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Chapter Text

3 Years Ago

“Freak! Your nothing but a little freak! What have I told you about showing off your abnormality?”

A thick blanket of darkness lay over the suburban street.

“You’ll pay for this boy! I swore if you ever hurt my son I’d kill you.”

Heavy raindrops smashed against the pavements pooling in the cracks.

“I’m going to teach that freak a lesson he’ll never forget. He’ll bloody pay for this.”

Beads of sweat trickled down his face mingling with tears. His back was aching. His muscles burning.

“Go on then Harry – fight back. Defend yourself like a man.”

Despite the raging pain in his chest, he urged himself on. He had to get away. He had to leave this place.

“You can’t can you? Think you’re the big man with all your nonsense but your nothing but a pathetic little freak.”

Yellow headlights sped towards him. The shriek of breaks sliced through the roar of rain as the car swerved to avoid him. With his heart hammering wildly, Harry stopped in time to watch the black car speeding down the road he’d come up. It’s bright rear lights flashing angrily in its wake.

“Get out of my house. Get out, boy. I said get out.”

 Ignoring the stabbing pain in his head he forced himself on once more. He wasn’t going to go back there. This was his chance. He had to escape.

“Now!”

Memories consumed him as he collapsed against a lampost. All thought of finding shelter gave way to exhaustion. And as he dragged in shuddering breaths, he took refuge in the frost and tiny stones biting into his skin. He was more at home here, lying on the side of the road, than he ever had been at Number 4 Privet Drive.

At precisely the same time that night, somewhere many, many miles away, buried deep in enchanted chambers and locked draws. A worn piece of parchment erased itself. Leaving a few blank spaces in between its many lines. The ink having disappeared without a trace.

***

Chapter 1 — Newspapers and Coffee Shops

Vicious Attack On Innocent Muggles!

Yesterday, at 3:32pm Hackney, East London, 2 muggle men were discovered in an alley having been stunned and brutally attacked. Of course, muggle enforcement where not able to identify the cause of the victims condition, the weapon used to inflict the injuries or more importantly their attacker. Eyewitnesses accounts revealed several cloaked figures where seen fleeing the alley shortly before the bodies were found. This seemingly unprovoked attack on two middle aged muggle citizens certainly implies the work of the dark wizards. The ministry of magic is regarding the matter as a sever breach of wizarding law and are urging anyone with information to come forward.

The twist in this tale? The magic used is said to have been completed without a magical signature. Many are left wondering who are these dark wizards at large? Are they capable of preforming advance wandless magic? After all, every wave leaves it trace. Why did they strike in broad daylight in a busy muggle street? Why subject 2 seemingly innocent muggles to such violence? Will our Ministry find them before they strike again? Could this even be the work of the remaining death eaters? Please turn to page 3 for the full report.

 Remus Lupin frowned as he folded the latest issue of the Daily Prophet in half. Running a hand through his silver-streaked hair he tapped his pockets searching for his watch. Common sense told him the muggle book shop owner wasn’t going to attend their scheduled meeting, but still he continued to wait. It was nearing 6 o’clock now and his unsavoury coffee had long since grown cold. He toyed with the nearby tatty menu and the nearby waiter shot him another aggravated glare before returning to his glass shining.

 Ignoring the man’s stare he let out an exasperated sigh and cradled his chipped mug. He’d already been at the dingy coffee house a couple hours and yet it felt as if no time had passed at all. Turning his attention back to the newspaper article he lost himself in thought once more. Old London was exactly Remus’s location. But it was not for the reasons most wizards were there today. No, Remus Lupin had a job interview. A supposed job interview. He’d been offered an appointment with the local book shop keeper about a vacancy within the store. He’d arrived almost half hour early at the designated place in the hopes of making a good first impression but thus far the owner had failed to make an appearance.

The bell above the entrance rang its crisp note as the door swung open. Remus looked up hopefully, only to be disappointed by the arrival of several elderly women all clasping handbags and chattering loudly with one another. Again, Remus sighed and returned to stirring his drink.

 It had been a rough few month for the wizard. Work was getting harder to come by, and even harder to keep. The magical community was dry on the ground when it came to odd jobs, particularly for nearly middle-aged werewolves. Remus had turned to the muggle world in the hope of not having to face the same prejudice, but found even in bustling London his luck wasn’t faring much better. His hand to mouth existence was becoming more of a challenge with each passing day. He had his small cottage in Yorkshire of course. The home his parents had left him before they’d passed served as a great source of comfort to him during the difficult times. It was a peaceful place, secluded and private. At stark contrast to the never-ending sea of traffic that seemed to hurtle through the city.

 Turning his thoughts away from his beloved home, he stared at the peeling paint and tuned in to the conversation taking place on adjacent table.

“Terrible, absolutely terrible if you ask me. I mean where on earth are their parents?” He heard one grey haired lady say. “You may ask Winnie, you may ask. They’re always hanging about there. As though they have nothing better to do with their time. Honestly, most of them look as though they should still be at school!”

“Harassing passers-by like they do – I tell you, I watch my purse whenever I cross that street,” said the lady in the green raincoat.

“And the girls, my word, their skirts are high enough to show off their knickers, we would never have gotten away with that in my day. Is it any wonder most of them have gotten themselves pregnant?” asked another.

Losing interest in mindless gossip Remus spared a final glance at his pocket watch and rose from the bench. Dropping the last of his muggle change onto the counter, he exited the cafe and stepped onto street.

Most stores where closing now if not shut already, but he figured he could call in a few of the nearby newsagents to find if they needed a spare hand along his way. At least then the day wouldn’t have been entirely wasted.

As he wondered down the busy main street his thoughts drifted to the offer, he’d received only a few weeks prior. It was hard to believe he’d been offered his dream job by an employer he happened to regard as a close friend. Yet here he was, trailing run-down newsagents doing everything but begging for paid work. But the extended offer of teaching defence against the dark arts at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry didn’t come as a no brainer to the ageing werewolf. His reluctance to accept the role steamed primarily from a deep-rooted fear. A fear he’d carried his entire life, that someday, somehow, he would be found out. And if he were to be completely honest with himself it wasn’t just his secret that kept him away from the school. He was all too aware that if he were to become a professor, he would be inviting in too many long-suppressed memories of his adolescence. Joy filled though they were, reminisce was painful for Remus. With his old classmates and best friend’s dead and another a deranged killer, the fond memories where somehow tinged with grief and regret. It would be a challenge in itself to return to a place that had once held so much happiness, and now only stood to serve as a painful reminder of the bitter truth. Plus, there was Harry. Or better put, the lack of Harry. James’ and Lily’s baby boy would be nearing his 13th birthday now and looking forward to his 3rd year at the school. Or so he should be.

Harry Potter had been missing for almost 3 years to the date. Or at least that’s what he’d been told was the date. He strongly suspected the child had been missing long before the wizarding world found out about his disappearance. Of course, his guardians had sworn that he’d only left a few days prior to the letter’s arrival. They denied ever having any involvement in Harrys disappearance. They had even been trailed and interviewed at length, but still maintained they knew nothing. It was more than just a gut feeling for Remus that Harry Potters disappearance took place long before anyone noticed. The neighbours confessed they hadn’t seen the kid in weeks when questioned. The circumstances, the story the Dursely family told was all just too suspicious for Remus’s liking. But perhaps he only thought that way because it was easier to bare than the alternatives. Many folk believed that his best friends son had been kidnapped by Voldemort’s remaining death eaters. Taken from his safe haven of home and at the mercy of the darkest wizards of the age. But whatever the truth maybe, the tale of the boy-who-lived was a sad one. The wizarding worlds saviour had vanished into thin air, never to be seen or heard from again. Three years down the line, the ministry and the remaining members of the order had stopped their search. Each coming to the same realization that finding the child alive and well was slim to say the least. Though it made him sick, even Remus had to admit his faith was wavering.

Down trodden with guilt ridden thoughts, Remus decided to call it a day and turned into what he thought looked like a fairly secluded street. Resisting the urge to stop in a nearby pub he bowed his head and walked on, trying to find a suitable spot to disapparate without being seen. He'd made it halfway down a darkened alleyway when he could have sworn someone or something had brushed against his backside.

Spinning round, he drew his wand. With senses on high alert, he approached the industrial-sized metal bin. But on close inspection of the narrow pathway, he found it as deserted. Shaking his head slightly he lowered his wand and turned around. It had been a long day; he was probably just still exhausted from his latest transformation. Not to mention stressed about the article he’d read earlier. He was on the very verge of disapparating when he heard it. A quick succession of footsteps.

Pivoting on his heel he marched determinedly towards it and as he drew level with the bin, a long, thin shadow slid across the ground.

Picking up his pace now, he made his way back onto the street.

“Hey. Stop!” He yelled.

If his eyes hadn’t been trained on the crowd of rowdy men outside of the pub he would have missed it. A small, dark haired boy, looking no older than 8 or 9 twisted his head back to stare Remus dead in the eye. In the next instance he slipped into the crowd and disappeared from sight. “Hey! You there – STOP!” Remus called again.

But the boy didn’t stop. He emerged from the group of gatherers and sped on into the night.

Remus paused for a moment, bewildered by the turn of events before regaining his senses and checking his back pockets. Cursing his own stupidity he fixed his gaze ahead. A lamppost at three quarter way up the road shone a spotlight on a small figure moving fast. Without a seconds hesitation, Remus gave chase.

The crowd of drunks he’d scattered yelled insults in his wake.  

The wallet he was carrying didn’t contain much money, but it did have sentimental photographs and other belongings he couldn’t stand to lose. Somewhere up ahead he watched the kid cut a corner. He was quick, but not quick enough to match Remus’s inhumane speed. Forgetting about magic now the wizard hurtled after the thief, desperate to catch up before he lost sight of him completely.

It was by pure chance the boy stumbled slightly in shock when Remus shouted. Seizing the opportunity momentary hesitance had given him, Remus pounced on the boys back. Knocking him forwards, he reached out and grabbed the small hooded figure before he hit the ground.

The thief struggled under his grasp and let out a stream of obscenities in undignified rage.

“Where is it?” Remus demanded fighting to spin the boy around.

“Dunno wha’ you’re on abou’, you weirdo. Gerroffa me!” the boy yelled back.

Remus distantly registered the strong cockney twang.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want my wallet!” Remus told him, fighting to twist his arms into a restraint. The kid was putting up one hell of a fight alright.

“I told you I don’t bloody ‘ave it!”

“You do. Just give it to me and I’ll let you go okay. You can have all the money in it all right – but there’s pictures. Pictures I need back.”

"Oh right, so I give yah those and what? You just  lemme go, yea?” asked the boy.

“Yes. I won’t hurt you – I won’t even come after you. Just give me the photographs and we go our separate ways.”

"Tell you what, mate. I’ll give yah  summin’ much betta than the pictures.”

“What do you mean? Look just give the pictures to me and nobody gets-” But a disembodied voice cut him off.

 “Danny!”

Remus and the thief stopped.

“DANNY!” The voice called again.

Noticing the boy had gone rigid in in his arms, Remus loosened his grip.

“Danny, you down there or wha? Don’t tell me you’re at it again, The boss man is still fumin’ after the stunt you pulled yesterday!”

Realizing the voice belonged to someone who was apparently talking to the kid Remus had his arms around, he turned to look over shoulder. Some feet away, at the mouth of the alley was a lanky figure who appeared to be dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and oversized hoodie.

“You gonna lemme go, if I give you yah photos, yeah?”

The pleading note in the small boys voice drew Remus’s attention.

“Danny let’s go! They’re all waitin’ for us at the Vic’s Arms,” the figured shouted.

Remus loosened his hold again in attempt to signal to the boy-Danny-that he meant no harm. “All I want is my pictures,” he said in a much quieter voice.

The thief shifted in Remus’s arms and broke free. As he turned around, Remus noted with a strange pang of disappointment, that the oversized hood of his jacket obscured the upper-half of his face and the shadow it cast, the rest.  

The boy dug his hand deep in his tracksuit bottoms and brought out a wallet.

 “’ere!” he said, thrusting it at him. “Wha’ kind of pictures are they anyway? Must be summat good if you was willing to chase me through half of London for ‘em.”

Remus stepped forward, extending out a cautious hand. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.

“Whatever, man,” he tugged down his hood, and Remus stumbled back.

Unruly, black hair. Sharp cheek bones. An angular jaw. Forest-green eyes and a lightning bolt scar. There was no mistaking it. Remus knew exactly who this pick pocket was.

The pronounced missing, presumed dead, Harry James Potter.

Chapter Text

The Meeting  

“Harry?” Remus whispered, disbelief threading his voice.  

Harry’s eyes widened at the sound of his proper name—a name no one had uttered in years. Shock quickly curdled into fear as the stranger reached out a hand. He flinched, recoiling from the touch.  

“My name’s not ‘Arry, mate,” he said in a flat, guarded tone.  

“DANNY! C’MON!” the teen called out, voice taut with anger as he started toward them.  

Harry’s gaze darted to him, and he edged away. Remus’s breath caught. He had to act—fast.  

“Harry, listen to me. I know who you are. I know you’ve been missing for a long time.”  

“Missin’? Listen ‘ere, mate, I dunno who you think I am, but my name ain’t Harry! I ain’t whoever you reckon I am!”  

“Who’s this geezer?” 
They turned to see a much older boy studying them with keen interest. Remus glanced back at Harry, watching a flicker of indecision cross his face before he settled on anger. 

“Just some nutter, Seb. Let’s go,” he muttered, shoving past the men and leading the way out of the alley.  

Seb gave Remus a long, hard look before following his friend. Remus watched the boys disappear, his mind spinning.  

“Harry, wait!” Remus pleaded. “Just wait a moment, please!”  

“How many bloody times? My name ain’t ‘ARRY!” the street kid shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration.  

“I’d quit now if I were you, mate. Leave ‘im alone if you know what’s good for you,” Seb warned.  

Remus started after them. “No, not until he hears me out—”  

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, WACKO!” Harry shrieked. Remus froze. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but this was spiraling out of control.  

“Harry—”  

Seb spun, murder in his eyes. “You deaf or something, mate? Kid’s name ain’t fookin’ ‘Arry! Now get lost before the boss finds you here!” 
He shoved Remus hard in the chest. Remus stumbled back, eyes locking desperately on Harry’s, trying to convey something—anything—he might understand. 

“I don’t mean any harm,” Remus tried again. Both boys glared daggers at him.  

“No, but that’s exactly what you’re gonna get if you don’t get out of here right now,” Seb warned.  

“Go on, wacko—be on your way,” Harry said coldly, emerald eyes boring into topaz blue.  

“Har—” Seb’s fist came out of nowhere. The pain as it crashed into Remus’s nose made his eyes water. He stumbled and fell hard into a pile of black rubbish bags, lifting a hand to his bleeding nose.  

Seb bent low, his face inches from Remus’s. He spat a single word: “Get.”  

Then, before Remus could react, they were gone.  

The inky black sky was spattered with stars. The chorus of nocturnal creatures and the gentle lapping of water against the bank were the only sounds disturbing the night. A magnificent castle loomed overhead, silvery light from its windows rippling over the surrounding moat.  

Dry grass and twigs snapped underfoot as Remus ran, so intent on reaching the entrance he barely registered the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Ignoring the throbbing in his nose, he pressed on through the night, memories of startling green eyes looping through his mind.  

He slammed his shoulder into the solid oak doors and charged up the stone spiral staircase. He had to get to Dumbledore. He had to tell him Harry was alive. He had to let him know he’d found him.  

Only when he reached the golden gargoyle did he realize he didn’t know the password. He kicked the wall in frustration, letting out a strangled roar. Inconvenience didn’t begin to cover it. The wizarding world’s savior had been missing for three years—every second counted. His earlier lapse in judgment only fueled his guilt. He’d let Harry slip away, and he was determined not to let anything stand in the way of bringing the boy home now.  

“Professor Dumbledore!” he bellowed at the griffin. 
“PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!” But the statue didn’t move. Instead, a slick, oily voice he hadn’t heard in decades replied—not the voice he wanted. 

“Remus John Lupin. So we meet again.” Remus turned to face his old adversary.  

“Severus. I need to speak with the headmaster,” he said, breathless.  

Snape arched an eyebrow as he glided closer. “Really? And what could a useless old mongrel like you possibly want with the headmaster?”  

“Do you know where he is? It’s important—please!” Remus insisted, doubling over to catch his breath, bracing himself against the wall.  

“What happened to your face?” Snape asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.  

“Not now, Severus—please, just tell me where Dumbledore is. You do know, don’t you?”  

“Perhaps.” Snape folded his arms, eyeing him. “But why is the headmaster’s location of such great interest to you, Lupin?”  

Remus hesitated, weighing his options. He knew Snape wouldn’t give up information without a price. “It’s about Harry. Harry Potter. Will you please tell me—”  

“The Potter boy? Are you saying you’ve heard something about his whereabouts? Another supposed sighting? Lupin, we both know that’s impossible. The boy is dead—”  

“He is not dead! Harry’s alive—I saw him with my own eyes!”  

“Really.” Snape sneered, unmoved.  

“I spoke to him! You have to believe me—this is important! If he disappears again now, I’ll—”  

“You’ll what?” Snape sucked his teeth, a small grin slipping onto his face. “So you just happened to bump into the boy-who-lived today?”  

Remus’s patience was fraying. How could Snape be so calm when he’d just delivered such earth-shattering news? The boy the wizarding world had been searching for had been found!  

“Do you know where the headmaster is or not, Severus?” he demanded through gritted teeth.  

Snape paused, considering. “Where?”  

“What? I just asked you—”  

“Where is the boy? Where did you see him?”  

Remus shook his head. “I won’t tell you that.”  

“Why go to the headmaster? Why not inform the Ministry?” Snape pressed.  

“You know as well as I do what the Ministry might do if they find him first. They’ll interrogate him, make him a ward of the Ministry, and Fudge will take credit to boost his popularity. His story will be splashed all over the Prophet. Merlin knows what they’ll turn him into! I don’t trust them.” Remus hesitated. “Severus, the boy is in danger. Real danger. The right people have to find him.”  

Snape frowned, absorbing Remus’s words. “The headmaster is away on private business,” he said at last. “I can get word to him about this supposed sighting. He’ll take appropriate action, especially if the boy is truly in danger.”  

Remus straightened, searching Snape’s face. “Why can’t you just tell me?”  

“Professor Dumbledore’s whereabouts are of great importance—not just to this school, but to the entire wizarding community. He entrusted me with his location under strict confidence. Do you think I’d break that trust for a werewolf’s tale? I’ve been more than generous, offering to pass your story along. If what you say is true, will you risk the boy’s life for pride, Lupin?” Snape’s sneer was stone-cold.  

Now it was Remus’s turn to weigh his options. If the greatest wizard of the age trusted his old rival, perhaps he should too. The alternative was unthinkable.  

“Muggle London. Hackney. We met in Torments Fall.”  

Snape gave a curt nod and turned on his heel.  

“Wait!” Remus called after him. “He mentioned a brewery—the Vic’s Arms. He might be there. Severus—the right people have to find him. You understand that.”  

Snape slowed, cocking his head. “I understand perfectly.”  

With that, he swept away, leaving Remus Lupin alone once more.  

“You really believe we’re going to find this kid at noon in the middle of East London, Kingsley? We and half the Auror Office have been scouring these streets for three days. If the boy-who-lived were here, he’d have been spotted by now. We’re more likely to catch the dark wizards who attacked those Muggles than—”  

“Have you considered that those dark wizards are here because of Harry Potter? That they might know he’s in the area? Isn’t it all a bit too coincidental, McClouchan?” Kingsley asked, exasperated.  

The balding Auror grunted. “So where to now? Another local dive?”  

“The Hogwarts professor said the boy might be found at the Vic’s Arms—”  

McClouchan rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many pubs in London are called Victoria Arms? We’ve been to at least five, Kingsley! No one’s seen the kid. Never even heard of Harry Potter. Even if these criminals have been tipped off, it doesn’t mean it’s true.”  

Kingsley smiled politely at a young mother pushing a stroller, then turned to his colleague. “But what if it is? Isn’t it worth trying? According to the map, there’s another Vic’s Arms this way.”  

Sighing, McClouchan trudged after him, thinking of all the unfinished work piling up at his Ministry desk.  

Wizards, witches, and Muggle officers had been prowling Hackney’s streets since the attack. But picking out suspicious faces in the poverty-ridden Torments Falls was no easy feat. Gangs of hooded youths lingered on corners, smoking things that didn’t smell like cigarettes and jeering at passersby. Cardboard and blankets dotted any sheltered spot, their owners sprawled across the pavement. Most shops were boarded up, newspapers warning off trespassers. Green glass shards marked the sites of brawls; needles and plastic bags littered the gutters. In the distance, a graffiti-covered council tower block loomed. This was not a place for fairy-tale endings. Kingsley almost hoped the boy wasn’t here.  

“This it, then?” McClouchan asked, gesturing at a shabby red-brick building.  

The head Auror leaned in to inspect the battered chalkboard outside. “This is it. Do you have the photograph?”  

“Yes, for all the good it’s doing. The kid looks about six in it—he must look different now. He’s what, ten? Eleven?”  

“Twelve. He’s twelve, almost thirteen,” Kingsley muttered.  

He strode ahead, ready to question yet another barman.  

The brewery reeked of alcohol and stale cigar smoke. Despite the hour, a fair number of patrons nursed pints and chatted. The burgundy wallpaper shone with years of grime, reflecting the dull brass lights.  

Heads turned as the pair crossed the room. McClouchan eyed the sticky carpet in disgust, trailing after Kingsley to the counter.  

“Hello, can you help us? We’re looking for this boy—have you seen him?” Kingsley asked the haggard barman, flashing the battered photo.  

The barman barely glanced up, absorbed in pouring pint after pint.  

The Aurors waited as he served his customers. The buzz of voices faded to uneasy murmurs.  

McClouchan gripped his concealed wand, tapping it against his leg. Kingsley laid his ID on the bar.  

“We’re with the East London police. I suggest you answer the question,” he said quietly.  

The barman finally looked up, scrutinizing the photo and badge. “Nope, sorry—can’t say I have.”  

The tension in the room thickened. McClouchan was ready to leave, but Kingsley stopped him.  

“The child looks younger in the photo. Look again—have you seen him? Any of your staff?”  

“Lot of people come and go, mate. How’m I supposed to remember every one?” the man grunted.  

“Maybe, but you’d remember a child. He’s only twelve. We believe he comes in here often.”  

“S’a family pub,” the man shrugged, passing the photo back and turning away.  

McClouchan glanced around. This didn’t look like a family place—or one anyone would eat in.  

Kingsley leaned down, elbows on the counter. He wasn’t convinced.  

“Is there somewhere private we could talk? A back room?”  

The barman looked up, surprised. “Got a lot of punters, mate. Can’t just walk off,” he said.  

Kingsley looked ready to argue, but a new voice cut through the crowd. “The officer asked for a moment. That’s not too much, is it?”  

All heads turned. “Remus,” Kingsley groaned.  

“Who’s this geezer, sticking his nose in?” the barman snapped, waving his rag at Remus.  

“He’s a colleague,” Kingsley improvised, shooting Remus a look. Remus leaned on the bar, ignoring him.  

“That’s right. The kid’s name is Danny. We know he was here last night, maybe with another boy, Seb. He’s not in trouble—we just need to talk to him. Where is he?”  

The room fell silent, every customer watching.  

“Oh, Danny boy, in trouble now, ain’t ya!” a young voice crowed over the crowd. “Better run, run as fast as you can.”  

Remus spun. McClouchan and Kingsley followed, hands on their wands. The boy’s outburst was met with silence—some glared, others shushed him. Suspicion thickened.  

Perhaps it was the wolf’s senses, or sheer desperation, but Remus saw it first—a small, dark silhouette slipping through the crowd. The way the figure moved left no doubt in Remus’s mind.  

“Harry?” Remus’s whisper was barely audible, but it rang in the Aurors’ ears like thunder.  

The hunched figure neared the exit, then straightened—a small, dark-haired boy. McClouchan shouted, “It’s him, Kingsley! GET HIM!” 
Harry froze, paralyzed with fear. His green eyes met Remus’s, draining the color from both their faces. 

“Harry, listen—we just want to talk. Stay where you are—” But the use of his real name triggered an instant reaction. Harry bolted for the door.  

Remus, anticipating the move, gave chase, deja vu drowning out the jeers behind him.  

Harry burst through the pub door onto the street. A glance over his shoulder showed the man he’d tried to rob was too close for comfort.  

He sprinted down the familiar lane. Nobody knew these streets like Harry. He could run them blindfolded. It was the first rule of survival: know your territory. Know where to lose a tail. Escape was an art he’d mastered. His feet moved without thought, adrenaline flooding his veins.  

How did that man know his name? The coppers had a photo of him. Why? Why now, after all this time? No one had looked for him before. It all came back to that stranger. He’d known something was off when he’d seen him in the gully last night—the way he looked at him, as if he recognized him. But Harry didn’t recognize him. He’d spent all night thinking about it. He should have known coming back to the pub was risky. Usually, when his marks called the fuzz, they’d steer clear of the Vic’s Arms. They didn’t want trouble. That was the appeal—the protection, the security of knowing when he’d get his next meal. He hated it, but it was better than fending for himself. At least here, he had people to watch his back.  

He made a sharp left, trying to banish memories he thought he’d buried. But the harder he pushed them down, the harder they fought back. Shaking his head, he dodged rubbish bags and vaulted a low fence. But no matter how far or fast he ran, he couldn’t escape the past. Hearing his real name again had pulled the trigger on a loaded gun. Anger fueled his desperation. Uncle Vernon had always said he’d come to a bad end—maybe he was right.  

He could hear the men closing in. He should have lost them by now. The winding roads were a maze to outsiders. In the concrete jungle, you could disappear. No one questioned anything here. Street kids were a dime a dozen. That’s why Harry liked it. So why were these coppers still on his tail?  

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the white van blocking the alley until he was nearly on top of it. His chest burned, head pounding as panic set in. He was trapped.  

Could he use it again so soon? He didn’t want to risk it. There were three of them. What if he lost control and hurt them? Pushing the thought aside, he dove under a parked car, hoping to go unnoticed.  

“We’ve lost him!” Kingsley roared, slowing to a halt.  

“No, he went that way—I swear!” his colleague insisted.  

Remus grabbed his arm, pressing a finger to his lips. 
“Shh…” 

“The element of surprise is our best advantage,” Kingsley whispered. “If he went that way, we’ll each take a side and close in. It’s a dead end with that van—he’s cornered.”  

“We don’t want to scare him, Kingsley—the child’s already terrified!” Remus protested.  

“We can’t catch him, Remus. He knows these streets better than we do,” Kingsley argued.  

“I say we stun him. Soon as we see him, we stupefy—stop him cold!” McClouchan panted.  

“Magic should be a last resort—we’re in Muggle London. Too risky,” Remus insisted.  

McClouchan glared. 
“Who the hell are you, anyway? Why are you here? How do you know so much about the boy?” 

Remus opened his mouth, but Kingsley cut him off. 
“We need to move—now, before he slips away again! Remus, take the top. McClouchan, the side. I’ll take the bottom. Meet in the center. Move!” 

The trio split up, closing in on the alley. Remus had only gone a few paces when a nearby car flared to life. He looked up just in time to see a young boy dart from underneath, a shocked look on his face.  

“HARRY!” Remus shouted, drawing the others’ attention.  

Harry looked up, wide-eyed—a deer in headlights. Remus moved toward him, hands raised in peace.  

“Harry, we just want to talk. You haven’t done anything wrong—we’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he said as the car rolled away, leaving Harry exposed.  

Seeing he was trapped, Harry’s expression hardened.  

“Who are you? What d’you want with me?” he yelled.  

“STUPEFY!”  

McClouchan’s jet of blue light struck Harry in the chest. The boy’s body seized, then crumpled. Remus lunged, catching him before he hit the ground.  

Chapter Text

The Cold Room

“I just don’t understand why you had to do that! He wasn’t a threat!” Remus exclaimed as he marched down the long, winding corridor.

“Are you a fully qualified Auror, Mr. Lupin? No? Then what right do you have to second-guess my judgment?” McClouchan spat back.

“Enough. McClouchan, what you did was reckless. The boy is barely a teenager. We frightened him. His response was only natural,” Kingsley reasoned.

“I dare say he won’t trust us now. How can you expect him to tell us anything after we attacked him?” Remus raved, shifting Harry’s weight in his arms.

“Doesn’t matter. We have ways of getting people to talk. I’m sure the Minister will be intrigued by the kid’s story—” McClouchan replied, toying with his wand to agitate the werewolf further.

“I said enough! Remus, put the boy in there, but don’t wake him. McClouchan—go find the Minister, and speak to no one on your way,” Kingsley ordered.

His colleague gave Harry one last look before turning on his heel and marching away.

Remus shifted the underweight child again and studied the door before him. “But it’s an interrogation cell, Kingsley—” he started, sounding unsure.

The head Auror cast him a meaningful look, then took his elbow and led him aside.

“We don’t have long. I’ll go to Dumbledore—inform him of what’s happened. For now, we must be seen to act in accordance with Fudge. It’s risky you even being here, Remus. I’m not sure how you found out about the boy, but Fudge will want to know of your involvement,” he warned.

“I found him! Last night—I tried to go to Dumble—” Kingsley silenced him with a wave.

“Take him in there and wait. I’ll handle the rest.” He dug in his pocket and handed Remus a key. “I know McClouchan is infuriating, but Fudge will back him, so be careful.”

The werewolf nodded and watched as Kingsley swept away. Having heard nothing from the Hogwarts headmaster all night, Remus couldn’t help but question his so-called informant. Unwilling to wait any longer, he’d gone back to the alley in Torments Fall, hoping to find Dumbledore’s search party already at work. He wasn’t surprised to spot the Ministry’s Aurors, Kingsley and McClouchan, trolling the same streets. Mistrust led him to follow the men to the dugout, and he was glad he did.

Balancing the still-unconscious Harry in one arm, he unlatched the door. The boy was so small and light. The holding cell was bleak, windowless, smelling of damp and burnt wood. A shabby desk and two chairs were the only furniture, yet Remus felt watched.

Annoyed there was no bed, he laid Harry gently on the hard stone floor and covered him with his jacket. Realizing how uncomfortable the ground was, he lowered himself and leaned against the wall, positioning Harry’s head on his outstretched legs. He studied the boy’s features—James Potter’s son, no doubt. The unruly jet-black hair, the crooked glasses, all his father’s. But he knew that once those eyes opened, Lily’s accusing stare would return.

Noticing Harry’s clenched fists, he pried the dirty fingers from his palms and brushed away the overgrown bangs to reveal the famous scar. The child’s face was smeared with filth, his baggy clothes tattered and full of holes. Remus’s mind raced with questions, but for now, he found comfort in simply being there for the boy, offering a little warmth.

Lost in thought, Remus jumped when a low rumble came from the doorway.

“The headmaster is on his way. How is he?” Kingsley asked.

Remus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Alive.”

Kingsley eyed the boy. “He doesn’t appear to be hurt.”

“No, thank Merlin. But something tells me he won’t respond kindly to questioning,” Remus sighed, rubbing his face.

“That may be, but he’ll have to tell us anyway. We need to know why he left his relatives’ home, how he’s survived in the Muggle world for three years, what he knows about the wizarding world.”

Remus looked sadly at the sleeping boy. “What’s going to happen now, Kingsley? If bringing him back was the right thing, why does it feel so wrong?”

The door crashed open. Cornelius Fudge strode in, McClouchan at his heels. “What are you doing, Mr. Lupin? This is a Ministry matter. You have no business here,” he barked.

“Remus Lupin found the boy. He’s the reason Harry Potter is here. Doesn’t that earn him the right to stay, Minister?” Kingsley defended, but Fudge ignored him, eyeing Harry in a way that made Remus uneasy.

“I want everyone out! Except McClouchan,” Fudge ordered.

Kingsley shot Remus a meaningful look and gestured to the wall. Taking the hint, Remus gently slipped Harry from his lap and stood. He heard Fudge order McClouchan to wake Harry as he left, dread settling in his stomach.

---

His head throbbed. Had he hit it? His throat felt raw, as if he’d swallowed sawdust. Had he been screaming? Suddenly aware of his aches, he struggled to suppress a wince. Had he been fighting again? His eyes snapped open, and the room swam into focus.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.”

Harry shot upright. “Where—where, who—?”

“You’re in a holding room. Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong. We just want to talk. Ask a few questions,” McClouchan said, eyeing the bewildered runaway.

Harry rubbed his head, confused. Why was everything spinning? Who were these men? Why was it so dark?

“Yes, starting with where you’ve been for the last three years, Mr. Potter. Did Death Eaters capture you? Did you escape? How long have you been on the run?” Fudge pressed.

Harry, still disoriented, blinked up at them. Why was he on the floor when there were chairs? Why were these men dressed so oddly?

“You’ve had a lot of people worried, Mr. Potter. A thirteen-year-old alone in Muggle London? Frankly, I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long,” McClouchan continued.

The memories of the morning hit Harry, bitterness rising.

“My name ain’t ‘Arry bloody Potta!” he spat, remembering his rehearsed story.

Fudge’s mouth curled into a sly grin. “We never mentioned your forename, Harry.”

Harry glared and tried to sit up. The older man opened his mouth to question him again, but Harry cut him off. “Where am I?”

“We’ll be asking the questions for now, lad,” McClouchan said.

Harry scowled, eyeing them both. Something about the way they talked down to him made his skin crawl. “Look, I know why I’m ‘ere. It’s ‘cause I tried to lift ‘is wallet, innit? Well, I gave it back! Didn’t tell yah that bit, did ‘e? So what? Do me for theft if you wanna. I don’t give a damn. Geezers like ‘im always grassin’ us up. So what if you know my real name? You ain’t got nothin’ else on me and I ain’t tellin’ you jack shit! So just skip the chit-chat, let’s be best mates and charge me so I can be on me way! Go on, write my name down, just make sure you got the Vic’s Arms as me address ‘cause I ain’t homeless and I ain’t goin’ in no kids’ home!” he finished in a thick Cockney drawl.

The pair stared, jaws slack. “Wha? Why you starin’? Ain’t choo never ‘eard a London accent before?” Harry glared. “Funny lookin’ coppers you are. What is this, the nut house? Where am I? Don’t look like no copper place I ever seen.”

McClouchan exchanged a look with his superior, then puffed out his chest. “Mr. Potter, you’re in the Ministry of Magic, and in the presence of the Minister, so watch your mouth.”

“The Ministry of what? Magic?” Harry laughed dryly. “So I really am in the nut house.”

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, this is no joke. You’re being held here until we find out where you’ve been. What have you been doing? Who have you been with?” Fudge pressed.

Harry hissed in frustration. “You lot got more than a few screws loose! You knocked me out, or drugged me or somethin’. Dragged me here, now you’re on about magic and questionin’ me? Well, you got another thing coming if you think I’m tellin’ you anything. You’re insane!”

Fudge’s face flushed red. “The wizarding world has a right to know, Mr. Potter! It’ll be easier if you start cooperating now!”

Something in the Minister’s tone set Harry off. “WHAT THE HELL YOU ON ABOUT—BLOODY WIZARDIN’ WORLD?” he screamed, getting to his feet. He didn’t understand these men, but crazy or not, Harry didn’t take kindly to threats.

McClouchan looked ready to interrupt, but Harry glared fiercely.

“You know what, keep your mad talk to yourselves, I’m outta here. You lot are crazy,” he muttered, heading for the door.

McClouchan blocked the exit, arms crossed. “You’re not going anywhere, son.”

If Harry hated anything, it was being trapped. He’d tried patience, he’d tried warning them. Out of options, he did what he’d learned since he was a kid—he drew back his fist.

BANG!

He crashed his hand into a solid wall. Pain shot through his fingers. He stumbled back, eyes wide, trembling. He glanced at the balding man he’d tried to hit. The man hadn’t even flinched. What was going on?

Then he saw it. The man was holding something—a stick. The realization hit like a sledgehammer. They could do it too.

---

Remus’s heart leapt as he watched the scene unfold. Harry had lost his temper with the wizards faster than Remus expected. He’d even tried to hit McClouchan. Just how scared was the boy? He’d known Fudge’s plan would end badly. The Minister of Magic and a trained interrogator questioning a traumatized child? Outrageous.

As Fudge stormed out, McClouchan on his heels, Remus wondered what they’d expected.

Harry wasn’t even a teenager. They’d chased him, hunted him, stunned him, and now wanted to interrogate him the moment he woke up. Remus doubted his reaction was abnormal.

“That boy is—he’s IMPOSSIBLE!” the Minister stuttered, struggling for words.

“Perhaps you should try a different approach, Minister. If I may, the boy is hostile because he feels like a prisoner,” said a new voice.

Heads turned to find Albus Dumbledore in the doorway.

“Pardon my intrusion, but I came to the Ministry today to discuss new school rules. I was informed of some interesting rumors—which, I see, are true.”

Fudge looked as if he’d like to hex the headmaster. “He’s uncooperative, Dumbledore. He attacked one of my Aurors. The boy is unhinged!” he raged, pointing at the one-way mirror.

“That may be, Cornelius, but have you tried all other options?” Dumbledore paused, watching Fudge seethe. Remus suspected Dumbledore was enjoying himself. “As I understand it, the child knows nothing of magic. Isn’t it likely he’s confused? He’s defensive—perhaps because he’s frightened?”

Remus thought he heard Fudge growl. “So what do you suggest, Professor? How do we get him to talk sense?” McClouchan snapped.

Kingsley stepped forward, cautious. “If I may, Minister, why not let Remus talk to the boy? He’s no interrogator, but he’s taught minors. Maybe that’s what we need—someone who can relate to him, explain our world. Remus Lupin was a friend of Lily and James Potter. Perhaps he can offer something no one else can.”

Remus was stunned. Could he really talk to the child? Draw out the information they wanted? Would he be enough? Kingsley was right—he had no interrogation skills and no idea what he’d say. Still, all eyes were on him. All except Cornelius Fudge.

“A marvellous idea. Remus, would you?” Dumbledore beamed, clapping his hands.

“I object, Minister—” McClouchan started, glaring at Remus.

“As your head Auror mentioned, Minister, Remus was a friend of the Potters. He may be the only one who can offer the boy something he wants—information in exchange for information,” Dumbledore said, moving aside for Remus.

Fudge looked torn, running his cap through his fingers. After a moment, he sighed. “You have five minutes. Then I’m using other measures. McClouchan, come. We have other matters, but we’ll be back shortly, Mr. Lupin.”

Remus stared at the mirror, gathering his thoughts, then strode into the room, determined. He’d waited almost twelve years for this chance. Five minutes was all he needed.

---

The boy sat in one of the metal chairs, head bowed, arms wrapped around his waist, glaring at the desk.

“Hello, Harry,” Remus said softly, closing the door.

Harry’s head shot up. “Shud’ve known you’d be ‘round ‘ere somewhere,” he muttered, gaze dropping again. “Wha’d yah want, arsehole?”

“To say sorry,” Remus whispered, moving closer.

Harry snorted. “Sorry? Really, mate? You’re the reason I’m stuck ‘ere with a load of weirdos talkin’ about magic, and you wanna say sorry? Why’d you grass on me? Seb’s the one who hit yah, how come you didn’t drag ‘im down ‘ere? And where the hell is ‘ere anyway? And don’t spin me some story about the Ministry of Magic!”

Remus fiddled with a loose thread, then pulled out the spare chair and sat across from Harry. “I am sorry. It’s true I’m responsible for you being here, but it wasn’t by choice. I made a mistake—told the wrong person where you were. Someone I thought I could trust. I don’t expect forgiveness. I know this must be confusing, but we’re telling the truth. There’s a whole world your aunt and uncle never told you about. A world of magic. These men are wizards. You’re in the Ministry of Magic—a government that looks after our kind. They can perform magic. So can you.”

Harry scowled. “I ain’t like them. I can’t do magic!”

“I saw your face when McClouchan blocked your punch, Harry. I saw it in your eyes. You can do it too. I know you can,” Remus insisted.

“D’you see a wand on me? You think I’m some nutter goes round spellin’ people?” Harry argued, throwing up his hands.

“No. I think you’re gifted. I think you can do magic without a wand.” Harry stared, dumbfounded, so Remus continued. “The money in your pocket—look at it.”

Harry’s anger turned to shock. He dug in his jeans, pulled out a few coins, and stared at them.

“That’s wizarding currency. Not worth much—we call them knuts and sickles,” Remus explained. “You couldn’t have taken the money from the wallet any other way. It was protected by a spell. You used magic to get it out, maybe even to shift it in the first place.”

Harry gaped at him.

“You may not know it, Harry, but you showed immense control over your magic. That’s almost unheard of at your age, especially without a wand,” Remus said. But it was too much for the young pickpocket. He dropped the coins and shook his head.

“No, no, you’re just sayin’ all this—magic ain’t real, it’s nonsense! There’s no such thing!” he insisted, but Remus wondered if he believed his own words.

“You ever made anything happen, Harry? Something you couldn’t explain, when you were angry or scared?” Remus asked.

Harry stopped, peering through thick lashes. Remus smiled gently—he’d finally reached him. “’Oo are yah?” the boy asked suddenly.

Remus considered the question. “I’m not one of them, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m nobody important. Just an unemployed wizard. But what I’d like to know is, who are you?”

Harry hesitated, brow furrowed, as if trying to understand something far beyond his grasp. Remus’s tone was soft, undemanding—not like the others. The more Harry studied him, the more he realized Remus was different. Oversized, shabby clothes. Gentle blue eyes. A warm smile. Despite himself, Harry couldn’t summon the hatred he’d felt for the others.

“I’m jus’ ‘Arry,” he admitted after a long pause. “Jus’ Harry.”

“Better known as Danny, right?” Remus smiled.

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched, then another thought struck. “You said you was gonna tell some other bloke where I was? Why? Why you so bothered about findin’ me? You said you been lookin’ a long time. Why?” he demanded, resentment rising.

Remus glanced at the wall, then back. “There are two reasons. Well, three actually. The simplest: you’re twelve now, ten when you went missing from your aunt and uncle’s. Is that right?” Harry stared, impassive. Remus remembered thinking he must have used that technique before—it was unsettling. “We were worried when you vanished. You were just a child. We had no idea where you were, if you were safe, alive even. We wanted to find you. Make sure you were alright.”

He paused, and Harry looked unimpressed. “That’s just one reason. I don’t buy it—but go on.”

Remus nodded, took a breath. “You don’t know this, Harry, but you’re more than just gifted. Many of our kind believe you’re special. Very special. You survived something as a baby that no one else ever has.”

“Yeah, a car crash! That’s what you’re on about, innit? The crash that killed me mum and dad? Why’s that special?” Harry interrupted.

Remus shook his head sadly. This would be difficult. “That’s what your aunt and uncle told you, isn’t it?” He sighed. “You were never in a car crash, Harry. Your parents didn’t die in a crash. They were murdered. Murdered when you were a little over one, by the most evil wizard of all time. He killed them in your home, then tried to kill you. But he couldn’t. You stopped him.”

“How? Why?” Harry demanded, engrossed.

Remus met his eyes, vaguely noticing the Cockney had faded. “Because we were at war. Your parents were like soldiers. Good soldiers. They tried to defend our world—and the non-magic world too. They died fighting for what they believed in.”

A tear slipped down Remus’s cheek as he spoke of his friends. Telling their story to their only child was agony, but Harry deserved the truth. “No one knows why he couldn’t kill you. He tried—his killing curse rebounded and killed him instead. It destroyed one of the most powerful wizards of the age and left you with a single mark. That’s how we knew who you are. Aside from looking like your parents, it’s the scar.” Remus pointed to his forehead, and Harry traced the lightning bolt.

Remus stood and paced. “They call you the Boy Who Lived. There’s not a witch or wizard alive who doesn’t know your name. They see you as their saviour. But there are some—bad wizards, his followers—who blame you for their master’s fall. That’s why the streets are dangerous for you. Some would do anything to get to you, others to stop them. I know it doesn’t make sense. We thought you knew. We thought your aunt and uncle told you. I’m sorry, Harry. Really, I am.”

With his back turned, Remus fell silent. Harry took a deep breath, his voice fragile. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? I don’t know you—you can’t expect me to trust you.”

Remus paused, tracing patterns on the wall. “Then let me show you.” He took out his wand and, before Harry could panic, transfigured the chair into a warm fleece blanket, levitating it onto Harry’s shoulders.

Harry’s face drained of colour. He stroked the blanket, testing its reality. Eventually, he met Remus’s gaze.

“There’s one more reason, isn’t there?” he said, more statement than question.

“Yes. Harry, your parents meant everything to me. They were my best friends. When they died, I—I wanted to—what I mean is, some of us—” Remus struggled for words, then turned to face the twelve-year-old. “Harry—I missed you. That’s my reason.”

Chapter Text

The Secret Garden

“Bravo, my boy, bravo.” Dumbledore clapped Remus on the shoulder as he walked back through the door.

“I’m not sure I deserve that, Headmaster. I didn’t manage to gain any new information. If anything, I’ve just frightened him more,” Remus grumbled. All in all, the meeting with Harry had been a success. He hadn’t tried to hit out or call him names. He hadn’t even raised his voice to the werewolf, yet Remus was left disappointed. He’d envisioned the moment he would be reunited with Harry for so long, picturing himself throwing his arms around the boy, whispering words of comfort. He imagined Harry would be glad to see him and would accept him as a friend. Was that selfish? Remus knew he was expecting too much of the child—after all, Harry didn’t know him from Adam. Still, he couldn’t shake that sinking feeling.

“You did far better than even I expected, Remus. Harry was listening to you. Did you not hear his accent drop? He trusted you in there—that in itself is a monumental achievement, my boy,” Dumbledore assured him, and Remus couldn’t deny that his old headmaster’s praise was good to hear.

“But what happens now, Professor? Fudge said five minutes, where—”

“I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS! COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT!” Cornelius Fudge stormed back into the closet-like room, wearing an expression of barely contained rage. Following close behind, looking almost as murderous, was his faithful Auror, McClouchan. Albus Dumbledore raised his hands as if taming a lion.

“Cornelius—” The Minister, however, was well past all rational thinking. “ESCAPED! GONE! HE’S BLOODY GONE!” he roared at the man before him, eyes bulging.

Remus exchanged a look with Kingsley; Fudge had plainly lost it at last.

“Minister, the boy is still here, just look for yourself, you’ll see! He’s sitting right there!” Kingsley tried.

“Not the bloody boy, Shacklebolt! Black! Sirius Black—the most heavily guarded convict in Azkaban has disappeared. He’s gone!” McClouchan all but screamed.

“What?”

“Tell me, is it a coincidence that the day we find that blasted boy, the day we bring him here, is the day Sirius Black escapes from his cell? I think not!” Fudge rounded on the mirror, glaring at it as though hoping the glass would shatter.

“I seriously doubt the finding of Mr. Potter here has anything to do with Sirius Black escaping, Minister,” Dumbledore said, ushering the smaller man away from the mirror and into a nearby chair. “Tell me, Cornelius, how did this happen? Is it possible you have been misinformed? Are you quite sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I am sure, Dumbledore! The Azkaban guards informed me themselves! We do not even know when he did it—the last rounds saw him in his cell doing a blasted crossword, and now he’s vanished! Just vanished!”

A stiff silence followed the Minister’s words. Each wizard was absorbed in his own thoughts.

“Hey! I know you can ‘ear me! When are you going to let me out?” Harry yelled from behind the glass.

Heads swerved in the boy’s direction.

“Be patient, Mr. Potter!” McClouchan growled. The boy glared and began protesting loudly.

“What are we going to do with him, Minister? Where will he be sent?” Kingsley asked over the noise.

Fudge gazed up at the Auror through half-seeing eyes. Dumbledore took the opportunity to introduce his idea.

“Cornelius, if what you say is true, then your concerns must be with finding Black! The wizarding world will look to you for guidance, leadership—you will need to organize a search immediately, gather information!”

“Your point, Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded.

“Let me take care of Harry for you. An underage wizard with no formal introduction to our world should be the least of your troubles. Make him a ward of Hogwarts—he will be safe there,” Dumbledore coaxed.

“But—but, he—”

“With all due respect, Minister, the Headmaster does have a point,” Kingsley added.

Fudge seemed to deliberate on the proposal for what felt like an age before he finally gave a curt nod and jumped to his feet.

“Fine, Dumbledore—make the boy a ward of the school. Kingsley, McClouchan, follow me. We need to go to Azkaban!”

Charging back through the door, he gestured impatiently for his Aurors. McClouchan scurried to his side while Kingsley took his time to bid the remaining two farewell. Hearing the door slam, Harry paused for a moment, waiting for someone to appear. When no one did—

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I SAID LEMME OUT! LEMME OUTTA HERE NOW!”

Dumbledore turned calmly. “You take him,” he said simply.

Remus looked at the esteemed wizard blankly. “What?”

“Take him.”

“But, sir, the Minister said—”

“The Minister agreed Harry could be made a ward of Hogwarts. That does not necessarily mean he has to stay there. Especially not during the holidays. What the boy needs now is a home, not an empty castle. Take him, Remus, take him and show him all of what our world has to offer. Only then will he want to stay.”

---

“You’re quite remarkable, Harry. Surviving for three years by yourself on the streets of London.” Remus was assuming, hoping the boy would contradict him and offer information. But the boy beside him remained quiet—a stark contrast to the raving boy back at the Ministry’s holding cell. Remus suspected he was in shock. He’d offered him chocolate, along with a promise of a hot meal when they arrived at his home—a promise he wasn’t sure he could fulfill. His cupboards were bare; he had no idea how he would support himself, let alone a growing boy. And by the looks of it, Harry had a lot of growing to do.

But none of it mattered now he had Harry. He’d waited a long time for this moment. Nothing could shift his mood.

“You know, Harry, I suspect you’ll find this place a lot different from London,” he continued, trudging up the small country path. “It’s a lot more—Harry, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry replied, deadpan.

The werewolf smiled at his new charge. “Well, you look exhausted. Come, it’s not much further.”

Kicking aside branches and rocks, the two walked the gravel path in silence until a small, isolated building emerged in the distance.

“Here we are!” Remus announced, gesturing as if to present the humble abode once they reached the gate. The cottage could have been picked straight out of an English countryside painting, except it was strangely lopsided. Its garden was well kept, though too busy with mismatched flower beds to win any awards. Fresh white paint covered the outer walls, complementing Victorian-style windows. Harry thought the overall effect looked sickeningly cheerful. He was almost sure he would hate it.

Catching the boy’s expression, Remus faltered. “Okay, so maybe a lot different to what you’re used to, kiddo. Let’s get you inside, eh?” He made to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder when something approaching from the left caught his eye.

“HARRY, WATCH OUT!”

He was seconds too late. Harry turned to see what had caught the man’s attention as Remus ducked aside. SMACK!

The boy was knocked clean off his feet and sent tumbling to the ground. He lay there, blinking, trying to distinguish what had caused the blow. The side of his head throbbed, and something warm trickled down his cheek.

“BEATRICE! BEATRICE, GET AWAY, NOW!” Remus yelled, grabbing Harry’s hand and yanking him to his feet.

Harry stumbled and looked around sharply for the offending Beatrice. What he saw left him astonished and wondering how hard he’d hit his head.

“Harry, are you okay? She hit you hard, didn’t she! I’m so sorry, I should have warned you she might be out flying today! She’s never been good with navigation—a little too clumsy at the best of times! BEATRICE, COME DOWN HERE AND APOLOGISE!”

Harry shot a bizarre look at Remus before shifting back to the enormous bird—or what he supposed was a bird. As Beatrice flew closer, he could see she was unlike any bird he’d ever seen, more closely resembling a reptile with wings. But that was impossible. Reptiles didn’t have wings, especially not ones like butterflies. The peculiar, multi-coloured animal circled above them, squawking indignantly as Remus continued to scold it. Noticing Harry’s bewilderment, Remus’s features softened.

“Harry, I’m afraid you’ve been rudely acquainted with Beatrice. This over-excitable creature is my pet—we call her kind swooping evil. They possess magical powers, beautiful creatures but—oh my, Harry, you’re bleeding!” Remus finished in alarm.

Peeling his eyes from the so-called pet, Harry gingerly touched the wound on his head. Inspecting the sticky liquid on his fingertips, he swayed as dizziness threatened to overcome him. Remus lunged toward him, arms outstretched.

“I’m fine!” Harry told him, weakly batting his arm away.

“No, you’re not. That gash is deep! Come, lean on me, we’ll get you inside and healed.” Remus insisted, trying to wrap an arm around the resisting boy. Eventually, he gave in to Harry’s stubbornness and let him hobble to the porch alone. Unlocking the door with his wand, he ushered Harry into the kitchen, pulled out a chipped wooden stool, and instructed him to sit.

Harry watched as the flustered man disappeared to fetch bandages. He was perplexed as to why Remus seemed to care so much—after all, it wasn’t as if the cut was fatal. Deciding the man must just feel guilty about letting his maniac of a pet fly around unsupervised, he turned his attention to his new surroundings.

The room was comfortable, modest yet busy. Old-fashioned, exposed beams lined the kitchen’s low ceiling. Hanging brass pots and pans littered the walls above a grand open fireplace. Various bits and bobs covered the worktops, and clutter lay on the tiled floor. It felt homely, even cosy. Harry half expected to see a grandmother knitting in the corner.

“Okay, are you ready?” Remus asked, returning with a large rusty tin and his wand held high.

Harry flinched back in surprise and eyed his wand suspiciously. Realising the child probably still felt uncomfortable with magic, Remus dropped it to his thigh.

“It would be quicker to use a cleansing spell and healing charm, but I could do it the other way if you’d prefer. I’ve had plenty of experience,” he offered, raising the first aid tin.

Harry shifted uncertainly in his seat and fingered the cut. “I can just do it—it’s nothing,” he whispered.

Frowning, Remus placed the items on the table and drew closer. As he reached out to brush away the thick clumps of hair nesting in the split, Harry shrank away with a grimace. It was clear he felt awkward, but Remus couldn’t understand why.

“No, you’re not doing this yourself. I need to ensure it’s cleaned and treated properly—we can’t risk infection,” he coaxed, but the boy’s frown only deepened.

“I don’t want you to—AAAHH!” Harry clapped a hand over the abrasion, emitting a quiet cry as his face crumpled in pain.

Alarmed, Remus moved quickly and gently took hold of his chin, tilting his head to the light.

“No, I—”

“Shh, it’s alright. Here, just let me.”

It felt important to keep his actions slow as he set about treating Harry’s wound. The boy’s green eyes traced his movements mistrustfully. Remus wondered if anyone had ever treated Harry’s wounds like this before. Surely he’d taken falls as a child and had to be patched up. He tried to ignore it, but something about the way the boy reacted to close contact struck Remus as odd. Soaking cotton in warm water and dabbing it over the cut, he listened to the discreet whimpers Harry made.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he said softly, concentrating on sanitising. Harry shut his eyes tightly as Remus applied the salve and sucked in his breath through gritted teeth, but otherwise sat still. Remus had to admit, he was surprised. He knew from experience how much this cream could sting. Harry was handling it well. Applying the Muggle butterfly stitches, he searched for something to say.

“Swooping evil’s venom can get rid of bad memories, you know. Magnificent creatures, really! Some believe they can suck out your brain,” he added, more to himself than Harry.

“Swoopin’ evil? Figures,” Harry remarked quietly. Remus noticed a slight twang of the accent still lingered.

“Why did you talk like that? With the Cockney accent before?” he asked curiously.

Harry shrugged and murmured something that sounded like, “all part of the cover.”

“Well, it was a convincing smokescreen. I suppose it had to be, really. All part of your way of surviving. Hackney, London couldn’t have been the nicest place to be alone and homeless.” Remus tried again, hoping the boy would open up. Instead, his comment was met with a sour frown.

“Wha’ were you doin’ in Torments Fall anyway? That thing that brought us ‘ere—”

“The portkey?”

“Yeah, well—it seemed to take a long time for us to arrive here. And this place doesn’t seem close to London. You said you don’t have a job, so what were you doing there?” Harry asked, a little rudely. Remus understood that some resentment still lingered.

“I was supposed to have an interview, to work in a bookshop as an assistant. Well, the owner didn’t show up,” he replied, embarrassed.

“A bookshop?”

“Yes, I like to read, so I thought it—figured,” Remus grinned.

Harry nodded slowly as Remus finished plastering the last stitch to his head.

“I don’t even know your name, y’know,” he admitted quietly.

The werewolf stopped abruptly. “Oh gods, Harry, I’m sorry—it’s Remus, Remus Lupin. But you can call me Moony if you like, used to be my nickname. Your dad and Siri—well, your dad and some other friends thought it suited me. You used to call me that when you were a baby,” he finished lamely.

Again, Harry nodded as he processed this.

“Tell me sumfin’, Remus nicknamed Moony, if you can do all this magic stuff, why d’you wanna get a job in a bookshop? Ain’t that a bit—naff? I mean, you can turn chairs into blankets—can’t you get a job in that Ministry of summat?”

Remus chuckled and shook his head. “I could ask you the same thing, you know. If you can get money out of wallets without touching them, how come you’re not living in a mansion somewhere?” he joked lightly.

But Harry tensed and pulled away from his reach.

“I can’t do it on command, it ain’t like it’s a choice. It jus’ sort of happens, alrigh’! An’ I don’ nick all tha’ often anyways!” he snapped.

“Harry—”

“No, you know wha’? Have your bloody money back!” The boy sneered, climbing off the stool and thrusting the remaining coins at his new guardian. “Save you finkin’ I’m some common, thievin’ alley rat!”

“I didn’t say that, Harry, I don’t think that at all! I was only jokin’, I didn’t mean to offend you, I swear. Come here, let me finish with that head of yours.” Remus reached out to touch his shoulder, but Harry flinched back and shot him a dirty look. The werewolf couldn’t begin to fathom what had triggered this reaction.

“Harry—”

“Where you putting me?” Harry demanded suddenly.

“What? What do you mean?” Remus asked, drawing back his arm.

“Like, have I got a room or summat? Where you wanna keep me?”

“Oh, um, the second bedroom. I was planning on showing you around later, but, well, it’s up the stairs, first door on your right if you want to shower before dinner or something. I can take you up—” Harry pivoted and marched from the kitchen. “—now if you’d like,” Remus finished, staring bewilderedly at the space Harry had just occupied.

---

Remus had a lot to be thankful to Albus Dumbledore for, and he never forgot it. The man had saved him many times in more ways than he’d ever know. So when he heard the enormous crack signalling Disapparation, he wasn’t surprised to find a slightly disoriented Hogwarts house elf in his sitting room, bearing a thick envelope full of gold and two heavy shopping bags crammed with groceries.

“For Master Harry Potter, sir. The good Headmaster is sending Willy with things he is thinking Master Harry Potter and you will be needing, sir,” the elf explained hurriedly.

In that moment, Remus Lupin considered himself the luckiest man alive. He would be eternally grateful to the esteemed wizard, for there was no doubt he had no means to support the child. Feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted, he thanked the elf and quickly set about cooking Harry a three-course meal. The boy looked like he needed it.

Stirring the prawn soup starter, he let his thoughts drift back to the complex runaway in his spare room. Once again, his mind was awash with more questions than answers. He was trying to show patience and understanding, but it was difficult. He was as desperate to know the facts as the Ministry. Except Harry wasn’t nearly as forthcoming as he’d hoped. How he wished he could rush up there and talk to him, just talk to him, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t imagine how scary the revelation of an entire other world must be to the kid. That’s what he was, after all—a kid, even if he didn’t seem to be. In many ways, Harry appeared older than his almost thirteen years—not in looks, of course, that was the only thing that reminded Remus he was still a child. But there was something in the way he held himself, the way he talked, the way he looked at things. It was just—older.

It made sense, really. A ten-year-old, taken or running away from his relatives’ home to a life of petty thievery and hardship. It was a far cry from an ideal childhood, but still. The boy he’d brought home was so tense, weary, anxious even—very different from the toughened street kid at the Ministry. And the way he’d jumped to the defensive at Remus’s joke—it was obvious he was actually very sensitive. All the analysis of the soon-to-be teenager made Remus’s head ache.

Prodding the still-raw meat, he wondered if he could use, “How do you like your steak done?” as an excuse to check on the boy. Realising it was a weak excuse, even by his standards, he resolved to talk to the boy over dinner. Perhaps he could even ask where Harry got the scar below his eyebrow.

---

It was almost three hours later when Harry heard the inevitable knock. Crawling further under the duvet, he stubbornly ignored the little voice in his head suggesting he was hiding.

A brief silence followed before another sharp rap. “Harry? Harry, I wanted to let you know dinner’s ready!” Remus called. Harry gave a low growl and buried his head in the sheets. “It’s a three-course—” Oh God, he was hungry. Starving, really. A three-course meal sounded heavenly, but his need to be alone outweighed his appetite. Or so he told himself.

“I’m a good cook...”

You’re also bloody annoying.

“I hope you like treacle tart—”

For God’s sake!

“I don’t!” Harry lied. “Go away!”

“Ah! He speaks!”

Silence.

“HAR—”

“GO AWAY!”

Click.

“What the hell? Get ou’!” Harry shrieked, jumping up from the bed, mortified the man had somehow unlocked his bedroom door and was now inviting himself in.

“Sorry, kid, but I didn’t—” Remus started, hands raised to show peace.

“Yeah, well, you ‘ave no bloody right to jus’ commin’ in ‘ere like tha’!” Harry fumed, grabbing his jacket and flinging it on.

“Harry, please, I just wanted to talk to you! I needed to see if you were alright—I was worried about you!” Remus tried. Seeing Harry hesitate, he stepped forward and made to sit on the bed, when a stray book lying on the pillow caught his attention. He picked it up. It looked like an old Muggle storybook. The cover was tattered and torn. Flicking through its worn pages, he looked back at the boy, who was watching him intently.

“Have you read this?”

And then Harry exploded. “WHAT, NOW YOU FINK I CAN’T READ? JUST FUCK OFF, OLD MAN, LEAVE ME ALONE!” he screamed, snatching the book from Remus’s grasp.

The blood drained from the werewolf’s face.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU KNOW WHAT—ENOUGH! THIS STOPS RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, MY BOY!” Seeing Harry freeze in shock, lost for words, Remus suddenly understood something about the boy he hadn’t considered before. Taking a deep breath, he seized what might be his only chance to gain Harry’s respect.

“Harry, I don’t know you, nor do I pretend to. I don’t know what your life has been like, and I don’t know what you’ve been through. I get that you’re angry—Merlin knows you’ve had a lot to deal with today, and you have every right to be! But you’re under my roof whether you want to be or not, and I’ve been appointed as your guardian, so that means you’ll have to abide by some rules. Starting with not screaming obscenities at me when I’ve just spent the last three hours cooking for you!”

He turned to leave but stopped sharply, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m not sure what you’re used to, Harry, but if this is going to work, you’re going to have to come down off that high horse and stop taking it out on people who are only trying to help you! Now dinner’s ready, I expect you at the table within ten minutes or I’m coming back up to get you, got it?”

Without waiting for a reply, he marched back down to the kitchen, leaving a bewildered Harry in his wake.

---

“It’s called The Secret Garden. I got it when I was eight, but I didn’t thieve it, if tha’s wha’ you—”

“I never thought for a moment you stole it, Harry,” said Remus soberly, shifting his gaze from his dinner plate to the boy’s emerald eyes, scrutinising him through the darkness. “I was just wondering if you like to read, that’s all.” He gestured for Harry to sit at the place he’d set for him. The boy blushed slightly and fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, playing for time. Sensing his reluctance, Remus continued, “I got into reading when I was young. My favourite book was The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I’ll find it for you—you might like it.”

Much to Remus’s delight, Harry shuffled out from behind the doorframe.

“The S-Secret Garden, it’s about this girl, Mary, she’s ten, right, and she’s horrible ‘coz her folks were mean t’her an’ stuff. Anyway, her mum and dad pass away and she goes to live with her uncle who’s got this massive palace of a house, and he ain’t too nice neither. The servants there tell her don’t go to tha old geezer for nuffink ‘coz he’s this lonely, weird bloke who ain’t got much time for anyone. She finds out about this s’posed secret garden that’s locked away someplace and gets obsessed with finding it, so she does, right, and when she does, she—”

“—finds it’s been left to its own devices for a long time. It’s unruly, neglected, and a little wild; but Mary sees the beauty in it. The potential. She starts fixing it up, even though she’s got no real experience of gardening. Soon she meets the gardener for the mansion and asks him about the garden, except he’s not forthcoming with answers. Soon after, Mary meets the brother of her maid and together they begin to restore the garden. Mary feels better working in the garden—she begins to thrive again and is happier than ever. But she hears a soft crying in the house from time to time and is saddened by it. Curiosity leads her to discover her uncle’s son—Colin. A demanding boy who’s very sickly. Realising that Colin’s housebound, Mary forms a plot with the maid’s brother and one day they sneak him out to visit the secret garden. When Colin enters the enchanted place, he declares that he will now live forever.”

Harry stared at Remus, dumbfounded, unaware he’d been edging closer the whole time, transfixed by his words. Remus smiled softly, a sense of fulfilment washing over him as he saw those jaded eyes glisten.

“You’ve—you’ve read it?” Harry stammered.

“I’ve read it,” Remus confirmed with a nod. He stood and pulled out the chair next to him for Harry, his heart lightening when the boy obliged and sat down. Noticing Harry seemed to be waiting for more, he continued in a low, hypnotic voice. “I was curious when I saw you’d brought a book. I didn’t think you had anything on you when we...found you. A book seemed odd to store in your pockets, I guess,” he explained.

“Then I saw the title and I think I understand why you’d carry something like that. It’s a beautiful story, isn’t it? Stays with you, even long after you’ve put it down.”

“I’ve read it a thousand times over!” said Harry. It was the closest thing to excitement Remus had seen from him.

“You got it when you were eight?” he prompted, picturing this emerging happy child.

Harry nodded eagerly. “My teachu, primary school teachu, she give it t’me. She was real nice.”

Remus smiled warmly and picked up his fork. “When I was younger, my parents never had a lot of money. Truth be told, I’ve never had much. Could never afford more eccentric forms of entertainment or holidays. Never had many friends as a child, either. Books were and are a great source of comfort. You can lose yourself in a good story, explore a whole new world that belongs entirely to you. Best thing is, you never have to feel alone—and reading is free!” he said, hoping Harry might relate.

But Harry’s bright eyes dulled a little. “I’ve never read much else,” he admitted, following Remus’s lead and picking up his own fork.

“Oh, why’s that?” The werewolf suspected he knew the answer—Harry probably had little time for reading, living on the streets—but he tried to pry for more information.

Harry shrugged and busied himself with shovelling food into his mouth. It saddened Remus to see the child so hungry. Just how long had he been without a hot dinner?

“Well, I’ve got plenty of books. Maybe enough to open a library—magic ones, learning ones, stories, too. I’ll show you where they all are tomorrow. You’re welcome to borrow any, just let me know which ones you pick, okay?” Remus said. Harry rewarded him with a shy smile before returning to his plate.

Chapter Text

Elements

The following morning, Harry Potter woke at dawn. Blinking away sleep, he reached for his glasses on the worn red carpet, only to catch his arm on something sharp. Confused, he rolled over to find the culprit—a handsome oak bedside cabinet, sitting innocently by the bed. It looked out of place in the stuffy room, and Harry wondered who had put it there.

He glanced at the bed supporting him. Oddly, he was warm and comfortable. The mattress wasn’t lumpy or hard. No springs dug into his ribs, leaving him sore and aching. Who had changed it? He narrowed his eyes at the bedspread. Even in the faint morning light, he could see it wasn’t stained and yellowing but fresh, pale blue. And that wasn’t the only strange thing—it was quiet. Too quiet. Where was the constant drone of traffic? The loud snorts and grunts from Seb? He couldn’t even smell lingering cigar smoke or that sickening stench of sex. Looking around, he realized with a jolt he wasn’t in his shared back room at the Vic’s Arms at all, but somewhere unfamiliar.

Bolting upright, he scanned the room, racking his brain for a clue as to where he was. Had it happened again? There didn’t seem to be anyone else here. Whose house was this? Then it hit him—he was at Remus Lupin’s cottage, miles from London, brought here just the day before. So much had happened yesterday that he was completely disoriented.

Stretching his stiff limbs, he swung his legs out of the small, comfy bed. Why was he even here? God knew he didn’t want to be. So many things had just happened to him, without his say. He hated not being in control—that’s what always landed him in these situations. The very thing that kept him alive—his control—he’d lost. All because he’d broken the number one rule: don’t get caught.

So here he was, caught and paying for it. Stranded in the middle of the countryside, far from everything he knew, with a strange bloke who talked about books and wands and kept a flying pet reptile named Beatrice in his garden. What was he doing here?

His stomach lurched. Not again. He’d spent most of the night vomiting and had become well-acquainted with the bathroom. He should’ve known he couldn’t handle all that food, but at the time, it tasted too good to stop. At least Remus was a heavy sleeper.

Taking slow, deep breaths to settle his stomach, Harry changed into his baggy jeans and oversized hoodie. Then another thought struck him—what was he doing wasting time? Remus was asleep, and a heavy sleeper at that. This was his chance. He pocketed his book, glanced around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and unlatched the door.

Stealth was his specialty. Tiptoeing down the narrow stairs, he fixed on the front door. Too easy. He’d follow the dirt path, find a town, figure out where he was, and buy a one-way ticket to London. Or maybe not even London—maybe somewhere new. He could change his name again, dye his hair, cover the scar, maybe even get coloured contacts. He knew how to get by. He could work the streets, make enough to get started. It wouldn’t be forever—just until he got back on his feet. He’d find something else. Yeah, he could do this.

But the front door wouldn’t budge. He tried harder, rattling the knob. Nothing. Groaning, he searched for a key: the letter box—empty. The windowsill—empty. Under the doormat—nothing. Damn it.

“Who doesn’t keep a spare key around?” he muttered. Realizing he’d have to search the house for something to pick the lock, he headed into the mismatched lounge. He hadn’t been shown in here yet, but already he could see the living room matched the rest of the cottage. Low, beamed ceilings and bare brick walls gave it a kind of charm Harry thought only existed in fairy tales. Ignoring the urge to test the patched, overstuffed sofa, he rooted through every drawer he could find. He came across odd artifacts and papers, but nothing useful. Giving up, he looked for a window big enough to crawl through. Surely those tiny Victorian windows weren’t the only way to let in light.

Pacing back into the hallway, determined to find another exit, he spotted something odd—a staircase leading down to what looked like a cellar. Curious, Harry followed it to a heavy, battered metal door, the kind you’d see on a battleship or in an army base. He traced the edges of the industrial screws hammered into the wall, reinforcing the hinges. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure this door stayed shut.

Running his finger over the dents and punctures, he wondered what could have damaged a steel door like this. With his imagination running wild, he slipped a finger into the bolt and tugged. Locked.

What a surprise. Did Remus have some kind of paranoia?

“What are you doing, Harry?” Harry jumped, spinning to find Remus at the top of the steps. He hadn’t even heard him coming. He scrambled for an answer but came up empty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was just exploring!” Harry said defensively. “You know, new place, new things to see. Weren’t doin’ nuffin’ else.”

Remus studied him in a way that made Harry uncomfortable. He shifted, picking at his hoodie’s hem. “You’re up early, kiddo. Couldn’t sleep?” Remus asked, sounding concerned.

Harry looked away. Why did he care? “Yeah, I slept fine,” he said, a little too quickly. “What’s behind this door, anyway?”

Remus blinked, brow furrowed. “Just a basement,” he replied quietly. Harry thought he heard a hint of hesitation.

“Yeah? Then why’s it locked? Why the deadlock and the steel? Don’t trust me?” Harry demanded, gesturing behind him. Remus eyed him, as if trying to figure something out.

“I know you’re mad I locked the front door, Harry. I’m sorry, I just needed to know you’d be safe through the night. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?” Now it was Harry’s turn to blink. “Come on, I’m making breakfast. Tell me what you like, and maybe later we’ll go shopping for it.” Remus turned to head back to the kitchen. “Oh, and Harry, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to open the basement door again.”

Harry frowned but let it go, trudging up the steps after him. His stomach was empty after last night’s antics, and the promise of breakfast was too good to resist. He could always escape later, especially if they were going shopping.

“Bacon or sardines?” Remus asked as soon as Harry stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh, either—I don’t mind.” This man was way too cheerful.

Remus nodded, lit the hob with a flick of his wand, peeled open the bacon, and tossed it into the pan. “Waffle or bagel?”

“Um, bagel please.” Remus nodded again, sliced the bagels with his wand, and slid them under the grill before summoning the kettle to fill with water.

Harry found himself transfixed. He’d seen magic before, of course—he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember—but never like this. The man waved his wand and things just happened. It was something to see.

“Yes, Harry?” Remus asked, smiling at the eyes burning into his back.

“Um, I was just—can you do that again? Please?” he blurted, half hoping Remus hadn’t heard.

Remus set down the kettle and turned. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, but curiosity won out. “I was just wonderin’ if you could show me that again, please?” he repeated, anticipation burning in his chest.

Remus couldn’t help but feel his own excitement grow. He wiped his hands on his pyjama bottoms and picked up his wand.

“Tell you what, why don’t I show you something a bit more interesting?”

Harry cocked his head, curiosity written all over his face—a look that, for a moment, reminded Remus of James. He looked deep into those green eyes and thought back to when he’d first seen them open.

“Expecto Patronum!” Great waves of silvery mist burst from the tip of his wand, flooding the room with light. The silver clouds merged, forming the outline of an animal. The shape grew, beams of light entwining until it became detailed and solid. Harry watched, awestruck, as a magnificent wolf emerged, radiating power and beauty. He reached out to touch the glowing fur, but the wolf stretched its neck, leapt gracefully into the air, then charged back to Remus. The werewolf finally lowered his wand, letting the first corporeal patronus he’d produced in over a decade fade away.

“Wow,” Harry whispered, amazed.

Remus grinned, pleased by Harry’s reaction. He trailed his fingers over his wand and chuckled. “I’m glad you’re impressed. Would’ve been awkward if you weren’t.”

“That was incredible!” Harry said, making Remus’s grin widen. “What was that? Can you—can you teach me to do that?” Harry’s eagerness was clear.

Remus was about to say he could, though it might take months, even years of practice. Then he remembered he had no idea what Harry could do. Many grown wizards couldn’t cast a patronus, and Harry had no formal education—as far as Remus knew, he’d never even held a wand. Truthfully, Remus wasn’t sure if Harry could even levitate a feather. The boy had only confessed last night that he could only do accidental magic.

Harry noticed Remus’s face pale and felt a rush of bitterness. “You don’t fink I can do it, do ya?” he accused.

Remus looked troubled, ready to protest or brace for another shouting match. Harry had never felt so desperate to prove himself.

He shot Remus a smug look and walked to the open fireplace. He traced a hand along the mantel, feeling the rough wood, and focused. Concentrate, Harry. Think. He breathed in the scent of burning sandalwood. He could almost hear Remus waiting, wondering what he’d do.

“Light up,” he muttered, raising a steady hand. The cinders flared, red sparks racing over the logs, and the fire roared to life. Harry let the flames dance for a moment. “Stop,” he murmured. This time, a fountain of ice blocks crashed down the chimney, extinguishing the fire. Harry turned back, seeking Remus’s reaction. The man had paled and was staring at him with the same awe Harry had just felt.

“I can’t control what happens exactly, but if I focus on something, I can make it do stuff, y’know. When I feel things, like when I’m angry, I can—I can—” He sighed. Should he go on? He barely knew this man, but he’d never talked about this before, never willingly shown anyone what he could do. But Remus could do it too. The Dursleys had taught him to hide his powers, to be ashamed. He’d tried, but letting them out just felt right. He’d carried this secret so long, puzzled over it so many times. Maybe now he could get some answers. “Sometimes I can’t control it,” he admitted. “Sometimes it just happens, like I’m outta control or something. Is that—normal?”

He stared at Remus, hoping he’d understand. He had to know if he was bad, if the things he’d done were really his fault, if he was just a freak. Remus seemed to consider the question carefully before replying.

“You have enormous potential, Harry. That—what you just did—was incredible. For someone your age, untrained, to start a fire like that, to create ice from thin air, and without a wand—that’s something. The reason you can’t control your magic is because you’ve never been taught how. You’ve got all this power and no way to direct it. It’s not surprising it comes out in strange ways, especially when you’re feeling strong emotions. But when you go to school—Hogwarts—they’ll train you. They’ll teach you how to use magic and control it. You’ll use a wand and—”

“School? You want me to go to school?” Harry interrupted, caught off guard. Remus noticed his alarm and leaned in, speaking softly.

“Harry, you’ll thrive there, I know it. You’ve got so much talent, you’ll pick it up in no time. You’ll have to work hard—you’ve missed two years—but you’ll get there, and I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can.”

Harry swallowed, trying to process this. Part of him was touched by Remus’s belief in him, the way he offered to help. The Dursleys had never reacted kindly to his abilities. It felt good to have someone who understood. But mostly, he was scared. The idea of returning to school, with rules and other kids, made him want to run. Especially as he’d be the new boy—two years behind everyone else.

“Your mum and dad went to Hogwarts. It’s how we met,” Remus continued, oblivious to Harry’s reluctance. “We were all sorted into Gryffindor—one of the school houses—met on the train. We were inseparable. Your dad could produce the most magnificent patronus, your mum had a knack for potions—”

Harry felt frustration rise. “Remus, please! It’s not that I don’t want to hear about my mum and dad—I do! But I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, so would you please stop! Just stop!” he burst out.

Remus deflated, guilt on his face. “Harry, I’m sorry. I got carried away—will you forgive me? Seeing you, all of this, for the first time, it’s like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to find you, to tell you all these things. I just forgot for a moment that—”

“That I’m just a street kid who don’t know nothin’ about any of this. Don’t know nothin’ about magic, or Hogwarts, or the Ministry, or even about my dead mum and dad,” Harry finished, defeated, scuffing his trainer on the floor. He didn’t know why he was acting like this; it was just too much.

Remus ran a hand down his face and closed the space between them. Despite Harry’s flinch, he put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Listen—all this stuff, about the magical world, your parents, you can be told, and you will learn. But what you have—this gift—you can’t teach that. You’re a wizard, Harry. There’s magic in your blood, and that’s what matters.”

Harry’s breath caught as he searched Remus’s eyes, hoping his words were true, before—“Can I smell something burning?” Remus whipped around.

Wand in hand, he rushed to the hob. The frying pan was the source of the black smoke. He doused it with water while Harry laughed.

“I guess it’s sardines, huh, great cook?” Harry teased.

Remus waved away the smoke, grinning sheepishly. “Sardines it is.”

---

“There’s no way in hell you’re gettin’ me in there!” Harry said, arms crossed.

“It’s not that bad! As long as you throw the powder in first, you won’t get burned,” Remus coaxed.

“Oh yeah? How come you ain’t offerin’ yourself up, then?” Harry shot back, annoyed.

“Look, it’s perfectly safe. I’ll be right behind you. It’ll be over before you know it,” Remus assured him.

“Yeah, right. Just like yesterday, yeah? ‘Ere you are, Harry—hold onto this key for a moment, but don’t let it go! Damn thing sent me spinning! You think I’m gonna trust you after that?”

“Would you have taken it if I’d told you it was a magical way to get to your new home?”

“Not the point! You tricked me!” Harry said.

“Yes, well, now I’ve learned. This is called the Floo, and this is Floo pow—”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Right, so you know it’s another kind of magical travel.”

Harry glowered. “Still looks like a bloody fireplace to me.”

“Harry, if you get in the fireplace, I’ll—uh—”

Harry smirked. “Your bribery needs work, old man.”

Remus grinned. “I’ll work on it if you get in the fireplace. I’ll even put the fire out first—watch.” He flicked his wand, banishing the flames, and looked at Harry expectantly. “London’s miles away, and we can’t drive there. I don’t even have a car.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “London?”

“Yes, we need to get your school supplies from Diagon Alley, like I said. It’s in London.” In one motion, Harry climbed over the grate and into the ashes.

Years on the streets had sharpened his senses, so when he thought he saw a flash of white light, he whipped around, expecting to catch Remus at something. But the man was just smoothing his robe. Giving himself a mental shake, Harry grabbed a fistful of dust.

“Right then, what d’you want me to do again?” he asked, his accent slipping out.

“Close your eyes, hold out your hand, and drop the Floo powder as you say ‘Diagon Alley.’” Remus looked like he wanted to say more but settled for an encouraging smile. Ignoring the butterflies, Harry set his jaw and shouted his destination as he let the sand slip through his fingers. Before he could brace himself, emerald flames engulfed him, and he felt his whole body lighten.

Chapter Text

Elements Part 2.

Hurtling through what he reckoned was the chimney, Harry fought the urge to be sick as his head spun. It was like being shoved on a dodgy rollercoaster, squeezed from all sides, sucked through a spiral tube. Just when he thought he’d lose it, he was thrown hard onto solid ground.

Letting out a surprised yelp, he looked up from his awkward heap to find a sea of vaguely amused faces watching him. He willed the room to stop spinning, cheeks burning with humiliation.

Scrambling to his feet, he glared at the offending fireplace. Oh, he was going to kill him. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before an auburn-haired wizard emerged from the flames, stepping out onto the rug, looking perfectly fine.

“What d’you call that, mate? All magical ways to travel meant to do me in, or you just pickin’ the worst ones to wind me up?” Harry demanded. The fact Remus looked completely unfazed just made it worse.

Remus bit his cheek to keep from laughing as Harry stormed over. “Sorry, kiddo, but if I’d warned you, you’d never have tried it. You did well! Don’t mind this lot, they were all the same their first time. How’s your head?” he asked.

Harry shot him a look that could kill and turned to face the crowd. Most had lost interest, but the few who lingered got a few choice words that made Remus clap a hand over Harry’s mouth. They seemed to be in a brewery, the room alive with voices—punters deep in conversation over pints, others trading pleasantries at the bar.

The air was thick with the smell of spirits and ale, but also fresh wood polish and vinegar. Chalk-white stone walls, long benches, and rustic lanterns made the place look medieval. Nearby, a short, white-haired witch cleared tables by levitating glasses. Harry watched, mesmerized, as a wooden mop and bucket trailed after her, slopping soapy water everywhere.

“So, would you rather get your school supplies now, or shop for some new clothes first?” Remus asked cheerfully.

Harry turned, but his brain just wouldn’t work. “What?” he said, dazed.

Remus smiled gently. “I asked if you’d like to—never mind, we’ll do clothes first. That way I won’t have to drag you away from the alley. We could grab a bite to eat first, if you’re hungry. There’s probably a shopping centre nearby. What do you think? Harry? Haaaarrry?”

But Harry had tuned out, his attention fixed on a group of men in tall pointed hats, huddled around a newspaper, arguing.

“The first one to ever do it! Most secure prison in the world, and you-know-who’s right hand man just happens to be the first to break out! Doesn’t that seem fishy to you, Dodge?”

“Only thing fishy is the kid turning up the same day! Too much of a coincidence, I’m telling you, something’s off here!”

“What are you saying, Elphab? You think he heard about the kid’s whereabouts and that’s why he broke out?”

“That’s exactly what I think. Makes sense, don’t it? First those muggles get attacked in Hackney—which just happens to be where the boy turns up...”

“HARRY!” Two fingers snapped in front of his face. Harry jumped.

“R-Remus?” he stammered, tearing his eyes away from the group. The werewolf fixed him with a stare that made Harry’s stomach clench.

“I think we should get out of here,” Remus said, suddenly serious.

Harry scoffed. No, he wanted to stay. He craned his neck, trying to catch more of the conversation. It was about him—he was sure of it. “You go, I’m stayin’,” he said flatly. But Remus shook his head and grabbed his wrist.

“No, come on—let’s get into Muggle London. We’ll do the wizard shops later, maybe, but right now—”

“What? But you said we could go to the alley!” Harry protested, yanking his arm free.

“Harry, please don’t make this difficult! We’ll come back, just maybe not today. Depends how much time we have after shopping,” Remus hissed, urgent.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Remus seemed tense, almost nervous. “Why you so keen to get outta here? You heard them, right? They talkin’ about me?” he asked loudly.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. That was all the confirmation Harry needed.

“Tell me!” he demanded.

“Not here,” Remus growled, low. Before Harry could protest, Remus grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the exit.

Once outside, Harry expected an explanation, but instead Remus led him quickly down a busy street. Harry’s agitation grew, but he kept quiet. Now wasn’t the time for smart remarks—he’d seen Remus’s serious side last night and didn’t fancy seeing it again.

Jogging to keep up, Harry wondered why any of this mattered to him. He’d planned to run away, escape all this madness. Yet here he was, desperate for answers from a man he’d just met. Why did he care? So what if some dark wizard was after him? He’d had people hunt him before. What did it matter? There was always another one. Magic or not, they couldn’t do worse than what he’d already survived.

Remus stopped so abruptly Harry nearly crashed into him. “In here!” he whispered, ushering him inside.

Harry looked up. They were outside a coffee shop—a proper one, like in old American films. He froze, stunned Remus had picked the sort of place he’d always wanted to go. As a street kid with no money, big dreams were just that, but slurping a strawberry milkshake in a tall glass had always been one of his little fantasies. Fighting a smile, he followed Remus inside.

“What would you like?” Remus asked, fishing for change.

Harry would’ve been happy with just water if Remus would talk. He shrugged and slid into a red booth at the back. Remus nodded and joined the queue, leaving Harry alone. Now! Go while his back’s turned! a voice in his head urged.

He watched Remus, thinking how out of place he looked in his shabby robes. Maybe he’d get himself some new clothes too. What are you doing? You’re wasting time—he’s distracted—go!

To his surprise, Remus stepped out of line and helped a young mum with her screaming toddler, returning a dropped juice bottle and holding the door for her. After seeing them out, he went back to the queue. The toilets are right there. Slip out the window if you have to—just get out! But Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Remus. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but there was something oddly endearing about him. Humble, patient, kind. He’s one of them, remember?

No, he said he didn’t work for the Ministry—he’s unemployed. So what? He’s still a wizard, the one who dragged you here, the reason you got caught! Remus looked over and gave a cheesy wave. Harry managed a weak smile. He said he missed me. Why would he? Sure, he knew my mum and dad, but why care now?

Does it matter? Get out. You don’t know him. What if he’s just like the rest? That thought was enough. Shuffling across the booth, Harry looked for the quickest exit. Better this way—Remus wouldn’t expect him to vanish now, not after seeing him waiting. Adrenaline kicking in, he slipped into the men’s toilet, focused on the frosted window.

This was what he knew. What he was good at. Making sure the cubicles were empty, he let his magic flow. The glass vanished—he hadn’t meant to do that. Dammit! Now there’s a trail! Shrugging it off, he used the wall fixture to get a leg up, balanced on the ledge, and jumped just as the door opened. He landed on his feet and bolted down a side street, praying he wouldn’t hit a dead end.

Head spinning, he ran until the wind stung his eyes, hurdling potholes and dodging signs. No sense of direction—just get away. That made it easier. No plan, just instinct. That’s what kept him alive.

Up ahead, yellow cones—no entry. He cursed, searching for another way. Spying a narrow back lane, he darted down it. The sour stench of urine and rotting takeaway hit him. Tall buildings blocked the sun, casting eerie shadows. He pounded the cobbles, willing his legs faster.

His foot caught something hard. He tripped, slamming into the ground, arms out just in time. Stunned, pain shot through his ankle. Footsteps closed in, voices above. Before he could sit up, he was surrounded.

A boot slammed into his ribs, rolling him onto his back. The boot pressed into his side, pinning him as his brain scrambled.

“Tut, tut, tut, look what we got ‘ere. A dribblin’ midget thinkin’ he can trespass on our turf,” sneered the attacker.

Harry looked up. The figure wore a black tracksuit, hood low, bandana up to his nose. Cold grey eyes glared down, sending a chill through Harry.

“What you doin’ on our patch, little shit?” he demanded.

“Didn’t know it was your turf, mate—ain’t from round here. Got lost, that’s all. Just a misunderstanding, yeah? Won’t happen again, alright!” Harry said. High-pitched laughter rang out.

“Ooo, little skank’s gonna regret takin’ this turnin’, yeah. Go on, Bevan, teach him a lesson!” a girl cooed.

The gang jeered, tightening the circle. Harry tried to stare them down, but something shiny caught his eye—the leader fingering a knife in his waistband. Harry tensed, but twisted away from the boot and pushed himself up.

“Look, I’m sayin’ sorry. It was a mistake! Ain’t doin’ no harm, just let me past and I’ll be off!” He made his accent as thick as he could, hoping to show he was from the other side of London.

“Allow it, bruv. He’s just an ankle-biter. You ain’t doin’ time for a kid, are ya? Only just got out, blud,” said another voice. Harry glanced over—maybe his saving grace. A black man, same tracksuit and bandana. Harry thanked him silently, keeping his face blank.

“Nah, you think I’m lettin’ some runt trespass on my patch without my say so? How d’you know he ain’t with the Townsers crew? How’d we know he ain’t a snitch?” the grey-eyed boy challenged, flashing his knife.

“I ain’t from no crew, and I ain’t no grass, so just get off, will ya?” Harry spat, bolder than he felt.

He knew it was pointless. If they wanted to beat him, they would. All he could do was try to avoid the blade. Why hadn’t he watched for graffiti? Why hadn’t he learned anything after two years in London?

“Bullshit!” the girl shouted. “You’re a dirty little snitch, ain’t ya? Tryin’ to work your way up the ranks! What are you really doin’ here, mutt? You runnin’ somethin’?”

He’d never run drugs, even if he’d done other things. He was proud of that, even if these people couldn’t see it.

“Check his pockets!” the leader ordered. The gang crouched, reaching for him. This was the part he hated—being touched, out of control.

“GET OFF ME, YOU BASTARDS! GET AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed, flinging their hands away.

“Sharp mouth, too. What would your mum say, rat?” the girl taunted, ripping at his pocket.

He’d have to use magic. He hated it, but he had no choice.

“Harry?” Heads turned. A tall, gangly figure stood at the alley’s end. Glasses askew, but Harry recognized the voice.

“OI! Get off him!” the figure yelled, charging at the crowd.

“SCRAM, OLD MAN!” a hooded figure shouted. “Yeah, this ain’t nothin’ to do with you! Turn around before we knife him!” threatened another. But the figure didn’t stop. He pulled something long and thin from his coat and ran at them. The gang seemed thrown, not used to anyone charging at them. Some backed away. The grey-eyed boy looked livid as the figure drew closer.

“I SAID STEP AWAY FROM THE BOY!” Remus roared, slowing as he neared.

“Why would we do that, old fuck?” the attacker demanded, knife aimed at Remus’s chest.

“He’s twelve! Are you lot really that animal you’d attack a kid? That’s inhuman!” Remus shouted, furious.

The thug glared, then lowered his knife slightly. “He’s your runt, is he?” he grunted, nodding at Harry.

“He’s my boy, yeah! Now put that weapon down before you regret it,” Remus warned.

Harry stared in disbelief. His boy?

The girl with the ponytail stepped forward. “If he’s your squirt, why’s he wanderin’ our patch like he owns it? Knife ‘em both, Bev! Go on—wait, what the fuck is that? A stick?”

The gang burst out laughing as Remus drew his wand. Harry felt his breath hitch. Oh no.

“Put. The. Knife. Down. Now!” Remus spat, eyes flashing amber.

The thug smirked, egged on by the others, and walked towards Remus. “Tell you what, old fuck. I’ll slit your neck first, let him watch, then finish him off.” He moved back towards Harry, who trembled.

Remus raised his wand, but before he could act, the ground trembled. Dust rained down, the rumble growing. The vibration made it hard to stand. Stones fell, buildings threatened to collapse. The gang looked at each other, worried.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” the leader yelled.

“IT’S AN EARTHQUAKE, BEV. LET’S MOVE!” The ground shook violently, rocks falling. The gang shielded their heads and backed away.

“HARRY, COME HERE!” Remus shouted, trying to reach him, but was knocked down as the ground roared again. Harry saw the thugs running, desperate for shelter. As they disappeared, his heart slowed, panic easing.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. The ground stilled. Harry turned to Remus, who was crawling towards him, hands over his head.

“REMUS, IT’S OKAY! IT’S OVER!” he called.

Remus looked up, checking the ground. “HARRY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” he yelled, getting up.

“I’m fine. Are you?” Harry replied, hauling himself upright.

“I’m okay.” Remus eyed Harry testing his ankle. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” But Remus saw him wince as he stepped forward.

“Your ankle’s hurting. Sit, let me look.” Too tired to argue, Harry sat and let Remus inspect his ankle, sucking in air as Remus prodded it. “It’s broken,” Remus said, pointing his wand at the swelling.

Harry was about to protest when Remus muttered a spell and his bone snapped back into place. He bit his lip to stop a scream.

“Sorry!” Remus said quickly, seeing blood on Harry’s chin. “If I’d told you—”

“I wouldn’t have let you do it. Yeah, I’m getting the idea,” Harry joked weakly. Remus smiled and pulled his trouser leg down.

“Remus, I—”

“I asked the waitress to keep our drinks. Got you a strawberry shake, but I’ve got a chocolate one if you’d rather swap?” Remus said. Harry stared, his explanation stuck. Remus ignored him, re-tying his trainer. “You’ll recover. It’ll be tender a few days, but maybe that’ll stop you running off long enough to give me a chance.”

Harry flushed, determined to turn the tables. “How’d you know where I was? You stalkin’ me or something? I’d have been fine on my own, you didn’t need to play hero!”

Remus paused but didn’t look up. “Tell me, was that accidental magic or could you control that earthquake?” he asked, as if asking about the weather.

Harry clenched his jaw. Why wouldn’t this man ever give him a straight answer?

“What caused it?” Remus pressed. “Was it what you overheard in the Leaky Cauldron, or the gang? How did you do it?”

“Does it matter?” Harry snapped.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?” Remus asked.

“NO!” Harry yelled, pulling his foot away. Why was this man always so calm? It drove him mad. Remus drew his knees up and rubbed his forehead.

“Before we left, I put a tracking charm on you. A spell to help me find you,” he said.

“What? When?” Harry demanded, furious.

“When you stepped into the Floo. You turned your back,” Remus admitted. Harry gawked at him. How dare he?

“You chipped me like a dog or something?” he raged, jumping up. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?”

Something in Remus snapped. “BECAUSE I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU FOR ALMOST NINE YEARS!” he bellowed, rising to his feet. Harry frowned.

“NINE? I’VE ONLY BEEN MISSING THREE!”

“NO, HARRY, NINE! NINE YEARS SINCE YOU WERE TAKEN FROM ME! NINE YEARS I HAVEN’T KNOWN WHERE YOU WERE! SO DO YOU REALLY THINK I’D RISK LETTING YOU GO AGAIN?” Remus cried, eyes wet.

Harry stared. He didn’t understand. He’d been at his uncle’s since he was one, hadn’t left till he was ten, so what was Remus on about? But the way Remus looked at him—like he meant it. Harry watched as Remus dropped to his knees, head in hands. Then a thought hit, making his insides twist. What if he wasn’t the boy Remus thought? But that couldn’t be. He had the scar, the age, the name. Remus said he looked like his mum and dad. He could do magic. That wasn’t common, was it?

No, that couldn’t be it. He’d lived with the Dursleys his whole life after his parents died. He never knew how he’d ended up there, but—

Then it clicked. Studying Remus, Harry wondered how to ask, but Remus spoke first, voice haunted.

“There’s a great wizard, headmaster at Hogwarts. Your parents trusted him. So when they...” He broke off, picking stones from the ground, lost in thought. “Where you’d be kept was his call. Dumbledore tried to do what was best—placing you with your only blood relatives. Maybe it was right, maybe not, only you can say. He wanted to keep you hidden from the magical world, so you wouldn’t face its dangers. You were too young to know dark wizards were after you. Too young to understand why you’re special. That hundreds hail you as their hero for beating the darkest wizard ever, as a baby.”

Harry bowed his head, waiting for confirmation, and Remus continued. “Nobody was allowed to know where you were, Harry. Nobody except a handful. I tried to find you, spent sleepless nights wondering. Dumbledore forbade me, thought it was best you didn’t know me, but I never stopped looking. When I heard you were missing, Harry—I thought, I thought—”

He broke off as tears filled his eyes. Harry felt a pang of guilt.

He wasn’t good at this—comforting others. He’d been taught emotion was weakness, but looking at Remus now, he thought maybe it was brave. Seeing him cry made Harry’s heart ache. So he crouched beside him and gently touched his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he whispered.

Remus looked up, meeting his eyes. “I needed to know you were okay—that you were happy.” Harry looked away. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been happy, but he wanted to say something to make Remus feel better.

“I’m okay now. I’m with you.”

Chapter Text

Conversations

“What about this?”

“No, no, definitely not.”

“Alright, then this?”

“That’s Muggle fashion?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be in the shop if it weren’t, would it? No offense, Remus, but you’ve gotta pick something—your clothes are awful! And anyway, Muggles?”

“Non-magic folk. No way, Harry, absolutely not. Besides, we’re here for you, not me!”

“Yeah, an’ I got stuff already. I’ve never ‘ad this many clothes in my life!”

Remus smiled sadly at the boy’s admission and glanced at the small shopping bag in his hand. Truth be told, the whole ordeal in the alley had left Harry feeling awkward. So, on Remus’s insistence, the shopping spree had resumed. His threats to choose things for Harry had even persuaded the boy to pick out a few odd garments himself. It worked for a while, but now Harry seemed more interested in Remus’s wardrobe instead, throwing out the most outrageous suggestions just to amuse himself.

“How about we take a break and grab some lunch?” Remus tried.

“Okay, but we’ll finish up ‘ere first, yeah!”

It was more a statement than a question, and Remus shook his head in exasperation. “Alright, but we should keep our focus on you. Are you planning to wear only t-shirts and socks this summer? I haven’t seen you pick out any trousers yet.”

“S’coz nowhere does my size,” Harry muttered angrily.

Remus regarded him seriously. It made sense that Harry would be skinny, probably struggling to find meals over the past three years. But even so, he was so small. Only twelve, but his height looked more like that of an eight-year-old. Why was that? Harry was plainly embarrassed and refused to look at anything in children’s sizes, claiming they made him look like a kid. The problem had gotten so bad Remus considered charming whatever Harry picked to fit him. But no, he couldn’t do that. He’d already tricked Harry more than he cared to admit and wasn’t going to make a habit of it.

“You sure y’don’t wanna try this? Bet it’ll look bangin’ on,” Harry said, waving a distressed vintage jumper in front of him.

“Banging?” Remus grinned. “Har, why would I pay money for rips and stitches in my clothes? I already have plenty like that.”

Shoving the jumper back on the shelf, Harry rolled his eyes. “Ain’t no pleasin’ some people.”

“You cannot please some people,” Remus corrected, examining a polo shirt in what he thought might be Harry’s size.

“Ah? What you sayin’?”

“I said…” Remus turned to catch Harry smirking as he flicked through the rails. “Come on, you!” he said, leading him away to another section.

“So you like books an’ correcting people’s English, huh? You do know that makes you the ultimate geek, right? V-neck jumpers and shirts’d look good on ya!” Harry teased.

“They would, but you know, books and grammar aren’t my only passions,” Remus replied, mysterious.

“Lemme guess, you’re into collecting weird species like bloody flying lizards and things that’re half bird, half horse, right? Bet that’s what you’re keeping in that basement o’ yours,” Harry smirked.

“Well, I do have one or two other pets you haven’t met yet, but no Hippogriffs, believe me. No, I like duelling, chocolate—”

“Duelling?” Harry perked up.

“It’s a bit like sword fighting—sparring, but with wands,” Remus smiled.

“Reckon I’d like that,” Harry said thoughtfully. “What other magic can you do then?”

Remus leaned against the shelves, thinking. “Well, near enough everything they teach at Hogwarts and a bit beyond that. You’ll learn it all too, don’t worry.”

Harry deflated. “Urgh, right, the private school out in the mountains of Scotland. Can hardly contain me excitement.”

“You’ll love it, Harry, I know you will. Everyone does.” Seeing Harry roll his eyes, Remus changed the subject. “What about toiletries?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty bog standard, y’know— toothpaste, razors, deodorant—bet even you magic lot use that, right?” He was joking again. Remus shot him a firm look and Harry snickered. “Right, well, would you say you have thick greying hair or fine and greasy?” he asked, reading out men’s shampoo bottles. Harry burst out laughing and Remus blushed. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m not used to this—aha, ‘untangle those knots,’ you’ll be needing that, seeing as you’ve inherited your father’s hair. Don’t worry, it’s for men!”

“Rrrreeeeemmmmmuuuuuusssssss!” Harry whined suddenly, taking Remus by surprise.

“Harry?”

“Can I get some hair dye, please?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time Harry had asked for anything, but hair dye?

“Why would you want to change your hair colour? Don’t you like your jet black rebellious locks? It suits you, you know.”

“I hate it,” Harry muttered, turning away.

Remus frowned. “Why?”

“I just do. It’s a crap colour,” he said flatly, running a finger along the shelf. There was something in his tone that made Remus wonder if there was more to it than a simple teenage complex.

Glancing at the chestnut colour Harry was eyeing, Remus moved further down the shelf, figuring it was best to soften the blow of refusing with a compromise. Grabbing two bottles, he tossed them to Harry.

“Lasts up to six washes, but apparently you need the second bottle to lighten your hair first.”

“It’s temporary?” Harry asked, reading the label.

“Yes. You’ll get the permanent one when you tell me the real reason you want to change it,” Remus told him, turning away to find aftershaves. “Now smell these, which do you like?”

Harry eyed the exotic bottles sceptically. “They look expensive.”

“Yes, but Harry, I told you, the money was given to you because—”

“Yeah, I know, but don’t need t’go wasting it on fancy stuff I don’t need. I ain’t worth—WOW, seventy-five quid for some smelly liquid in a posh bottle?!”

The sales assistant glared as Remus berated him for swearing. Though he hid it, Remus was floored. He’d been intending to buy one as a birthday gift for Harry. Turning thirteen didn’t happen every day, and he wanted to get him something special, but he had no idea what. He couldn’t leave Harry to look around the shops alone, so aftershave had seemed a safe bet, especially for a kid who desperately wanted to be treated like a grown-up.

“You can get ones off the back of a lorry just like that anyway,” Harry informed the shop assistant more than Remus and marched away to look at the body sprays. Sighing and shooting an apologetic look at the employee, Remus placed the perfumes back and continued down the aisle, picking up mouthwash and soap as he went.

“What’s your favourite colour, Har?” Harry snorted as he stood on tiptoes to reach an anti-perspirant spray on the top shelf.

“Why, you gonna pick me out a nice toothbrush?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” Remus shrugged, adding soap to the basket. Harry jumped down from the kick stool with a scoff. Remus took his hesitance as his cue to continue. “If you could go on holiday anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Bit random, ain’t it?”

“Oh, I didn’t think there had to be rules to this conversation. It can be random.” Remus winked. “So go on—favourite colour and most desired holiday destination.”

“Whoa, hold up, if there ain’t no rules, then I get to ask questions too, yeah?”

Remus held his arms wide as if to show he was an open target. Grinning mischievously now, Harry chucked his spray into the basket, crossed his arms, and swayed a little as he considered.

“I like red, I guess, and if I could go anywhere, it’d be Australia. Sun, sea, sand. Plus, it’s a million miles away from Britain and they speak English—best of both worlds!”

“You like the beach then?” Remus asked, leading them into another section.

“Wouldn’t know,” Harry replied. Seeing Remus’s look, he shrugged. “Never been.”

Remus cocked his head, about to ask more, but Harry beat him to it. “Your turn! How long ‘ave you known you’re a wizard?”

Remus glanced around to make sure the aisles were empty before answering. “All my life. My mum was a Muggle, but my dad was a wizard. I’ve been performing magic since I can remember.” He cut his explanation short—he wasn’t about to waste this golden opportunity to learn more about Harry by talking about himself.

“If you could be anyone in the world, who would it be and why?”

“Dunno, I pass on that one—but I’d definitely be someone with a bit of money, a house, and luck. Luck’s always good to have. Why? Well, doesn’t everyone want that stuff? S’pose I just wanna live the big ol’ American dream!” He laughed, throwing his arms up.

Remus refrained from pointing out that Harry could have all that now—he didn’t have to dream, just open his eyes. “Your turn. What’s behind that trap door in your lounge?”

“Our lounge,” Remus corrected, throwing Harry off.

“Wha’?”

“It’s our lounge now. Our home, not just mine. You live there too.” Remus clarified, turning to the display of trainers. “What shoe size are you?”

Harry paused before coming back to life. “Ha, that counts as a question! I’m a four—well, almost. And those look terrible.”

“Is that your way of telling me…” Remus started, then stopped, remembering how seriously Harry was taking this game, despite now swinging around a pillar. Remus wondered if Harry was distracted enough to miss the question he was dying to ask.

“What’s the photos in your wallet? Who they of?” Harry asked suddenly.

Remus looked round in surprise. “I thought you’d already seen them?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. Might’ve took your money, mate, but I know not to go scoutin’ about in a man’s personal belongings—least not when I got no reason to.” He added to himself, unaware of Remus’s sharp hearing. Did this kid have some strange morals. Steal, yes, but invade privacy, no? On what planet did that make sense?

Realizing this might be a good time to break down more barriers, Remus dropped the trainers and walked over to a block of multi-coloured stools, beckoning Harry to follow. Curiosity written all over his face, Harry sat down beside him, craning his neck to see what Remus was holding.

“Alright, so they’ve seen better days, a bit battered and worn—”

“Like you then,” Harry interrupted, a cheeky smile showing his dimples. But Remus was too far gone emotionally to notice. With shaking hands, he pulled the pictures from his wallet but held them face down.

“Har, have you ever seen—these pictures, they’re…what I mean is…” He sighed, gently placing the photos in Harry’s lap. Much to Remus’s amazement, Harry didn’t immediately flip them over. Instead, the twinkle in his eyes faded and he studied Remus with such intensity it made his skin burn.

“Remus, you don’t have to show me.” Remus gave a dry sniff and offered a weak smile.

“I want you to see them. Go on, turn them over.” Harry held his gaze for a moment, then slowly trailed his fingertips over the backs of the photos.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Both wizards turned to find the same sales assistant from the cosmetics department looming over them.

“A shoe fitting? Some sample perfumes, perhaps, from our cut-price range?” she pressed.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Remus smiled politely. The woman stared hard, then gave a curt nod and marched away, her heels clicking on the floor. “Do you remember that bookshop we passed on the way here, Remus?” Harry asked after a moment, still eyeing the woman over his shoulder.

“Yes, kiddo, I do.” Harry turned back with the most serious expression Remus had ever seen him wear.

“I think that’s where I wanna turn them over,” he said, slipping the photos into his lap.

“It’s this way, I’m telling you!” Harry exclaimed, pointing to the right of the high street.

Remus twisted his mouth in thought. “Harry, are you sure? I could’ve sworn we took a right—”

The boy shook his head. “No, it’s this way. I’m positive. I remember seeing that optician’s on the way to M&S!”

“Opticians? That may not be a bad idea. When was the last time you had a sight test?” Remus asked.

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. “I don’t need a check-up. I can see just fine, thanks.”

“Oh, really! So you saw that poor elderly lady coming at you and just decided to knock her over, did you?” Remus joked.

“Shurrup! She weren’t that old, and I just wasn’t expectin’ anyone to come flying outta the side street at that speed—seriously, does she need that stick if she can walk that fast?” Harry grumbled, feeling his neck burn.

Remus regarded him with a half-amused expression. “Well, I was proud of you for offering to carry her shopping! I thought you’d be there all day picking up those pennies!”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t no thug, alright!” Harry scoffed, though he was secretly delighted by Remus’s praise. He couldn’t remember anyone ever saying they were proud of him.

“I’m not a thug, and no, I never thought you were. Always knew there was a big softy under that tough bravado,” Remus teased.

“I ain’t got no bravado!” Harry shot back. “An’ I ain’t no softy!” he added.

Remus just laughed. “No? So the accent, the macho walk, the one-liners—that’s all real, is it?” He knew he was pushing, but he wanted Harry to know he saw him, saw through the act. That felt important.

Harry gave him a killer glare. “What do you think? Anyway, if you saw her coming, why didn’t you warn me? You just wanted to see me embarrass myself, didn’t ya! Go on, admit it, that’s why you didn’t tell me I was handing the checkout girl the wrong coins! Where are we going for lunch, anyway? You said something about a café?”

But Remus had stopped walking and fallen silent. Harry looked to see what had caught his attention and spotted a small figure hunched in a shop doorway, a bright blanket over his knees and a cup at his feet. “Remus, what are we do—” He stopped as Remus strode towards the doorway.

“Oh, c’mon, man, don’t give him money—he’ll be straight down the shop buyin’ his daily flagon and fags!” Harry huffed, storming after him.

Remus considered the teenage boy in the card shop’s doorway. He looked so downtrodden, as if all happiness had been drained from him. It tore at Remus’s heart to see someone so young look so impossibly sad. “Hello, what’s your name?” he asked, crouching beside him. The pale-faced teen peeked at Remus through large brown eyes.

“Lewis.”

“Well, Lewis, I saw you from over there and wondered when you last ate?” Remus asked kindly. He heard someone cluck throatily behind him and turned to see Harry eyeing the teen distastefully—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, with a hint of jealousy.

Lewis ignored him, too focused on Remus’s offer of a hot meal. “Not since Tuesday night,” he admitted quietly.

Remus grimaced. It was Thursday. “Well, we were just heading to a café for lunch. Would you care to join us?”

“WHAT? YOU WANNA TAKE HIM FOR FOOD WITH US?” Harry stormed over Remus’s shoulder. Remus bowed his head and sighed before looking back at the withdrawn teen, now eyeing Harry doubtfully.

“N-no thank you, sir,” he stammered.

“Well, will this do until you can get enough for your next meal?” Remus asked, digging inside his cloak and offering a £20 note. Lewis’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Yes, sir, thank you! Thank you!”

“Oi, Remus, make sure that’s outta my lot, yeah? Don’t want you wastin’ your own money on the likes of him,” Harry sneered. “Tramp!”

The teen ignored him, still thanking Remus as he pocketed the note and gathered his things. Remus smiled and waited for the boy to leave before rounding on Harry.

“What was that about?” he demanded, snatching Harry’s wrist and leading him away.

“Wha’ was wha’ about?” Harry played, wriggling free as he jogged to keep up.

“You speaking to that lad like that! Why would you say something like that? Surely you of all people should understand his situation! That was degrading, Harry—no, disgusting! You should be ashamed!” Remus raged.

Harry glared. “Yeah, an’ it’s ‘coz I understand his situation that I know he was bloody lying to ya!” he yelled back.

“Really? Tell me, how would you know that? How would you know the last time that lad ate? If you saw his hands trembling, I’d say—”

“Where you from?” Harry interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Where’d you come from?” he repeated.

“Yorkshire.”

Harry pulled a face. “Figures.”

Remus raised a brow and Harry sucked his teeth. “You’re from a place where you ain’t used to seeing homelessness and stuff, so you dunno what you’re lookin’ for. You said you saw his hands, yeah, but did you see his fingernails? Clean! He looked fresh outta a shower. People like that prey on people like you, trust me. He wasn't no homeless kid, but you wouldn’t know about it.”

Remus noted the bitterness in his tone. “Then tell me what you know about it.”

Harry snorted, eyeing the café. “He’s only been two days without food, Remus, that’s nothin’! I’ve gone a hell of a lot longer, trust me!”

Something inside Remus shattered at this. He’d suspected, but hearing it from Harry made it worse. He turned sharply and grabbed both Harry’s wrists.

“You’re never going to have to go through that again, Harry, you know that, don’t you? Things are going to be different for you now,” he told him firmly, praying Harry would understand.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and twisted out of his grasp. “It’s no big deal, Remus,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“I happen to think it’s a very big deal, Harry. It should never have happened. No child should have to starve,” Remus persisted, determined not to let Harry dismiss it so easily.

“Why you so melodramatic, man? So what, I weren’t used to feasts—that’s what happens when you sleep rough!” Harry scorned, balling his fists as he pushed open the café door and marched inside. Remus followed, sadness swelling in his chest but anger still simmering. Why was Harry belittling being homeless so much?

“Why didn’t you want him to come with us? You might have seen him devour some food and believed he was genuine!” He heard Harry growl before marching to a chair in the corner, snatching up a menu to hide his face. But temptation proved too much; he slapped it down and looked up at Remus with a determined expression.

“Look, I know you’re dying to know, so I’ll make it easy for you. Then you can go back and tell all your wizard friends what happened to their so-called tragic little hero!”

Remus tried to cover his shock as he dropped into the chair opposite. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to understand what’s happened to you, Harry, where you’ve been, who you’ve been with, and everything else. But I can assure you, the Ministry only needs to know what you’re comfortable telling them. They’ll want specifics, may even press you, but that’s up to you. I’m not an informant for the Ministry. I want to know because I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help, but I’ll tell you so you stop lookin’ at me the way you do whenever I say anything about it! I don’t want your pity,” Harry fumed, causing heads to turn. But Remus didn’t care; he was used to Harry drawing attention with his blunt words and extroverted personality.

“I left my relatives’ house of my own accord, right? Not tellin’ you why or how, but they were arseholes and it was the best thing I ever did. I was ten. Changed my name and went to live in Essex. Was there almost a year, sleepin’ in shop doorways and beggin’ for change before I ran into trouble. Then I left, went to London, found my way to Hackney, started doin’ the same. Did that for a while, always movin’, never stayin’ anywhere longer than a week or two. Then I met Seb—the boy who punched you in the alley—and a couple others. They taught me how to get good at all the stuff I was already doin’. Stuff you posh lot wouldn’t approve of, but it’s how I paid my way. They introduced me to Dave, the landlord at the Vic’s Arms. He said I could stay there like the other boys, get food and stuff as long as I paid rent every night. Figured it was better than any hostel and cheaper too. Landed on my feet there, really. I was happy and doing alright before your lot come and took me. So there, that’s my sad little story. The end. Any questions?” Harry asked, daring Remus to challenge him.

Remus was stunned. Yes, he had loads of questions, but before he could speak, Harry continued. “I know that kid was fakin’ it for sure. One, his trainers were fresh and branded—gangs would’ve had them off him for sure. Two, it’s been raining all day but his clothes and that blanket weren’t wet. Three, his hair—yeah, messy, but I didn’t see no split ends. Four, no street kid would tell you their name just like that. Fuck knows what he’s gonna do with that money, but it ain’t gonna be to buy bread and butter, I know.” He slumped back, arms crossed.

Remus sat silently, watching him. “That may be, but I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

“You trust too easily,” Harry retorted. “And believe me, that’s not a good thing.”

“So where did trusting others get you?” Remus asked, signalling the waiter for more time.

“Where did trusting get me?” Harry repeated blankly.

“Well, you talk as though you have experience. What happened when you placed your trust in someone?” Remus pressed.

Harry regarded him for a moment, lost in memories, then shook himself. “Nothin’, doesn’t matter. Let’s just order.”

Remus could almost see the barriers forming as Harry closed off again, but he had to persist.

“Did they let you down?” he asked gently.

Harry looked away. “No, no, they were true to their word, alright.”

Remus caught the sour edge in his voice, leaned in, trying to get close enough without scaring him. “Did they double-cross you?”

For a second, Remus thought he saw Harry’s face crumple.

“Just drop it, Remus,” he growled.

“Was it your relatives? Is that why you left?”

“What d’you want to eat? I’m going to the counter,” Harry said, trying to sound patient, though his hands shook.

“Was it someone else? Someone you met on the streets? Was it more than one person?”

“Stop it,” he warned.

“You can tell me, Harry. You can trust me! I’m not going to hurt you.”

SMASH!

The glass water jug exploded between them, and Harry was on his feet before Remus could blink. “I SAID STOP!” he screamed.

Silence. Dead silence.

Remus creaked back his chair, making it screech on the tiles. “Harr—”

“SHUT UP, REMUS! JUST SHUT UP!” Harry roared.

“What on earth is going on here?” Remus turned to see a very alarmed waiter hurrying over. He opened his mouth, but Harry answered first.

“Nothing, we’re fine. I’m sorry about the jug, my hand slipped—I’ll pay for it, really. I just got—a family member’s just died, so we’re a bit tense right now.”

Remus reeled as if Harry had slapped him. Where did he learn to lie so well?

“Alright, well, just keep it down, yeah? There are other customers who’d like to eat in peace,” the waiter said, cleaning up. Every eye in the café was on them, the air close enough to suffocate. Remus couldn’t tell if the tension was coming from the waiter or Harry. Eventually, the man finished and left them alone.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said at last.

Harry let out a long, shuddering breath and traced the water spills with his finger. “I’m sorry too,” he said quietly.

Harry’s mood swings were enough to make Remus’s head spin. One minute he was boiling with rage, the next he was calm. But no, there was something else here, something deeper than Remus could work out. He’d always prided himself on reading people, but Harry was tougher than most.

He studied the boy, scrutinizing him. Harry spoke again. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I almost got us kicked out.”

“It’s alright, Har. I pushed you, I guess I deserved it.” Harry’s eyes flickered to meet Remus’s. “About that kid, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“You do?” Harry asked, surprised.

“I think so,” Remus assured him with a small smile. Harry fell silent, picking at the menu. “So, kiddo, what would you like to ea—”

“Surrey,” Harry interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“It was my turn to answer the question. I asked you where you were from, so—Surrey. That’s where I grew up, where I was for at least six of the years you were loo—” He cut himself off with a childlike smile, and for a moment Remus saw the baby boy he’d once known. “It’s your turn, Remus,” he finished shyly.

“Okay, but before we start again—I’ve thought of a rule for this conversation,” Remus grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm, we only stick to happiness-inducing topics for the rest of the day.”

Harry laughed. “Happiness-inducing topics? Why are you such a gee—”

“Ah!” Remus silenced him with a wave. “Is that an evolving question I hear?”

“No, but that was yours!” Harry yelled, triumphant. Remus couldn’t remember a time he was so pleased to lose a game.

Chapter Text

Bittersweet

The air being drawn into his lungs felt hot and thick. With water cascading down on him he closed his eyes and tipped his head back to relish its welcoming sensation of it gushing over his face. A power shower. Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in one or if he ever had been at all. Screwing the dial upwards the steam intensified along with the sensation of his skin being torched. It was a relief to elevate some relentless prickling, the tight itching omitting from his lash scars. Though most of them were old now, faded and shrunken, occasionally they still panged painfully as though to serve as reminders. Never letting him forget.

He imagined as the scalding water rained down his skin was peeling off, revealing a new, unblemished layer underneath. A fresh start, no crisscrossing welts, no haunting memories, no marks to show the torture he’d endured.

“Harry, Harry are you in there?”

Jesus! Couldn’t this man ever give him a break? He’d been in the shower what? All of 15 minutes?

“WHY? You on a water meter or summat?” he yelled back in irritation.

“You’ve been in there for almost an hour kiddo – I was starting to worry you’d drowned or something! You ever coming out of there today?” Remus called.

Almost an hour? Shit! Where had the time gone? “Well I’d be a lot quicker if you’d piss off an’ leave me to it!” Harry retorted.

“What did we say about language Mr. Potter?”

“Not t’ use words like PISS, FUCK, SHIT, BOLLOCKS, BASTARD, FUKIN’ HELL—”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU’RE ALREADY ON YOUR FINAL WARNING!” Remus bellowed through the door.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, keep yer toupee on! I’ll be out in a sec, so go away from the door!” Harry called, eyes flickering to check the lock. Then he remembered, locks didn’t matter much to Remus, so he grabbed a towel and wrapped it round his waist. “YOU STILL THERE?” he shouted, tryin’ to hide the quiver in his voice.

“I’M JUST ABOUT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS! HURRY UP, THERE’S PANCAKES AND SYRUP WAITING FOR YOU!”

Relieved Remus sounded further away and enticed by the idea of breakfast, Harry quickly dried off and pulled on his new clothes, doing his best to ignore the many throbbing scars across his torso.

...

It seemed Remus took great pleasure in creating an ever-increasing elaborate display of magic each and every morning Harry came down for breakfast. So much so that Harry was convinced the man had to be waking at insanely early hours to get down here before him to establish it all. The dishes from the night before were currently undergoing the most vigorous scrubbing of their lives by a charmed marine predator—or as it is more commonly known, a sponge. The taps turned themselves on and off at short intervals, spraying bursts of water and creating more and more soapy bubbles in aid of their master’s task.

What looked like an old-fashioned iron mowed away at a long robe draped over an ironing board of its own accord, furiously trying to rid the garments’ creases. An array of cutlery and plates glided elegantly through the air and rested themselves at their assigned places at the dining table. A tall stack of golden pancakes followed closely behind and spread themselves attractively across the sitting plates.

“You’ve outdone yourself this mornin’.” Harry remarked, stepping into the room and watching the jug pour sticky syrup on his pancakes to spell out his name. “I’d ask if you need me ‘elp, but looks like you got it covered as always.” He eyed the dustpan and brush as it slipped across the floor dusting up odd crumbs between the chairs.

Remus entered the kitchen dramatically and bowed. Harry rolled his eyes. It seemed the man just couldn’t resist reminding Harry that he could control the magic without even being present.

“So pancakes an’ fancy syrup, eh? What gives? You takin’ some sort o’ cookin’ classes now to put on your CV or somefin’?”

“Final warning Harry...” Remus reminded him, but Harry could tell by the twinkle in his eye he was joking.

“You know, I reckon I’m gonna start up me own warnings!” he replied cheekily.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yup – I’m issuin’ one right now, in fact.” Harry stated, flumping into a chair. Remus worked to conceal a smirk.

“And may I ask what I’ve done to deserve this warning?” he played.

“Yeah, you bloody nicked the last o’ the milk last night wiv yer ‘ot chocolates aaannnnd used up last o’ the shampoo in the shower!”

Remus gave him a lop-sided grin. “Told you to get some of your own when we went shopping, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry dismissed. “Point is, the kettle ain’t even finished boilin’ yet an’ you already got two brownie points!”

This time Remus didn’t try to hide it, he burst into a fit of laughter.

“Wha’s so funny! I’m backdatin’ ‘em if you don’t stop gigglin’, y’know!” demanded Harry.

“Ahhhh kiddo.” Remus chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Brownie points are like saying I’m in your good books.” The tips of Harry’s ear burned as he searched for a quick comeback before settling on telling his guardian to “shove it” and helping himself to coffee.

“You know, I don’t fink I’ve ever heard of anyone your age drinkin’ that stuff.” Remus remarked once he’d recovered.

“S’cos I’m old for me age.” Harry shrugged, and the werewolf was forced to bite the inside of his cheek once again to hide his amusement, but unfortunately for him, the almost-teenager was far too volatile to let it slip and another round of light-hearted banter began.

The pair were still engrossed in their breakfast by the time Remus’s delivery owl arrived carrying the Daily Prophet’s latest edition. Harry eyed the paper curiously but said nothing; in fact, he became suspiciously quiet as Remus read through. The pre-teen was just collecting the dishes to wash up when his guardian looked up.

“Here, allow me.” He winked, flicking his wand casually and sending all of the dirty plates and cutlery dizzyingly towards the sink. Harry stared in wonder for a few seconds in the way he always did when Remus used his wand.

The older wizard smiled. “They’ll teach you all this at Hogwarts, you know.”

Harry scoffed and muttered under his breath. Catching the werewolf’s questioning gaze, he rolled his eyes.

“Look – I told ya, I don’t wanna go to that school, awright! I won’t know no one there—”

“You’ll get to know people!” Remus intervened, as he always did.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to, got better fings t’be doin’ than goin’ to some posh school an’ gettin’ t’know a load of wand-happy nutters.” He bit back.

“Better things as in?” His guardian left the question suspended as he awaited Harry’s answer.

“Like workin’ out ‘ow the ‘ell to get outta ‘ere, away from this place, the world an’ all fings bloody freakish.” Harry spat, stabbing at the pancakes with an acid expression.

“Away from me?” Remus asked, trying hard to sound casual but failing miserably. Harry’s green eyes flickered up from his plate as he shrugged.

“I know what I said before, Remus, but I can’t just pretend you ain’t part of it. Part o’ this world, the people what kidnapped me an’ brought me ‘ere—I just, I can’t forget that.”

Remus felt his heart drop somewhere deep beneath him and his stomach knot painfully. “Why do you want to leave?” he choked out at last.

“Why?” Harry laughed humourlessly. “Tell me, WHY would I WANT to be ‘ere? What’s the point o’ me goin’ to your school, tryin’ to learn anyfing when I don’t even wanna be part o’ this world? Besides, if there really are all these so-called evil wizards after me, then why would I even bother tryin’ to do any of this!” he gestured wildly at the kitchen around him. “I’ll probably be dead in a couple o’ months anyway. At least when I didn’t know nuffin’ about this shit I was doin’ okay! No dark wizards found me on the streets an’ that’s where I reckon I’m better off, if you ask me!”

“So you want to leave because you’re scared? You’re scared if you join us, this world, you’ll be hunted? You think the Death Eaters are more likely to find you here or at Hogwarts than if you were on your own in Muggle London?” Remus asked incredulously.

“Don’t fink, mate—I know! An’ I ain’t scared. I know ‘ow to take care o’ meself, I been doin’ it me whole damn life! Sorry if I don’t need some strange blokes from your government tryin’ to do it for me, but I don’t! I don’t need to learn this magic crap, I don’t even need to know about that psycho what escaped from prison to come after me. I don’t need every Tom, Dick an’ Harry knowin’ me name, I don’t need no bloody guardin’. I don’t need any of it, never did before an’ definitely don’t now.” Harry finished, leaving Remus at a loss for words.

“I just wanna go ‘ome, Remus.”

The werewolf broke out of his troublesome thoughts instantly and entered a whole new level of inner turmoil upon hearing those words. How could he possibly bring himself to tell the boy that this place that he seemed to hate so much was his home now? Going back wasn’t an option.

“Please take me back.” Harry’s softly spoken words wrapped barbed wire around his heart. Why did he have to be the one to diminish this child’s hope? It just wasn’t fair.

Chapter Text

Realisations

For a few agonising moments, Remus froze. An icy chill swept through the room, biting at his skin. Alarm bells shrieked as the reality slammed into him and he tore his lips away, gasping for air.

“It’s alright! I won’t tell no one,” Harry said, moving closer. He tried to press his mouth to Remus’s again, but this time Remus recoiled in shock.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Remus cried.

“I’m tryin’ to thank you,” Harry said, his face flickering with emotion but not pulling away. Remus stared, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

“Th-thank me?” Remus repeated faintly, his head spinning. What did that even mean?

“Yeah, for everythin’ you done for me, for the stuff you’ve given me—I’m thankin’ you. S’what you want, innit?” Harry asked seriously. Seeing Remus’s eyes widen, he put a hand on Remus’s knee. “Wha’s the matter? You like me, didn’t ya?” Before Remus could process it, Harry shifted, sliding his hand up Remus’s inner thigh. “D’you want me to do somethin’ else?”

Remus leapt up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. “Whoa! No! No, Harry—Jesus, no! Why would you even do that? What made you think—what’s wrong with you?!” he shouted. Harry snatched his hand away as if burned, hurt swelling in his eyes.

“I’m givin’ you somethin’ back. You said you liked me, I thought you wanted somethin’ in return, you know, for the book and that,” Harry replied, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Staring down at the boy in disbelief, Remus felt his confusion deepen. “Are you joking? You can’t seriously think I gave you that book, these things, in return for this!”

“Fuck you!” Harry yelled, suddenly jumping up to stand against Remus. “Fuck you! Fuck you! FFFUUUCCCKKK YYYOOOUUU!”

Remus stumbled back, the gravity of the situation hitting him. “Harry, what in Merlin’s name—?”

But Harry was nearly hysterical, hot angry tears streaming down his face, making his eyes look even bolder than usual. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me! It’s you! I’m just tryin’ to give you what you’re after! Or did I ruin it ‘cause I’m doin’ it willin’ly?” he screamed.

“Harry, what? What are you talking about?!” Remus yelled, bewildered.

But Harry had lost all control. He launched himself at Remus, striking him hard in the chest. “You know what I’m talkin’ about! You know! That’s why I’m here, innit?!”

“I don’t know what you mean! I never, ever implied that! I would never go near—Harry, that’s wrong, so wrong! What kind of man do you think I am?” Remus said, voice breaking. Harry let out a tortured sob, and Remus felt a sudden gust ruffle his hair. A chill braced the room—Harry’s magic, wild and unintentional. But as quickly as it rose, it stopped.

“I hate you. I hate you for this,” Harry whispered, a single tear running down his cheek.

Remus paled, the words echoing in his head, but before he could respond, Harry shoved him hard and slammed the door in his face.

A parade of stars punctured the velvet sky, illuminating strands of cloud trying to hide from view. Only the soft sound of beating wings and trickling raindrops rippled through the cool air, disturbing the otherwise silent night. Outwardly, the modest, slightly crooked cottage lay peaceful in slumber, its white walls an island in a sea of forest—a safe haven for the lost, a lighthouse for those wandering in the dark. Yet inside, urgency echoed. Streams of lantern light washed over the kitchen as Remus Lupin paced restlessly, trying to rid himself of pent-up energy—or more accurately, frustration.

“You said you had urgent matters to discuss, Remus. Is it about our boy?” Albus Dumbledore asked, stepping out of the Floo. He’d never known Remus to call at such an hour, but the tone of the letter had made him abandon his affairs and rush to the cottage.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “He’s an elemental wizard, Professor—an elemental with wandless magic. I’ve seen it myself—he can summon wind, light a fire, put it out with ice. He caused an earthquake in that alley, he—” but he couldn’t finish.

“My boy, I understand your concern, your excitement,” Dumbledore interrupted from the fireside. Remus dragged his hands down his prematurely lined face.

“Sir, if the Minister knew what Harry can do, what he’s capable of—”

“Does he know? Harry, does he understand the extent of his magic?”

“I haven’t told him, sir,” Remus admitted quietly. “He’s only just found out about all of this—the magic, being the boy-who-lived, that there are Death Eaters still after him. I’m afraid for him, Professor. I’m not sure he can handle any more. It’s just too soon.”

The headmaster studied Remus over his half-moon glasses, stroking his silver beard. “What makes you think this, Remus?”

Remus ran a hand through his greying hair and leaned against the doorframe. “He tries to hide it. Keeps up this act, always on edge, like he’s waiting for an attack. Afraid to show weakness, can’t let go of that street mentality. He’s overwhelmed, out of his depth, and he doesn’t know how to vent his emotions. He’s defensive, acts like he hates the world, doesn’t know how to interact with people—like he doesn’t get the unspoken rules.” He paused. Dumbledore gestured for him to continue, but Remus shook his head. “Harry’s... Harry’s complex, Professor.”

“In what way?” Dumbledore asked, settling on the shabby couch.

“He’s hiding, Albus. I don’t know what, but he is. There’s something in the way he speaks, the way he holds himself back. He retreats whenever I get too close—scared, maybe, so he lashes out or withdraws. He must have lived a horrible life, but it’s like he’s traumatised—tortured somehow.” Remus cupped his hands, head bowed. “Albus, I’ve wanted him—needed him—in my life for so long. I need to know him, to understand him. He’s James and Lily’s only son, the only thing I’ve got left.” Riddled with emotion, he gripped the table as if to steady himself. “I don’t know how to reach him, what to say, what to do. I have all these questions, but how can I ask him to reveal his innermost secrets when until last week he didn’t even know I existed?”

Dumbledore said nothing, just watched as Remus buried his head in his hands. “He doesn’t understand that I care for him like a son. He doesn’t get my authority—he hates it when I tell him what to do. He doesn’t see I have his best interests at heart. He actually thinks I’m doing it because I want something from him!”

“Don’t you?” Dumbledore said quietly. Remus looked up, confused. “Harry’s right, isn’t he? You do want something in return for your affection and generosity. You want answers, you want him to respond in kind.” The elder wizard’s words made Remus slump.

“He tried to kiss me.” The words hung in the air like a bullet frozen in flight. “He tried to kiss me, Albus. Our boy, my thirteen-year-old charge, tried to kiss me.” Remus stared blankly at the wall. “He—I—I...” But the courage drained away.

“Why?” the headmaster asked. Remus had never heard the man sound so grave, or look so old. It was enough to make him regain control, just long enough to explain.

“Then he shoved me and slammed the door in my face. Which I deserved. I should never have said—He’s still in his room, though I don’t know if he’s asleep. I wrote to you as soon as it happened.” Dumbledore held up a hand, but Remus faltered. “I didn’t see it coming, Professor. I never thought, not for a moment did I ever think—” he struggled.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore interrupted, “you’re focusing too much on your own actions. I don’t think you’re to blame. You must realise—”

“But it’s not Harry’s fault! He was upset, he must have got the wrong impression, just got confused—oh God, Professor, what if the Ministry finds out? What if they know you gave me custody, that Harry’s here? If my lycanthropy wasn’t enough, this certainly will be! They’ll take him away from me, I’ll never see him again! They wouldn’t let me within a mile—”

“REMUS, that is NOT going to happen. I won’t lie to you, the Ministry is growing impatient, that much is true. They want to speak with the boy and are frustrated I won’t allow it. But I assure you, they will not be involved in this—nor will they be taking Harry anywhere. The child is officially under my guardianship—they need not know his true whereabouts. Not yet. When the school term starts, I’ll allow them to talk with him, but not before. We still have time.”

“With all due respect, Professor, what use is time? The child despises me, I haven’t got a hope of understanding what goes on in his head now!” Remus cried, throwing up his arms.

“He does not despise you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Tonight’s events show there is something here, but not what you think.” The old man gave a sad smile and stood. “We know precious little of Harry’s past, a fact I feel is largely my own fault, but considering what he revealed tonight, I think we gained a great insight, don’t you?”

Remus frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, sir.”

“Harry is a child who’s had a difficult life, that much is clear. He’s developed defence mechanisms and coping strategies that affect how he comes across. But children don’t teach themselves such behaviours—they don’t become violent, aggressive, or submissive without reason. For a child Harry’s age to show such sexualised behaviour is uncommon. You said Harry told you he was trying to thank you.” He paused, letting the words sink in before clarifying. “That’s a curious thing to say, isn’t it? Trying to reward or please you in that way was his way of thanking you? We must ask, why did he believe that was right? Isn’t that something only an adult might do?”

“I still don’t understand, Albus. What are you saying?” Remus asked, the headmaster’s words only deepening his confusion.

“I am saying, my dear boy, that I strongly suspect this is a learned behaviour. An imitation of adult behaviour. So, we must consider—what kind of adult could have taught a child that?”

Remus growled in frustration. He already felt lost in a maze, and now he needed answers, not riddles. That’s why he’d asked for Dumbledore’s help in the first place.

Dumbledore noted Remus’s agitation and removed his glasses. “Might Harry have advanced on you because he’s witnessed similar situations? Perhaps. But remember, this is not a child who’s had an easy life. He’s been in vulnerable positions—living on the streets, fending for himself, stealing to eat. Possibly influenced by dangerous people, used to being treated badly. Remus, in those times, when Harry was alone and desperate, he was terribly vulnerable.”

Realisation hit Remus hard. “Dumbledore, are you saying you think Harry’s been abused? Sexually abused?” He didn’t need to ask—the haunted look in Dumbledore’s eyes said it all. Dread twisted in Remus’s chest. “But he’s only a kid—what kind of animal would prey on a twelve-year-old?”

“That, my boy, is what we must find out. Sometimes, to discover what we’re looking for, we must retrace our steps. We must find out where Harry came from, what kind of life he’s lived. If he’s as guarded as you say, it will be almost impossible to get information directly from him. We must look elsewhere,” Dumbledore urged.

“You want me to go back there? You think I should go back to Hackney, to the Vic’s Arms? Talk with the people there?” Remus asked slowly.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Torments Falls

An anthem of footsteps rained down on the concrete slabs. Thick fumes from nearby traffic clenched at Remus’s throat, forcing their way into his lungs. Angry horns blared over the chatter of pedestrians. Torments Falls was buzzing with life, yet a hostile atmosphere clung to the air.

Swarms of black suits marched up and down the street as if attending a collective funeral, not just heading to work. Buskers, Big Issue sellers, preachers, and street vendors mingled among them, competing fiercely with each other and the roar of traffic. The strong smell of fresh coffee and breakfast rolls tinged Remus’s nose as he weaved through a string of unremarkable cafes. Groups of school kids clustered in doorways, sharing cigarettes and jeers at passersby. Remus ignored them all, eyes focused, mind set on his destination. The events of the night before had left him exhausted, but also determined.

The Vic’s Arms brewery loomed ahead, just as he remembered—violent red bricks, peeling window paint, broken glass scattered at the entrance. Even the tall hanging sign creaked in the wind. It fit its shabby surroundings, unique only for the sour smell rising from the drains, so strong Remus could almost taste it. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would drink here; the place radiated menace. Swallowing his doubts, he gripped the door handle and shoved. Locked.

Groaning, he rapped hard at the door and waited. Nothing. He moved to the window, pressing his hands against the tinted glass to peer inside.

“It ain’t open yet, mate.”

Remus started—the voice was so familiar, for a moment he thought… “Oh, of course, my mistake,” he said, forcing a smile.

A tall, shadowy figure emerged from around the corner. “Try the off-license down Princes Street if you’re that gaspin’.”

The teen flicked his cigarette and smirked, leaning back against the wall. He took a few drags before doing a double take. “Oi, don’t I know you from somewhere?” His tone was almost accusing, but Remus smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“It’s Seb, isn’t it? My name’s Remus,” he said softly. He hadn’t expected to find the tattooed teenager so easily, but here he was, face to face with the person who might finally give him answers. He wondered what it was about this miserable place that made these boys hang around.

Seb narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Remus with distaste. Remus struggled not to shift under his glare; he needed to make a good impression. “Yeah, yeah, I know you. You’re that geezer from Toppers Alley, ain’t ya!” Seb exclaimed, recognition breaking through. “The one I punched! You kept callin’ Danny, Harvey, or Harrison or summat. Where is ‘e anyway?”

Remus said nothing, choosing to keep his distance. If he approached too fast, Seb might see him as a threat. “You got anythin’ to do with him goin’ missin’, mate? ‘Cause the way I see it, you turn up the day before he disappears, that’s proper fishy. You got some grudge ‘cause he lifted your wallet or summat—called them coppers who turned up ‘ere and took him. Probably charged him, didn’t they? He’s banged up now, ain’t he? Banged up ‘cause of you! Mate, you better get the fuck outta here ‘cause if Dirty Dave sees ya, he’s gonna kill ya. Danny was one of his best boys!”

Remus’s jaw slackened, his stomach twisting. He wanted to know more about ‘Dirty Dave’ and why Harry was one of his ‘best boys,’ but he had to be careful. Seb was defensive, and Remus didn’t want another punch. He’d have to be tactical to earn the kid’s trust.

“I can assure you, Seb, Har—Danny hasn’t been locked up. He’s safe and he’s—” Remus hesitated. Harry wasn’t happy, and that saddened him most. “He’s safe and off the streets,” he finished quietly.

“Off the streets!” Seb sucked his teeth, stepping closer. “And you’re tellin’ me he ain’t banged up somewhere? Nah, bruv, you’re lyin’! You can’t get a kid like Danny off the streets just like that! You done somethin’ to him, you grassed him up for liftin’ your wallet, admit it!”

“I’d never go to the police for a kid stealing something—especially not a wallet! If a kid’s willing to risk getting caught for a few quid, they must really need it,” Remus argued, stepping closer.

Seb snorted. “Doubt he was that desperate, mate.” He stubbed his cigarette out, looking unimpressed.

Remus frowned as sparks bounced off the concrete. “What do you mean?”

“Nothin’. So, what you doin’ here anyway? Come to see if you can sniff out another pickpocket to bang up? You on some mission to get all street kids locked away? You get a kick out of it or what?” Seb spat.

Hands raised in peace, Remus risked another step. “Listen, Seb—why don’t we go somewhere and talk? I can explain everything. It’s not what you think.”

Seb pulled out a silver lighter. “You think I’m goin’ anywhere with you, mate? You got another thing comin’. Probably got some dodgy van parked up round the corner or summat! Nah, bruv, you wanna explain what you done to Danny, you can do it right here!” He fixed Remus with a cold stare—the same look he’d seen Harry wear.

Remus exhaled and glanced around. It wasn’t ideal—too public, right outside the brewery where ‘Dirty Dave’ likely lived. But he understood Seb’s reluctance. Seb was as mistrustful as Harry.

“Can I ask, how old are you, Seb?”

Seb eyed him, sceptical. “Fifty-five, mate. And how d’you know my name anyway?”

Remus mentally berated himself; they weren’t off to a good start. “I remembered Ha—Danny using it before, when we met at Princes Alley, you called it? And you look about seventeen, am I right?” Seb, apparently accepting this, grunted, and Remus seized his chance. “Well, I’m not sure if you know, but Danny only turned thirteen today.”

Seb stopped fiddling with his lighter and scoffed. “He said he was sixteen! Always thought he looked a bit young, figured he was about fourteen ‘cause he said he’d been sleepin’ rough a while before we met him. Jesus, he was only twelve? How’d you know that?”

“Because I was there the day he was born,” Remus said simply.

Seb shot him a disbelieving look and shook his head, sinking to the ground. “Yeah, right. S’pose you’re gonna tell me you’re his long-lost dad now or some shit, yeah?”

Ignoring Seb’s overpowering body odour, Remus knelt beside him. “No, I’m not. But if I told you Danny is living at my home in the country, I’m sure you’d want to know why and how he got there, wouldn’t you?”

Seb studied Remus so intently he could almost see the cogs turning. “Bullshit,” he said. “Ain’t no way Danny’d just up and leave like that, no way! Even if you did take him, he’d run away—tellin’ you now, that kid’s slipperier than a snake.”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, he did try to get away,” he admitted. “But he came back. He’s still with me now, Seb, and I promise you he’s doing okay. Look, I want to show you something.” He shifted to access his back pocket. Seb smirked.

“Don’t learn nothin’, do ya? Keepin’ your wallet in your back pocket like that, just askin’ for trouble—specially round here. You’re lucky I earned enough yesterday to keep afloat for a while.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. He shuffled through faded photographs, hiding the ones that moved. Finding what he wanted, he offered a few to Seb, remembering with guilt that he’d never shown Harry.

“That’s Danny as a baby. He already had that mop of black hair before he was a year old,” Remus said, pointing at the first photo with a fond smile. “And if you look at that one—you’ll see where he gets it. That’s Danny’s dad, James.”

“James?” Seb repeated, tasting the word. Remus watched him.

“Funny,” Seb said, fingering the photo of James Potter holding his son, both smiling. “He always said he’d used that name before he moved to London.” He moved the picture and found one of a beautiful red-haired woman. It was obvious from her eyes—this was Danny’s mum. “He said they died, both of ‘em—in a car crash?”

Remus schooled his features quickly and nodded. “That’s right. They—his mother and father—were my closest friends.”

Seb looked up, as if seeing Remus for the first time.

“In the alley before, you kept saying this other name.” He spoke slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. “He ain’t really called Danny, is he?”

Remus met his gaze and smiled sadly. “No, Seb. His name is Harry Potter.”

Harry stumbled into the kitchen later than usual, rubbing sleep from his eyes beneath his glasses. He expected to find breakfast in full swing, sausages sizzling, Remus reading job ads with a furrowed brow. Instead, a very unfamiliar man sat in Remus’s favourite chair at the table. Harry yelped in surprise.

“Good morning, Harry, and a very happy birthday! It’s not every day a young man turns thirteen,” the stranger said pleasantly.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“I believe you could use that sentence again and it would have the same effect without the obscenity, Harry. Expression is all in your tone. Now, in answer to your question, my name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I am first and foremost a friend of Remus’s, and also the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Harry gawked. This was the man Remus had mentioned? The one who’d sent him to the Dursleys? He’d imagined someone younger, bolder, with an aura of power. This man was frail, ancient, and just plain odd.

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing in your home,” Albus continued, helping himself to toast from the rack and settling into the chair.

“Actually, I’m wonderin’ where the fuck Remus is!” Harry blurted.

“Harry, I’m sure you’re unsettled by my intrusion and Remus’s absence, but may I ask we continue this conversation civilly?” the headmaster said, pausing in buttering his toast. “I asked Remus to run an errand for me. I expect him back in a few hours. Here, take a seat—the marmalade is fantastic.”

Harry didn’t move. “What errand?” he asked, bewildered.

“Just a task I felt was important. Perhaps you’d like to read the letter he left you?” Dumbledore indicated a folded piece of parchment Harry hadn’t noticed. He snatched it up, barely aware of his heart pounding.

Harry,

I hate not being there on your birthday, especially after last night. Please know I regret it. I’ll make it up to you. The man you’ve met by now is Professor Albus Dumbledore, a dear friend and headteacher of the school you’ll attend. Please make him feel welcome. I’ll return as soon as I can.

Happy birthday, Harry.

Remus

Harry read and reread the letter, only stopping when the coppery taste of blood replaced his saliva. He’d never read anything Remus had written before, but the tone was strained, the words forced and evasive.

Folding the letter, he wondered if Remus hated him now. A lump formed in his throat. “If he’s gonna be back soon, why’d ‘e leave me a babysitter?” he asked, more forcefully than intended.

“That, my boy, was my doing. I asked Remus if I could see you alone for a while. We agreed it might be best,” Dumbledore said, smiling. Harry tossed the letter aside and dug his fingernails into his palms.

“Why?”

“For a number of reasons. First, I wanted to see how you’re doing,” the older man explained, taking a bite of toast. Something in the way he chewed irritated Harry.

“Fantastic,” Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned away. “What else?”

“I wanted to reiterate what Remus has likely told you about your magical abilities. If what he says is true, I must commend you, Harry. Your abilities are phenomenal. How did you learn such things?”

If Harry didn’t know better, he’d have thought the man was on tenterhooks. He shrugged, unable to help himself. “I could always just do it, I guess. Weird stuff’s always happened around me. I can’t control it much, and I gotta concentrate real hard if I wanna do something specific,” he admitted.

“Curious, most curious,” the headmaster mused.

“I ain’t some freak show!” Harry snapped.

“My dear boy, I never said you were. Your abilities are unique. I was only wondering if you’d had any training.”

“How could I? I’ve been sleepin’ rough for three years! Ain’t like I been to some school like you got. Ain’t exactly had the time! Anyway, I thought I was the only one who could do any of this stuff till I met your lot at the bloody Ministry!” Harry said, storming away.

“Forgive me, Harry. We know so little about you, I may have assumed. Such natural abilities are rare. I’m in awe, and naturally want to know more. It was never my intention to offend you.” Dumbledore spoke so sincerely, Harry felt a stab of guilt.

“So what? Is there a point to bein’ a walkin’ magic freak show? Or is it just a weird personality quirk?”

Dumbledore fixed him with a look that made Harry squirm. “The point, Harry, is up to you. If you choose to pursue it, I’m sure you’ll make an excellent wizard. If not, you’ll always be gifted and full of potential.”

Harry made a throaty noise. “You make it sound like I got a choice.”

“Haven’t you?” Dumbledore asked, peering over his glasses.

Harry met his gaze. “Why else did you wanna see me?”

Dumbledore lingered for a moment, then rose gracefully and walked to the window, slipping his fingers through the condensation. “Things must feel different for you now, Harry, am I right?”

Harry scuffed his trainer on the floor. “How d’you mean?”

“You’re used to life in the Muggle city—a place full of strange and wondrous things, yet no magic,” Dumbledore replied, staring out at the garden. “Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic—leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden, in all the places...”

“Of course,” Dumbledore continued, breaking Harry’s reverie. “You must be no stranger to change, having been on the run for so many months.”

Harry didn’t have the strength to deny it. He’d spent his life running, always moving, never settling. Now his feet were weary, and he was tired—so very tired. “It is different. Peaceful, I guess. Not like London at all,” he said, following Dumbledore’s gaze to the lilies blooming near the path. “Fink I actually forgot what quiet sounded like till I come here.”

The wizard nodded. “And Remus, he’s quiet too, yes?”

Why did his stomach twist at every mention of Remus? Was it guilt? Anger? Frustration? Hurt? He knotted his hands and looked away. “Yeah, he’s quiet. ‘Cept when he’s got a head on him, then you better look out! But most the time you wouldn’t even know he’s there.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, that sounds like the Remus I know. But what about you, Harry? Are you the strong and silent type?”

Harry laughed. “No chance. Though I reckon Remus wishes I was sometimes—probably why he’s always takin’ potions for headaches.”

“I doubt that. I’m sure he appreciates the noise, especially after living alone for so long. I suspect he enjoys the liveliness you bring. He thinks the world of you, Harry.”

Harry’s face flushed, and Dumbledore tactfully turned away. “A most intriguing creature—swooping evil. I myself own a phoenix,” he said after a pause. Noticing Harry’s look, Dumbledore smiled. “Another magical creature. Phoenixes possess immense healing powers. Exceptional beings. Of course, a little more well-known than this magnificent beast.”

Harry glanced out the window to see Remus’s pet dragon-bird pecking at the grass. “Beatrice. He calls her Beatrice.” Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling.

“And what do you make of the other household residents? I suspect they seem unusual to you.”

“Well, I reckon that one’s a maniac for starters! Can’t say I was too keen to meet the rest. Remus tried coaxin’ me into seein’ this weird grindylow—grimydilo—”

“Grindylow?” Dumbledore supplied.

“Yeah, that’s it. Told him if he thinks I’m goin’ near one of those, he’s mad. Showed me a picture—thing looks like an alien with teeth! Why would anyone keep that for a pet?” Harry raved, making Dumbledore chuckle.

“Your guardian is fond of studying dark creatures, wizards, and magic. He’s told you about his passion for finding new ways to combat threats. That’s why I think he’s perfect for the post.”

“Post, sir?”

“To teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Can you think of a better role? I’m sure he’d make an excellent professor.”

Harry frowned. “Does he know he’s got it? ‘Cause he’s busy tryin’ to get a job in a café right now.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “One of Remus’s greatest demons is self-doubt. He never told you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Harry said flatly, feeling stung. The old man’s eyes dulled as he looked out the window. Silence fell. Now or never. “Er, Professor, Remus said you’re the one who sent me to my relatives after my mum and dad died.”

He wasn’t sure why he was being so polite, but there was something easy to like about the old man. He had to know before he could trust him.

Dumbledore’s warm smile faded. “Yes, my boy, and I owe you a great apology. Whatever your story, I am the one to blame for your childhood, and for that I am truly sorry. That was the main reason I wanted to speak with you today. I take sole responsibility for that mistake.” He spoke with such gravity and sincerity, Harry felt compelled to forgive him.

“It’s alright, sir,” he muttered awkwardly. “Weren’t that bad, and I got out in the end.”

“My dear boy, it does matter. I cannot express how much your forgiveness means, but my decision impacted your life in the worst way. You say it wasn’t that bad, yet you were so miserable you put yourself in danger to escape. That’s right, isn’t it, Harry? You ran away from Privet Drive.”

Harry said nothing, and that was all the confirmation Dumbledore needed. He sighed, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I can never forgive myself, even if you can.” Harry looked away, wishing the ground would swallow him.

“Harry, can you share some of what you endured with your relatives? I know it must have been terrible. I just want to understand,” Dumbledore implored, looking at Harry so intensely he thought he might burn a hole through him.

“I can’t,” Harry whispered. “I—I’m sorry, but I can’t.” For a moment, Dumbledore’s face crumpled in disappointment, but he quickly regained composure.

“I understand, my child. At least, I understand why you don’t wish to confide in me. I hope you can find solace in another. Someone not so far from your world as you might think.”

Chapter Text

Click. Flash

The front door of the cottage crashed open, making Harry flinch. Every hair on his body stood on end, as if someone had injected ice-cold adrenaline into his veins.

“I’m back!” called a familiar voice. Harry’s stomach lurched, threatening to reject the marmalade toast he’d just eaten.

Dumbledore, however, smiled warmly. “Welcome home, Remus!” he called into the hall. “Harry, would you be so kind as to give us a moment?” The teen nodded numbly. The headmaster’s voice sounded distant, as if he’d been plunged underwater. The last time he’d spoken to Remus—if you could call it that—he’d declared he hated him. Worse, he’d tried to make a move on him, and Remus’s face at the time... Harry was mortified. What was he supposed to say now? How could he even begin to explain?

Truth was, he was still confused about why Remus had rejected him. He knew he wasn’t much to look at, but that didn’t usually matter when it came to favours, did it? Was it just that Remus didn’t like him? If that was true, why treat him so well? Could it really be like the headmaster said—Remus just being nice to everyone? He’d seen Remus help a struggling mum in the café, be polite to shop assistants, even offer that homeless kid money and a meal. Maybe the man really did treat everyone this way. Maybe Harry wasn’t special. Why did that thought disappoint him?

You know why, Harry. You want him to like you. You want to be special to him, don’t you? The real question is—why? Harry knew why. Because he liked Remus. Because Remus Lupin was different from anyone he’d ever met. He was everything Dumbledore had said, and Harry already knew it. That’s what scared him most. What if all this turned out to be a mistake? What if Remus was pretending, just trying to gain his trust so he could hurt him? Was the mild-mannered, middle-aged man who lived alone in the country really capable of that? His head hurt. Too many thoughts, not enough space. Oh God, he could hear footsteps. Maybe he should just run while he still had the chance.

“Hey, kiddo. How you doin’?” Harry froze.

Framed in the doorway was the headmaster, and just behind him—Remus.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll make my excuses and take my leave. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” said Dumbledore. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I hope I’ll see you again very soon. Remus, don’t worry about showing me out. Enjoy your birthday, young man, and good day to you both.” The aging wizard gave a final nod and turned. The sound of a whip cracking echoed around the kitchen, and in the next instant, he was gone.

“Disapparition,” Remus began, mistaking Harry’s expression for confusion. “It’s a means of magical transpor—”

“I know. He explained,” Harry interrupted, staring at his feet.

Remus smiled awkwardly and leaned against the doorframe. “Right, well, don’t go getting any ideas now. The wards round this place stop either of us from—”

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Harry blurted, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Remus’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why wouldn’t I come back?”

Harry looked flustered, shifting to a nearby stool and gripping it like a shield. “I thought—when I come down an’ saw that ma—Professor Dumbledore sittin’ in your chair—I thought maybe he was ‘ere to tell me you didn’t want me no more. Like you’d ‘ad enough and they was gonna take me somewhere else or somethin’.” The teen stammered. Remus frowned deeply. What had he done? How was Harry meant to trust him now?

“Harry, no! Merlin, no! Of course I’d come back. I was always coming back! I only went to pick up some things.” He held up the blue carrier bag as proof, guilt flooding through him. Why was he lying? Why couldn’t he just tell Harry where he’d been? But if he was honest, he knew why. Every detail he uncovered painted another piece of Harry’s life, and each stroke broke another piece of his heart.

Here was a boy who looked, on the surface, like any other thirteen-year-old—messy hair, bare feet. But behind the grins and glistening eyes was a desperate sadness. The way Harry looked at him now—like a predator waiting to pounce, or prey ready to flee—Remus couldn’t tell. It was almost feral, as if Harry had been raised in the wild. All Remus knew was that Harry’s eyes could discharge emotion like a drop of water on a burning match. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to hold the boy tight.

How could he tell Harry what he knew now? How could he bring up such a bleak story on his thirteenth birthday? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be the cause of more pain. God, he wanted to be the one to take it away.

“I’m sorry! About all what I done, all what I said, I’m sorry. It won’t ‘appen again, I swear,” Harry pleaded, voice raw. Remus snapped back to the present, breath laboured, sweat beading on his brow.

Ridden with guilt, Remus edged forward and reached out. “Hey, kiddo, it’s alright. I forgive you.” Harry startled as Remus laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, looking up at him searchingly. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry, Harry. I should never have spoken to you like that. Never should’ve reacted like I did. Can you forgive me? Last night, I just—I wasn’t expecting that.” Harry’s face flushed and he looked away.

“I need you to know, kiddo, I don’t—I never—” Remus tilted Harry’s chin to meet his eyes. “I think of you like a son.”

Harry’s breath hitched and he made a small noise in his throat. Remus saw him retreating into his shell, but why? Shame? Embarrassment? Guilt? He didn’t know, but he knew he had to tread carefully.

“I’d never hurt you, or take advantage of you. Ever,” he said, voice steady and sincere. “Harry, listen, what happened last night—”

“No, please stop.” It wasn’t a threat or a command, just a frightened plea that scorched Remus’s heart. He dropped his hand, giving Harry the space he needed. As soon as he stepped back, Harry offered a weak smile, letting him know he’d done the right thing.

“Wha’ d’you say we celebrate your birthday properly?” Remus asked quickly, desperate not to let tension spoil the day. “I’ve got somewhere I want to show you.”

“Yeah? Where’s that? The basement?”

Remus sighed, cursing the teen’s curiosity. “No, somewhere actually fun.”

“Fun? You ain’t takin’ me to your local poker club, are ya?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Will you get dressed?”

“How can I dress proper when I don’t know where we’re goin’?” Harry grinned.

“We’ll be outside, so find something cool.”

“What you gonna wear then? You ain’t got nothin’ that’s cool,” Harry laughed.

“I meant because it’s sunny! Now go on, get up those stairs.”

“You takin’ me to some park for a game of bowling?”

“Those short trousers should do.”

“Them khakis? I only got them to shut you up, never said I’d wear ‘em! So we goin’ to play darts in the local boozer?”

“Get dressed, Harry.”

“We goin’ to a bingo hall?” ... “Will you please get dressed?”

“I got it! We’re gonna lounge in the back garden, knit scarves for winter, and drink old port while we listen to Roy Orbison!”

Remus gave him a look. “Who’s Roy Orbison?”

“I’ll tell you when you tell me where we’re goin’!” Harry smirked.

Remus sighed. “You don’t like surprises, do you?”

“Dunno. Never had one before. ‘Specially not a birthday one.” Harry shrugged.

“Didn’t your relatives ever take you out for your birthday or throw you a party?” Remus asked, trying to sound casual.

“Course not. I got to go with ‘em to the zoo once for Dudley’s birthday ‘cause they couldn’t find a sitter for me.” A dark look flickered across Harry’s face, so quick Remus almost missed it. “Let’s just say it ended up with a Burmese python escapin’ and my cousin—Dudley—locked up in its cage.”

“What? How’d that happen?”

“Bit of a long story—didn’t you say I should get dressed?” Before Remus could reply, Harry hopped down and disappeared out the door, leaving his guardian bewildered.

…

Remus landed on his feet and immediately looked around. “For God’s sake, man, you tryin’ to kill me off?” The werewolf glanced down, hiding a smirk.

“Yeah, that’s right, you just laugh. Don’t bother tellin’ me how you always stop yourself fallin’. Where are we anyway?” Harry asked, gripping Remus’s hand as he staggered to his feet.

Remus grinned and yanked Harry up, spinning him so his back faced him, then clapped a hand over his glasses. “Guess.”

Harry was stunned by Remus’s playfulness, even more surprised he didn’t pull away.

“Remus, gerroff!” he whined.

“No, you’re not allowed to see yet. Use your other senses. Listen! What can you hear?” Harry tried to shake his head free, but Remus held fast. “Tell me what you hear.”

Harry sighed in mock frustration but listened. “Umm, the wind, splashing, and I dunno, like when you cup your hand over your ear. Is it a river? Oh, and kids, loads of screamin’ kids and music? Hold on, are we at a fairground or something?”

“Nearly. Now, what can you smell?”

“I dunno, the air’s so clean—like fresh. What am I supposed to be smellin’?”

“Think. Can you taste anything?” Remus’s low voice sharpened Harry’s senses as he licked his lips.

“Salt,” he said, uncertain.

“Close your eyes for a moment.” Remus whispered, kneeling behind him.

After a minute, Harry began to fidget. “Remus, what are you—”

“Hold out your hand.” The teen scoffed but did as asked. Remus pressed something small into his palm. “Tell me what it feels like.” Harry ran his thumb over the object.

“Is it a stone?”

Remus grinned. “Concentrate. Feel it. Describe it.”

“Well, it’s hard, bumpy, a bit pointy. But on the other side it’s hollow, smooth, filled with, I dunno, grains of salt or something? Feels weird. Like a muscle or something.”

“Now does your common sense tell you where we are?” Remus teased.

“The rainforest, right?” Harry smirked.

Remus caught his shoulders and turned him. “Look.” Harry blinked, then gasped.

A blanket of golden sand stretched out before him. The sea licked the cliffs and sloshed lazily against the shore. In the distance, a tall lighthouse stood, seagulls soared, and the sky was brochure blue. Harry glanced at his palm, amazed to find a tiny cockle shell.

“It’s not Oz, but I figured you wouldn’t mind?” Remus asked, looking so hopeful Harry nearly laughed.

“It’s brilliant!” Harry’s eyes scanned the scene. “You ever seen that film? The one with Robin Williams—What Dreams May Come?”

“No, I haven’t,” Remus said, shaking his head.

“Well, it reminds me of that,” Harry said, turning away. “If I had a heaven…”

Remus smiled softly and crouched behind him again. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

The hum of Remus’s voice in his ear was electrifying. The waves called to him like sirens. Harry kicked off his shoes and let the sand lap at his feet. With a thrill, he broke into a jog.

“Come on, Remus!” he yelled over his shoulder, but his guardian shook his head. “This is your moment, kiddo!” Harry flashed a smile that said everything.

Dizzy with excitement, Harry sprinted for the sea. Blood pounded in his head, lungs screamed for air, but he didn’t stop. He’d never felt so alive. The sun beat down, the breeze ruffled his hair, and he felt free. Without bothering to roll up his jeans, he threw himself into the tide, whooping with joy as he surfaced. In that moment, he forgot he was an orphan off the streets of London, forgot the threats, the nightmares. For the first time in his life, he understood happiness.

Remus and Harry spent the rest of the day in simple companionship—lounging on the beach, soaking up the sun, devouring ice cream. Time slipped by like water through a sieve. Harry delighted in teaching Remus Cockney slang and explaining that film in detail. Remus, for his part, fed Harry’s hunger to know about his parents and heritage. Harry listened with rapt attention, soaking up every word. When the conversation grew heavy, Remus changed the subject. They people-watched, debated cloud shapes, compared magical abilities, and teased each other until Remus declared he was getting cramps.

At Harry’s insistence, they visited the fairground. The teen even persuaded Remus onto his first rollercoaster. Harry took the drops in stride, grinning as he got off; Remus looked green and muttered “never again.” Harry teased him mercilessly. Later, as they walked to a secluded spot behind the car park to portkey home, Remus noticed Harry shivering. He pulled off his sweater and handed it over. Harry gave him an awkward but grateful smile, looking sweet wrapped in the oversized cardigan.

Harry’s face fell a little when they arrived back at the cottage, but his smile returned when Remus showed him the groceries and ingredients in the blue bag. Remus’s heart sank when Harry announced he’d never had a birthday cake before. When he asked why, Harry said the Dursleys were Jehovah’s Witnesses and didn’t celebrate birthdays. Remus knew this wasn’t true but said nothing. Instead, he transfigured a couple of eggs into candles that sang a tuneless “Happy Birthday,” just to make Harry laugh.

The golden firelight washed the lounge in a sunset glow. Harry yawned widely, eyelids heavy. Remus smiled at the sight of him sprawled across the sofa, book propped on the armrest. Secretly, he was thrilled Harry hadn’t chosen the armchair. He’d barely read a page of his own book, content just to enjoy Harry’s company.

After a hearty meal, they retired to the lounge. Remus spent time teaching Harry wizard’s chess, which Harry loved—though Remus suspected it was because the pieces battered each other and shouted insults. He loved watching Harry engrossed and laughing so easily. Eventually, Harry tired of losing and returned to the sofa, loudly declaring Remus a sneaky cheat. Remus redeemed himself by handing over more presents, delighting in Harry’s disbelief.

“What does ma-jes-ty mean?” Harry asked, frowning at his book.

“Majesty?”

“Yeah, that. What’s it mean?”

“It depends on context—could be royalty, or something awe-inspiringly beautiful,” Remus said, smiling and dropping his book into his lap. “May I?”

Harry hesitated, then handed over his book. Remus smiled at the cover. “Where were you?” he asked, and Harry pointed to a line.

“One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvellous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes.”

A calm washed over Harry as Remus read. He had no memory of being read to like this, not even as a child. His aunt had read to Dudley every night, but Harry was always sent away. There was something in Remus’s low, husky voice that he lost himself in. Before he knew it, he was crawling closer, peering over Remus’s shoulder, staring at the page until the words blurred.

He only realised Remus had finished when he looked up and saw the man watching him, amused. For once, Harry didn’t mind the attention. He leafed through the book, found his favourite chapter, and pointed. His voice was a tired whisper. “This is my favourite bit. Will you read it to me, Moony?”

Remus’s breath caught. “Remy?” Harry prompted, poking his ribs. Remus nodded, fighting tears as he read.

“At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for someone.”

He looked back at Harry, whose head was lolling against the sofa. His chest rose and fell, eyes closed. Remus was so caught up in watching Harry sleep, he didn’t hear it. Perhaps if he’d listened closer, he’d have noticed the small voice in the back of his mind repeating the same words:

“…you’ll think you’re finally seeing the real him, but then next second ‘e snatches it all away again, as if it never ‘appened. An’ you’ll be left scratchin’ your ‘ead wonderin’ if you ever really seen it at all…”

…

Click. Flash.

No matter where he looked, the red dot lingered.

Click. Flash.

The smell of scotch on his breath made his insides squirm.

Click. Flash.

It was hot in here. The radiators were on full blast. So why was he so cold?

Click. Flash.

He studied stains on the grimy mattress.

Click. Flash.

Something in return. Everything has a price.

Click. Flash.

The crackle of the radio. Sadistic laughter ringing in his ears.

Click. Flash.

The music grinded through his head, the saxophone hitting every note.

Click. Flash.

Why wouldn’t it stop?

Click. Flash.

On and on the music drowned.

Click. Flash.

Rough, leathery hands on him. Pushing him back. Gripping him tight. The prickle of an unshaven beard on his cheek.

Click. Flash.

He stiffened in fear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d done what he was told—why was this happening? The red dot swam in and out of focus. The piano reached its climax. His breathing quickened. The sharp taste of peppermint gum did nothing to cover the stench of cheap cologne. He choked. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t move. The man was too strong. Screaming. Who was screaming?

“Be a good boy now, James. Let me have my present, that’s right, just relax…”

Harry jerked awake, rolled over, and heaved the contents of his stomach over the sofa’s edge. Gentle fingers tangled in his hair, holding it back as he retched.

“Sssh, quiet now, I know it hurts but you need to stop struggling. If you’re good, I’ll be quick.”

Tears mixed with sweat. He couldn’t breathe through the retching. Panic consumed him.

“Relax, I’ll make sure you get paid.” Every inch of his body burned. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Someone was rubbing circles on his back. “Don’t panic, don’t fret, it’ll be over soon.” With his stomach empty, he began to dry heave.

“Why are you so pathetic?” He sobbed. “Hush now, I’m here. I’ll get you some water and some pain killers.” His throat was closing up.

“Stop your whimpering, little shit! If you’re lucky, I’ll get you a stiff drink and some pills—help ease the pain.” Blistering pain shot through his chest.

“Lie back down for me, Harry.”

“Lie back down for me, James!” The violins screeched like forks on a metal sink.

“Come on, cub.”

“C’mon, you little brat!”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

“You need to earn your keep, my boy.”

“That’s it, pup…”

“Atta boy, Danny…”

“…Drink this for me now, Harry…”

“Open your mouth for me now, boy.”

“…You’ve got to swallow it, kiddo…”

“I want to see you swallow…”

“…Do it for me, cub…”

“Do as I say, James…”

“…Sssh now, cub…”

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

“…It’s going to be okay, Harry, it’s going to be okay…”

Click. Flash.

Click. Flash.

Click…Flash…

Click…Flash…

Click…Flash…

…

Harry jerked his head up so fast he almost collided with Remus. He gasped, desperate for air, wild eyes searching for escape.

“Here, Harry, drink this!” a familiar voice urged, pressing something cool to his lips.

He focused on Remus’s face and let the realisation hit. Too overwhelmed to resist, he parted his lips and drank a foul-tasting potion. He spluttered and gagged, but Remus kept bringing it to his mouth until the vial was empty.

“You alright, cub?”

Sky blue eyes met green, and Harry drew a deep, calming breath. He nodded numbly, though he wasn’t sure. Everything felt hazy.

“It’s a calming draught,” Remus explained softly. “A potion to ease panic and anxiety. I gave you some dehydrating potions and something for the sickness too. They’re medicines. How are you feeling? Are you hurting anywhere? You were clutching your chest—I thought maybe I should get you some pain relief, but I wasn’t sure if it was—if you were just having a panic attack.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you were just having a panic attack,” he finished, searching Harry’s face for discomfort.

“I—I’m fine, Remus. Thanks,” Harry murmured, struggling to sit up. “Sorry I was sick. I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s okay. I already did, but Harry, you’re not okay—really, you’re not. You’re shaking, sweating, you’ve just been sick and had a panic attack! How can you say you’re fine?”

Remus knelt before him, hands on his knees, imploring. Remembering his dream, Harry looked away in humiliation.

“I’m okay, honest—I’m sick all the time, s’no big deal. Probably just ate too much, plus I panic when I throw up so…” He trailed off, knowing even he didn’t believe it. Remus raised a brow; Harry knew he was caught.

“How many times have you been ill recently? Why didn’t you tell me? We should take you to a healer at the hospital if you’re that sick—”

“No! No, Remus, please, I don’t need to go hospital. I’m fine—I just ate too much. I’d be wastin’ their time. Please.”

Remus’s alarm bells rang, but he hid it, softening his expression and leaning in.

“Why don’t you want to see a healer, cub?” Harry didn’t know what surprised him more—the fact Remus had pinpointed the reason, the look in his eyes, or the way he’d just called him ‘cub.’

“I—it’s not about seein’ some doctor. I don’t wanna go ‘cause I’m fine,” he replied, painfully aware of the quiver in his voice.

“What was your bad dream about?”

Harry pulled his knees up, hugging them to his chest. “W-What bad dream?”

Remus sighed. The boy was barricading himself again. He just hoped he could slip through before the door slammed shut. “You can tell me, Har. I’m not here to judge. I’m here to listen, to be there for you. I might even be able to help if you let me! I know you’re frightened, kiddo. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you feel like you can’t trust anyone, that everyone’s out to get you, but you have to believe me. That’s not true. I want to help you, to be someone you can turn to. All you have to do is let me in. Try me—I won’t let you down.”

Harry stared at him for a moment, then looked away. “Nice speech, Rem, but like I said—I don’t need help ‘cause I’m fine.” Remus could almost hear the shutters slam down. Damn it.

“Alright, then if you’re fine, you won’t mind telling me what your dream was about, will you? I’m fascinated by dreams—I do like astronomy. Maybe I could tell you what it means, if anything. I’ve got a book somewhere on the topic—it might help us figure it out. Mars is close tonight, and they say that’s the best time to dissect a dream, especially if it’s recurring. Where were you in the dream?”

He was winging it, and he didn’t dare look at Harry for fear the boy would see through him. He rose and walked to the bookshelf, hoping the distraction would get Harry talking. There was no such book, but it was worth a try.

Harry shifted, picking at his jeans, realising he’d fallen asleep in his clothes, next to Remus on the couch. The thought, after that nightmare, made him uncomfortable. “I’m always in a box room,” he blurted. Even he was surprised—he’d never thought much about where it happened, let alone said it aloud. But he didn’t have to tell Remus that, did he? He could just humour him, make something up. He didn’t want to disappoint Remus, not after everything, but he couldn’t tell the truth either. Remus wouldn’t understand. Maybe he wouldn’t even believe him. Or so Harry told himself. He knew all he’d have to do to prove it was take off his shirt, or go see that doctor. Then all his secrets would be out, he’d be exposed, and Remus would know exactly what he was.

“Go on,” Remus prompted, breaking Harry’s train of thought.

“It’s a—bedroom, I think, but it don’t have a bed.”

“Then how do you know it’s a bedroom? Have you been there before?” Remus asked, careful not to sound accusatory.

“No, I ain’t been there before,” Harry lied. “I just sort of know.”

Remus paused, glad his back was to Harry. “What’s in the room? What does it look like? Anything significant?”

A mattress. A tripod. A camera. Him. “Nothin’, it’s empty.”

“Is there a window?”

“Yeah, but it’s covered.” With a grubby sheet, he added silently.

Remus paused with a hand on a random book. “What are you feeling?”

Harry frowned. Not what happened? Not why was he there? Not even who else was there? What was he feeling? “Scared,” he admitted quietly. “In the dream, I felt scared.”

“Do you know what you’re scared of?” Remus pressed gently.

Harry shoved his shaking hands between his thighs. “I dunno.”

“Can you get out? Of the bedroom? Can you get out the door?”

Startled, Harry looked up. “Why?”

Remus turned to him and shrugged. “You’re in a bedroom with nothing in it, can’t see out the window, you feel scared for no reason. Is it possible you’re trapped?”

Harry’s throat was so dry he struggled to swallow. “You think it’s like a prison cell or something? What’s waitin’ for me if I don’t change my ways?” He meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way.

Remus gave him a thoughtful look. “Do you?”

For two minutes, Harry said nothing. He didn’t move. The tension in his eyes deepened, then—“It’s a bad place. Bad things happen there.”

“What bad things, Harry?” The trembling teen looked at him through thick lashes. The ghost of memory lingered on his face, and in that moment, Remus saw it. He saw every trauma, every heartbreak, every stolen innocence buried deep in Harry’s cheeks. He saw the horrors that lay in the cracks of his lightning bolt scar.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Remus reeled back. “What? Like what, Harry? How am I looking at you?”

“Like that! With pity! You’re feelin’ sorry for me again!” Harry nearly yelled. Remus understood something new—anger was Harry’s last defence. That’s why nobody ever got close. Why Seb thought he’d never see the real Harry. There was the answer, the key to unlocking every sealed door. To overcome the barriers, he’d have to overcome the rage. But how?

“You need to work on your people-reading skills, kiddo. That’s not pity—that’s curiosity,” Remus said simply. “So tell me, what bad things happen in that bedroom?”

“Kids get taken there, interrogated, told they’re wizards, then dragged off with some bloke against their will,” Harry said with a smirk.

Remus deflated. “You’re still bitter towards me, then,” he said flatly, unable to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Yes. I never said I wanted to be here, Remus, you know that.” Harry’s tone was calm, as if he were reporting tomorrow’s weather. “I think I should go up to bed. Sleep here an’ I’ll get that cramp thing you’re always moanin’ about. Oh, and try not to set the smoke alarms off again, will you? I fancy a lie-in.” He winked over his shoulder. “Night, Remy.”

“Good night, Harry.” Remus waited until he was sure Harry had reached the landing before grabbing a pillow, smashing his face into it, and letting out an anguished howl.

Chapter Text

Obstacles and Hair Dye

Harry stared blankly at the plate of dry toast Remus set in front of him. “Erm, cheers, Rem.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” The werewolf grinned, taking his usual seat opposite and reaching for the morning’s Daily Prophet.

Harry raised an eyebrow, eyeing the glass of sparkling water on his tray. “We need to go shoppin’ or somethin’?”

“Pardon? Oh, no. Dry toast’ll help settle your stomach. I didn’t think you’d want a heavy breakfast after last night,” Remus replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A faint smile touched Harry’s lips at the thoughtfulness.

“Ta. You look rough, by the way.”

“I, erm, didn’t get much sleep last night. What about you? Did you sleep well after you went up?” The teen nodded quickly and watched as his guardian flicked straight to the vacancy section of his newspaper, just as he always did, scrutinizing it carefully. Harry was about to mention Dumbledore’s job proposal, but something caught his eye.

“Who’s that?” Remus glanced at his charge, then back at the paper. His heart plummeted.

“That, Harry, is Sirius Black.”

Harry frowned at the stiff edge to Remus’s usually gentle voice. “One of the ones after me?” He reached over and grabbed the newspaper. “He’s a serial killer?”

Remus grimaced. How was he supposed to explain? It hurt enough just thinking about it. “Yes, he is. The description below should give you the details.”

If Harry was confused by his guardian’s tone before, he was baffled now. Wasn’t Remus supposed to reassure him or something? After all, he’d just picked up an article on a crazed murderer supposedly after him. With his stomach churning, a bit of comfort wouldn’t go amiss. He shot Remus a look, feeling a little stung by the sudden coldness, and started to read.

Remus watched in sick anticipation as Harry’s eyes devoured the printed words. Guilt washed over him, something he’d felt too much of lately. The Prophet didn’t contain any intimate facts, thankfully; it would be up to him to tell Harry that Sirius Black was his godfather. But he could barely stand the thought of relaying the whole story of his best friend’s betrayal to James and Lily’s only son. Harry deserved the truth, and it tortured Remus. Especially looking at that once-handsome face, now hollow and wrecked by evil. Maybe if he said it out loud, it would make it real—or maybe he was just a coward. Each time he tried, his throat closed up. He couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not yet.

“He killed thirteen innocent people?”

Fifteen, Remus corrected silently. He also killed your mum and dad.

“He looks like a maniac. Look at him—wouldn’t wanna get within a mile of him, evil bastard.” Remus looked up to see Harry glaring at the photograph with real loathing. No, he definitely couldn’t tell him.

“So why’d he break out? Was it to come after me?” Harry said it so casually, Remus almost missed the weight of the question.

“He was in prison, kiddo. The worst prison in Britain—maybe the world. Everyone there wants to escape. He’s deranged, dangerous, and I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Remus noticed and put down his juice with a heavy sigh. “I told you they call you the Boy Who Lived, that every witch and wizard knows your name. Most hail you as their saviour, but there are others—a few, but still others—who blame you for their leader’s downfall. Sirius Black is one of them. But don’t worry—the Aurors will catch him soon.”

The small teen stared at him, and for a moment, Remus thought he saw a flash of amber in Harry’s eyes. “So there’s nothing else? No other reason he wants to get hold of me? Nothing you’re not telling me?”

This time, Remus met his gaze. “No. No, there’s nothing.” Harry offered a weak smile. Remus knew it was the first time Harry had trusted him without doubt, and he’d just done the one thing he’d sworn never to do: he’d lied.

“So, you got any plans for today?” Remus asked quickly, eager to change the subject.

“Not unless you count goin’ back to bed for a bit.” Harry kicked back his chair.

“Well, I was hoping you’d come outside for a walk.”

“What, so you wanna go chill in the garden with your massive bird? Nah, you’re alright, mate. You and Beaky have fun, I’ll see you later.” Harry turned to put his plate in the sink, but Remus hooked a finger in the back of his new burgundy T-shirt and pulled him back. “Oi! You know how much this cost?”

“Twenty-five pounds and ninety-nine pence?” Remus smirked, and Harry shot him an exasperated look.

“I’m wise to your little games now, Remy. I know you’re plannin’ on showin’ me some sort of beast you want me to make friends with. I ain’t forgotten them Cornwall pixies we found in the attic the other day!”

“Cornish pixies. And I told you to use the freezing spray! Besides, it wasn’t my fault you shifted that stack of books without warning me.”

Harry sucked his teeth. “All I’m sayin’ is, strike twenty-four—you’re on your twenty-fourth warning.”

“Oh, so you don’t erase the chart at all?”

“Damn right I don’t. You gotta earn a clean slate, mate.”

“Well, in that case, that brings you up to nine strikes, Mr. Potter, and you can do the dishes tonight as a punishment.”

“What? Just ‘cause I said ‘damn’? That ain’t even a bad word! And I ain’t even done nothin’ to earn nine warnings!”

“Maybe not to some, but to me it is. So yes, dishes and nine strikes for your cheek. Remember, you get to ten and you’re losing a privilege.” He tried to look stern as Harry spluttered indignantly. “Now, are you coming into the garden with me, or am I going to have to drag you?”

Harry huffed, arms crossed. “Fine, have it your way then.”

“Ah, before you go, put this on.” Harry spun round and caught the offending object, eyeing it with distaste.

“A blindfold? You serious?”

“Deadly. Now put it on, go on, I’ll direct you.” Despite his anxiety, Harry couldn’t help but grin a little at Remus’s excitement and reluctantly obliged, letting Remus guide him out of the house and into the backyard. It wasn’t until Harry nearly tripped over his shoelace and started demanding to know where he was going that Remus finally let him take it off.

“It’s an obstacle course?”

Remus grimaced at Harry’s bemusement. “Indeed it is.”

Unable to stand tossing and turning in bed any longer, he’d made his way out to the garden last night for some air. He couldn’t stop the anxious thoughts spiralling. Inspiration struck when he found himself circling the small lake near the cottage. At the time, it seemed like the best idea he’d ever had—but watching Harry’s brow furrow now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You don’t have to try it. I just thought it might be a good way to relieve some stress. I get it if it’s a bit much,” he said, eyeing the broomsticks he’d set over the burning fire.

“You did all this just so I could de-stress?” Harry repeated, and Remus knotted his hands together. He always found it hard to gauge what Harry was feeling when he used that deadpan tone and passive body language. It was when the teen was most unpredictable, and that worried him. Maybe he’d overdone it with the blindfold.

“I thought maybe you’d enjoy it.”

Nothing. Remus’s stomach clenched. Maybe it wasn’t just the blindfold. “You know what, Harr—”

“It’s amazing.” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth without a hint of sarcasm, and Remus felt his heart lighten.

“Really?” he asked, hating how weak his voice sounded.

“Really, it’s awesome! I can’t believe it. You must’ve stayed up half the night. Did you really do all this for me?” Harry said, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Of course I did. I know my good looks are deceiving, but I’m a little too old to be crawling under nets in the mud and swinging from monkey bars. But don’t worry, everything’s safe—it’s all fall-proof.” The teen stepped forward, tracing the course with wonder. Remus had thought of everything: various assault course activities formed a large circle that took up most of the yard. There was a stack of wooden barrels with a giant yellow slide fixed to its peak, an assortment of flaming old lorry tyres, and a narrow plank supported by two rusty ladders as a balance beam. The sheer height made Harry dizzy. He felt a little sick when he saw a large tunnel blocking the path to the finish. There were vaulting boxes and diving boards, everything fused together by some invisible force. Yet Harry got the sense Remus had worked hard to cram everything into the small space and make it feel familiar.

“Fall-proof?”

“Yes, well, I had to make sure it was safe.”

Harry nodded, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “What’s with the punch bag?”

“Out of everything here, you ask about the punch bag?”

Harry turned to Remus, curious. “Just seems a bit out of place, that’s all.”

“It’s an effective way to work off some pent-up emotion, don’t you think?”

“Bit elaborate, yeah. Some might say you like to push boundaries.” Harry smirked. “Heard a bit about you, you know.”

“Ah, so you have been warned?” Remus smirked back, waggling his eyebrows.

“Feelin’ honoured your reputation goes before you?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Harry clicked his tongue. “Touché.”

“What can I say, I’m a Marauder. Tell me, kiddo, what reputation do you think goes before you?” Remus asked, not noticing the way Harry stiffened.

“Dunno. Not a good one, I s’pose.” He made a show of dabbing his face dry with the towel to hide his reddened cheeks.

Remus leaned forward and caught his elbow, tugging him back. “Why’d you do that?”

Though the laughter had faded, his tone was still light. Harry couldn’t help but blush more. “Just some people told me once,” he said with a dry laugh.

Remus chewed his lip, considering. “You shouldn’t listen to what people say, Harry. Look at their actions—they’ll show you if their motives are true.”

“You sound so self-righteous!” Harry said, though his tone was more resigned than defiant.

“What reputation d’you think I have, then?” Harry asked, curiosity sneaking through.

“Well, like I told you when we went shopping,” Remus said, raising his wand and pouring water into the bath to check the temperature. “I think the world has a very different idea of what you are to who you actually are. And I think the opinions of strangers matter very little.” Why did the boy seem to deflate at that? What did he want to hear? “I mean it in a good way, Har,” he added, tilting his head to catch Harry’s eye.

Harry made a throaty sound and kicked at the grass. “Sure you did.”

“I did,” Remus insisted.

“Can I ask you something, Remy?” Harry said, finally looking away from the course. “What d’you think of me?”

Remus narrowed his eyes, trying to read the meaning behind the question. “I think you’re stubborn, defiant, and tend to bottle things up, but—”

“Cheers, keep goin’, you’ll give a bloke a complex.”

“But I also think you’re intriguing.”

“I’m not a novel!”

“Incredibly bright—”

“Like a lightbulb?”

“Quick-witted, funny—”

“Can you put that in writing for my agent?”

“And there’s a lot more to you than most people see.”

“Might as well call me an onion.”

Remus did a double take. “What?”

“Onion. Layers. More under the surface than you see.” Harry shrugged, turning back to the monkey bars.

“You’re a one-off, kiddo, I’ll give you that.”

…

“It’s still blank, Minister. Don’t you think this is a concern?” The balding man hissed, bending over the mahogany desk.

Cornelius Fudge closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as if warding off a migraine. “As I’ve told you before, McClouchan, the boy is only at Hogwarts for now. Once this Black business is over, other arrangements for his guardianship will be made.”

“With respect, sir, Dumbledore’s told us nothing. How do we know what he’s been telling the boy? Or what the boy’s been telling him?”

“Patience, McClouchan. When the time is right, we’ll question young Potter and get our answers. But right now, I don’t need the press, the publicity, or the pressure of placing him with a surrogate family!”

“Minister, we could keep it from the press if you wish, but imagine how the public will hail you. When they realise it was us who found the kid, you’ll be the people’s hero. Imagine what they’ll say when they know you rescued Harry Potter from a life of crime and danger on the streets. How you saved him from poverty, gave him shelter, food, education!” McClouchan gestured animatedly.

“And when Black is caught, I’ll add that too! Don’t you see? I’ve received intelligence that up until his escape, Black was muttering in his sleep every night—he’s fixated on one thing. He’s after the boy. There’d be uproar if that was common knowledge now. That’s why we must wait, wait for the Aurors to catch him and the Dementors to deliver their kiss. Only then will Harry Potter be truly safe and my efforts fully appreciated!”

McClouchan stared blankly. The tick-tocking in his brain was almost visible as he processed this. “My apologies, Minister. I hadn’t considered that.”

Fudge nodded curtly and sat back. “For now, McClouchan, focus on finding Black. Report to Kingsley Shacklebolt—he’s leading the search.”

“But, sir, about the boy—don’t you think an interview would help? We know nothing about him. Where he’s been, who he’s been with, what his magical abilities are!”

“And the boy will have questions too. Dumbledore will want to know what we intend to do with him, and the boy will ask about his place in our world. We must be methodical, justified. We can’t make suggestions without reasonable grounds. Dumbledore will question our every motive. We need to outwit him if we want custody and to make Potter a ward of the Ministry,” Fudge replied.

A strange, satisfied smile spread across the Auror’s lips. “Well, sir, depending on his answers, and if he poses any threat, we may need to detain him for his own safety—and others. The public would be sympathetic if they thought the child’s mind was warped. It’s possible—for all we know, we don’t know where Potter’s been for three years, nor why he disappeared.”

“You mean you think the kid’s been influenced by dark forces? You think he’s even come across such things? He never showed signs of magic before—do you really think he’s capable of that?”

“How has the most famous child of our age survived alone on the streets for so long? He’s shown an aptitude for violence and deceit. He’s defied authority, has an appalling attitude. I’d say he’s got narcissistic qualities, maybe even psychopathic tendencies. The idea that Potter isn’t all he claims to be isn’t implausible, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Fudge admitted quietly, staring at a lone pile of paperwork. “But for now, I stand by what I said. He’s too well protected, especially at Hogwarts. Forget about the boy for now. Concentrate on finding Black. Find Black, then we’ll focus on Potter. Do I have your word, Edmund?”

The Auror dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Yes, Minister. You have my word.”

…

Later that night, Remus was hunting for fresh sheets in the airing cupboard when he noticed the bathroom door ajar. Curious, he peeked in and found a rather amusing sight. Harry stood in the middle of the room, towel around his shoulders, head covered in thick, gloopy foam. Remus grinned as the teen glared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Honestly, if you’re trying to look more presentable, a good cut might help. All that grease makes you look horrendous—not to mention it’s dripping down your face.”

“That’s ‘cause I ain’t finished yet!” Harry cried, slumping onto the closed toilet seat. “I liked mirrors better when they didn’t talk.”

The sharp stench of peroxide hit Remus as he opened the door and surveyed the state of his once-immaculate bathroom. “I’m no expert, but aren’t you supposed to wash it out before adding the colour?” he asked, noticing Harry reaching for the dye.

Harry scoffed and grabbed the leaking bottle. “What? That ain’t what it says on the label!”

Remus crossed the room, pulled out the leaflet, and waved it at Harry. The teen snatched it, scanning the instructions. “Urgh, but I took a shower an hour ago! Don’t tell me I gotta do it again,” he grumbled, wiping a gloved hand over his brow.

Remus wrinkled his nose as the gloop smeared over Harry’s forehead. “How long does it say to leave it on?”

“Errr, forty minutes—aww, now my hair’s gonna start falling out.” He flopped against the wall. “Don’t you dare laugh! It ain’t funny!”

Remus threw up his hands, innocent. “I can’t believe you skipped the instructions.”

“Yeah, well, the print’s too small. And how’m I supposed to wash it off? This stuff sticks like glue—I can’t even get a comb through it.” Harry tossed the box in the bin.

“Why do you never ask for help, kiddo?” Remus asked, meaningfully.

“I don’t need your help! I can do it myself.”

Remus’s lips twisted in a grimace. “Alright, dinner’ll be ready soon. I don’t care if you look like a bald midget, be at the table in fifteen minutes.” He turned to leave, but heard Harry mutter something.

“What was that?”

“I said—nothing, just forget it.”

“Suit yourself.” Remus tossed the leaflet aside, cursing himself for thinking he’d struck a chord with Harry that morning.

He’d tried so hard to make things work, and all he got was, “I don’t need your help,” which really meant, I don’t need you. Maybe he was right. Whatever Harry needed, maybe Remus wasn’t the one to give it. Maybe Dumbledore was wrong. He had nothing to offer Harry—nothing he wanted, anyway. He couldn’t help the boy. He’d failed—failed the headmaster, James, Lily, himself, but most of all, Harry.

That’s not fair, a small voice in his head said. He’s trying, isn’t he? A week ago, he’d have exploded at you. He’s making progress! But the progress was agonisingly slow. Every time Remus chipped away at Harry’s walls, a new layer grew back, tougher than before. He’d hoped the assault course might ease some of the anger. He’d hoped the beach trip for Harry’s birthday would show he cared. He’d hoped the presents would be enough. So yes, he was justified in his frustration.

“Remus?” The werewolf was so lost in thought he didn’t notice the call. “Remus, I said, are you okay?” What was it going to take to get through to him? “REMY! TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG!” He turned sharply and saw the young boy’s anxious face, knuckles white on the doorknob. “Please?”

If his emotions weren’t so close to the surface, Remus would have found the situation comical. Harry looked worried, but the frothy gunk on his head made it hard to take seriously.

“I gotta figure out how to get my shirt off without ruining it so I can get back in the shower in about two minutes. So if you wouldn’t mind cutting straight to it and telling me what I said that’s got you all hyped up, I’d appreciate it.” He spoke so calmly it almost made Remus shudder.

Remus held Harry’s gaze a moment, then something clicked. “Kneel down by the bath and tip your head forward.”

“What? Why?”

“Because until you start asking for help when you need it, I’m going to do everything for you.”

“What? No way!”

“Yes way—head down, now.” Remus moved towards him, and Harry backed away.

“I ain’t a kid!”

“Needing help doesn’t make you a kid. It makes you human.” Misjudging the distance, Harry’s heel hit the bath and he lost his balance. Remus caught his arm before he slipped, and Harry shot him an embarrassed look, which Remus met with a smile.

“Alright, you wanna wash my hair? Knock yourself out. Just don’t blame me when your hands get stuck—it’s matted as hell!”

Remus grinned and fiddled with the shower head as Harry knelt. The teen giggled when water splashed off the tub and soaked him. Remus gave him a playful shove. “Alright, enough fun—let’s get down to business. Close your eyes.” He raised his wand to pour water, but Harry caught his wrist.

“Can we leave the door open?” Remus blinked, glancing at the wide door. “I know, but can we keep it open?” Harry whispered.

“Sure we can, kiddo.” Harry rewarded him with a small smile and lowered his head.

“You claustrophobic?” Remus asked, brushing stray hairs from Harry’s neck.

“Somethin’ like that. Oh my God, are you tryin’ to give me brain freeze?”

Remus apologised and adjusted the temperature. “Better?”

“No, now it’s too hot and it’s runnin’ up my nose. Quit messin’ about and just point it at my head, will you?”

“I could turn your hair pink, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“If you can change hair colour, how come you bought me dye? And how come you’re still ginger?” Remus laughed.

“Because if it comes out wrong, you can’t blame me. And I don’t care about fashion.”

Harry snorted, mumbling something like, “I noticed.” Remus quickly discovered Harry hadn’t been exaggerating. His hair was tangled like necklaces left too long in a box. Tackling it was like fighting Devil’s Snare. He bit his tongue, determined to soften the knots, but was interrupted by Harry’s taunts and protests.

“Oh no, I didn’t think this would happen!” he blurted, cutting Harry off mid-sentence.

The teen jerked his head back. “What? What’s happened?”

“Don’t freak out, but I think you left it on too long.”

“Get me a towel, I can’t see with water in my eyes!”

“You sure you want to see? Maybe I could fix it first.”

“Just tell me what you’ve done! It’s fallin’ out, innit?”

“Well, the patches aren’t too bad. I could colour your scalp, or we could use a wig—no, Har! Don’t rub it dry yet! Don’t touch it! It might break off!”

“Oh please tell me you’re jokin’!” Harry darted to the mirror and Remus couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Your face!” he cried, laughing as Harry ran anxious fingers through his hair. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment—oh boy, was it worth it!” Tears streamed down Remus’s face as he laughed at Harry’s glare. “Sorry, kiddo, but I couldn’t resist!”

“That’s just cruel, Remus! You’re evil!” Harry spluttered, arms crossed. “You idiot!”

“Ah, so he can dish it but he can’t take it, eh? Sorry, kiddo, but you deserved it.” Remus grinned, and Harry groaned.

“You’re a first-class jerk, you know that?” he grumbled. “Thought you were meant to be setting examples for me!”

“I never did too well leading by example. Ask Dumbledore—he made me prefect in fifth year hoping your dad would—”

“Settle down ‘cause he thought you’d be a good influence. Dumbledore told me himself he made a mistake there.” Harry finished.

Remus’s grin softened. He let his gaze linger on the teen’s ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ expression. “Come on, let’s wash the rest out.” He gestured for Harry to kneel again.

After a while, Remus conquered most of the knots. Harry found himself soothed by the rhythmic motion of Remus’s hands in his hair. He focused on the gentle touch, the lavender-scented shampoo, and let the buzzing in his head quiet. He relaxed, unconsciously leaning into Remus’s hands as the warm water trickled down his cheeks. His eyelids drooped. For once, he didn’t mind being touched.

They stayed that way for a while, Remus drawing small circles and running his fingers through Harry’s hair, watching his hardened expression melt into peace. Eventually, Harry shifted, stretching like he was stiff. He rubbed his back, accidentally lifting his shirt enough for Remus to see. A tiny hitch of breath was the only sign Remus gave of seeing the scars on Harry’s skin. Oblivious, Harry didn’t even open his eyes.

Remus wished he hadn’t seen the angry welts at all; suddenly, anger coursed through him. After Seb’s revelations, he’d felt rage, but this was worse. Seeing it—the bare truth—hit him harder than he’d expected. If this was his reaction to a few scars, how would he cope if he ever saw more?

Harry must have noticed something in Remus’s touch had changed, because he cracked open his eyes and sat up slowly, stretching.

Taking a deep breath, Remus cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something, Harry? Why’d you really want to dye your hair?”

Harry shot him a curious look, then traced the grout between the tiles. “If I tell you, do I still get a proper one?” Remus grinned. “You don’t forget, do you, kiddo?”

“Draws too much attention,” Harry muttered, then gave a bitter laugh. “Sick of people making comments about it, y’know?”

“Can I ask you something else?” Remus waited for Harry’s nod. “Why’d you ask what I thought about you earlier?”

“It’s stupid,” Harry muttered, shaking his head.

“More stupid than comparing yourself to an onion?” Remus smirked, giving him a playful nudge. Harry’s shoulders tensed.

“I dunno, it’s just—people don’t usually like me much. Most think I’m a common thief from the gutter with an attitude and a bad temper.” Remus frowned but gestured for him to go on.

“I know you said people’s opinions don’t matter. But even people I know well think it, y’know? And I know it’s true but, I dunno, sometimes I think maybe you see somethin’ different.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Remus. “Like I said, it’s stupid. Course that’s what you see. S’what I am.”

Remus reached to touch his chin, but Harry jerked away. Remus caught the haunted shadow that flickered across Harry’s face.

“It’s not who you were, Harry, or even where you come from. It’s who you are and where you’re going that truly defines you.” He leaned forward, hoping his words would land. “When you asked what I thought of you, I should’ve just said it then—what I’ve always thought but never said: I think you’re perfect just the way you are, flaws and all.”

Harry’s head snapped up. He stared, wild-eyed, before disbelief twisted his features. “You can’t say that. You don’t know me! You can’t say that after what—a week of knowing me?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Maybe not, but you know what I can say? I’m willing to bet I’m the only one you’ve ever asked what they think your reputation is. The fact you care what others think, that alone makes you a good person. Isn’t perfection an opinion? Like it or not, that’s what I think, and I get that’s hard for you to believe, knowing you’ve spent a lifetime surrounded by people who didn’t appreciate you. But it’s true. You say I shouldn’t judge after a week, but you, Harry—you shouldn’t judge yourself by the words of people with hidden agendas.”

Silence hung between them. After almost five minutes, Harry finally spoke, breaking Remus’s heart. “What’s your hidden agenda, Remus? What’s the real reason I’m ‘ere?”

Denial was his first instinct. He wanted to swear he had no interest in taking anything from Harry, that he just wanted trust, a real relationship. But Dumbledore’s words echoed, and the response died on his tongue.

“You’ll see my agenda, Harry, when you want to see it. Then you’ll know, and maybe you’ll understand.” Harry paused, emotions flickering across his face before settling on the one Remus knew too well: he was closing himself off. Remus let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Harry leaned over the tub.

“You gonna finish what you started, then? Or did you create that little diversion ‘cause you’d had enough?” he joked, gesturing to his hair.

“No, kiddo. Believe me—I always finish what I start.”

Chapter Text

Though his eyelids itched and burned as if his eyelashes were needles, Harry couldn’t let sleep claim him. He’d tossed and turned until the early hours. Dragging a hand through his wiry hair, he cursed the throbbing behind his eyes and the sour taste of plaque on his tongue. He’d brush his teeth again, but leaving the safety of his bed wasn’t an option.

With his bedroom shrouded in twilight, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from the shadows, waiting for him to give in. Lurking in the floorboards, hiding in the window sealant, biding its time for the right moment to strike. It would be like a silent killer: first poisoning the air, intoxicating his lungs, spreading through his bloodstream. Then, when he lowered his guard, it would pounce—strangle, squeeze, and suffocate until it snuffed out his life. Only then would it release its grip.

Fear always made Harry feel vulnerable. It was a weakness that drove him into panic, and panic always made him want to escape. Breaking free from the devil’s clutches was all he ever wanted, but when night fell, it became a game of hide-and-seek. That’s why he dreaded the nights alone. At least at the Vic’s Arms, he could share a room or even a bed with someone. Anything to escape the monsters of the night. But alone in his own room, he could never outrun it. Hiding only delayed the inevitable, and no matter how hard he tried, it always found him.

He hated the scratching of claws at his flesh, the bursts of hot air on his neck, the whispering in his ear. The way it coiled around him, tight enough to melt his skin. The way it would consume his innocence, feed off his fear, cover him in cold hate. Defile him. Humiliate him. Reduce him to tears. He just couldn’t take it. He never could. He was fighting an invisible attacker—one so clever and strong he was sure he’d never win.

A dry sob raked through his shivering body as he forced the thoughts from his mind. Restless and plagued by dread, he curled up and prayed for sunrise. He’d do anything for one of Seb’s cigarettes right now. He lay there in darkness until he couldn’t stand it any longer. His legs carried him to the bedroom door, pausing only to grab his comforter. His feet seemed to know where they were headed, and soon he found himself in the lounge. Although nothing was disturbed, it looked different. Spoiled somehow. Had the monsters got into this room too?

Clinging to the assurance that Remus was only upstairs, he settled on the couch and tucked the patchwork quilt around himself despite the summer warmth. He needed a barrier, a shield to ward off the predators. The blanket felt like a guard. Even when he’d slept rough, he’d always had his sheet. Back on the streets, Harry had guarded his blanket with his life. It was his protection, his only weapon against the harsh realities. He’d fought hard for the privilege of keeping to himself. The fact he didn’t have to now felt wrong, like he didn’t deserve it. The comfort from the cottage, the sanctuary it offered—he hadn’t earned it. He’d only ever taken from Remus, yet the man didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he continued to share everything with Harry. Why was that?

Was it because Remus was lonely? He always seemed at ease with his own company, so Harry wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was just a feeling, or maybe he sensed it through magic. Or perhaps it was obvious—Remus Lupin didn’t have any friends. No one except Albus Dumbledore had visited since Harry arrived. No pictures on the walls, no house phone, no calendar of social events. He seemed a recluse. It was strange. The man was so laid-back. How could someone so warm and gentle have no one else? What was it about him that people didn’t like? They were two of a kind, Harry thought. Lone wolves without any real sense of belonging. Or Harry was, anyway. He’d never known what it was like to belong. Well, not unless he counted, but Harry did everything not to count him. The thought of being someone’s property repulsed him, just like every time he’d been touched and his stomach churned.

Perfect. That’s what Remus had called him. Perfect. Just like dirty Dave did. But when the brewery landlord said it, he’d been pressing his thigh against Harry’s and leering in a way that made him feel cheap. Yet when Remus said it, it meant something different. He’d said it softly, as if it were fragile. Harry snorted to himself; little did Remus know, his adopted runaway was as far from perfect as you could get. If only he knew what Harry had done. If only he knew what had become of his best friend’s son. A beggar, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a con-man, a thug, a freak, a worthless brat, a pro—

Harry cut his thoughts short and shoved them away, locking them deep in his mind. Why was he overthinking so much? What was it about this man that made him feel like this? Was he going soft? He knew when it started—when he first came to stay here. From the moment he’d entered the cottage, he’d been different. It was as if stepping through the door had ruptured his safety net and triggered chaos. Danny Earl had been buried underneath it all. He was careful not to slip and reveal himself to the man who’d brought him here. He maintained his composure, concealed every wild emotion, every traumatic memory, every pain-filled thought. Yet there was something. Something in the sideways glances Remus would give him, in the comfortable silences, the laughter, the chewed fingernails, that made Harry want to show him. To take down the mask and reveal the truth. But why? Why was he suddenly desperate to reveal the secrets he’d spent his life hiding? Maybe it was because he’d carried this burden for so long he’d forgotten how to lay it down. Why hadn’t he ever laid it down?

Because it was never an option. Revealing your secrets was NEVER an option, Potter. That’s why you ran in the first place, remember? What do you think will happen if you let go now? Face it, kid, for the rest of your life, wherever you go, whatever you do, you’ll carry this baggage. It has to be that way. It’s your only choice.

He hated that voice in his head. It made him want to rewire his brain or rip it out. Chewing his lip, he picked at the wallpaper behind him. It was a colour that should have only been used for the flower it was named after. Or so he’d thought before. Here, in the countryside home, he liked its simplicity—a contrast to the clutter. It was calming, a stark contrast to the red brick brewery back at Torments Falls.

He sighed as he tore a piece of paper off and shredded it. What was he going to do? How would he get out of this situation? The only thing that made him feel better was remembering that, for once, he wasn’t responsible for this mess. But being out of control, not knowing how to get it back or where to turn, made him feel worse. He needed to get back to the life he knew. It wasn’t a great life, but it was his, and he missed it. Here, surrounded by greenery and magical birds, he felt completely out of his depth. He didn’t care what Remus, Dumbledore, or the Ministry thought. What was best for him was to get away. He didn’t need Hogwarts. He needed London, tower blocks, and traffic. Not potions and broomsticks. Life here was comfortable—food and a bed were guaranteed, not a privilege—and yes, that’s what he’d always wanted. But this was like being on another planet. He couldn’t survive here, let alone be happy.

So what if these people could do magic like him? That wasn’t much consolation for losing everything he knew. If he stayed, he’d never fit. No matter how much he or anyone else wanted him to, he wasn’t meant to be part of this world. Even if he tried, it wouldn’t work. He was too different, and if anyone here ever found out why, he’d be too ashamed to stay. He didn’t know what Remus or this magical world expected from him. Everything he’d learned so far was confusing. The thought of going back to school was odd, but a magical school was even stranger.

Annoyed by his own procrastination, he rifled through the drawers for a notebook and pen. If he was going to get anywhere, he’d need an escape plan—not an impulsive one this time. It would have to be good. Remus was too clever, but by mapping it out, Harry was sure he could outwit him. It was, after all, his expertise.

He tossed objects aside as he searched, only stopping when he found an old pipe. Fingering the wooden instrument, he remembered the small tobacco pouch he’d stashed upstairs. A little more digging produced a lighter, and a spark of excitement lit his face. Forgetting the paper and pen, he raced upstairs to find his pouch. It wasn’t as good as a nicotine fix, and nowhere near as appealing as a lump of green, but watching his troubles disappear behind a cloud of smoke was just as tempting. It might even take the edge off.

One smoke session later, he finally relaxed enough to lie back down. Half an hour later, he closed his eyes, letting his mind return to his seaside. Focusing on his other senses as Remus had taught him, he revisited the beach and spent the rest of the night getting swept up in sea waves and the lingering smell of smoke.

…

It wasn’t lost on Harry that Remus was distracted. At breakfast he chose porridge, no sugar, and looked ill when Harry switched on the espresso machine, filling the kitchen with coffee. He even berated Harry when he smelled smoke on his clothes. Harry tried to deny it, but that only disappointed his guardian more. He felt a pang of guilt when he saw hurt ripple across the older man’s face, causing him to admit he was a smoker. Remus gritted his teeth when Harry added a few choice words, something he instantly regretted when the vein in the man’s neck began to twitch. Realising he’d gone too far, he bolted upstairs and into his bedroom. Out of sight, out of mind—that was always the best way. The best way to avoid confrontation. He’d learned that from his uncle.

Only when his bladder insisted did he come out, and Remus was on him the moment he did. After fifteen minutes of being ‘talked to,’ he finally interrupted to ask to go to the loo. From the look Remus gave him, he half expected him to keep ranting through the door.

Lunch was tense. For the first time in ages, Harry wanted to apologise. He felt awkward, never having seen Remus act like this before. His hardened exterior was the opposite of his usual warm manner, and Harry wondered if he was seeing the man’s true colours. The thought filled him with a sadness he couldn’t explain. He swallowed his pride and tried to start conversations, but even when Remus responded, Harry could tell he was only humouring him. There was a vacant look on his face, as if the real Remus was miles away. Why? Possibilities swam in Harry’s head, each as unlikely as the next. He simply didn’t know enough about the man to know what was going on. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much. Paranoia crept in when Remus excused himself during a game of chess after lunch. He told Harry to stay out of the lounge and later asked to swap rooms so he could use the floo in the kitchen in private. If Harry wasn’t so taken aback, he would have protested, but the stern look told him not to challenge it. Feeling stung, he shot him a glare and made sure to kick the chair over on his way out.

Even as he passed the metal security door into the lounge, he didn’t notice it had been left ajar. Grabbing a book, he dropped onto the couch and tried to focus on Dickens, but soon found he was too lost in his thoughts to read. He got up and turned to the record player. He wished he had Mallory’s old walkman. He’d do anything to hear some heavy metal. Music never failed to drown out the noise of the world, and that’s what he needed.

The thing about living in an enchanted cottage is that sometimes, peculiar things happen. For Harry, this meant that almost as soon as he wished for music, a quiet stream of jazz began to play. The tempo crept over him like fingers drumming on his skin. The saxophone droned, the piano danced, the trumpets accented their notes. Its effect was immediate—he flinched as if a firework had gone off at his feet. Panic melted through him. His head spun, he bit his cheek until it bled, leaving a sharp tang of fear on his tongue.

He tried to tell himself it was just Remus playing a prank for breaking the chair. He turned, half expecting to see the auburn-haired man grinning, but his heart sank when he realised he wasn’t.

He called out to the vacant room. But instead, the track skipped, and a new song started. Harry recognised it immediately and shivered. For some, the tune might have evoked childhood memories, but for Harry, it was layered with undertones that reminded him of danger.

Driven mad by the music and the lack of a source, Harry searched the living room for the record player. He found the spot where the music was loudest, near the bookcase. The longer he searched, the more he realised the sound was coming from below. Confused, he scanned the lounge until he saw the steps leading down to the cellar.

With a sense of foreboding, he moved towards the open trap door. Each step made the music louder, pushing him forward until he reached the bottom. He placed a shaking hand on the metal, shocked at how cold it was, and drew back. As abruptly as the song began, it stopped. Harry held his breath, waiting for another sound, but none came. Only the faint ticking of the grandfather clock. The ticking merged into a soft, familiar click. He squeezed his fists, bracing for the inevitable flash, and sure enough, a shock of light burst through the cracks, casting his shadow before it vanished. Every fibre of him screamed to go back.

Flash.

As memories threatened to overpower him, a fierce determination arose.

Click.

No! He wasn’t dreaming, and he wasn’t there anymore. This wasn’t happening. His mind was playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Flash.

A surge of courage flowed through him. He wasn’t going to stand there and take this. He wasn’t about to relive it all again. Just open the door, a voice urged him.

Click.

In a rash act, Harry slammed his fist into the steel board. Darkness swallowed him, and for a moment he stared into oblivion. His vision tunnelled as if through an unfocused telescope.

Flash.

The room was plunged into light, but this time it didn’t disappear. It faded to a dull glow that clung to the room. Fear enveloped him as he gazed around. There was nothing here. Just an empty cellar, cold and unwelcoming, faintly smelling of damp.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was just his imagination. Maybe there actually was some skunk left in the tobacco he’d smoked earlier. Maybe it had ripened with age and become stronger. Yes, that had to be it. With one last look at the empty room, he turned to leave, vowing never to tell Remus—he’d never live it down.

“Where you goin’ Danny?”

Harry whipped round faster than lightning. His rib cage expanded quickly to draw in air. He knew that voice—it haunted his dreams every night. He opened his mouth to scream, but his throat was too dry; only a rasping whimper escaped.

“I asked yer a question.” The voice drifted from the corner of the small room. Harry squinted into the shadows and barely made out the faint outline of a man. A very large man. “Be a good lad and come ‘ere now.”

The figure stepped forward, and the dangling light bulb above illuminated his face. Harry’s muscles froze in fright as he took in the disfigured features and hungry, coffee-coloured eyes. “Oh Danny boy, don't pretend yer shy, there’s no need ter hide sugar. We boff know why yer ‘ere, so why don’t yer come a wee closer, eh? Let me spot yer properly. I’m sure you can’t see me frum ovaa there yah know.” The man drawled, offering a leathery hand. “S’been a while ‘asn’t it Danny? Yer ain’t bin ‘iding from me, I ‘ope.”

His voice was coated with sticky oil; every word slipped over Harry like syrup on a pancake. “N-no, course not.” He shoved his trembling hands deep in his pockets and padded slowly towards the impatient man. Dave smiled toothily, wrinkling his scarred cheek. Harry bit his bottom lip to fight rising nausea.

“I almost forgot ‘ow gorgeous yer are.” He wrapped a hand around the back of the teen’s head and pulled him close, burying his once-broken nose in his unruly hair. “Hmmmmm, I’ve missed that smell, but wot’s wiv the brown ‘air? Yer know ‘ow much I luv yer raven mop.”

Harry winced as Dave fingered the back of his freshly dyed hair almost lovingly and rested a hand on the crook of his neck. His eyes widened in alarm as Dave’s free hand fumbled with the buckle of his jeans. “Stop.” He said weakly, trying to bat the man’s insistent hands away, but Dave snickered.

“Bit too keen f’yer, eh squirt? Well, yer shouldn’t keep me ‘angin’ on for so long. It’s been more than a week, yer know. Haven’t yew needed yer special discount? I know I’ve needed me special treat.”

“Fought yer would ‘ave been glad I saved yah some money.” Harry retorted, his voice stronger than he expected.

Dave’s dirty laugh bounced off the dripping walls. “Well aii, can’t deny I saved meself a few bucks, but wot can I say? Them green eyes are worff a pretty penny. Yer not like the uvvers Danny, yer sumfink special, right? Even if you ‘ave got a nasty bite.” Harry shuddered as the old man curled his lip and groped at his stomach from under his shirt. “Yer’ve put on a bit of weight, ‘aven’t yer? Not as skinny as before. I ‘aven’t lost yer ter some uvver blimeyer, ‘ave I?” He teased with a sly grin, making the teen flush.

“You prick!”

Dave’s smirk widened as he pressed a hand over Harry’s mouth. “I’d be careful if I were yer kiddo, don’t want me copping all ‘ot and bovvered now, do yer? But then again, I already am. S’not easy keeping meself under wraps ‘ere with you lookin’ at me like tha’. Sure the Mrs does ‘er duties, even ‘ad a wee chat wiv Mallory wile yer were gone – wow! Put the mockers on it Danny! Struth! I know yer jealous, but believe me ‘e don’t come no where close ter yer. You’re me boy, yer the perfect one. Even wiv yer back all scarred up, ‘ave a look at that face – yer right fink Mallory’s got a stitch on yer, eh? Nah, yer too gorgeous.” Dave said, cupping his chin. “Besides, he’s older, been ‘round the block a few times, but they don’ call me dirty Dave f’nuffink.”

Harry clenched his jaw and cracked his knuckles. He’d touched Mallory because he, Harry, had left? Jesus God, the man couldn’t contain himself for even a week? Disgust crawled into the pit of his stomach; his skin crawled with fresh revulsion as the man’s wandering hands greedily stroked his chest. He wriggled back from the touch, wrenching himself free at last.

“Why’d yew do it? Why?” He choked, hot tears spilling down his pink cheeks.

“Calm down Danny – I’m only fukin’ pullin’ yer leg. I never went near the lad! Honest! Stopped meself, didn’t I! Yer know I’d be waitin’ for yer t’get back from wherever the hell it is yer been.” Dave yelled, with only half of his brow creasing into a frown due to his surgery. “Now are yah stayin’ tha’ nigh’ or wha? ‘Cause if y’are, there’s new rules. I gotta ‘ave yah yer payment upfront. Yer know tha’ drill: ten quid for a bed, twelve if yer wantin’ breakfast. Course y’know tha ‘alf rates open t’yew Danny. One for a bob. Two for a fuck. Three nights for a suck. S’free week if yew look me in the eye, remember.”

Harry blanched at his words. The man was never this blunt! He was never this cruel either. Something was odd about the way he was talking. This whole thing felt disjointed. His mind was always scrambled after drinking with Seb, and of course he must have been drinking. There was no way he would have made his way up to Dave’s private room otherwise. But this felt weird. Almost like déjà vu. Was he still hallucinating?

You wish you were hallucinating.

“No brass then, eh guv? Well, ‘ow bout yah earn yorself some now, eh, then, sugar? Got some punters out front ‘oo’d luv t’get an eyeball ov you. Yer know the bloomin' ones, gettin' ter be some loyal customers, right? Though I suspect that’s less ter do wiv the beer and more ter do wiv the knockout kid wiv a funky lookin' scar on ‘is ‘ead. Never fail to draw attention, do yah me boy.” Dave said, giving him a quick wink.

Didn’t he remember? Harry had already rejected that idea before. Sure, he’d stripped for them, but that was all. He detested every second of it and swore never again. Dave hadn’t tried to pressure him since, especially after Harry had threatened to rip off their dicks with a fork if they ever crossed the line again. Surely the punters Dave was talking about couldn’t be the same? They’d run off with their tails between their legs as soon as Harry threw the vase. Or maybe it was, and they were after revenge for his lifting their wallets. Oh God, the thought made him sick.

He didn’t have much time to ponder. In the next moment, Dave slammed his lips on his. Harry gave a muffled yelp of shock. He hadn’t even seen him move! What the hell was happening? Had he stepped into one of his nightmares? The smell of peppermint gum and cheap cologne filled the room. He opened his eyes as the firm lips snatched away, leaving him panting for breath. The cellar was engulfed in darkness, and once again his vision tunnelled as if looking down the barrel of a gun. He blinked once, twice, three times, and the bulb flicked back on.

He barely had time to process it when an almighty blow hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He gave a small cry, fell back, and landed hard on something soft. His fists rose instinctively to protect his face as every muscle seized in terror.

“What you d-doing Dave?” he cried.

“Who’s Dave?” Harry peered up through thick lashes and gasped. Hovering a few feet before him, where the Vic’s Arms landlord had stood seconds before, was a man. A man Harry had met only once before but whose face was carved into his memory.

“W-Wayne? W-what are you doing ‘ere? Where, where are we?”

...

“I told you James, we’re in my studio, now take your shirt off please.” The man said, the teen winced at his sour tone. “What are you waiting for? Don’t worry, there isn’t anyone else here. Nobody’s going to barge in, it’s just you, me and this.” He gestured at the tripod behind him. Harry’s gaze fell on the camera atop it, its red dot winking playfully. His stomach jolted painfully as the floor beneath him gave way. “Because I asked you to.” Wayne replied simply, strolling back to the camera. “The lighting’s good in here, wouldn’t you say? Perfect for capturing every last detail.” Noticing the boy’s reluctance, he sighed. “Don’t you think I deserve something in return for my generosity James? A few pictures and a little film are hardly a big ask, come on. I’m a professional, I won’t catch you at a bad angle if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Warm, wet droplets trickled down his back. Harry realised with a start he was sweating. Why? It was cold in here. “Take off your shirt please.” The man repeated, positioning the camera as if finding the best shot. Harry flicked his gaze downward to find a stained, grubby mattress beneath his quivering legs. Why couldn’t he feel them? Why couldn’t he feel anything? Didn’t his body belong to him anymore?

“Didn’t you hear me? Take your shirt off or I’ll come down there and do it for you!” He watched Wayne crouch, and in the next moment Harry was sprawled across the mattress. Ringing in his ears grew violent as he tried to drag oxygen into collapsing lungs. A weight pressed on him now. A dead weight. He glanced down to find a corpse lying atop him, blood trickling from its head. His breath caught in terror as he realised the mattress was drenched in sticky red substance leaking onto the floor. Lifting trembling hands, he saw they were covered in it too. Not only covered, but seeming to exude it.

What had he done? He yelped for help, tried to move, but he couldn’t. Paralysed, utterly helpless and trapped. Panic rattled through him. Just what had he done? A wave of nausea swept over him as chalk-white eyelids twitched and peeled back, revealing soulless eyes burning into his skull. “You’ll pay for this James, mark my words, I’ll find you and you’ll pay.”

The scream ripped from his throat without conscious demand as he slammed his eyes shut. His thoughts accelerated to breakneck speed; his chest constricted and pressure built in his head. He stiffened as strong arms wrapped around his torso and hauled him back, so hard the body slipped off and rolled to the ground with a thud. Harry’s breath hitched as he watched its head lull at a dangerous angle. Too far gone in his nightmare come to life to notice gentle hands grabbing him before he hit the ground.

“Harry! Harry it’s alright, Harry you’re safe. It wasn’t real, cub. It’s just a dummy. None of it’s real, none of it’s real.” Frozen in horror, he ignored the hands and stared at the horror before him. “Let me get you out of here Harry, come on kiddo, that’s it. Hold on to me.”

He could barely focus; his head swam wildly. The floor beneath rocked as if on rough waves. So he clung to the only thing anchoring him—the whispering voice.

“I’m so sorry Harry, I shouldn’t have left the door open with everything going on today, it just slipped my mind. I’m so very sorry, but please believe me, it wasn’t real! The room’s been bewitched to make the trespasser believe they’ve been sent back to relive their worst memories. I’m sorry I never told you, cub, I’m so sorry you got hurt because of me. Harry, please look at me. Just look at me so I know you’re alright. Please!”

He rolled his head to look at his guardian with a broken expression and opened his mouth to speak, but only a hoarse rasp came out. Remus placed a gentle finger to his lips. “Ssshhh cub, don’t try to speak. We need to get you to lie down. Just hold on to me now, it’s okay I’ve got you, I’ve got you kiddo. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“B-but, I killed him – h-he’s dead.”

...

“No pup, don’t talk, don’t talk, okay? Just breathe. Try and relax alright, I’ve got you I promise and it’s going to be okay. You hear me? It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The man continued his chant as he carried Harry from the cellar to the lounge. Whether to soothe the traumatised child or reassure himself he wasn’t sure, but he kept it up. Until Harry’s eyes glazed over and he went limp in his arms. Then he let out an anguished howl.

Harry awoke almost an hour later. His eyelids snapped open as consciousness returned. He struggled to sit up.

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down there cub. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and are far from ready to jump around! You’ll give yourself a chronic head rush.”

A gentle hand folded around his skinny wrist, coaxing him back down. Too disoriented to resist, he obliged and laid his pounding head on its owner’s lap.

“How are you feeling?” the familiar voice asked again.

Harry groaned softly, blinking to clear sleep-ridden eyes.

“That good, huh?”

He shifted slightly, testing his limbs and focused on his surroundings.

“W-where, w-wha’?”

“Relax cub, you’re in the sitting room. I heard you screaming and found you in the cellar. You collapsed when I was getting you out. Though I’m not surprised. You went through some truly horrific things down there and oh gawd Harry I’m so sorry you did. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have left the damn door open. I’m so sorry cub, I completely forgot, I swear it was never my intention for –”

“R-Remus, wh-where’s Wayne?”

Remus’s tearful blue eyes latched onto Harry’s magnificent green. “Oh cub, it wasn’t real. Wayne? He’s not here. He never was. You’re safe, you’re safe and you’re with me and –”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he stared back at the crying man. “B-but I don’t understand. I saw him. You saw him!”

“The cellar is bewitched, cub, a spell designed to ward off intruders. It’s a means of protection for the, well, for the things that are best kept hidden away. Security, so to speak. I’m just so sorry you got caught up in it. I never thought— not for a moment did I think, Harry, kiddo, why did you go down there in the first place? At this time of night? Was it just because you were curious?”

Harry studied the man hard, searching every inch of his face for signs of lying. Then he settled on the truth.

“I heard m-music. There was some music playing, I figured it was you jus’ tryna wind me up. So I went down there to tell you to turn it down and –” He choked as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye and trickled down his face. “It – it was horrible. Really, really horrible. I mean, some part of me knew it wasn’t really happening, you know, but st-still.” And with that, the dam broke.

A flood of tears gushed from his bright eyes as he struggled to contain his thoughts. Remus stopped stroking his hair, bent down, and took him into his arms. Letting his own tears flow freely as he pressed soft kisses to Harry’s crown through shame-stained apologies.

“I promise I’m going to make everything okay for you Harry, I promise. I’m going to make it all better. You’ll see.”

Was it the way the older man hugged him? Or the way he said his name as if it were a sacred vow? Perhaps it was the way he’d yearned for this kind of comfort, this warm touch for so many years that he welcomed it so easily. Perhaps no one could say for sure. All Harry knew was that every wall came crashing down under Remus’s wrecking ball and he fell apart. He knew he should feel embarrassed; he was far too old to cry like this but he didn’t care. He didn’t care he was soaking his guardian’s robes with anguished sobs. He didn’t care that he was breaking every rule by drinking in the man’s warmth. He didn’t care that his stony exterior had melted like an iceberg under the hot desert sun...

So he let his guardian place tender kisses on his forehead. He let him brush away tears with the pads of his thumbs. He relaxed into the man’s broad chest as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“I promise I’ll always keep you safe. I love you.”

Harry stiffened. “W-What?”

“I love you.”

“You can’t s-say that!”

“Why not? It’s true.” Jaded eyes bulged as the man’s words hung between them.

“W-what no. No it’s not! It can’t be. Why would you say something like that?” He was getting up now, looking at his guardian with a demanding expression. Remus’s insides churned as his face twisted in pain.

“Because it is true! Harry, I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t!”

Harry whipped his head from side to side, denying what he was hearing. “B-but you – you saw. You saw me didn’t you? You saw him. You saw what I did, what he made me do, what I am. How can you say that you love me? I’m bad Remus, I’m a bad person! You can’t love me, not now you know what I’ve done, what I’m really like!” He moaned, his voice laced with pain.

“Yes cub, I saw. I didn’t see much but I think perhaps enough to get the gist, and Harry I’m so sorry – I’m sorry you had to go through those awful things. I truly am. I know I don’t understand all of it, Har, I don’t even know half of it. But what I do know is that it wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. No matter what happened, no matter what you did – it was in self-defence! That man, Wayne, was trying to hurt you. He was the bad person Harry, not you! God knows you’re not a bad person. You think what I saw makes a difference to how I feel about you? It doesn’t! In fact, it only shows how strong and brave and incredible you truly are. So yes, I do love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will!”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut but tears continued to trickle. Remus reached out to touch his shoulder but sensing the movement, Harry flinched away, wringing his hands as if hoping to twist off a finger.

“I just – I just needed to get away. I was - I didn’t know why he was doing it. I didn’t want him to and I thought, I thought if I didn’t do somethin’, he’d – he’d – I was –”

“You were scared.” Remus finished gently, filling in what Harry was reluctant to admit. The teen gave a jerky nod as his nostrils tightened with effort.

“If it’s just some spell then why did it feel so real Remus? Why did it feel like it was happening all over again?”

The werewolf walked toward his charge, sadness in his eyes. “It feeds off fear Harry. It finds the victim’s worst memories and interprets them. It exaggerates some parts and minimises others to make it as horrifying as possible. The more you believe it’s happening, the more it grows. It always gets worse before the spell wears off. It needs to convince the victim they are reliving their worst nightmare. If it detects doubt, it makes it worse by merging snippets of memory and cutting others out to get the reaction it wants.”

“W-why the hell would you ever put a spell like that on your cellar?” Harry gasped.

Remus faltered before settling on the truth. “Kiddo, the spell, well, it’s guarding something. It’s for protection.”

“Guarding what?” the teen demanded, shooting him a glare.

The werewolf chewed his bottom lip and averted his gaze. How could he tell him? How could he tell the boy he loved like a son that he was a monster? “Cub, I – I’d, I really want us to get to know each other first before I divulge that. That doesn’t mean I don’t trust you! Or I don’t want you to know – I do! Believe me I do. It’s just, I just need time. That’s all. It’s complicated.”

It was Harry’s turn to bite his lip. He studied Remus hard, noting how the man refused to meet his eye. A cold wave of bitter disappointment licked at his insides.

“It’s fine. I get it.” He replied dully. “Just next time you shove me aside like some toy you’re done playing with, just make sure you don’t leave your freaky spells hanging around, yea.” And with that, he stormed from the room and up the staircase, ignoring his guardian’s pleading calls.

Chapter Text

It was as if he’d come full circle. Opening that cellar door had unleashed horrors he thought were buried. Now the devil taunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. He was too scared to roll over, in case they waited on the other side. Too scared to move, not daring to let even a toe escape the safety of his cocoon. Even his blanket couldn’t protect him from the demons tonight—not when the demons lived in his own head. He shuddered despite the heat and burrowed his head deeper into the pillows, wishing he hadn’t left his copy of ‘The Secret Garden’ on the dresser.

Bang!

Harry jolted upright, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to crack his ribs.

BANG!

His breath caught, his mind racing with wild explanations.

BANG!

Was it his imagination, or was it getting closer? Was it coming up the stairs? Where was Remus? Without thinking, he threw back the sheets and let his bare feet hit the cold floorboards. Summoning all the courage he could, he crept towards the door. With senses sharp as a razor and hands shaking like a man in withdrawal, he pressed his ear to the wood and listened. Silence. Dead silence. What was going on?

BANG!

Harry jumped as if a firework had exploded in his hand, burning his skin. Realising Remus couldn’t possibly sleep through that noise, he swallowed the metallic taste in his mouth, drew on a courage he didn’t know he had, and cracked open the door. Cringing at its screech, he looked around in panic, hoping no one had heard. Then, feeling as though his legs were made of marble, he made his way down the spiral staircase, clutching the banister as dread twisted deeper in his gut with every step.

It seemed to take an age to reach the living room door. Pressing his palm to the rough wood, he held his breath and pushed, revealing a chilling sight.

The magnolia walls had been replaced by jagged, stained bricks. The carpet had vanished, leaving only cold stone. Without furniture or fire, the room felt empty and soulless. Standing in the centre, as rigid as a gargoyle, was Remus. Harry squinted; he seemed to be guarding a heavy wooden door.

“Remy?”

“Why are you here Harry?” Remus snapped, lips pressed into a thin line. The teen flinched at his harsh tone.

“I – I came to see if you were o-okay?”

Remus gave a humourless snort. “I haven’t been okay since you got here.” He snarled. “I told you to leave it alone. Why can’t you ever do as I ask?”

“Not like yew Danny, yer normally such a good boy.” Harry spun to find the Vic’s Arms landlord, dirty Dave, lounging on a bar stool in the corner. His sweaty fist gripped a glass of orange liqueur.

“W-wha’-?”

“Good boy? Ha! He’s been nothing but trouble since he got here. Always answering back, kicking off, and strutting around my home like he owns it. Not once has he shown any gratitude for what I give him, for anything I do. I’ve tried so hard to care for him, to like him even—he is his father's son—but the more I get to know him, the more I can’t stand him. He’s a foul, dirty little freak.” Remus spat.

Harry couldn’t help it. Tears sprang to his eyes at that word from his guardian. “But – but I thought you –”

If possible, Remus’s expression grew even harder. “You thought what Harry? That I liked you? Loved you even? Merlin, can’t you get it through your thick skull that I just pretend around you? You’re nothing to me! Just a bitter disappointment.”

“Ohohoho!” Harry’s head snapped round to see Dave clapping, eyeing Remus with something like admiration. “’e told yer straight ther’ kid but don’ wurry, you’ll always ‘ave a place wiv me. I’ll take care o’yer. Guess you really are one o me boys eh? Nothin’ but a lyin’, theivin’, cyanidin’ lil squirt no one wants, gud job yah got me eh or yer be owt on yer ear. Lil freak indeed. Ha!”

Harry clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut. “WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS? WHY ARE YOU BEING LIKE THIS? IT’S NOT YOU! NEITHER OF YOU!” he screamed, backing towards the door.

BANG!

He choked as his heart slammed against his chest.

BANG!

“Open your eyes James. Open your eyes and face what you’ve done!” He slowly raised his eyes towards the new voice and let out a cry of horror. At the other end of the room, kneeling on the floor with a bloody hammer in his fist, was Wayne. “Pleased to see me James? You should be, considering you're the one who killed me.”

Wayne threw back his arm, making Harry shiver in anticipation, and brought the hammer down. It struck a plank of wood. The dull thud echoed around the cellar, vibrating through the walls. “You’re a murderer James.” Paralysed, Harry could only swallow the man’s hatred. “All I wanted was some pictures and a little tape in return for letting you stay the night. I saved your sorry arse from pneumonia, took you in, fed you, gave you a bed, shelter, even let you ride in my sedan—and this is how you repay me?”

BANG!

Another screw slammed into the mahogany, the noise tearing at Harry’s skin. “I’m s-sorry.” He whimpered. “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t get me my life back James!” Wayne roared. He swung the hammer again, beating the remaining nails into the box so hard Harry was amazed it didn’t shatter. Harry watched in horror as dark crimson liquid oozed from every hole, splattering Wayne’s jeans and white butcher’s smock. “You killed me!”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I just wanted you to stop. I’m sorry.” Harry begged through tears.

“I thought you’d be different, but you’ve just ruined my life. You know why I don’t want to take the job Dumbledore offered me at Hogwarts? Why I’m so keen to get you to boarding school? It’s because I don’t want to be around you! You’re a burden—I hate you, you’re good for nothing.” Remus snarled, glaring at Harry. The teen clapped his hands over his ears, desperate to shut out the words.

“Ahhh now tha’ ain’t true isit Danny, yer good for sum fings ain’t yah.” Dave tipped his glass in salute, making Harry’s stomach lurch.

“Scrawny little mutt, you’ll get what’s coming to you, me boy. Karma’s going to get you one day, and it’s going to get you good.” Wayne spat, wiping his bloody hands on his apron. “Go on then Harry—fight back. Defend yourself like a man.”

Harry turned to see Remus opening the guarded door with a sly grin. His uncle’s bulk squeezed through, his piggy eyes searching for his nephew. Harry could almost hear the vessels in his uncle’s head pop as he grinned like a deranged killer and advanced.

“You can’t, can you? Think you're the big man with all your nonsense but you’re nothing but a pathetic little freak.” Harry barely concealed a whimper as he backed away.

“I’m s-sorry, please I’m sorry!”

“Harry!”

“I’m sorry –”

“HARRY!”

“Please, I’m sorry!”

“HARRY WAKE UP!”

BANG!

Harry’s head hit the brick wall behind him with a crack. Pain seared through his skull as the room spun out of focus.

“My dear boy are you okay?” The new voice was gentle, not angry. Was it a trap? “Here, allow me.”

He felt something like a twig tap his head, and a strange tingling sensation ran down his spine. Stunned by the sudden end to the pain, he blinked away the blur and looked up blankly.

“Pro-professor Dumbledore?” he stammered. “Wha? What are you doing here S-Sir?”

The old wizard smiled at Harry’s confusion and sat on the end of his bed. “I’m here for Remus, Harry—and you. You were having a nightmare.”

That didn’t surprise him. He recognised the bitter taste of night terror aftermath. Harry swallowed and drew a shaky breath, trying to regain his senses and focus, but all he could think of was amber hair and a crooked smile.

“Where is he?”

A look of regret settled on the old man’s face; his sparkling eyes dulled. “At this moment, Harry, I’m afraid Remus is feeling a little poorly.”

Harry wiped his cheeks as he processed this. “Wha-what? Why? Is he—is he alright?”

“I’m sure he will be fine, my boy. Now let’s worry about you, shall we? Tell me, what was your nightmare about?” Dumbledore asked.

“No, tell me where Remus is—why’s he ill? I want to see him.” Harry swung his legs over the bed and stood, his legs shaking. The headmaster’s form blurred before him. “I need to see him now!”

“My dear boy, Remus is getting some much-needed rest. He asked me to watch over you in his absence. He is suffering from a condition he’s had his entire life. He is used to it, I assure you, he will be fine by morning.”

Harry shook his head, making his vertigo worse. “No, no I don’t believe you. He doesn’t want to see me, does he? Tell me the truth. He told you to come because he doesn’t want me anymore, didn't he?”

The old wizard rose from the bed and approached the distressed teen with concern. “What ever gave you that idea Harry? Was that what you dreamt?”

Harry let out a sob, his face crumpling as he hugged himself. “Just tell me the truth S-Sir. Tell me what he said!”

“I have spoken the truth, Harry. Remus is feeling a little under the weather. I give you my word, he did not, nor would he ever, say that he does not want you. Your guardian cares deeply for you.”

“NO! No he doesn’t! He hates me! He told me himself!”

“In the dream, my dear boy? Is that why you were screaming?” Harry’s strangled whimper was all the answer Dumbledore needed. “Harry, look at me. Think of what you know of Remus. The man you’ve spent every day with since you came here. Does he strike you as someone who would say such a thing? If he felt there was a problem between you, do you not think he would discuss it with you directly? Would he pass such a message through someone else? Remus is uncommonly kind. Hatred is not in his heart, especially not for you. I know you have faced hardships no one should endure. It is plain in your eyes. I know your trust has been broken, perhaps many times. But you must know there are still good people in this world, Harry. You must see it—but you refuse to accept it because you cannot bear to be shunned again. Trusting someone is daunting, especially when your misgivings run deep. But think, has Remus Lupin ever given you any reason to doubt him? Dreams are just that, Harry—figments of our imagination, nightmares our worst fears. Perhaps you feel this way because you fear rejection? That’s not unusual, Harry; in fact, it’s healthy. It’s natural when you become close to someone after betrayal. The best thing to do, though simple in theory, can feel impossible—talk to him, Harry. You need to talk, but can you wait until tomorrow? Tonight might be best spent reflecting on what you need Remus to know.”

Harry met the headmaster’s eyes. Amid tangled thoughts, the words made sense. They even calmed him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but there was something about this older man he trusted. Eventually, he nodded, reassured by the wizard’s presence. He let Dumbledore guide him back to bed. Whether he would sleep again, he didn’t know, but knowing he wasn’t alone was enough.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry made his way to the bedroom at the far right of the corridor, balancing a heavy tray. As he reached the door, a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. The overpowering scent of cinnamon buns wafted beneath his nose, making the food he’d prepared look unappealing.

After much hesitation, he rapped his fist loosely on the door, wincing at how weak the knock sounded. His legs jittered as he waited patiently for a reply, but when five minutes passed with no answer, he gave up and cracked the door open, planning to leave the tray on Remus’s bedside table. Yet, upon entering and adjusting his guardian’s sleeping form, he felt compelled to check if he was truly okay.

Biting his bottom lip anxiously, Harry tiptoed across the carpet and stole a glance at Remus’s face as he set the tray down. The man was as grey as that morning’s newspaper. Shallow scratches marked his cheeks, and his usual floppy fringe stuck to his forehead with a sheen of sweat. Harry could almost smell the sickness radiating from him, yet Remus looked peaceful in his slumber. He wondered what his guardian was dreaming to wear such a blissful expression despite his discomfort. His heart swelled as he looked at him and fought the urge to smooth the crumpled sheets.

Realising he was staring open-mouthed, Harry turned quickly and knocked a glass of water from the edge of the table. Cursing himself, he bent down and tried to soak it up with the napkins he’d carefully folded.

“G’morning,” came a low rumble from above. Harry whipped round to find Remus smiling lazily; the sunrise cast delicate shadows over his face, illuminating every scar and making his piercing blue eyes stand out even more.

“M’sorry! Go back to sleep, I’ll just—go,” Harry rushed, his face growing hot as his guardian’s grin widened.

“It’s no bother, kiddo. I can never sleep late anyway,” Remus said, though Harry thought the man looked like he needed it. “Hmmm, Dumbledore still here?”

“Yes, Sir.” Remus raised an eyebrow at the formality but quickly dismissed it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shuffled his stiff limbs to sit up. His body whined in protest.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked hurriedly as his guardian winced. “I brought you some stuff, but I got toast in case you just want that? Dry toast for your stomach—in case it hurts—and water. Well, I did. I’ll have to get some more. Do you need any painkillers while I’m down in the kitchen? I can get those too if you want. Or a book. You should stay in bed even if you're not tired; it’s good to rest, isn’t it? You can just read and eat, I—”

“Kiddo, I’m fine, really, thank you,” the older man smiled.

“Umm, right, well, I’ll just go then. Leave you to get some peace and whatnot,” Harry mumbled, and Remus’s smile morphed into a scowl.

“Stay,” he said simply, leaning back against his pillows. “I’d like your company.”

Harry’s jaw slackened as he surveyed his guardian. “Stay?” he repeated dumbly, unsure if he’d heard correctly. Remus looked, quite frankly, like death warmed up. Harry knew from experience people generally wanted to be left alone when they were sick. God knows he did. Well, no, he didn’t—but he’d never really had a choice.

Remus gave him one of his lopsided grins and inclined his head to the space next to him, inviting Harry to sit. The teen twisted his mouth hesitantly but dropped down beside the man anyway. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he clasped his hands between his knobbly knees and studied them intently.

“How yer feeling?”

“I’ve felt worse. Thank you for asking,” Remus smiled.

Harry nodded stiffly and lowered his gaze to his lap. “Umm, about last night, I—I was out of order, I shouldn’t have just disappeared like that. Again. I know you hate it when I do. I just—well, you pissed me off a bit—” He cut himself off when he heard Remus laugh heartily and turned to face him with a perplexed frown.

“What?” he demanded.

Remus wiped his eyes and sat up a little straighter. “Nothing, kiddo. I’m sorry, it’s just, aha, that’s the first time I think I’ve ever heard you express your feelings and it’s to tell me you’re pissed off at me.” He grinned good-naturedly as a faint blush crept onto the boy’s cheeks.

“Yea, well.” Harry shrugged and grabbed the paper for something to do with his hands. Remus was joking, he knew that, but it still made him feel a little uncomfortable.

“But Harry? I’m the one who should be saying sorry. You have every right to be pissed off at me. I should never have left the door open.”

“S’alright. It’s not like you knew what the cellar was gonna do, is it?” the boy mumbled, groping the soft sheets with his fingers.

“Well no, but I am your guardian, and that means I have a responsibility to keep you safe—and I failed you yesterday. For that, I am truly sorry,” Remus told him firmly, remorse clear in his voice.

The teen nodded curtly again, and the pair sat in silence for a moment before a gentle knock at the door cut through the tension. Harry almost sighed in relief when the aging Hogwarts professor stepped gracefully into the room.

“Remus, m’boy, how are you feeling?”

“Better now this one so thoughtfully made me breakfast. I trust you slept well, Albus?”

Harry glanced uncertainly between them. “I did, my dear boy, I did. I always found that sleeping in an unfamiliar house has a way of settling the mind in ways the conscious can’t in familiar environments.”

The twinkle in his eyes told Harry the headmaster was well aware of his reluctance to bring up the previous night’s events; he telepathically thanked him. “So, young gentlemen, will today be spent as a day of leisure?”

“Well, let’s just say I don’t think there’ll be any strenuous activity for me today. Not unless Harry here decides to raid my potions cupboard again anyway.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault you got the ingredients mixed up! Besides, it was my hair that took the full impact of the blow!”

“Really? Well, you wouldn’t have known.” Harry raised the rolled newspaper, and Remus threw up his arms as if to shield himself.

Dumbledore merely tilted his head as though in deep thought. “I seem to recall a similar incident with a cauldron and a hippogriff in my fourth year. He was a most magnificent beast. Though I must say, never quite the same after the loss of his feathers.”

Harry caught Remus’ eye and let out an ill-disguised snort. “Erm, don’t mean to be rude, Sir, but what?”

“Yes, yes, most unfortunate, of course Borris Montrous patched him up in no time, but we never could find the cause of the buzzing or the cure for that matter.” Remus elbowed his charge in the ribs playfully as the boy shot him a bizarre look.

“So, um, Albus, do you have any plans for today? You’re welcome to join us for breakfast. I’m afraid I may lack some company, but I’m sure Harry will make up for it.”

“Bless you, my child, you are as always very generous, but I must decline. I am afraid I do have some rather urgent issues to address, so once again I shall bid you farewell. Thank you for the tea, young man. I dare say I will be seeing you again very soon, but if fate does not allow such a thing, then I will be sure to see you on September first!” The headmaster smiled. “Do take care, won’t you, Remus?”

“Of course, Sir, please let us show you out.”

Harry couldn’t help but think the exchange of pleasantries was odd when it was clear the man was about to disapparate into thin air again, but he rose to his feet regardless. “Not at all, not at all. Goodbye now, both.”

“Professor, wait, I, um, just wanted to say thanks—for well, everything.” Harry said awkwardly, purposefully averting his guardian’s curious gaze by toying with a stray thread on his new top.

The man’s eyes twinkled. “You’re most welcome, Harry—I shall see you at the feast if not before.” Then, with an elegant twirl and a light gust of wind, Albus Dumbledore was gone.

The werewolf’s mouth twitched. “Now that, kiddo, is what we call a mad genius. You like him, don’t you?” he said as though stating the obvious.

Harry shrugged. “He’s alright, I guess.”

“You’re a tough critic, you know that?”

“E’s radio rental, that one I tell you. Got a few cogs loose.” He clarified on seeing Remus’ perplexed expression. “But yea, he’s alright.”

“Alright enough for you to want to go to his school?” Remus grinned cheekily.

Harry froze, last night’s dream rearing its ugly head once more. He gulped back a lump of fear that quickly dissolved to anger as it hit the acid in his gut. “Alright enough for you to want to?”

A flash of shock crossed the werewolf’s face before he adopted another subtly confused expression.

“What did you say?” he asked, hating the way his voice shook slightly as he examined the teen’s hunched shoulders from behind.

The raven-haired boy twisted to look at him from over his shoulder, and the hate-spiced words died in his throat. How could he possibly feel angry when Remus was like this? He just looked too frail to take it. Where had the anger even come from anyway? One minute he was laughing and joking—the next he wanted to attack? It didn’t make sense. Or maybe it did. Maybe it was because with every smile, every sweet off-hand remark, the ice blade of betrayal twisted in his heart.

“Nothing, just forget it. Why don’t I read you the ads, yeah?” There, now he’d given the man the perfect opportunity to come clean about the Hogwarts job offer—the chance to say what he’d dreamt about him not wanting to take it because of him. In many ways, it felt like the moment of truth for Harry, but he’d be damned if he let it show. Instead, he plastered on a carefree grin and flicked to the job vacancy section.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Remus laughed freely, the action easing the tension from his face considerably, making Harry wonder why his heart clenched in disappointment. Was he really that selfish? Did he really care that much?

“You know kiddo, I’m mighty glad I’ve got you here. I mean, breakfast in bed, reading the newspaper to me, what more could I ask for?”

Harry swallowed thickly again and picked at the thin sheets of paper. Suddenly the stench of burnt toast was too strong for his already queasy stomach to handle. He wanted so badly to come out with it right there and then. Wanted to ask the man if any of what he’d told him in his nightmare was true. He just needed to see his reaction; then he’d know once and for all if it were true.

You’ve spent an eternity not giving a damn what other people think, Potter. Why would you start now? But go on then. If you're that desperate, what are you waiting for? For once in your sorry life, grow a pair and ask.

He parted his lips, the words on the tip of his tongue, and turned to face Remus when—

“What’s that?”

Baffled, Harry stared at the man blankly. “Huh?”

“That article. What is it? Can I see?” Remus asked, outstretched hand and a small frown playing on his brow.

Harry felt as though all the wind had been let out of his sails. Barely sparing a glance at the page, he handed the paper to his guardian and waited for him to read. His mind raced, thinking of possible ways to say what he wanted.

“Merlin, I can’t believe it,” the older man said after a short while. “They think they’ve got them.”

Harry craned his neck for a better view of the script. “Got who?”

“Dolohov, Yaxley and Rookman,” Remus replied in a somewhat faint tone.

“Dolohov, Waxley and who?”

His guardian dropped the paper suddenly and turned to him with a slightly dazed look. “I’m so relieved we got to you when we did, Harry. I know you don’t want to be here, but if we hadn’t, I don’t want to think what might have happened.”

Harry scoffed, squinting to make out the sideways printed words. “No offence, man, but I’ve got no idea what your—hang on, is this something to do with the people who’re after me?” the teen asked quickly.

Remus returned his slightly panicked look with a grimace. “Death Eaters, in Hackney. Torments Falls, to be precise. The day before you—the day before I met you—they launched an attack on two innocent muggle men not far from where I found you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped on its own accord. “Wha-what?”

“I know.” Remus nodded gravely. “An unprovoked attack, in an alley apparently. Eyewitnesses saw cloaked figures fleeing the scene. I just never thought—”

“Let me see.” The older wizard stopped and looked seriously at his charge, obviously misinterpreting his shock.

“Harry, you don’t need to worry. This is good news! They’ve caught them! They’ll be imprisoned. Merlin knows it’s not the first cri—”

“Let me see.” Harry repeated in a barely audible whisper. Suddenly, he felt as though someone had grabbed his head and dunked it into a cold bucket of water. He could hardly breathe as he scanned the article Remus gave him with disbelieving eyes.

“Cub, I know you’re scared, but believe me, you don’t need to be. It’s okay! The Ministry has caught three of them; they’ll catch Black and all the rest too!” But Remus’s words were drowned by the roar of the explosion erupting in Harry’s head. His heartbeat quickened, reaching an impossible speed as the blood flow struggled to keep up with oxygen pumping into his lungs. Soon, he was on the brink of a panic attack.

“Harry?”

Harry’s head jerked upwards to meet Remus’s worried gaze. Caught in the blurry blue hurricane of the man’s eyes, his tongue worked without conscious demand. “It wasn’t them.”

His guardian blinked, as though he hadn’t actually heard him, then his face broke into a nervous smile. “Ahh, what?”

Harry’s insides gave a sickening jolt. “It—it just wasn’t them, okay? They’ve got the wrong guys,” he told him firmly, tossing the newspaper aside and jumping up from the bed.

Remus’s frown deepened as he shook his head. “That’s impossible, cub. The Prophet said it was the work of magic, powerful magic. The injuries they sustained couldn’t be from any muggle, and no good wizard would do such a thing.” Harry’s chest constricted so tightly he thought he might pass out. “The Aurors have captured them. They seem pretty convinced it was their doing, so why do you think they’re wrong, Harry?” The teen could tell even through his scrambled thoughts that Remus was genuinely confused, but his head was spinning so wildly he couldn’t think of a single plausible explanation for his outburst.

“Hold on.” Oh shit.

“The paper said powerful magic but without a signature. As though the attackers didn’t use a—” Harry could pinpoint the exact second realisation dawned on Remus. What little colour he had left drained from his face, and he looked at his ward with the same unbelieving expression he wore on that fateful night. “It was you.” He whispered in a near awe-stricken tone.

The teen shook his head vigorously as the thin skin around his eyes stretched to accommodate his enlarged sockets.

“No.” He whimpered. “No, no, I swear it wasn’t me.”

“Yes, it makes sense! You were there. Or you did it. That’s why you said it wasn’t them. That’s why they couldn’t trace a wand—it’s because you don’t need one! They were attacked just a few alleys from that pub—it, I, Harry!” Remus breathed, getting out of bed to follow his charge to the door.

“It wasn’t me!” Harry begged, hot tears springing to his eyes as he absorbed the man slotting the jigsaw together. Denying it was pointless; he knew that as well as Remus, but in that moment, he also knew he’d say or do just about anything to stop his guardian from looking at him that way. He just couldn’t bear it if he fit the last piece.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry’s back hit the wall with a soft thud. He choked back a sob and whipped around, latching onto the door handle as if his life depended on its opening. Apparently anticipating his next move, Remus slammed a hand on the door, effectively preventing Harry from fleeing. Paralysed with excruciating panic, the boy struggled to control his breath.

“No, Harry, no way am I letting you get away from me again. Not this time. I need the truth! My God, kiddo, why did you do it?” Remus implored, staring searchingly at his ward, but Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the floor as if daring it to challenge him, all too aware of his guardian edging closer.

“This must have been eating you alive. Why didn’t you come to me? Why couldn’t you talk to me?” The wolf pressed in a much softer voice, but Harry was beyond rational thinking now. His only hope of escaping this mess had crashed and burned around him like destruction in pre-existing wreckage. There was no way out. He was done for.

“Why, Harry, why didn’t you tell me? Whatever it was, we could have worked through it together. I just don’t understand what it is I have to do to prove to you that you can trust me!” And just like that, something in Harry snapped.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME DUMBLEDORE OFFERED YOU THE JOB AT HOGWARTS, REMUS?” he screamed. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE CELLAR? WHY WON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT IT’S GUARDING, HUH? IS IT BECAUSE YOU DON’T TRUST ME?”

The werewolf reeled back as though his boy had slapped him clean across the face, but Harry was too overcome with raw emotion to hold anything back.

“WHY WON’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT SIRIUS BLACK? WHAT, YOU THINK I’M STUPID? I KNOW YOU’RE HIDING SOMETHING, SO WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT IT IS? AND FOR THAT FUKIN’ MATTER, WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU SUDDENLY SO ILL? DUMBLEDORE SAID YOU’VE HAD WHATEVER IT IS FOR YEARS, SO HOW COME YOU NEVER THOUGHT TO TELL ME ABOUT IT?”

It was as though one of the monsters he so desperately tried to fight every night had seized control of his mind. All he could see were mocking images dancing before him. It rampaged over any control he had left and cut the chains so cleanly, Harry was left with nothing but unobtainable rage.

“YOU LIED! YOU FUKIN’ LIED TO ME, AND YOU HAVE THE BASTARD AUDACITY TO TURN ROUND AND ASK ME WHY I DON’T FUKIN’ TRUST YOU! YOU KNOW WHY I DON’T TRUST YOU? BECAUSE YOU DON’T TELL ME JACK SHIT. IT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO YOU, AIN’T IT REMUS? IT’S BECAUSE YOU DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME. YOU JUST PRETEND TO, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU’RE WORSE THAN ANYONE I’VE EVER MET IN MY LIFE BECAUSE OF IT! I HATE YOU! YOU’RE A FUKIN’ LYING BASTARD! I HATE YOU!”

“IF YOU HATE LIARS SO MUCH, HARRY, THEN WHY’D YOU LIE TO ME?” Remus shrieked back, his face red raw with pure unfiltered emotion.

Out of breath from screaming himself hoarse, Harry glared at his guardian with all the hate he could muster. “I never lied,” he snarled at last.

“No? Then how come you never told me about the scars on your back, Harry? Or the real reason you ran away from your relatives? Or maybe even the reason you ran away from Essex and went to London? You never told me about your abuse; you never even told me THAT YOU’RE BLOODY BLIND IN ONE EYE, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” Remus’s words hit Harry with all the brutality of a sledgehammer, and for a moment he just stood. All the fury he’d unleashed evaporated as if someone had pressed the release button in his brain. Unable to feel, unable to speak, unable to breathe, he just stood and gaped. He gaped for what felt like an eternity until the high tide of a million emotions smacked into his core once again. The force of the blow swept him clean off his feet, and he fell to the floor. Recognising immediately what he’d done, Remus dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the broken boy, weeping and cursing in utter despair. “I’m sorry, cub, I’m so, so sorry.”

“NO!” Harry yelled, wrenching himself free from the werewolf’s embrace. “No, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I wasn’t abused, and I’m not fukin’ blind, so back off! Back off, old man, or I’ll hurt you, I swear!”

“Sweetheart, it’s alright, I know. You don’t have to hide anymore—I know!” Remus pleaded. “Please, Harry, it doesn’t have to be like this!”

“I’M NOT FUKIN’ BLIND! I’M NOT. I’M NOT!” He jumped to his feet, and Remus followed suit.

“Cub, it’s okay! Seb told me these things. I went back to the Vic’s Arms on your birthday. I needed to know some important things about you. Dumbledore thought it might be a good idea if I met up with one of your friends. So I did, and Seb, he explained that—”

“HE’S A FUKIN’ SKANK AND A LIAR! WHATEVER HE TOLD YOU—IT’S BULLSHIT! I’M NOT FUKIN’ BLIND AND I HAVEN’T BEEN ABUSED!” In a rash act, Remus lunged at the hysterical teen and wrapped an arm across his waist, holding his back tightly against his chest. He snaked his fingers under the boy’s glasses, covered his right eye, then pushed him against the wall to free his other arm.

“How many fingers am I holding up, then, Harry?”

The furious teen withered under his grip and screamed obscenities in sheer rage. “GEROFFME!”

“If you’re not blind in your left eye, then you can see. Tell me, how many fingers?”

“GET THE FUCK FROM ME, YOU SICK PIG!”

“HOW MANY FINGERS?”

“I DON’T KNOW, ALRIGHT! I DON’T FUKIN’, BASTARD KNOW!” Harry’s heart-wrenching wail of despair ripped through Remus’s soul as he slipped down the wall and fell to his knees, but this time his guardian was waiting. He caught him before he hit the ground and drew the shuddering teen into his chest to hold him, praying to anyone who was listening that he hadn’t shattered him beyond repair.

“Why’d you do th-thaaat?” Harry whined through broken tears. “Why’d you have to do that to me?”

“I’m sorry, beautiful boy, I’m so very sorry,” Remus begged, struggling to hold the hyperventilating boy. “Sweetheart, breathe, you need to breathe!”

“No. Just. Get. Off. Me!”

“Cub, please listen to me, you’re going to have a panic attack, you need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything you say.”

“Come on, Harry, just breathe with me, okay? We can do it together.”

“I don’t want to do anything with you,” Harry snarled through gasping breaths. “Just get away from me!” He screamed, yanking his hand away as Remus made to press it against his chest.

“No, cub, I won’t. I need to—”

“Need to what, Remus? Need to push a bit fukin’ further? Need to see how far you can go ‘till I crack, yeah?” He stood up sharply, knocking the werewolf aside. “You wanna see it, don’t you? You wanna see it all. Well, I’ll fukin’ show you.”

Startled when he saw what the boy was about to do, Remus leapt from the floor with a small cry. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do, Remus! I’ve finally figured it out. This is what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve been after since we met? Well, here, you can fukin’ see them, see them so you can feel like some fukin’ hero for takin’ in damaged goods!” Harry screamed his last words just as he tore open his shirt. Remus gasped at the sight, but his charge wasn’t done. He turned around to give him a full view of his back, and the werewolf felt bile rise in his throat.

“Harry, I—”

“Is this what you wanted? Me to fukin’ admit I’ve had the shit beaten outta me? You wanted to see it, didn’t you? Wanted to see what my uncle did to me? How he tried to exorcise the freakishness out of me with a whip and a belt, steel toe cap boots and fukin’ extension cables ‘till I passed out and stopped yelling for help?” The tears ran freely down his cheeks now. He’d ripped his heart open along with his shirt, and both lay trampled on the floor. “You want me to say I’ve been abused? Well, here’s the fukin’ proof. Are you happy now, Remus? Does it make you feel good to see me like this?” He held his arms spread and nodded at his bare torso where angry welts zig-zagged across his pale skin.

Remus pointedly looked away, unsure he could stand to see any more. He silently prayed Harry would put his shirt back on. The horror of what he’d unveiled was just too much for even him to handle. The sight of his scars made him feel sick.

“I repulse you, don’t I?” The older man turned back to the delirious teen. He wasn’t shouting now. His voice had dropped to a low whisper—the whisper of a frightened child. Remus felt his heart shatter.

“No, Harry, you could never repulse me. No matter what you do, no matter what you may have done, I love you unconditionally. I always have and always will. You think these scars repulse me? They don’t! I’m repulsed by the monster who put them there!” The green-haired boy gave a distraught sob and wrapped his arms protectively around his heaving chest.

“It was in defence. I didn’t do it on purpose; I just lost control. It was in defence,” he uttered with his head hung low. Remus didn’t need to ask what he was talking about; he could almost touch the self-hatred radiating from him as he sobbed uncontrollably. The noise ripped at Remus’s soul.

“I believe you, sweetheart. I believe you.” Very slowly, he outstretched his hand and touched the child’s chin, tilting it so he could peer into the boy’s glistening eyes. “Tell me, cub. I’ll understand.”

Harry’s contorted features softened as the fury left him, a deep sadness seeping in its place.

“No, no you won’t. You can’t!”

“Why not, Harry? Tell me why I won’t understand,” Remus urged.

“I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Harry. You can. You have to.”

“I can’t, Remus!” Harry cried, tugging himself free. “You won’t understand because you’re good. You’re not tainted. You’re not like me. I’m sorry.”

“Harry—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Harry!”

But with that, Harry turned, picked his shirt up off the floor, and walked toward the door.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Remus,” he uttered before closing the door with an all-resounding thud.

…

Gravel crunched under the feet of three men as they dismounted their brooms.

“You’re sure about this? I mean, you don’t think the old man’s just leaving us a false trail, do you?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m sure.”

“But what if—”

“What if what? The worst-case scenario is he’s not here, and you’ll have had a wasted trip. Don’t pretend your time’s so precious you can’t spare an hour. Besides, this should be quick.”

The younger man sighed and rubbed his temples, still a little dizzy from the flight. “If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so. Now come. We can’t be seen loitering.”

“Be quite sure to search the entirety of the house.”

“Of course, Sir. Do you still have the documentation?”

“I would not forget such a thing,” the plump man snapped.

“My apologies, Sir, I am simply eager for this little—operation to be a success.”

“And it will be. You have worked hard in your search. If your informants are reliable, then this will be the end of Dumbledore.”

“And the contaminated?”

“Him too, but remember why we are here—our highest priority.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“And Edmund, the boy is to remain unharmed, no matter what tricks he pulls. I want this dealt with properly.”

“Don’t worry, Minister, you have my word,” McClouchan replied easily before turning to face the cottage. His charming smile morphed into a sly grin. “No harm will come to the boy.”

Chapter Text

Harry made it back to his bedroom and slammed the door so hard that flakes of plaster fell from the ceiling. Alone in his room, he slid down the sky-blue wall like rain on a windowpane and finally let the dam burst. He cried—not sobbed or blubbered, but truly cried until tears streamed down his cheeks and the taste of salt filled his mouth. His swollen eyes stung, his throat itched, and his skin burned, but he didn’t stop. He drew his knees to his chest and tore at the synthetic carpet fibres, letting the bristly strands biting at his fingertips remind him he was real. The vibration in his chest as he gasped for air, the weakness in his legs—these grounded him, giving him something to focus on besides the pain gnawing at his chest. It was a way to survive the oncoming panic attack.

All he could think was that Remus knew. He knew, and he’d confronted him—ripped Harry’s deepest secrets from his soul as if they were loose threads on an old scarf. The shame was overwhelming.

As unpredictable as dynamite, Harry reacted as he always did: exploding like a bomb, causing chaos and destruction. It seemed to be the only thing he was good at. He hated that he destroyed everything he touched, but he couldn’t help it. It was as if flammable gas flowed through his veins and the slightest rupture would let the poison leak out, contaminating everything. He feared himself and his own power above all else. He was convinced he was destined for disaster, cursed to ruin the lives of everyone he got close to. Everything good, he tainted.

Uncurling from his tight ball, Harry spun and punched the wall, wincing as pain shot through his hand. He had little time to dwell on it. The cottage doorbell shrieked through the silence like a banshee, and his eyes widened. Was Remus expecting someone? Had Dumbledore forgotten something? Maybe it was just Jehovah's Witnesses. He listened, straining to hear the muffled voices below, but apart from low grumbling, he couldn’t make out much.

Losing interest in what he decided must be cold callers, he went in search of the only two things that ever made him feel better—aside from Remus. Stop that! Do you realise how desperate you sound? When did you become so needy? There’s no way that man will want you after what you pulled this morning. If you wanted to be babied and coddled, you shouldn’t have flipped out. Showing him your lash wounds—what were you thinking? More to the point, what was he thinking when you tore off your shirt? He can’t have any doubts about you now.

“Shut up!” he cried into the empty room. You told him you hated him. Again. You called him a liar! “I said SHUT UP!” Harry clamped his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t silence the rant in his mind. It’s ironic, isn’t it? He’s worked to earn your trust and you’ve resisted for so long. Then, when you finally think he might be different, you throw it all back in his face. Can you even tell the difference between reality and dreams anymore?

He grabbed his book and hurled it across the room. It hit the lampshade and fell to the floor. Guilt surged. He trudged over and picked up his battered copy of ‘The Secret Garden.’ Wedged in the spine was a small, tattered piece of paper. He didn’t remember putting it there. Carefully, he eased it out, noticing a fine gloss and Remus’s handwriting:
“Justify... For where you tend a rose my lad, a thistle cannot grow.”
He drew a sharp breath and flipped it over. There, in sepia print, was a moving photograph of a beach. A tall, gangly man in his twenties sat on the sand, looking lovingly at a round-faced toddler in his lap. His hair blew in the wind as he threw his head back and laughed. The little boy giggled, grabbing at auburn strands. Their carefree expressions suggested nothing could wipe the grins from their faces. They were simply happy.

Harry’s heart clenched, and a tear slipped down his cheek just as a roar echoed from below. He jumped, every hair on his neck standing on end. It was a man’s voice, much too deep and gruff to be Remus. He placed the photograph on his bedside table and crept to the door, straining for clues.

The shouts faded to raised voices as he approached, leaving Harry to wonder if he’d imagined the venom. Maybe Remus had finally invited a friend and they were just getting rowdy. Perhaps Harry had stressed him so much he’d turned to drink, maybe even whiskey for his flu.

Yes, that had to be it. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling something was wrong? Remus had never mentioned friends, aside from his late parents. Still, Harry knew there was much he didn’t know about the man. Perhaps after this morning, Remus needed support—moral or otherwise. Or enforcement, the sly voice suggested.

Harry scolded himself as he traced the wood grain with his finger. Remus was probably in the kitchen, ranting about his weird, pathetic kid to his anonymous friend. Or laughing at what a mess Harry was, just like his uncle used to do. The thought brought intrusive memories and made his shoulders tense.

What if Remus was doing exactly that? Making degrading comments, inventing new names for him. Harry didn’t think the man capable, but after everything said this morning, he couldn’t help but wonder. No, he was being stupid. The man had told him he loved him. His opinion wouldn’t change just like that, would it? Harry had been difficult before—cheeking, insulting, running away, breaking rules. Anything to test Remus, but he hadn’t deserved it.

Even when they met, when Harry tried to pickpocket him, Remus was kind. He let Harry keep his wallet, only asking for his photos back—one of which he’d now given to Harry. That was Remus: kind, unassuming, selfless. Everything Dumbledore had said. So why hadn’t Harry believed it until now? Deep down, he knew the answer. There was still a niggling doubt. He’d never been sure of Remus’s motives. No one had ever treated him so kindly. Most people looked at him as if he were nothing. Why was Remus different? Why put up with everything Harry threw at him? Surely there was a reason. Surely Remus couldn’t be the exception. But if everyone was out for themselves, why did Harry turn to mush every time Remus called him cub or kiddo? Every time he smiled, Harry felt a rush of something unnamed, but good.

He enjoyed Remus’s attention—the smiles, the laughter, the teasing, the way he always tried to make Harry happy. Above all, he loved the way Remus made him feel: free to be himself, no labels, no judgment. Just Harry. And Remus didn’t mind at all. The trouble was, Harry had no idea if the feeling was mutual.

Before he could think, his fingers were on the doorknob. Gathering his courage, he twisted and pulled, focused on one thing: he had to know the truth. The voices below were now clear, as if their owners were just outside.

“Harry. Is. Fine.” He recognised Remus’s voice, but it was cold and angry. What was going on?

“Is he, mutt? Is he really fine? My sources say Harry is far from happy with his current living arrangements.” An unfamiliar, clipped voice. There was a sharp edge to it.

A pause, then:
“Tell me, how could he possibly be happy living with a lycanthrope? A dangerous, deranged, bloodthirsty beast like you?” Harry blanched. Was that aimed at Remus?
“Give him up, Remus. Do the right thing. Make him happy. Just give him up.” That voice was vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn’t place it.

“No.”

“Why are you doing this, Remus? Is it for Harry or for you? If you really care about the boy, you’d tell us where he is so we can take him to a better place.”

A better place? Did that mean taking him away from Remus? What if he didn’t want that? What if Remus was the best place he’d ever been? He’d begged to go back to the Vic’s Arms, but now, thinking things through, he felt different. Maybe he should go downstairs and tell them he’d changed his mind. He wanted to stay at the cottage. He wanted to be with Remus. Who were these men to say otherwise? No one had been in charge of his life for three years, and he didn’t want that to change now.

A gut-wrenching thought struck him. What if they were social workers? They’d take him away, to one of those homes Uncle Vernon always threatened him with.
“Never. I’d never trust you with him. Any of you.” Remus clearly didn’t trust them either. Wait—was Remus defending him? Did he not want Harry taken away?

A warm rush of affection filled Harry.
“But you trust him with yourself? Knowing what you are? What you’re capable of? Do you really think Harry deserves to be subjected to your true nature? The instincts of a deprived werewolf?”
Something clicked in Harry’s mind. The basement—Remus said it was charmed to protect against intruders. Was Remus a werewolf? Did such things exist? After all he’d seen since learning he was a wizard, yes, werewolves seemed possible.

He didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew the hateful words being thrown at Remus didn’t fit him at all. Remus didn’t have a dangerous bone in his body. Even if he was a werewolf, he was still human, still a good man. He knew enough to know werewolves only transformed once a month, and it wasn’t their choice. Besides, Remus had a secure basement. Surely this social worker knew that?

Lost in thought, Harry didn’t notice he was at the top of the stairs until he nearly stepped off. His stomach lurched as he heard Remus say,
“I’m not dangerous and I’d never hurt him. Never! You may be right; Harry may be better off with someone else. Merlin knows I have nothing to offer him. But I’d sooner tear my own limbs off than entrust Harry to the likes of you.”

Remus sounded scared, but his words were fierce. Why were these men making him afraid? Why so cruel?

“Well, Remus, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance. McClouhan, Murphey—arrest him.”
Harry heard a yelp and saw his guardian forced against the wall by a man he recognised and hated on sight. His blood ran cold and a scream ripped from his throat.

“NOOO! NO STOP! DON’T TAKE HIM! DON’T ARREST HIM PLEASE! HE AIN’T DONE NOTHIN’ WRONG!”
Remus’s eyes found Harry at the top of the stairs, his face twisting in horror, then softening to resignation.

“It’s okay, cub. It’s okay. Everything will turn out alright, I promise, you’ll see.” Even now, Remus tried to comfort him. It broke Harry’s heart.

“STOP THIS NONSENSE! EDMUND, TAKE HIM!”
Harry watched as the man from the Ministry slammed Remus against the wall and twisted his arms behind his back.

“NO YOU CAN’T! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU CAN’T TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!”
Without thinking, Harry bolted down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, another man blocked his path—his other interrogator from the holding cell. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was he was one of them. Harry glared and tried to push past, but the man grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging in hard.

“Harry—I know you can’t fully comprehend this, I wouldn’t put it past him to have meddled with your mind. But we’re just trying to protect you, son. This man is a danger, a real threat to you!”
Rage flared in Harry. How dare this man say that? Couldn’t he see Remus was no threat at all?

“NO! NO HE’S NOT! HE’S A GOOD MAN! YOU DON’T KNOW HIM! HE’S DONE EVERYTHING FOR ME—HE’S BEEN LIKE A FATHER TO ME AND I LOVE HIM LIKE HE IS! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!”
He wasn’t sure where the words came from, only that they were true. “I love him.” He whispered, sinking to his knees. “I love him.” Silence followed, broken only by his quiet sobs.

Then Remus spoke. “I love you too, Harry.” Harry choked out a noise, hardly daring to believe it. “I will always love you.” He looked up at the man who’d become a father to him, hope shining in his eyes. “Let him go. Please, just let him go.”

Fudge had let go of Harry but hadn’t moved away, watching him with a torn expression.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Harry. You should never have been in this man’s care. He took you against your will!”

“No he didn’t!” Harry cried. “He didn’t!”

“Well, he took you against the Ministry’s will and that’s all that matters, boy, so zip it!” McClouhan snapped over his shoulder, eyes blazing.

“SO WHAT IF HE DID? IT TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST DAMN THING THAT ANYONE’S EVER DONE FOR ME SO I’D SAY IT WAS THE RIGHT DECISION!”
Remus’s heart swelled with love, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please, I need to go to him. Please, just give me a moment—”

“You’ve got no chance, mutt. Best you can do is take a good look because you aren’t ever going to see him again.” McClouhan hissed.

“CAN’T YOU SEE THIS IS UPSETTING HIM! HE’S FRIGHTENED! PLEASE JUST LET ME SEE HIM!”

“Didn’t you hear him, mongrel? He said NO.” Murphey piped up.

“LET HIM GO YOU BASTARDS! LET REMUS GO!”

“Mister Potter, please listen.” Fudge knelt to Harry’s level, resting a leathery hand on his knee. “I know this must be unsettling, but you must understand, we have your best interests at heart. This man—”

“He has a name.”

“Yes, well, Remus. He is not all he appears to be. He is in fact a known werewol—”

“I know what he is and I don’t care! So if that’s your excuse for wanting to take me away it’s pathetic.” Harry shoved his hand away. “In fact, I’d say you’re only doing this because you’ve got a grudge against him—or worse, prejudice.” Remus let out a noise between a cry and a sob.

“Get a grip of yourself, you filthy mongrel.” Harry twisted to see the auror thrusting Remus’s head against the wall, slowly removing his wand. The glint in his eye made Harry swallow.

“McClouhan—all I want is to hug my boy. You have a son, don’t you? You know what it’s like. Please, just give me a moment with him, I need to tell him goodbye.”

The auror sneered. “What, so you can grab him and Disapparate? Not likely.”

“NO! No, I don't want to say goodbye. You don’t have to say goodbye, Remus, no!”
Finding unknown strength, Harry rose to his feet, ignoring Fudge’s protests, and glared at the balding man. The air was tight, like a storm brewing. These men weren’t playing, but if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was act. He drew on his street training and schooled his features. “I don’t care what you say or what you try to do, you’re not taking him anywhere and I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here with him!”

“Oh no you’re not, boy. You see this here? This means you are.” Murphy smirked, waving a battered scroll of parchment. “Yeah, and how the hell’s a piece of paper going to change it? I said I’m not going and that’s final.”

“Because this, my dear dim-witted one, is a legal document. Not just any legal document—oh no. There’s only one of these. It is a decipher of fate, or more specifically, your fate.”

Though his stomach twisted, Harry raised an eyebrow and snorted. “You think I care about your fortune-telling paper? You think that’s going to scare me into coming with you? Newsflash—it’s not going to work!”

“ENOUGH!” Fudge’s shout cracked through the hall like thunder. “McClouhan, cuff the wolf. Murphey, hold the boy!” The youngest man advanced, leering. Harry heard Remus struggling as the handcuffs snapped shut.

“GET AWAY FROM MY BOY! LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE’S SCARED, YOU IMBECILES, YOU’RE JUST SCARING HIM! TAKE ME INSTEAD!” Remus was screaming so uncontrollably that McClouhan jabbed his wand into his neck.

“One more word, mutt, and I’ll hex you into next week.” Harry stiffened as the auror advanced, hoping if he stayed still, he wouldn’t be touched.

“As Murphey was saying—this fortune-telling paper, Mr Potter, is all we need to remove you from his care. It’s a magical binding contract that enlists your guardians, the chosen sign, the relevant part, and this creates a soul bond. In most cases, it only disappears once you come of age.” Fudge plucked the parchment from Murphy’s fist. “Every witch and wizard is assigned one at birth. Most never become relevant, but in your case, it becomes crucial.”

Harry glared. “Crucial why? What’s so important about this so-called soul bond? It doesn’t change anything. I’m not coming with you, you can’t make me! Even if you did what you did before, I’d just run away again.”

“Cub, it matters because whoever is named on that document has a legal obligation to become your permanent guardian. If they don’t, there are consequences...” Remus trailed off.

“What consequences?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling.

“If whoever has signed that paper doesn’t fulfil their duties, then the charge will die.” Harry stared at Remus in shock.

“Well, whose signature is on it now? If it’s yours then—”

“It’s not my signature, Harry.”

“Well, whose is it then?”

Fudge’s mouth twisted into a sly grin. “No one’s. It’s blank.”

“Blank?”

“Yes, you idiot child, blank.” McClouhan scowled.

“Why?”

There was silence. Remus finally spoke. “I don’t think they know, kiddo.”
Harry surveyed the group, then looked at Fudge. “Well then I just have to sign Remus’ name, huh?” Without warning, he punched Murphey in the chest, knocking him aside, and lunged at the Minister. The older man fell but clung to the document. There was a bang and a flash of white light, and Harry was thrown against the wall. Remus’s roar drowned out the Minister’s yelps.

“HOW DARE YOU ATTACK THE MINISTER OF MAGIC?!” McClouhan raised his wand but froze as Harry, in defence, cast a stunning charm. The wand dropped from his hand, and Remus broke away. Murphy, recovering, clambered to his feet with a dangerous look.

“Oh, you’ve done it now boy—petrificu—”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Murphy’s wand flew to Remus. With his wrists cuffed, he stepped aside as Harry leapt and caught it. But Remus was focused on Murphy, pinning him with a feral glare. “IF EITHER OF YOU TRY TO ATTACK MY SON AGAIN, I SWEAR TO MERLIN YOUR LIVES WON’T BE WORTH LIVING!” he screamed.

Harry’s head snapped round. Had he just called him his son?
With McClouhan frozen and Murphy as good as, Harry jumped over Fudge and straight to Remus, knocking him against the wall in a fierce embrace. Remus almost howled with frustration at not being able to hug back, but Harry clung to him, desperate. This was what Remus had waited for, prayed for. Tears poured from his eyes as he nuzzled Harry’s hair. He’d always known he loved this boy, but he hadn’t realised how deeply until now.

“Step away from him, Harry. Let go and step away.” Harry let out a noise between a grunt and a moan, suddenly aware of the others in the room. He let his arms fall and turned to face Cornelius Fudge, now holding the parchment with a look of grim determination.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

“I’m afraid, Mr Potter, you leave me with no choice. I cannot allow you to remain in the care of a werewolf. His violent nature is clearly influencing your behaviour. You should be thanking me for not arresting you. There will be consequences for your display of brutality, and you will be punished. However, I am merciful and will put your delinquencies down to the fact you are disturbed.”

Harry blanched. Remus growled, but Fudge ignored them and pulled out a quill. “Please, you can’t do this, Cornelius. Don’t take away the only thing I have left. He’s everything to me. I would never hurt him, I swear!”

The minister poised his quill, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Any last words, Potter?” Harry hesitated, studying the man about to ruin his life, but beneath the contempt, he was resigned. He was used to things going wrong. It was all part of the curse. He wasn’t meant to be happy. He turned to Remus, heart breaking. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry I was so bad. I’m sorry I ever said I hated you—I don’t, I never did! I love you and—even if I never see you again, you’ll always be my dad.”

Remus couldn’t respond, but the tears in his eyes said it all. Fudge, triumphant, pressed his quill to the paper and scrawled his signature. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his smile faded. The black ink seeped into the parchment and vanished, replaced by a much smaller, neater mark. Fudge glared at McClouhan, who reversed Harry’s spell.

“What is the meaning of this?” he barked, waving the parchment. McClouhan squinted, then looked up in horror. “Sir, look—it says the chosen guardian is—”

“Remus John Lupin, I know, but why?” Fudge demanded. Harry’s eyes snapped open. Behind him, Remus’s heart raced.

“Remus John Lupin. Remus John BLEEDIN’ LUPIN! What is—why does it state—McClouhan, fix this mess!” the minister raged.

“If I might, sir, I think he did it,” Murphy said, nodding at Harry.

Remus jumped to Harry’s defence. “That’s absurd! Harry couldn’t have done anything! He’s been here the whole time!”

“Not intentionally, wolf. I meant subconsciously. With his words—he called you his dad. I think it tricked the parchment.”

“This document cannot be tricked, you imbecile! It is a magical artefact. It does not make mistakes.” McClouhan snarled.

Fudge opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “Well, how do we erase it?”
McClouhan shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s impossible, sir. You can’t.” Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, his head spinning.

“R-Remus, what’s going on?” Remus kept his eyes on the minister, his voice cold.
“Why don’t you tell him, Minister?”

A roar tore through the hall as Fudge ripped the parchment in half.
“Stop!” Harry and Remus cried, but the document shivered and repaired itself. Harry gaped; Fudge looked as if he’d swallowed seaweed. He glared and McClouhan strode over.

“So it appears the mouse escapes the lion’s clutches. I suppose it’s only fitting—every dog has its day.”

“You know, I’ve always thought it is better to be the head of a mouse than the tail of a lion, McClouhan,” Remus replied.

“Say what you will, but you must know, you may have won the fight, but you will not win the war, Lupin. We will find a way to get to him, and when we do, you’ll be powerless to stop it.”

Harry watched, wondering how Remus would respond, but to his surprise, Remus only smiled. “Your comebacks need some work.”

“That may be, but unlike yours, they hold true.”

Remus shrugged, then turned to his still-shaking charge. “Harry, do you have any final words for our friends?”

“Yeah.” Harry glared at the Minister. “Piss off, you old fuck.”

Fudge seethed, face turning blotchy red, then spun on his heel and stormed out.
Remus turned to the Ministry workers. “I believe that goes for you too.” His smile faded to a glower. “Now get out of our house.”

McClouhan jerked his head at Murphey and followed Fudge, muttering under his breath. Only when the door slammed shut did Harry’s shoulders finally relax. For a moment, there was silence, then Harry let out a snort of laughter.

Remus looked at him, bewildered. “I’m sorry,” Harry grinned. “But did you see the look on Fudge’s face when I launched at him?” Remus cocked his head, half amused, half bemused.

“Yeah, he was—shocked,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“He deserved it. Meddling old buffoon.” Harry flashed a grin, and Remus snorted. Soon, their amusement turned to laughter—laughter that ended with father and son clutching each other as a very different kind of tears ran down their cheeks. When the noise faded, radiant smiles remained.

Breaking apart, they stood in quiet companionship, neither eager to let go of the moment. Harry caught Remus’s eye and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, flushed bright pink.

“I meant it, you know,” Remus said quickly, not wanting Harry to think it was just the heat of the moment. But the glimmer in Harry’s eye told him he already understood.

“I meant it too—dad.” He tested the word and found it easy. Smiling shyly, he looked up at Remus, who was brimming with pride.

“You’re my everything, kiddo.” Remus whispered, raising his cuffed hands to Harry’s face and cupping his jaw. Harry glanced down at the handcuffs digging into Remus’s wrists.

“Off,” he said, focusing on freeing him. With a click, the cuffs dropped open. Remus’s blue eyes twinkled in thanks as he slipped out of the restraints, then bent and kissed Harry’s head, making him blush even more. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but was interrupted by a floorboard creaking under a heavy weight. Both froze.

“Well played, Moony. Well played indeed... Now give me my godson.”

Chapter Text

A frosty draft swept through the hall, biting sensation back into Remus’s numb flesh and twisting his nerves. His intestines knotted as Harry jumped, as if someone had plunged ice down his back. Though Remus hadn’t heard the voice in almost twelve years, it triggered a thousand memories. It was the voice of a man who’d betrayed him in the worst way—a man responsible for the pain and heartache he’d endured for over a decade. A voice he’d come to detest, one he’d sworn never to hear again.

Harry’s red-rimmed eyes darted, and Remus felt an urge to shield him from the face that haunted his own dreams. He pulled the small teen into his chest, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders protectively. Holding him close, he buried his nose in Harry’s tangled hair, focusing on the scent that was uniquely his, trying to steady his own turmoil.

“Easy now, Moony. Just pass the kid to me and no one will get hurt.” The voice leered from behind. Another floorboard creaked; the man was drawing closer. Remus forced a humourless laugh that vibrated against Harry’s head. “So it’s true what they say. You really are deluded.”

A throaty cluck, another whine of crushed wood. Remus’s grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. “Not deluded, Moony. Only hungry for justice.”

Remus almost choked. “Justice? You murdered fifteen innocent people! You betrayed our best friends and you say you’re hungry for justice!?”

Something hard pressed against the back of his neck and he froze. The thirteen-year-old in his arms shivered and buried his face in Remus’s robes, trying to hide from the deranged stranger. “Yes, Moony, justice for the twelve years I’ve spent paying for a crime I did not commit.”

The man’s gravelly voice seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. Blood rushed to Remus’s head as if he’d been strung upside down. Summoning his courage, he pushed Harry behind him and turned to face the escaped mass murderer—Sirius Black.

For a moment, Black’s eyes met Remus’s in a fierce glare, but Harry stumbling back and tripping over the coat stand drew his attention. Black’s hollow eyes widened, settling on the small boy who looked as if he wished the ground would swallow him whole. Though Harry had never met this man, he recognised him instantly. The wanted poster from the ‘Daily Prophet’ had stuck with him. He’d never quite believed Remus’s insistence that there was nothing more to the story. He’d seen the look on Remus’s face when he’d asked; it was the same look he’d worn at the Leaky Cauldron—a look that said Remus was hiding something, something massive. Harry had never imagined it could be that the unhinged killer was his godfather.

“Of course you committed the crime. You were found and arrested at the scene among the dead bodies. The bodies of people whose lives you took right after you betrayed them!” Remus spat, trying to draw Black’s attention away from Harry. He hated the way Black regarded Harry as if he were a piece of meat. The escaped convict paid him no heed. Instead, he reached out a scaly hand, moving towards the trembling boy.

“My godson.” He purred, making Harry feel sick. Quick as a rabbit fleeing its burrow, Harry dragged himself across the floor and pressed his back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and the man as possible.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” Remus yelled, throwing his arm out to block Black. “DON’T YOU DARE GO ANYWHERE NEAR HIM! DON’T TAKE ANOTHER STEP!”

Sirius’s eyes flicked to Remus’s wand, a flash of surprise crossing his face as if he’d been snapped out of a trance. “He’s my godson, Remus,” he growled, anger flashing in his eyes.

“You gave up the right to call him that the day you murdered his mother and father!” Remus hissed, the vein in his neck throbbing as he struggled to keep control. Somewhere behind, a whimper of shock escaped Harry and Remus’s lungs gave out. Shit—Harry!

“I am not the reason James and Lily died that night. I am not the one responsible for killing all those people!” Black snarled, glaring at Remus. “It was the rat who was the snitch. The rat! But you—you never thought to question that, did you, Moony? You never doubted for a second that I was the traitor! Why was that, Remy? Tell me, why were you so ready to believe it was me?”

Something flickered in Remus’s prematurely lined face, but before Black could catch it, it was gone. Was it pain? Fury? Recognition? “Was it because you thought he was too stupid? Too innocent? Blundering, flustered little Peter could never be a spy. No, it must be the one with a dodgy past and a dark family. Never mind you knew me for years and should have known James was my brother in all but blood!” he roared.

Remus saw Harry flinch, but before he could speak, Black’s wand was at his throat. “So yes, Moony, I want justice! I want justice for every wrong done to me! I want revenge. I want my life back and that starts with the boy! He’s mine, Remus—mine, not yours! He belongs with me, and like it or not, I’m taking him.”

“You’ll never get Harry. Not as long as I live,” Remus snarled. Sirius let out a hollow laugh and Harry felt a cold ripple of hate down his spine.

“Your son!? Your son!?” Sirius turned to Harry. “You weren’t even named as his godfather! He’s not your family. He’s nothing to do with you!”

“Well, I’m sure James and Lily would have changed that if they’d known what you really were!” Remus spat back, not understanding why Black’s words cut so deep. All he knew was a storm was brewing and if this lunatic continued, he’d blow him to oblivion. “And don’t you dare speak to me about family, you coward!”

“I am not the coward, Moony.” He drew his wand arm back and replaced it with his hand, letting overgrown fingernails puncture Remus’s neck as he crushed his windpipe with inhuman strength. Remus’s face turned purple as the oxygen to his brain was cut off.

“STOP IT!” Harry screamed, launching himself at Sirius. “STOP IT, LET HIM GO! JUST STOP IT!”

Remus’s bloodshot eyes rolled. If he were to die now, he wanted Harry’s emerald eyes to be the last thing he saw. The teenager scratched and wrenched at Sirius’s wrist with all his strength, desperate to break the death grip. Screams tore his throat like barbed wire, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let this monster hurt the man he loved like a father. Scraps of skin gathered under his fingernails, and Sirius yelped.

“GET OUT OF IT, HARRY!”

“NO! NOT UNTIL YOU LET GO OF HIM! PLEASE, JUST LET GO! I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT—JUST STOP!” Harry’s plea distracted Sirius enough for his grip to loosen, and Remus gasped for air.

“HARRY, PLEASE, GET TO THE FLU! GET TO THE FLU, CUB, AND GO! GO TO THE LEAKY CAULDRON—GO TO DIAGON ALLEY, ANYWHERE! JUST GO!” he managed before Sirius clamped his hand over Remus’s mouth.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Sirius hissed, his face inches from Remus’s, when a tangle of dark hair wedged between them. Before either could react, Harry sank his teeth into Sirius’s arm, clamping down hard. Sirius howled in agony but didn’t let go. Instead, he kneed Harry in the stomach, forcing him away. Remus writhed under Black’s grip as he watched Harry stumble, clutching his stomach.

Please, Harry, stay back. Remus silently begged, but Harry’s face was set with determination. “STOP IT, BOY! STOP IT AND I WON’T HURT YOU!” Sirius warned, whipping his wand at Harry as he prepared to attack again.

Harry charged, but Sirius was ready. With a flick of his wand, Harry hit an invisible barrier and rebounded, crashing to the ground. He choked, tears streaking his cheeks, but Sirius ignored him, turning back to Remus, intent on choking him. It didn’t take long for Harry to realise he could use their distraction. Pushing the pain aside, he charged and latched onto Sirius’s arm, pulling with enough force to dislocate a shoulder.

“PLEASE, JUST LET HIM GO AND COME WITH ME. WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS, YEAH? I’LL LISTEN, I SWEAR!”

“KID, IF YOU DON’T STOP NOW I’LL HAVE TO FORCE YOU!” Sirius threatened, fighting Harry off and throwing him back. But Harry persisted.

“I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT, I MEAN IT! JUST PLEASE LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE AIN’T DONE NOTHIN’!” He tried to wedge himself between the struggling adults, desperate for Sirius’s attention.

“LOOK, WE CAN GO SOMEWHERE ALONE, YEAH? GO TO MY BEDROOM AND SORT THIS OUT BETWEEN US!” Remus closed his eyes and prayed Harry wasn’t offering what he feared. His despair grew as Sirius crashed an elbow into Harry’s chest and Harry cried out.

“NO, NO, I CAME HERE TO KILL HIM! AND THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO DO! SAY GOODNIGHT NOW, MOONY. SAY GOODNIGHT TO JAMES AND LILY’S SON.”

In desperation, Harry dragged himself upright and jumped, grabbing a fistful of Sirius’s hair and yanking down. As Sirius bent, Harry kneed him in the face. Sirius dropped Remus and clutched his nose, howling as blood poured down.

“RUN, HARRY! RUN!” Remus yelled, clutching his bruised throat.

Harry ignored him and went for Sirius, now hunched on the ground. He stamped hard on Sirius’s stomach, feeling ribs crunch. Sirius howled.

“I want to know,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I want to know how you betrayed my parents. I want to know why!” Remus reached for Harry, but Harry snapped, wrenching away. “NO! I want to know! I want to know why he did it! I want to know why he’s lying now! I WANT TO KNOW WHY HE’S HERE FOR ME!”

Sirius shrugged off Harry’s foot, rolling onto his front. He made it to all fours when a wand was pointed at his bloody face. “Then tell him, Padfoot,” Remus spat. “In fact, enlighten us both. Are you truly unhinged enough to believe your own lies, or did you think we might actually buy your story?”

Sirius looked up at his former friend and smirked. “Oh, I’m not here to convince you, Moony. I’m not even here specifically for the kid. No, he’s just a surprise. Though I should have figured he’d be here with you. How’d you get him? Did you steal him from an orphanage? Smuggle him in and keep him prisoner? A world that believes him dead? Been on the run with him, evading the Aurors? We’re not so different, you and me, Moony.”

“He didn’t steal me! He didn’t smuggle me anywhere! Dumbledore asked him to take me and he did! So you’re wrong! Now answer my bloody questions!” Sirius raised an eyebrow and licked his lips.

“Oh, it figures Dumbledore was in on this. The wise old man who wouldn’t even give me a hearing. Tell me, Moony, do you trust him? Because I trusted him once, and look where that got me!”

“You’re a disgrace. Trying to blame your cowardice on Dumbledore—how dare you?” Remus raged, pressing his wand into Sirius’s cheek. “You’d better start talking, Sirius, or—”

“Or you’ll what, Moony? Call the Minister back? I’m sure he’d be enthralled to see you with me again.”

“Why did you come here, Black?”

“I already told you, Remus. I want justice. I want you to know what it’s like to suffer as I did. I want you to watch as everything you care about is taken away. Or rather, everyone.” His eyes darted to Harry, and he gave a sly grin. Harry’s stomach twisted.

“No. No, you’re lying! You said you didn’t even know he was here! Why are you really here, Black?” Remus demanded, digging his wand into Sirius’s cheek.

“Plans can be diverted, Moony. I came here to kill you, but now I see there’s something better on offer, my godso—”

“I ain’t no fukin’ offer!” Harry bellowed, his face flushed with rage. Remus suspected it brought back horrible memories and his heart bled for him.

“You have no right to speak to or about Harry! How dare you call him your godson? After all you’ve done! After all you’ve put him through? How dare you speak to him?” Remus snarled. He’d never felt the urge to strike another man, not in human form, but the way Sirius hurt Harry now made him want to break every bone in his body.

“If you came here to kill my guardian, then I hope you know you ain’t gettin’ out alive,” Harry spat. Sirius brushed away Remus’s wand and rose to his knees, scrutinising them with a surreal calm that only aggravated them further.

“Where’s that accent from? You don’t speak properly like Remy. I’d have thought three years in his company would be enough to rub off on you.”

Harry glared but said nothing.

“You have no idea, do you, Black? You haven’t got a clue what you’ve caused. What your actions have done to him, to us! You deserve to burn in hell,” Remus snarled.

“I never betrayed James or Lily. I never murdered those muggles. It was Peter, all Peter. I was supposed to be the Secret Keeper for the Potters, yes. James asked me, Dumbledore agreed. But I thought it was too obvious. So I switched with Pettigrew at the last minute. Told him to do it—I never knew he’d go straight to Voldemort. I never knew he was the spy! When I went to Godric’s Hollow, when I saw what he’d done, I went to find him. But the damn snitch blew up half the street along with all the muggles, then transformed into a rat and scuttled down the alley. Sliced off his own finger to add a convincing touch. Don’t you get it, Remus? He faked his own death! Murdered in the middle of our confrontation to make it look like I’d done it! I’m innocent. I’ve always been innocent! But you never could see that!”

A long silence stretched over the hall as Remus gaped at him, then ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “You really are delusional,” he said. “My gods, your mind is disturbed. Pettigrew is DEAD! You killed him!”

Sirius clucked as he climbed to his feet. “Believe what you like, Remus. Merlin knows that’s what you’ve done all these years, isn’t it?”

“I believe it because it’s the truth. The Ministry has evidence!”

“Contaminated evidence! I never gave the Potters up, I never told Voldemort where they were! I never even knew!”

A volcanic ocean broke through Harry’s restraint and he unleashed a blood-curdling shriek. “LIAR!” The pair turned to him, shocked. “YOU KILLED MY MUM AND DAD, DIDN’T YOU! ADMIT IT! YOU GAVE THEM UP TO THE MAN WHO MURDERED THEM!”

“Harry, I swear I—” Sirius started, but Harry cut him off.

“YOU’RE THE FUKIN’ REASON I GREW UP AN ORPHAN! YOU’RE WHY I WAS SENT TO THE DURSLEYS! YOU’RE WHY I SPENT THREE YEARS ON THE STREETS! YOU’RE THE REASON IT ALL HAPPENED!”

“IT WASN’T ME! IT WASN’T MY FAULT!”

“YES IT WAS! YES IT FUKIN’ WAS! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Memories dug their claws into Harry’s mind, immersing him in a typhoon of hate. Fury coursed through his veins, igniting the fumes under the surface. He wasn’t just screaming about Remus’s attack—he was screaming about every injustice, every humiliation, every hunger, every night on cardboard, every fist, every touch, every time he’d lost control. He was pouring it all onto Sirius’s shoulders. White-hot fury flooded him, burning with the desire to inflict his agony on this man.

The ground beneath his feet began to quiver, stone turning to jelly as if lava crashed down and melted it. A vase fell, shattering and sending shards everywhere. It was a trigger, firing a flare straight to Remus’s chest. He knew what was happening and felt powerless to stop it.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, KID?” Sirius roared, but Harry could barely hear. There was uncertainty in Sirius’s tone now. The floorboards fused, friction sending neon sparks. The ground rocked, and the adults stumbled. Remus looked almost fearfully at Harry as a gust of wind tossed his hair, matching the wild glint in his eyes.

Remus opened his mouth but a thunderclap swallowed his plea. Then, as if the heavens opened, a tsunami swept through the hall. Hail cascaded from the ceiling, battering the beams and bouncing off the floor. The water rose, lapping at their ankles and spilling into other rooms.

“IT WAS YOUR FAULT! ADMIT IT OR I WON’T STOP!” Sirius’s mind finally caught up. Was the kid causing this? He wasn’t holding a wand. Was this accidental magic?

“Harry, you have to! Please try to calm down, cub, please.” Remus’s terror splintered Harry’s heart and anguish washed through him.

“I can’t,” he moaned. “Not until he admits what he did.” A shock of white flashed across Sirius’s eyes, and for a moment he thought he was dead. But as the light faded, Harry’s rage spilled over again. “You killed my parents!”

Could it be possible? Hail crashed down like cannonballs. Nobody could control the weather like this. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t even a gift, it was that rare.

“You tried to kill Remus!” Another flash followed, amplifying Harry’s words. The cottage was caught in a monsoon. There was no other explanation. This boy—he had to be one. To have power over the weather like this was almost unheard of. There hadn’t been a record since Merlin’s age. “You’re a monster! YOU’RE A MONSTER!” Thunder rolled through the air. His godson. An elemental wizard. “I’LL NEVER BE YOUR GODSON!”

“Harry, please, you have to stop, cub!” Remus begged. The water was rising to their knees. Sirius knew he had to act or drown. He lunged, slashing towards Harry.

“You’re coming with me, kid, whether you like it or not!” He grabbed for Harry’s wrist but was shot back as if electrocuted, splashing into the water at the far end of the hall. It took him a moment to recover. Shaking off the shock, he battled the water and stood, finding himself opposite Harry, who glared at him with cold fury.

Remus was wading towards him, wand raised, face grim. Sirius saw his own wand floating behind Remus, out of reach. He recognised defeat in Remus’s stare and Harry’s power. With no other option, he focused on his destination and Disapparated. The killing curse landed seconds later where he’d been.

Chapter Text

The pair stood frozen, staring at the spot where Sirius had vanished and the blaze of green lightning struck. The mighty cannon-crack still echoed in their ears. Neither noticed the wind dropping or the rain easing, leaving only ripples in the pooling water. The air was cold enough to freeze it to ice.

“Homenum Revelio!” Remus bellowed, snapping Harry from his trance. Remus scanned the passageway as if seeing it for the first time, then nodded. “We’re alone now. He’s gone.” Seeing Harry’s expression, Remus’s features softened. “It’s alright, cub. It’s over. He’s gone.”

He waded through the water to his trembling charge, the water offering little resistance. He seemed compelled to reach Harry, to reassure him he was safe. Harry, lost in a fog, stared at the spot where Sirius had disappeared. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, as if afraid speaking too loudly might bring Sirius back.

“B-but I don’t understand. Why’d he want to kill you?”

Remus dropped his outstretched hand, swinging it awkwardly at his side. As much as he wanted to comfort Harry, he sensed now wasn’t the right time. He considered the question.

“I don’t think he did, cub. Not at first. I think when he saw me with you, he just lost it. He’s right—he was the one named as your godfather. I’ve got what he was supposed to have.”

“So you reckon he got jealous?” Harry asked, subdued.

“Yes, but I also think he’s deeply disturbed—delirious, even deranged. Not that it excuses his actions. None of what he’s done is remotely acceptable, whatever the reason,” Remus finished bitterly, his expression distant.

“Why else?” Harry pressed.

Remus blinked. “Sorry?”

“Why else did he come here to kill you? He said he didn’t know I was with you until he saw us. Unless he was lying, but I reckon he was telling the truth about that. So why else do you think he came here to kill you?” Though his voice trembled, he held Remus’s gaze. “And what was that spell you chucked at him right before he disapparated? I’m guessing it wasn’t a cheery charm. What was that light?”

Remus melted under his stubborn stare, rubbing the back of his neck and offering a tired smile. “Nothing escapes your notice, does it, kiddo.” He sighed and slumped against the wall. “You’re right, it wasn’t a charm but a curse.” He turned away, staring into the water as if searching for answers. “I just—I couldn’t stand what he was doing to you. How he made you feel, after all you’ve been through and all the damage he’s done. I couldn’t take anymore. That, and being what I am, sometimes leads to rash decisions. I lost it. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, especially so soon after a full moon...”

From behind, Harry saw Remus’s shoulders tense. He watched him closely, ready to listen. It hurt to see how much pain this caused Remus. “Before, but usually after the full moon, when things like that happen, I am capable of—I can do—” He sighed and let his shoulders drop. “Let’s just say I can be someone I’m not proud of.”

Harry frowned. Remus had acted to protect him; that wasn’t because he was a werewolf, but because he was a good person. Didn’t he know the difference? Harry said as much, trying to ease his guardian’s self-loathing. Remus thanked him, though Harry sensed he didn’t quite believe it.

A pause followed as Remus studied his ward. Harry waited, letting his emotions pass by like passengers on a train—a strategy he’d learned to cope when reality became too much.

“Me, Sirius, Peter, and your dad—we were practically brothers. Except, well, after a while... me and Sirius, we go a long way back. In our sixth year, that brotherhood changed.” He stammered, pushing himself to continue. Harry deserved the truth. “We became less like brothers and... more than friends. We were together—in a relationship.” He stopped, turning to check if Harry understood, but Harry’s face was unreadable. Remus rubbed a hand down his tired face, unsure whether to be unnerved by the lack of reaction, but pressed on.

“I loved him, and I thought he loved me. Maybe he did once. He didn’t say as much, but I’m sure he expected me to believe his story, to take his side when it all came out. Maybe he even thought I’d take the fall. I don’t think he imagined I wouldn’t fall for the act, so I think he felt betrayed by me.” He paused, grave. “He wouldn’t be wrong. When Dumbledore told me what had happened the night your parents died—what Black had done, how he killed our last best friend—he asked if I had any doubts that Sirius was the traitor, being the person who knew him best. I told him it was clear I never really knew him. Only the lies he told.”

Harry’s heart clenched at Remus’s sadness. It all made sense now—Remus’s condition, his tragic past. No wonder he lived as a recluse if this was how others treated him.

“You said nobody but Dumbledore could get past the wards. How d’you think he got in?” Harry asked gently, making it clear he didn’t care about Remus’s sexuality, only that he was listening.

“I don’t know, cub,” Remus admitted quietly. “I’m going to floo Dumbledore now—he needs to know what’s happened.” With that, he peeled himself from the wall and headed for the door.

“W-what now?” Harry bit his bottom lip, a nervous habit Remus recognised. He fought the instinct to pull him into a hug.

“I have to keep you safe.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded at the floor.

“What about—” He gestured at the room. Remus offered a small, sad smile.

“Oh, I’m sure that can be fixed.” With a graceful wave of his wand, the flood evaporated, leaving no trace behind. Another spell dried their robes. Harry stared, wide-eyed, but said nothing. “I don’t think Dumbledore needs to know about this, do you? I won’t be long, cub.” He pocketed his wand and turned to leave. A surge of guilt hit Harry.

“I’m sorry!” His tone made it clear he was apologising for more than the magical disaster. Remus glanced back, hand on the doorknob.

“You shouldn’t be. I’d have done the same. Besides, I’m the one who’s sorry, cub. I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you but I promise I’m going to put them right. That’s why I have to call Albus, you understand, don’t you, son?”

Harry smiled softly at the word. He’d worried Remus might forget, but clearly, he hadn’t. “Yeah, it’s cool, Remy.” Remus smiled back.

…

“I just—I don’t understand, Albus. How did he know where to find me? How did he get through the wards? How long was he there? He could have been here for hours, just inches from the Minister of Magic and two aurors, and none of us noticed. My senses should have picked up his scent, but I didn’t! I didn’t smell him, hear him, I didn’t see a thing! He just appeared out of nowhere.”

Remus’s thoughts spun like dirty laundry in a washing machine, colours bleeding together. He’d relayed the ordeal to Dumbledore, struggling to make sense of it all. There was so much to consider, so much to process. In the end, Remus wasn’t even sure his story made sense. Overwhelmed by emotion and questions, he stared at the battered dining table, willing its grooves to lend him strength. Foremost in his mind was Harry. It was always Harry.

“You are too hard on yourself, Remus. We must remember, we’re speaking of a man who escaped Azkaban, who’s evaded every auror, witch, wizard, and muggle searching for him. Being invisible is crucial to his survival—he’s become adept at it.” Dumbledore stroked his beard, studying Remus as if peering into his soul. Remus wondered if those sharp blue eyes could see the fear clawing at his mind. “You say he disapparated?”

Remus nodded.

“I suspect he also apparated in,” Dumbledore said at last.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “But how? I know you allowed apparating out for emergencies, but into the cottage? I thought only we could do that?”

Dumbledore nodded, folding his hands, his expression grave. “You’re right. I fear I made a mistake in the structure of these wards. For that, I apologise. The wards are charmed to recognise anyone named as Harry’s guardian, allowing you and me to pass freely. The Ministry granted me guardianship, which I passed to you. The Dursleys no longer hold rights over the child, as the parental certificate was blank. I doubted they’d find the cottage, since it’s invisible to muggles. They didn’t seem a threat, so I didn’t consider anyone else.”

“Sirius is Harry’s godfather...” Remus whispered, realisation dawning. “He knew about the house, knew my parents left it to me. Of course he’d look here first! I let him visit in our first year at Hogwarts.”

“A grave oversight. I put you and Harry in danger. I didn’t consider Sirius might wish to find you. It was extraordinarily foolish of me, and I’m truly sorry, Remus,” Dumbledore said, looking every bit his age.

“You’re only human, Albus. You couldn’t have known. I’d have thought the Ministry would have caught Black by now. They had their chance.” Remus’s voice was sour as he gripped his mug, thinking how ironic it was to be nursing hot cocoa and brooding while Harry was upstairs, as if none of the past hours had happened.

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. “I arrived by foot,” he said suddenly, piercing Remus’s thoughts. Remus only half-registered the comment, watching the whirlpool of chocolate in his cup, the aroma too sweet for his taste today. He respected Dumbledore, but all he wanted was to check on Harry.

“You answered my knock at the door.”

“Yes, well, you identified yourself and I was expect—” Remus’s brow furrowed. “But you usually apparate...” He trailed off as Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled for the first time since his arrival. “Did you try to apparate first?”

Dumbledore’s smile was thin. “I did. You understand the implications?”

“By signing that paper, I stripped you of your rights over Harry? You’re no longer considered his guardian?”

“So it seems, my friend.”

Remus stared. “What about Sirius? Does this mean he—?”

“No longer has any rights? We can’t be certain, but I suspect so.”

Remus slumped back. “So he’s safe? From Black? The wards are still in place?”

“Stronger than ever, now that I’ve made the necessary changes. You have nothing to fear. As I said, you are the most suitable person for the job—and I don’t just mean Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“But why now, Sir? If the certificate was always meant to name me, why didn’t it before? Or why didn’t it have any name at all? Why not Lily’s sister? She signed it when she took Harry in as a baby, didn’t she?” Remus paused, running a hand through his hair. “Before Fudge arrived, we had an altercation. It wasn’t just fighting—it was a confrontation. I thought we’d passed the point of no return, Albus. How can it be that after all that, mine is the name that appears over Fudge’s? How can I be sole guardian to Harry as a werewolf? I’m overjoyed, but surely there’s a mistake. Isn’t it illegal for a werewolf to have full custody of a minor? Won’t someone realise, even if Fudge hasn’t yet, and it’ll all happen again?”

“I wouldn’t call it illegal, my dear boy. Due to stigma and prejudice, it’s discouraged, but there’s no rigid rule. The Ministry doesn’t want a law it might later need to change for rare cases like this.” Dumbledore stood, scraping back his chair. Normally the noise would set Remus’s teeth on edge, but he was too absorbed to notice. Dumbledore stroked his beard and strolled to the stove.

“I made a mistake not placing Harry with you years ago, but in some ways, I think it’s better this way. I believe the certificate has been blank for several years—three, to be precise. Isn’t it ironic that until Harry faced the real possibility of being removed from your care, the document stayed blank? The certificate erased Petunia Dursley’s name for the same reason it replaced it with yours. Harry chose it to be that way. I and Cornelius, though influential, never had that authority. All the power lies with Harry, and until today, he had no reason to assign himself a guardian. Actions speak louder than words, but what’s loudest is often overlooked. You, and you alone, changed his mind, Remus. Don’t forget that.”

Remus blinked, his eyes burning. “He chose me,” he repeated, stunned. “He really chose me.”

It was a mystery why it took so long for this simple fact to sink in. Perhaps he was used to being second, third, or fourth choice. Perhaps it was because, only hours ago, Harry had declared he hated him. Or maybe it was because he’d never gotten anything he wanted in life. He was used to being shunned, ignored, ridiculed, or forgotten. He’d stopped believing anything good could happen to him.

The thought that Harry had probably spent his whole life feeling the same way struck Remus hard, rattling him to his core, unravelling the thin strings holding his heart together.

“Congratulations, my boy. I have no doubt James Potter would be proud of his son’s choice and bear no resentment that Harry has named you as his as-good-as father. Now, I believe I have another document for you to sign.”

…

Night was drawing in, yet Remus couldn’t find the strength to move. He hadn’t drained his now-cold hot chocolate, tightened the dripping tap, or lit the fire. He hadn’t even started dinner. His back ached from sitting so long, and his lower back throbbed. He’d promised himself not to go up and see Harry until he’d mastered his emotions, but hours had passed and he was no closer to moving than when Dumbledore left.

Curled over the table, he let his sobs fill the quiet cottage. Safe in the knowledge Harry couldn’t hear him, he let go. No longer holding back, he opened the dam and let the river of emotion flood out. Though he was happier than he’d been in years, the demons still tried to seep in, doubt shadowing every reassuring thought. For all he knew, Harry was upstairs having a change of heart. What if he’d made a mistake? What if he didn’t want to live with Remus after all? What if he’d just said it in the heat of the moment? What if he wanted to go back? Try as he might, Remus couldn’t push the questions away, but he couldn’t find the courage to go and find the answers either. So he stayed slumped over the table, paralysed by the fear of rejection.

When a timid knock sounded at the door, Remus’s heart jolted. He straightened, sniffing, his red-rimmed eyes finding Harry almost instantly. The orange light from the cottage window caught Harry’s upturned face at just the right angle. With his strong features kissed by sunset, he looked almost angelic—pale skin, glistening green eyes, unruly hair. Remus’s breath caught, not just because Harry looked so much like his late friends, but because of how utterly angelic he appeared. He’d never really noticed the contrast before—Harry’s appearance and persona were at odds. He always knew Harry wore a mask, but now he wondered what else he’d missed about his boy. His gaze lingered, and Harry gave him a shy, longing smile.

“Figures,” Harry said. Remus wiped his eyes and managed a watery smile. “What figures?” He followed Harry’s gesture to his mug. “Oh, kiddo, I’m sor—”

Harry cut him off with a wave. “It’s okay.” His voice was flat, giving Remus the impression he was disappointed Remus hadn’t come up to him. Anticipation filled the room, clinging to the copper pots and coating the walls in tension. Remus’s hands shook as he pulled out a chair for Harry, who glanced at him fleetingly before sitting.

“It’s been a pretty bizarre day, hasn’t it. Are you alright, kiddo?” Remus tried to keep his voice steady, though hours of crying had left it rough. Harry met his gaze, and for the first time that day, Remus felt scrutinised. He cringed inwardly. Of course it had been a weird day. Of course Harry wasn’t alright. Merlin, Remus, of all the opening lines...

Expecting Harry’s usual “I’m fine,” he searched for something better to say, when, to his surprise, Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t reckon I am,” he admitted softly. “It’s just—a lot of shit, you know?”

Remus’s face dropped. Harry’s words scraped across his nerves like sandpaper. “Yeah, I know, and I really am sorry, cub, for everything.”

“Please stop saying that.” Harry’s words caught him off guard. He needed Harry to understand how remorseful he was, how terrible he felt. How could he get that across without saying sorry? But Harry rescued him, throwing him a rope.

“There’s been so many people in my life who have so much to be sorry for and they never say it. They never even acknowledge they done wrong because they don’t care. They just carry on and don’t give a shit who it hurts. Everybody fucks up, and yeah, you’ve fucked up, and my God, I’ve fucked up ten times worse. Difference is, you actually give a damn and want to do things right. I reckon you’ve always done the best you could, even when I’ve been difficult. You never gave up on me, so stop saying sorry—you ain’t got no reason to be.” Harry turned to make sure his words landed. He needn’t have worried; Remus heard every one.

“Neither have you, cub.” The flame in Harry’s eyes dimmed, as if Remus had doused it. He was about to speak, but a small voice told him to wait.

“Yes I do. I’ve done a lot I should be sorry for.”

“And are you sorry for it?” Remus pressed. Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Why?”

“Because the stuff I’ve done—it’s bad. I should never have done it. None of it.”

“So why did you do it?” Remus let the question hang.

“Because I couldn’t see any other way.”

“So why can’t you forgive yourself?” Remus knew he was pushing, but he couldn’t stop.

“Because it still don’t make any of it right. The stuff I’ve done—it’s unforgivable.”

“Maybe not, but if you felt you had no other option, isn’t that a reason?” They both knew they weren’t just talking about the past week.

“Maybe that’d be a good excuse if it was just once—but it wasn’t, and it isn’t.” Harry chewed his fingernails to the quick.

“You’re sure of that?” The teen shot him a look, but it wasn’t his usual glare, so Remus pressed on.

“Why not let someone else see it from another point of view? If you’re sure, the worst that can happen is they agree. That might mean you really are to blame, but if not—you’d have to reconsider, wouldn’t you?”

It was a risk, and Remus knew it. But to his amazement, Harry didn’t explode or flinch. Instead, he looked thoughtful, dropping his gaze.

Remus held his breath. Dare he hope Harry would finally admit the truth? Would he take the plunge and throw Remus a lifeline after all these years? He’d been close before, only to have the chance slip away.

“Tell me,” Remus whispered, not regretting it. He had to know. Harry mumbled, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning. Tell me about the first time you think you did something unforgivable.”

“I c-can’t.”

“Why?”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I could never hate you, cub,” Remus said, eyes locked on Harry’s. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a son and I love you unconditionally.”

Harry didn’t know what “unconditionally” meant. He wasn’t sure he knew what love was, but somehow it didn’t matter. The man could have been speaking another language and it would have triggered the same chain reaction in his mind. Sitting so close to someone still practically a stranger, he knew he should feel uncomfortable, exposed, vulnerable. His skin should itch to get away, but it didn’t.

Remus shuffled closer and any fear Harry had evaporated like puddles under the summer sun. The hook had caught him.

“I know I’m not your dad, and I’ll never try to replace him. He left shoes I’ll never fill, but—Harry, I love you. I’ve always loved you. For nine years it’s torn me apart. I can’t stand the thought of you hurting—when Sirius hit you, when the Ministry tried to take you away—you can’t imagine how that felt for me. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, cub. And it’s not just because you’re James and Lily’s boy, it’s because you are who you are. I tried to stop caring. I told myself I’m no good for you, that if I loved you I’d let you go because you deserve better. But I can’t. I never could. That’s why I spent years searching for you, even when everyone begged me to stop. I kept trying! And now I’ve found you, I can’t ever let you go again. The thought of you leaving scares the hell out of me. I’ll admit it, Harry, I’m terrified—I couldn’t live through that again. The second you walked back into my life, you fixed something inside me I didn’t know was broken. You gave me a reason to stop just existing and start living. You gave me purpose. It hasn’t even been a fortnight, and you’ve taught me more than I’ve learned in my life. You’re funny, witty, intelligent, kind—not to mention brave, but you can’t see it, can you? Because no one’s ever told you. I’m not sure I’ve told you, at least not well enough.” Remus stopped and placed his hands on Harry’s knees. “Do you know what I did today, cub? I took the job Dumbledore offered me, because you gave me the courage. You reminded me what it is to be brave, to fight back against a world that’s knocked you down. To never give up, to keep trying. You did that for me, Harry. So let me do this for you. I want to take care of you. I know you’ve proved you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn’t have had to. Not for a long time yet. So I’m asking—will you let me take the wheel?”

Harry gazed up, lost for words. Remus pushed stray hair from his face, fingertips brushing the scar. Harry didn’t flinch.

“And when you—when you called me dad,” Remus whispered, “I’ve never been happier in my life. Even if you never say it again, I don’t care, because that—”

“I will. I will call you it again!” Harry interrupted, blushing. “I mean, um, if you don’t mind.”

Remus’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t mind at all, son.” Harry looked at him, then spoke a single word that seemed to rock Remus’s world.

“Okay.” The word seemed to stop Remus’s thoughts in their tracks.

“Okay?” Harry nodded, slowly but surely.

“I want to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I. Want. To. Tell. You. The. Truth.”

Remus couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and enveloped Harry in an awkward but tender embrace. The teen stiffened, then relaxed as Remus stroked his hair.

“You are so brave, Harry, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.” Remus’s words undid him completely, and his defences shattered. Trusting his guardian to tread carefully, Harry let himself lean into the touch, praying it wouldn’t break their fragile bond. Meanwhile, Remus realised that somewhere in his search for the lost child, he’d found something he didn’t know he’d lost—himself.

They sat that way for a while, each lost in thought. Harry was first to break the embrace. Remus’s hand lingered on his back until Harry adjusted to the loss of contact, feeling grounded by it. After a minute, he drew a deep breath and clenched his fists.

Chapter Text

“I was ten. Nearly eleven—well, almost, I can’t really remember. My uncle got angry a lot. My aunt was always too preoccupied with Dudley, that’s my cousin. We’re the same age, and I guess he always mattered more to her than I did. He mattered more to both of them, and that makes sense, he’s their kid. I get it. But it just sucked being the outsider all the time, you know? Felt like I was always separate from them. My uncle was a drinker, a heavy one. Always gin and tonic or rum—he liked rum too. By the end, he’d drink anything. Didn’t matter what it was as long as it had a percentage sticker and would get him off his face. Every night he’d come home after work, pick up a glass—one of those small, crystal ones—fill it with some kind of liquor, then say, ‘to the iron lady.’ I still don’t know who that was meant to be, but it can’t be anything good. He’d knock it back and reach for another as soon as he was done. I suppose he needed more than one or two to feel anything—he’s huge, you know. Bigger than huge, actually—bloody enormous. Dudley’s the same, looks just like his dad. Fat, with these tiny, scrunched-up piggy eyes. Reckon they weigh as much as a baby elephant, but we never had scales. If we did, they’d break it. I’m surprised they didn’t shatter all the mirrors, to be honest.”

He paused, lost in thought, and Remus gave him a faint, encouraging smile, though the thought of what might be coming next twisted his stomach.

“What was I saying? Oh, yeah, so he’d have a few and slump on the couch until dinner. He’d always wait until dinner before getting pissed off—at least that’s how it worked at first. After a while, he started coming home tipsy, by dinner he’d be drunk, and by ten he’d literally be passing out. If I was lucky, that is. Mostly, he drank because he was pissed off. And the more he drank, the angrier he got. I always set him off, one way or another. Anything I did was a trigger, and he’d just—explode. I stayed out of his way for the most part, or I tried. I tried hard, kept to myself. Stuck to my chores, went to my cupboard when told, kept my head down. I never went out of my way to aggravate him, honest, I just did. It’s like he always hated me. Like I frustrated him just by existing. I heard this word once—hostile? That’s what it always felt like, like he was hostile towards me. Dudley and my aunt were just resentful, at least that’s what my primary teacher said when she found out about stuff one time. She was the first and only one to say no one should be treated like that. At first, it shocked me, because I was so used to it. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to think she was wrong. I mean, they had good reason to be mad at me, didn’t they? Like I wasn’t really anything to do with them. I know my mum was my aunt’s sister and all, but still. I was intruding on her family, I never really belonged there. They just got stuck with me, so of course they were going to be like that. It’s not their fault. They never wanted me in the first place, so I never blamed them. Not really. It just felt shit, is all.

I say ‘just’ a lot, don’t I? Seb always took the mick out of me for it. I’ve got to try and stop, especially since you’re going to be a teacher now, aren’t you? You’ll be down my throat about the way I talk all the time, I bet. Ah, I’m getting side-tracked again, aren’t I? Sorry, it’s just—well, I haven’t really spoken to anyone about this before, you know? God, I say that a lot as well, don’t I? Sorry, I’ll try and stop that too.”

Feeling self-conscious under the older man's watchful gaze, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and looked away, studying the chipped tiles of the mantelpiece. He tried to forget someone was listening and just let the words come.

“So, yeah, what I mean is I haven’t really talked about this stuff before—what it was like back in Surrey with them. Not to anyone since that teacher at school, and she just sort of found out. I didn’t go ratting or anything, she just saw—well, some things that looked a bit funny, I suppose. She was kind, had a sharp eye, not like the other teachers. They didn’t want to know. Just turned a blind eye. Get it? Blind eye? Um, yeah, so. Urgh, Remus, I don’t know, I don’t really know how to say any of this. It’s there and I want to tell you, and I know I’m rambling. What’s that word—procrastinating? Yeah, well, Dave said it to me a lot, because I’d always play for time before doing things, you know? Urgh, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I just, I dunno, I—”

He cursed himself for getting so tongue-tied. He wanted to say these things to Remus, to show he was willing to try, to be honest and open. He owed him that much. But he couldn’t figure out how to go about it. How was he supposed to describe what his uncle had done in a way that was proper? He couldn’t. There was nothing proper about being whipped with a chain as a child. If he was being honest, he’d say it as it was.

“Look, he beat me up, alright? He beat the shit out of me every night from when I was like five or whatever. He’d belt me or hit me until I couldn’t do anything but cry. The older I got, the worse it got. He started using stuff, so in the end, come ten o’clock, I’d be the one passing out—except it wasn’t on the couch. Nah, I got chucked in my cupboard and told to shut it or next time it would be worse. Much worse.”

He shot his words like bullets, too lost in memory to notice the despair on Remus’s face. He needed to get this poison out. Now he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“When I was in year five—nine or ten, I think—my teacher, Mrs Herring, the one I keep on about? She saw the bruises I kept coming in with at school. Then one time I was changing for P.E. in the toilets and another kid walked in and saw the cuts on my back from my latest lashing. I’d patched them up best I could, but they must have been bleeding through because he looked at me like I was mad. Then he ran out and went straight to Mrs Herring. I tried to hide in the loos, but next break she found me and pulled me out. Took me to an empty classroom and asked what Dixon said he’d seen. She started asking loads of questions—about my aunt, my cousin, my uncle—and I had to sit there and lie. I didn’t tell the truth because I knew how much worse it would get if I did. So I said I wouldn’t show her the bruises and cuts when she asked. I spun some story about falling down the stairs and walking into walls. Then she got all weepy and said she’d have to speak to my relatives and maybe call the police. I got scared and started yelling, kicking off big time. I even turned her hair blue! Course it was magic, but I didn’t know how I did it. I just lost control. She was shocked, but she didn’t get angry. I guess in some weird way, that scared me more. Everyone gets angry, especially when I do mad shit like that, but she just took it like you did when I blew up on Sirius and caused that earthquake. She was nice, really nice, and I felt bad for lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I? So I just kept saying sorry and begged her not to tell my aunt. She didn’t listen, though. She took me aside after the last bell and told me she’d walk me to the yard. I was terrified, begging her not to, but she told me to calm down, said everything would be alright, and went into her handbag. I thought she was going to pull out some sweets or something, but she didn’t. She pulled out this book. The same book you gave me, though it wasn’t as new. She said whenever I felt lonely or needed a friend, to read it and I wouldn’t be alone. Pathetic, isn’t it? I hadn’t even read it by then, but I hung onto that book the whole time she was talking to my aunt. It sounds crazy, but it was like my anchor, you know? Like it whispered it could take me far away if I just held on tight. So I did. I waited on the bench at the gates and just kept staring at the title. It was weird, because I felt like I had some kind of connection with this book. Like maybe the people in it would understand.

My aunt didn’t understand, though. When we got home, she went straight to the phone and called him at work. I knew I was in for it then, because she never does that. I went to my cupboard and locked myself in best I could, even hid under the cot. It didn’t stop him, it never did. He ripped the door so hard he broke the hinge and the lock. Then he grabbed me by the hair and—”

He choked, unable to remember how he was even standing. Swallowing back the taste of blood and saliva, he crushed down the dread threatening to consume him.

“His skin gets all blotchy and his eyes pop when he’s mad. I could smell the drink on his breath. That’s what I remember most—the gin on his breath. It was just like always, like I thought it would be. Except it was worse. He chucked me around the room like a rag doll, screaming at me. I could feel his spit on my face, but I couldn’t answer. He was punching me too hard to answer. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, let alone fight back. I couldn’t even cry this time, it hurt so much. He was just punching and kicking, and I thought it would never stop. He was like a bull to a red flag. Livid. I tried to curl up, but then he picked me up, and I thought he was going to pin me against the wall or something, like he did sometimes to strangle me a bit, till I got the message. But he didn’t. Not this time. I don’t know whether he meant to do it or not, but he roared something and threw me into the living room. I landed and smacked my head on the wall, so I was all dizzy and everything went white for a minute. I could see white and tiny black spots. Then he grabbed me again, grabbed my shirt and chucked me again. I hit the TV stand. Must have headbutted it with my face, caught the corner just under my left brow because when I sat up I—Arrr, shit.” His face twisted in pain. He took a deep breath. “When I sat up... it hurt. So bad. I could feel this stabbing, like knives. Right here, and my eye was stinging like someone had poured acid in it. It hurt, Remy. It hurt so bad... I started screaming. My uncle just backed away, and I could tell he was scared. His face went white and my aunt came rushing in. There was yelling, and I saw my uncle’s face going white and that was the last thing I saw. I don’t remember any more from that night. I guess I must’ve collapsed or something.”

Harry trailed back to the sofa, exhausted by the effort of reliving it all, and collapsed. Remus watched him struggle, wondering if now was the time to say something, but his throat was dry—a sharp contrast to his watery eyes.

“The next day, when I came round, I was lying in a hospital bed. There were needles and wires in my arms, hooked up to monitors. I’d never been to a hospital before. In fact, I think that was the only time. It’s mad, because as soon as I woke up, all I could see was white—plain white—and I remember thinking I’d either blacked out again or was still looking at my uncle’s face. I didn’t realise I was actually in hospital. I never thought they’d...” He trailed off, fingering a hole in the fabric. Remus wanted to take his hand, but something told him Harry wouldn’t welcome it, not with his emotions so raw. He wished he could save the boy from reliving this nightmare, but he didn’t want to frighten him or intrude on something so private. Besides, if he interrupted now, he might never hear the end of the story, and despite his horror, he needed to listen—for Harry’s sake.

“I remember the first doctor who told me at the hospital. She came round to do some chart checking—didn’t think I’d be awake, I reckon, because she looked awkward and pressed her buzzer to call backup. I asked her why my head was bandaged and why I looked like a cyclops. I think I knew from her face, but she explained it anyway. She said I’d get to meet the surgeon later, like it was a privilege or something, then asked if I had any questions. I didn’t need two eyes to recognise what her reaction meant when I asked if I’d ever get my vision back. They told me they’d had to operate, but it was too late to do anything. The blood from that cut, this scar, had got too much into my eye. They said I’d lost the sight, so I was blind. Well, almost blind. The specialists said I’d lost about ninety percent of my vision after some tests a couple weeks later. Around ninety percent. Like that made it better. Like I still had some hope.” He gave a bitter laugh that seemed to chill the room.

“I guess I should count myself lucky, really, huh? Only one eye—it could have been worse. But lying in that hospital bed, I didn’t feel lucky. I didn’t feel much of anything except pain. They gave me drugs, but it still hurt. Really hurt. I was in there for ages. They did all sorts—plastered my leg because my uncle broke it, fractured my arm, cracked a couple ribs. I looked like a mummy. The nurses were nice, and I knew they could tell it wasn’t the first time I’d broken something, but they didn’t say or make me feel awkward. They were good to me, but I still didn’t want to be there. All I could think about was what would happen when I got out and went home. What if Uncle Vernon started on me again?

I didn’t see them. They didn’t visit. Not that I wanted to see them, but it would have been nice to have someone there. Felt lonely, especially at night when they switched off the lights. I could hear my cupboard door being yanked open and got scared it was going to happen again. But I was only dreaming. I don’t know whether I felt relieved or not when I kept waking up and realising I was still on St Patrick’s kiddies ward.

About a week later, they came. The doctors must have said I was well enough to see them, because they kept on about how they would have come sooner if they could. I think the nurses were delaying it for me. But they all came. The police, people from family services, they came in one by one and sat around the bed. Pulled the curtains round us. I don’t know why—it’s not like people couldn’t hear them talking. They knew it was my uncle. I don’t know how. I never said anything! I just stuck to my story, the same one I told Mrs Herring about falling down the stairs, but they didn’t believe me. The social worker kept saying they’d take me somewhere safe, but the police were the worst. They kept pressing for details—how did my uncle hit me and where? I told them a thousand times it wasn’t even my uncle, but they didn’t believe me. They just looked at me all sad and pitiful, wrote their notes, and asked question after question. It took hours. I know it was shitty to lie, but what else could I do? My uncle would kill me if he found out I said anything. I just said I tripped down the stairs and must have caught my eye, but I couldn’t remember how because I hit my head and passed out. I think they talked to my aunt before coming to see me, because I heard one of them say, ‘That’s a matching story.’ They asked if I wanted to press charges against my relatives. Said they’d take me into care if I admitted what my uncle did. But I’d heard of those places they take kids with nowhere else to go. I knew I was better off with the Dursleys than anywhere else. So I stayed silent. Said I didn’t know what they were talking about. Didn’t give them a single word of truth. My uncle’s got friends—important friends. People who can pull strings. I reckon that’s what happened. Next thing I know, I’m being discharged from St Patrick’s and going back to my uncle’s due to insufficient evidence. Which was okay with me, you know? Better the devil you know. I was scared, sure, but I knew I’d be in more trouble if I opened my mouth.

They assigned me that social worker bloke who came to the hospital, to keep an eye on me. He popped round once a week, by appointment, to observe me and my family, as he called it. I guess in a way that made things better for a while. They took me out of school for home-schooling, so I didn’t have to put up with the kids there. My uncle stopped beating me, even got Dudley to stop roughing me up, all because they were worried about the bruises. They didn’t want Nathan, the social guy, to have reason to ask more questions. He wrote far too much in that file already. None of us liked his visits, but my aunt would always bake some elaborate cake for him, my uncle would wear his best tie, and Dudley had to put away his Smeltings stick. They even did up Dudley’s second bedroom to make it look like I slept there. I didn’t, of course. It was just for Nathan’s benefit. We’d pretend to be like the Walton family or something—being all sweet and polite. It was in all our best interests. Not that I would have ever told him anything, but as long as it kept my uncle away and food in my belly, it was worth it. The rest of the time, they just ignored me. Well, ignored me except for the odd comment or look. Some things got worse, like my chore list doubled and they found meaner but more subtle ways to get to me. Like my aunt making tea once and, as I was washing dishes, she took the spoon out of the boiling water and pressed it against my arm. Then she whispered that she hated me and wished I’d never been born. It sucked, but it was better than the alternative. That was the night I picked up ‘The Secret Garden’ and read it for the first time. I wasn’t wrong about the connection. I got Mary straight away, and it felt like she got me. It took a couple of months for Nathan to close my file, but he did. Happy and convinced there was nothing going on, he wrote there was no further action needed.”

Harry wore a strange expression as he picked at his fingernails, and Remus couldn’t quite name it. A small part of him wondered if, on some level, the teen regretted not telling Nathan—or anyone—the truth. He voiced his question when Harry spoke again.

“It felt kind of weird when he went. I mean, it’s not like I missed him, but I sort of felt like my safeguard had gone. Like the lighthouse had disappeared and took all my hope with it. Suddenly I was no longer off-limits to my uncle or Dudley. He started drinking heavily again and the lashings started once more. Only this time, he didn’t need an excuse. It was as if being deprived of going at me for so many weeks made him hungry to go the extra mile. Made a special point of hitting me where it hurt most, and the off-hand remarks about my eye started. He got Dudley and my aunt to join in too. So I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t speak about it to anyone. I didn’t want anyone else to know and say the same shit they were saying. I could handle ‘four eyes’ at school before, but Stevie Wonder jokes and all that was different. It hurt. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but sometimes I swear he took me not being able to see out the left to his advantage. He’d creep up on me, make me jump, or clip me round the left ear when I was hovering. He refused to take me to any more appointments or support groups, so I learnt how to live with it on my own. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just use my magic to scare him off. Truth is, I was too scared. When I was around them, it was like it ceased to exist. Like I didn’t have it in me. I think it was because I’d just freeze when he kicked off. I felt so helpless. Pathetic, isn’t it? I’m pathetic! I hate myself for it. I hate myself for being so weak.

Mrs Figg, our neighbour, usually watched me when the Dursleys went out. But on Dudley’s eleventh birthday, she had other plans and Dudley’s friend was with us, so they didn’t want to make a scene. They had no choice but to take me with them. We went to the zoo. I was excited at first, even though they obviously weren’t happy about it. Dudley complained so much I was convinced they were going to drop me at the service stop and leave me there. It was going alright. I kept my head down, didn’t react to Dudley or Piers’s taunts. I thought I was going to make it through the day without giving my uncle a reason to get mad. Then, well, we were getting ready to go and I got talking to this snake. It was weird, because it seemed like it could understand me, like it was responding. Dudley saw, came over, pushed me out the way so I fell and—ah, Remy, I don’t know how I did it but the glass just disappeared! Dudley fell into the cage and the snake came sliding out. People were jumping aside because it was this big boa, and it just escaped. Dudley went to get out and the glass was back, replaced without a crack. They had to get the fire brigade to cut it away—nobody could figure out how he got stuck in there. Except the Dursleys, of course. They knew exactly what happened. I got scared, Remy. Really scared. I knew what my uncle was going to do. It was unnerving because he was so calm and collected all the way home. Didn’t say a word to me—not in front of Piers—but as soon as we got home...

He was always getting more adventurous, like fists and boots weren’t enough anymore. I’d never seen him so furious. He kept screaming about me trying to hurt his son with my freakishness. I tried to explain, I tried to say I didn’t mean to, but it didn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen. He got the whip—the one he saved for when I did something really bad. With the glint in his eye, Remy, I knew it would cut deep. It was bound to. All I could think was what would I do if there was another accident and it put me back in hospital? I couldn’t handle that, because they’d know for sure this time. The doctors would call the police and social workers again and I’d be taken away. I don’t know what was different this time, maybe it was the glint that scared me so much. Or maybe it was because I knew he was sober, so he’d aim better, go longer, be quicker. But when he raised the whip—when he tried to—I can’t explain it, but I stopped it somehow. He brought it down but it cracked nowhere near me. Just went in a completely different direction, like it had a mind of its own. He was confused, I could tell. He tried again and the same thing happened. He couldn’t get it near me. Then he figured it out. His face went blotchy, his eyes bloodshot, and he screamed at me to get out. I had a decision to make—stay and risk it all, or make a break for it. Something in his voice told me running was safer. So I did. I got up and darted past him, grabbed my blanket and book—pathetic, yeah, but I couldn’t bear to be without them. They were all I had. I made it out the door before he could change his mind and I ran. I ran like a bat out of hell and didn’t stop. Not once. Not until I found you.”

Remus absently twisted a lock of Harry’s hair around his fingers, letting it bounce back before taking up another. Sprawled out on the threadbare sofa with Harry’s head on his shoulder, a thousand conflicting emotions swirled inside him, making him feel as if he was tumbling through a floo network with no destination. Candlelight cast soft shadows across the washed-out walls while incense smoke curled upwards, chasing itself like mischievous fairies. Beyond the window, stars rained over the velvet sky like tiny droplets of magic. Their garden wall was littered with tiny nail marks Remus didn’t recall, but his thoughts didn’t linger long enough to wonder. Instead, they flitted from care to wonder, never settling.

The wizarding wireless droned in the background, but neither paid it much mind. Instead, they sat in quiet companionship, breathing in the musky vanilla air, each lost in the hum of the night. Both pretended not to notice the way Harry’s arms erupted in goosebumps every time Remus’s fingers swept past his temple, or the way Harry stared at his book with such intensity, his eyes didn’t flicker.

Although the boy was exhausted, it was the most relaxed Remus had ever seen him. He knew he was probably being irresponsible, but he couldn’t bring himself to send Harry to bed yet. He’d waited too long to hold him like this, and after everything Harry had revealed, he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go. Hearing the story of his upbringing had crushed him—destroyed his very soul. Though for Harry’s sake, he let none of it show. He simply sat and listened, stone-cold hate and fury swimming through his veins, threatening to eat him alive as Harry recounted every detail of his past.

It was only Remus’s self-control and pride for his boy that kept him composed. At first, he’d been stunned—astonished to hear Harry speak so freely about something so evil. For so long, Harry had been guarded and secretive. Harry opening up at last was a victory, but the relief was drowned by agony. It hurt Remus to think Harry had carried all this alone for so long. It killed him to think he’d struggled through hell by himself, all because of those monsters he called relatives and the people around him who failed him. Mrs Herring aside, Remus wanted to find every one of them and tear them apart for what they’d done—or didn’t do. Especially Vernon Dursley. Remus didn’t think it possible to despise anyone as much as Sirius or Voldemort, but just hearing about Vernon made his bones twist with hate. Thinking of Harry, his Harry, hurting like that—miserable and lonely—was more than he could bear. If he ever found him, heaven have mercy on his soul.

Perhaps the most harrowing thing was that Harry believed his uncle’s actions were his fault. Like he deserved the punishment. Remus’s soul bled to think how much damage that animal had done. He’d seen the scars, but knew they were nothing compared to what lay beneath. Behind those emerald eyes was a child who’d endured the cruellest fate. It was incredible Harry had come out of it as well as he had. He scolded himself—of course Harry hadn’t come out of it. He wasn’t there physically, but the memories still plagued him. Remus could tell from the way his hands trembled, the way terror flashed in his eyes at the words ‘my uncle’. It wasn’t fair. Harry was just a boy.

Absorbing the sadness in Harry’s words, Remus made a silent oath to himself and Harry: he would make it up to him. He would do whatever it took to make him happy. It was his duty now, his purpose as a father. If he was all Harry had left, he would be enough. He would show him what love was.

“Why am I so bad, Remus?” The despair in Harry’s voice shattered the last remnants of Remus’s heart. He shifted, gently pushing Harry away before cupping his chin, coaxing him to look up.

“You are not bad, Harry. Never think that. You are incredibly good.”

“Well, then why’d I do bad things?” Remus didn’t know what Harry meant, or why he seemed so convinced he’d done awful things. He suspected it might have to do with Torments Falls, but now wasn’t the time to ask. The boy was seeking reassurance, and when he felt safe, he’d tell him. Remus was almost sure of that now.

“Because, cub, you’ve been forced to. Put in a position where you had no choice. Trust me, most people would do the same. That doesn’t make you bad, it makes you a survivor. Life’s dealt you a terrible hand, Harry. You only played with the cards you had. No one can judge you for that.” Harry looked sceptical, but a little part of him wanted to believe it. A quietness fell over them, and Remus wondered what his son was thinking. Spotting Harry’s hand on the couch, he covered it with his own. “You shouldn’t measure your worth by the opinion of others, cub. Other people’s opinions matter precious little.”

Something in that struck a chord with Harry. He blinked at Remus, near awe in his eyes. “All my life, people have only ever wanted me when I could give them something. That’s why I don’t get it. You don’t want anything, so why are you here? Why do you want me when nobody else ever did? You treat me like I’m something special when most people treat me like shit. I’m not worth anything, Remus, and one day you’ll wake up and see that.”

“That won’t happen, Harry, I swear. I can already see you, and the more I get to know you, the more I like you. The more I love you. You’re exceptionally brave, cub. You’ve been through truly horrifying things, been to places most never see, but you’re so much more than that. The way people have treated you is no reflection on you, but on them. You never did anything to deserve what your uncle or aunt did. They did those things because something in them was bad—not you. I know you find it hard to see that, I know they spent a lifetime making you blame yourself, but that was only to ease their own guilty conscience. None of it was your fault, and maybe when you realise how much you’re really worth, you’ll see that. If people can’t see how exceptional you are, that’s their fault—and they’re the ones missing out. I’m here because I couldn’t think of a better place to be, Harry. I want to be part of your life. You never fail to make me smile. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I laughed like I did when we went to the beach. You make me feel alive again, even if it’s just because you’re always keeping me on my toes. You fight in the face of adversity, and that’s what’s really inspirational, Harry. And you know what? I feel lucky to know you. So I think the real question is, why wouldn’t I want you? People can be selfish, Harry, and I fear you’ve only ever come across the worst kinds. But you don’t need to be scared anymore. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’ll be there to protect you, always.”

Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble, all too familiar these days. He could hardly believe it. He’d waited a lifetime for someone to say those words—and mean them. Remus’s fingers intertwined with his own, and he closed his eyes, wishing he could show Remus what it meant. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but couldn’t remember ever doing that. Truth be told, he didn’t know how to start, and what if Remus pushed him away? The shame would be unbearable. He was too old to be coddled, it would be weird. But still, he wanted to. He’d never felt safer than hearing Remus’s heartbeat and feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. Remus was his refuge, his torch in the storm. His arms were the only place Harry had ever felt at home.

“I’m so sorry, cub, but I only ever wanted what’s best for you. I know I made the wrong decisions and you have every right to be angry at me, and I know it’s going to take time for you to trust me, I know that. But I promise, from now on, I won’t keep anything from you. I swear I’ll tell you—”

“I think I get it.” Harry blurted, cutting Remus off. The man deflated like a popped balloon.

“You—you get it?” Chewing his lip, Harry tilted his head towards the basement door.

“Yeah. You never told me what was down there for the same reason you never told me you’re a werewolf. The same reason you never told me Sirius Black is my godfather. You kept it all secret not to be sly, but to protect me.”

He smiled shyly as Remus’s amazement turned to joy. Then, before he could blink, Remus’s hands latched around him and pulled him close. Harry melted instantly, like butter on hot toast, and his chin began to tremble. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he nuzzled into Remus’s robes, breathing in the scent of honey and soap. He threw his arms around the man, desperate to keep him there. Remus responded instantly, cradling him tight against his chest, whispering comfort as he let his own tears fall, cupping the back of Harry’s head and drawing him nearer as the sobs wracked his small frame.

“I—I’m sorry,” Harry wailed. “I know I’ve been a bastard to you, but I didn’t mean it, Remus. I didn’t. I was just so scared.”

And with that, his resolve crumbled. Unable to speak through his tears, he clung to Remus’s hips as if holding on for life.

“It’s okay, cub, it’s okay. I understand. We understand each other! And we can start fresh now, just you and me, nobody else. It’s just you and me, kiddo. I’m here. I’ll always be right here.”

Chapter Text

The ground vibrated beneath his numb body. He never liked being beneath them. Hated it when all he could see were shoes. Prada, Ralph Lauren, Adidas, John Lewis’s finest. Gucci loafers that could buy him a year’s worth of bread. Run, run, run. The owners scurried like a tsunami of rats as the relentless tap of rain smacked the cold, rough slabs of pavement again and again. They swarmed together, huddling under battered, vibrant umbrellas. Harry knew how unforgiving winter storms could be; he’d felt their razor-sharp bite too many times.

You can’t hide! He wanted to yell. There was a tingling in his senses and an icy nip in the air—a furious storm was drawing closer. Closer and closer. It would course through the streets, wreak havoc, and leave destruction in its wake. No one could match its merciless rage. Still, they ran, determined to go about their business as if it were any other day. If he wasn’t so preoccupied, he might have admired their futile resilience, their stubbornness, but as things were, his thoughts only stretched as far as where he would lay his head tonight. His once-thick blanket, soaked by the rain, offered little warmth. He cast it aside and retreated to his soggy cardboard, scooting it further into the narrow doorway. There was no point making himself seen; it wasn’t going to earn him any favours. The storm would see him starving tonight—starving, freezing, and soaked through. He knew the bustle would pay him no heed; the crowd was too eager to get where they were going to spare him a glance, let alone a rusty penny.

Time was of the essence in a place like Essex, yet time was all Harry ever had. People were always desperate to get as many jobs done in as little time as possible. Nobody ever just sat and looked on. Their minds, like their lives, were too chaotic, crammed with pointless errands and worries—they never noticed what they missed. But that was his job. Observation was his steady friend; it’s what got him by. The desperation of others was what he fed off, what helped him survive.

Desperate, he’d sneer. What would they know about desperate? He was angry. He was bitter. He was fed up, but didn’t he have a right to be? Stay away from Pistols Grove. Stick to your patch. Dodge the Big Issue grafters. The yobs with small plastic bags and spoons, and for God’s sake, don’t aggravate the fezz. Don’t cause trouble. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Lose yourself in the throng of shoppers. Try to look inconspicuous as you slip your hand into their tight pockets, stashing their treasure in your own. Smile at the shopkeepers. Draw your hood higher than your senses.

Be patient. Be shrewd. Be sly. Be calculated. Keep your wits about you, be on guard. Get used to the cynical, black stares and the shadow of suspicion. Get used to jumping at your own shadow. Be ready for the screech of sirens and the death-grip on your bony shoulder. Sleep with one eye open. Don’t beg, just watch. Every day brought the same struggle, the same battle, the same old routine. Fight to live another day—that’s what his life had become, and as sick as he was of it, he couldn’t see another way. The rain was gaining momentum; it rifled through his sorry excuse for a jacket with hungry hands, biting his skin and raising every hair.

Stiffen up, you idiot! Shivering will do you no good. Mind over matter, Potter—it’s not even that cold!

Harry tried to brace himself against the chill that seemed determined to settle in his bones. But no matter how hard he willed it, he couldn’t clamp his jaw shut. Couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering, or his stomach from growling, or his head from pounding with that dull ache that always came from hunger and cold. It was a vicious cycle, but what could he do? It wasn’t like he could stroll into a shop and lift a pastry or a can of beans. Practically every security guard in Brentwood had his picture up in the back room. They probably used it as a dartboard. If he was famous for anything, it was being the one that got away. No way would he risk another venture into enemy territory; that would be asking for trouble. Security guards had long memories, cast-iron fists, and at least one member of the fezz on speed dial. It wasn’t worth it.

He’d stay clear of the hostels too. Not that he had enough money for one. But even if he did, he wouldn’t seek refuge there. He had good reason to avoid those places like the plague. He’d been to nearly every one Essex had to offer, and once you’d seen one, you’d seen them all. At least one toilet was always flooded, so the whole building reeked of piss. The floors were grubby, the sheets stale and sticky, the porridge tasted like gruel. He always got the lumpiest mattress and a bunk that creaked no matter how early he arrived. And that was probably the best part.

Sleeping rough paled in comparison to the horrors he’d met there. At least on the streets, you could choose your turf. In a hostel, you could end up bunking with a heroin addict going through withdrawals. He’d been harassed for loose change swinging at the bottom of his rucksack, while others simply took it when his back was turned. You could avoid dodgy characters on the street, but in a hostel, there was nowhere to run.

In Harry’s opinion, it was the place God sent hopeless cases until judgement day. Which, for many, wasn’t far away. Life is shorter when you have nowhere to call home. It made sense—lack of food, warmth, shelter. It eats away at your immune system, makes you sick, but that’s not what kills you. What kills you is losing the desire to live through it. He’d seen it in their eyes. The eyes of the fellow homeless. They were just like him. They all had that same defeated look. Like life had taken more than they could give. It was depressing to think that in a few years, he could be wearing the same haunted expression, have the same downtrodden walk, carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Quit whining, will you? Why are you thinking like this? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Besides, you’re safer out here than back with them. If you were still there, you wouldn’t have a few years to be concerned about! So shut it. Be grateful you escaped with one eye still intact.

Eager to preserve the only comforting words he’d ever known, he stuffed his now-damp book into his threadbare rucksack and began searching for better shelter. He was eyeing up Joe’s Fish Bar when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pair of bright white lights heading straight towards him. Smudging rain from his glasses, he squinted at what appeared to be a black sedan. It was slowing, pulling into the shallow curb as if to park on the yellow lines. Harry could hear the radio from where he sat huddled on the ground. It blasted some merry, tuneless song that made him think of an American 1920s club—thick clouds of cigar smoke, women with ringlets pinned up to their ears.

He took an instant dislike to the sound. Expecting the driver to stop and kill the engine, he ignored it and shifted his attention back to finding a roof. Or something he could make into one. He’d just spotted a nearby alley with a few brash blue council bins hidden from the pavement when he heard the crunch of car tyres drawing close. Forgetting he was hidden from view, he leapt to his feet.

“OI! Watch where you’re going, will yah?” Glaring at the reckless driver, he made an obscene gesture. Instead of honking, the owner simply cut the ignition and let down his window. Dipping the blaring tune, he offered Harry a cheery smile.

Harry frowned. Through the thick rain, it was hard to tell if he knew this man, but judging by the slick interior, he was pretty sure he didn’t. “You want to look where you’re going!” he scowled, stung by the fact he really was as invisible as he felt. The corners of the man’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I do most of the time. You’re soaked!”

Harry blinked, slightly unnerved by the man’s strange response. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. You need a lift somewhere, kid? There’s a mighty blizzard on its way, you know.” So, a good Samaritan. You don’t come across those too often, he mused. Shaking his head, he tried to offer a smile that came off as more of a grimace.

“Nah, you’re alright, mate. Thanks though.”

“You sure? Where’s your coat? You’ll catch your death in that fleece. Honestly, kids these days. What would your mother say if she saw you out here like that?” Harry averted his gaze, eyes falling on what was left of his cardboard box. He couldn’t help but wonder what his mother would say if she could see him now. When he looked back up, something in the man’s face had changed. The sharp edge to his features had softened. He’d obviously followed Harry’s trail to the ‘Becks’ washing machine box and caught on quickly. Squashing the wave of shame threatening to swallow him, Harry racked his brains for a way to use this situation to his advantage when—

“You had anything to eat today, bud?”

Harry swallowed, staring at the man again, trying to recall the last time someone had asked him that. Say no. Say no and he might toss you a few coins. Forget your pride for a minute, damnit! Reluctantly, he shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

The sedan owner paused and sucked his lip. “How old are you, kid?”

Lie!

“Fifteen,” he said automatically.

“Fifteen, eh?” The man rolled the words over his tongue, savouring them as if they were some exotic sweet before turning to face the teen again. “Well, fifteen-year-old lad, what say you jump in and we’ll get you some dinner, eh?” Harry’s face must have betrayed his doubt, for the man gave a belly laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a weirdo. Serving the community is part of what I do. I’m a member of the Salvation Army at Saint Andrew’s. You know it? Just up the road. My wife teaches Sunday school there. We help out as much as we can, run coffee mornings, food banks, we’re in the band—play the trombone. Anyway, Mary’ll be home now, probably cooking a roast big enough to feed a small army. I’m just on my way there. Left my wallet at work so I haven’t got any cash on me, but I’d like to feed you, James. I know there’s no round on tonight and you look half-starved. Besides, this storm’s brewing. Neither my conscience nor my wife’s will let you sleep out here tonight. There’s no telling what will happen!”

Condensation licked at the car windows, showing off the heat within. Tiny beads of sweat trickled down the screen, enticing him with their hypnotic dance, and Harry found himself stalling. He wanted to say no, to politely decline and make for the bins to find scraps. But his stomach gnawed at the mention of a hot roast, and suddenly the promise of scraps from a council bin seemed far less appealing. A few stale chips and half-eaten drumsticks of cold chicken never were enough to satisfy his empty stomach.

“Not so easily swayed, huh? Good boy.” The man grinned, breaking Harry from his trance. “Here, I’ll show you a picture of my wife and girls. So you know who you’ll be meeting back at my place.” Taking his hands off the wheel, he fumbled around in his door and produced an old Samsung mobile. Without caution, he offered it to the bewildered boy. “Swipe right, they’re on the wallpaper.”

Harry’s hand brushed against his leathery skin as he took the phone, wondering if the man had eczema. Trailing a finger over the screen, his chest constricted as a family portrait appeared. “That’s me,” the man said, pointing to the Santa Claus in the decorated chair. “That’s my missus and my girls, Bethan and Suzy, at the Army’s Christmas party last month.”

Harry studied the small girls beaming up at him through the glass. Their long cherry hair fell in loose curls around their matching cheeks. They were carbon copies of their mother, who stood slightly apart from the three, as if unsure whether to be in the photograph, but her grey eyes shone with pride. Harry could almost hear laughter behind the frozen memory, and his heart clenched painfully. “What’s to stop me just pocketing this and running?”

The man gave another booming laugh. “Nothing, of course, but I’m trusting you not to. Guess I just don’t think you should judge a book by its cover. Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, don’t they? Besides, you seem like a decent kid.”

“You’ve just met me,” Harry pointed out.

“Well, you give a good first impression.”

The lines in Harry’s brow deepened and the thin skin around the man’s eyes wrinkled in response. There was a pause and the jazz song ended before a less obnoxious tune started. “Why are you parked up here anyway?”

“Need to pick up some milk,” the sedan owner replied, gesturing at the shop across the road. “So, what do you say? This storm isn’t easing up. You going to jump in or do I have to fetch my wife to convince you? Mind you, if I do that, we’re risking a severely burnt turkey.”

Harry weighed his options—or more accurately, his lack of them. This bloke seemed genuine. He was nicely dressed, had a nice car, nice accent, and by the looks of it, a nice family. More importantly, he was offering a meal and a bed out of the goodness of his heart. Throwing him a lifeline. Who was Harry to pass that up? Especially after being so rude. Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose. If he didn’t get in the car, he’d be signing up for a long night of untold horrors, and he knew all too well the truth behind the man’s words: there’s no telling what will happen out in the concrete jungle when the streetlights die.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Jump in, I’ll turn the heaters up, dry you off a bit.” Forgetting his inhibitions, Harry circled the bonnet, grasped the door handle, and pulled. The warmth hit him as he slipped into the creamy leather seat, delighted to find it was heated. Inhaling the smell of ‘new car’ and peppermint gum, Harry quickly fastened his seatbelt and stared at the thrashing windscreen wipers, waiting for the driver to set off. “What’s your name, lad?”

“James. James Earle,” Harry replied without missing a beat. The driver shot him an approving, slightly smug look and jabbed at the stereo’s volume control.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, James Earle. I’m Wayne.”

Chapter Text

Harry had been unsettled when it became clear that “near Saint Andrews” was not their destination. His stomach dropped as they passed meadow-green hedges and free-standing mailboxes, though he couldn’t say why. After all, Wayne had never actually said he lived on Saint Andrews Road—only that he volunteered at the church. Harry had been presumptuous. Why did he always judge by appearances? Was it just because the man spoke the Queen’s English that he’d assumed he must live in the Ritz of Essex?

He’d broken—no, shredded—every rule in the street survival handbook by getting into this car, and now, thanks to his own stupidity, he might be headed for trouble. What if they were actually going to Jaywick? He couldn’t go there; that was a death trap for street kids. On the verge of panic, he breathed a huge sigh of relief when Wayne finally turned onto an unremarkable side street. Parking at the curb, Wayne pointed a thick finger at a random terraced house and grunted something like “home.”

The fenced-off garden was overgrown with weeds and littered with rusting beer cans. Paint flaked from the building, revealing mismatched bricks beneath. It wasn’t what Harry had expected, but it was better than Jaywick. Still, unease gnawed at him. What if he wasn’t really welcome? What if Wayne’s wife didn’t want a scrawny street kid around? What if he had to run? He didn’t know these parts; he could get into trouble fast.

Catching Harry’s anxious look, Wayne laughed. “You’re alright, lad, don’t worry—we’ll have that turkey in our bellies in no time!”

The reassurance did little for Harry, who felt the air squeezed from his lungs. Before he could plan an escape route, Wayne opened the passenger door and helped him out. Harry tried to ground himself as they walked up the broken garden path, searching for something familiar or comforting, but found nothing. His stomach gurgled as Wayne knocked at the uPVC door, and for a moment, Harry wondered if Petunia Dursley would answer.

Get a grip, Harry. It’s not that bad. Be grateful you’re not sleeping in your cardboard.

When no one answered, Wayne stepped onto the grass and pulled out his phone. Though Harry was skilled at eavesdropping, he had to strain to hear the mumbled call.
“Mary! It’s me. Yes—yes, overtime again? Right, okay. No, no trouble, it’s just we have a guest. Yes, another one—poor bugger was on Floris Street, on a night like this! What’s that? Oh, don’t worry about that—hmmm, I think so. Okay, well, don’t work too hard. Bye—yes, of course—I love you too sweetheart—bye now. Bye. Bye. Bye.”

With a sigh, Wayne pocketed his phone and turned. “Sorry, kid. The wife’s not going to be home tonight, so no turkey. But I’m sure there’s some cottage pie in the freezer. Made it last night myself. It’s always better with age—up for that?” The mention of food swept away Harry’s reservations. He nodded eagerly, and Wayne grinned.

“Right, let’s get it cooking. Come on, you must be chilled to the bone. Stay out here much longer and we’ll have to put you in the oven with it!” Wayne unlocked the door and beckoned Harry inside.

The smell of varnish and wet paint hit them like a wave of perfume. Noticing Harry’s eyes water, Wayne laughed. “Sorry, lad, it’s not Buckingham Palace—we’ve not long moved in. That’s why the garden’s so tatty. Thought it best to start inside out, but the inside’s taking longer than I thought.”

Harry smiled politely and stepped into the hallway, quickly becoming aware of the squelch his shoes made on the immaculate laminate. He hated to think what mess his grubby trainers would make—Uncle Vernon would have beaten him senseless for less. He bent to untie them, catching Wayne watching him with a curious expression. Harry’s throat tightened, but as soon as he blinked, it was gone.

God, Harry, get a handle on this paranoia. “Umm, I’m sorry—I’ll just—”

“There’s no need, lad, no need! Actually, I was just wondering if you wanted a shower? I’ll have dinner ready when you get out. We’ve got fresh towels, strawberry soap—pretty sure Mary got the matching shampoo and conditioner. I can’t say I’ve got any clothes to fit you, but I can dry yours in the tumble dryer. You got anything in your bag?”

Recovering from his shock at the man’s kindness, Harry nodded, enthralled by the idea of hot water. Wayne hung his keys on the hook and bent to Harry’s level.

“You can speak, you know, I’m not going to bite.”

Harry felt his face flush. “Yes, Sir.”

“Who told you to call me Sir? It’s Wayne. Besides, it’s a bit late for pleasantries, isn’t it? Seem to remember you calling me a stupid bastard not an hour ago.” He chuckled as Harry’s blush deepened and straightened up. “Relax, James, I’m only joking. Here, I’ll show you the bathroom, just down the hall to the right.”

Trailing after him, Harry watched Wayne inspect the skirting boards, muttering about needing more gloss and TLC. “You’re sure it’s no bother? I don’t want to intrude—”

“James, it’s fine, honestly!”

Still not convinced, Harry chewed his lip. “Hey, um, Wayne? Where’s your girls—Suzy and Bethan? Are they with your wife?”

Wayne hesitated for a split second, turning his head away. Harry worried he’d been rude, but Wayne just said, “They’re at their nana’s. They won’t be back tonight either.” He didn’t sound angry, so Harry nodded and watched him dust a shelf, vaguely wondering why he’d forgotten his daughters wouldn’t be home.

“This is the living room. Seeing as we’re alone, we might as well have a telly dinner. What d’you like to watch, James?”

“Oh, ummm...”

“Bet you haven’t had time for cartoons on the street, huh?” Wayne’s sharp eyes focused on him again as he opened a door, and Harry shifted under his gaze, unsure if he was being mocked.

“Well, no matter. We can watch one of my oldies. Mary doesn’t care for them, so it’ll be good to have company. I reckon you’ll appreciate them—you seem like a man of good taste.” He moved on. “Kitchen’s through here. It’s where we smoke and cook. Dining room—pantry—games room—”

“Games room?”

“Yeah, my games room. It’s where we keep the girls’ toys and my Xbox, of course. Mary says I waste my time on it and should finish the house. I say time enjoyed isn’t wasted, know what I mean?”

“Ummmm.”

“Sure you do. Now, shower? I’ll give you the grand tour later. You’ll probably find my high scores more interesting than the other rooms, seeing as most are still empty.”

“Really, you don’t mind?”

A tight smile stretched across Wayne’s lips. “Like I said, I’ll show you later. Leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll wash them. Go on—scoot. Oh, and if you need to brush your teeth, don’t use the green toothbrush. That’s for my dentures. Kidding, James, just kidding!”

Harry forced a laugh. “Erm, this one?” he asked, touching the bathroom door.

“That’s the one. Shout if you need a hand.”

“Er, okay, will do. Thanks, Wayne.” With that, he entered the slightly grimy bathroom, which also smelled of paint, shut the door, and locked the world away.

…

Dinner was an odd affair, but then again, for Harry, any kind of dinner was odd. At the Dursleys, he’d be given leftovers and forced to eat after they’d finished. On the streets, he never had enough food to call it dinner. Now, here he was, sitting on an overly plush sofa next to a man he’d known for two hours, eyes fixed on a giant TV as if it were his last meal.

“You enjoying this, James?” Wayne asked, breaking Harry’s thoughts as he took another swig of scotch.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

“Sure you’re full? You haven’t eaten much.” He nodded at the plate of cottage pie on Harry’s lap. “Not that you have to finish it. If you’re done, just chuck it on the table—no need to be polite.”

“It’s delicious—really. You’re a good cook. Thanks, Wayne. Thanks for everything.”

Wayne waved off the thanks. “You’re welcome, James, so you can stop saying it. You deserve it after a rough day. Fancy a drink?” He poured himself another shot and shook the bottle at Harry. “We can keep it our little secret.”

Feeling bolder, Harry managed a weak smile. “Sure—why not.”

“That’s the spirit.” Wayne filled Harry’s glass with a generous measure of liquor and handed it to him. Harry sipped, grimacing at the sour taste, making Wayne chuckle. “Keep drinking, it gets better.”

Harry knocked back another sip, holding his breath against the stinging scent that reminded him of his uncle. Wayne nodded approvingly when Harry didn’t gag, and Harry felt a small surge of pride. “Atta boy,” Wayne muttered, turning back to the telly. Ten minutes passed, and Harry began to feel much more relaxed, sinking into the sofa and losing himself in the film, almost forgetting where he was. So it was little wonder he jumped violently when Wayne suddenly put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

“Easy, easy! No need to be alarmed. Just warming you up—you still look chilled to the bone. Wasn’t the water hot enough? I turned the heating up.” Recovering from the shock, Harry looked at Wayne, bemused.

“I’m fine. The shower did the trick. I’m warm now, but, er, thanks.” Wayne’s gesture was innocent, but Harry hated being touched by anyone, let alone a stranger. It made him feel nauseous. He fidgeted, hoping Wayne would take the hint.

“Are you sure? You still look pale.”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“You smell more like lemons than strawberries—did you use the shampoo?”

“I, er, couldn’t find it. I used the Head & Shoulders instead. That alright?”

“Of course! Sorry, must have run out of the posh stuff.” There was a pause. “I could get us a blanket?”

“I’ve got one in my bag, it’s okay—really.” Harry discreetly shrugged off Wayne’s arm, hoping not to offend him.

“Well, if you insist.” Wayne eyed him with an unreadable look, then removed his arm. Harry gasped as Wayne rested a palm on his knee. He squirmed, this time purposely moving away. No, that was too much. “Ummmm—”

“Ssshhh, come here.”

“I don’t—”

“Come here.”

“I really don’t think—”

“Alright, you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just trying t—” Wayne cut himself off, hurt flickering across his face. Guilt swept over Harry as silence fell. The man probably hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable; maybe he was just lonely, with his wife working nights and his kids away. Maybe he wanted to do something fatherly. Surely he hadn’t meant anything by it. It was probably just his way of being friendly. Besides, who else would want to touch a freak like him? He should be grateful—his relatives had never shown him affection. Maybe that’s why it felt so strange, why his stomach churned. He just wasn’t used to it. He really needed to stop this paranoia.

“Sorry,” he said, genuinely dismayed to have caused offence. Wayne looked up, eyes the colour of morning coffee dregs. “I just—”

“Heeey, it’s okay. I understand. You’re just a bit shy, aren’t you, James?” It was more a statement than a question. Harry bit his lip, not knowing what to say. “I can tell you’re shy,” Wayne persisted, oblivious to Harry’s anxiety. “Even when you were yelling at me earlier, something in your eyes told me you were shy. Which also tells me you don’t think much of yourself, do you?”

Again, it was more a statement than a question. Harry looked away, scuffing his bare feet on the threadbare carpet. Wayne edged closer. The stench of cheap cologne filled Harry’s nostrils, overwhelming his senses. He wished Wayne would back off.

“Makes sense. Kid like you must have had a rotten upbringing. Why else would you be begging on the corner?”

“I wasn’t begging,” Harry cut in. Being thought of as a beggar stung. He’d never begged, no matter how desperate things got. “And my upbringing weren’t that bad,” he added.

Wayne’s smile said he didn’t believe a word. “Then tell me, James. What were you doing on Pinches Street with an old bag and a cardboard box? Why aren’t you at home with your mum and dad?”

Harry squirmed but decided to admit the truth. “I don’t have a mum and dad.”

“Oh? But everyone has a mother and father. Everyone comes from somewhere, right?”

“My parents died in a car crash when I was little. I went to live with my aunt and uncle. We didn’t get on.” Harry stared at the leathery hand on his knee, wondering why the long fingers reminded him of slugs.

“I see... So they kicked you out?”

“No! Well, yeah—sort of. I chose to leave. It was better for everyone.”

“Do you still see them?”

“No. I don’t see anyone anymore.”

“Shame. Do you miss them?”

“No.” The word slipped out before he could stop it, and his cheeks grew hot. Wayne scrutinised him for a long moment, as though trying to read between the lines.

“James, I like you,” he said, finally taking his hand back. “You’re a bit rough around the edges, but there’s something about you—you’re sweet. And on top of that, you’re pretty good-looking.”

Placing his glass on the table, Wayne picked up the remote and switched off the TV. Harry shot him a surprised look, but Wayne ignored it. He got up, crossed to the radio, and flicked it on. Swinging jazz filled the room.

“You know, kid, I think it’s about time I showed you the games I play. Come with me—no, leave your bag here. We’re only going to the playroom. We can finish the film later.”

Harry stood, and his vision swayed in time with the music. He pressed his palm to his temple, trying to steady himself. Noticing this, Wayne hooked an arm around his waist. Harry stiffened. “’M fine, honest,” he mumbled, blushing. Why did he have no tolerance for alcohol? It was humiliating.

“Course you are, but I don’t want you tripping and falling before I’ve had a chance to capture that face. Don’t want it bruised, now do we?” Harry couldn’t make sense of the comment.

“Umm, sorry?”

“You asked to see what games I play—so I’ll show you. You’ll understand better that way. I’ll get her ready. It’s been a while since she had something this pretty to picture.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you said you had an Xbox?” Harry slurred slightly, trying to follow. Wayne seemed deaf to his worries as he led him down the hall, fingernails digging into Harry’s hip as he guided him.

“You’re going to love this, James. Come on, in here.” Letting go at last, Wayne pushed open the door and nudged Harry inside. Before his eye could adjust to the dim light, Wayne slid a bolt across the door. “Wayne, what are you—”

“Ssshhh. Be quiet.” Harry frowned. Why? The music next door was loud, and if they were going to play a video game, surely— He turned to look at the room and gasped. The playroom was empty. No toys, no PlayStation, not even a TV. Just a faint odour of sweat and a rickety tripod with a camera on top. Trying to keep his head steady and not panic, he shot Wayne a bewildered look, which the man ignored. “Sit there for me, kid. I’ll fire her up.”

“Umm, sorry, but w-what?”

Wayne strolled forward and pulled a drawstring light, flooding the room with harsh light. “Just there. That’ll do—unless you’d rather lie down.” He gestured to a thin mattress in the corner. Harry’s brow furrowed. The scotch dulled his senses. Was he hallucinating?

He looked at Wayne, who was grinning. Why? Harry looked at the mattress, then the camera. Only then did realisation hit. The man was a photographer. Maybe embarrassed about his hobby, maybe that’s why he’d lied. Perhaps he didn’t think Harry would want to see this room if he knew what was in it. Maybe he was lonely, his family away, and wanted someone to share his passion. Yes, that must be it. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“You’re being shy again, huh? No need to look so tense. I thought the drink might have loosened you up.” Wayne murmured, a note of annoyance in his voice.

“Wayne, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand. I mean, this is great—the camera and all—but I’m glad you wanted to show me, but—” Wayne looked up with a strange twinkle in his eye, and Harry felt the floor drop away.

He’d never had his photo taken before, not that he could remember except for a school portrait. As a child, he’d wondered if his parents had taken pictures of him, or of them as a family. “Yes, James, I want to take your photo, and why wouldn’t I? You are, after all, very good looking. Now are you going to sit there like a good lad, or am I going to have to make you?”

Whether it was his words or the way he said them, Harry didn’t know, but his throat swelled and his mouth went dry. He unconsciously stepped back, shaking his head. “But I don’t—I mean, I don’t really want my photo done.”

“Yes you do, I know you do!” There was impatience in Wayne’s voice that made Harry as nervous as he’d been in the car.

“I don’t—honest. I’m okay.” His toes curled as Wayne sighed heavily and eyed him as if he were a stubborn child.

“James.” He stepped forward with purpose. “This doesn’t need to be difficult. It’s actually pretty simple. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to defy an adult?” His body was close now, and Harry felt intimidated. Dread curdled in his stomach. He shrank back, wondering why Wayne seemed so unfamiliar all of a sudden.

“I just don’t want my picture taken. Can’t we go finish the film? Or maybe you could show me your pictures? Your camera’s nice, bet you’ve got some cool shots.” He nodded toward it, but Wayne caught his chin, leaning in so his face was inches away, voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

“Not as nice as the ones I’m gonna get.” Harry looked up, wild with fear. He barely recognised the man before him. Could it be that the good Samaritan who’d saved him from hunger and the storm was actually a devil in disguise? Though he prayed it wasn’t true, in his heart he knew what Wayne was after. Why he wanted the picture. He’d never felt so sober in his life. “I’ve given you so much, James. Took you in, fed you, gave you a hot shower, shared my best scotch, offered you a bed. All I’m asking is this little thing in return, but you can’t even do that.” He hissed, spraying Harry’s face with spit. Jerking his chin, he turned back to the tripod. “You don’t get something for nothing, James. Everything has a price. I gave you something, so you owe me. That’s how the real world works. Now sit on the mattress and do as you’re told!”

Harry’s ribcage constricted, squeezing his organs until he thought they’d implode. The room spun, more from fear than alcohol. He stood frozen, legs rooted to the spot. Then, like a ticking time bomb, Wayne exploded. “Get here, James. Now!”

The outburst was enough to get Harry moving. He shuffled to the grubby mattress, hoping one picture would be enough. If he could please Wayne, maybe he’d stop. He at least had to try. His thoughts battled for dominance. With his head hung low, he knew he looked submissive, but he couldn’t help it. Shame burned his throat so badly he thought he might vomit. He dipped his eyes, determined to pretend this wasn’t real. Determined not to let Wayne see his fear. That was all he had left.

“Atta boy, James, atta boy.” Harry could almost taste his own terror as Wayne flicked the camera towards him and a red light loomed in his vision. “Look up, James, I can’t catch you from there. Look up and take off your shirt.”

No. Don’t!

“Don’t make me.” He hated the quiver in his voice, hated the way his knees shook.

“I’m not making you do anything—you chose this when you got in my car. Now you owe me, and I choose how you repay. That’s what I’m doing, James. Giving you a chance to settle your debt.”

Shame coursed through him. “Can’t we do it another way? I could pay you! Just give me time—”

Wayne cut him off with a high-pitched laugh that rang through the walls. White-hot fury licked at Harry’s insides. He couldn’t bear being mocked, being humiliated. He hated Wayne for this. All he wanted was to play a game—how had it come to this?

“James, we both know there is no other way. Enough stalling, look into the lens and give me a smile. I love those dimples.” Harry didn’t move. “DO IT!”

Harry jolted as the man’s bark cracked through the air. “I lied!” he cried, desperate. “I’m not fifteen, I’m eleven. I turned eleven in July!”

There was silence, then a sadistic grin spread across Wayne’s face. “Really? My guess was nine or ten.”

Harry’s last hope vanished. Dread flooded him. “Please don’t—”

“NOW, JAMES. I’M NOT GOING TO ASK AGAIN! TAKE IT OFF!” Realising his only way out might be to comply, Harry clenched his jaw and pulled off his shirt. He heard Wayne gasp and felt his resolve crumble. “Don’t cry, James. Even eleven’s too old to cry. Pick your head up and look at the lens. That’s it—stop with the waterworks—”

Click. . .Flash. . .
“How’d you get all those ugly scars, kid? Was it because you were a bad boy?”
Click. . .Flash
“Good, now give me that smile.”
Click. . .Flash
“Remember to look at the lens, James, with both eyes this time. Your left’s a wanderer, huh?”
Click. . .Flash
“That’s it, that’s the one. You look perfect. Let’s get a close-up. Don’t worry, we can edit the scars out later. Someone really did a number on you, huh?”
Click. . .Flash
“You want to please me, don’t you, James? Want to be a big boy? Then stop blubbering and do as I say.”
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
“That’s it, good lad. Now take off your jeans.”
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
“That’s it, good lad. I can make a little film on this camera too. Would you like that, James? Want to make a film with me?”
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
“Let’s play a game to get us started, shall we? Get us in the mood.”
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
Click. . .Flash
“Lie down, James, lie down and relax...”

…

Every snap sealed his fate. Every flash ripped at his heart. Every thrust stole the last remnants of his childhood. Claimed his dignity, claimed his pride. The mellow jazz melted through the thin walls, droning on and on, mocking him with every swinging note. His cheeks were raw from stubble, his throat tangled with barbed wire. No matter how much he spat, the sharp twang of peppermint stained his tongue like red wine on a cream carpet. The burning pain below was like nothing he’d known. It hurt, badly. So he lay there, body and soul laid bare, wondering if this was what it meant to feel dead inside. Dignity shattered, he could only sob into the battered mattress. He’d begged and pleaded for it to end. Now it had. But still, he couldn’t move—or maybe he didn’t want to.

He knew why, of course. He was frightened of aggravating his injuries, worried that if he opened his eyes the nightmare would return. But what terrified him most was knowing that when he got up, Wayne would be waiting, sneering, mocking, ready to torture him again. Harry couldn’t bear it.

The hands roaming his body, the indignity of being held, talked to like meat. The lust-filled stares. The loss of control. The crude words. The invasion. The exposure. The shame. It hurt. All his life he’d fought to survive, to never give up. Not once had he wanted to opt out. Not until now.

Wayne’s voice boomed, snapping him from his hell. “You’re a disgrace. You’re disgusting. Look at you! Get up. Clean yourself up, you’re filthy.” Tucking his belly back into his jeans, Wayne glared at him.

“Fuck you.”

Wayne laughed, shaking the room. “I already did.” It was a low blow, but enough to make Harry flinch.

“You’re a pig. You’re a fucking pig!” Harry cried, tears on his cheeks.

Wayne smoothed his shirt, a small smile on his lips. “Oh come now, James. You can’t say you didn’t ask for it. Or did you really think I’d let you take it for free? How many times do I have to tell you? You always have to give something in return for a man’s kindness. I didn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

“I didn’t want to. I said no!” Harry whispered, shame flooding him. “You fucking made me!”

“And what exactly are you planning on doing about it, James?” Wayne’s icy stare sent shockwaves through him. “Tell me, who’s going to believe you? You already said you don’t speak to your family, and it’s clear from your scars what they think of you. Face it, son, a street urchin like you has no credibility, no worth. You’re just a nobody.”

“I’ll go to the police!”

“Oh, will you now?” Wayne grinned. “And what would you tell them? The whole story? Because I would. I’d tell them how you willingly got in my car, willingly came to my house, willingly came into this room. Go ahead—try it. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your underage drinking. And as a runaway, they’d just take you back to your relatives—if they’d even want you.”

Before he could say more, Harry lunged. Gathering all his strength, he threw himself at Wayne, slamming into his chest. Wayne yelped, stumbled, and hit the wall, sinking to his knees. But Harry didn’t stop. Drowning in rage, he pounded his fists into Wayne again and again, until his own body screamed in protest. At last, clutching his back in agony, he pulled away. Wayne wriggled free, wiped blood from his lip, and glowered.

“You’ll pay for that, kid. You’ll pay good.” Then, quick as a whip, he grabbed Harry’s ankle and brought him crashing down. Harry cried out as he landed on his side and Wayne advanced. Before Harry could shield his face, Wayne punched his jaw, then his ribs.

“NO!” Harry screamed as the blows rained down. He curled into a ball. “STOP!”

But Wayne’s rage was unrelenting. Fuelled by Harry’s screams, he thundered punch after punch until Harry could cry out no more. How long it lasted, Harry didn’t know. With pain surging through his body and anguish flooding his mind, he could only whimper and pray for it to end. At last, Wayne stopped. Harry moaned, cradling his swollen stomach, and crawled to his knees. Wayne loomed over him, face blurred, ground swaying. Harry bit his tongue, determined that if he was going to die, he’d do it looking Wayne in the eye, with dignity—even if it was just pretend.

“You’re pathetic, James. Pathetic, weak, and you should be ashamed. God knows your late parents would be. Look at you—a scrounging mongrel.” Wayne advanced, ready for another round. Terrified, Harry threw himself into the centre of the room, searching for escape. He spotted the metal tripod nearby. Knowing what he had to do, he grabbed it, sending the camera crashing to the ground with a crack.

Wielding the tripod, he saw his own fear reflected in Wayne’s eyes. Without hesitation, he hurled it, aiming blindly for Wayne’s head. It happened so quickly, Harry barely processed it. The tripod struck with a sickening crunch, and Wayne collapsed.

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat, pounding. His insides twisted as he waited for Wayne to move. But nothing came. The silence was broken only by Harry’s laboured breathing. Not a sound from Wayne. A sickening surge of panic and guilt swept over him, dragging him down.

What had he done?

Wayne wasn’t moving.

Why wasn’t he moving?

Shakily, Harry got to his feet, shock swirling above him. Mind in turmoil, he crept to the rigid body on the floor.

What had he done? What had he done?

Closer now, he saw blood oozing from Wayne’s temple. His face was white as a sheet, eyes closed, utterly still.

Why was he so still?

There was no rise and fall of his chest. No twitch in his wrists. Blood pooled around his head like poisoned ink. Panic and dread clouded Harry’s mind. The room spun and he fought the urge to vomit. One word screamed in his mind as he looked down at the unresponsive man—one word, as the devil inside him began to shriek.

RUN!

Chapter Text

Harry watched as the fresh milk swirled in the copper pan, cooling the bubbling liquid. He wished Remus were up; Remus always knew how to make hot cocoa taste magical, even without much sugar. Harry had never mastered the art of drizzling melted chocolate or making the scent waft from the mugs like Remus could. He should have asked Remus to show him, but now he just stared into the saucepan, focusing on the way the chocolate enveloped the milk. There was always something about Remus’s hot chocolates that calmed his mind. Maybe it wasn’t the drink itself, but the way Remus made and served it—always with care, always with a smile.

He banged the spoon on the side, annoyed at himself. Why was he even up at this time, making hot chocolate? He didn’t even like his own version. He was making it because it felt familiar. This kitchen felt safe, or so he’d thought. The longer he sat in the quiet, the more he realised it was never the cottage that gave him comfort—it was Remus. The faint scent of Remus’s soap and the old dressing gown on the hook were just reminders. Without Remus, the room felt empty.

You’re being pathetic, Potter. You had a nightmare, that’s all. You’re thirteen; you should be able to handle it.

But the monsters in his dreams were real. They weren’t just figments of his imagination; they were memories. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still trapped in that place, reliving those hours over and over. He’d run from Surrey to Essex to London, but he’d never truly left the scene behind. The guilt lingered, heavy and inescapable.

Stormy nights were supposed to be the hardest for people living rough, but for Harry, it was the quiet nights that were the worst. The demons came then, stealing his sleep and peace. He just wanted it to stop. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free from the memories. The same song from the same broken record played on in his mind.

“I could destroy it if it’s better, Harry?”

The words seemed to echo from the walls. Harry jumped. Where had that come from? He remembered someone saying something similar, but couldn’t recall who or why. He felt lost, exhausted, and more alone than ever.

“Stop scratching it.”

Harry turned so quickly his neck cricked. “Remus! You need to stop creeping up on people like that—it’s creepy! Anyway, I can’t help it, it’s itchy!”

“Where’s the potion I gave you?” Remus asked, smiling gently.

“What? I’m not putting weird purple paste on my skin!”

“So you’ll let yourself be bitten by pixies but won’t use a healing salve?”

“How many times—I didn’t know they were behind the drawers! And I’m not putting it on, my skin’ll dissolve or something!”

“Your skin will dissolve, really?” Remus rubbed his temples. “Didn’t I tell you to ask before borrowing books from the attic?”

“Actually, you only said to let you know. But what’s the point? You only let me have the boring ones anyway!”

“The age-appropriate ones.”

“I’m thirteen!”

“My point exactly. Besides, I’d rather you learn to brew simple potions before trying the Draught of Living Death.”

Harry stilled. “Wh-what?”

“I just mean I’d prefer you learn the basics first—”

“No, why did you say that? Draught of Living Death—why would I want to learn that?”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “It was just an example, Har. I didn’t mean anything by it. Some potions aren’t meant for good intentions.”

“Then why have books on them?”

“It used to be for knowledge. I liked finding ways to counteract dark potions, but now it’s more for teaching. It’s wise to know what you’re up against and how to defend against it.”

“You need to know what the stuff’s capable of. My point exactly.” Harry grinned. Remus tried to look stern but failed when Harry giggled.

“Here, this one’s harmless. It’s not as good as the Anorax I gave you, but it won’t sting.” Remus found a small vial in the drawer.

“What is it?” Harry asked, craning his neck.

“Shimikin’s. It’s a mild cream for surface wounds. It’ll stop the itch, I promise.” Remus uncorked the bottle and, instead of handing it over, gently applied it to Harry’s shoulder. The relief was instant, and Harry slumped in his chair.

“I could do it, you know.” Harry regretted the sharpness in his voice when Remus paused.

“Sorry,” Remus said, moving to tidy up. “Are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about, or shall I guess?” he asked, inspecting the lumpy cocoa.

Harry felt his cheeks heat up but a small voice told him to lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words sounded forced, and he was sure Remus knew it, but Remus just inclined his head.

“Forgive me, Harry. It’s silly to think I’m the only one who comes down here for a sweet drink after a bad night.”

Harry was a little surprised, even impressed by Remus’s sarcasm. He tried to smirk, but the weight of his nightmares returned. Remus noticed.

“Are you alright, cub?”

“Fine.” His voice was steady, but his body betrayed him. He curled up on the chair, hugging his knees.

“Really?” One word, full of disbelief, made Harry want to run to him, to cry into his robes. But he didn’t. He just sat there, nodding.

“Really.” He rasped. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, well, in that case, I’ll just have to guess, won’t I?” Remus smiled sadly, flicking his wand to ignite the hob. “Were you dreaming of your uncle?”

Harry shook his head.

“Alright, so it wasn’t your uncle... but was it about your relatives? Or anyone you knew then? Social workers or police?”

Remus’s words felt like a jolt. “No, Remus, it wasn’t like that. Can we just drop it now, please?”

“It seems to me you can’t drop it, Harry. Or else, why would you still be awake?”

Remus’s tone was so gentle Harry could have wrapped himself in it, but he couldn’t bring himself to share more. The memories were too close. “Was it about your time on the streets? In Torments Falls? The Vic’s Arms?”

Harry tensed. “W-what?” He’d never told Remus about his time in London, except how much he wanted to go back. Of course—Remus had spoken to Seb. “I’d almost forgotten you went to Seb,” he said, jaw clenched. “What else did he tell you? No, wait—you never said why you went to see him!”

Remus exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry, Harry. I needed answers. I needed to know where you’d come from, what you’d been through.”

“But I could have told you! I would have told you if you’d just asked!” Harry cried, pushing his stool back, then slumping down again. “Well—alright, but I’m still annoyed you didn’t tell me! Besides, that idiot probably said loads that isn’t true!”

“In all honesty, cub, Seb didn’t say much at all.”

Harry chewed this over, then asked, “Did you see anyone else? Back at the Vic’s Arms?”

“No,” Remus admitted, curious at Harry’s relief.

“So what do you know? About me?”

“Not much. Seb told me what you did about how you came to the brewery.”

“Yeah? And what was that?” Remus poured the cocoa into mugs, buying time. Seeing Harry eye the drink gratefully, he sat opposite. “Why don’t you tell me? I’ll correct you if you go wrong.”

Harry’s lips twitched, but a shadow passed over his face, making him look older than his years.

“What is it, kiddo?” Remus asked. Harry gripped the mug tightly.

“Um, nothing. It’s just—well, that’s sort of what I was thinking about. Why I couldn’t sleep.”

Remus reached across the table, running his thumb down Harry’s knuckles in reassurance. Harry watched, transfixed.

“It’s okay, cub. It’s up to you how much you want to tell me. I’ll always listen.”

“So if you don’t want to tell me why you wen—”

“I do!” Harry cut in, eyes desperate. “I do, I just, I don’t—” He sighed, clearly struggling. “You might not... you might think differently about me if you knew the stuff I’ve done.”

“Cub, I will feel the same about you regardless. Nothing you say or do could change how I feel about you. Especially things from the past. I love you unconditionally. That means always. I know you, and I’m sure whatever happened, you did what you did for a good reason. If it’s to do with accidental magic, that’s understandable. Even if you can control it a bit, you’re underage—it’s not your fault.”

Harry bit his lip so hard it bled. Remus noticed and offered the vial again, coaxing a smile.

“Do you mean that?”

“I mean all of it.”

“You’ll love me no matter what?”

“Always.” Harry whimpered, tears in his eyes. Remus leaned over the table. “I’ll always love you, Harry, no matter what.”

Harry pulled his hand away. “But what if you don’t understand?” He closed his eyes.

“I will, cub. Please, just give me a chance. You’ve let me in before, you can do it again. I promise I’m not like them, Harry.”

Harry stared at him, part shock, part hope. Then, in a soft, honest voice, he said, “I left Essex because I did something bad, Remus. Really bad. Something unforgivable. Even you’d hate me for it.” He sucked in a breath, and Remus reached to wipe away tears, but Harry spoke again.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to tell someone.

“You saw it, didn’t you? Down in the cellar? You know what I did! What I am! I... I killed him, Remus. I killed him. I’m a murderer!” And with that, he broke down, sobbing into the table.

Remus gathered him up, holding him close, carrying him into the lounge. Harry cried for a long time, not noticing the comfort, not hearing Remus’s soothing words. All he knew was that his secret was out, and he was sinking. He could only hope Remus wouldn’t let him drown.

“It was an accident, Harry, you didn’t mean to. You are not a killer. Listen to me, sweetheart—you are not a murderer. It was self-defence. If you hadn’t done what you did, that man—Wayne—he would have hurt you. You are not to blame. None of it is your fault, do you hear me? None of it.”

...

“I told you I love you and I’m going to keep telling you until you believe me. You’re like my son. You are my son. Even if I’m not your real dad, I love you just the same. I don’t think any less of you—if anything, I think even more. You are so brave, Harry. That took strength I could never have, to tell me all that. You are amazing, truly amazing. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

...

“It wasn’t your fault, cub. Anyone in your position would have done the same. I know you feel guilty, but you don’t have to. You don’t need to punish yourself. You’re safe now. Nothing like that will ever happen to you again. I promise.”

...

“It’s going to be okay, cub. I promise.”

It was so late it could be considered morning by the time Harry cried himself to sleep. Even later when Remus carried him to bed and tucked him in. He wanted to keep Harry close, to ward off the nightmares, but wasn’t sure if Harry would accept it. Remus felt Harry’s pain, guilt, and shame as he held him, and it made his blood boil to think of the man responsible. The man who had hurt Harry so badly, who had stolen his trust. Remus couldn’t help but feel relief that the man was gone, though he hated that Harry was left with scars. There was no justice in that, but at least the danger was over.

Remus missed Harry’s weight as he tucked in the blankets, trying to make him comfortable. It was hard to believe, seeing Harry’s peaceful face, that only hours before he’d been in such distress. With a heavy heart, Remus turned off the lamp and let his own tears fall at last.

He vowed that tomorrow he’d do something to help them both heal. They needed time together, time to remember that happiness was still possible. He needed to see Harry smile again, to know that the past hadn’t stolen him away completely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Remus wondered if he was really what was best for Harry. Was he ready for this challenge? Didn’t Harry deserve better? The questions swirled in his mind.

He chose you.

Remus flinched, realising it was only a memory. Smiling softly, he looked down at Harry.

“Since I met you, Harry, I’ve been asking myself why you think you’re a burden, why you always feel you must give something back. You can’t see what I see in you. You really believe you’re worthless, and that’s the greatest harm they did to you. But they were wrong. What you’ve been taught, it’s my job to un-teach. I know why you’ve been pushing me away, and you have every right to be scared. You’ve been through so much. But you don’t need to be alone anymore. You’re everything to me, and you don’t have to repay me. You already do, just by being you. You make me happy, Harry. One day, you’ll believe that.”

...

Remus knew there was still a conversation to be had. He’d planned how to approach Harry, how to ask the questions he needed to, though he dreaded it. Harry had made progress, but Remus sensed there was still more Harry was holding back—especially about his time in London and the Vic’s Arms. Remus had his suspicions, but it would be wrong to assume. He dreaded having to ask about Harry’s health, knowing it would be a difficult conversation, but he was determined to help.

The sun was bright, and it had taken coaxing to get Harry outside. He was quieter than usual, clearly still affected by the night before. Remus tried to put him at ease with small talk, but Harry was withdrawn.

“I can’t believe we’re gardening. I never had you down as the type.”

“It’s therapeutic,” Remus replied, refilling the watering can.

“You really are getting up there in years, you know.”

“Oh yes, because coffee, The Secret Garden, and smoking are all child’s play.”

Harry grinned. “You’re such a weirdo. ARGH! The freakin’ gargoyle bit me again!”

“Gnomes, Harry, and don’t pick them up by the ears!”

“How else am I supposed to pick them up? They’re vicious!”

Remus chuckled and demonstrated, only to get bitten himself, making Harry laugh.

“Why don’t you just use your wand?”

“Because it’s nice to do things the Muggle way sometimes.”

Harry snorted, flicking dirt from his face.

“Which house were you in again?” Harry asked, curiosity in his tone. “You and my dad, you were in the same one, weren’t you?”

“Gryffindor, the house of bravery and chivalry.”

“So d’you think I’ll be in Gryffindor?”

Remus hesitated. “Well, I—”

“What, you don’t think I’m brave enough?”

“No, I think you are. Are you considering coming to Hogwarts?” Remus asked, surprised.

“Well, yeah. You keep going on about it, and now you’ve got a job there. Dumbledore seems alright, so maybe it’ll be okay.” Harry tried to sound casual, but Remus could see how much it meant.

“That’s brilliant news! I’m so happy!” Remus gushed.

“Calm down, it’s not like I’m announcing my engagement or anything!”

Remus laughed. “You’re going to love Hogwarts, and I’m sure you’ll be in Gryffindor if you want. You’re a fast learner, you’ll make friends—don’t roll your eyes, you know it’s true!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t expect me to be some model student. If someone starts on me, I’ll—”

“Tell me or another professor?”

“I’m not a snitch.”

“I just mean, if something’s bothering you, you have to speak up, okay?”

Harry wiped sweat from his brow, smearing dirt on his face.

“Are you going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“Yes. Is that alright?”

“Will I have to call you ‘Sir’?”

“In the classroom, yes, but not otherwise. Only you and I will know it’s not real.”

“So we’ll keep the fact I live with you a secret?”

“Only if you want to. It’s your decision.”

“You going to let me off homework and detentions?”

“Most certainly not. I have a feeling you’ll get more than anyone else!”

“What? No way—that’s discrimination!”

Remus smiled, hiding his disappointment that Harry hadn’t called him family. Noticing Harry watching, he forced a smile.

“That’s what I said.”

Harry grinned, tossing another gnome into the wheelbarrow.

“We’ll need to go to London for your school things. Can I trust you not to run away?”

“Depends, can I trust you not to visit the Vic’s Arms?” Harry shot back.

Remus hesitated, guilt in his heart. “I’m sorry I never told you, Har.”

Harry paused, then admitted, “I didn’t know what to do. Everything changed when I met you. I was lost, so I made a rash decision. You know how that is—you went to see Seb for the same reasons. Things change, though, don’t they?”

Remus was stunned. “Yes, some things do change, but this—” he gestured to the house—“will always be the same, as long as you want it to be.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah. Or at least, that’s what the rock reckons, and that’s pretty unchangeable, huh?” He revealed a slate, scratched with three words:

“Remus’s and Harry’s Home.”

Chapter Text

Harry jerked back to reality. Sweat poured from every pore, and his maroon V-neck and joggers clung to him. Scrambling for his glasses on the nightstand, he tried not to panic as the room tipped and tilted. A night terror, the result of his confession to Remus, had haunted his sleep. Ashamed to admit it, the memories left him in tears. He stumbled to the bathroom and heaved into the porcelain bowl. Pressing his cheek to the cool tiles, he closed his eyes and tried to will away the pain in his stomach. He wondered if his body could handle another episode. Then he heard the door creak.

“Bad dreams again kiddo?” The familiar voice from the doorway was gentle and marked by concern. Harry let it soothe him. Finding comfort, he tipped his head toward the sound and nodded. Denial was pointless by now. Remus already knew how disturbed his mind was, the toll his demons took, especially at night.

“How’d you know I was up again?” He slurred, voice rough. “You got some sorta tracking charm on me again?”

“Just something to alert me whenever you leave your bedroom.”

Harry tried to shake his head, but pain stopped him, and he settled for rolling his eyes. “Figures.” He murmured. Slumped over the loo, he felt defeated.

Remus stepped closer. A glance at the bowl confirmed his suspicions. “You’ve been sick already? Hold on, I’ll get you some pepper up, be right back.”

“No.” Harry cried weakly, lifting his head. “No, I’ll be fine, I’ll go back to sleep soon I promise.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “On the toilet seat? I think I could offer a much more comfortable suggestion.”

“Well no I’ll get up now – just gimme a sec.” Harry tried to stand, but his stomach groaned and he sank back down. Seeing Remus’s concern, he tried again, but the room spun and he collapsed against the wall. His ears and throat burned, and he clenched his fists. Remus knelt, stroking back Harry’s bangs to check his temperature. “I’m fiinnneeee Remus really! ‘m fine.” Harry whined, weakly batting his hand away.

Remus was insistent. He grasped Harry’s arm and hauled him up, prompting another dry heave. “Come on cub, let’s get you back to bed with a vial of potion for that tummy.”

“I’m okay really – I just get like this sometimes after well...Maybe, maybe you could sorta staywime – just till the dizzy spell passes?”

Remus gave a soft smile. “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

“You don’t have to! I mean if you’re tired you can go back to bed, I’ll be fine honest. Really you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Harry’s vision swayed, he pinched his nose, exhausted. Remus called his name in a calm tone. Harry tried to will the nausea away. “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought, it doesn’t matter about you staying wimme, I’mma fall straight to sleep anyway so you can just -.”

“Harry, I want to.” Remus’s sincerity made Harry’s nerves tingle. He studied Remus’s shadowed eyes and the warmth of his hand before deciding.

“Well then can you, I mean, do you remember when you done my hair in here before?”

Remus frowned. “You want to dye it again? Now? It’s two AM, you’re exhausted and you’re ill. Surely it can wait until tomorrow? Your roots aren’t even showing yet.”

“No, no that’s not wha’ I meant. I meant, do you remember when you dyed it you sorta played with it? Well it felt nice. I was wondering if you could do that again? You know, just till I go back to sleep? Which won’t be long I promise!”

Remus smiled at the request.

“Come on, you. You’re not feeling alright, you’re not safe to be on your own tonight.” He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist and helped him up.

Harry was so tired he nearly tripped walking to Remus’s room. He was a touch impressed with Remus’s patience: no sighs, no eye rolls, no offer to carry him. Remus stayed at his side, a steady support. Harry finally realised they were headed to the king-sized bed when Remus settled him there. Before Harry could process it Remus pulled out his wand.

“I’ve never been much good at division but I promise if this goes wrong, you can have the bigger half, okay.” He said and gave his usual crooked smile. Harry shook his head despite the dizziness.

“You don’t have to do that honestly.”

“Oh it’s no trouble, I’ll join them back together in the morning. It’s just the pronunciation I struggle with. I’d cast it non-verbally but division’s never been my strong point. I’m sure I have a book somewhere that’ll help if it doesn’t work the first time.”

He moved away, searching the room. At the loss of contact Harry felt adrift, unable to adjust to the cold, lonely feeling swelling in his chest. He was tired. Even if sleep returned, night terrors would too. Remus’s presence lessened the pain and made him feel safe. He didn’t want that safety to end.

“But I, you don’t have to.” Harry wanted comfort, wanted affection. He was ready, but didn’t know how to say it.

Remus turned. “What do you mean cub?” If Harry meant what Remus thought, he had to ask carefully. Shaking, Harry let go. “I mean, c-can’t I just share w-with you? You know, just for tonight? If you don’t mind that is? I won’t hog the blanket, I swear.” He finished, bracing for rejection.

Remus’s heart skipped. Harry wanted to share a bed. Trying to compose himself, Remus replied. “Of course you can kiddo.”

Harry smiled, gestured for Remus to follow, slapping the pillows. Remus chuckled. “Are you not going to change first?”

“No, I always sleep in the t-shirt and joggers, used to it ain’t I? Why? I haven’t got anything on me have I?” Harry checked his vest for vomit.

Remus climbed onto the bed, laughing. “No cub you haven’t. Now didn’t you say something about a head massage?” He nudged Harry’s shoulder playfully.

Harry eagerly accepted and nestled into Remus’s arm, giving him full view to work on his hair. Long fingers twisted and teased his hair into ringlets. Goosebumps rose on Harry’s skin, and the rhythm of Remus’s heartbeat soothed him. He closed his eyes.

“I used to have to do this with Dave, ‘cept he never played with my hair and this is a lot different.” He whispered. Sleeping with Vic’s Arms’s old landlord had never been enjoyable, but telling Remus felt important. Remus paused and Harry questioned him.

“What? What is it?”

Remus struggled to hide his shock. “Nothing kiddo, it’s just I’ve never heard you mention Dave before.” He tried to compose himself, schooling his features as Harry frowned.

“S’cos he’s not really worth mentioning.” The bitter undertone was clear.

“Why not?”

Harry shrugged. “S’just not.”

A minute’s silence followed as Remus continued the head massage, searching for the right words to go further. The question haunted him for years. Now was the moment, but he couldn’t shake his dread.

He summoned his courage. “Can I ask you something, cub? And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I want to ask.”

Harry glanced over, uncertain. “Umm, sure – shoot.”

“When I went to the Vic’s Arms, when I met Seb, he mentioned something about Dave. More specifically, about you and Dave.” Harry tensed. Remus waited. “He said you were one of his ‘best boys’, I think was the phrase. I wondered what that meant.” He paused, letting Harry speak or object. Harry only shifted, so Remus tried again. “And when you told Sirius you’d do anything he wanted, when you offered to kiss me, I wondered what that meant too.”

“Why don’t you just come out with it?” Harry snapped.

Remus anticipated this and didn’t flinch. He held up his hands, palms out, searching for a response. “Do you want me to, cub? Do you want me to ask you outright?” He asked, tone careful.

“Just ask it!” Harry demanded, scooting away, fear and anger stealing over his face. “Ask your question and say the bloody word Remus!”

Alarm bells were ringing now.

“Harry –”

“Just say it!”

“Calm down cub. It’s okay.”

“You said you wanted to ask so why don’t you use the bloody word?”

“Okay I will. Aside from Wayne, Harry, I wanted to ask if anyone else has ever hurt you.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “W-what?”

“I’m asking if Dave has ever hurt you sweetheart.”

Harry stared. “No.”

Remus resisted a sigh. This was tougher than expected. “It’s alright cub, I know, and you can tell me, Harry, you can! Did Dave ever -.”

“No, no I mean that’s not the word.” Harry yelled, shaking his head. “That’s not what you’re thinking!”

Remus’s head spun. “Sweetheart -.”

“No, that’s not the word! Say it!”

“Harry -.”

“Why won’t you just say it? Go on Remus, say it. There’s no point tiptoeing around it, we both know the truth so just say it!”

“Raped?”

“-Prostitute.”

The room froze. Silence and stillness pressed in.

Remus managed a pained “what?”

“Prostitute! That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? What you want me to admit? Well you know what, Remus, yeah I will. I will admit it! I was a damn prostitute, nothing but a dirty skank. Seb knew it, Mallory knew it, everyone did. It was obvious come the end. I’d do whatever Dave wanted for money, not even money half the time, just a place to stay. So there you have it. You happy now? You happy now you know your new son’s some disgusting little-.”

“My God Harry no! No, you are not, nor have you ever been, a prostitute! Merlin no!”

“Why are you saying that? I’m telling you I did stuff, bad stuff just for my keep, Remus. I’m telling you so why are you trying to deny it!?” Harry yelled, fleeing to the corner.

“Because Harry, there is no such thing as a child prostitute, no matter what the circumstances. There’s not. There are only abusers. Prostitution means consensual sex, and you Harry, could not have given your consent, because you are a child. A twelve year old child for Christ sakes!”

Harry reeled as if struck. Remus saw what he had done and blanched. “Oh my, Merlin, Harry I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at him. I’m angry at them. He should never have done that to you. Never!”

Tears danced in Harry’s eyes. His voice trembled. “But Remy, I agreed. I agreed to everything. I never tried to stop him like with Wayne. I did what he wanted. I let him and I, I did stuff to him when he asked me to, too. I was a prostitute!”

“No, no, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s where you always go wrong, Harry.” Remus moved closer. “You always think it’s down to you, that it’s actually your fault. But it’s not. It’s like I told you last night. You are underage. Wayne, Dave, your aunt, your uncle. They were the adults. It was their job to protect you. They were wrong, Harry. So wrong in what they did. What they all did.” Harry cried openly now. Remus grabbed his wrists.

“Tell me cub, tell me what he did to you. What did he make you do?”

“I can’t!” Harry moaned, his voice broken.

“Yes you can, Har. You can. You’ve told me things before, haven’t you?”

“This is different.”

“No it’s not cub, it can’t be. Whatever it is, whatever he said, whatever he told you, whatever he did, you can tell me and I swear, I’ll tell you if it’s true, okay? Just like before when you told me about your aunt and uncle and Wayne. It’ll be just like before, I won’t go back on my word, Harry. I’m not going to change. Nothing’s going to be any different, I’ll still love you regardless. You’re my boy. Nothing can ever change that, remember? I just want to help you kiddo, I want to put things right. Tell me how it happened. What do you mean everyone knew?” He brushed Harry’s bangs and cupped his cheek.

“It’s like I said, Remy, it was me, all me. It was my choice, I didn’t have to, he never made me!”

“There’s such a thing as manipulation and emotional abuse, Har, and even if it wasn’t that, he was an adult who took advantage of your vulnerability. Can you not see that? Can you not see that no matter how it happened, it wasn’t your fault?”

“So if that’s true then why’d you want me to tell you? You’ve already made up your mind, so why’d you have to know what we did?” Harry cried, searching Remus.

Remus choked and pulled away. “Because I want you to know you can trust me.” He admitted softly. “I want to be the person you run to. I want you to know you can confide in me. I want to take care of you properly. I want you to believe you’re not alone.”

Remus saw doubt in Harry’s eyes, but Harry nodded. “He was good t’me, just like you. He called me his, said I was special.”

Remus’s chest ached. He took Harry’s hand and sat on the bed. Harry stayed standing, hesitating.

“I’m not like him, cub.”

“I know, at least I think I know. It’s just you’re like one of the same sometimes, you know? All the things you do for me, he did them too.”

Remus fought back bitterness. “Like what? What type of things do we do that are the same? Why do I remind you of him?” A hint of accusation crept in.

“I don’t know, you just always have, I guess. You’re kind, he was kind, giving, just like you. He took me in, accepted me, didn’t care about my past. Well, he didn’t seem to, anyway. He was the first person who ever understood me, I guess.” Harry spoke before thinking. “He didn’t ask questions when Seb and the others introduced me to him, just let me stay at the pub, bought me a squash and some food, said of course I could stay and that was it. He wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met. Not even Wayne. He was your typical pub landlord. Friendly to everyone he met, treated everyone the same. Seemed to know everyone in Hackney. Kids, teens, men, women, whoever came in. Seb and the guys respected him, looked up to him. He was like a dad, or a granddad, especially to us boys. He took us all in. Most guys would move on after a while, but Mallory and Seb had been staying there for ages. He didn’t mind how long you needed the room, whether it was just to crash till you moved on or you needed a place for months. He didn’t mind as long as you had earning potential and he had the space. Even if you came and went, Dave welcomed you back. Never asked questions about where you’d been, what you’d been doing, all you had to do was pay for your place.”

Harry paused and checked Remus’s understanding. Remus nodded numbly, feeling sick about the comparison.

“He would always sit with us in the evenings. Usually about six of us, having fun. Dave would order chips, and we’d sit for hours, listening to his stories or Seb chatting about his plans. He’d stare at me and ask me what I thought, like he was really making an effort. I wasn’t used to that, so I liked the attention.” Harry scuffed the carpet.

“It’s not wrong to like attention, cub.” Remus assured.

Harry blushed. “Yea well, we got talking most nights when I went up to pay. He always did the billing in his bedroom, maybe because it was more private, no customers around to ask questions. Everyone had their times for payment, breakfast, board, anonymity if the cops came. It was a hideout for some guys. Perfect after everything in Essex. For the first time in six months, I felt safe. I’d already changed my name, my look, taught myself this accent before I met Seb and the boys. Having somewhere like the Vic’s with someone like Dave was extra protection. I was scared someone would recognise me or get me arrested, or sent back to my aunt and uncles.”

He paused, lost in memory. “I moved constantly for six months in London. Always running, looking for tube fare. Never stayed anywhere for more than a week, sometimes just a day if the police were around. Exhausting and lonely. Never had anyone, kept to myself. Had to keep my head down. By the time I reached Torments Falls I was desperate. When the gang trained me up to pinch better and Dave let me have a room, it felt like I finally had stability.” He snorted. “I say my own room but Seb would crash wimme often, too drunk to get to his own. Eventually we moved his mattress and split the rent. Three pound fifty a night, expensive when you’re broke. I didn’t like stealing, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Remus flinched. “So you stayed because it was the best place you’d found?” Harry watched Betrice through the window. “Yea. Only place that felt like home. It wasn’t really, I could have been turfed out, but it was the closest I’d ever come.” Harry traced a raindrop on the glass.

“It makes sense, cub, why you wanted to stay, you must have been happy to find security after so long without.” Remus felt a new sadness. “You mentioned Dave would take payment at night?”

Harry nodded. “Everyone had slots, five or ten minutes. Can’t blame him, lots of business, bossy missis. My slot started at two minutes and lengthened as I got to know him. Near the proposal, I spent an hour each night. He was decent to be around, and that was what I never got. Tight schedule, but always made time for me. Never rushed me, just liked my company. Said the same things you do: said I was funny, clever, talented, perfect. I figured he was just being nice because he felt sorry for me. The thing about Dave, he just wanted to make everyone feel better, like you. But that was fake too. He said nice things so I’d like him more, and it worked. I liked him, so I trusted him. Just like I trusted Wayne.”

Harry wailed and hit the window ledge. Alarmed, Remus jumped up, ready to intervene, but Harry beat him to it. “Why did I never see it coming? I never did, Remy. Not once. Not even when he sat with me at dinner, hand on my knee. Not even when he pressed up against me in the hallway. Not even when he always seemed to need to pee when I did at the pub. I thought he was just flirty with everyone. He’d always crack jokes, be touchy with the kids. Gave hugs and attention. That’s why we called him Dirty Dave. I never thought he’d be into me.” Harry’s breathing was ragged, on the verge of panic. Remus wanted desperately to help.

“Harry, cub, please, sweetheart, just breathe for me. Take deep breaths. Turn around, put your hand on my chest, we’ll do it together, just breathe.”

But Harry was beyond any calming technique now. The trauma was rising, heart pounding, blood racing, lungs tight. “He called me perfect, Remy, called me his boy. Said there was no better looking kid in the place. Said he felt weird about it, not supposed to have favourites, but couldn’t help it. Favourites got special treatment but I had to keep it secret or the others would be jealous. Said they wouldn’t get the deals I did. When I asked, he said the others don’t make him all hot and bothered like I do, but I didn’t know what to say, I was embarrassed. I just sat there and he pinched my nose, acted like I was a little kid. Told me not to worry, we could go slow if I was nervous. I went to give him my fee and leave, thought he’d had too much rum. I told him I’d see him tomorrow and he took the money but grabbed me too. He kissed me, on the lips like he did with his wife, Nancy. I was shocked but he gave me two quid back and told me to keep it. Said that was enough for tonight. When I turned to go, he said he’d give me bacon on my roll in the morning if I gave him another kiss in the kitchen. I hadn’t really eaten all day, never had bacon before, but I wanted it. I thought if it was just a quick kiss, I could do it. What was the harm? Didn’t want to say no, didn’t want him to think I was a brat or a freak or a coward. Not worth bothering with. I liked it there; it started to feel like home. I didn’t want to lose it all again.” He sobbed the last words, and Remus held him tight, leading him to the bed.

Chapter Text

“Ssshh, sweetheart. It's okay, I understand. You had good reason to try to keep what little you had, especially after losing so much. It makes sense, Harry, it truly does. I’m so sorry you were ever put in that situation, but it’s not your fault.”

“But I did it, Remus. I went to look for him, hoping maybe he’d say it was just a joke. He seemed relieved when he saw me. He said he was worried he’d scared me off.” Harry wiped away his tears, his fingers shaking. “He kissed me again and made it clear I was different from the others. He told me I was wise for my age and then offered a deal. I didn’t know what to think. I felt ill, but I thought maybe if I agreed, I wouldn’t have to steal anymore. I could stay without owing him, without worries, and I wouldn’t have to run. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be that bad, that it’d be manageable. He said I could make my own decisions because I was clever and grown up enough.”

Remus reached across and dabbed Harry’s face with a tissue, then offered it to him. Harry blew his nose, apologizing. “I’m sorry—this is disgusting. I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, and you don’t have to apologize. Dave took advantage of how vulnerable you were. He gave help with the highest price for his own benefit. That’s what’s vile, not you, not what you’re saying. You did nothing wrong. You were a child in a desperate situation, and he exploited that,” Remus said softly.

Harry dropped his hands, wringing them together, trying hard not to break down. He was barely holding on, but knew he needed to finish his story.

“What did Dave offer you, Harry? What did he want in return?”

Harry trembled, composing himself. After a pause, he answered, “Extra nights if I did what he asked.”

Remus’s face blanched.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry stammered, mistaking Remus’s reaction. “I’m sorry, I feel so ashamed, that’s just what he called it—”

“No, cub, I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s not what you said, it’s what he did. That man had no right.”

“But I agreed, Remus,” Harry reminded softly, looking down. “It was me, too.”

“He pressured you until you felt you had no choice.”

“But I did have a choice!” Harry’s voice rose, frustrated by reminders and reassurances. “I didn’t stop it. I went along with what he wanted. How is that not my fault?”

“Harry—”

“No, Remus. You can’t understand. You grew up safe. Next to someone like you, I’m always going to look like a wreck.” He snatched up the lamp and threw it, then tossed a photo frame across the room. “I sometimes think I’m glad my parents aren’t here to see me, because I’d be so ashamed for them to see what I am.” He struck the wardrobe again, leaving a mark.

Remus stepped forward. “Sweetheart—”

“You don’t know what it’s like! We’re from different worlds. You had magic. You had food, safety. You never had to think about surviving another day; you never had to be ashamed of yourself.”

“You think I haven’t felt self-hatred, or loneliness, or loss? You think I don’t know what it’s like to wake up and despise what you see? I do. Maybe in different ways, but I’ve felt those things, too. But the greatest fear I have ever known is the thought of losing you. If you were nothing but what you say, why would I feel that way? Why would I be so grateful to have you in my life? My dear Harry, every time someone hurt you, it convinced you more and more you were to blame. But it wasn’t your fault. He was the adult, and you were a vulnerable child. He deceived others so it seemed impossible that he could be a bad person. When he hurt you and claimed he cared, you believed it must be you. Is that what you thought, Harry?”

Red-cheeked and exhausted, Harry begged, “Please, Remus, I can’t do this anymore!”

“When you wanted Dave to stop, did he?”

Harry shook his head almost fearfully.

“And if you told him how badly it made you feel, what would he say?”

Harry stared at the floor, jaw clenched and tears falling.

“Would he have let you leave, let you go?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?” Remus pressed. “If you were making your own choices freely, you would have been able to stop.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you ever try to stop it?”

Harry’s face crumpled. “Yes.”

“And what happened, cub?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, kneeling in misery, trying to block out his words. “He told me I couldn’t afford for it to stop. He laughed. I thought I could end the deal, so I tried, but we argued. He never hit me, but he reminded me of someone else. Then he threatened to go after Mallory if I didn’t continue.” Overwhelmed, Harry sobbed, admitting, “I kept doing what he wanted because I was scared for Mallory. I hated it more than ever, and he could tell. He started acting more desperate, less trusting, and more persistent. One evening when Seb and I planned to head out, Dave stopped me. Seb intervened, yelling at Dave to leave me alone. Dave brushed it off, but I think Seb knew what was happening. Even the others seemed aware but never said anything.”

Harry continued, voice shaky but steadier. “I started noticing guys hanging around the bar. They made me uneasy. Dave said they were looking for a bit of fun and wanted to make a proposal. I refused at first, but Dave wasn’t as generous, and I was running out of food and money. Eventually, hunger and exhaustion wore me down. Dave told me they would pay just to have me in the room with them. He promised I wouldn't have to interact much, just be there. I thought if I could get some cash, maybe I could help myself and my friends. But it didn’t go as planned. When one of the men tried to push it too far, I panicked and lashed out. They left quickly, and Dave was furious. I confronted him, and after that, I didn’t stay at the Vic that night. I felt safer on the streets. Still, I returned the next day. Seb said Dave spent all night looking for me. Sometimes I wonder what he would have done if he found me.”

He paused, giving Remus a chance to speak, but Remus simply waited, listening. Harry scratched his neck, appreciating the silent support more than he could say, and continued.

“After that, I was angry. I didn’t spend much time at the Vic. Part of me wanted to prove I didn’t need Dave, yet I missed him. Things changed. I couldn’t trust him, couldn’t relax around him. I wouldn’t even let him hug me.”

Harry swept back his bangs and sighed. “One day on my way to the flats, I saw two men bothering a woman. At first, I thought they were trying to take her bag, but then I realised it was much worse. Something in me snapped, and I rushed to help. I got into a fight trying to stop them. The woman escaped while the men attacked me. I used magic by accident. I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to stop them, and then bruises appeared on their bodies, all at once. Eventually I ran, losing myself in the crowds, and forced myself not to think about it. The next night, I went out again. That’s when I met you, Remus—well, Dad. I never set out to hurt anyone. I never meant to judge your life. I just couldn’t imagine that someone could possibly know what it was like. I’ve been alone for so long.”

Harry’s voice faltered, and he sobbed, burying his head in his knees. Remus reached over and held him close. Harry could barely breathe between the tears but felt comforted by Remus’s gentle presence.

“Unconditionally. I love you unconditionally, Harry. Always have. Always will.”

The two sat together, Harry finally at peace in Remus’s arms.

Remus eventually read aloud, and Harry teased him about the wording, both finding warmth in the banter. After a light-hearted exchange about reading and the beach, the mood softened, and Harry felt grateful for Remus’s steady love.

“You’re exceptional, Harry,” Remus whispered, running his hand through Harry’s hair. “You’ve survived so much and you’re brave for facing it.”

Harry squeezed his guardian’s waist, silent but comforted. Remus soothed him with gentle words, encouraging Harry to see his worth and reminding him repeatedly that nothing could ever change his love for him.

“You can talk to me about anything, Harry. I’ll always be here. Always listening.”

Harry nodded and echoed, “I’m here for you too, Remus.”

The boy was soon falling asleep, finally relaxed by Remus’s touch. Remus gently traced the scars on Harry’s back, promising that healing was possible, but reminding Harry that his scars didn’t define him.

“They’re marks of a warrior,” Remus said, “and I believe in you.”

Harry sighed and accepted Remus’s comfort, letting himself be cared for as Remus embraced him, reassuring Harry of his place in the world and the strength to move forward.