoffed. “Who’s to say? Probably bothering my poor son and his friends. He knows better, but we never could keep him from his natural state of being a bothersome wretch-”

“Mrs. Dursley.”

He said it with quiet agitation, but she at last fell silent.

“I honestly don’t care what you think of him or any of us, I just want to talk to Harry. I told him I was coming, and I want to make sure he’s alright. If there’s a problem, I’d be more than happy to find other arrangements for him, but please, where is Harry?”

Her arm flexed as if she restrained herself from slamming the door in his face.

“I ask you again, why on earth do you care? That freak isn’t here, and I don’t know or care where he is.”

Her eyes shifted to the side, almost behind her, involuntarily. Remus’s heart pounded, certain she was lying to his face. He couldn’t help his voice from rising.

“Mrs. Dursley, I must ask you to stand aside. I know he’s in the house somewhere –”

Something white and odd-shaped cut through the air just over his shoulder, and he ducked on instinct. He nearly swatted at the creature descending on him in a panic, when he recognized Harry’s owl.

“Hedwig? Is that for me?” he reached for the letter on Hedwig’s ankle, thinking it was Harry asking when Remus was coming. Hedwig dropped her head in front of Remus’ nose and hooted urgently, blocking him from grabbing the tied letter. She held eye contact for a breathless moment, in which Remus wasn’t entirely sure if he was about to have an eye pecked out. Hedwig launched herself off his shoulder and barrelled past a shouting Petunia.

Hedwig landed on the floor of the hallway, in front of a small door under the stairway. She stared Remus down, cocking her head side to side. The feathers around her neck were lifted slightly in agitation.

The letter wasn’t from Harry, it was for Harry, from Ron. And Harry had never received it.

“Ma’am,” he said, his eyes still locked on Hedwig’s. “Where is Harry?”

He had a terrible, awful feeling that he knew exactly where Harry was. Remus fervently wished in that moment that he could walk back down the road, then re-enter the house to find Harry happy and healthy, ready to spend an afternoon tea with Remus and Sirius, no one trapped and no one dead. No one who had been utterly failed by Remus.

He heard three feeble knocks from behind the cupboard door, and each rap felt as if his very heart was cracking in his chest.

His body didn’t allow him to think or hesitate, striding straight for the door and drawing his wand.

“Harry?”

“In here,” Harry answered almost in a whisper.

He shakily unlocked the door with a spell, and collapsed to his knees. Kind, strong Harry was folded up in a musty closet, his limbs too long to stretch out in any comfortable way. He’d barely waited a second for Harry to move on his own before he reached forward himself. He pulled Harry out and onto his lap where he sat on the floor. 

Harry wouldn’t look at him.

He quickly assessed his health as he held Harry’s flimsy body in his arms. Was anything broken? Had he been starved? Beaten? Would he find blood or missing teeth if he looked on the floor of the cupboard?

Harry’s face was sickly white except for the tops of his cheeks–either red from embarrassment or fever, his body was clammy but too warm–and for the massive, swollen bruise on the side of his face that pointed away from Remus.

“Oh, Harry. Who hit you?” 

He reached up to turn Harry’s face toward him, to make him look Remus in the eye, but the memory of Harry flinching away from him yesterday stilled his hand.

“Told you, I got in a fight.” A lie. He wouldn’t tell him who had locked him up, either.

He didn’t really need an answer to his questions, anyway.

He felt extraordinarily rattled, even with his suspicions before coming here. How was one of the most compassionate teenagers he’d met mistreated this way? How had no one crashed down the door years ago?

How had Remus not?

He could think on it later, drown himself in guilt when he wasn’t hoisting Harry’s head above water, as it were.

“I’m getting you out of here, kid, for good,” he murmured, tightening his hold. “Right now. Alright?”

Harry gazed at him, eyes wide and nearly vacant. It was better than an outright ‘no’, he supposed.

Mrs. Dursley was quiet now, her lips mashed together in bitter rage.

“We’re leaving,” he told her, proud that it wasn’t a scream. “Where are his things?”

She was as unhelpful as she was awful, but once Remus warned her away, she stayed gone.

His trunk was being kept outside, most likely holding everything he possessed that was magical, as if shoving it away would stop Harry from being a wizard.

Knowing Harry, he wouldn’t want to see his relatives brought to justice for anything they’d done to him, but standing in his house with him, Remus deeply wished he felt otherwise. Or that Sirius or James could exact their perfect dose of revenge on the Dursley household, once Harry was away.

The wish increased tenfold when he saw Harry’s bedroom. Because before he even entered, he had to unlock no less than four locks bolted through the door and its frame. If he didn’t know better, he would think Harry was a werewolf himself, with a family of petrified potential victims.

The room itself was no better. It was clearly an afterthought, both used as storage for random garbage and intended as a slight towards Harry all at once. The room didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone. 

He opened his mouth to say it reminded him of a bastardized, muggle version of the Room of Requirement, but he thought a joke might not land at this point. Harry would take it as a personal jab, which was the last thing they needed. 

All the things he’d said and implied in the grocery store yesterday felt quite abhorrent, now. 

His keen sense of smell perked at the scent of bread and meat. Harry was kneeling on the floor pulling his things out of a secret hiding place, and he quite obviously was trying to block Remus’ view, by the set of his shoulders.

Remus dared a glance when he had a moment of view before Harry replaced the board. Food and small bottles of potions, most likely medicinal. He couldn’t see the rest.

His gut churned. Instead of prized possessions, Harry had survival necessities. How often did they hurt and starve him, that he needed all of that?

He looked away before Harry could see him staring. His glasses sat on a desk against the wall, the frames bent and unusable.

Harry stood and turned around, and Remus could see the exact path across his face where the frames must have scratched him.

That tiny scratch was somehow the final straw, and he hoped Harry was ready to leave for good.

-

They were finally outside, finally walking away, when Harry asked to stop.

“I’m going to go say goodbye.”

Remus assumed the boy on the swings was his cousin, someone who’d lived with Harry all his life.

He had no qualms about hexing the kid if he hurt him.

Harry looked peaceful enough, even if he was a bloody liar, so Remus faced the road and didn’t even cast a sneaky eavesdropping charm, even to make sure Harry was alright. He deserved a private goodbye, now that he’d been reassured that he would never live with these wretched people ever again.

Instead, he took several deep breaths of stale, suburban summer air as he waited. This was never a muggle experience he’d had, the cottage and the quaint village nearby had been Remus’ world. He hoped Harry preferred it, too; since every second that passed secured Remus’ decision that Harry should stay with him for as long as he’d allow it.

Remus hoped he would be enough.

When Harry rejoined him on the sidewalk, he showed clear signs of crying. He waited for Harry to tell him his cousin had been cruel, and to ask if Remus could hex him. Or maybe he wanted his cousin to come with them.

He said nothing about it, though, only that he was ready to leave. And so they did.

-

The last day or so had been utter hell on Remus’ body. He felt wrecked, plowed over, and gutted. It didn’t help that the moment he set eyes on his sad little house, he felt the urgency of sleep rise exponentially.

Remus felt about as peppy as a pile of rocks, but Harry needed to be settled in properly. He couldn’t say he knew Harry’s state of mind well enough to be sure he wouldn’t run off if he felt uncomfortable or scared.

Remus had an injured, grieving boy in his care now, and he needed three things: reassurance, first aid, and a bed.

And food. And his confirmed choice to stay here. And his acceptance of a cowardly werewolf as a guardian.

Shit.

“Is this your house?” Harry’s soft voice drew Remus’ attention back.

“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty bad.”

“Bad? I think it looks great.” He sounded like he meant it, too. Remus’ heart softened. Harry was a good kid.

-

“That’s the attic, it’s not really anything special right now. I had to spend some full moons locked up...there.”

His mumbling made a flower of shame bloom in his gut. Why bring that up? 

He couldn’t tell if Harry was worried that Remus might lock him up there, or for the reminder that he was isolated with a known werewolf. He veered off the topic immediately, trying for a joke.

“Well, at least there’s nothing under the stairs, guess we’ll have to find somewhere else for you.”

Harry’s laugh sounded more like a cough, and Remus knew he’d messed up again already. He almost didn’t want to bring up Sirius and his bedroom here, but it was where Harry would be sleeping, so he had to.

He opened the door for the first time in weeks and they both stared inside. After a moment, Harry stepped past him into the room. It was nothing special, just a bed, a desk and chair, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a wide window. Normal bedroom things. Remus couldn’t help but to compare this cozy room to the museum of unwanted things that Harry had been locked in for years.

Even undecorated and showing signs of a messy inhabitant (Sirius, all Sirius), this room had much more warmth and life in it. There was room to breathe in here. And it locked from the inside only.

Not like that cupboard, not like the attic–

The thought sent him rambling, and before he knew it, he had nervously started oversharing about Sirius and his pornographic posters. He dearly needed to stop. Sirius would piss himself laughing if he’d heard any of it.

After getting Harry settled on the couch, Remus searched through the front closet for his first aid supplies. He was shocked to find the closet in disarray, the bag of potions and bandages nowhere to be seen. If asked, he could have sworn this closet was perfectly organized, everything in it labeled and precisely situated. Sirius must have needed something out of here at some point and messed it all up without telling Remus.

He felt a surprising flash of irritation. Why couldn’t he have left it alone? Why hadn’t he just asked Remus for help? Why had he never asked?

He turned his attention back to the boy waiting on his sofa.

“Can’t get into any more fights here, eh, Harry?” He finally found the medicine bag buried under a coat and plucked what he needed out of it. “And unfortunately, I don’t keep any wine on the premises, for my own bad habits, really,” he joked. He’d never had issues with drinking; it never really interested him. It seemed to be the same for Harry, as far as he knew.

Harry didn’t answer, and his heart lurched at the coldness on his face when he turned around.

“Harry?”

Harry wanted to leave. Harry thought Remus was treating him like James and Sirius.

And it was worse than that, even. He remembered Sirius bringing his concerns to him, fretting that Harry was not alright at home. He remembered Sirius rambling about responses that didn’t sit right with him, flinches and stooped shoulders and silences that should never come from James’ son.

Eventually, Remus convinced Sirius to drop it, that his concerns were unwarranted. Remus had taken a long glance around the dreary cave where Sirius had chosen to hide, a short walk to the boundary of Hogwarts. He’d taken in the scraggly curls hanging around Sirius’ face, and the grey pallor of his skin. His friend had been locked away for twelve years, but the man who escaped looked thirty years older. Sirius wasn’t in his right mind; he more easily saw fear and hate where there was none.

So he’d turned him away from Harry. Sirius needed to heal first.

Now, he stared at the boy he’d taken from his only living family. Harry was shaking with tension, bruised, and wretchedly furious, accusing Remus of the wrong crime. Harry wanted Remus to have let him save Sirius himself.

To have died in his place.

It might have hurt less if Harry had cut him open with a hex and left him there to bleed.

The two people Remus loved most in the world had been tormented, hurt, and separated; first by distance, then by death, all because Remus thought he knew better than them.

The result of Remus’ poor choices was Harry collapsing back on his sofa, drained. Remus may be a complete fool, but after hesitating only a moment, he slowly sat next to him and pulled Harry close to him. He would make better choices from here. For Harry.

“There’s stuff I can’t talk about, with the p– with Voldemort and me and what I have to do but...but it doesn’t look good. For me. But I’m ok with not surviving the war, if it saves everyone–” Harry coughed around another wave of tears and he clutched Remus’ arm.

If Remus’ will alone could lift the burdens from Harry, Harry would never know pain like this ever again. He settled for a tighter hold on Harry and let them sit in silence.

Remus would find out what Harry meant by “what he had to do”, and eliminate the problem. Deep down, he worried this was Albus’ doing. It was an irritating irony, that a man so obsessed with destiny also pulled more strings than a master puppeteer. He first would have to convince Albus to leave Harry here with him, if Harry agreed, and then Remus would do his best to unearth the secrets that had brought Harry to tears and to accept an early death. It was simply unacceptable.

Later, as he dressed Harry’s wounds, he realized that there were many other things about Harry’s life so far that were unacceptable. His list of people to attack on sight was only getting longer. By all accounts, Remus should be at the top of the list, but he had better things to do than wallow in grief and guilt for another minute. Harry needed him now.

Harry looked amazed that he’d be offered a bed, even though Remus was sure he’d said he would during the tour earlier.

“I don’t mind sleeping out here, looks comfy,” Harry offered.

For a brief moment, Remus saw Sirius sitting on that same couch, saying almost the exact same thing. Sirius claimed he hadn’t wanted to assume Remus slept in his parent’s old room, but Remus suspected that after the cold cells of Azkaban, he didn’t care one whit where he slept, as long as it was soft.

Harry was probably just trying not to be a bother, which Remus would have to train out of him. For now, the poor kid was too exhausted to say otherwise. It was easy to herd Harry into bed, and easier still to press a gentle kiss to his forehead as he tucked him under his old blankets. 

Chapter Text

Remus shut the door to his childhood bedroom as quietly as he could. He was fairly certain Harry had fallen asleep instantly and wouldn’t wake for hours, but this moment needed quiet. Calm.

He needed to remain calm.

A mild pain potion shouldn’t send a teenage boy to sleep. A child shouldn’t leave their relative’s house only to reveal layers of bruises and old scars on their skin.

The son of his best friends shouldn’t be raised unloved and locked away in a cupboard.

He stepped away from the door and found himself climbing the little staircase to the attic. He automatically skipped the squeakiest step and found himself staring at the door that made his palms break out in sweat just to see it.

It was a normal, wooden door, dust visible in every groove of the moulding. But as he reached out to open it, he felt the familiar tingle of spell remnants and charms that hadn’t faded entirely. It spoke to his father’s paranoia, how powerful the locking and warding magic had been in this room.

His father had been led by fear, and the need to keep him and his wife safe. From their son.

Keeping the door locked was at least a safety measure Remus could understand; young, turned werewolves were extremely unpredictable. 

But the silencing wards, to keep his screams confined only to this room, and the spells that strapped Remus to the floor so tightly that the transformation caused him great pain, his joints and muscles forcibly contorted and stretched in ways they shouldn’t…

That, to Remus, had not felt necessary. It felt intentional.

He toed the charred grooves in the wooden floor. He and Sirius had halfheartedly been cleaning the room up when they’d had free time and energy during the weeks he’d stayed here. Clearly they hadn’t had much of either, as the only thing they had done was tear out the chains from the floor. Sirius had been rather…vehement about removing them. His spellcasting had been so spiteful that he had burned the floor irreparably. Remus smiled, his heart warm at the memory of his protective rage, his eyes bright with emotion.

And then Harry had informed him about being wrongfully chosen as a Triwizard champion, and off Sirius went to live in a cave close to Hogwarts, to aid his godson.

He had nothing available to him but moral support, and he’d given it. Sirius was still an escaped convict at that point, for God’s sake, and yet he’d helped however he could.

Harry really was unlucky; Remus was the last of their friends available to help him who wouldn’t immediately surrender him to the Dark Lord.

He wondered what Lily and James would think of all this. A sick, sick part of him felt vindicated that they might feel helpless looking on, wherever their consciousnesses were. It called to the bitter part of his soul that had decayed the moment James had looked at him with doubt, wondering if Remus could have, would ever, betray him and his family. 

James hadn’t understood, not even then, that betraying them would be to betray his own family. That James, Lily, Sirius, Peter, and even Harry, tiny as he’d been, were as precious to him as his own blood. More than.

He’d met Lily’s eyes that day, briefly peeking around the corner of their hallway, clutching a babbling Harry who’d been asking to play with Uncle Moony. It was only until later (after) that he’d realized Lily knew it wasn’t him. She held them all in the same regard Remus did, and she knew him. They’d been in agreement without ever discussing it: death first, before betrayal.

But Remus hadn’t recognized that in her eyes that day. Instead, his eyes had burned hot with tears, and he’d blinked them away and left.

It was the last time he ever saw them. He’d gone, and the secret-keeper was chosen, darkening his knowledge of the house forever. The news didn’t reach him until their bodies had already been taken away and Harry had been shuffled into the dark shadows of a fucking cupboard.

And Remus had sat, numb, in his crumbling house. He didn’t know how long it was before he moved or ate; the months after passed in a haze of grief.

Voldemort, seemingly slain.

Peter and thirteen muggles, blown to pieces.

James and Lily, dead in seconds, Harry gone.

Sirius locked away in Azkaban.

And Remus, utterly and completely alone.

Just thinking of the horrible “after” brought back a tight stab of agony in his heart. He missed them, every day he missed them all.

He left the attic, closing the door softly behind him. Perhaps he deserved a little vindictiveness after all that, but he could put it away now. Let the dead rest and all that. Now, he had a job to do.

Harry just had to agree to stay, and they could go from there.

It was a good space up there; perhaps Harry would want a study to store his books and work on schoolwork. Hedwig could have an owlery type window up near the rafters, and a quiet place to rest.

He spent a few minutes cleaning up the last of the bandages and medical supplies until he could no longer delay his exhaustion. He cracked a window in the living room for Hedwig, and left a dish of water by the kitchen sink.

The hallway had never seemed so long before. He shuffled into his room, wary of making any noise that could wake Harry. 

Before he lost all rational thought, he needed to do one last thing.

He thought of an afternoon in the DADA classroom, Harry chatting happily to Remus as he munched on chocolate, slumped against the steps near the front of the room after an extra lesson. Maybe it was because he was tired, but Remus was gifted a true smile from Harry that day as he told him some story about him and his friends. 

“Expecto Patronum.”

Moony burst from his wand, glowing softly as he looked around with his ears perked, expecting danger and not finding any. Remus smiled at him.

“Can you send a message to Snape for me?”

Moony paced around the room, circling behind him. Of course, he couldn’t answer, but Remus thought it was polite to ask.

“Tell him to please bring the charm by tomorrow at his convenience. And to not mind it if it’s been going off for the last several hours. Terribly sorry, if it has been. I, er, Harry’s fine, just elsewhere. We can talk tomorrow.”

The message was more clunky than he’d intended, but he was bloody tired. Once his patronus disappeared through the wall, he fervently hoped Snape wasn’t brewing or doing something important. He didn’t think he’d survive his wrath otherwise.

It was already going to be an odd conversation due to Harry’s relocation. Although Remus had probably given himself away immediately, stumbling over his words like a child.

Ah, well. Tomorrow’s problem.

He undressed, and uncharacteristically left his clothes in a heap near his closet, apathetic even to tidiness at this point.

He slid under his thick blanket and stuffed his pillow under his head properly. For a couple minutes, he tried to plan what to make Harry for breakfast in the morning (oh dear, did he have any allergies?), but he quickly lost the battle, and slept.

-

Breakfast was the last thing Remus remembered thinking about as he fell asleep, and it was the first thing he thought of as he woke the next morning. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his face. His stomach growled, and he realized to his horror that he hadn’t offered Harry anything to eat last night. If Remus was hungry, poor Harry must be ravenous.

Hedwig was waiting in the hallway when he opened his door. 

“Good morning, Hedwig,” he whispered. He didn’t want to wake Harry, but he felt too grateful toward this brave creature to not address her at all. 

“Thank you for protecting him.”

Hedwig watched him smile down at her. She blinked once, then clacked further down the hall. The parchment from the letter she held looked slightly worse for wear, but he was impressed she still carried it at all. It seemed she had located Harry’s door and stared at Remus beseechingly until he silently opened the door wide enough for Hedwig to disappear inside.

He whipped up breakfast as quickly as he could, and as soon as it was warming on the stovetop, he went to check on Harry. His soft voice carried through the door, so Remus invited him to eat.

“I can make pretty much whatever you want, if you don’t mind waiting,” Harry offered, as if he hadn’t already broken Remus’ heart when he told him he had nightmares most nights.

He made sure Harry got a healthy second helping of the scramble.

-

When they finished eating, Remus couldn’t put this question off any longer. After some hedging, Remus finally asked, “Would you like to stay here, with me?”

“Stay here...” Harry trailed off. Remus couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

“Anytime you’re not in school, until you’re out of Hogwarts. Even after, if need be.”

Unbidden, Remus could picture the cottage at Christmastime if Harry were here. They would definitely have to find a tree to chop and decorate together. They could sit in the living room and drink hot chocolate with peppermint sticks. He already knew his main present to Harry would be wards around the house large enough for Harry to fly on his Firebolt safely. Those kinds of wards took months, but he’d do it, for Harry.

It had to be Harry’s choice. If he chose to leave, Remus would do his best to show Harry his support. He tamped down hope, just in case he was due for more disappointment. Maybe Augusta Longbottom could keep him for the rest of summer. The ancient estate would be safe enough. And she would let Remus visit, she had never been hateful towards him.

The Weasley’s had the heart to take Harry, but perhaps not the room. He would have to ask Arthur discreetly – 

“Are you asking if you can adopt me?” Harry’s eyes were crinkled at the edges with subdued joy, and Remus could guess what his answer was going to be. He grinned and asked Harry again, more clearly this time.

“Are you...sure? I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Harry said, inadvertently damning the Dursley’s to an even deeper pit of hell with his hesitation. 

Remus steeled himself for the discomfort of vulnerability, but the second he said Harry’s name, it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Harry. I’ll probably have to repeat this, because your relatives were awful and deserve to burn for it, but you could never, ever be a bother. Not to me. I want you to say yes, if it’s what you want. You are not a burden. You’re a fantastic, wonderful kid; kind and brave and so smart. I honestly think I’m getting the better end of the deal here, out of the two of us.”

Harry stared at him as if he were waiting for it all to be a cruel joke. 

“It’s up to you. But just know that I would never regret having you here. It would...it would be my privilege.”

All at once, Harry was out of his seat and squeezing the life out of Remus, and seconds after that, Harry broke. Remus, luckily, found the strength to hold them both together. Harry’s body trembled with the force of his crying, but Remus was familiar enough with pain to know that these were cathartic tears.

Eventually, when Harry calmed down enough to accept Remus’ offer, and smiled up at him with his eyes red and his face wet with tears and snot, Remus knew this memory would forever call up a patronus bright enough to ward off all the dementors in Azkaban.

-

After they washed the breakfast dishes together, Harry accepted the offer for a hot shower. He’d barely settled back in the living room with the letter Hedwig brought when their morning was interrupted.

The brisk knock at the door nearly startled Harry off the couch, and Remus smiled regretfully. 

“Sorry, that’s just Snape.” He watched as Harry’s face lost color and hurried to reassure him. “He’s only going to be here for a minute, I promise. Just an errand.”

He could feel Harry watching him doubtfully until he was out of his line of sight, but remained where he was in the living room. Remus supposed Harry was entitled to a bit of dramatics after the last couple days.

Snape was as pinched and sallow as ever, although he did give Remus a small nod of greeting. Or he had a brief neck spasm, he couldn’t say for certain.

“Thank you for stopping by, Severus. I hope the ward alarm wasn’t disruptive…”

He trailed off as Snape offered him something in his hand. A fistful of charred wood crumbled into Remus’ palm, dusty with ash.

“Er, is this? Oh dear,” he said as he recognized the remains of the little toothpick-sized sword the knight had wielded.

“A warning would have been nice hours earlier, but I took care of it.” Snape looked at the little pile of destruction with catlike satisfaction. He didn’t seem very put out, at least, thank Merlin.

“I also thought this would be necessary, under the assumption that you lack preparation for nearly every scenario you bring upon your own life.” 

And with that confusing statement, a book was shoved into Remus’ free hand. It was a book of protection wards, for homes and properties. Nothing in here would be as strong as an effective familial blood ward, but anything would be better than the tattered wards the Order had pretended were hiding and protecting Harry.

“Thank you, Snape. I suppose my message wasn’t very nuanced, I was dead on my feet at that point.”

Remus looked at Snape, who seemed hesitant to leave. Remus swallowed.

“Do you, would you like to speak to him?” 

“I’m sure neither of us want that,” Snape said with a clear grimace. He was not wrong, based on Harry’s reaction a moment ago.

“He’s staying, then, I presume?”

Remus couldn’t place Snape’s tone, but he straightened defensively anyway. 

“Yes.”

Snape sighed. “The headmaster won’t be pleased.”

Remus merely raised his eyebrows. He didn’t want to say where Dumbledore could shove his displeasure. Snape examined him for a moment, then scoffed.

“Of course, that wouldn’t matter to a brave lion filled with misplaced paternal whims.”

“Oh, sod off,” Remus muttered, surprising them both. “You don’t understand the full situation, and I don’t think Harry would appreciate me telling you the details. But he’s staying, and that’s that.”

“Perhaps seek the Weasley matriarch if you need to commiserate your shortcomings with someone.”

“Shortcomings?” 

“You both think the boy is worth more than I spend annually on headache remedies while I keep him from accidentally killing himself.”

Remus frowned. It was likely Snape knew more than Remus did about Harry’s fate with Voldemort, but now wasn’t the time. “He really is better than you think him to be,” he said instead.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Lupin. And the state of my relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived is none of your business.”

Snape really had a hang-up about Harry’s role in the war. It seemed to genuinely bother him, although Remus was only sure because he knew Snape as a teenager; he knew how to read between the lines of scathing disgust.

He didn’t share Lily’s belief that Severus Snape hid a heart of pure gold behind a prison of spidery thorns, but he was human, and he did care, in his own way.

They heard Harry come around the corner, walking softly on socked feet. He stopped almost directly behind him, and Remus wasn’t sure Snape and Harry could see each other at all. Remus didn’t want to move after Harry had purposefully put Remus between them. 

“I wouldn’t mind, Professor. If you want to stop by again,” Harry said.

Remus waited, internally cringing at whatever Snape’s horrible response was going to be.

“Pray tell, why would I do that?” Snape snarled without bite.

“I dunno. You don’t have to,” Harry mumbled. “I just...I know you believed me. When I told you that he–that Sirius was in trouble.”

Remus’ gut twisted in anguish.

“You told the Order after Harry warned you,” Remus remembered out loud.

“Yeah, he did.” Harry said with a snort. “I was in the middle of being interrogated by Umbridge, and Snape stopped her from giving me Veritaserum. I had to tell him about the vision in code, and I honestly thought he was going to ignore me. I thought you had, Sir, until the moment Lupin and Sirius showed up.”

Remus was watching Snape, while Harry still stood where he was blocked by Remus’ shoulders. Snape’s face was unreadable, and his body was completely still, eerily so.

Remus remembered that night in pieces, like he was remembering through shards of a shattered crystal. One piece that was perfectly remembered was running into the fray between Tonks and Sirius, bursting into the Veil of Death’s chamber, and seeing a Death Eater’s hand tight around Harry’s neck as they struggled. To think that Harry believed no help was coming up till that moment was truly awful.

“Thank you for believing me,” Harry was saying.

“I should have stopped you.”

Harry sidled sideways into the light coming from the doorway. Remus turned so he could see them both.

“You know me, Professor, do you really think you could have?”

Snape started to sneer, then seemed to realize that would only please his audience, and tilted his chin. His eyes darted over the healing bruise on Harry’s face and away almost faster than Remus could notice.

“I could have done more. Locked the broom closet under stronger charms, as it were.”

While Remus reeled at this half-apology coming from Severus Snape, Harry shocked him further.

“We didn’t ride brooms to the Ministry, Sir. We rode thestrals.”

Several beats of silence passed, then Snape swore a purely muggle expletive, and Remus could only blink at him. Harry laughed in the doorway.

“You are insufferable as always, Potter,” he growled.

“Oh, I know, Professor,” Harry said with good cheer. It eased something in Remus’ chest to see his eyes alight with mischief.

Snape seemed to only notice the reddened skin around Harry’s eyes from their breakfast conversation.

“Have you been crying?” Snape asked, aghast. He examined Remus with renewed horror. “Oh, Merlin, you’ve both been crying.”

He actually shifted a foot backward, as if preparing himself against an offensive blast of emotion from the two of them. Remus snorted.

Snape finally lost his internal battle and sneered at the two of them, probably repulsed by the evidence of feelings.

“I’ve brought you your trinket, and you had better put that book to good use.” He paused, smirking. “I did steal it from the Black Library in Grimmauld, after all. That room is the one good thing to come from that wretched place.”

Remus waited for Harry to explode in offense, but he should have known better. Harry glanced at the book, then back to Snape.

“Two good things, actually.” He said softly, but with no room for argument.

Snape looked like he was being forced to hold a worm in his mouth, but changed the subject, to Remus’ surprise.

“A word of warning to you both: the Headmaster will undoubtedly be in contact to recruit you on some errand. I didn’t bother to get any details, as it wasn’t worth the effort of wrangling any information out of the old man.”

Remus wondered what the errand could be while Harry gaped in shock. He might have never heard Snape speak negatively about Dumbledore before. It seemed the illusion of a perfect leader faded when faced with proof of their abused and neglected boy hero, even for Snape.

“Is it about...the prophecy?” Harry asked, somehow both blunt and hesitant.

Snape blinked once, his face paling just enough to worry Remus. Someone was going to get information wrangled out of them soon enough for his own sanity, and Snape had just made Remus’ short list.

“I don’t believe it’s anything of true importance, if you must know. From his vague hints, it concerned your celebrity status.”

“Oh,” Harry’s brow furrowed. “I have no idea what it could be, then.”

“I am speechless with shock.”

“Alright, thanks for the warning, Snape,” Remus said, cutting off his sarcastic rant. “And thank you for bringing these by, especially the wards.” He lifted the book and the charred knight.

“Yes, I do live for pointless errands. Let me know the next time you would like a hand-delivery of a single book and a handful of garbage.”

Harry laughed while Remus rolled his gaze up to the sky. “Now you know how students feel about Potions essays, Sir.”

“Indeed, your essays in particular could be compared thusly. With that, I shall take my leave,” Snape said thinly. Harry looked delighted, as though his schoolwork hadn’t just been insulted, so Remus bid him a polite goodbye instead of a snappish one, and guided Harry back into the house.

They went back to the living room, and Remus was pleased when he saw Harry grab the blanket off the back of the sofa and settle it over himself. Even the smallest bit of proof that Harry would settle comfortably here eased his mind.

Hedwig had emerged from Harry’s bedroom at some point during Snape’s visit and was perched a little awkwardly on the arm of the couch. She was enjoying a head scratch from Harry to the point of almost falling asleep, and Remus watched them fondly.

“Does Hedwig need her own perch for the living room, do you think?”

Harry waffled between advocating for his owl and not wanting to be a nuisance; Remus could practically hear his thoughts aloud as he hesitated.

“If it’s not too much trouble. I think she’d like that, yes.”

Remus nodded, trying not to look too pleased. That had almost been a request.

“I might have everything we need to try to make one here, if you want. My father liked to work with his hands on his days off, so there’s probably still some tools and wood scraps around.”

Harry agreed, and they gathered what materials they could find and brought them outside. Remus made sure a window in the living room was left open, so they could hear the chime of the floo. Fortuitously, there was an old chair by the porch that looked rather worn, clearly needing some repair that Remus had no interest in giving it. 

“These chair legs should be the right size for her to grip, don’t you think?”

“Should be, yeah,” Harry agreed, after glancing at where Hedwig was perched in a nearby tree and studying the branch she was holding.

Remus found Harry was fairly familiar with basic tools, but when he asked about it Remus selfishly wished he hadn’t, for his heart’s sake.

“I did a lot of handiwork, I suppose,” Harry said. “And after what happened the summer before second year, the Dursley’s needed some money, so I had to do odd jobs for the neighbors for cash.”

Remus didn’t like where this was going. “What did you have to do?”

Harry shrugged. “Whatever needed done, I guess. I fixed some furniture, I don’t know, changed some light bulbs and stuff.” He thought for a second. “I did a few roofs, once the street caught wind of cheap labor.”

Harry had been so small when Remus had met him on the train three years ago. And just weeks before that meeting, he’d been retiling roofs in the heat of summer, alone. All for some money he wasn’t even allowed to keep for himself.

Remus couldn’t remember exactly what that summer had looked like for him, at least before Dumbledore had personally asked him to come teach that year, but he was sure it was a lot of nothing, a lot of moping about, missing people that were never coming back.

He wanted to apologize to Harry again for failing him so terribly, but he also didn’t want Harry to try to comfort him. He was the adult here.

Harry read his mind anyway, trailing off as Remus had slowly put down the handsaw.

“I don’t mind doing stuff like this, you know. It’s not...it’s not a problem. It doesn’t hurt me.”

“The mere absence of hurt doesn’t make it alright, Harry.”

Harry frowned at him. “It’s not bad. I want to do it. I don’t mind doing stuff with you, it doesn’t feel like it did with them.”

Remus sighed, picking up the handsaw again. His moroseness was going to ruin their afternoon, and he didn’t want it to.

“Alright.” He nodded to Harry, who had his eyebrows raised. “I trust you if you say it doesn’t upset you. But please let me know if anything does, even if it seems silly. Agreed?”

Harry slumped a little, relaxing from his defensive posture, and nodded.

They got back to work, Remus sawing the chair leg and Harry digging gingerly through an old box of clutter, looking for nails long enough to hold it all together. He’d found one so far.

“Will you tell me what happened in second year?”

The sound of metal clinking together stopped abruptly, then continued a moment later.

“It’s not really anything. I suddenly had to stop writing to Ron over the summer and he and Fred and George got worried and picked me up in Arthur’s flying car. Well, break me out more like.”

“Well, why weren’t you writing to him?” Remus asked, floundering for clarity.

“Well, it’s a long story, but basically, I was being punished, for…something I didn’t do, so they locked me and Hedwig in my room. They fed me cans of food through the cat flap you saw and put bars on the windows so I couldn’t send letters.” Harry chuckled. “Ron and the twins ripped the bars off using the car, and it left huge gouges in the brick. It was glorious.” 

Remus tried to chuckle too, but it was difficult.

“What, um, were you punished? When you went back? Besides the extra work?”

Harry’s smile flickered. “Yeah, I guess. They were pretty pissed. The work was the majority of my punishment though. I had to pay for the damage done to the house with interest.”

Remus turned his face away before Harry could read his expression, but he was feeling “pretty pissed” himself. Those wretched people.

“I don’t blame the Weasley’s for it though,” Harry said, misreading his silence. “They helped me. I hadn’t been that hungry in a long time.”

Remus turned back to Harry, and could only say, “I’m glad they got you out of there.”

Harry nodded, satisfied that the Weasley’s weren’t in trouble with Remus.

“So that was how you knew about the flying car Arthur made, huh?” Remus asked. He remembered Harry’s and Ron’s exciting tale driving the car into the Whomping Willow that had thrilled Sirius and horrified Remus.

“Yeah, that was crazy.” Harry immediately launched into a retelling of the whole adventure, and Remus responded the way he thought Sirius might, instead of scolding Harry the way he kind of wanted to.

-

The owl perch was quickly coming together. It was not a masterpiece by any definition, but it was acceptable for two people who didn’t really know how to build things. Harry was sanding the handle piece while Remus tried to pry the lid off of an old can of stain to see if it was usable.

The floo chimed from inside, and Harry straightened from his task.

“That’ll be Professor Dumbledore, right?”

“Yes, I wasn’t expecting anyone else today.” Remus appraised Harry’s mood. “Will you let me speak with him first?”

Harry cocked his head a little, making him look like a much younger child for a moment. “But we don’t even know what he wants.”

The floo chimed again.

“I know he wants you to do something, but I think whatever it is, it’s either a bad idea or it can wait until you’ve had a chance to rest.”

“I...” Harry’s brow furrowed. “If he needs me, I don’t need to...I can do whatever it is.”

“I know you can, but will you let me tell him that this time, you don’t have to?”

It wasn’t a huge test of trust between them, just a conversation, really, but Remus tried to clear his face of any overwhelming imploring expression, and let Harry come to a decision. The floo called a third warning, but neither of them moved.

“Can I listen? I still want to know what he wants.”

Remus had no qualms about that. They both entered the house, and Harry paused out of sight of the fireplace. Dumbledore had had enough of his own secrets.

Remus crouched before the mantle, mindful of his transformation-sore muscles. He activated the floo on his end, and met the gaze of Albus Dumbledore. His face floated in the heatless flames, while most of his beard and what looked like a patterned hat were cut off from view.

“Ah, Remus, good day to you. How did the full moon treat you?”

“Hello, Headmaster. It was a, er, typical evening, I suppose.” Remus had no idea how to answer such a question. All my bones broke as expected? It was agonizing?

“Good, good, I’m glad to hear it,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. “Where is young Mr. Potter? I would like to speak with him, and a little bird told me I could find him here.”

That was more direct than Remus was expecting, but he nodded as if unsurprised.

“He is here, but I’d like to know ahead of time what you want with him, if you please.”

Dumbledore blinked once, but his smile remained.

“Oh, it’s a small outing, really, only an hour or two of his time.”

Remus grinned back blithely. “Thank you for the timeframe, but I’m more interested in the purpose of this errand, Professor. Where would you be taking him, and why?”

Dumbledore blinked at him, confused as to why Remus hadn’t already fetched Harry, most likely. His back already ached from crouching over the floo.

“Is something the matter, Remus?”

“Only the matter of you taking Harry away on a mysterious errand that is too important to speak aloud, but not so important that a child couldn’t be responsible for its success. Sir.”

“Perhaps it is Harry who should be consulted about his own part to play, and not you, Remus.”

“This is not a game, Headmaster.” And Harry is not a game piece, he added to himself. He thought of the destroyed chess piece in his pocket with a wince.

Dumbledore’s eyes were bright with sorrow. “I’m afraid it is, my boy. Certainly, not a light hearted one, but there are rules and strategies we must follow if we are to succeed with minimal casualties.”

Remus let himself breathe a long, slow breath to ease his growing irritation. Had he really just implied that Harry was an acceptable casualty?

“If the task is as important as you say, then it’s something I should know about, and you’ll tell me. If it is not, then I believe you can manage without Harry’s help at no great cost to you or your...game.”

Dumbledore’s head jolted in the fire, as if he were sitting back quickly. He sighed a sigh of a man teeming with wise disappointment, but it just made Remus grit his teeth and wait.

Dumbledore caved, graceful as ever. “I suppose I have misjudged the situation, my boy. I will make the trip on my own. It was only a visit to an old colleague, but alas. Another time.”

A younger Remus might have snapped that that was all Albus had to say before Remus said no, but it wouldn’t do any good. Dumbledore meant well, but Merlin, he was challenging to talk to sometimes.

Dumbledore moved on quickly, sensing that Remus’ patience was wearing thin.

“I didn’t want to discuss this until you decided to inform me of the events of yesterday, but I must mention the very serious problem of removing Harry from the protection of his mother’s blood wards. Your dear friends gave their lives protecting the boy, and I feel it is my duty to continue their mission in keeping Harry safe. Why have you removed him from the wards, Remus?” For Albus, his tone was sharp, but for anyone else, it could sound like a barely curious question.

But Remus knew when the Headmaster meant business, and he steeled himself.

“No blood protection is worth Harry’s treatment at the Dursley’s. In fact, I have serious doubts that the wards would have kept him from harm much longer, if they ever did. He will be safe staying with me for the duration of the summer, where we are both glad of his presence. As such, I will either gain permission to bring him along to the next meeting of the Order, or I won’t be attending.”

The flames flickering around Albus’ face were the only thing that moved. Finally, Albus spoke, subdued.

“It was truly that bad? His treatment there?”

Remus fought not to snarl the words. “Harry will not return there as long as I draw breath. Yes, it was that bad.”

Albus hummed consideringly, like he were faced with an interesting philosophical query, not the tragic life of a neglected war orphan.

“I didn’t know it had escalated so terribly. Dear me. It seems I owe Harry an apology. And perhaps a visit to his relatives as well.” 

Remus wrestled back the urge to snap at how not enough an apology was for all they’d done to Harry. Mere words weren’t enough for Remus’ own sins against Harry, and he wasn’t even the one who’d left Harry at the mercy of people who hated him. He would have to be satisfied with the pensive threat in Dumbledore’s glittering eyes as he mentioned the Dursley’s.

“Are you going to report me?” Remus asked plainly. One word from Albus Dumbledore would send the might of the Ministry or the Order on his head, and there wasn’t much he could do to stop him.

Dumbledore looked pained. “Of course not, dear boy.”

Remus allowed his shoulders to slump a little in relief. At least that was a clear answer.

“Then I think we’ve discussed everything we needed to for today. Unless there was anything else, Headmaster?”

Albus gazed at him, holding his stare for one, two, three seconds. He was grateful legilimency didn’t work through floo calls.

“No, that was all. I wish you and Harry a restful summer. Do bring him by the Burrow this evening, though, the Weasley’s were expecting him after our errand.”

Remus agreed and moments later, the call was over.

It felt silly, suddenly, the breathless relief, like he’d secured permission from a strict parent to let him go on a wild bender or something equally unlikely.

He turned around to see Harry still obediently hidden around the corner. Remus felt a surge of affection for him.

“I’m sorry. I ended it before asking if you’d like to speak with him. Do you want to call him back? It’s possible he might give you details on his task for you.”

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s alright. I don’t think he would’ve told me any more than he told you. And honestly? I...don’t really care what it was.”

“It sounded dreadful, if you ask me. A visit to an old colleague? Surely he doesn’t think you’re so bored you’d want to endure that.”

Remus had no idea who Albus wanted to see or how boring it would have been, but Harry chuckled and that was all that mattered.

“I would like to see Ron and the rest of them if that’s okay, if they were already expecting me,” Harry said. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you come too.”

Remus couldn’t argue with that.

-

They apparated to the Burrow a few hours later. Remus was going to have nightmares of losing Harry in a random Floo connection after Harry’s sheepish confession of his “Diagonally” fiasco. 

As they started up the front path, noises of chaos wafted towards them, shouts and mild bangs, along with the delightful scent of a decent, home-cooked meal. Remus’ stomach growled as they reached the door.

Harry knocked, bouncing on his toes twice with eagerness. Remus didn’t have time to school his soft smile before the door swung open to reveal Ron Weasley. He appeared to have been stretched since the last time Remus had seen him properly. He had several inches before he caught up to Remus himself, but he was no doubt still growing. 

Ron reached out without hesitation and pulled Harry into a tight hug who returned it enthusiastically. 

“Blimey, don’t you know how to answer a letter anymore?” Ron scolded without heat. He glanced up at Remus, and he realized Ron was asking the both of them. 

“Sorry, Ron,” Harry answered before Remus could. “It’s okay, I’m alright now.” 

Ron pushed him out of the hug and held his shoulders, frowning at the state of his face. “You are? You’re sure?”

Harry grinned and nodded.

“He’s staying with me, now,” Remus added.

Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway, then, wiping her hand with her white apron.

“Harry, dear, come in! And Remus, you too, it’s good to see you both. Come in, come in, food’s almost ready.” 

They were bustled in in record time, and Remus found himself in the kitchen with Molly while Harry was pulled further into the house by the Weasley children to help set the table. The sounds coming from the dining room didn’t sound sedate enough for such a task, but Remus didn’t feel it necessary to get involved.

“Is he hurt?”

Remus glanced sharply at Molly, but her attention was on the stove.

“He’s healing. I’ve treated everything that I could, the rest just needs a couple days at the most.”

“Good,” Molly said. “He was meant to be brought here by Dumbledore in the next day or so, and we were prepared for him to stay with us until term started.”

Remus opened his mouth to childishly proclaim that Harry had chosen him, actually, but thank you—

“But did I hear you right, that you’re taking care of Harry now?” Molly asked softly as she removed a pot from the stove with a wave of her wand.

“Yes, I am. It was rather sudden, but necessary. Harry is most welcome in my home, for as long as he wants to stay.” He felt oddly defensive, perhaps because this was the third round of questioning he’d undergone today. “He’ll always have a place with me.”

Molly smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, dear.” She patted his arm understandingly. “You’ll do just fine, I know it.”

The knot of doubt in his heart loosened a bit. “Thank you, Molly.”

She waved her wand again, and a tray of rolls floated out of the oven, perfectly rounded and golden. 

“And his relatives, those Dursley’s…what will become of them?” She asked lightly, but with a foreboding side eye. The rolls started to hop one by one into a woven basket.

“The Headmaster mentioned a personal visit, but that’s all I was told.”

She smirked at that, and handed the basket of rolls to Remus.

“Most excellent, then. I’m sure it eases your mind knowing that a wizard so adept at complicated, untraceable hexes will be addressing the issue.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, shocked at her blasé attitude toward the possibility of attacking muggles, and she lowered her voice as she led him out of the kitchen.

“You forget, I know what happened before Harry’s second year. I was told after that incident that they had been properly warned against any further misdeeds. Rest assured, I will be checking in with Professor Dumbledore personally to make sure those people are given their dues,” she whispered harshly.

Remus swallowed, glad and a little terrified of his new comrade-in-arms. 

“I understand completely,” he whispered back to her.

Harry met his eye as they entered the dining area and smiled. Ron nudged him and pulled his attention away almost immediately, but Remus still felt the warmth of it.

Even with only half of the family present, dinner with the Weasley’s was a boisterous affair. Remus worried he might run out of steam from all the chatter, but it went well enough. He was glad to see Harry with his friends, see him laugh more freely than he had in months.

Hermione was apparently due to arrive the day after next, so another day plan was set before they’d even had dessert.

Unfortunately, this left only Ron, Harry, and Ginny for a game of Quidditch. Remus hid a smile in his tea as they frantically tried to get Arthur to play with them. Molly intervened.

“He’ll do nothing of the sort! I’ll not have him gallivanting across the heavens while he’s still healing from that attack last year! No.”

Harry shrank back in his seat, although no one noticed but Remus. He would bet anything that Harry felt responsible for Nagini’s attack on Arthur, even though he saved his life that night.

“I’ll play,” Remus blurted out to Harry.

Everyone turned to Remus.

“You will?” Harry’s eyes were very round.

“Sure, I think I can make it a few games with these old bones,” Remus shrugged. “But the other team will have quite the advantage, as I’m rather terrible, so I’ve been told.”

Sirius and James had made it no secret. Even Peter had been a natural with the quaffle.

“We can be a team,” Harry said without hesitation.

“That settles it, then!” Ron cheered, and hustled everyone outside immediately.

“Are you sure about this?” 

Remus felt a bit nervous. Maybe he hadn’t been clear about how rubbish a Quidditch player he was.

“Yeah, we’ll make it work,” Harry said gamely, pausing next to the shed where the brooms were kept. He suddenly reached forward and gave Remus a quick hug. He barely had time to lift his arms around Harry before he stepped back.

“Thank you.”

Remus smiled, so fond. He silently vowed to collect moments like this with Harry, moments his friends would never get to have. He would treasure them for everyone he and Harry had lost.

“Of course, kid.”