Chapter Text
The hottest day of the summer was drawing to a close, and a drowsy silence lay over the extensive property of Styncon Garden. The land, and the house in the middle, had been in the Potter family for many generations, and was filled with unusual sorts of plants. Some were unusual in that they weren’t native to the English Cotswolds. They normally grew in more tropical locations, like Southeast Asia, or the center of Africa. There were orange trees and coffee plants; there were all sorts of plants to be used in teas, or vegetables with names so long that even the Swedish would have trouble pronouncing them. There were also plants that were unusual not just because of the environment, but because they were magical. Vines that reached out at you as you walked by, or snapdragons that actually snapped--and the red ones could breathe fire. But even these hung limp in the horrid heat, drooping with the slowly fading summer sun.
Harry was feeling just as drowsy, though unsure he wanted to go to sleep. He leaned against the open bedroom window, in hopes of a faint cool breeze to abate the day’s mugginess, but it was a vain hope. He ran his hand through his sticky black hair and flinched when his palm brushed his forehead, specifically the lightning-bolt shaped scar that cut across it. It hurt worse and worse these days.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes because those ached, too, in protest of his lack of sleep. It wasn’t really his fault he couldn’t sleep at night anymore. His nightmares were outside of his control.
With a groan, Harry flopped onto his bed. Hedwig twittered and ruffled her feathers at the sudden noise, startled awake. Her bright yellow eyes squinted out into the purple horizon. She glanced balefully at Harry for waking her early, but when she saw he wasn’t paying attention, gave up and flew out the window for her evening hunt.
There was a knock on Harry’s door. He replaced his glasses and sat up.
“Come in.”
Lily pushed the door open. She was carrying a steaming mug which she set on Harry’s bedside table. When she paused there, next to his bed, Harry moved over so she could sit down.
“It’s not Sleeping Draught, is it?” Harry asked, looking at the mug like it might bite him. They’d used Sleeping Draught to get him through the first few nights of the summer, but the longer he used it, the worse his headaches became, like his scar was wreaking vengeance upon him for trying to hide from his nightmares.
“Just chamomile,” Lily said. “Picksie brewed it from the batch your father picked last week.” Her voice was quiet, a little sad and a little distant. Harry knew it wasn’t just about the inevitable nightmares they were both thinking about. She missed James. They hadn’t seen him since Harry’s birthday, two days ago.
This summer had been a strangely quiet affair. James and Lily came and went constantly, and though they tried to make sure at least one of them was home, there were rare occasions Harry was left alone. Well, not entirely alone.
James had brought the house-elves Picksie and Mellie back to Styncon Garden. As if he had known how often he and Lily would be away, that someone would need to look after Harry, and how much care the house would need in their absence, he had asked the two house-elves, at the end of June, to return the the house they’d been initially bound to serve. Picksie had proven utterly indispensible these last few weeks. She kept the house cleaner than Harry had ever seen it, and meals were as good as a Hogwarts feast, with all the fruits, vegetables, and greens fresh-picked from their property. Mellie, too, despite her age, served tea twice a day, in the morning and the afternoon. She’d gained new vigor after returning to the Potter’s house, and insisted the house run as it had when she had worked for Harry’s grandparents. It seemed silly to Harry, and to Lily, to have a formal afternoon tea, particularly when only Harry was home, but James insisted they indulge Mellie.
It was nice to see the house alive and cared for, even if its residents were always coming and going. Harry had always thought it rather empty between him, his parents, and Remus and Sirius’s occasional visits, which were now more infrequent than ever. Harry had seen Sirius four times this summer, each after a fight with Regulus. He’d seen Remus only once, at his birthday.
“Where’s Dad tonight?” Harry asked.
“Your father and Remus are watching someone do something or other,” she sighed. “You know everything is need-to-know.”
“And I don’t need to know.” Harry wished he didn’t sound so bitter, but he did. His parents had promised no more secrets from him, and time and time again they had broken that promise. These days, everything was secret, and even his parents couldn’t tell him what they didn’t know. They still promised that they told him everything they could, but he wasn’t sure that was true anymore, if it ever had been.
Lily looked away from Harry and out the window. Stars were visible on the horizon, now. Her green eyes looked not just distant, but pained. As often as Lily did keep secrets from Harry, it was becoming increasingly difficult for either of them to hide their feelings from each other. They had the same eyes, and it made it easy to read each other’s expressions, just as Harry had gotten so good at reading his father’s body language.
His parents were keeping something important from him, ever since that night in the graveyard, and he hadn’t been able to get an answer, not even out of Remus nor Sirius.
“Where is Sirius?” Harry asked.
“With Regulus. Though if they have another fight, I’m sure he’ll come storming over here and collapse on the couch.”
“They’ve been worse lately, haven’t they?”
“Yes, well, Regulus is kept in the dark about a lot of things. I think it hurts him a little differently than it hurts you.” Lily bit down on her lip and tucked her loose red hair behind her ear.
“If they don’t trust him,” Harry said, knowing that was the reason everyone kept secrets from Regulus, “why do they let him stay at that house?”
“Where else is he supposed to go?” Lily took the mug of tea and put it in Harry’s hands. “He knows things about Voldemort that we need to know, and he knows too much about us to turn him away. Besides, I think, despite how much he and Sirius fight, he’d rather stay and try to be useful.”
“So you trust him?” Harry reluctantly sipped the tea.
“After what he did that night…. I see why Sirius and Dumbledore are upset, but he may have saved your life, and I can’t be angry with him for that.”
Harry remembered Regulus and the flash of green light, then he screwed his eyes closed and took a large sip of his tea. He didn’t want to remember the graveyard. He didn’t want to go back there.
Harry set the half-empty mug of tea down on the knitted coaster on his bedside table. “When will Dad come home?”
“Probably tomorrow night. I hope tomorrow night. I don’t want him and Remus walking home in the morning after staying up all night. They’re supposed to stay with Sirius and sleep before coming home.”
“And they can’t Floo home?”
“Floos are too easily watched.” Lily kissed Harry’s forehead, just to the side of his scar. “Try to get some sleep. I’m going into the Muggle village tomorrow to send a letter to your Aunt Petunia. Would you like to come with? Get out of this house? We can get ice cream.”
It wasn’t much of a consolation, but at least it was something to look forward to. “Sure. Okay.”
She smiled, but her eyes were still sad. They were always sad these days, even when his father was home.
“Goodnight, dear,” she whispered, and turned out the gas lamps with a tap of her wand.
“Goodnight, Mum.”
Like he had so many nights before, Harry returned to the graveyard in his dreams. It wasn’t like he simply relived the events of that night four weeks ago, but rather he experienced in heightened detail the worst parts of his memories. And that wasn’t just suffering the Cruciatus Curse himself.
It was listening to Cedric suffer the curse.
It was the being stuck in the moment that Voldemort had tried to impel him to murder Cedric, and there was a part of Harry that knew he could have done it, that wanted to do it, that nearly did do it.
It was listening to Regulus’s screams as he suffered the Cruciatus Curse.
It was watching Regulus murder Barty Crouch, Jr. over and over again.
Harry woke up, hoping he hadn’t screamed and woken up his mother. He was breathing hard. His sheets felt too warm, and he kicked them off in desperation. Harry sat up and ran his hands through his hair. It stood on end, sticky with sweat. He reached for a cold glass of water, only to find the half-full cup of chamomile, now room temperature.
And like so many nights before, there were footsteps in the hallway. Harry quickly laid down and pretended to be asleep. He’d only just closed his eyes again when he heard the door creak open.
The first week without Sleeping Draught had been terrible for all of them. James and Lily had come running upstairs and held Harry until he fell asleep again, or until he finally told them to go back to bed. But Harry quickly began to realize there were some things his parents just couldn’t fix, and James and Lily had to understand that they could no longer protect Harry from everything.
Harry had heard James say to Remus after that first week, “I just feel so helpless. It’s like… like the first time I knew what you were going through each month, and knowing I couldn’t do anything.”
“You’ve done a fair bit for me, I would say.”
“But what do I do now, for Harry?”
Remus hadn't had an answer.
After that, Harry had tried to keep his nightmares quiet. It was hard enough just knowing his parents couldn’t help him. He didn’t need to know they felt guilty on top of it.
But some nights, they still heard him, especially on a night like tonight, when Lily slept lightly, kept awake by the warm night and worry over an absent husband.
Harry knew his tangled sheets and unsteady breathing were dead giveaways of his nightmare, but he thought maybe, just maybe, she might think he was alright. Unfortunately, lying had never been one of Harry’s strengths.
Lily picked her way around discarded robes and abandoned, half-finished homework and took a seat on the edge of Harry’s bed. She ran a hand along his back, a gentle, comforting touch. It made Harry feel six again and safe again, and his breathing steadied.
“I have them too, you know,” she said softly. “Our first year back in this house, after the end of the war, I would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking Voldemort had come for you again. Your father used to fall asleep by your crib. He’d fall asleep holding his wand. He left a scorch mark in the rug from one of his dreams. I still worry about him, and you of course. Sometimes I have nightmares about losing you or your father, or Remus and Sirius.” Lily paused, and Harry wondered what part of this speech was supposed to be encouraging.
“It’s okay to feel scared,” she said. “We all feel scared sometimes.”
“Were you scared when you fought him?” Harry asked.
“Terrified. Not of him, exactly, but of the idea that he’d hurt you. I was afraid I would lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to lose Dad, either.”
“I came up here to comfort you.”
Harry finally rolled over and looked up at his mother. “Then tell me I’m not going to lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me.” Lily leaned over and kissed Harry’s forehead. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Do you want some Sleeping Draught? You haven’t had it in a while. One night might be alright.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m alright, really, Mum.”
Judging by the sadness in her smile, she didn’t believe him. But she didn’t press. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Harry wondered if it wasn’t already morning, and hoped that by now, his father and Remus were back at Sirius’s, sleeping peacefully, or at least more peacefully than he was sleeping.
--- --- ---
The walk to the village post office was long, but beautiful. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever walked this path before. If he went into town with his parents, they usually Apparated. With the relatively recent addition of Anti-Apparition Charms around their property, however, Lily and Harry had to walk. Harry expected to Side-Along with Lily when they reached their property line, but they crossed the marker--a meter-high, crumbling stone wall--and she did not hold out her hand to him. Instead, she turned to walk up the hill.
“Why aren’t we Apparating?” Harry asked, jogging to catch up with her again.
“Oh, it’s not safe,” she said.
Harry did not understand. His mother had Side-Along Apparated with him dozens of times. Why was she suddenly worried she’d splinch them now? Perhaps she hadn’t slept well-enough to Apparate.
Even though they’d waited until late afternoon, hoping to avoid the worst of the day’s heat, by the time they reached the small town of Stinchcombe, Harry felt drenched in sweat. He was really looking forward to the ice cream his mother had promised him.
They walked into the town, and Harry could tell immediately how different it was from London. He didn’t have a lot of experience with Muggle towns apart from London, but this one reminded him a bit of Hogsmeade, with its small houses and shops, and stone-paved streets and bridges. Lily led him through the streets, which were not very crowded on a warm summer evening, to the post office, which was also empty so late in the day.
The Muggle behind the counter smiled at Lily. “‘Ow are you this evening, Miss Potter?”
“Just wonderful, thank you,” she smiled, and walked to a wall of small boxes with little locks on them.
Harry smiled at the Muggle, a little uncomfortable. He didn’t have much experience interacting with Muggles. There was the occasional shopkeeper in London, and of course the cousin he’d met once, but otherwise Muggles were a strange entity to him.
The man smiled with a wide, overly-friendly grin. “Ah, and yeh must be Harry? I saw yeh when yeh were a small thing.” He leaned down to put his hand at about his knee. “Clingin’ to yer Mum’s skirts. She says nothin’ but praise about yeh. Yer what now, eighteen?”
“Fifteen,” Harry said. It was odd to think that this Muggle knew him. Not odd in the way wizards knew him, because they knew him by the scar on his forehead, but this Muggle knew him because his mother talked about him. He hoped she’d only said good things.
“Ah, tall for such a young’un. Taller’n yer mum now, are yah?”
Lily returned to Harry’s side with a letter in hand. “Very nearly,” she said, and tried to flatten some of Harry’s more stubborn hairs.
Harry had noticed that at some point between the start and end of the Triwizard Tournament, he’d reached his mother’s height. When they stood side-by-side, his messy hair made him look an inch taller.
“Always good to see yeh, Miss,” the postman said with a wave. “Have a good‘un.”
Lily thanked him, and they left.
From where they stood, at the top of one of the taller hills in the city, they could see a large swath of the Cotswolds beneath them, wide expanses of green, dotted with darker trees and scattered houses and shops. Churches were marked with tall steeples, like spires rising from the ground. It really was a wonderful view up here, but Harry didn’t feel like he could appreciate it, not truly. There were all these Muggles below them, and not one had an inkling of Voldemort’s existence or the danger they were in.
“Mum, why hasn’t the Prophet reported any attacks on Muggles?”
Lily took his hand and squeezed it. “That is not a conversation for open air. Come on, let’s get that ice cream I promised you.”
They bought ice cream at a shop a few doors down. A few of the townspeople seemed to know Lily, and a couple of elderly ladies made adoring sighs when they saw Harry walking with Lily. He felt oddly self-conscious, but it was a strange relief to feel self-conscious for something other than his scar.
They sat down on the curb to enjoy their ice cream scoops and to rest before the long walk home.
“Did you take me down here a lot when I was smaller?” Harry asked as an elderly woman walked by with a middle-aged woman pushing a pram. The elderly woman smiled at him and Lily like she knew something about them, but Harry couldn’t imagine what she was thinking.
“A fair bit after the war.” Lily smiled back at the elderly woman as they passed. “Your father and I didn’t like to be apart much, and Remus and Sirius were busy helping the Ministry put things back together. That meant we didn’t get a sitter for you too often. Wasn’t until you were nearly five that we started leaving you at home more.”
“It’s nice here,” he said, looking up at the pale orange sky. “Quieter than London.”
“Most Muggle villages aren’t like London,” Lily laughed.
When their ice cream was finished, they began the long trek home. Harry asked again why Lily wouldn’t Apparate.
“There are Muggles nearby.”
But there really weren’t. Not near enough that it mattered. They’d Apparated in and out of London before, hadn’t they? Harry didn’t know why his mother was making excuses, but it was no good arguing with her. Arguing with Lily was like arguing with a hippogriff, and though many were stupid enough to argue with her, few were brave enough to. James, Remus, and Sirius could stand and fight her, of course, but only because they were all equally as stubborn. Harry was still learning how to be as stubborn as his parents without being disrespectful.
They started the walk from the town back through the Cotswolds, and half a kilometer out, ran across a pair of Muggle hikers.
“Lovely evening for a hike,” Lily said, as their paths merged into one.
“‘Tis,” the man wheezed. He wasn’t particularly old, not much older than Mr. Weasley, Harry thought, but he looked terribly worn out. “She had the bright idea to walk all the way from Nymphsfield.”
The woman hiker looked tired, but her eyes sparkled in a way that reminded Harry of his father, with a love of adventure and activity. “Ah, he’s just complaining because he wanted to stay for another round of golf. I told him there’s golfing here in Stinchcombe, but he’s a whiner.”
The man wheezed in irritation.
“It’s our twenty-fifth anniversary trip, and he wants to waste it golfing,” the woman said. “What about you two? Newly-wed trip along Cotswold Way?”
Harry just about choked, and Lily laughed.
“No, no, this is my son. We live just on the other side of the hill. Spent the evening together in town.”
“Ah, what a good lad you are,” the woman said. “No motor, then?”
“It’s a nice walk,” Lily said.
Harry agreed it was a nice walk, but he wouldn’t have complained about taking Sirius’s motorbike into town instead, or maybe Mr. Weasley’s flying car.
Lily and the woman carried on a polite conversation about the weather and the gardens in Stinchcombe while they walked. The woman’s husband seemed more focused on putting one foot in front of the other. When he did open his mouth, it was to grumpily correct his wife or to complain about his aching knees and back.
The Muggle couple was walking up to the bed and breakfast at the top of the hill, which was largely on Lily and Harry’s way home, so the four of them were stuck together. The evening grew dark as they walked, and the Muggle couple each pulled a torch out of their pockets. Harry wished he could use a Wand-Lighting Charm--it would be brighter--but they certainly couldn’t in front of Muggles.
“Oh, let me,” Lily said, as the man adjusted the camping pack on his back, struggling to hold the torch and his pipe. He handed her the torch without complaint and Lily held it out on the path in front of them.
The Muggle woman asked Harry if he was in school, what classes he liked, and if he played any sports. Harry had no idea how to answer, so he just told her he liked all his classes and played no sports, both of which were terrible lies. He didn’t know much about Muggle society, but he did ask her what she did for a living, and if she had any children.
She told him she wrote about scientific research in the Muggle world, and talked at length about space. Harry tried to keep up with his knowledge from his Astronomy classes, but she talked about a lot of things he’d never heard of. He mentioned some things he did know, and pointed at a few of the stars he could remember the names of. She was impressed.
“Don’t know many boys who can read stars,” she said. “It’s impressive. You ever thought of a career in stars? Science is growing a fair bit out there. Lots of opportunities for young lads in space.”
Harry told her honestly that he had not, then was about to ask what sorts of things were required for that kind of work, more out of politeness than earnest curiosity, but he saw the star he had just named for her disappear. One by one, the stars began to wink out.
Harry blinked in surprise. He didn’t realize what was happening until the temperature dropped sharply. His breath was visible for a moment as vapor, and then the torches went dark, too.
“Mum!” Harry said, reaching his hand out for where he thought she was, but his fingers found nothing. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket for his wand, knowing full-well he shouldn’t perform magic in front of Muggles, but also knowing there must be a dementor nearby, and he wasn’t about to let it hurt these innocent people. But his mother should have her wand out by now, surely. Surely her patronus would appear any minute.
There was a thud as something heavy hit the ground, and Harry could stand the darkness no longer. “Lumos!” he said, and in the bright white light that surrounded them, Harry caught a glimpse of the Muggle woman, standing next to him with a hand over her mouth and tears running down her cheeks.
She blinked at the brightness and stared at Harry, confusion creeping into her sorrow.
Harry didn’t see Lily, and when he turned, he saw a hooded black figure approaching him.
“Expecto Patronum!” Harry said.
A silver wisp of light shot from his wand. The dementor hesitated, but only for a moment. It came towards Harry at a steady pace, breath rattling and bony hands reaching for Harry. The hands looked covered in slime, and the skin, if it was skin, was peeling off in places, dark like a fresh scab.
Harry searched desperately for a happy memory, but his happy memories were being rapidly sucked out by this creature. Its hands reminded Harry of Voldemort’s grotesque, misshapen body that had been dropped into the cauldron during his resurrection. The Muggle woman next to him began to scream, and it reminded him of his mother’s scream, on the night Voldemort had attacked his family. Harry felt cold, alone, and he couldn’t find any hope.
Desperately, Harry reconstructed his most recent happy memories--ice cream with his mother, and a midnight birthday broom flight with his father--and tried again. “Expecto Patronum!”
Just as the dementor’s bony fingers brushed Harry’s neck, a burst of silver shot from Harry’s wand again, knocking the dementor back. Harry felt a flutter in his chest, and a boost of confidence. He tried again.
“Expecto Patronum!”
This time, an enormous, silver stag burst from Harry’s wand. Its antlers caught the dementor in the chest, and carried it away at a gallop.
Harry raised his wand-light higher, scanning the grassy path for his mother and the Muggle man. He finally found them just on the edge of his light. He ran forward, and his wand-light fell on a second dementor, hovering over them.
The old man had collapsed on the ground and was groaning, either in physical or emotional pain. Lily was on her knees, torch still in her hands, but no sign of her wand. The dementor’s skeleton-like fingers touched her cheeks; its hood was lowered, revealing a slimy skeleton-like head. Lily’s green eyes looked blank, and Harry thought with a panic the dementor had already sucked out her soul.
He pointed his wand at the hooded figure with a shout, and the stag ran past him at full gallop. It collided with the dementor and tossed it into the air. The dementors were gone, the Patronus dissolved, and the stars and torches burst back to life.
The man’s groaning quieted, but Lily did not stir.
“Mum!” Harry said, and grabbed her shoulders. Her usually brilliant green eyes were dull, unfocused, and dazed. She stared at something far beyond Harry, lips parted, quivering. Harry could not tell if their trembling was reminiscent of words or if it was simply out of fear. He looked down and saw one of her hands still gripped the torch. Her other was open. Inches from her fingertips lay her wand.
Had she been caught off guard? Why hadn’t she cast her patronus first?
Though she did not seem to recognize him, Harry put her wand in her hand and pulled her to her feet. Now he noticed the Muggle couple was staring at him, dazed and shocked.
“Er--the bed and breakfast is up that way,” he pointed up the hill. “Get there, and get yourselves warm, okay?”
The man blinked at Harry, then looked at his wife. They said nothing, but hand-in-hand began the hike up the hill.
Harry pulled his mother’s arm around her shoulder, fairly easy to do now that they were the same height, and began helping her towards the house. It wasn’t much farther, but they moved slowly, both from their combined weight and the cold block of ice that had formed inside Harry’s chest when the dementors arrived, and even still refused to melt.