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Chapter Text

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had stood for centuries deep in the Scottish Highlands at the edge of the Black Lake, bracketed on either side by sprawling forests. Generations of young witches and wizards had learned their craft in its halls. The professors who taught there strived to both educate and keep their pupils safe. As magic could be a volatile force on its own without the often tumultuous emotions of children guiding it.

With a new school year fast approaching the current teaching staff were all busy preparing for the incoming students. And ordinarily, that was exactly the case for one Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. In addition to preparing material for the various levels of Transfiguration students, part of her duties as Deputy Headmistress was to send the welcome letters to each of the new students. Both to children from wizarding families and those from muggle, or non-magical, families. All of the letters were sent with the express direction that the recipient was to respond and confirm their future attendance. It was little more than a formality for the wizarding families, but for the muggle families it was vitally important. Most of them would assume the letter to be some sort of joke at first and often required a great deal of reassurance that it was in fact real. It also required a certain amount of tact and empathy to introduce new families to the wizarding world, and any other year that meant it would have Minerva addressing the welcome letters and sending them off. This year she’d agreed to attend her brother’s fourth wedding in Scotland, and so had enlisted her colleague Severus Snape to help lighten her load before heading to offer her congratulations to the happy couple. It was not a particularly difficult task, as the list of new students was generated from a book charmed centuries ago by the Founders to detect the birth of a wizarding child anywhere within the British Isles. A particularly industrious former Headmaster charmed a quill to automatically write out the names of each child turning eleven years old before the next school year on a separate piece of parchment. Then the Deputy would take the list generated by the book and quill, send letters to all prospective students and await their responses.

She had assured Severus before she left that she only required him to send the letters, not respond. He had happily agreed to have all responses directed to her attention and once she returned there had been a stack of letters waiting for her on her desk. She’d begun by sorting through the pile to find the letters from muggle born families, as they would need to have appointments scheduled for a Professor to help them into Diagon Alley to do their school shopping, before moving on to the rest of the letters. And she had spent the last week scheduling these intial meetsings, answering questions, and soothing nerves. Everything was completely normal. Nothing in particular happened to set off any alarm bells, but something had tugged at the back of her mind for days. An insistant pull, making her feel like she had forgotten something. . . or someone. The feeling stayed with her for days until, late one evening in the first week of August, she'd been paceing her office, anxiety making each step stiff it came to her. She had missed someone.

She rushed to her desk, pulling open the middle drawer where she'd been kepping the first year's responses, and flipped through them one by one. As she approached the end of the pile a sinking feeling settled in her gut.

Minerva had become particularly adept at spotting a problem situation over the years. Both from an incoming student's responses to the welcome letter and from observing them in person. She had seen her share of truly tragic living conditions some of her students endured as every year there were a few children who turned up in dubious conditions. As Deputy Headmistress it was her duty to care for all the students of the school, but as Head of Griffindor she was first and foremost responsible for the wellbeing of her Lions. It was a duty she took very seriously, and she spent most of the first week of classes subtly observing them to see if she could catch any signs that something wasn’t right.

Sometimes it was a simple case of the entire family living in poverty. Minerva would always point parents towards the schools financial aid, but it was up to them if they took the help offered. Some families would rather not take what they felt were “handouts”. As much as she could understand the pride that comes with being able to provide for your family, watching her students suffer for the pride of their parents was never easy. Misfortune could befall anyone, taking help when it was needed was not a shameful act. When the help was refused Minerva sometimes had to be creative about how she made sure her Lion’s needs were met. A new set of robes here, a textbook replaced there. House elves were positively invaluable for these things.

Sometimes a child came to school with injuries that they were desperately trying to hide under their robes or hats. They had fear in their eyes and earning their trust was a long process. These children needed to know that there was a safe place for them to escape to, and they needed to trust that if they came to her that Minerva would actually do something. She’d found the most successful way to show these children they were safe with her was to be firm with her boundaries - and most importantly let them see that these rules applied to all the students. When the students realized she would always respond in the same way, no matter the situation they began to trust that she would not hurt them. From that foundation of small kindness and praises for any success they experienced helped build the relationship. Only when the child trusted her could she determine if she needed to involve the Department for the Wellbeing of Wizarding Children.

Sometimes they never came at all.

These were the most heartbreaking moments of Minerva’s career. It had happened all of three times in her forty years of teaching.

The first had been a little girl who had suffered a tragic accident between semesters. She’d gone home for Christmas and been a victim of a car accident. Minerva had received a tear stained letter from little Melody’s mother. And Minerva still thought of the child every Christmas.

The second had been a young woman. She’d been mid way through her O. W. L. 's but hadn’t been able to complete her potions practical. Something had gone wrong and her cauldron had exploded. Hagrid had found her later that night. Miss Lauren Marshfield had stolen four vials of dreamless sleep from the Hospital WIng, gone down to the Forbidden Forest and drunk all four one after another. Every Exam season since Minerva has done a superstitious count of Hospital Wing’s inventory.

The third was a little boy whose parents had received his Hogwarts letter and seen it as confirmation that their son was possessed by the devil. As it turned out they’d long suspected something was different about their son, his bouts of accidental magic putting fear in their hearts. When the letter came and their fears were confirmed they sought counsel from their church. An exorcism was performed, but obviously was not successful. So they tried again, and again, and again. Jordan McDaniel died begging his parents to help him at the tender age of eleven.

It was Jordan’s story that played at the back of Minerva’s mind this evening. This was the year that the most anticipated student in living memory was due to begin his magical education, but there was no letter from one Harry James Potter.

Minerva took a breath to compose herself, if she allowed even a moment of panic now she would be blasting the door to that dull little house in Little Whinging off its hinges and shattering the Statue of Secrecy along with it. So, she brushed some non-existent dust off her robes and decided that she would pay Severus Snape a quick visit before she did anything else.

Severus had directed all the recipients to address their responses to Minerva, surely he would have done the same for the young Mr. Potter? Or perhaps he felt the Headmaster would want to receive his acceptance directly? Surely, there was a simple explanation.

It felt like an abnormally long journey down to the dungeons where Severus’ living quarters were. The entire treck down Minerva repeated a steady mantra of 'get the facts' silently to herself. As her old Da always said “you cannot deal with a situation if you don’t know what the situation is, my dear. You may end up making things worse if you don’t know the whole story, and It’s so much easier to fix a thing the first time.”

When she arrived at the door to Severus’s rooms Minerva rapped twice with her knuckles and waited impatiently for Severus to answer.

“Minerva,” he said as he opened the door, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Severus, so sorry to disturbed you. I’ve been going through the First Year’s acceptance letters and I believe that we are missing one.”

“Oh?” He said, opening the door a little wider. As Head of Slytherin House he had his own stories of students in less than desirable condition. Many of his students had scars that the eye couldn’t see. “Has the Headmaster been informed?”

“Not yet, I’d rather have the whole picture before I sound the alarm, as it were. And as I was not the one to send the letters this year I need your help.”

“Naturally. What can I do?”

“I need to confirm exactly when this letter was sent, I’m afraid I may be overreacting if you simply sent the letter late, or had the response directed to the Headmaster.” Minerva confessed, already feeling foolish. Surely, Severus had handled everything already and she'd distrubed him for nothing.

“You’re not one for over reactions, Minerva.” Severus said, “I sent all the letters on the same day, and I’m quite sure they were all directed to you. Who do you believe is missing?”

“Harry Potter.”

The change in Severus was instant. He turned from caring professor to scorned school boy before her very eyes. “Potter causing problems before he’s even properly enrolled, is he?”

“Severus.” Minerva chastised. She knew this was a possibility, he and James Potter had hated each other so fiercely in school. But James was dead, and Severus had spent the last nine years becoming progressively more protective of his students. Minerva had hoped that he had grown past this foolishness. “A child has not responded to his Hogwarts letter. That has always been a cause for concern. No matter who that child’s parents were.”

Severus’ jaw snapped closed and he was clearly considering if it was worth debating the issue, but Minerva was quite finished wasting time.

“You’re certain you sent his letter with the rest?”

“If I’d missed a name the charms on the list would have alerted me.” Severus said stiffly.

“And you’re certain,” Minerva pressed, afraid to even imply what she was thinking, “that his name was on the list.”

Severus stilled, she could see all the same thoughts that had been circling Minerva’s own mind for the past half an hour.

“I can’t be certain.” Severus finally admitted. “I used a dict-a-quill to write the letters, I verified the address, but I trusted the list - I didn’t . . . Minerva, if his name wasn’t on the list - “

“I know what it means, Severus. I know.”

“The Headmaster needs to be informed.”

“He does.” She agreed, “Will you go and see if he’s in his office? I - I think I’ll, no I need to go and see for myself. I owe the Potter’s that much.”

“You know where the Headmaster placed him?”

“I know. And I told Albus . . . it doesn’t matter now.” Minerva shook herself and turned to go. “Will you find the Headmaster? Tell him I’ve gone on ahead?”

“Minerva,” Severus said, “I’d like to go with you. Lily was my friend, and . . . I need to see for myself as well. I owe her that much.”

Minerva regarded the man for a long moment. Severus Snape was a cantankerous soul, but she believed that they’d built a friendship of sorts since he’d graduated from being her student to being her colleague. She’d long suspected that the source of his animosity with James Potter had been Severus’ affection for Lily Potter. Finally, she nodded briskly and turned to leave.

“We’ll send for him when we know more.” She said.

They walked in silence together out of the castle and down the long lane to the gates, and the apparition point beyond.

When they passed the gates Minerva offered her arm to Severus, which he took in a firm grip, and allowed her to pull him into the sharp twist of side along apparition. With a Crack! And a momentary squeezing sensation the two Professors were standing in a small grove of trees at the edge of a children's play park.

“Where are we?” Severus asked, voice low.

“Little Whinging.” Minerva did a quick check around to be sure that no one had noticed their arrival, then started off down Wisteria Walk, looking for the turn onto Private Drive. Severus followed her lead, staying a step behind her.

“I didn’t know any wizards lived in this area, it’s rather densely muggle populated.” Severus mused, seemingly just to fill the silence.

“Lily’s sister and her family were already living here when the Potter’s died.” Minerva said, “I’m sure uprooting their entire life on top of taking in their orphaned nephew would have been a bridge too far.”

Severys stopped dead in his tracks. “Petunia? The Headmaster left Lily’s son with Petunia?”

Minerva frowned. She hadn’t realised that Severus had known Lily’s family as well. . . It did not encourage her at all that he sounded so shocked that Petunia Dursley had been given custody of her departed sister’s only child.

“Where did you think the boy had gone, Severus? All of James’ family are gone!”

“Surely there had to have been someone, anyone else!?”

“Albus insisted this was the best place for him.”

“Clearly it was not!”

Minerva swallowed a heavy lump in her throat, “Clearly. There’s no use arguing about it now.”

“No. You’re - you’re right, of course.” Severus said, “Let’s go and be done with this mess.”

“The mess is only just beginning, I’m afraid.” Minerva sighed, but she turned to continue on. The walk to Number Four Privet Drive may as well have been a walk to the gallows for how somber it was. The unassuming little house with its perfectly manicured garden blended in perfectly with its neighbours. There was no outward sign that anything was amiss or that some unknown tragedy had befallen any of its residence. One light was glowing warmly on the ground floor, and the shadow of some large person could be seen moving behind the frilly decorative curtains. Minerva turned to Sevrus as they approached the door. “Would you like to speak with them, or shall I?”

“I think it's time Petunia and I got caught up, don’t you?”

Minerva gestured for him to proceed and tried to relax herself into a more natural stillness.

Severus took a handful of long strides to reach the front door and knocked briskly. The pair waited less than patiently as they could hear a shouted conversation, muffled only slightly, from inside.

“Who the ruddy hell is that at this hour?” A man’s voice blustered through the door.

“No one decent, surely.” A woman’s shrill voice answered.

“Too right. Stay here Pet, I’ll tell them to go. Imagine disturbing decent people at this time of night!”

Thundering footsteps of an enormous man stomped their way closer and closer to the door, and Minerva couldn’t help but muse that Mr. Dursely hadn’t lost any of his bulk since the last time she’d seen him. The door was pulled open and the Mr. Dursley, just as purple faced and squinty eyed as Minerva remembered, stood before them.

Mr. Durlsey took one look at Severus and turned up his nose, “We’re not buying whatever you’re selling so you can just move along!”

“I’m actually looking to speak with your wife.” Severus said primly, “If you don’t mind? Petunia and I are old friends.”

Dursley puffed up like an offended parrot and began to bluster. “What business do you have with my wife? At this time of night, no less!”

“I’d like to speak with her about her nephew. Lily was a friend of mine as well, you see.”

All the colour left the man’s face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to produce any sound other than a few wheezing sounds at first. “P-P-Petunia!”

The clink of a tea cup being set down and the rustling of a housecoat preceded Petunia Durlsey, nee Evans’ appearance at the front door. Her face morphed almost instantly from confusion to anger when she laid eyes on Severus Snape.

“You! What do you want?” She sneered, looking Severus up and down as though he’d rolled in dragon dung before knocking on her door.

“Lovely to see you too, Tuney.” Sevrus sneered right back, “I was just telling your charming husband that we’re here to discuss your nephew.”

“What concern is he of yours? Hm? Ten years he’s been here, taking food from my own sweet boy’s mouth, no one’s bothered to come discuss him before.”

“Yes, we’ve clearly been far too trusting.” Sevrus said, “I’m more than happy to have this conversation on your front step, Petunia. I’m sure your neighbour’s will find the whole thing enthralling.”

Petunia pursed her lips into a thin line and clutched the edges of her housecoat closed over her chest. Her eyes darted up and down the dark street. Minerva had also noticed the handful of houses with a crack of light showing where someone had pulled the curtains back to peer through. She was sure that Petunia knew each and every one of their audience, and she clearly did not appreciate the attention.

“Get in then.” Petunia sniffed, stepping back into the house. Her husband spluttered some more, but he too stepped out of the way to let them pass.

Minerva took in the orderly little house as they were led into the kitchen. Everything was exactly in its place and completely spotless. There wasn’t so much as a fingerprint on any of the walls, or a dirty dish in the sink. Unusual for a home that was supposed to be home to two little boys.

Petunia shut the kitchen door behind them once they were all inside, but didn’t offer them a seat. She gathered her housecoat about her and stared down her nose at Minerva and Severus. “Well?” She snapped.

Severus looked to Minerva with a raised brow. She gave him a nod, and cleared her throat to get the Durlsey’s attention.

“We’re here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor Snape is Head of Slytherin House.” The longer she spoke the more red the couple became. Like a couple of cats who’d had water pour over them they reeled back and practically hissed with outrage.

“How dare - “

“As I’m sure you recall from your sister’s admission,” Minerva continued right over top of Mr. Dursley’s exclamation, “when a wizard or a witch turns eleven they’re offered a place at our school. A letter is sent to the child, and the school holds a place for them until they respond that they will be attending.”

“We haven’t received any letter.” Petunia said, still quite red in the face.

“Yes, that’s the nature of our concern.” Minerva said, her tone much lighter than the cold feeling that had been sinking into her heart since she’d realized little Harry’s response was missing. “You see it's quite unusual for a child known to have magic to not receive a letter. So unusual in fact, that there are only a handful of known cases. You can see, I’m sure, why we are concerned.”

“I most certainly cannot!” Vernon huffed, “Best thing that’s happened to the boy since his good for nothing parents went and got themselves killed, it is! Not getting into that cockamamie school. Good riddance, I say!”

“Exactly right, my darling.” Petunia piped up, “There’s hope yet for him. Hope for a normal life, away from you people!”

Minerva and Severus exchanged a long look, neither of them daring to hope that this wasn’t an act. That the use of present tense might mean that they weren’t too late. . .

“All the same,” Severus said, “We must perform our due diligence, lest we be remiss in our duties. If you would bring the boy?”

“Bring him?” Veron snapped, “what for?”

“So we may determine that he is well and in good health.”

“His health is fine. There’s no need to drag him from his bed.” Petunia said stiffly.

Minerva was most accustomed to seeing the look currently on Severus’ face when he was faced with a first year who was particularly untalented at potions.

“If there was no need, then we wouldn’t be here.” He said, “Get the boy.”

It seemed that even the Dursley’s could be intimidated by Severus Snape. After a brief exchange of fearful looks Petunia scurried out of the room. She closed the door behind herself, but they could still hear her as she moved through the house. Minerva was mildly surprised not to hear her footsteps climbing the stairs, as the house didn’t seem big enough to have a bedroom on the ground floor - not in addition to the kitchen and the sitting room they’d caught a glimpse of down the hall. But the creak of a door being pulled open not so very far from the kitchen told Minerva she must be wrong.

“Get up, boy!” Petunia hissed, “Up! Now!”

“What time is it?” A little voice slurred and Minerva could actually feel her heart unclench.

“Don’t ask questions, just get up and follow me.”

Petunia threw the kitchen door open and pushed a small boy with dark hair, lopsided glasses, and a misbuttoned nightshirt in front of her. He was a little on the small side for a boy his age, and very thin. He had a head of dark brown hair that looked like it had never seen a brush in all the child’s ten years. He had a slightly upturned nose that held up the mangled pair of glasses. His eyes were green, and his complexion pale. The left side of his face was marred by a great sprawling scar beginning at his hairline and spreading out across his little face like sheet lightning. It was just as vivid as the last time Minerva had seen him.

“There you are! He’s perfectly fine, as you can see!” Petunia said, “Now you can be on your way, and leave us to our evening in peace!”

“Not just yet.” Minerva said, failing to keep a tremble from her voice. She purposefully turned so that she was facing the boy directly, her back slightly blocking Vernon Dursley from sight, “Hello Mr. Potter, my name is Professor McGonagall and this is Professor Snape. We’re so sorry to wake you, however we’ve some important matters to discuss with you.”

“With me?” Harry asked, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Professor Snape and I knew your parents. I was their teacher and Professor Snape was their classmate when they were at Hogwarts.”

Harry’s eyes were wide behind glasses that seemed to have been taped together at the bridge of his nose. “You knew my parents? Really? What did you teach them?”

“We really did. I’m the Transfiguration Professor. Professor Snape teaches Potions.”

Harry looked at her in confusion “Is that like advanced maths?”

Minerva and Severus exchanged a long look, before she turned back to the child. “No dear, no it’s the art of transforming inanimate and living objects with magic. It’s a highly skilled discipline.”

Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when she said the “m” word. He chanced a glance up at his Uncle, expecting the man to fly off the handle as he usually would, but he’d only turned an especially ugly shade of puce. “Magic’s not real.”

“Why would you say that?” Minerva asked, the sinking feeling returning to her stomach.

“Because it’s not.” Harry insisted, sounding for all the world like he was repeating a line from a textbook, “It’s only real in fairy stories and dreams.”

Neither Minerva, nor Severus had been prepared for this when they’d set out Little Whinging. Of all the possibilities that had been plaguing both their minds - the thought that Harry Potter might not know about magic had never occurred to either of them. Clearly, the Dursley’s had not told him of his rather prestigious heritage - having war heroes for parents alone was something to be said, but Jame’s family line was as old and noble as any of the Ancient Houses. The fact that his son thought Transfiguration was a form of maths? That was a disgrace in itself. The fact that there’d been no Hogwarts Letter for the child, combined with the way that his aunt and uncle spoke to and about him. . . well, it opened the door for a new possibility that Minerva did not like the thought of. Having to report an Obscurial to the ministry of magic - the first one in fifty years would have been tragic enough - but to have to tell the world that Harry Potter had been so mistreated that his own magic had turned on him could be lashing out in a misguided effort to protect its host? Unthinkable. Their next steps could very well be the turning point in this young man’s life.

Minerva lowered herself to her knees so that she could look Harry in the eyes at his level, “Mr. Potter, has anything ever happened around you - anything strange? Something that you couldn’t explain?”

Harry stayed quiet, though clearly deep in thought.

“There is magic in the world, Mr. Potter.” Minerva continued, “Not everyone can wield it, but it is always there. And you, young man, happen to come from two of the most magically talented students to ever graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“I made a jumper shrink once.” Harry said quietly, “I didn’t want to wear it and, and . . .”

“And suddenly it didn’t fit anymore?” Minerva said with a small smile.

“Yes!”

“That’s quite normal,” She assured him, “Before we learn to control it our magic reacts to our emotions and tries to help. However, it doesn’t always do exactly as we intend. Didn’t want to wear the jumper and your magic may have responded any number of ways - it could have suddenly disappeared, or caught on fire just as easily as shrinking to be too small.”

“But it did do what I wanted!” Harry insisted, “I knew that if it was too small then Aunt Petunia wouldn’t make me wear it anymore. I knew it wouldn’t be though because it was Dudley’s old jumper, and he’s bigger than me. So, I wished it would be smaller and then it was!”

Minerva blinked, completely taken aback. “You specifically wished the jumper would shrink?”

“Yes!”

“And has that happened on other occasions?” Severus drawled from above them, as though he wasn’t also completely stunned.

Harry spared his relatives a quick glance before continuing, “I turned Mrs. Martin’s wig blue once. She was poking fun at Anne Shirley for having red hair and I wished her hair was a silly colour. And my hair always grows back when Aunt Petunia cuts it too short.”

“Harry, do you think you could wish for something right now?”

“Like what?” Harry seemed nervous now, stealing glances up at his uncle.

Severus pulled a quill from the pocket of his robes and presented it to the boy, kneeling down beside Minerva. “Do you think you could turn this feather purple if you wished for it?”

The quill was made from the feather of a reddish brown tawny owl. Harry considered it for a moment before looking straight into Severus’ eyes.

“Will I be in trouble if I do?”

That gave both professors pause for what felt like the millionth time that evening. It had been an emotional whirlwind to say the least. They began the evening fearing they would find the child dead and gone, then feared he’d been so abused he’d become an obscurial, and now. . . now they may be facing a completely unprecedented option. Harry nodded slowly and reached out for the quill, brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment nothing happened, then between one breath and the next the feather turned purple.

Severus held the quill up so that he and Minerva could both examine it. It had most certainly turned a vibrant shade of purple. There was no question that this had been an entirely deliberate piece of magic. No wizarding child, with no training or conduit, could will their magic with such specific intention. And yet, before their very eyes Harry Potter had done just that. It meant one of two things. Either he was the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself, or he wasn’t a wizard at all. Both possibilities were equally insane, but since he hadn’t received a Hogwarts letter, and he certainly wasn’t dead or an obscurial, it had to be the second.

Harry James Potter was no wizard. He was a Spark.

Chapter Text

It had taken an upsettingly short amount of time to convince the Dursley to allow Minerva and Severus to take Harry away from them. Petunia had reached into the cupboard under the stairs, come out with a small pile of clothes, shoved them into a well worn rucksack, and passed it to Minerva. She then grabbed a coat, that was clearly for a much larger child, and gave it to Harry.

“Go and get your trainers.” Petunia told the child before turning to the professors, “Don’t think you can just drop him back here. If you’re taking him I expect you to keep him.”

“You needn't worry, Petunia.” Severus snapped, “I wouldn’t leave a dog in your care, let alone a child.”

The child in question seemed completely stunned by his changing situation. He was quiet, as though he feared calling attention to himself, as the adults around him decided his future. Minerva could only imagine this was a frightening time for the poor thing. Being pulled out of bed and told you were leaving with people you’d never met, to go somewhere you’d never heard of would frighten any sane person. But Harry didn’t argue with them, didn’t fight or fuss, he just stood silently by their sides and waited for them to tell him where to go. He put his shoes on when directed, and pulled his coat on by himself. Only when they were at the door, Severus still ideally trading barbs with Petunia, did Harry stop and look up at his aunt.

“My blanket.” Harry said finally, “I-I need my blanket.”

“Oh for pity’s sake.” Petunia snapped, “I told you to burn that cursed thing, where have you hidden it this time? Hm? Imagine dragging that ratty old thing around.”

“Well, we’ll be doing you a favour by removing it from your home.” Severus said, he looked down at Harry, “go and fetch the blanket, quickly now.”

Petunia huffed, but didn’t say anything as her nephew darted between her and her husband and disappeared into the same cupboard under the stairs that Petunia had pulled the rest of his things from. There was a moment of rustling and commotion before Harry reappeared clutching a little blue baby blanket that had a little white stag embroidered in one corner. The thing was ragged and dirty. It had clearly been well loved, and rarely washed. Minerva was sure that it was the exact same blanket that Harry had been wrapped in the night that Professor Dumbldore, Hargird and herself had left him on this very doorstep nearly ten years ago.

“Come along then, Mr. Potter.” Minerva said, throat tight with emotion she dared not voice. “It’s time to go.”

Harry clutched his blanket a little tighter to his chest and nodded. He followed the woman he’d just met out the only home he’d ever known, without so much as a look back at his aunt and uncle.

Severus was behind them, Minerva could see him out of the corner of her eye as he stopped briefly on his way out. The man was well known for needing to have the last word. She looked down at the child walking along silently by her side.

“Mr. Potter, I’d like to apologise for the way things have gone this evening.” Minerva said quietly as Severus caught up with them. “We acted rashly because we were concerned for your well being. This all may have been less. . . traumatic for you if we’d waited until morning.”

“That’s alright. They would have been mad no matter when you came.” Harry said, still hugging his blanket. “I just. . . am I going to have to go to an orphanage now?”

“For now, you’ll come back to Hogwarts with us.” She said, “We’ll have to meet with the Headmaster in the morning, but I imagine you’ll be spending much of your time at Hogwarts. The new term begins in September, where you will be sorted into your new House and live with your dorm mates for the duration of the school year.”

Harry walked on in silence as Professor McGonagall led them down Private Drive. “So, not yet then.”

“I can’t say for sure what is going to happen next.” Minerva said, “But I can promise you that you will not be left on your own. We failed you once, I will not allow it to happen a second time.”

She held the gaze of the little boy for a long moment. He was clearly looking for any sign of deception in her face, and when he found none he dropped his eyes and mumbled “Yes, ma’am.”

“I do believe that is all the excitement I can stand for one evening.” Severus drawled.

“Quite right.” Minerva said, “I’ll take Mr. Potter if you’d like to go on ahead?”

Severus nodded and with a sharp twist and a crack he was gone.

Harry gaped at the space where seconds before a fully grown man had been standing. “That’s - He’s. . . he’s really gone.”

“Yes, that is one of the more popular forms of magical transportation. It does have its dangers and should never be done without proper training, so I will be taking us both.”

“That’s proper magic,” Harry said in awe, “Am I going to be able to do that?”

“You, my dear, are going to be able to do so much more than that. Now, take my arm in a firm grip. Do not let go for any reason, understand?” Minerva offered her arm to the boy and waited for him to take it. She adjusted his grip to ensure that he wouldn’t slip mid way through.

“Now, this is going to be a touch uncomfortable for a moment, but only for a moment. I’m going to spin us, then you’ll feel some pressure, and we’ll be at the gates of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch.”

“What’s Quid - “

Minerva pulled him into a sharp turn before he could finish. As promised, they were standing at the gates of Hogwarts a moment later. Severus was waiting for them, watching with unreadable eyes as Minerva steadied the very dizzy and slightly green looking child.

“Apparition does take some getting used to.” She said, smoothing down Harry’s hair so it looked slightly less like he’d been blasted by a strong wind. “Come along now, we’ll get you settled for the night. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry said. If Minerva knew anything about children, and having worked with them for 35 years she’d like to think that she did, Harry was likely so over stimulated that he would be unable to sleep. A warm drink and a cozy bed should hopefully cure that.

The trio made their way towards the castle. Harry’s head appeared to be on a swivel, as even in the dark the castle illuminated enough of the grounds to make a wondrous sight. The beauty never ceased to impress Minerva, even after all these years. The towers seemed impossibly tall from this angle. Lit with the glow of various hearth fires and candles at irregular intervals it seemed to loom out from the surrounding darkness. The reflection in the Black Lake, and the surrounding Forest added to its mysterious air. Off in the distance Hargrid’s hut was lit up from his own fireplace, and the Greenhouses could be seen reflecting moonlight back at anyone who cared to look.

Harry stayed right on Minerva’s heels all the way to the castle. He silently took in all his surroundings, dark as it was. It was slightly unnerving how quiet he was, she was much more accustomed to the constant chatter of her students. Many of whom seemed to feel the need to verbalise their every thought. His silence broke in an audible gasp as soon as Severus pulled open the doors to the castle and he got his first look at the Entrance Hall.

The many paintings lining the walls all stared back at Harry as he stared up at them. They began to bustle back and forth through each other's frames. Some trying to get a better look at the strange child, some gathering in couples or groups to whisper noisily behind their painted fans, hands or just out right pointing. Two of the suits of armour even turned to “look” at the boy through their empty visors.

“The paintings. . . are they. . . alive?” Harry asked, watching the portrait of Brian Gagwilde III lean into his neighbours frame to whisper something in their painted ear.

“In a manner of speaking.” Minerva said, “They are portraits that are enchanted to hold the memories and essence of a witch or wizard as they were when they were painted. It’s more of an imprint of a life then it is true sentience. They do experience emotions, make decisions and have opinions. So, for all intents and purposes it is best to treat them as though they are flesh and blood.”

“Oh. . .”

“As fascinating as this philosophical discussion is, I do believe we’ve attracted enough attention.” Severus said. “I trust you have this under control? I’d like to have a word with the Headmaster before I turn in for the evening.”

“Certainly, Severus.” Minerva said, “I’ll join you once I have Mr. Potter settled.”

Severus nodded and swept off up the grand staircase. As much as he tried to keep his thoughts hidden behind a mask of indifference and scorn, Minerva could see the tension in his shoulders and hear his frustration in the sharp click of his shoes on the stone stairs. Albus Dumbledore was certainly in for a rude awakening - and it was not going to be a quick conversation. Not if she had anything to say about it. She almost wanted to ask Severus to wait for her, but at least one portrait was bound to have warned the Headmaster they were on their way - so she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing the look of surprise on his face either way.

“Alright Mr. Potter.” Minerva said, “come with me.”

Harry followed along after Minerva as she led him down a series of corridors, all of them lined with the living portraits, tapestries, and suits of armour. He’d long since lost track of where they were, and was sure that he’d never be able to find his way back to the Entrance Hall on his own.

Eventually, Minerva stopped in front of a huge floor to ceiling painting that depicted an oak tree in full summer foliage, sitting at the roots of the tree was a spritely little creature dressed all in robes of woven flower chains. The creature, for they were far too ethereal to be human, looked up and grinned widely at them with a mouth full of unnaturally pointed teeth.

“Password?” The creature asked.

“Perphone.” Minerva said. The creature grinned wider still, and nodded. The portrait swung forward to reveal an arched stone passageway. She gestured for Harry to follow her and led him inside. Since the students weren’t due for another month yet the room was dark, and the fire was unlit. She took her wand from her sleeve and with a quick flick of her wrist she lit the torches and the fireplace with a second. The room was bathed in a soft glow of fire light revealing a large room filled with clusters of soft looking furniture and sturdy old tables. There was a fireplace on either side of the room that would keep the whole room nice and warm in the dead of winter. At the far end of the room there was a small staircase that led to two sets of dorms. Sparks were so rare that Hogwarts very rarely held more than two or three at a time. Currently, they had four students ranging in age from thirteen to seventeen. Harry would take their number up to five. There hadn’t been that many known sparks in Britain at one time in generations.

“This is where you’ll be staying for now, Mr. Potter.” Minerva said, “We’ll speak more about it in the morning, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here for tonight at least.”

“Is this someone else's dorm?” Harry asked, looking a little nervous again.

“This tower is reserved for a certain population of our students. It’s often unoccupied, as most students prefer to be housed in one of the four school houses, but the option to use it is always open to them.”

“Oh. . . so no one is using it now?”

“Not at the moment, no. We only have four students who are eligible. I know a couple of the older students like to use it as a quiet place to study. Professor Bishop monitors the tower just the same as I monitor Gryffindor Tower.”

Harry stared up at her, completely unable to decide what question to ask first. Minerva nearly laughed as she watched him struggle for a moment, but ultimately decided to put the poor child out of his misery.

“I promise you, we will answer all of your questions in the morning. But it is very late, and I think that it would be best if we were to get you settled in and ready for bed.”

Harry looked for a moment like he wanted to argue with her, but was cut off by a jaw cracking yawn.

“Indeed.” Minerva cleared her throat, fighting back a grin, and called “Pipsy!”

Harry startled as a sharp crack preceded a tiny wrinkled large eared creature dressed in a tea towel appearing in front of them. “Professor McGongall be calling Pipsy?”

“Yes, would you please get a bed ready for Mr. Potter? And perhaps a cup of tea for him as well?”

“Pipsy be doing it, ma’am. And a bedtime snack. Mr. Potter being too thin, he is.” Pipsy disappeared with another crack before either of them could argue with her.

“What - who was that?” Harry asked, wide eyed.

“That was Pipsy. She is one of the House Elfs who serve Hogwarts. They are wonderfully helpful creatures. All House Elves become bonded to a family or a place, like Hogwarts, and help with the general maintenance. They do all the laundry, dusting, and cooking for the castle. The more devoted a House Elf is the family they serve, the more powerful they become. A loyal House Elf is a sign of a powerful wizarding family.”

“So they’re like servants?” Harry asked, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“Many treat them like that.” Minerva agreed, “That, however, is a mistake. We exist in a symbiotic relationship with them. Remember, they draw their power from serving their family well. If the family they serve is never satisfied with the service it weakens them. They waste away, and in extreme cases may die. It’s important to remember that a House Elf is not limited in many ways that wizards and witches are. Their magic works more like your wishes. They can be powerful alleys, or your undoing.”

Harry nodded seriously. Only a moment later Pipsy was back with a tray of tea and ginger biscuits.

“Professor and Mr. Potter be sitting.” she instructed. “Pipsy be getting the bed all ready.”

“Thank you, Pipsy. This looks lovely.” Minerva sat, arranging her robes around her as she sat on a slightly overstuffed armchair. “Sit, Mr. Potter. Do you take milk?”

“Um, yes please.”

Minerva poured them each a cup of tea, adding a healthy amount of milk to Harry’s cup, and they sat quietly for a few moments sipping tea and munching on ginger biscuits. She took the time to look the child over. He certainly was far too thin for her liking. His hair was a mess, there was dirt under his nails, and his clothes were far too big. If the conversation they’d had with the Durlsey’s earlier in the evening hadn’t made it abundantly clear, this was not a well cared for child. She looked at the clock over the mantle and sighed. It was well past eleven o’clock, and certainly well past when little boys should be in bed. A bath would have to wait until morning.

When Harry finished his last sip of tea, and was visibly fighting to keep his eyes open, Minerva called Pipsy back to check that a bed was ready.

“Oh, yes.” Pipsy said, her large ears flopping as she nodded. “Mr. Potter be following Pipsy!”

“Good night, Mr. Potter.” Minerva said, “Get some rest. I’ll come to collect you for breakfast in the morning.”

Harry mumbled a quiet “Good night” back to her and followed Pipsy up the short staircase to the dorm rooms beyond. Minerva hoped that he went right to sleep and didn’t spend too much time worrying about what the morning would bring.

When Harry had disappeared into the boy’s dorm Minerva set her teacup down, brushed off her robes and made her way up to the Headmaster’s Office. She took a passageway hidden behind a tapestry of two witches harvesting newts' eyes that would take her to the seventh floor. She huffed as each portrait she passed whispered in hushed tones. Clearly, word had travelled fast. By the time she stood before the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmasters office she was in a rage. She snapped the password at the gargoyle and practically stomped her way up the spiralling staircase. She didn’t even stop to knock before she pushed her way into the office. Knocking was a courtesy offered to people who didn’t abandon children in neglectful homes.

Inside the office, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his ornate desk. He was wearing his favourite puce dressing gown with yellow stars printed in a jaunty little pattern, his long white beard falling over his chest in waves and serenely watching the fire flicker over half moon spectacles perched on his thin face.

Severus, who had clearly said his piece already, sat across from him. He turned to scowl at Minerva as she stormed in and planted herself in front of the Headmasters desk. He waved vaguely towards the Headmaster with a look that clearly said ‘your turn’.

“Ah, Minerva.” Albus said, “I trust young Harry is finding his new accommodations acceptable?”

“They’re a far sight more comfortable then where we found him!” She snapped, it was far too late to be playing games of politeness.

“Severus has filled me in, I assure you.”

“Good! I hope you understand exactly how horrific this whole situation could have gone - and may yet still!”

“You’re quite right, my dear.” Albus said gravely, “This really is an unexpected turn of events. I wasn’t aware that the Potter’s had any Sparks in their family line.”

“That’s not the point, Albus.” Minerva snapped, “Spark or no Spark, that is no way to treat a child. Any child. I told you from day one that leaving him there was a mistake. And clearly you didn’t disclose where you’d left the boy to Severus, or he would have told you the same!” Minerva drew herself up to her full height and huffed out a long breath to compose herself. “But that’s neither here, nor there now. You’ll have no more say in where the boy goes, Professor Bishop will see to that!”

“Minerva, really. I don’t think there’s a need to involve Bridget just yet.”

“You don’t think there’s a need?” Minerva scoffed.

“The Dursely’s are his only living relatives. I commend your devotion to protecting your students, both of you. I cannot begin to tell you how much comfort it brings me to know that the professors of this fine school care so deeply for their students. However, removing him from their home was an extreme first step, surely.” Dumbledore said gravely.

“If you had seen the look of panic on his face when magic was first mentioned you would be changing your tune!” Minerva said.

“It’s a moot point now.” Severus said, “The boy is here, and I can’t imagine Professor Bishop missed a strange child being tucked into her domain.”

“Too right, boy.”

The door to Dumbledore’s office slammed shut behind a small hunched woman wrapped in a violently purple shawl. Her scraggly white hair was pulled up into a bun at the top of her head, uneven pieces falling loose as she hobbled over to the headmaster’s desk. She dropped down into the chair beside Severus’. She arranged her shawl, and made sure her cane was leaned safely against the arm of the chair before she turned her attention to her fellow professors.

“What’s this about, Albus? You’ve never tried to keep me from taking in a charge before. Two of your best went in, decided the situation wasn’t up to snuff, and all of a sudden ol’ Bridget isn’t a fit guardian anymore?”

“I would never presume to impeach your sparkling record, Bridget.” Albus assured the old woman with a cordial smile and twinkling eye. “But I do believe you once told me that splitting children from their families was a terrible crime.”

“Don’t twist my words, Albus.” Bridget sniffed, “I told you splitting children from loving families was a terrible crime. And we were specifically talking about the Ministry taking a child from a parent who’d been bitten by a werewolf. I’d like to meet the boy myself before I decide if we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Of course.” Dumbledore said, “Now, I do believe we should continue this conversation in the morning. After we’ve all had some rest, and a spot of breakfast.”

“Sleep will not change my mind, Albus.” Minerva insisted. “I can promise you that.”

“I would never dream of implying otherwise, my good woman. Only that we could all benefit from the distance and refreshment.”

“If you’d like a nap before we get down to business, be my guest.” Bridgit croaked, “We can argue about this in the morning.”

“We shall reconvene.” Dumbledore said with a serene smile, “have a pleasant evening all.”

Severus was the first to move, sweeping out of the Headmasters office he was halfway down the stairs before either woman had taken a step.

“Come along, girlie.” Bridgit slapped the back of her gnarled hand against Minerva’s arm, “Help me on the stairs, would you? My knees are stiff.”

Minerva held her ground for a moment longer. She stared down the Headmaster, someone she considered a friend and whose direction she had followed without question through the war with Voldemort. This. . . behaviour was so unlike the man she’d thought she’d known.

With a sniff, Minerva offered her arm to Bridget and the two followed Severus down the winding staircase. Bridget hummed absently to herself the entire way, disjointed notes strung together without any coherent melody. Severus was waiting for them at the bottom, which was a mild surprise to Minerva. She’d half expected him to be half way back to the dungeons by now.

Once the gargoyle statue was back in place Bridget tugged at Minerva’s arm, urging her to start off down the corridor. The three walked in silence by unspoken agreement, other than Bridget’s humming, until they reached the grand staircase. The groaning of stone on stone echoed through the halls as the staircase moved, and altered its own course on a whim. They waited for a moment for the castle to acknowledge them, and before long a flight of stairs settled into place and they started off downward.

“You’re wasting your energy being angry, my girl.” Bridget said, finally breaking their collective silence, “We’ll get nothing done by berating a man who believes he’s done no wrong.”

“Done no wrong, indeed.” Minerva huffed.

“You may as well convince the sun it’s going in the wrong direction.” Severus said, “At any rate, the boy is under Professor Bishop’s protection now, Minerva as you said yourself.”

“That is hardly the point.” Minerva said for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

“Well, you can continue to rail against the injustice of it all, or you can help me sort the boy out. Your choice.” Bridget huffed. “He trusted you enough to get him here, that’s a good first step. And Severus is right, the boy is under my care now. Albus can’t do a thing about that without bringing the matter before the Wizengamot at the very least. And we all know he’d have a devil of time explaining why he didn’t want to hand the care of a Spark child over to his own school’s designated Cosantóir.”

Severus sneered, “Think of the scandal.”

“Exactly. He’d have the International Durdic Order breathing down his neck faster than you can say balance.” Bridget chuckled, “He’ll need time to plan on how to spin this. So, we’ve got plenty of time to get the boy settled and find him a proper home.”

“You’re right, ofcourse.” Minerva said, through gritted teeth, “Still, I could just shake that man.”

“I suspect there’s a line for that somewhere. Did you leave someone with the boy, or just tuck him in and stomp off to storm the castle?”

“Pipsy is with him. I’d hardly leave him on his own.”

“Good, good. Pipsy’s a gentle hand with the little ones.” Bridget hummed in approval, “So, you,” she rapped her cane against Minerva’s leg, “meet me for breakfast with the boy. We’ll see how he’s coping, what he needs. And you,” she jabbed her cane at Severus, “Keep an ear out for the Headmaster, eh? Not sure what he’s up to yet, but if he’s going to play games we might as well play too.”

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was having a very strange day.

It had started out perfectly normal. He’d been woken that morning by Aunt Petunia banging on his cupboard’s door. Calling for him to get up and help her in the kitchen, reminding him that if he didn’t hurry he wouldn’t eat.

So, Harry pulled himself out of his little camp bed, shook out his clothes to get rid of any spiders hiding in the folds, and headed to the kitchen to get breakfast started.

Aunt Petunia snapped at him to not burn the bacon, not put the toast on too soon, and not to let the kettle boil too long then sat herself down at the table to enjoy her cup of tea. She supervised him while he cooked, watching him like a hawk for any mistakes. After he’d plated up three portions she took a couple slices of bacon, folded them into a slice of toast and rushed him out the door.

“The flower beds need to be weeded.” She said, “and don’t you dare pull up any of my pansies!”

She closed the front door in his face. Not slamming it though, Harry noted. She’d never slam the front door in fear of drawing attention from the neighbours.

So, Harry munched on his dry bacon sandwich and went looking for any weeds that may have popped up in the couple of days since he’d weeded last. Harry had long since learned that this particular chore could keep him out of his aunt’s cross hairs for most of the morning, if not all the way to lunch. As long as he looked like he was pulling weeds she would leave him to it. He spent the morning pleasantly bored as he poked at the flower beds, and occasionally tugging up an actual weed.

Around noon Aunt Petunia came out with a plate of what had to have been his cousin Dudley’s leftovers, half a ham and cheese sandwich and a couple apple slices. Harry had been a little shocked that there’d been that much left over. Dudley was usually a bottomless pit, eating as much as he could. Sometimes he did it just so there would be less left for Harry.

The afternoon had been much less pleasant. Dudley’s friend, Pierce, had come round for tea and Petunia had insisted that the two boys should get some fresh air before they ate and sent them outside. They’d immediately decided to play their favourite “game” - Harry Hunting. They chased Harry around the neighbourhood off and on for the rest of the day. The game could only be won if they both caught Harry and beat him up. Harry was much faster than both of the other boys. Dudley being particularly overweight, and Pierce was much more used to playing video games than any sports. The real problem was staying out of sight until they lost interest. As long as he could find somewhere to hide, they would eventually give up. But there were only so many hiding spots, Harry would frequently spend an hour or so hiding under a bush, or behind a shed before they would find him and chase him until they were out of breath. Harry would find somewhere else to hide for a while, on and on until the sun started to set.

This particular day Harry decided to sneak into Mrs. Figs’s back garden and crawled under the hedges along her garden wall. The hedges were very overgrown and offered Harry a nice shady place to hunker down. He’d felt fairly safe, as the other boys wouldn’t willingly go into old Mrs. Figg’s garden. She wasn’t a cross woman but she didn’t exactly have a fondness for rowdy little boys who harassed her cats and trampled her flowers. Aunt Petunia had warned Dudley from bothering Mrs. Figg because she was the only one in the neighbourhood who would take Harry anytime the Dursley’s wanted to go away on holiday.

So, feeling relatively safe, and tired from his morning spent in the sun, Harry found himself a soft patch of mulch and settled in. It wasn’t long before he nodded off for an afternoon nap, and dreamed fitfully.

For as long as Harry could remember he’d always had very vivid and specific dreams. Everytime he closed his eyes his mind would conjure up one of two scenarios. It was always one or the other, never both on the same night, and he never knew which dream it would be.

Sometimes it was what he called the “Green Dream”. He never fully remembered these dreams, but they were disorienting and left Harry feeling uneasy in the mornings. These dreams were a confusing jumble of flashes of a green light, and the sensation of flying. Like he was being carried through the air at a high speed by some large bird he couldn’t see.

More often Harry dreamt of the Quiet Boy.

Harry could never make head or tail of exactly where the dreams with the Quiet Boy took place, but it felt safe. He sometimes felt like if he squinted hard enough he would be able to make out details of a room, but it was like trying to catch a wave with his hands. Slipping through his fingers before he could get any sort of grip. The only thing that he could ever see with any sort of clarity was the Quiet Boy. Looking at the Quiet Boy was a little like looking at a copy of himself that someone had made with an incomplete description. His eyes were a different colour, there were a couple moles dotted across his face, his hair wasn’t quite as dark as Harry’s own. Most notably, there was no scar marring the other boy’s forehead. But they had the same high cheekbones, the same pale complexion and the same gangly limbs.

The boy never spoke. And as much as Harry wanted to ask the boy who he was, he found that he couldn’t speak either. No matter how hard he tried, no sound ever came out. The silence seemed to frustrate the Quiet Boy as much as it did Harry. He was forever reaching out to Harry in the dreams. Sometimes he would hold Harry’s hand, sometimes he would rest his head on Harry’s shoulder or lap. Sometimes he would wrap his arms around Harry and hug him like he was afraid Harry would disappear if he let go.

Today he dreamt of the Quiet Boy.

The boy seemed so happy to see him. Wordlessly he ran up and grabbed Harry in a tight hug. For a long moment the boy looked like he might say something. He never did, but it often seemed like he wanted to. Appearing to give up, he pulled Harry over to a different part of the hazy room and they settled on what felt like a pile of soft blankets. The Quiet Boy snuggled up to Harry and they cuddled together in silence. Harry revelled in the casual affection the Quiet Boy offered. It did sometimes make him a bit sad that the only person willing to hug him wasn’t even real. He’d literally had to dream up someone to love him.

When Harry woke he was left with the lingering sensation of warmth and comfort. Which left him all the more disoriented and cold as he realised he was still tucked under the shrub in Mrs. Figg’s garden. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes as he scolded himself silently. He was far too old to be crying over this odd little dream.

With a sniff, Harry peered up at the sky, trying to guess how late it was. He’d slept longer than he’d meant too, and was already dreading getting told off by Aunt Petunia. If she’d had to finish making dinner without him she would be cross. So, Harry crawled out from his hiding spot and did his best to brush the mulch and branches from his hair. Then he took off at a light jog towards number four, Private Drive. He groaned when he saw that there was light from the living room - that meant that Uncle Vernon was home from work already. There was still a chance that he could sneak in and pretend like he’d just been in his cupboard the whole time, but it was slim.

He half expected his aunt to yank the door open as he approached the house. When it remained closed he stood on the doorstep for a second and just listened, half convinced she was waiting on the other side to berate him. Harry held his breath as he reached for the knob, and cracked the door open. He peeked inside and sighed as there was no one in sight. He slipped in and quietly closed the door behind him.

Just as Harry turned around, Dudley came waddling out of the living room. He stopped when he spotted his cousin, with his shoes still on and dirt smudged on the side of his face, a cruel little smile spread over his face.

He drew in a big breath and hollered, “Mum! He’s sneaking out!”

Harry cringed internally. So much for a quiet evening.

“And where were you off to?” Aunt Petunia sniffed, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“I wasn’t going anywhere.” Harry said.

“A likely story. Skiving off on your chores and looking for mischief more like. Well, get in here. The roast needs basting - wash your hands! Filthy! Look at the dirt under your nails, and here you are trying to say you’re not up to trouble. Honestly!”

Harry bit his tongue, and Aunt Petunia continued to berate him even as he moved to do as she said. There was no point in arguing with her, he knew that. None of the Dursely’s would ever believe he wasn’t the source of all their problems, and they’d twist anything he said, but it was hard not to. Especially when they asked so many questions!

“I suppose you think that’s funny, eh boy?”

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

“What are you up to, boy?”

“Do you know what Mrs. Figg’s just told me, boy?”

They always got twice as angry when he answered, but if they didn’t want an answer, why did they ask? Harry did his best to tune out Aunt Petunia as he scrubbed at his nails. Once he was clean, he presented his hands for inspection. Aunt Petunia gave an approving sniff and shooed him towards the oven with a wave of her hand. Then she poured herself a cup of tea and went to sit with Uncle Vernon in front of the telly. With a sigh, Harry grabbed the turkey baster and got to work. With any luck he would be able to get through dinner without drawing too much attention to himself. He’d honestly consider the whole day a success if he could slip into his cupboard with a full belly and without getting yelled at.

Harry’s hopes flew out the window as Dudley hauled himself into a chair at the kitchen table, staring holes into the back of his cousin's head with beady little eyes.

“Think you’re real slick, don’t you Potter?” Dudley sneered.

Harry sighed, continuing to baste the roast.

“Just wait till school starts,” Dudley continued, “Won’t be able to hide then.”

Harry bit his tongue hard. The coming school year would be the first time that Harry and his cousin would attend different schools. Dudley would be sent to Smeltings, the same school that Uncle Vernon had attended himself. Harry on the other hand, was destined for Stonewall High. Stonewall being the local secondary school with the most horrible reputation. Or, so Harry had been told. Repeatedly. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been quick to tell him they wouldn’t be paying to send him to a “decent school”. And Dudley was full of stories from his friend’s older brother who apparently knew kids who went to Stonewall. According to Dudley, new students at Stonewall were mercilessly terrorised. Harry couldn’t see how that would be much different from his current school life, but wasn’t going to bother telling Dudley that.

“How long do you think you’ll last?” Dudley continued, “Marcus says only half the class makes it to the end of the year.”

“Marcus would know.” Harry said, as he moved to put the newly basted roast back into the oven, “He gets kicked out before Easter hols every year.”

He should have kept quiet. He knew he should have - everytime he opens his mouth things get worse. This time was no exception.

Dudley snatched up the salt shaker from the centre of the table and hurled it at his cousin. Harry, who saw it coming from the corner of his eye, tried to dodge but only managed to fumble the roast. The pan tipped and the roast along with its bed of veggies and sauce splashed onto the floor.

Dudley wasted no time in throwing his head back and screaming at the top of his voice “MUM, HE’S RUINED DINNER!”

Harry’s heart stopped as he heard both his aunt and uncle storming towards the kitchen.

“What have you done now, boy?” Uncle Vernon roared from the hall.

“Honestly, he can’t be trusted with anything.” Aunt Petunia tutted, “I left him with one job.”

Dread and panic gripped Harry like a physical thing, clawing at his throat and squeezing the air from his lungs. He was really in for it now. If only he hadn’ dropped the roast! He could have gotten away with ruining just about any other part of the meal, but Vernon looked forward to his Sunday roast every week. He would be sure to take his displeasure out on Harry, but what could Harry do about it?

Just as Uncle Vernon pushed the kitchen door open Harry gave a small startled yelp as the tray, roast and assorted vegetables all jumped back into their pan. As though someone had hit rewind and pause on a movie so that Harry was standing completely still holding the roast as though nothing had happened.

Harry and Uncle Vernon both stared down at the perfect tray roast, laying on a neat bed of vegetables, completely intact, for an impossibly long moment. Harry felt all the blood drain from his face as Uncle Vernon’s face began to turn a deep shade of puce. Their moment of silence shattered as Vernon’s gaze flicked up to meet his nephews.

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry cried, not that it did him any good.

Uncle Vernon lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the arm. “That’s it!” Vernon roared, dragging Harry out of the kitchen, “I won’t have any of your foolishness in my house, do you hear me? None!”

“It wasn’t me!” Harry insisted, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Get in there, and don’t come out till you learn how to behave!” Vernon had wrenched the door to Harry’s cupboard open, shoved Harry inside, and slammed the door closed again.

Harry sniffed as he picked himself off the floor where he’d landed. He pulled himself on to his cot and curled up. His arm throbbed where his uncle had grabbed him, and he was sure there would be a bruise on his bum from where he’d landed. He could hear his aunt and uncle debating whether or not they could eat the roast or not. As though Harry had somehow poisoned it.

This was not the first time something unexplained had happened around Harry. He didn’t know how or why, but things just sort of happened around him. And no matter how impossible for whatever happened to have been Harry’s fault his relatives always blamed him. And their solution for the problem was locking Harry in the cupboard under the stairs for varying lengths of time.

Out in the hall, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had decided that they could not eat the roast, declaring that they would have to go out to eat. Dudley immediately began demanding that they get hamburgers, and Harry could hear them all move away from his cupboard to get ready to leave.

Harry settled himself more comfortably onto his cot. He knew there was no possibility that they would take him with them. He would have to wait until they left before venturing out to scavenge his own meal. It wouldn’t be a long wait, Harry knew, not once Dudley had scented a chance for hamburgers or pizza. Sure enough, only ten minutes later his aunt, uncle and cousin trooped out of the house, locking the door behind themselves.

Harry waited until the sound of Uncle Vernon’s car heading down the road before getting up to try the door of his cupboard. Luckily, in his upset after the whole incident, Vernon had forgotten to lock his cupboard door.

So, Harry headed for the kitchen to scavenge a couple packets of crisps and figure out what else he could take that would be unlikely to be missed. Aunt Petunia kept a diligent inventory of her kitchen, and if he was caught stealing food from the family it would buy him a few more days in his cupboard. He knew that Dudley didn’t really like the flavour of crisps that Aunt Petunia had brought home this week, but he was sure that she would assume it was Dudley eating them if a few went missing.

Next, Harry went to the bin under the kitchen sink to see if Aunt Petunia had dumped the roast and veggies there or taken them out to the compost. He was in luck! Right on top sat the mostly cooked roast and a few of the carrots. Harry dug his little fingers into the meat and ripped off a chunk. He ate quickly, picking out a couple of the cleaner looking carrots as well. Once he’d eaten his fill he pushed the trash around to hide the fist full of meat missing, and carefully put the bin back without leaving any dirty fingerprints on the glossy wood of the cabinets. He washed his hands in the sink, and then stuck his face under the tap to drink.

Fearing that the Durlsey’s might double back to the house for some reason, Harry took his crisp packets back to his cupboard. One packet went under the cot, hidden from sight, and one he tossed on top. Then he pulled a coat hanger he had also hidden under his cot. He’d spent ages trying to get the hanger to bend at just the right angle so that he could slide it through the crack in the cupboard door and flip the latch open or closed from the inside. As long as that latch was closed, effectively locking Harry inside, when the Dursley’s returned they wouldn’t pay him any mind for the rest of the evening. It was anyone’s guess whether they let him out in the morning, but that was what his second bag of crisps was for.

Harry got himself dressed for bed and tucked himself under covers, munching away on his stolen crisps. He unconsciously reached one hand back and under his pillow, as he did every night, to check that his blue baby blanket was still safely tucked away. He’d had the blanket for as long as he could remember. Aunt Petunia had once told him it was what he’d been wrapped in when she’d found him. He wasn’t exactly sure what she’d meant by “found”, but he was fairly certain that it must mean his parents had given the blanket to him. Who else would have? It was that thought alone that made Harry so attached to the blanket, even though he was too old for baby blankets.

Aunt Petunia had tried to throw the blanket away more than once, but Harry had always fished it from the bin when she wasn’t watching. She’d never tried to throw away any of Dudley’s teddys, even when he's outgrown them and stopped playing with them. So, Harry had taken to hiding the blanket under his pillow for safe keeping. As long as Aunt Petunia couldn’t see the blanket she wouldn’t even think of it. And Harry liked to keep it close.

Harry finished his crisps and tucked the empty bag under his cot where it would be out of sight. He was already a little bored, so he may as well try to sleep again. It’s not like he could do much else, and at least if he could sleep he may be able to dream of the Quiet Boy again.

As Harry closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep he had no way of knowing that his whole life was about to change. That he’d be woken in a few hours and handed off to a couple of strangers in the middle of the night, never to see Private Drive, or his relatives again. But that is precisely what happened.

Later that evening when he was sat in a large armchair, sipping a cup of milky tea given to him by Pipsy the House Elf, and fighting to stay awake despite how much he’d already slept that day, he could not believe this whole night hadn’t been some bizarre dream.

Professor MacGonagall watched him drink his tea with a sharp, critical eye. He’d just barely taken his last sip when she called Pipsy back and asked her to show him to bed.

“Oh, yes.” Pipsy said, her large ears flopping as she nodded. “Mr. Potter be following Pipsy!”

“Good night, Mr. Potter.” Professor MacGonagall said kindly, “Get some rest. I’ll come to collect you for breakfast in the morning.”

Harry mumbled a quiet “Good night” back to her and followed Pipsy up the short staircase to the dorm rooms beyond. He was so tired, everything was so strange here, he almost wished he were back in his cupboard. Almost.

“In here, Mr. Potter.” Pipsy said in her high pitched voice, “Pipsy be making the bed nice and fresh.”

“Oh, thank you.” Harry said.

Pipsy had opened the door to a high ceiled room with four large beds spaced out around the room. Three of the beds were bare, but the one closest to the door was made up with a cozy looking quilt and the fluffiest pillows Harry had ever seen in his entire life. The room was lit by candle light, with heavy curtains blocking out the moonlight.

“Pipsy finds some sleepy clothes for Mr. Potter.” Pipsy said, holding out a pair of pyjamas to Harry. “Pipsy be thinking Mr. Potter be too cold in his.”

Harry accepted the pyjamas with a lump in his throat. He’d experienced more kindness in the last couple of hours than Harry could remember in his whole life. This one thoughtful gesture from a creature he hadn’t even known was real a few hours ago was the straw that broke the camel's back and a tear rolled down one cheek.

“Oh!” Pipsy cried in alarm, “No, no, no don’t be crying, Mr. Potter! Pipsy is not meaning any offence. Mr. Potter’s sleepy clothes being very nice. Pipsy is a mean old house elf!”

“You’re not mean!” Harry rushed to assure the little creature, “It was really nice of you, really. I’m just being stupid.”

“Mr. Potter likes the sleepy clothes?” Pipsy asked tentatively, pulling on one long ear.

“They’re great.” Harry sniffed, “Honest.”

“But Mr. Potter be crying. Is Mr. Potter hurt?”

“No, I’m sorry Pipsy. It - it’s just been a really strange day. I didn’t even know magic was real until an hour ago.”

This shocked Pipsy as she visibly reared back. “Mr. Potter not be knowing magic?”

Harry shook his head miserably.

“Of course Mr. Potter be crying! Pipsy be crying too if Pipsy not knowing magic.” Pipsy nodded her head sagely. “Ms. Minnie and Ms. Bridgie be fixing that.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Ms. Minnie! She be bringing Mr. Potter here. And Ms. Bridgie being the Cosantóir, she be lookin after Mr. Potter and the other sparkies.”

“Oh,” Harry said dumbly, “Ugh, you can just call me Harry if you like.”

Pipsy petted Harry on the arm and gave him a little push towards a room off to the right that Harry hadn’t noticed before. “Mr. Potter is being a nice boy. Off to change! Pipsy be making sure Mr. Potter’s bed be nice a warm. Castle be being very very cold at nighttime.”

Harry followed her direction in a bit of daze. He felt like everytime someone answered one of his questions he just ended up being twice as confused. The room that Pipsy had pushed him towards ended up being a bathroom. There were a couple of stalls hiding toilets off to one side, and two sinks with large mirrors on the other. Further to the back of the room Harry could see more stalls that seemed to be showers as well. Harry put his new pyjamas on the counter of the sink, and quickly stripped off his own clothes. He changed as quickly as he could, opting to put his socks back on despite it being the middle of summer to save his feet from the cold stone floor.

When he was finished he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror over the sink. The new pyjama’s were a little big on him, but they fit much better than any of Dudley’s hand-me-downs ever had. He had always been a bit on the scrawny side, but as he looked at his own reflection he had to admit that wearing Dudley’s old clothes had certainly made him look much smaller than he actually was. Harry stuffed his old pyjamas into his rucksack with the rest of his clothes. Unsure what to do with the bag itself. He decided to tuck it under the sink, out of sight, but still close for when he got dressed in the morning. He gave his reflection one last look, then turned to go back into the bedroom.

Pipsy was idly fluffing pillows when he closed the bathroom door behind himself. She looked up and clicked her tongue critically.

“Oh, Pipsy be thinking the sleepy clothes was the right size.”

“They’re alright.” Harry insisted, “They’re way better than mine.”

Pipsy ignored him with a shake of her head, and snapped her fingers. Harry had the strangest sensation of invisible fingers pulling his clothes just a little bit tight and then releasing. When he looked down at himself he was shocked to see that the pyjama’s fit perfectly.

“Whoah!” He exclaimed, “Pipsy, that’s amazing!”

“Mr. Potter be seeing much more magic soon.” Pipsy said, “Now is bedtime.” Pipsy ushered Harry towards the bed, and when Harry climbed in she insisted on tucking him like a much younger child. She fussed with his pillow a little, snapped her fingers again to float Harry’s glasses off his face and over to the bedside table. They folded themselves neatly beside a glass that filled itself with water when Pipsy snapped her fingers again.

“Mr. Potter be sleeping and sweet dreaming.” Pipsy said, “Pipsy be listening if Mr. Potter be needing Pipsy.”

“Night, Pipsy.” Harry said as the House Elf snapped her fingers one last time to put out the candles. She gave Harry one last smile and slipped out of the room, closing the door to the dormitory behind her.

Left alone in the dark Harry stared up at the canopy of his bed. His mind was spinning with everything that had happened. He was both convinced, and afraid that if he closed his eyes he would wake back up in his cupboard under the stairs. As overwhelming and incomprehensible as the last couple of hours had been, he was afraid to hope that this was real. Afraid to hope that he might not be the freak his relatives had labelled him. That here in this fantastical castle, with living portraits and House Elves, he might not be alone.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Harry scolded himself. Another tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away furiously. Harry rolled over onto his side and hugged one of the pillows to his chest. No matter which way he twisted and turned he couldn’t get comfortable.

The castle was so silent that Harry could believe that he was the only one in it. Even though Pipsy had told him she would be within ear shot, and surely Professor MacGonagall and Snape hadn’t just left the castle, right? MacGonagall had said she would be there in the morning. . .

Harry squinted at the closed dormitory door superstitiously, half expecting Pipsy to come through the door and try to tuck him in again. When the door remained closed and Pipsy didn’t appear, Harry rolled out of bed. He crept across the dark dorm to the bathroom. Once there he groped around in the dark until he found the sink where he’d left his old clothes and the rucksack Aunt Petunia had shoved his things into. It didn’t take long for him to find his blanket amongst his meagre possessions.

Harry sniffed back a fresh wave of tears as he clutched the blanket to his chest and slunk back to bed. He wrapped himself with the quilt and snuggled the little blue baby blanket up to his face and drifted to sleep with tear tracks on his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Harry woke slowly the next morning. He was warm, and surrounded by soft blankets. He wasn’t sure why he was so warm, or why his blanket seemed to be so much bigger than usual, but his sleep-fuzzy brian wasn’t focused enough to be concerned about it. With a sigh, Harry buried his face into his pillow, trying to block out a beam of light that had been falling across his face.

It wasn’t until he realised that the light that had woken him wasn’t from the lightbulb in his cupboard - it was sunlight.

Harry’s eyes shot open and he sat up to squint at the unfamiliar room in confusion. He was lying in a four poster bed that was adorned with purple curtains and bedding. There were two other identical beds, with little side tables arranged around the edge of the large circular room with an ornate plush carpet, all in shades of purple, at the centre covering the stone floor.

It wasn’t a dream. . . Harry thought numbly. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had really handed him to a pair of strangers in the middle of the night. Harry was really in a magic castle.

Harry stayed sitting in bed feeling thoroughly overwhelmed and unsure what he was supposed to do now. Was he supposed to go somewhere, or wait for Pipsy to come get him? What if they forgot he was up here, and no one came? Or worse, what if they regretted taking him from his relatives and tried to send him back? Harry honestly didn’t think he could bear that. The only thing more upsetting than his only living relatives finally proving their threats of giving him away to the first person who asked weren’t threats would be to have to be returned like a pair of shoes that didn’t fit right.

Harry was not a pair of shoes. They’d taken him in, so they couldn’t just give him back. If Professor McGonagall didn’t want him any more then he would run away. Mind made up, Harry got his glasses off the bedside table and went to get ready. The bathroom was a little cold, and Harry kept hopping from foot to foot to keep his bare toes from the stone floor. He got himself dressed in wrinkled clothes, rinsed his mouth with tap water and finger combed his hair. It didn’t help make it any neater, but at least he could say he tried. Then he slipped his trainers on and headed towards the stairs before he could lose his confidence.

The door of the dormitory opened up onto a landing that he remembered looking over the tower’s common room. A common room that Harry had fully expected to be empty - but he could hear Pipsy’s squeaky voice asking someone if they wanted more tea.

Harry crept forward, poked his head over the bannister and peered down at the common room below. Where there had been couches and arm chairs arranged around the cheerfully burning hearth fire last night had been transformed into a dining room. A table set for three, loaded with serving platters filled with enough food to keep even Dudley happy. A lime green tea pot was floating from cup to cup pouring tea. Harry watched mesmerised as a little pot of milk floated over to follow the tea, a little spoon close behind.

“I hope you’re hungry, boy-o. Pipsy’s gone and made enough for an army.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the unfamiliar voice. With wide eyes he looked to see an old woman staring back up at him. Harry was very sure he’d never seen anyone who looked more like a witch than this woman.

“Well?” She prompted, “Hungry?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Harry’s stomach immediately betrayed him by growling audibly.

The woman cracked a toothy smile, “Come on down and eat, child. Ol’Bridgit not gonna do ya no harm.”

“Miss Bridgie be teasing Mr. Potter!” Pipsy’s scolded as she popped into existence next to the table holding a tray of fresh toast. “Shame on Miss Bridgie!”

“You’re right, Pipsy. That was rude of me.” The woman said.

Pipsy sniffed her acceptance and then snapped her fingers, disappearing then reappearing with a crack next to Harry, who startled badly.

“Mr. Potter be coming down and having his breakfast now. Miss Bridgie not being mean anymore.” The elf assured Harry. She took his hand and gave it a little pat and then tugged him away from the bannister. She held his hand all the way down the stairs and didn’t let go until he was sitting at the table.

Pipsy snapped her fingers again and food was suddenly floating from platters onto Harry’s plate. “Mrs. Bridgie be sitting too!”

“Yes, yes. I’m going.” The old woman chuckled as she hobbled over to sit across from Harry. Pipsy snapped again and her plate filled with food as well.

“Shall we start over, boy-o?” The woman said, unrolling a napkin to lay in her lap. “I’m Professor Bridgit Bishop. And I hear that you, Mr. Potter, are our newest student.”

“‘Lo.” Harry said, unsure exactly what he was supposed to be contributing to this conversation.

“Professor McGonagall tells me that yesterday was your grand introduction to magic.”

“Is she coming?” Harry piped up, “She said she would.”

“She is.” Professor Bishop said, “She’ll be here soon. Why don’t you eat your breakfast before it gets cold?”

Harry hesitated for a few moments before his stomach gurgled again and he dug in. The food was delicious, and he really was very hungry. Bridget hummed her approval and also tucked in to her meal.

“I hear last night was a bit of a kerfuffle.” Bishop said, “Did you get a proper tour of the place, or did my dear colleagues smuggle you in?”

“It was pretty late.” Harry hedged.

“It was. Well, I suppose that gives me the pleasure of formally welcoming you to Hogwarts.”

“Ugh, thank you.”

They ate in silence for a time, until the portrait that served as the door into the Sparks’ dorm swung open and in strode Professor McGonagall. Her prim robes swirling around her as she walked. Her stern expression softened into a smile when she saw Harry with jam smeared on his face.

“Good morning.” She greeted them both, but it was Harry she addressed as she sat herself at the table. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, thank you.” Harry said.

“I’m glad to hear that. Professor Snape won’t be joining us, he has some prior engagements. But Professor Bishop and I are going to answer all your questions and get you ready for the upcoming school year.”

Harry did have questions. He had so many questions he didn’t know where to start, and that must have shown on his face as both women chuckled good naturedly.

“It’s alright if you can’t think of specific questions right this second.” McGonagall said, “If you like we can just start by telling you a bit about the school and magic. And if you think of anything as we go you can stop us and ask. Does that sound acceptable?”

Harry shrugged, unsure what he was supposed to say or do.

“Well, I’m sure that you have gathered by now that the magical world strives to keep itself hidden and separate.” McGonagall started.

“Magic is both the best and worst kept secret in the world.” Bishop continued, “And the only reason we manage to stay hidden at all is that magic is so ridiculous. Anyone who isn’t magical themselves can be convinced that anything they saw, or heard about was just a fairy story or a trick.”

Harry thought about how his relatives had always insisted that every odd thing that’d ever happened to or around him just hadn’t. Or they explained it away somehow. How he himself had apparently been the source of that strangeness and hadn’t believed it.

“Our entire world exists right alongside the non magical, or muggle one that you know, and it often overlaps.” McGonagall said.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

“Sometimes it just means witches and wizards living and working in places that are mostly muggle.” McGonagall said, “But it also means that our government has departments that work with or around their muggle counterparts.”

Harry nodded, despite being more confused than ever - what did she mean government?

“Us magic folk don’t just have our own schools, boy-o.” Bishop said, “We have banks, and hospitals. Shops and restaurants. We have our own laws that must be followed, and governments, which we call the Ministry of Magic, who maintain those laws.”

“We have been here just as long as muggles, but there are far more muggles than magical.” McGonagall took a long draught from her tea with a sigh, “And really only so much land. Over time it became inevitable that we would have to share space at some point. So, in certain places in the world you’ll find hidden pockets of magical communities.”

“In other places, very very old places, you’ll find where the magical community staked their claim.” Bishop said.

“Like here?”

“Exactly.” Bishop said, leaning forward and winking at Harry. “Hogwarts has been here for centuries, and with any luck it’ll be around for a few more. The four founders believed that magical children deserved a place to study in safety, and that hasn’t stopped being true.”

“Safe from what?” Harry asked, looking from Bishop to McGonagall.

“The founders lived in a time where muggles were actively warring against magic. The majority of muggles believed that magic was a sign of evil that needed to be stamped out.” McGonagall said, with a frown. “So, the four - that is Godrick Griffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin - built the school, and vowed to educate and protect the children of our world. In honour of their memory, the school Houses, or dormitories, are named for them and the qualities they each valued most in their students.”

“And my parents went here?” Harry asked, “You said you taught them?”

“They did. They were in Gryffindor, the house that I govern.”

“Which one is this one, Professor Bishop?”

“None of the above, I’m afraid, Boy-o.”

Harry blinked, “Oh, is that why I’m allowed to stay here?”

“You’re a bit of a special case.” Bishop sighed, “Professor McGonagall was telling me a bit about the way your magic works, how you wish for things.”

“She said it was magic.”

“It is.” McGonagall assured him. “It’s a different type of magic than I have. And it’s very special. That’s why Professor Snape and I were so surprised when you were explaining how your ‘wishes’ worked.”

“Does that mean I can’t go to school here?” He tried not to be disappointed, he really did. He hadn’t even known there was a magic school yesterday after all. But if he wasn’t able to go to Hogwarts, he didn’t know where he was supposed to go. . .

“Don’t fuss, child.” Bridget clicked her tongue at him, “You’ll just have different classes. You, my boy, are what we call a Spark. Still magic, just different from witches and wizards.”

“And. . . and is there not a school for, um for Sparks?” Harry asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.” McGonagall said, “There might be, if there are ever enough Sparks at one time to warrant one. But as it stands there are only ever a handful of Sparks in each generation. Sometimes significantly less than a handful.”

“And since Spark magic is more compatible with wizarding magic than almost any other kind,” Bishop said, “It’s often considered a branch of wizard magic. Mostly because Sparks are often born into wizarding families. As such Hogwarts has a long history of educating any Sparks who require education in the United Kingdom.”

“Were my parents Wizards or Sparks?” Harry asked.

“They were a witch and wizard, respectively.” McGonagall said with approval. Apparently glad that Harry was keeping up with the conversation.

“But. . . How do you tell the difference then? If we’re all magic, what makes me a spark and you a witch?”

“An excellent question. At it’s core all magic is the same. Different beings possess it or wield it in different ways. For some it is a bit like a tool they are abe to use at will. For others it is woven into their very being. Many Beings, those often deemed as ‘creatures’ by our Ministry fall into the latter category. Sparks are Beings who walk the line between wizard kind and creatures. They don’t use magic - they are magic, but the effect they have on the world manifests in ways that are very much like the ways that wizards do.”

Harry frowned. He felt more confused than he’d been last night. How was using magic different from being magic. . . surely you had to be magic to use magic. . . And surely he would feel different if he was really made up of magic? Powerful, or something? Like one of the super heroes Dudley watched on the telly. But he just felt like a regular boy. Maybe they’d made a mistake.

Professor Bishop chuckled when Harry voiced his concerns.

“There’s no mistake, boy-o.” She said, “We’re getting a bit theoretical here, but you don’t need to be worried. You’ve got seven years of schooling to debate Magical Theory. For now, what you need to know is Beings like wizards need a conduit to focus their magic. For wizards that means a wand. Druids need rituals, and Shamans have their drums and herbs. But Sparks don’t need those things. Spark magic is moved through intention and willpower. You, my boy, are limited only by your own imagination and your will to succeed. Understand?”

“No.” Harry said honestly.

Bishop laughed, “You will. In time.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that, but he shook his head and decided to ask another question that had been with him since last night. “Hogwarts is a boarding school, right?”

“It is.” McGonagall said, “Hence the dormitories.”

“But students don’t stay all year.”

Professor McGonagall picked up on what he wanted to ask and hummed gently. “No, Mr. Potter they don’t. You’re still concerned about the orphanage?”

Harry shrugged, pushing what was left of his eggs around with his fork. “I can’t go back to the Dursleys.”

“No, you most certainly cannot.” Professor McGonagall said briskly, “And you will not.”

“So where will I go then?”

“That’s a bit of a complicated thing.” Bishop said, “Some magical communities have things like orphanages set up, but we've got none in the whole of the United Kingdom. It’s fair unusual to have an orphaned magical child at all. And when there is, most families have someone who can take them in. Or parents appoint someone as a guardian in case the worst happens.”

“Did my parents pick the Dursleys to be my guardian?”

“No.” Professor McGonagall said in a tight voice.

“Like I said, you’re a special case.” Bishop cut in, “But all Sparks fall under the Protection of The Druid’s Council. Druids are impartial you see, they only care about the balance of the world. And nothing sends the world more out of balance like a misused Spark. So, they have protections in place in the event of a Spark needing a new home. In this case that protection is me.”

Harry blinked stupidly at her, “So, you’re my guardian?”

“For now.”

“Why not just say that?” Harry grumbled.

“Complicated questions have complicated answers.” Bishop shrugged, “I’m your temporary guardian. I can advocate for you in most any situation while you’re underage and attending Hogwarts. But it’s the same authority I have for all the Sparks at Hogwarts. Means I can’t devote my full attention to you. But as the Druid’s representative it makes it my responsibility to ensure that you have a permanent guardian and a stable home.”

“Oh.”

“For now, you’ll stay here. This is the Sparks’ Tower, you’d be given the option of staying here when term started anyway, you’re just a few weeks early. Professor McGonagall here is going to take you to get your school supplies and anything else you need.”

“Shouldn’t you take me? If you’re my guardian?” Harry asked.

“My old bones don’t do well in the London air anymore.” Bridget waved him off, “And I’ve a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Part of my job is helping students who are new to magic get situated and have access to resources they need.” Professor McGonagall said kindly, “If you were a wizard born to a muggle family, for example.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry said, taking his last bit of toast and mopping it through what was left of his eggs. It was something that Aunt Petunia would have sent him to his cupboard over. A lack of manners was not allowed from Harry. But neither Bishop nor McGonagall even batted an eye.

“I think we may do your school shopping in stages.” McGonagall said, sipping her tea. “Getting your clothes sorted is going to take most of the morning. I’d rather not overwhelm you unnecessarily. In fact, we may stick to Hogsmeade rather than brave Diagon Alley.”

“Ah, a good idea.” Bishop nodded, “The village will be fairly quiet this time of day.”

“That is my hope. We’ll get him some basics today and leave the bulk of his school supplies for another day. Perhaps we can make that a birthday outing.” McGonagall smiled at Harry, who sat a little stunned.

Harry had never had a birthday anything, let alone an outing.

The three of them finished their meals, Harry had been mostly finished by the time Professor McGonagall had joined them, so he sat trying so very hard to be patient as the two women finished up. Finally, they finished and Pipsy popped in to clear their dishes.

“Alright, boy-o.” Bishop said, getting to her feet with a grunt, “You have a good day with Professor McGonagall. I’ll see you for dinner, yeah?”

___—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------___

They bid the old woman farewell, and when she was gone Pipsy popped in with her little arms full of folded up fabrics.

“Pipsy be bringing your cloak, Professor!” The elf said, “and Pipsy be finding one for Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Pispy. That was very thoughtful.”

Harry accepted what turned out to be a literal cloak from Pipsy, holding it out in front of him so he could see the whole of it. It was made of a light cotton, dyed a green so dark it looked black.

“It will likely be warm enough that we won’t need these on the way back.” McGonagall said, watching Harry turn the cloak over in his hands with a small smile. “But it’s early yet, and it will keep the chill away.”

“How do you, er, wear it?” Harry asked.

“Here.”

McGonagall took the cloak from his hands, shook it out and then draped it over his shoulders. She then fastened the clasp over his collar bone. “If you get too warm you can push it back off your shoulders.”

“Okay, thanks.”

After donning her own cloak, McGonagall led the way from the tower’s common room and out into the hall. In the light of day the castle’s stone halls were much less intimidating, in Harry’s opinion. It was still an impossible labyrinth that he was sure he’d be lost in if it weren’t for McGonagall, but much less scary. The paintings that lined the walls were still moving around - watching them pass and whispering amongst themselves, but even that was more funny than unnerving now.

Before long they were outside, and in the light of day the grounds were beautiful. Harry couldn’t remember ever actually seeing this much open space in his whole life. The grounds were covered in wildflowers and greenery. The lake shimmered in the sunshine, and birds filled the air with song. Harry could see a picturesque hut set off in the distance, at the edge of the forest with a little trail of smoke curling up from the chimney.

“Who lives down there?” Harry asked, pointing to the cabin.

“That would be our Groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid.” McGonagall said, “He’s very eager to meet you, actually.”

“Did he know my parents too?”

“He did. And on that note, there is something we should speak of.” McGonagall cleared her throat, “I am sorry that the last two days have been. . . a little overwhelming. And I’m afraid I have yet another. . . bombshell, say we say.”

“About Hagrid or my parents?” Harry asked nervously.

“Your parents. What do you know about the night they were killed?”

“Uncle Vernon said it was a car crash.” Harry said, “That dad had been drinking. . . but they lied about everything else. . .”

“I assure you, they lied about that as well.” McGonagall said, her mouth set in a hard line. “Before you were born, the magical world was at war. You remember what Professor Bishop said about the school being built to hide students away?”

Harry nodded.

“Yes, well. There was a man, a man who believed that all of the magical world should be like that. More than that he believed that we shouldn’t even let muggleborns in. Even though they also have magic. He believed it so much that he decided to do something about it. He started gathering others to his cause. Anyone who would not join him was killed.”

“Who was he?” Harry asked, a pit forming in his stomach.

“We do not use his name.” McGonagall said stiffly. “Mostly, you’ll hear people refer to him as You-Know-Who.”

“Why?”

“For most it's out of fear, some respect. And some of us just do not want to speak the name of the monster who took so many of our loved ones.” McGonagall said, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “The war raged for years. Many of the students I’d taught, watched grow into adulthood were cut down far before their time. Your parents were among them.”

Harry looked down, watching his shoes as he walked. He didn’t know how to feel, or what to say to that.

“Your parents were very brave. They wanted to make the word a better place for you to grow up in.” McGonagall continued, “We’d gotten word that You-Know-Who had set his sights on your family, because your parents had been so outspoken and fought him at every turn. They went into hiding, to protect you. But . . . well, You-Know-Who had a reputation - No one survived. No one, except you.”

Harry’s head shot up. McGonagall was looking back at him, and they’d slowed to a stop.

“You are the only known survivor of a very terrible curse. No one knows how, because there were only three other people in the house. Your parents, and You-Know-Who. All three are gone.”

“Gone?” Harry croaked, “What do you mean?”

“Whatever happened that night, it took its toll on You-Know-Who. He disappeared, and no one has seen him since. Many believe he died. That the curse he used on you somehow backfired on him.” McGonagall lowered herself down, so she was kneeling in the dirt path. Putting her at eye level with Harry. “I do not know if he is dead, or if he has retreated for the past ten years. He could be biding his time somewhere, regaining his strength. I do not tell you that to make you afraid, but I do not wish to lie to you and offer you false comforts. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Harry said, solemn and suddening glad for the cloak hiding his clammy hands gripping his pants.

“There is one more thing I need you to be prepared for before we get to the village.” McGonagall sighed. “There is no easy way to say this. . . but people are going to be very. . . excited to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You see, because you survived that curse you’ve been made a bit of a celebrity.”

Harry stared at the older woman, not sure he’d heard her correctly. Because that was clearly the most insane thing she’d said to him, and she’d been telling him insane things almost nonstop since last night. “What?”

“You must understand how relieved the public was to be freed from the reign of terror they’d been living under for so many years.” McGonagall said, “They needed something to celebrate, to know what had happened. Who had freed them. And when word got out that you had lived the assumption was made that it must have been you who defeated You-Know-Who.”

“I was a baby.” Harry said numbly, “I don’t even remember -”

“I know. And we may never know the truth of what happened, but the public will not be swayed. They believe that The-Boy-Who-Lived saved them from their torment.”

“The boy who what?” Harry’s voice cracked as it rose dramatically.

“It’s a silly name, I know.” McGonagall smiled, “And I’m afraid that won’t be the last time you hear it. Possibly not even the last time today.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Like I said, people may be a bit excited to see you. It’s part of why I wanted to come here, and so early, it will be much less busy. When we go to Diagon Alley in London it will be much worse.”

Harry watched as a butterfly fluttered around the top of McGonagall’s pointed hat. It was a wide brimmed thing, a proper witches hat, and the butterfly looked so out of place he nearly laughed. Everything was out of place in Harry’s world though, so he supposed the butterfly must be exactly where it was meant to be. It was probably a magic butterfly. Maybe if he watched it long enough it would turn into an elephant or something equally crazy.

“Are you alight, Mr. Potter?”

Harry focused back on McGonagall’s face. She looked genuinely concerned. In all of the world shattering revelations that was his one constant. Professor McGonagall had cared enough about where he was to come looking for him. She’d made sure he had been fed, clothed, and had a bed to sleep in. She’d come back that morning and even though she and Bishop had further shattered his world, she’d come back. Just as she promised. And now she was trying to make sure he wasn’t blind sided while she took him to get clothes - which he definitely didn’t have money for! How was he meant to pay for his schooling, let alone anything else?

“Mr. Potter?”

“I don’t have any money.” He blurted out.

“You do, actually.” McGonagall said, “Your parents left you a trust. It’s kept at Gringotts, the bank, in London. When we go to Diagon Alley, one of our stops will be making sure you have access to it. For now, your expenses will be covered by the emergency students fund.”

“Oh.”

“I am sorry to spring this on you. I know that we have all put a lot on you, and in such a short amount of time.”

“It’s okay. . .” Harry said, “I guess I’d rather know.”

“I will do my best to ensure that you are as prepared for life in our world as possible. And if at any time you feel that you need help, someone to talk to, you may always come to me. My door will always be open.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry said quietly. “I’ll remember.”

“Now. Shall we? Before we run out of daylight?”

Harry nodded, and McGonagall got back to her feet. She was a little stiff in her movements and Harry felt bad for not telling her they could go sooner. They spent the rest of the walk much more pleasantly. McGonagall pointed out a few fixtures here and there - the greenhouses, the quidditch pitch and the train station - as they passed. They were the only ones on the road, so for a few more minutes Harry could pretend that their previous conversation hadn’t happened. HIs nerves about what suddenly being famous were warring with his excitement over seeing an actual magic village.

----- -------- ----------------- --------------------- ------------------------- ---------------------------------- ----------------------------- ----

“This is the Village of Hogsmeade.” Minerasaid, “Everyone who lives here is magical in some form or another.”

The child’s eyes busily darted from one thing to the next as he took everything in. Minerva tried not to smile too wildly or obviously. This was always her favourite part of introducing muggleborns to the magical world. No matter how anxious or nervous they were they could never control the wonder and awe at the casual use of everyday magic. And Harry was no exception. He was fascinated by a broom sweeping the steps of a cobblestone cottage by itself. And his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of the post office building where owls were roosting on every available surface.

“Here we are.” Minerva said, ushering Harry towards Gladrags Wizardwear. A bell jingled gently as they entered the store, altering the proprietor, Madame LeMarveillus, of their arrival.

“Be right there!” a voice called from somewhere towards the back of the shop.

“Professor.” Harry whispered, “Are the clothes sorting themselves?”

“I imagine so.” Minerva said, glancing around to where a rack of over robes were shuffling their order, seemingly from largest to smallest. “It’s a very handy household charm. Cuts down on a good deal of time that Madame Le Marveillus could use to be otherwise occupied, I dare say.”

“Very true, Professor!”

Harry startled a little, but Minerva simply turned to greet the ever energetic Madame Everly Le Marveillus as she emerged from between a couple of racks sporting different styles of brightly coloured robes and dresses. She herself was dressed in a positively violent shade of vermilion.

“What can I do for you on this fine day, mon cher Professor?”

“Good afternoon, Madame. I was hoping you had time to lend your expertise to us, as well as your discretion.”

“I’m insulted you even have to ask, Professor.” Everly exclaimed with a pout.

“Yes, well. Mr. Potter here is in need of your services.”

Minerva could see the moment Everly realised exactly who had walked into her shop - her eyes roved over the child hovering at Minerva’s side, when she got to the boy’s forehead her whole body froze for a fraction of a second. That second passed and Everly shook off her awe at meeting the famed Boy-Who-Lived and smiled brightly.

“First year at Hogwarts, is it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Harry said, polite as always.

“He needs a fresh start.” Minerva said, waiting for Everly to meet her eyes before continuing, “Hat to trainer. If you have the time, ofcourse.”

“I certainly do.” Everly said with renewed cheerfulness, “Come, Mr. Potter! We’ll start with taking your measurements, and then we can talk colours!”

Harry followed the woman obediently, though he seemed a little apprehensive. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times, checking to make sure Minerva had not left. SHe had not, ofcourse. She had moved over to an arm chair that Everly had set next to one of the shop's bay windows and made herself comfortable. From experience Minerva knew Everly would take a fair amount of time with Harry picking out colours and fabrics. Even if he’d only needed school robes this would have been at least an hour's visit. A ‘fresh start’ visit was a three hour affair at least. The phrase was something Everly herself had coined years ago for students who needed a full wardrobe for whatever reason. Students who needed to be rehomed in emergency situations often had little else other than the clothes on their backs.

Minerva pulled a few sheets of parchment from the pocket of her robe. One she transfigured into a small writing desk, from her other pocket she pulled out an inkwell and then plucked a quill from where she’d stuck it in her hat with the other ornamental feathers. She set up her impromptu office space, and unrolled another sheet of parchment and smoothed it out over the surface of the desk.

Finally, a moment to write with no prying eyes (painted or otherwise).

Dear Mr. Lupin. . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed to Harry that his life was getting progressively stranger with each new person he met. Madame Le Marveillus was the cheeriest person he’d ever met. She’d talked at him at a rapid pace about fabrics and colour combinations and what was required for his school uniform. All the while waving her wand around, making things fly about the room. A long measuring tape unravelled itself from a table floated through the air and then wound itself around Harry. It seemed to be taking his measurements, as a little note pad floated around between Harry and where Madame Le Marveillus was pulling reams of fabric out of a large ornate sideboard.

The whole process seemed to take forever. Madame Le Marveillus kept holding pieces of fabric up to his face and saying things like “too warm” and “oh no, far too drab”. He had no idea what made one shade of blue drab and the next one “perfect”, but she hadn’t actually asked his opinion so Harry supposed it didn’t matter that much.

In the end Harry had more clothes than he’d ever owned in his whole life. Some were normal - trousers and shirts and jumpers - but there were also robes and cloaks and an odd little pointed hat that Madame Le Marveillus swore he needed. He also had loads of new socks and pants, ones that were soft and didn’t have any holes in them. As well as gloves, scarves and two pairs of shoes.

Harry had just barely had time to wonder how they were meant to continue shopping if they had to carry all the bags and parcels with them when Madame Le Marveillus tapped each one with her wand. Each of the bags and neatly wrapped parcels shrunk down to the size of a marble as they were tapped. Madame Le Marveillus then scooped them up, and dropped them into a little velvet pouch that she handed to Harry.

“All done!” Madame Le Marveillus cried cheerfully, “You’ll be the best dressed first year at the feast, I can promise you that.”

“That’s certainly a tall order.” Professor McGonagall said, rolling up a piece of parchment that had been a desk just a minute ago. “The Parkinsons, Malfoys and Zabini’s all have children starting this year. Most of whom, I believe, you dressed.”

“Naturally.”

The women carried on chatting as a red faced Harry trailed behind them. At the register Professor McGonagall motioned Harry forward to show him the handful of coins she was going to give Madame Le Marveillus. The other woman waited patiently as McGonagall explained the value of each coin and let Harry count out the amount to give her.

Le Marveillus waved them out with the same enthusiasm as she welcomed them in. Calling for them to “Come back soon!” even as the door swung shut behind them.

“We’ll only make a few more stops.” McGonagall promised as they started off down the street. “I don’t know about you, but I often feel drained after a fitting.”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed, “It took a long time.”

“It did. But the rest of our stops won’t take nearly as long.”

“Okay, where are we going now?”

“We’ll need to stop into Scrivenshafts’ and get you a few quills and some ink. I’d like you to practise writing with a quill before the term starts. And then Tomes and Scrolls, we won’t be able to get your entire school book list there, but there are a few things I’d like to get. Some supplementary reading that I often suggest for muggle borns. But first, I thought a quick nip into the Post Office.” McGonagall gestured to the building that had all the owls circling, and periodically flying in and out of.

“That’s the post office?” Harry asked incredulously.

“It is.” McGonagall chuckled, “Much of the magical community uses owl post as the default. For everything from personal letters to the morning paper. You can order items from stores and owls will deliver them to you.”

“Wow.” Harry said, “How do they know where to go?”

“Owls have a sort of magic all their own. Similar to your Spark.” McGonagall said softly as she held the door open for him. “They need a little training when they’re young, just like you, but once they know how they can find just about anyone, anywhere. And they can travel immense distances in a remarkably short amount of time.”

Inside looked very similar to a regular post office that Harry had visited with his aunt before. A bit old fashioned certainly, but the long counter, and cases selling envelopes and stationary were familiar. The envelopes weren’t usually made of thick parchment, and he’d never seen lumps of wax and stamps at a regular post office either. But the most notable difference was the wall behind the counter was lined with owls perched on little stands set into the wall.

A short queue of people (wizards and witches Harry presumed) were lined up to talk to the man behind the counter. The man would take the coins and letter or parcel from the person in line, then he would choose an owl, and tie the letter or parcel to the owl’s leg. Then he would speak to the owl, and the owl would fly away! Just right out the open window, set high and close to the ceiling. McGonagall ushered Harry into the queue, whispering as she pointed out how the different types of owls were used for different deliveries and how the post office charged for different levels of priority delivery, or the size of the package.

Harry listened to her, trying very hard not to notice how the other people in line had begun to point at him and whisper amongst themselves. None of them approached them though. McGonagall seemed determined to ignore them, so Harry followed her lead.

“If the Postmaster needs to cast a featherlight charm on the package then they’ll charge a fee, you see?” McGonagall said as the Postmaster waved his wand over a large box wrapped in brown wrapping paper.

“Can you have your own owl?” Harry asked, as he’d noticed an advertisement for Elopes Owl Emporium tacked to the wall.

“You can.” McGonagall nodded, “And many families keep a post owl in their home. Not everyone lives in an area where having an owl is practical. They do need to be able to fly and hunt, you see.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry said, thinking about how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would have felt about having an owl live in the house. Aunt Petunia didn’t even like when Vernon’s sister brought her dog round for a visit.

“Here.” McGonagall said, holding out a letter - already sealed and addressed - to Harry. “Why don’t you post this? It will be good practice handling money.”

“You’ll help though, right?” Harry asked, taking the letter from her.

“Of course.”

When it was their turn Harry stepped forward with the letter. THe counter was a little high, so he had to stand on his toes to be able to pass the letter to the Postmaster. The man smiled kindly down at Harry while he accepted the letter. He didn’t even seem to take notice of who he was speaking to. Harry supposed he must be used to McGonagall bringing students in.

“Just a standard post?” The man asked.

Harry looked over his shoulder at McGonagall, who nodded.

“Yes, please.”

“That will be two sickles.”

McGonagall held out her hand, which was full of different sized coins. Harry selected two medium sized silver coins, and when McGonagall nodded, he handed the sickles to the Postmaster. The man thanked him and after glancing at the address on the letter, spoke softly to a brown barn owl and tied the letter to its leg. The owl took off out the window, and they bid the Postmaster farewell. It was only then as the Postmaster waved them off that he caught sight of Harry’s forehead.

The man’s jaw dropped, but McGonagall had already pushed Harry out the door by the time he managed to stutter out “W-was that Harry Potter!?”

“That was well done.” McGonagall praised him, “You hardly needed me to get the correct change at all.”

Their next stops at both the bookstore and the stationary store went much the same. McGonagall would guide him through selecting the material and then send him up to a star struck cashier to pay. She would hold out a handful of coins and let him pick through, only having to correct him when he ran out of sickles and tried to count out enough knuts to make up for it.

Now his little velvet pouch held not only an entire wardrobe full of clothes, but rolls of parchment, a collection of quills, some pots of ink and some books that Harry was very excited to read.

Harry had never been especially studious in school. He’d never really seen the point, not when the Dursley hated him doing well so much. Aunt Petunia accused him of trying to make Dudley look bad in class. Harry liked his schoolwork well enough, just not enough to get sent to his cupboard for excelling at it. Plus, when he didn’t do his homework the teachers would keep him inside for lunch hour. That meant he didn’t have to deal with Dudley or his friends. But there would be no cupboard here. Both Professors Bishop and McGonagall had promised that. ANd his supplementary reading sounded way cooler than his old maths homework anyway.

The books McGonagall had picked out for him were called things like “Hogwarts: A History”, “Druids, Draccahs and Dangerous Disinformation on Dark Creatures”, “Noteable Sparks in History”, and “Ten Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.”

McGonagall had even taken a detour into a shop called Houneydukes and let Harry pick out a few different kinds of bizarrely named sweets to try. He really hoped there weren’t actually frogs in the chocolate frogs. . .

“Only after you’ve had lunch.” McGonagall had insisted, when the shopkeeper had handed him the bag of mixed sweets.

By the time they’d made the trek back up to the castle Harry was exhausted.

He had a bit of a second wind after Pipsy forced him to have a couple sandwiches at lunch. McGonagall had left him to his own devices, promising to come back and have supper with him in a few hours. So, he’d spent some time putting his new things away, trying on his new trainers and sneaking bites of different types of sweets. The chocolate frogs did not in fact have frogs in them, but they did jump. He’d chased one around the dorm room for a couple minutes before managing to slap it against one of the side tables. He’d crushed it a bit, leaving a chocolate smudge against the table, but the chocolate was actually really good.

Then he’d started flipping through his new books and become completely engrossed. Much of it was going well over his head. There were a lot of terms and phrases that he’d have to pester McGonagall and Bishop. Which was a novelty in and of itself. Neither woman had seemed the least bit upset about him asking questions. Not even Professor McGonagall - and he’d been with her all day.

But by the time Pipsy popped in to tell him dinner was half asleep on his feet. He didn’t have the energy to ask either of the women any more questions. They chatted amicably to each other, occasionally prompting Harry to eat something. Until McGonagall finally said he should turn in.

Harry was so tired he didn’t even try to argue. He just let Pipsy prod him out of his seat, and lead him back up the stairs to the dorm. Pipsy didn’t leave him be until he brushed his teeth and she’d transfigured his clothes into pyjamas. He didn’t remember his head hitting the pillow.

__—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------__

Bridgit leaned back in her chair to watch as Pipsy led little Harry up the stairs by the hand.

“Today go alright then?” She asked, looking back to Minerva.

“It did. We had a few stop and stare, but no mishaps.”

“There were always gonna be a couple looky-loos.” Bridgit sniffed, “No trouble though?”

“None. And Everly Le Marveillus has him kitted out in proper clothes now.” Minerva said, taking a sip of her tea with an air of satisfaction.

“You have that chat with him?”

“I did.”

“How’d he take it?”

“As well as can be expected. I’m sure he’ll have more questions once it's all sunk in.”

“He’s a good’un for questions alright.” Bridgit chuckled, “What about the letter?”

“Sent. I had Harry post it. As a learning opportunity.”

“Ah, yes. Coincidentally getting Harry’s scent all over the envelope of course.”

“Of course.”

They shared a smile, and sipped their tea.

“How did your meeting go?”

“Oh, it was great fun.” Bridgit cackled, leaning forward to snag a biscuit off a dainty little plate that Pipsy had left them. “For me. Poor ol’Albus is starting to lose his sense of fun.”

“Was Severus also having fun?”

“Oh, that stick in the mud wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the -”

“Professor Bishop!”

“Don’t scold me, Minerva. I’m old enough to be your mother.” Bridgit huffed, “But no. He was not having fun. Albus is insisting that we help the boy reconcile with his relatives.”

Minerva set her cup down on its saucer with a sharp clink. “I cannot believe that man.”

“Yes, yes.” Bridgit waved her off, “It’s a shocking disgrace. We’ve been over that. The point is we’ve put him off another day, and Severus has successfully reminded the Headmaster of the annual Board of Governors' meeting tomorrow.”

“That’s convenient timing.”

“Isn’t it? Almost like it was moved up a couple weeks. Lucky Severus has friends on the board, isn’t it? Otherwise the dear Headmaster may have missed it entirely.”

The two of them chuckled together, and sipped their tea. It had been an eventful day, and tomorrow promised to be just as exciting.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin had never held high hopes for his own future. He fancied himself a realist, even when he was a boy. He’d known that no matter how fortunate he was to be allowed to study at Hogwarts, his affliction would limit his prospects. No sane wizard wanted to hire a werewolf for anything, no matter how conventionally educated they were.

There was a time where he had allowed himself to pretend as though he had the same opportunities as his peers. Mostly due to how determined his friends were to act as though he were not a dark creature, literally black listed against all but the shadiest corners of wizarding society. They were willful idiots. . . but he had loved them for it. 

Not that it mattered anymore. They were gone. They were gone and Remus was alone with the reality of his bleak situation. 

He’d lost yet another job last week. Taken one too many sick days and been told that “it just wasn’t going to work out”. So, here he was, alone in his sad little bedsit. The only future he would ever have to look forward to is one of abject poverty. Haunted by pain and accompanied only by ghosts. 

Which is why he had not been expecting to look up from his pursuit of the evening paper’s job postings to see an owl perched on his window sill. 

Remus and the owl stared at each other until the owl lost its patience and let out an ear piercing screech. The noise jolted Remus out of his stupor and sent him scrambling to open the window. Once it was open the disgruntled bird thrust its leg out, offering up a letter for Remus to take.

He untied it quickly, and the bird took off with a squawk that sounded suspiciously like an insult. Apparently there would be no response. 

Remus turned the letter over in his hands and his brow raised in surprise at the familiar handwriting. Professor McGonagall had very distinct and precise writing. Every student who pursued transfiguration learned that her words could be just as sharp and exacting as the manner in which she wrote them. What on earth would she be writing to him about now? 

Then a light breeze coming through the open window brought a scent to his sensitive nose - one that he had almost forgotten, but made his heart clench in grief.

He hastily brought the letter up to his face and breathed in deeply. Yes, the scent was coming from the letter! He opened it with trembling fingers, unsure what to expect. Whatever he’d expected - it certainly wasn’t what he read.

Dear Mr. Lupin,

I can only hope that this letter finds you well. It is one of my deepest regrets that I have not kept in contact with you since the end of the war. I aim to rectify that now.

We have much catching up to do. If you are amenable, I would very much like to meet with you for lunch. As I recall, you were living in London last we spoke. Fortuitously, I shall be in Diagon Alley tomorrow afternoon. 

I’m afraid I will be departing the castle rather early in the morning. Do not trouble yourself with responding. If you are free, please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at noon. I shall not be offended if you are unavailable. 

I hope to see you tomorrow,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Remus read the letter six times over. Not wanting him to respond was odd, not nearly as odd as the letter smelling of Harry Potter - of all people. This was more like how letters were written during the war. Minimal and vague information, never outright stating the actual purpose of the letter. 

Obviously he had to go. If McGonagall had taken the effort to get the letter scented by Harry, then surely whatever ‘catching up’ she wanted to do was about him. Thoughts of the little baby he’d once known haunted his dreams as much as those of his dead friends. If something was wrong with Harry he had to know.

Oh, there would be no sleep for Remus tonight. 

__—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry had decided almost immediately that he liked Hogsmeade better than Diagon Alley.

From the second Professor McGonagall had opened the passageway out of what had been a brick wall in the back of a dingy little pub Diagon Alley had been too much. There were three times as many shops, all of them were packed with people. The whole Alley was busier, louder and everyone seemed to be staring at him. 

They pointed, they whispered loudly behind their hands, but they never approached him. Or at least they never made it close enough to speak to him. Every time someone looked as though they might be going to walk up to them, or stop them as they passed, Professor McGonagall would stare them down. She held herself rigid and tall, her mouth set in an uncompromising frown. Harry thought that he would walk the other way if she looked at him that way too, so he could hardly blame them. 

The morning had been full of more shopping and McGonagall taking every opportunity to teach him about money, or business, or wizarding society. To the point where Harry felt like if he tipped his head to the side all the information might come spilling out of his ears. But he was ravenous for more. He relished every question answered and hung on her every word. . . even though he would probably need her to repeat most of her lecture later. Something she must have anticipated, as she added a few more books to his reading list as they went.

By noon Harry had all his school books (plus a couple extra), his potions supplies, a new cauldron and a big ornate trunk. He’d met goblins , and nearly passed out when he’d seen how much gold his parents had actually left him.

“I did tell you not to worry about money.” McGonagall chuckled.

“This is just the trust vault, boy.” The gnarled goblin who’d accompanied them down to his vault, called Griphook, said with a razor toothed grin, “Wait till you’re of age and you get the Potter family vault too.”

That had sent Harry into a bit of a mental tail spin. The Dursleys had often lamented how much money they had to spend to keep Harry around. He supposed it was a bit funny that just as soon as they’d gotten rid of him, he suddenly had loads of money. Vaults of literal gold coins! The thought of how cross they’d be if they ever knew brought a smile to Harry’s face.

“Well, Mr. Potter, I'd say we’ve earned ourselves some lunch. Wouldn’t you?”

“Er, sure. Professor.” Harry was a bit surprised when she steered them towards the bar of the pub they’d come through when they’d first arrived. He had assumed that they’d go back to the castle and eat there. Though the Pub’s food did smell pretty good, Harry noted as they passed a table.

“Professor! Here for a bite? Poor mite looks like he’ll waste away without it. Hard day of school shopping, lad?” The man behind the bar smiled down at Harry with a toothless grin.

“Yes, sir.” Harry said.

“We’ve got a cottage pie on, how’s that sound?”

“It sounds lovely, Tom. Perhaps a pot of tea as well?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Sure thing, Professor, sure thing. Take a seat wherever ya like. I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

McGonagall steered towards a table set for four people. It was tucked towards the back corner, but out of sight for anyone headed to the pub or the entrance to Diagon Alley. They’d hardly gotten settled when Tom the barman popped out of seemingly nowhere with two plates of cottage pie and a tea pot with cups floating along behind him.

“Here we are!” Tom said jovially, placing a plate in front of them, the tea cups set themselves on the table and the pot began to pour itself. Tom waved his wand and a little pitcher of milk and a sugar bowl came zipping over to set themselves on the table as well. “Give us a shout if you need anything else.”

McGonagall thanked him again, and set about fixing her tea to her liking. “Tuck in, Mr. Potter. Tom’s a rather daft hand in the kitchen.”

Harry did as he was told and took a large bite, as he really was very hungry. And it was very good. Chewing happily, Harry looked around the pub. It wasn’t exactly packed, but there were a fair few people having their own lunch, or a drink at the bar. A few were only passing through, but even those people waved a friendly ‘hello’ to Tom. And the old barman knew every one of them by name.

“Alright, Mrs. Blatherberry?”

“Jack-O! How’re the kids?”

“Be still my heart, that’s never Miss Marie? Lookit the size of ya - growing like a weed.”

Harry smiled to himself as he listened to the snippets of conversation. Diagon Alley might be overwhelming, but Harry definitely liked the Leaky Cauldron.

McGonagall cleared her throat, pulling Harry’s attention away from the jovial barman. 

“I’m hoping to run into an old student of mine here.” She said, taking a delicate bite of her own pie. “He was a friend of your parents.”

“Really?” Harry said, sitting up straight and swinging around to scan the room as though one of the patrons would jump up and introduce themselves.

“Yes. I’m unsure if he’ll be able to make it today, I didn’t give the poor boy much notice. Don’t fret.” She said when Harry visibly deflated in disappointment, “If he doesn’t make it today, we’ll meet with him another day. I think it would be good - for both of you.”

Harry nodded and went back to his cottage pie. He perked up each time either door opened, but was disappointed each time. It wasn’t until his plate was clear, and his cup empty that a lanky man in shabby, well worn, clothes stumbled into the pub. The man had mousey brown hair flecked with grey and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Harry was pretty sure his jumper was on backwards.

The thing that really caught Harry’s attention were scars on the man’s face. It looked like an enormous animal had clawed his face. It sent Harry momentarily spiralling down a bit of a rabbit hole about magic animals that might be big enough to do something like that. He was promptly shaken from his thoughts when the man caught sight of them. He’d clearly seen McGonagall first, as his eyes flicked quickly from the older woman to Harry.

Harry didn’t know how to interrupt the look on the man’s face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost and really wanted to cry about it, but was too scared to move. He stared at Harry like he both wanted to hug him and was afraid he would break apart with the first breath of wind. 

“Remus. Join us, please.” McGonagall said, her voice soft. She stood while Harry was busy staring at the man - Remus. 

Her voice broke whatever spell was holding Remus captive, and he stumbled towards their table. He rubbed his palms on his pants as he came to stand beside them, looking nervously between Professor McGonagall and Harry. 

“Mr. Potter, this is Remus Lupin. He was in your parents' year at Hogwarts, and one of their closest friends. Remus, you remember Harry?”

“Yes. Yes, I remember.” Remus said, with a breathy chuckle. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hi.”

“Remus, I must insist you sit down, before you fall down.” McGonagall said briskly, “Come, have a cup of tea.”

Remus sat like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Collapsing into the chair across from Harry in a mess of lanky limbs, his eyes fixed on Harry with wide eyed wonderment.

“I’m glad you were able to make it on such short notice.” McGonagall said, her voice warm and gaze fond, “Even if it does appear you’ve gotten dressed in the dark.”

The man’s gaze flicked to her in bewilderment. He looked down at himself and said, “Oh.” in a soft, slightly hysterical way.

“You haven’t changed, Mr. Lupin.” McGonagall said. She tapped a napkin lying next to her plate, transfiguring it into a teacup that matched perfectly with the ones she and Harry had been drinking from. Another wave of her wand had the teapot pouring some steaming tea, as the cup floated towards Remus.

“Yes, well.” Remus cleared his throat, accepting a cup, “Your letter was alarmingly vague.”

“I am sorry for worrying you, but needs must.”

Harry scrunched his nose in confusion, looking between the two adults at the table. “Is that the letter you had me post yesterday?”

“It was.”

“Bu - “

“Some matters are best handled quietly, and quickly.” McGonagall said, “And away from prying eyes.”

“Who’s prying?”

“Hopefully, no one. But it never hurts to be careful.” McGonagall said, “I thought that you might enjoy getting to meet someone whom your parents considered family, without too much attention.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry said, with a little frown.

Remus watched their interaction with interest as he sipped his tea. He was still reeling from the surprise of meeting his dead friend's son. A boy who he’d held as a baby - whose nappies he’d changed - looking so grown up. But even through the fog of his stunned shock, something was niggling at the back of his mind. Something was off. McGonagall wouldn’t have been so covert just to avoid a bit of fuss.

“In fact, I thought we might all benefit from a walk through the park. A bit of fresh air would do us all good.” McGonagall said, “If you’ve finished?”

They agreed, and once Tom the barman was paid they made their way out into muggle London, joining the crowds of people going about their day. It was a pleasant walk to St. James’ Park, McGonagall and Remus chatted amicably about their mutual friends and acquaintances. Before long they were in the park, and had found a bench near the pond. McGonagall pulled a dinner roll from her pocket and handed it to a befuddled Harry.

“Would you mind feeding the ducks for me, Mr. Potter?”

“The ducks.” Harry turned the roll over in his hands, “Are they regular ducks?”

“They are.”

“Ugh, okay.” 

Harry headed off toward the pond, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder every now and then as he went.

__—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think he may suspect he’s been sent off on busy work.” Remus chuckled. He still couldn’t quite believe he was here. That he’d met Harry properly for the first time since the boy was in diapers. A squirming, squalling, scrap of a thing cradled in his arms as he and his friends all cooed over him. God, how he missed them.

“Oh, I’m sure of it.” McGonagall said, sitting herself primley on the bench and patting the seat next to her, “But he’s also polite enough not to argue with me in public.”

“That’s kind of him.” Remus said, sitting obediently.

“I’m sorry to have sprung this on you suddenly.” McGonagall said, “I can only imagine how. . . difficult it must be.”

“I can’t get over how big he is.” Remus tried to be lighthearted, but even he could hear how strained his own voice was. “I’d almost swear Jamie had cloned himself.”

“It’s the glasses.”

“And the hair.”

They watched as Harry approached the pond, patiently waiting for a mother with her children to pass him by before taking their place on the shore. He tore bite sized pieces off the hunk of bread and gently tossed them in the general direction of the ducks swimming in the pond.

“Is. . .” Remus cleared his throat and whipped sweaty palms on his trousers. “Is he okay?”

McGonagall sighed heavily, “To be completely honest, I don’t know. We’ve somehow - miraculously - avoided the absolute worst case scenario, but I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Remus’ heart seized painfully, panic running through his veins like frost over glass. “Dumbledore said he was safe.”

“Yes, that’s the official party line.” McGonagall grumbled, “He’s been living with Lily’s sister.”

“Petunia?!”

“That was Severus’ reaction as well. I will regret not confiding my concerns in either of you for the rest of my days.”

Remus felt like the world had shifted a couple of degrees under his feet - unbalanced, and a little sick. Memories of Lily lamenting how her relationship with her sister had withered and died when she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter. He remembered the bitter woman who’d come to Lily and James’ wedding just to whisper hateful barbs into her sisters ear the whole day. THe same woman who hadn’t even attended her sisters funeral.

“He’s been with her the whole time?”

“Until two days ago.” McGonagall nodded, “I became concerned when I noticed there hadn’t been a reply to his Hogwarts’ letter. Then both Severus and I became extremely concerned when we realised there hadn’t been a letter sent at all.”

“What?” Remus asked, his voice high from alarm and confusion.

“I’m sure you can imagine what we expected to find.” McGonagall continued, “Neither of us were prepared, frankly we’re all still reeling. Although, I must say Harry is taking this all remarkably well. I keep waiting for the poor boy to have some sort of meltdown.”

“It’s only been a couple days.” Remus murmured, “He needs time to adjust, once he starts to feel safe he’ll start testing his boundaries. It always took Si -. . . That’s been my experience, anyway.”

McGonagall gripped Remus’ shoulder in sympathy of the words he couldn’t say. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She said, “I’m hoping you’ll be able to be there for him when it comes time to cross that particular bridge.”

An old, nearly forgotten ache throbbed in Remus’ chest. “You know I can’t take him. The Ministry would never allow it. They don’t even like leaving children in a home when their biological parent is bitten. They’re hardly going to give a known werewolf custody of the most famous war orphan in the wizarding world.”

“I’m painfully aware of the Ministry’s shortcomings when it comes to werewolves’ parental rights.” Minerva said, her voice soft with sympathy, “That doesn’t change the fact that that child needs you in his life.”

Remus let out one distressed little sob before he ducked his head and tried to compose himself. It took a minute or so of deep breathing to get himself under control. McGonagall sat beside him, silent and still, until he managed it.

“Who will be his guardian? He won’t go back there, will he?”

“No. For the moment Professor Bishop is acting as his temporary guardian.”

That caught Remus by surprise. “Bishop? But she’s -”

“Yes.”

“Then why - ?”

“He falls under her protection.” McGonagall said simply, as though it wasn’t the most insane thing Remus had heard in years.

“James never mentioned having Sparks in his family.” Remus said, watching Harry dusted his hands clean of bread crumbs.

“I’ve never heard of any either.” McGonagall sighed, “But these things happen from time to time.”

Remus had to concede the point, sort of. Sparks were born to wizard families every so often, but it was damn near unheard of for one to just pop into one of the old family lines. The prevailing modern theory among academics was that Sparks had more of a genetic component than any of the Sacred Twenty-eight were comfortable with. Most of them held firmly to the old belief that a Spark was a sign that magic itself had blessed their family line. It was an archaic belief that stemmed from a time when wizards and witches couldn’t comprehend a magic that wasn’t their own. Willfully ignoring any and all evidence that Sparks were an entirely different species. Creatures in their own right.  

The oldest and purest families, the Sacred Twenty-eight,  never admitted when they had a dalliance with a creature, especially not if that dalliance resulted in a child. But, the more ‘normal’ the child appeared the more it could be covered up, passed off as a witch or wizard. They would be accepted. And if the child was powerful? All the better.

Blind elitism if Remus had ever heard it. 

Remus knew that James’ father was not the sort of man who would have been ashamed of a creature in the family. The man had been more than happy to welcome Remus with open arms. He didn’t think he was the sort to be especially pleased about a Spark in their family tree either, but he wouldn’t have hidden it. 

It could come from Lily’s side of the family, he supposed. But they’d never know now, the only one left on that side was . . . Petunia.

Hateful, bitter, magic hating Petunia.

“So.” Remus said, “Harry’s a Spark. And he’s been living with Petunia.”

“He has.”

“Fucking hell.”

McGonagall gave a short bitter bark of a laugh. “That about sums it up. It’s a near miracle that the poor boy didn’t burn himself out. And yet, Albus is quite convinced we should be facilitating a reconciliation between Harry and his family.”

Remus wasn’t sure what his face was doing but McGonagall seemed to agree. She turned to face Remus fully, her expression hard.

“I don’t know what kept him from burning out all this time, but something is smiling down on him.”

“Did they hurt him?” Remus forced out, a tremble creeping back into his voice.

“They told him there was no such thing as magic. He’s clearly been underfed, if not outright starved. They told him his parents were drunks, and I strongly suspect they kept in a cupboard. I do not know if they ever struck him, but they certainly hurt him.”

Remus closed his eyes, like it would keep McGonagall’s words away. 

“We’ve been given a second chance to help him, Remus.” McGonagall said. She waited until her former student opened his eyes again and turned to her, “By any measure that boy should be dead at least twice over. But he’s here, and he needs our help.”

Remus held her gaze for a long moment, before he nodded.

“What can I do?”

“Come to Hogsmeade this evening.” McGonagall said, “Professor Bishop has a plan. Come hear her out. For Harry’s sake.”

Harry was making his way back to them now. He paused to let a group of teenagers amble past, laughing merrily as they went. Remus watched him come, the little boy that two of his dearest friends in the world had died to protect.

“Okay.”

__—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry and Professor McGonagall said their farewells to Remus Lupin. The older man promised to keep in touch with him, he even promised to send him pictures of his parents! 

Harry had never seen any pictures of his parents before. Aunt Petunia refused to keep any reminders of her sister in the house. She kept all of her old family photos in an album that she hid away. Harry wasn’t sure she looked at them herself, but she certainly didn’t let Harry see them. Even the singular picture of her parents set on the mantle had a ragged edge, as though part of it had been torn out. 

He never dreamed that he would get to know someone who really knew them. Who could tell him what they were like, and what they did. Now, he knew so many people who could tell him these things. It was amazing, and like so many things in the last two days - completely overwhelming. 

The trip back to the castle was as dizzying as his first trip by side along apparition. McGonagall steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and ushered him up towards the castle. The paintings tittered as they walked through the Entrance Hall, heading towards the Sparks Tower.

“Why don’t you take your things to your dorm.” McGonagall said, slowing to a halt as they came to a forked hallway - one direction led to the Tower, one to a winding staircase. “Can you find your way from here?”

Harry nodded, but hesitated for a moment before saying, “Um, Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Do I have to stay in the tower?”

“No, certainly not. You are more than welcome to explore the castle and grounds to your hearts content. Though, I will ask that you stay out of the Forbidden Forest. It has that name for a reason. And I’d advise staying out of the greenhouses as well. Professor Sprout has a few things growing in there that require an experienced Herbologist to handle.”

“Right.” Harry said, excitement bubbling up from his stomach. 

“Probably best to stay out of the dungeons as well.” Professor McGonagall continued, “If you disturb any of Professor Snapes’ potions he’ll be terribly upset.”

“There’s a dungeon?” Harry asked, “Professor Snape makes potions in a dungeon?”

“He brews potions there, yes. Many potions require a controlled environment or they won’t turn out correctly. Some ingredients become less potent if they are exposed to sunlight. And here the best place to facilitate both of those needs is in the dungeons.”

“Is that where he teaches too?” Harry asked, his mind whirling with bits and pieces of half remembered facts from his potions textbook.

“He does.” McGonagall nodded.

“Cool! Do you think he’d let me see the dungeons? I promise I won’t touch anything I just want to see.”

“I’m sure he could be persuaded.” McGonagall said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She could only imagine how thrilled the dower man would be to have a child in his domain weeks before the start of term. . .

“In the meantime, perhaps stick to the upper levels. If you get lost the portraits will be able to point you in the right direction. Or the ghosts, if you should happen across one. Except Peeves! Don’t trust a word he says.”

Harry blinked up at her with wide eyed bewilderment. “Did. . . did you say ghosts?”

“Ah, yes.” McGonagall said, “They’re perfectly harmless, I assure you.”

“Except Peeves?”

“Peeves is a poltergeist. He’s forever up to mischief. If you happen upon him tell him you’re looking for the Bloody Baron h -”

“The who?!”

“The Bloody Baron. Harmless, but Peeves is wary of him. He will leave you alone if he thinks the Baron is nearby.”

“Oh. . . Okay.” Harry said. Ghosts. This place was completely mental.

“Go on now.” McGonagall chuckled, “Go explore. Pipsy will hear you if you call for her. If you’re hopelessly lost she’ll find you.”

Harry took off, deciding that he’d put his things away properly later. He was far too excited about being able to explore the magic castle to bother worrying about being tidy. He all but ran the rest of the way to the tower, breathlessly calling out the password to get the portrait to let him inside. He tossed the little bag full of all of his shrunken school supplies onto his bed and rushed back out of the tower again.

When he first stepped out of the tower, Harry was a bit overwhelmed by options. Where should he go first? Should he try to find the Owlery? Or go down to the lake?

He decided on both. He would start by looking for the Owlery, so he would know where to find the owls if he wanted to write to Lupin. Then, go down to the lake and see if there were any crazy magic fish swimming around.

Harry was lost almost immediately.

He spent a couple of hours unconcernedly wandering around. Every hallway was full of tapestries, paintings and suits of armour so he never ran out of things to look at. At one point he stumbled across the library and he’d spent a few minutes watching books shuffle themselves around their shelves before deciding he’d carry on.

He’d just stopped to admire a painting of a grove of beech trees that had some painted deer and rabbits frolicing about when he met his first ghost.

“Oh! Hello there. Aren’t you a bit early? Or is it September already? Goodness, time flies!” A nearly transparent man dressed in old fashioned garb with a neck ruff floated through the wall next to Harry.

“I, ah, I’m a bit early.” Harry said, once he’d recovered. “Professor McGonagall said I could explore the castle.”

“Ah, splendid!” The ghost man said cheerfully, “I was a bit afraid I’d lost track of time, you see. Easy to do when you’re dead, but I do try to stay current. Like to be here to meet the new first years.”

“Sorry, what’s your name?” Harry cut in, a bit afraid the ghost may just talk for ever - he didn’t need to breathe, so he probably could.

“Oh, how rude of me!” The ghost gasped, he clutched his chest and Harry thought that his head wobbled a bit, like a badly balanced plate on a stick.

“Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service!”

“I’m Harry, er, Harry Potter.” Harry hastily changed from reaching out to shake Sir Nicholas’ transparent hand into an awkward little wave.

“Good heavens, so you are!” Sir Nicholas said, not even noticing Harry’s misstep. “Well! It is an honour, Mr. Potter. An honour, indeed.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” Harry shifted uneasily, “You’re the first ghost I’ve ever met so I guess it’s an honour for me too.”

“Am I really?” Sir Nicholas said, practically radiating excitement, “In that case, you must call me Nick. All my friends do.”

“Sure, Nick it is.” Harry said.

“Oh, splendid. Tell me, Harry, where were you off to this fine afternoon?”

Harry shrugged, “Nowhere really. McGonagall said I could go wherever as long as I stayed out of the Forest and Snape’s dungeon.”

“Ah, yes.” Nick nodded, his head wobbling again, “Very sensible. The Forest simply isn’t safe for students. And I dare say neither is Professor Snape’s lair!”

Harry cocked his head curiously as Nick chortled at his own joke. “Are potions really dangerous?”

“Well, some. Yes.” Nick said, somehow managing to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, even though he was floating an inch or so off the ground. “I only meant that Professor Snape can be a bit harsh.”

“He seemed okay the other day.” Harry said, though he definitely remembered the man being intimidating. A bit stiff, and blunt, but he’d helped get him away from the Dursleys so he couldn’t be all that bad.

“Ah, you’ve met?”

“He came with Professor McGonagall to pick me up, but I haven’t seen him since.” Harry admitted.

“I see. Well, Professor Snape has very little tolerance for anyone who doesn’t have an aptitude for potions. . . or anyone who isn’t Slytherin!”

“Oh, yeah. McGonagall told me he was head of Slytherin House.”

“Indeed! I suspect he won’t bother too much with you unless you’re in his house.”

“Would you mind showing me how to get to the Owlery?” Harry asked, “I mean if you’re not busy?”

“Dear boy, I’m dead. I’m never busy.”

Chapter Text

Ghosts, as Harry quickly discovered, were very chatty.

Sir Nick was more than happy to guide Harry through the castle halls, pointing out interesting paintings or statues as they went. He’d told Harry about different short cuts he might take and how to find the kitchens. He’d even pointed out where a tapestry was hiding a secret stairway that would take him straight down to the entrance hall.

“Do you give all the first years tours?” Harry asked.

“Well, no.” Nick admitted, “I would, you know, but so few students ask. Some people find speaking with the dead a bit unnerving.”

“That’s a shame. You’ve been a great help.”

“You’re too kind, Harry. Too kind! Come, the owlery isn’t far.”

The owlery was amazing. It was a tower, empty of furnishings except for a spire in the middle of the room that stretched to the ceiling. The spire was peppered with holes at regular intervals, holes that, once Harry looked closer, he could see each one had a small perch for the owls to roost. Owls were everywhere, some hunkered down, with their heads tucked under their wings, some preening their feathers, and some were flying in and out of the many open windows lining the outer walls. A staircase spiraled around the central spire, presumably letting people get up to the roosting owls.

“Hullo there!”

Harry’s neck cricked as he jerked violently in surprise as the voice boomed from over heard. Mid way up the spiral staircase was an absolutely enormous man. Most of the man’s face was hidden behind a long dark beard. 

“Alright, Sir Nicholas? Whose yer friend?” The man called down to them.

“Good afternoon, Hagrid!” Nick called back, “Just showing young Harry here a few of Hogwarts highlights.”

“Harry?” The big man blinked, down at Harry, “That’s never Harry Potter!”

“Er, yeah, that’s me.” Harry said, a bit nervously. 

“Oh! Bless - you wait right there, I’ll be down in a mo’!” Hagrid cried, scattering owls left and right as he turned to hustle down the stairs, except one stubborn little bird that clung to his shoulder. 

Harry turned widened eyed to Nick, who chuckled at the look on the child’s face.

“Don’t worry, Hargird is just excitable.”

“Oh, let me lookit ya!’ Hagrid boomed as he stepped off the stairs. He looked even bigger now that he was on the ground, towering over Harry. Although, now that he was closer Harry could see the way his eyes crinkled with delight, and even though he moved quickly he hadn’t dislodged his feathery passenger. 

“Spitting image o’ yer dad, you are.” Hargrid boomed cheerfully, “S’ept fer yer eyes, those’r all Lily.”

“Did you know my parents?” Harry asked, already mentally adding Hagrid to his list of people who knew more about his family than Harry did. 

“O’course! Spent years chasing yer dad and his friends outta the forest. And my pumpkin patch for that matter. Always tried to take at least one every year. No idea what they were planning on doing with them. . .”

“Was Remus Lupin one of those friends?” Harry asked, trying to reconcile the somber man he’d met earlier with the teenage pumpkin thief.

“He was.” Hagrid chuckled, “Though yer dad was the ringleader. Poor Ol’ Remus was in detention right alongside him near as often as the others.”

“Oh.” Harry smiled, “Are you a professor here?”

“Me? No. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys and th’ Grounds o’ Hogwarts, at yer service.”

“Oh! You live down past the lake! You look after the whole castle, by yourself?”

“And the grounds, and the animals in the Forest too - and these little mites.” Hagrid said, tickling the top of the little owl on his shoulder’s head.

“Sir Nick was just showing me around the castle.” Harry said, “I wanted to see the owlery, but I got sort of turned around.”

“Ah, yeah. Castle’s a bit o’ a matagot’s warren by times. You’ll learn yer way soon enough.” Hagrid assured him.

“Indeed.” Nick said jovially, “It’s a first years right of passage to get lost a handful of times. You’re just ahead of the curb, Mr. Potter!”

“You are a mite early.” Hagrid mused, as though it had only just struck him that the school year hadn’t yet begun. “You’re alright, aren’t ya Harry?”

“Yes.” Harry told the big man. Hagrid looked so concerned at the thought that Harry might not be alright that Harry couldn’t help but reassure him. “There was just a bit of. . . trouble with my acceptance letter. I, er, I guess Sparks don’t really get them?”

“Odd, isn’t it?” Nick said, “The Grey Lady once told me it was something about their magical signatures not registering with the spells the Founders used to create the student registry. But that seems strangely negligent, doesn’t it?”

“Spark?” Hagrid repeated dumbly, “What’s that got to do with Harry.”

“Oh, er, I am one? Or at least Professor McGonagall and Bishop say so.” Harry shrugged.

“Well, bless my beard.” Hagrid’s face split into a wide grin, “Yer parents woulda been some proud. Imagine. A spark.”

“Really?” Harry asked, a bit incredulous. It’s not like he’d actually done anything.

“Oh yes,” Nick assured him, “It’s a great honour to have one family!”

“Sparks have some o’ the most amazing magic there is!” Hagrid crowed, jostling the little owl on his shoulder who squawked indignantly. “Just you wait till yer trained up a bit! Oh, you’ll be charming the trees to dance and communing with unicorns before ya know it.”

Harry had no idea how to respond to Hagrids’ ecstatic proclamation. Honestly. Every single time he thought he’d heard the most insane thing - apparently trees could dance and -

“Sorry,” Harry said, giving himself a little shake, “Did you say unicorns?”

Hagrid chuckled heartily, and that seemed to be the last straw for the owl on his shoulder as the bird took off with an annoyed bark.

“I did!” Unicorns love Sparks, always have. They don’t even mind coming up to a man if he’s a Spark. They don’t usually like men, ya see. And they’re damn picky about which women they’ll come to, but they’ll come to a Spark no matter what else they are - man, woman or anything in between!”

“Unicorns.” Harry said again.

Hagrid seemed a bit taken aback now, “Aye. Unicorns.”

“They’re real?”

“Child, you’ve been walking around a magic castle with a ghost who’s been dead for nearly five hundred years, but unicorns are a bridge too far?”

“Nearly five hundred? Cor, yer death day must be coming soon, eh?” 

“It is! Four hundred and ninety nine this All Hallows Eve.”

“Blimey, and next year's the big 5-0-0, eh? Must be excited!”

“Indeed. You know, I was thinking of applying to the Headless Hunt again.”

“Are ya? Well, good luck to ya, Nick. Couldn’t think o’ a better spector for it.”

“You’re too kind, Hagrid. Really. But they have been very firm on their stance regarding exactly how headless their members must be.”

“Ah, they just need persuading.” Hagrid said, waving off Nick's concerns with a big hand. “You’ll talk them round, no doubt about it.”

This seemed to bolouster Sir Nick, as the ghostly man perked up and declared, “You’re right, Hagrid! I’ll need time to craft my application. . . yes. It could take some time. I best get started right away! Not a moment to lose!”

Nick turned and floated right through the wall, off to. . . wherever ghosts went to. . .

“Is he going to go and. . . see the Headless Hunt now ?” Harry asked.

“Nah, he’ll have someone write a letter for him once he’s got his words right.” Hagrid sniffed, “Well, now. Looks like yer guides run off. Think you’ll be able to find yer way?”

“Oh. . .”

Harry chewed at the inside of his lip uncertainty. He actually wasn’t sure he could find his way back, but he wasn’t too worried about it. McGonagall said Pipsy would be able to hear him if he called. But he really wasn’t ready to go back to the tower yet, and it was only two o’clock.

“I don’t really have anywhere to be.” Harry confessed, “I suppose I could go to the Library.”

“Well, how’d you like to meet some o’ them unicorns then?” Hagrid said after a moment of consideration, “You’ve got ages to get yer reading list done, and I’m headed down to the forest now.”

“Yes!” Harry agreed immediately, practically vibrating with excitement - UNICORNS. Magic was awesome. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remus Lupin had been having a very emotional day. 

Meeting the son of his deceased friends had been a surreal experience that he was still reeling from. He couldn’t believe how big the boy was. It was almost more of a shock than the first time Lily had placed the tiny squirming baby in his arms. He’d been so sure he would either drop or crush baby Harry. Lily had out right ignored all of Remus’ concerns and protests, and handed him her newborn son into his arms. 

And from the moment he’d stopped completely panicking, Remus had loved that baby. 

He was just so tiny and innocent. Remus had been afraid to even breathe on him. In fact he’d held his breath for nearly a minute before Si - one of the others had laughingly reminded him to breathe. 

When. . . after that night Remus had been in so much shock and grief he’d barely heard Dumbledore past him confirming the rumours were true. He hadn’t been able to form a full sentence as his hands shook and his ears rang, but Dumbledore knew what he wanted to know.

“Harry is going to be fine, Remus.” His former Professor had said, his voice gentle and soft, “Nothing more than a cut on his head.”

“W-where?” Remus had managed while choking back a dry sob.

“You needn’t worry. I’ve arranged for him to be raised away from the magical world. He’ll be safe from any Death Eaters still trying to fulfill their master's last orders. And he’ll have a chance at a normal life, without the mantle of The-Boy-Who-Lived hanging over him for a time.”

Remus let out a shaky breath, bitterly remembering how relieved he’d been to hear that. To know that he wouldn’t have to rally from the depths of his own misery to take in the orphaned son of two of his dearest friends. Harry was fine, he told himself, better off even. What good would it do the child to have a useless, broken werewolf hanging around? He’d been convinced it had been for the best. And the Ministry really wouldn’t have stood for a werewolf raising a child they weren’t biologically related to anyway. So, when Dumbledore asked him to keep his distance - for Harry’s safety - Remus had agreed. He hadn't even questioned the old man.

What a blind, sad, sack of shit he was. If only he’d asked just a few more questions, or insisted on being able to visit! 

So now, here he was, sat in the back corner of the Three Broomsticks, desperately trying not to see the ghosts of days gone by in every corner. How many schemes had they hatched in this very pub? Huddled together, whispering feverishly about their next great exploit, over mugs of butterbeer. It was always butterbeer, no matter how often Si - he tried to swindle Madam Rosmerta into serving something stronger.

They’d been utterly delighted with their own brilliance. Convinced they were cleverer than everyone else and completely untouchable. The thought of how arrogant they’d been, how arrogant Remus had been, left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He blamed these melancholy thoughts for why he didn’t see the utter insanity Professors McGonagall and Bishop were proposing. 

They hadn’t waited long after meeting him at the The Three Broomsticks before cutting to the chase either. They’d barely gotten their drinks when Bishop announced that her entire plan was for Remus to take Harry in.

“Professor, we talked about this earlier - and I thought you agreed.” Remus said to McGonagall with a slightly frantic edge to his voice, “I can’t be Harry’s guardian, the Ministry would never allow it.”

“We agreed that the Ministry’s view on werewolf parental rights are severely lacking.” McGonagall hummed, sipping her glass of Gillywater delicately. “We also agreed the boy needed you in his life.”

“Well, yes, but -”

“Well, then what’s your issue?” Bishop clicked her tongue at him, “The boy needs you, and you want t’help him. So, off you pop.”

“Listen,” Remus said, “If the circumstances were different, I would take him in a heartbeat, you know I would, but I can’t .”

“You’re giving up awfully quickly.” Bishop sniffed.

“I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic.” Remus sighed, “Let’s pretend for a moment that the Ministry would let me take over guardianship of Harry. What then? I’m unemployed. I don’t have a house or even a proper flat to bring him home to. Then there’s the full moons to consider -”

“All valid concerns that are easily addressed.” McGonagall said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys, which she placed on the table and slid deliberately in Remus' direction. 

Remus blinked down at the keys stupidly as McGonagall sat back in her seat. “What are these?”

“Those are the keys to a croft in Lock Arkaig that once belonged to my mother’s people.” McGonagall said smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her robes. “I didn’t have the heart to sell it when she passed, but I’m rarely able to visit. It needs looking after and a bit of sprucing up, but it was a fine place to grow up. Plenty of woodland and rather remote, you see. Lots of fresh air and nature.”

“Everything a growing boy needs.” Bishop agreed, “A boy who has a trust vault designed to support him until he’s of age. I’m sure, the Goblins would be happy to go over the exact details. But, usually these sorts of trusts have clauses so the guardian of a minor child may have some sort of access to provide for that child. Don’t they, Minerva?”

“They do.”

“Well, boy-o.” Bishop slapped her hand on the table, cackling in delight, “There’s two o’yer concerns shot out of the air.”

“That doesn’t change -”

“The Ministry.” Bishop waved him off, “We’re not dealing with the Ministry.”

“You. . . can’t not deal with the Ministry. No one in their right mind would approve that -”

“We’re not going to ask for their approval.”

“You can’t seriously think that’s going to go unnoticed?” Remus said, his voice edged with hysterical laughter.

“Oh, it’ll be noticed.” Bridgit said, “They just won’t be able to do anything.” 

Remus' jaw snapped closed as his brain finally caught up with what was happening. Stupid . He berated himself silently, should have seen this insanity coming .

“You want me to claim him as pack.”

“Thank you for joining the rest of the class, Mr. Lupin.” Bishop chuckled, “You said he was clever, Minerva.”

“I did, and he is. He’s just also remarkably fatalistic.”

Remus had half a second to be offended before Bishop turned her attention back onto him.

“Yes, boy-o. We want you to claim him as pack. Do that and the Ministry won’t be able to take him from you. Not without breaking the -”

“The Lycan Acords of 1753.” Remus bit off, “If we were talking about any other child. . . but we’re not. It’s Harry Potter.”

“You have a legitimate claim to him.” McGonagall said, “And the Druidic Council will support that claim.”

“Especially considering how long you’ve been without a pack.” Bishop added, “It’ll be as good for you as it will be for him.”

“I can’t,” Remus choked on his words, “I can’t do it. I don’t know anything about children. I was never meant to be the one who raised him.”

“You can’t possibly be worse than his auntie.” Bishop sniffed, “Besides, he’s not a baby. He’s near eleven, they’re mostly grown by that point.”

“They are not .” McGonagall said, completely scandalized, “But you can do this Remus. We’re not going to just leave you with no support. It will be a learning curve, I’m sure. But he’ll be in school until at least Christmas. Hopefully that should give you both some time to adjust to the idea.”

Remus sat, stunned, for what felt like a very long time while Bishop and McGonagall’s plan bounced around in his head. No matter what they said, he knew - he knew - this would never work. There was just no way anyone would allow it, Lycan Acords or no.

But. . .

A tiny, miniscule ember of hope had sparked in Remus’ chest. The part of him that was more wolf than man, buried deep in the back corner of his mind, had perked up at the mention of pack. The charred remains of his former pack bonds had been a gaping wound in his soul for the past decade. And, oh , how he craved that connection again. 

It was probably only Harry surviving the decimation of his former pack that had allowed Remus to keep from going feral years ago. And the wolf had been waiting for the return of their lost pup.

Remus had a general rule to never give the wolf what it wanted. That was a slippery slope that led to reckless behaviour that put lives at risk. But the call of pack was strong, and he’d been alone for so long.

“He needs to be given a choice.” Remus said at last, “He needs to know what I am, and why it's dangerous to be around me.”

“Oh, boy-o. You need therapy in a bad way, don’t ya?” Bishop sighed.

“We will give him the choice, Remus.” McGonagall said, “Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

Remus wasn’t so sure, but he honestly didn’t have the will to argue. 

Chapter Text

Each morning that Harry woke to the sight of the purple canopy hanging over his four poster bed it was becoming less and less disorienting. By the time a week had passed they had become not only familiar, but welcome.

Professors McGonagall and Bishop were insistent on scheduled meal times, and one or both of them were always waiting for him when he came downstairs every morning, and if he wasn’t in the tower for supper they would send Pipsy to find him.

Most of the day he was allowed to wander the castle as he pleased, although Professor McGonagall was forever quizzing him on the reading list that she’d given him at meal times. Not that he minded. There was so much in those books that he didn’t quite understand, and neither of the professors were the least bit fazed by him shooting questions right back. As long as he was showing an effort in trying to understand, and that he actually had tried to read the material, both professors were more than happy to indulge him.

As interesting as his reading list was, Harry could hardly bring himself to read all day, every day. Not when the castle and grounds were his to explore. There were a seemingly endless number of secret passageways, hidden alcoves, disguised doors and trick staircases to find. He’d spent most of a morning with his foot stuck in a step that had suddenly disappeared from under him when he’d been jogging up the stairs, only to reappear around his ankle as he fell. He’d been sitting awkwardly on the step, pulling uselessly at his leg for nearly a half an hour before he’d been found by Professor Snape.

“What on earth are you doing, boy?” Professor Snape had drawled, staring down at Harry like he’d never seen anything half as strange in his life.

“I’m stuck.” Harry had admitted, sheepishly.

He hadn’t actually seen Snape since the night he’d arrived. Professor McGonagall had said he was busy brewing potions for the Hospital Wing so that they’d be stocked up for the school year. And since Harry had been reading about how horribly a potion that was disturbed at the wrong moment could go, he’d been avoiding the dungeon like the plague.

The man looked just as dour and intimidating as Harry remembered, though he also seemed tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped in a way that spoke of sleepless nights. He must have been brewing a lot of potions.

Snape stared down at Harry like he was trying to figure out if the boy was joking or not for a moment before drawing in a long breath through his nose, and letting it back out slowly.

“Are you hurt, or merely stuck?”

“Ugh, I don’t know?” Harry blinked up at him, rushing to continue when Snape arched a dark brow at him, “It sort of hurts, but it’s not broken?”

“Was that a question?”

“No?”

Harry had never seen an adult roll their eyes before. It was strange enough that he sort of wanted to laugh, but he was also pretty sure Snape would leave him there if he did, so he kept his mouth tightly closed.

Snape pulled a wand from his sleeve, it was made of a dark wood and looked as straight and rigid as its owner’s posture. Then Snape crouched down beside Harry and tapped the stone surrounding Harry’s leg twice. The stone dissolved from around Harry’s ankle, letting him pull his leg free at last.

“There.” Snape drawled, “How does it feel now?”

“Okay, I guess.” Harry said, testing putting his weight down on his foot gingerly.

“I see. . . well, if you find it bothersome go find Madame Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing.”

Without waiting for a response Snape swept up the stairs, continuing on his way to wherever he’d been going before he’d found Harry.

Harry watched him go, the last glimpse of Snapes’ cloak disappearing around the corner before he called “Thank you, Professor!” after the man.

And Harry hasn’t seen Snape since.

He had also been spending large portions of his afternoons out in the grounds with Hagrid. The gentle giant of a man had been more than happy to let Harry tag along on his work day since he’d taken him to visit with the unicorn herd. And hadn’t that been an experience?

Hagrid had led him out of the castle and down a path that wound around the Black Lake to the edge of the forest. He’d spent the walk pointing out various things as they went, giving his own version of a Hogwarts tour.

“When you say giant squid.” Harry said, eyeing the waters of the lake as he jogged to keep up with Hargird’s long strides. “Exactly how giant?”

“Well now, I haven’t gotten him to sit still for measurements fer a few years now.” Hagrid said, scratching his beard thoughtfully, “But he was about thirteen metres long last I checked.”

“Woah.”

“Ah, he’s a sweet ol’ thing. Just don’t care fer company much. S’ept fer the merfolk, o’course.”

“Merfolk?”

“Mhm. They live down at the bottom o’tha lake. Like as ya won’t see them a’tall. Don’t care fer people.”

As they walked Hagrid had pointed out the signs that other animals and creatures had been present. Some were perfectly ordinary - rabbits and squirrels - and some, like a tree full of tiny stick-like creatures called Browtruckles, Harry had never heard of before.

When they’d reached the edge of the forest Hagrid had stopped them and crouched down so that he was. . . closer to eye level with Harry.

“Now, strictly speaking,” Hagrid said, “Students aren’t allowed in the Forbidden Forest. But since yer with me, and tha school hvn’t started. . . But yeh need t’stay by my side t’whole time, understand? No wanderin off. Promise?”

It had suddenly struck Harry that this was one of the very few places that Professor McGonagall had told him not to go. She had said that when he was supposed to be wandering the Castle on his own though. . . and Hagrid was an adult - one who went into the forest all the time. And most importantly - unicorns.

“Promise!”

They hadn’t had to go very far, only having to walk for about fifteen minutes or so before the soft sounds of hooves over moss and leave cover ground. Harry whipped around trying to see where they were coming from, only to have Hagrid’s giant hand drop onto his shoulder and point him at a break in the trees where the most beautiful creatures Harry had ever seen were cautiously picking their way towards Harry and Hagrid.

They were so white they practically looked like they were glowing. They might actually be glowing, Harry dazedly thought to himself as a particularly large unicorn moved to the front of the herd. It stopped with its ears perked forward, framing the glittering horn (that definitely was glowing) in the middle of its forehead, and looked right back at Harry.

“That’s the leader o’ the herd.” Hagrid said quietly, “I call him Leonard.”

Leonard seemed to decide they were harmless as he blew air noisily out of his nostrils and the herd began moving forward again.

Harry held his breath as the big stallion walked right up to him. Leonard stopped so close to Harry that the boy had to lean his head all the way back just to see the underside of his muzzle. Leonard blew out another breath over Harry’s hair, sending the unruly mop into further disarray. Harry tried to smother and giggled as Leonard lipped at his hair and nuzzled at his head.

Harry lost his battle with trying not to laugh as Hagrid backed away and let the other unicorns crowd in and start their own inspections on the boy. It tickled, and they nudged him, but they were so very gentle. Despite their size, Harry felt very much like he was being swarmed by puppies instead of full grown magical horse creatures.

Leonard was snuffling loudly in Harry’s ear when he caught sight of a small group of little golden unicorn foals. Or at least he thought they must be unicorns, no horse he’d ever heard of was that colour, but they didn’t have horns. Maybe unicorns were like deer and didn’t grow horns until they were older?

Once each member of the herd had had a chance to sniff and nuzzle Harry they started to wander away one by one until only Leonard was left. The big stallion pawed the ground restlessly in Hargrid’s direction, giving the man a shake of his head and a high pitched whiny before snorting and turning back to Harry for one more nuzzle. Leonard then trotted back into the forest after his herd, disappearing into the darkness.

“Wow.” Harry said after the hoof beats had faded into the distance.

“Told ya didn’t I?” Hagrid chuckled, “Unicorns love Sparks. They’ll likely come find ya any time yer in the forest.”

“Why were the babies gold?” Harry asked.

“They’re all born that colour. Part o’ what makes ‘em all glow like that. They shed their coat round a year old, once they start growin their horns.” Hagrid said, “They’re a fair bit more trustin’ when they’re little too. Don’t mind men so much.”

“They didn’t seem to mind you.” Harry said.

“Ah, they’re used t’me alright, but they won’t let me too near fer too long.” Hagrid chuckled, “They know I’ll help fix they’re hurts if they need it. But I’m still a man at the end o’ the day. Did ya see the way Leonard sassed me a’fore he left? Was tell me t’m distance, wasn’ he? Didn’t want me followin the herd.”

Hagrid chatted away amicably all the way back out of the forest and back up to the castle, but Harry was only half listening. Half was a generous estimate really. He was feeling warm and floaty from his time with the unicorns. It was like they’d given his heart a hug. Which was also the stupidest thing he’d ever thought and he was definitely not ever going to say it out loud, but that’s how it felt.

“There we are!” Hagrid boomed as the pair climbed the steps of the castle. “Won’t be long till supper now. You been up in eatin up with the Sparks’ Tower?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “Pipsy has been bringing up all kinds of stuff. Professor McGonagall comes and eats with me, sometimes Bishop too.”

“Easin’ ya into all this, eh?” Hagrid said, “Don’ get too used to the quiet. Once school starts this place’ll be busier than a doxy nest.”

Harry smiled, trying to imagine what that would be like. The halls full of other children just like him. . . or well, not all of them like him. Some of them would be though!

“This was really great, Hagrid.” Harry said, smiling up at the big man. “Thanks.”

“Aw, was nothin’.”

“It wasn’t though. Everyone. . . everyone has been really great here.” Harry said, “You didn’t have to be. You don’t even know me, but you still. . . I never really had any friends before, and. . .” Harry sniffed a little, overwhelmed and unsure why his face was wet.

“Hey now,” Hagrid said, “What’s all this? Yeh got friends.”

“I really don’t.”

Hagrid stood silent for a long moment, and when he spoke there was a tremor in his voice. “Well, yeh got me. And Sir Nicholas sure seemed fond o’yeh. An’ like yeh said, Professor McGonagall and Bishop are with yeh.”

“Yeah.” Harry said with a watery smile. “Okay.”

“Okay. Well, hm, you best run along then. Go and git yer supper.”

Harry had waved goodbye to Hagrid and did as he was told. He even sort of remembered the way back on his own. He’d only had to ask one portrait of a woman wearing a lemur like a scarf for directions once.

He’d expected to find the tower empty, but McGonagall was sat in a chair by the fire reading a book that looked extremely well loved. The dinner table had been set for three, but Pipsy hadn’t brought any food up yet.

“Hi, Professor. Is Professor Bishop having supper with us tonight?” Harry asked.

“Not tonight.” McGonagall said, “I wanted to speak to you before we eat, if you don’t mind.”

“Ugh, sure?”

Harry moved to sit in the chair beside McGonagall by the fire. As he sat he noticed a leaf clinging the cuff of his trousers. He tried to discreetly brush it off, but McGonagall most certainly noticed. But she very charitably ignored it and smiled warmly at him.

“I know that you’ve been quite concerned about the matter of your preeminent guardian. Professor Bishop and I have taken that matter very seriously, and we feel that we’ve found a suitable arrangement.”

“You have?” Harry’s heartbeat picked up, he was sure McGonagall must be able to hear it!

“Yes, but I want you to know that if you do not agree, for any reason, we will look for another solution. Any reason at all, understand?”

Harry frowned, “Do they not want me?”

“Oh no, child. They do.” McGonagall assured gently, “There are a few circumstances that may make life a little challenging, but I promise you are not the issue.”

“What circumstances?”

“The person we’ve asked to be your guardian happens to also be a werewolf.” McGonagall said in the same manner that she might also say they had brown hair. “He is rather concerned for your wellbeing, should you choose to live with him.”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking down at his knees and thinking back to the book McGonagall had gotten him on magical creatures. There’d been a whole chapter on werewolves. . .

“Aren’t they only really dangerous on the full moon?” He asked at last.

“Yes.” McGonagall nodded, “The moon erodes a wolf’s control, makes them forget the half of themselves that’s human. But it is something that can be prepared for. The moon phases are rather easy to track.”

“Right, so what’s the problem then?”

McGonagall smiled widely, showing far more teeth than usual. “Indeed. He seems to be labouring under the impression that being a werewolf alone is grounds for disqualifying him as your guardian.”

“Why?” Harry said, scrunching his nose, “Don’t werewolves have families?”

“They often do. Most werewolves, even if they do not have children of their own, tend to live in or around extended family groups.”

“Oh, right. I read that. . . they’re called packs, right? Just like regular wolves?”

“That’s right.” McGonagall nodded in approval, “Having a pack is part of what grounds a werewolf. Gives them the strength and support to control their more wild tendencies. They are often very close knit communities.”

“Oh, so does this person's pack not want me? Is it because I’m not a wolf?”

“No. I’m afraid Mr. Lupin no longer has a pack.”

“Mr. Lupin? Like Remus?” Harry said, blinking in surprise.

“Yes. How would you feel about Remus being your new guardian?”

Harry thought back to the nervous man he’d met the other day. He’d been nice, if quiet. “He seemed okay, I guess.”

“I know its hard to envision your life with a stranger.” McGonagall said, “That’s why I wanted you to meet him before either of you made a decision. Remus has been without a pack since your parents died, and that takes a toll on a wolf. I had hoped that meeting the last remaining member of his pack would bring him out of his shell a bit.”

“My parents were his pack?” Harry said, “But, I thought you said they were wizards? Can you be a wizard and a werewolf?”

McGonagall chuckled, “You can, but your parents were not werewolves.”

“But they were his pack?”

“Remember pack is about family, not necessarily what type of creature you are. I knew a lovely young woman from Wales whose pack consisted of a Puca, two witches and a Morgen. She was the only actual werewolf in the pack, but that didn’t change the bond they shared.”

“So, if my parents were his pack that makes me pack too?”

“In this case, yes. Remus, as I said, was very close to your parents. He was there when you were born. A baby being born is a very profound moment in any family. For a wolf those emotions are heightened.”

“What do you mean?”

“The bond they share with their pack members allows a sort of connection to each other. When everyone's emotions are high it can create a sort of loop, where the wolf feels not only their own joy and excitement, but the other's emotions as well. Then place a new baby in the mix and the pack bond tends to form instinctually.” McGonagall said. A sort of far away look in her eye. “And if that bond should break it can be devastating for the same reasons. Imagine being able to feel the emotions of the people you love most in the world and then suddenly, they're all gone.”

Harry was silent, because no, he couldn't imagine. He hadn’t known his parents, or Remus, to really know what it felt like to lose them. Only he’d only ever known them as an abstract concept. If he really thought about it he wasn’t even sure if he really knew what love felt like. How could he? His relatives hadn’t ever shown him love and they were the only family he’d ever kn -

“Wait, aren’t I still his pack? Even if my parents are dead, didn’t he and I still have a pack bond?” Harry asked.

“You certainly can be. I don’t believe the bond was ever actually severed, but time and distance would have put so much strain on it that, well, it certainly wouldn’t be a strong bond.” McGonagall said. Her tone was gentle but it did nothing but stoke a rage that was boiling up in Harry’s belly.

“Is that why I was with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?” Harry said, shocking himself with how angry he was. “The bond wasn’t strong enough so just dump him with whoever?”

“Oh, Harry. No, it was a complicated situation - “

“It always is!” Harry snapped.

“I know.” McGonagall said, so calm and controlled, “but I promise that it had nothing to do with whether or not he wanted you. You remember the talk we had about the war? And how many witches and wizards are . . . fearful of creatures?”

Harry nodded, trying to swallow down his bitterness.

“Well, when you were discovered alive there was a lot of public interest in what would happen to you.” McGonagall said, “And Professor Dumbledore stepped in to both reassure the public that you were provided for, and would benefit from growing up in privacy.”

“Professor Dumbledore? Why would the headmaster -”

“He was, and is, a very influential figure in wizarding society. He was instrumental in both the war efforts, and rebuilding in the aftermath.” McGonagall took her glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of her nose with a sigh, “Dumbledore felt that it would be best for both you and Remus if you were raised by a more. . . neutral party. He knew that there would be a certain amount of, hem, backlash, if the public were to find out that The-Boy-Who-Lived had been entrusted to the care of a werewolf.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Harry said, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“Yes, I know.” McGonagall sighed, “But one of the creatures that witches and wizards fear most of all are werewolves.”

The fire crackled especially loudly in the silence that followed. Harry struggled to find something to say to that. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling anymore, let alone what he was supposed to say.

“So. . . He. . . he didn’t want to take me because people would be mad. Because they would think that he’d hurt me.” Harry said slowly, “And Professor Dumbledore said that the Dursleys’ is where I would be safe.”

McGonagall stayed silent. Harry was vaguely aware of her watching him from the corner of his eye as he watched the fire flicker and he tried to process his feelings.

“I’m his pack.” Harry said, “Which is as good as family.”

“Yes.” McGonagall said when Harry looked up at her for confirmation.

“Right. So, where does he live? I mean, where am I going to live?”

“Lock Arkaig, in Scotland. Rather remote, which is best for Mr. Lupin's condition, but there is a small muggle community nearby. It was actually my mother’s property before her passing.” She smiled gently at the look of surprise on Harry’s face, “Mr. Lupin’s current residence doesn’t have enough room for two people, and Professor Dumbledore was correct about it being beneficial for you to have a home away from the wizarding world. You’ve had a small taste of how the public reacts to seeing you, I’m sure you can imagine how that might be overwhelming.”

“Yeah.” Harry murmured, “So, when do I leave?”

“Ah,” McGonagall said, “Well, you see, Taigh Lyall has been vacant for a number of years. So, Mr. Lupin and I discussed you staying at Hogwarts until the Christmas holidays. That would give Mr. Lupin time to get the place in order.”

“Oh.”

“But, we also wanted to give you and Mr. Lupin an opportunity to get acquainted.” McGonagall said, “Which is why I asked him to join us for supper this evening.”

Harry’s heart stuttered with both excitement and trepidation. “He’s here?”

“On his way. Unless you don’t want to see him. He wants you to have a choice in this. So, if you don’t want to see him right now I’ll send him an owl and tell him not to come.” McGonagall said, her tone even and steady, giving Harry no hint as to how she felt on the matter.

For a second Harry considered telling her to send the owl, but only for a second. Then he considered what his life could look like. What it could be like to live in a place that wasn’t just his relatives home - it was Harry’s home too. What it would be like to live with someone who loved Harry, and who grieved for the people Harry had never had the chance to know.

“I want him to come.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remus hadn’t been to this particular grave yard in nearly ten years. He’d tried. Every year on Halloween he’d buy a bouquet of flowers and go to Godrick’s Hollow with every intention in the world of leaving them on Lily and James’ grave. But getting to the graveyard meant passing their old cottage.

The partly destroyed ruin of the home his friends had so lovingly tried to build had been preserved by the Ministry as a sort of monument. They’d also built an actual monument to go with it. A larger than life statue of the two of them, with their son perched on his mother’s hip. It was a perfect depiction in sparkling gold set in the town square for all who had a bit of magic in their blood to see. To muggles it appeared as a stone fountain, and the ruins of Potter Cottage was a pretty little house. Spelled so that anyone without magic wouldn’t see or think twice about them. And Remus envied them.

The cottage and the statue he could think of when he came anywhere near Godric’s Hollow. The sculptor was very talented. They’d captured James’ cocksure grin perfectly, and Lily’s confidence shone in every line of her sculpted body. From the angle of her chin to the set of her shoulders she looked ready to take on the world. Even baby Harry was accurate down to the scar scattered across his little forehead.

The three of them were so perfectly life like that, except for the colour, they looked like they’d been frozen between one breath and the next. Seeing them felt like finding out they’d been murdered all over again. Every. Single. Time.

He had tried before, but he never made it past the statues or the cottage. Until today. Today he was determined to make it into the graveyard. So, with a largely pink and purple bouquet of flowers clutched to his chest Remus stood at the edge of Godrick’s Hollow.

He stared intently down at the flowers while he tried to get his breathing under control. He was such a mess, he hadn’t even been able to pick the damn flowers out himself. He just stood stupidly in front of a florist’s shop until the shop keeper had come out to ask if he needed anything. Whatever incoherent nonsense he’d managed to stutter out must have caught the man’s attention because he’d taken the reins from then on out. Remus watched as the man had taken a turn about his shop, picking a flower or two seemingly at random. He wrapped them up in tissue paper, tied them together with twine and handed them to Remus.

“There you are, lad.” The florist had said, “Those should do the trick.”

Remus had stammered out his thanks and paid the man without paying much attention to the actual flowers until he was milling about on the outskirts of Godrick’s Hollow trying to work up the nerve to go any further. They were pretty, far more cheerful looking than Remus was capable of actually feeling. They were mostly purples with a couple of pink blooms here and there. He recognized the purple hyacinths and the rosemary, and he thought the round pink flowers may be Camilla’s. There were a few smaller flowers too, with little blooms in a nearly perfect circle in purples, blues and pinks that he didn’t recognize.

Remus really had no idea if James and Lily would like them. . . Well, James probably would have actually. That man loved anything bright and colourful. The man had been drawn to pretty, shiny things like an overgrown magpie. Lily though. . . actually Lily would have hated them. She’d always insisted she didn’t care a whit for fashion but he’d noticed over the years that her personal wardrobe had only ever had colours that complemented her very very red hair. If Remus remembered correctly she’d banned the colour pink from her wedding entirely.

Finally, Remus decided he had to move before one of the townsfolk called the police on the strange man hanging around town. He took a breath, then another, and started walking. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, hoping that if he kept his eyes on the ground he could get through the square without seeing. . .

He hunched his shoulders as the shadow of the statue feel over him, picking up his pace until he was practically running. He kept going, catching sight of the turn off for the Potter’s cottage. By the time he made it to the graveyard he was shaking and a little out of breath. His flowers were slightly crushed and missing a few petals, he noticed with a curse under his breath. He took a minute trying to straighten the bent stems and unbunch the tissue paper. It didn’t help.

With his crumpled flowers in tow, Remus tried his best to remember where they were buried. It didn’t take him long to find, though it was further in than he remembered. There was nothing about the grave to make it immediately stand out from the others, a modest slab of polished granite with names engraved over a set of birth and death dates. Along the bottom the epitaph read ‘the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’. All these years later and he still had mixed feelings about the choice for epitaph. Dumbledore had handled the arrangements. At the time he’d been grateful. If the Ministry had had their way there would have been an entire mausoleum dedicated to the Potters’. A great marble tomb. But he wished Dumbledore had picked something funny for the epitaph, James would have wanted that.

But it wasn’t funny. It was sombre, and vaguely ominous. Or maybe it was supposed to be hopeful and reassuring. . . Remus wasn’t a religious man so he honestly couldn’t tell. More importantly he did not care. His breathing was rapidly becoming hyperventilating as he stared down at the final resting place of two of his dearest friends in the world.

“I, um. I’m so sorry I haven’t v-visted.” Remus said, “It’s been . . . hard. A-and I know that’s. . .” Remus took a gasping breath, his sweaty hands crushing the flowers just a little bit more. He’d thought this would be hard, that it would hurt, but it was so much worse than he’d ever imagined.

“I fucked up, Prongs. Lils.” Remus sobbed out the old childhood nicknames, “I fucked up, and I don’t know how to. . . I don’t know if I can fix it. I just. . . I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t check on him when Dumbledore told me he was fine. I’m sorry I was . . . relieved that it wasn’t my responsibility. That I wouldn’t have to try. It was so much easier to let someone else. . .”

Remus’ voice cracked and gave out on him. He scrubbed roughly at his eyes with the palm of one hand in frustration, desperately trying to regain even a shred of composure.

“I’m trying now.” Remus said eventually, his voice slightly more sure. “I should have been trying a long time ago, I know. McGonagall says it’s a miracle that Harry’s Spark hasn’t burned him out. No one’s really sure how he’s managed to survive. I still don’t know if I can be what he needs, but I’m going to try. I swear.”

Remus knelt and placed the now very rumpled bouquet of flowers on Lily and James’ grave. He stayed down on his knees for a long time, just staring at the date of death engraved under his friends names.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m trying. Okay? I’m trying, I swear.” He whispered.

Of course, there was no answer. He wasn’t sure if he’d expected some sort of sign from the beyond, or for one of their ghosts to appear suddenly to chew him out for abandoning their baby. There was only a bit of bird song in the distance and he could hear a car rumbling down the road. No sense of rebuke or solace washed over him. He just felt a bit empty, the way he always did after he’d had a bit of a cry. Hollow and lonely.

With his mission complete, Remus left. But for the first time in a decade he wasn’t going back to his sad little bedsit to eat beans on toast alone in the dark. He had work to do.

Taigh Lyall, the croft McGonagall had gifted them, was in a true state of disrepair. He’d be hard pressed to get the place in working order before Christmas. It was a very old wizarding home, not a proper Estate, but it had been home to generations of witches and wizards, And since it had been left empty and vacant so long the centuries of spell work woven into the very stones of the foundation had gone a bit wild. The cottage seemed to have developed a very particular sense of the way things should be, and it did not appreciate new magics being introduced or things like dusting and the replacing of furniture.
McGonagall had been popping by a couple times a week to help, and the cottage was much more receptive to her spellwork than Remus’. Though they were all hopeful that the cottage might eventually come to accept it’s new tenants as well, for now Remus found himself barging with an old fashioned cooker about allowing it’s grease stains and soot to be removed. He’d had varying degrees of success.

Remus found it oddly much easier to keep his eyes down as he passed the statue on the way back. He could still feel its presence like a search light following him through a moonless night, but it was somehow easier to keep his eyes down. His steps didn’t falter as he made his way to the apparition point, just outside of town. And when he dissappirated, though he still felt that loneliness, there was just a bit of relief.

He was trying, goddammit.

Chapter Text

The city of London was just starting to rise and welcome the new day as two cloaked figures made their way down the street. None of the other people on the streets paid either of them any mind. If they noticed them at all, it was just enough to wonder at the odd clothing choices of the boy trailing along behind the very stiff looking man.

An elderly woman, on her way to catch the tube to her morning swim class, stopped beside the pair at a crosswalk and chuckled at the sight of them. The little boy had a mop of messy hair, and a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, both of which were perfectly normal for a boy his age. What had caught her attention was the cape he had tied around his shoulders. It was a strikingly old fashioned thing, that looked like it had been handmade; definitely not the pound store costume you saw these days. It made the woman think fondly of costumes she used to make for her daughters. They’d loved playing princesses, and she’d made a few dresses in her day. A couple of those dresses had cloaks, not unlike the one this boy was wearing. Her daughters had insisted that princesses were still princesses in the winter and had absolutely refused to wear their regular jackets over their dresses. They’d been so sweet at that age, she hadn’t been able to refuse them anything.

“My little ones liked to play dress up too.” She said to the man, as they waited for the light to turn.

The man startled a little, before looking down at her with a strained smile.

“Oh, now.” The lady said, “It’s good for them. A healthy imagination is the first step to a creative problem solver! You’ll see. What are you pretending to be, sweetheart?”

The little boy flicked his gaze up to the man for a second before looking back at her and said “A witch.”

“Oh.” The woman said, “That’s. . . nice.”

The light changed and the man grabbed the boy's hand, dragging him across the intersection ahead of the woman. They turned down a side street, leaving her to make her way to the tube station on her own.

When he was sure that they had left the little old lady far behind, Remus dropped Harry’s hand and frowned down at the boy.

“A witch? Really?”

“She asked.” Harry shrugged, “It's not like she believed me.”

Remus sighed, looking to the sky as though he’d be able to find patience amongst the clouds. He’d been going to Hogwarts a couple days a week since they’d been reintroduced. Each visit was slightly less awkward than the last. . . slightly.

All of that awkwardness was on Remus’ part. The last time he’d spent this much time with a child Harry’s age, he himself had been one. And he had clearly lost the ability to function like a normal person because for two straight visits he’d had nothing to say to Harry except to ask how his studies were going. Thankfully, Harry had apparently taken to trying to read all of his text books before the start of term and had a great deal to say. It seemed that once Harry realised that Remus wouldn’t be upset about him asking questions the questions never stopped. He was perfectly happy to quiz Remus on various things he’d been reading.

By the third visit Remus had relaxed some. Enough that he’d begun to offer up a few stories of Lily and James from school. Many of the stories were heavily edited, because could not bring himself to explain that one of the boys from these funny childhood stories would grow up to be the death of both Harry’s parents.

Even the shortened version of these stories made Remus’ heart squeeze in a bittersweet way. It did feel good to remember how they’d been, before the war, before things had gotten so out of control. . . And Harry drank up every new bit of information.

“There's a point for nature over nurture, I suppose.” Remus mumbled under his breath with a shake of his head.

“What do you mean?”

Remus blinked down at Harry, like he hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud. “You just reminded a lot of your father for a moment.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He never missed a chance to be clever.” Remus said with a shake of his head, trying to dispel the image of a young James, grinning and cocksure, that his imagination superimposed over the boy standing in front of him. “And it never failed to get him in trouble.”

Harry, who’d been listening with rapt attention felt his face drain of blood at the implication. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Oh, no. . .” Remus cursed himself silently. McGonagall had given him a whole lecture on being careful on how he spoke to Harry. Specifically about being clear about his intentions and meanings.

“If you don’t make yourself clear, he’s going to fill in the blanks himself.” She’d said, “And he’ll most likely come to the wrong conclusion. Especially if he thinks he’s in trouble.”

Remus’ head was still spinning from that parenting crash course. McGonagall had spent the next half hour assuring Remus that as long as he was patient and communicative everything would be fine. But the older woman clearly hadn’t accounted for Remus’ never ending ability to shove his foot in his own mouth.

“I just meant that your dad was more of the opinion that getting a. . . negative reaction out of someone was the height of comedy.” Remus said, “He was very. . . observant. . . and very good at picking out things about a person that would get the biggest reaction. He got himself into a fair few fights, and many detentions because of it.”

If Remus had thought this clarification would comfort Harry he was sorely mistaken.

“My cousin Dudley is like that a bit.” Harry said, looking down at his own shoes, “He’s not very smart though.”

Remus hadn’t felt this out of depth in his entire life. The first time he’d been left alone with Harry outside of Hogwarts and he’d somehow managed to cock it up before they’d even made it to their destination.

“Children can be cruel,” He said after they’d walked in silence for a few moments, “And it’s often without realising the effect they’re having on the other person. Sometimes when people grow up they’ll understand that the things they said and did as children were mean spirited, even if they hadn’t meant it that way at the time. They learn better ways to use that cleverness. Or how to be funny without being mean.”

“I think Dudley knows he’s being mean.” Harry said with a frown.

“Ah, well. . . some people are. . . just like that I’m afraid.”

“You think my dad grew out of being like that though?”

“I know he did.” Remus said, “James, your father, cared very deeply about his friends and family. It just took him a little while to understand that people outside his circle had feelings that he should consider as well.”

Harry walked along behind him in silence, and Remus was dying to know what was going on in the child’s head. He bit his tongue though. Harry seemed to be sorting out his thoughts on his own. Remus could practically feel the cogs turning under that mop of dark hair. But, whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

When they turned a corner Remus could see the sign for The Leaky Cauldron hanging over the pub that served as the public entrance to Diagon Alley. The closer they got to the pub, the higher Remus’ anxiety climbed.

“Stay close to me once we’re inside.” Remus said, likely unnecessarily as both Professors McGonagall and Bishop had given Harry strict instructions on how to behave before they’d left the castle. “We’ll go straight to the bank and get your keys sorted out.”

“Your key, you mean.” Harry said, “I have my key.”

Remus sighed gustily as he held the door of the pub for Harry to go through. “So you do.”

Harry had taken the news that Remus would be getting access to his Trust Vault oddly well. No one should be that okay with a veritable stranger having nearly unrestricted access to their money.

When McGonagall had told the boy that he would have to go back to Gringotts to have Remus officially added onto the account as his guardian his only question was if that meant they got to ride the mine carts again.

“I’m afraid not.” McGonagall had said, completely straight faced, “There may be some paperwork though.”

Since the beginning of the school year was rapidly approaching, thus limiting Harry’s ability to leave the school, and Taigh Lyall was in desperate need of a new roof it had been decided (by McGonagall) that Remus should be officially added as a key holder to Harry’s Trust.

Tom, the old barkeep, gave a hearty wave when he spotted Remus and beckoned for him to come to the bar. Remus waved back, but only mouthed ‘sorry’ at the man as he pushed Harry towards the entrance to Diagon.

They made their way quickly through the blessedly quiet Alley. None of the other people milling about so much as glanced at them as they passed. Something that Remus was eternally grateful for. When they got to the bank there was only one elderly witch standing at the counter and gossiping with one of the tellers. They were bent over the counter nearly nose to nose as they whispered heatedly.

They waited patiently for one of the other tellers to beckon them forward.

“What?” The gnarled old goblin behind the desk barked at them when they approached.

Harry stood on his tiptoes to reach the top of the counter and slid his vault key towards the goblin. “Hi,” he said brightly, “I need to give Remus access to my Trust Vault. He’s going to be my guardian now.”

The goblin glared down at Harry then turned to bare his teeth at Remus in what the man thought might be a smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay here.” The goblin sniffed, “I’ll get the Blood Quill.”

Three hours, a veritable mountain of paperwork, and what felt like a quart of Remus’ blood they left the bank. The goblin, whose name was Griphook apparently, had made Remus sign three different contracts swearing that he wouldn’t spend so much as a knut on anything that didn’t directly benefit Harry or the Potter Estate in blood. Each of the contracts had promised a gruesome death if he breached the contract, and had been extraordinarily explicit about those deaths.

Remus thought he might actually have a few nightmares about the second contract. Griphook must have recognized him as a werewolf, even if he hadn’t said anything. Why else would aconite poisoning be the punishment for failing to adhere to clause 47(b) regarding paying for medical care for the Trustee, including, but not limited to, injuries inflicted by magical creatures or beings?

The Alley was much busier than when they’d gone into the bank. Remus was just considering asking Harry to pull the hood of his cloak over his head, so they’d have a better chance of getting through without too much fuss. But as he opened his mouth to make the suggestion a familiar voice called out at them.

“Good lord! Remus? Remus Lupin is that you?”

Standing in the middle of a group of children, all of whom had violently red hair, as though he’d sprung up from the ground underneath them stood a man with equally red hair, and a wide grin plastered across his face.

“Arthur?” Remus said, a smile tugging at the corner of his own mouth, “What’s this? Did Molly let you out unsupervised?”

“Ah! I knew that was you old chap - watch out now, Ron. Percy! Hold your sister’s hand, please? There we are.” Arthur extracted himself from the gaggle of children with all the grace of a three legged giraffe, and practically bounced across the street to pull Remus into a brisk hug, giving his back a slap as they parted.

“I’d started to think you’d left the country.” Arthur said, “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“It’s good to see you,” Remus said, genuinely meaning it, “I’ve been meaning to write time just sort of gets away from you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh! You don’t have to tell me.” Arthur said, nodding sagely, “I can hardly keep track of myself. Molly’s getting school supplies for our youngest boy, can you beli - Oh! Hello there. Who is this?”

Harry, who had been standing slightly behind Remus, and inspecting a barrel full of eel eyes on display outside a nearby shop blinked up at Arthur with wide eyes. He flicked his gaze over to Remus briefly, but he stayed silent.

“This is Harry.” Remus said. Then when Arthur looked up at him with a look of bemusement he said, “Potter.”

Arthur blinked once, looked back down at Harry and stared intently at him for a drawn out moment before exclaiming “Oh!” loudly.

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” Arthur said, still rather loudly as his children started to whisper and elbow each other.

“You too, sir.” Harry said, though he was still watching Remus out of the corner of his eye.

“I must say, Remus, I had wondered if you’d been the one to take him in. What with James’ parents being gone, and. . . well -”

“It’s a new arrangement.” Remus cut in sharply, “Harry and I are just getting reacquainted.”

“Oh?” Arthur’s brows drew down into a firm line, “Everything alright?”

“We’re getting there.” Remus said, clearing his throat. He spared a quick glance for Harry, hoping that he wasn’t lying or. . . overstepping. They’d been getting on so far, that much was true. He couldn’t even imagine how he would have taken the whole situation at Harry’s age. Let alone if he’d had to deal with. . . everything else that was on the boy’s plate as well.

Arthur looked between Remus and Harry with a frown before he gave himself a little shake and went right back to beaming happily at the pair of them.

“Well, Rem, now that I know you haven’t gone off to live in a jungle somewhere you’ll have to come round for tea. Molly would love to see you. And I’m sure the boys would all get along.”

Remus had a polite but noncommittal response on the tip of his tongue, but changed his mind so fast he nearly bit his own tongue. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Arthur’s children. Three of the boys, one that looked to be Harry’s age and two slightly older that had to be twins, were elbowing each other and trying to quietly wrestle. The twins were what really caught his attention, as a long ago conversation bubbled up from somewhere in his subconscious.

“Arthur and Molly had a couple more kids.” James said, eyes still glued to the letter he was reading.

“A couple?” Sir - someone asked, “What did they find one on the side of the road?”

“No, idiot.” James scoffed, “They had twins. But that’s not the crazy part - they’re Sparks!”

“That sounds lovely.” Remus said, “Actually, and I hope it’s not a bother, but do you think we could plan something this week? Before the boys start school?”

“Bother? Molly will be thrilled.” Arthur crowed, “How about I send you an owl this evening once she and I have worked out a day, hm?”

“That’s great, Arthur. I’ll watch for it. Talk soon?”

“Absolutely! I’ll let you get on with your day.” Arthur clapped a hand on Remus’ shoulder before turning back to the group of children - the youngest boy was full out wrestling with one of the twins now - and wrangled them all with a cry of “Come on Weasley’s!” into heading off up the street in a reasonably orderly line.

Remus gave a final wave to Arthur’s retreating back, then turned to Harry and gestured in the direction they’d been walking. “Shall we?”

Harry nodded and followed Remus like a shadow. His silence wasn’t new, and there wasn’t anything about his body language that even remotely signal to Remus that there was anything wrong. . . but an itch had started in his brian as soon as he’d opened his mouth about dinner with the Weasley’s. With every step the itch grew and grew, until Remus couldn’t help but scratch it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask how you felt about having dinner with Arthur and his family.” Remus blurted out, startling Harry so badly the boy actually jumped a little.

“S’alright.” Harry said, once he’d recovered.

“I know that Arthur and I implied you and his kids, and I just want to make sure you know that you don’t have to be friends with them just because I’m friends with their parents.” Remus continued, sounding slightly manic even to his own ears, “But I remember when I started Hogwarts. . . getting on the train without knowing anyone was. . . frightening. Especially when I started seeing how many other students did know each other. And I know that four of Arthur’s boys are at Hogwarts now, and two of them are Sparks, so I thought it would be nice if - “

“What?”

It was Remus’ turn to be startled by Harry’s sharp interjection when he looked down at the child he was sheepishly playing with the sleeve of his jumper.

“Sorry.” Harry said, “It’s just Professor Bishop said there weren’t very many Sparks at all and I thought they were all older than me.”

“The twins are a year or so older than you if I remember right.” Remus nodded, “But they have a younger boy that I’m fairly sure is starting this year with you. He’s not a Spark as far as I know, but you’ll likely have a few classes together.”

Harry was quiet and, though Remus might be imaging it, he seemed. . . settled, maybe? Hopefully.

“That’s alright then.” Harry said finally, “But I don’t have to be friends, right? If they haven't grown out of being mean yet, or whatever?”

“Of course not.” Remus rushed to assure him, “If you don’t get on, that’s absolutely fine. I’m sure you’ll find friends in your year in no time at all.”

“They’re not going to be weird, are they?” Harry said a little hesitantly as they continued on through the brick wall into the Leaky Cauldron.

Remus gestured to let Harry know that he’d heard him but waited until they’d made it through the pub and out onto the street before responding. The pub was much busier than when they’d come in, and Remus noticed a couple of heads turning their way as they passed. No one approached them, but it was clear that word must have started to spread that Harry Potter was in Diagon Alley. The attention was clearly not lost on Harry either as his shoulders stiffened, and he walked just a little bit closer to Remus.

“Weird like that you mean?” Remus asked once they were out of the street.

“They just stare so much.” Harry said.

“I know. I wish I could make them stop.” Remus said with a sigh, “And I can’t promise that the Wealey kids won’t be weird either. I do think that even if they’re weird at first they’ll get over it.”

The incredulous look Harry shot at Remus made the man laugh out loud.

“I just mean that they’ve likely heard the story of how The-Boy-Who-Lived defeated the You-Know-Who their whole lives. It might take them a little while to realise you’re just a kid yourself. Once they get over all the other nonsense, they’ll be able to get to know you as a person.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

It was said so quietly that if Remus hadn’t been paying attention he’d have missed it. His gut clenched in sympathy, remembering his own sleepless nights thinking about trying to make friends while wholeheartedly believing none of his classmates would even want to be in the same room with him if they knew his secret. He still carried those thoughts with him now. Even though he’d made some truly wonderful friends who never batted an eye over his lycanthropy. The childish fear of rejection had matured into the knowledge that the people who mattered wouldn’t care, but it would still be the end of his ability to exist peacefully in the wizarding world if word of his condition ever got out. Harry was facing distinctly different challenges, but they were no less daunting to the eleven year old that Remus’ were.

“I don’t know.” Remus said, “Sometimes people just don’t get along. And that’s okay. All you can do is treat them the way you would want a friend to treat you.”

“Not sure I really know how to do that.” Harry admitted ruefully, “I never had any friends before. Hagrid’s my friend now, but he’s an adult.”

“Hagrid is an easy person to be friends with.” Remus said, biting back a smile, “And I think you’ll be better at making friends than you give yourself credit for.”

“You would think that.” Harry grumbled, “Professor Bishop says you have to like me ‘cause we’re pack.”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Professor Bishop told you I had to like you?”

“Well. . . not exactly.” Harry said, “She said we were bonded because my parents were your pack and that made us family.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, he knew that Bishop had explained about werewolves and pack dynamics. She’d told Remus as much, but hearing the child reference packs in the context of family was jarring in a way he hadn’t felt since James had died. . .

“That’s, ah, Hm. I think you know better than most that being family doesn’t mean you have to like someone. I'm bonded to you because we're a pack, I like you because you’re a kind hearted, and very smart, little boy who reminds me very much of my favourite parts of your parents.”

That little speech definitely seemed to catch Harry off guard, something that Remus was grateful for. His throat had gone tight and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He’d mostly regained composure by the time they made it to the park with the hidden apparition point they’d used to come from Hogsmeade that morning.

“Ready?” He asked Harry, voice only a little hoarse with emotion.

Harry nodded, and took hold of the arm Remus offered him. The man turned on his heel and the two of them disappeared with a loud 'crack'!

Chapter Text

Harry dreamt of the Quiet Boy again.

It was the first time he’d had the dream since coming to Hogwarts. He hadn’t really given the dreams much thought, or even realized that he’d stopped having them until he’d found himself in the hazy room once more. If he had stopped to think about it he might have thought that he stopped dreaming of the imaginary boy when he’d started making real friends.

He wasn’t exactly disappointed to have the dream again. It was an old comfort in his news life. So, for the first time when the boy came towards Harry with his arms held out for a hug and a smile plastered on his face, Harry smiled back.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks so suddenly that he sort of swayed on the spot before abruptly regaining his balance. The boy stared into Harry’s eyes, holding that eye contact as he hesitantly moved forward, hands reaching for Harry’s face. 

Harry, although confused, let the boy take his head in both hands, twisting it this way and that. He had no idea what the boy was looking for, or what seemed to be unnerving him so much. All Harry had done was smile. . . 

When the boy finally finished whatever inspection he was doing he turned Harry’s head so that they were eye to eye. The boy was breathing heavily, his doe eyes wide as he stared into Harry’s own. 

Then, like so many times before, the boy tried to speak. And like every one of those times no sound came out, though he seemed to be trying especially hard to communicate with Harry this time. His mouth moved slowly and deliberately, as though he was hoping Harry would be able to understand him if he just tried hard enough. Not that it helped.

Try as he might, Harry couldn’t understand what the boy was trying to say. He wanted to, it felt important. . . like he needed to know what the boy was saying. He tried and tried to read the boy's lips, while straining his ears for even the hint of a whisper. But when he woke up it was with disappointment weighing heavy in his chest.

It soured his mood all morning. He managed a mumbled ‘good morning’ for Professor McGonagall when she met him for breakfast, but didn’t contribute to any of her attempts at conversation. McGonagall took his mood in stride, and after a couple of failed attempts to engage him she let him poke at his breakfast in peace.

They were nearly finished when an urgent tapping on the tower’s window rang through the room. A very ornery little barn owl hooted at them and tapped a little harder when he realized that they’d seen him, but hadn’t moved to let him in.

“Tsk.” McGonagall clicked her tongue in disapproval, as she pulled her wand from her sleeve  “Impatient little fellow.”

She waved her wand at the window's lock, which unlocked with a 'click’, and the window swung open. The owl swooped in just as soon as the opening was wide enough and landed on the table in front of Harry, held its leg out imperiously and clicked its beak at him. 

Harry looked up at McGonagall helplessly until the older woman coaxed him into untying the letter attached to the owl’s leg. Once Harry had the letter the owl immediately took off and flew back out the still open window.

“He was in a hurry.” McGonagall remarked lightly as she flicked her wand at the window again, making it close with another quiet ‘click’.

“Yeah.” Harry said, “Are they always like that?”

“No. Although I do find that Post Office owls tend to be a little more abrupt than most.”

Harry nodded as he opened his letter, well it was more of a note.

Harry,

Arthur and Molly would like to have us over. 

Remus

“Ugh,” Harry coughed, as he finished reading the note. “I think Remus is coming to pick me up.”

McGonagall paused mid sip of tea to raise an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“He didn’t exactly say a time. . . or day?”

McGonagall sighed, setting her cup down. “That boy. I’d like to say I’m surprised at him, but. . . well, he was one of the brightest students of his year, but details frequently. . . escaped him. He’d have a wonderfully crafted essay, but forget to sign his name for example.”

“Really?” Harry grinned.

“Really.” McGonagall shook her head ruefully, “I’m not sure I ever saw him with a complete school uniform in his seven years at school. He was forever missing his tie, or over robe. I’m not sure he’d have made it to any meals on time if it wasn’t for your father. I would suggest sending him a reply and asking what time he’ll be picking you up.”

“Yeah. . . can I use one of the school owls?” Harry asked, “Since the other one’s gone?”

“Of course.”

So, Harry finished his breakfast, penned a reply to Remus and headed off to the Owlery. He’d been so preoccupied by the dream that he’d completely forgotten to be nervous about meeting Remus’ friends. Now it was all he could think about.

His nervous energy carried him to the Owlery in record time. It was a little quieter than usual, most of the owls having found a roost for the day. He scanned the pillar in the center of the room that housed all the owl’s, trying to see if he could spot one that was still awake. None of them looked particularly eager to take his letter so he climbed about midway up the spiraling owlery stairs and picked the first one that opened its eyes when he got near.

Harry was unsuccessfully trying to coax the very sleepy owl into taking his letter when a booming voice called up to him.

“Hullo there! Yer up early.”

Harry beamed down at the giant of a man, “Hey, Hagrid!”

“Havin’ some trouble there?” Hagrid asked.

“They don’t really want to take my letter.” Harry shrugged.

“Ah, t’s a tad early fer the little mites.” Hagrid hummed, then he pointed to a large horned owl, “Try Herman, he’s a good sort.”

Herman was much more agreeable. He took the letter with only a little disgruntled bark, and a couple ruffled feathers. Harry watched as Herman swooped out one of the many windows that lined the tower’s outer walls. He still found it amazing that the owls just knew where to go, even after watching McGonagall and Bishop get their own mail and even the newspaper delivered on multiple occasions. The owls that delivered the paper even had a little pouch to collect payment attached to their legs. Bishop had warned Harry that the owls knew exactly how much they were due as well, and would not take kindly to being short changed.

“Thanks, Hagrid.” Harry said as he took the stairs two of a time until he was down at Hagrid’s level. “Are you sending a letter too?”

“Nah, just checkin’ up on a patient.” Hagrid pointed out a little brown barn owl with a splint on its wing that was staring down at them dolefully down at them from the level above.

“Awe. Is he going to be okay?”

“If ‘e stops pullin’ the splint off all o’the time ‘e will be.” Hagrid huffed, “If ‘e can’ leave it be fer at least another week, I’ll ‘ave t’bring ‘im back down t’my hut. Keep a closer eye on ‘im.”

“Guess that’s not so bad.”

“They always think its the end o’ the world.” Hagrid chuckled, “They’re meant ‘t fly. Don’ like bein’ cooped up. An’ I can’ say as I blame ‘em.”

“No, me either.” Harry said. He loitered around as Hagrid climbed up the stairs and checked the little owl over. Hagrid must have been satisfied with what he saw, because he came back down the stairs without the owl. 

“Well, I recon he’ll be a’right for awhile. Have t’see if ‘e leaves the splint alone t’night now.” Hagrid said. “What have you got on fer t’rest o’ the day then? Hm? School’s startin’ soon, you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry said, “It’ll be different when there’s a bunch of people here.”

“Always is.” Hagrid agreed, “But it’s good, too! Castle’s meant t’be lived in. S’sides, you’ll finally be able t’put all them books yer readin’ t’use. An’ ye’ll have a whole herd o’ friends before ya know it.”

Harry hummed, he watched as a few owl’s swooped in and out of the tower. “Do you know any of the Weasleys?”

“Weasleys?” Hagrid’s beard twitched, hiding a smile under a mountain of hair, “Sure.”

“Remus is taking me to meet them.” Harry said, hands in his pockets, “Says that the twins are Sparks like me.”

“Oh, aye. The twins.” Hagrid chuckled, “I been spendin’ th’last two years chasin’ ‘em out o’the forest. Good kids.”

“You chase them out?” Harry scrunched his nose in confusion, “But you take me in all the time.”

“Well,” Hagrid cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Yer with me, aren’t ya? S’different.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry said with a grin. “But they’re nice?”

“They’re a good sort, the Weasleys.” Hagrid said, “Known Arthur ‘n Molly a long time. An’ I’ve liked all the kids that’ve come thru so far. Not a bad one in the lot. Tha’ third one - Percy - bit o’ a stickler fer the rules. But ‘e’s helps the younger years find their way, yeh know? Liked Charlie a lot. Real good wit animals.”

Harry nodded, still not sure if he felt any better about meeting them all. Everyone agreed they were good people. But good did not necessarily translate to kind. And even if they were both good and kind, that didn’t mean they would be either of those things to Harry. When he looked back at Hagrid the man was watching him, but whatever he saw, he kept to himself.

“Ya know,” Hagrid said, “I reckon ye might be in need o’ yer own owl. Can’t have Remus runnin’ t’ the post office every time ye write a letter.”

“McGonagall says I’m allowed to use the school owls.” Harry shrugged. 

“Well, yeah.” Hagrid said, scratching at his beard, “but what about when yer on holiday’s and want to send a letter t’yer friends?”

Harry hadn’t thought about that. Of course, that depended on him making friends that he could write letters to, but if he did it would be nice. . . Maybe he could write letters to Hagrid even if he didn’t make any other friends.

“I guess.” Harry said.

“Somthin’ t’think about anyway.” Hagrid said, clearing his throat with a cough. “Well, I best be gettin back to it. You have a good visit now, yeah?”

“Thanks, Hagrid.”

Once Hagrid had left Harry was left trying to decide what to do with himself. He supposed the best thing to do would be to go back to the tower. That way Remus’ return owl would be able to get to him easily, or if Remus showed up then he would be able to find Harry. 

Mind made up Harry made the trek back to the Sparks Tower. By the time that he got to the tower McGonagall was gone and Pipsy had cleared away the breakfast table, leaving the common room back in its original state. 

After a moment of deliberation Harry decided to settle himself in one of the plush armchairs by the window with a book called “One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi”. It was one of the books included with his school supplies list, he’d flipped through it a bit before but hadn’t really read it. The whole book was essentially a guide to the different plants that were used for making potions, and what their effects were. Some of the plants were normal plants that Harry himself had seen before - like daisy root and poppy seeds, but many of them were things that Harry would never have dreamed of. He wasn’t entirely sure why the mandrake root (an ugly little tuber that vaguely resembled a humanoid baby) cried, but from the description he very much hoped he never heard one. Apparently, they could burst your eardrums.

Harry was just reading a passage about something called a bezoar, and trying to figure out how you were supposed to get it out of a goat’s belly, when a tapping on the window echoed through the room for the second time that morning.

Harry set his book down and went to let Herman inside. The owl swooped in, landed on the back of the chair that Harry had been sitting in. He held out a leg, letter attached, and barked at Harry until he came to untie the letter.

“Guess it’s not just post owls.” Harry muttered when Herman took off as soon as the letter was free. 

He opened the letter as he went to close the window again, and settled back into his chair to read it.

Harry

Sorry. Yes, I’ll come pick you up after lunch and we’ll visit with the Weasley’s for the afternoon. We’ll stay for tea - but only if you want!

Sorry again,

Remus

Harry had to chuckle at the frantically scrawled note. He thought he might show it to McGonagall later, she might find it funny how accurate she’d been about her former student. Remus still hadn’t given an exact time, just ‘after lunch’. 

Putting the note from Remus aside, Harry picked his book back up and settled in to amuse himself until his new guardian came to collect him. 

It turned out to be a rather pleasant morning. Harry read for a bit longer, and then decided that he would take a walk down by the lake and see if the giant squid was near the surface today. And after an hour or so of wandering around the edge of the Black Lake, watching for any tell-tale ripples in the water, he went back up to the castle for lunch. 

Professor Bishop joined him for his meal. When she asked him what his plans were for the afternoon, and Harry told her the plans Remus had made for them, she set her teacup down with a sharp click. 

Bishop leaned forward, staring Harry dead in the eyes and said, “You tell those twins that if they bring one more dung bomb into my tower I’ll make them scrub this whole castle stone by stone with toothbrushes.”

Taken aback, Harry asked rather dumbly, “What’s a dung bomb?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like, boy-o.” Bishop waved a hand dismissively at him, sitting back in her chair, “I can’t abide the smell. Takes forever to get the stink out of upholstery, and those little heathens manage to smuggle a handful each in every semester. So, you tell them I’m not having it this year! Those damnable things are for outside - where the wind can take the smell away.”

“Okay.” Harry said, turning back to his own cup.

Bishop spent the rest of the meal grumbling under her breath about something called ‘Zonkos’ and it (or him?) was an enabler. Harry stayed quiet through the old woman’s rant, he’d never seen her like this, and he made a mental note to stay far away from dung bombs and whatever Zonkos was.

After lunch Harry was left alone in the tower again, but not for long. It seemed that Pipsy had just cleared the table away and set the room back to normal when the portrait guarding the tower door gave a resounding creak and swung inward.

Remus climbed through the entrance, still a little wind swept from his walk up to the castle. He sight of Harry and smiled, equal parts warm and anxious.

“Hello there,” Remus said, “Ready to go?”

The nerves that Harry had been pushing down, bubbled up in his belly. He closed the book he’d been flipping through to pass time and pushed it onto the dainty little side table beside his chair. 

“Yeah, sure.” he said, “ready when you are.”

Remus’ own smile faltered a little. “It’s okay if you’re feeling a bit nervous. I really think that you’ll benefit from making a few friends before school starts, but if we get there and you’re uncomfortable we can leave. At any time.”

It was the same assurance that Remus had given the before, and Harry still wasn’t sure he totally believed him. The parents were Remus’ friends after all, and he wasn’t going to want to offend them. Especially if it was just because Harry didn’t want to be friends with their kids. It would make everything ten times more uncomfortable if Harry asked Remus to leave and he said ‘no’. The Weasley’s would know he didn’t want to be around them, and he’d have to be at school with the kids all year.

Instead of voicing any of this Harry said, “Okay, thanks Remus.”

The man gave him a look, like he was trying to find some hidden meaning. So, Harry put his most neutral “Aunt Marge is visiting so you best behave, boy” face and waited for Remus to speak, or do something.

After a moment Remus shook his head, “Alright, let’s head out.”

Harry jumped to follow Remus out of the tower. They had a relatively quiet walk through the castle with Remus asking the occasional question about what Harry had been reading about. Harry’s favourite thing about Remus was that he’d listen to just about any old thing Harry had to say. Both Professors’ Bishop and McGonagall listened to him, sure. But they would also turn any of his comments into small lectures. He’d learned an incredible amount in the last month, and he appreciated that. He really did, but it was also nice not to have every one of his observations or off hand remarks turned into a lesson. Remus just seemed to actually like listening to Harry’s thoughts on the things he was reading. It was . . . nice.

Once they were through the castles’ wards Remus offered Harry his arm, which Harry took with a little grimace. Apparition was not Harry’s favourite way to travel. It never got less nauseating, but it was very convenient. One moment they were standing outside the gates of Hogwarts, then next they were standing outside the garden of the strangest house Harry had ever seen.

It was like someone had built a cottage, and then just kept sticking on levels here and there. It had to be magic that kept the building standing, because Harry was very sure a strong wind would knock over any muggle building with that much of a lean to it. Besides the strange construction of the building, Harry felt like it radiated a sense of . . . welcome. He wasn’t sure he would be able to articulate the feeling if he was asked, but. . . it was a sort of warm glow from the building itself. Like the building was glad to see them. 

Harry was a bit entranced by the home, and hadn’t realized that Remus had gone to open the garden gate until the man called his name. Harry gave himself a little shake and hurried to catch up.

Remus led the way up the garden path, to the front door. He knocked twice and stepped back. They didn’t have long to wait, just a few moments later the door opened to reveal a short, stout woman with waves of coppery red hair falling to her shoulders. She was wearing an ankle length dress with a paisley pattern, with a flour stained apron over top. It was remarkably normal compared to the robes that Harry had become accustomed to seeing of Bishop and McGonagall. 

“Hello, dear.” The woman said, smiling down at Harry, “I’m Molly.”

“‘Lo,” Harry said, belatedly remembering he was supposed to respond after an awkward pause, “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“What a polite young man!” Molly said, “That’s certainly refreshing. Why don’t you come into the kitchen? My lot are just finishing up lunch. Have you eaten, dear? Yes? How about a cup of tea then? You sit right here. Remus, make yourself at home, I’ll get you a cup too.”

Molly ushered Harry inside ahead of her, calling over her shoulder for Remus to follow as she pulled an empty chain out for Harry to sit in.

Feeling a bit like a lump, Harry sat and tried not to fidget as all five of the red headed children he’d seen the other day had stopped eating to stare at him. A teacup floated over to land in front of him, and he picked it up just so he could have something to do with his hands.

“There now. Sugar, dears?” Molly asked, already floating the sugar bowl over. 

“Yes, thanks Molly.” Remus said as he drops a cube in Harry’s tea, and four into his own.

“Still trying to rot the teeth out of your head, I see.” Molly ‘tsked’ her tongue disapprovingly.

“Well, if at first you don’t succeed and all that.” Remus said cheerfully, taking a sip, humming to himself completely and then adding a fifth sugar cube. The man had relaxed considerably since they’d arrived, it was a striking enough difference to Harry who’d become used to the man fidgeting a little through all their interactions. Remus’ smile was easy, and open as he looked around the table at the other children and said,  “I’m afraid I didn’t get an introduction to the rest of the clan.”

“Oh! Where are my manners? That’s Percy at the end there, he’s in fifth year, and has been named Prefect if you can believe it.” Molly said, the other three boys all rolled their eyes in tandem, as Percy puffed up proudly displaying the badge on his chest. 

“There’s Fred and George, they’ll be third years - and their sole responsibility this year is to get fewer detentions than last year.” Molly delivered that last bit with a stern glare that had seemingly zero effect on the twins.

“Won’t be hard,” one twin said with a yawn.

The second twin threw a wink at Harry and said, “It was a banner year for us.”

“If you want to stay on the quidditch team you’ll spend more time on homework and less time causing trouble.” Molly said sternly.

“Yes, Mum!”

Molly sent another glare at the twins for good measure, but then lightened considerably as she turned to the next child, “This is Ronnie, it’s his first year at Hogwarts this year.”

“It’s Ron.” The freckled boy grumbled into his bowl of soup.

“And this is Ginny. She’ll start school next year.” Molly finished, running a hand through her daughter's hair, though the girl hardly seemed to notice. She’d frozen in place when the two newcomers hand entreed, and Harry was a little concerned that she might not be breathing. . . 

“Pleasure to meet you all.” Remus said, smiling at the group of children. “This is Harry, he’s starting at Hogwarts this year too. And I’m Remus - sadly, I will not be going to Hogwarts this year.”

The Weasley’s snickered as their mother huffed and rolled her eyes. She swatted lightly at Remus’ arm and pointed to the cup of tea sitting in front of him. 

“You hush and drink your tea, Remus Lupin. I take enough cheek from my children, I’ll not be taking it from you as well!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Mhm.”

When Remus obediently picked up his teacup and took a sip Harry did the same. He could feel the other children’s eyes burning into the side of his head, his face felt flush with the heat of it. The four younger Weasley’s in particular sat in a sort of staring contest with Harry, while Harry himself stared resolutely at the wall behind them. Even the oldest boy, Percy, seemed to be pretending to read while he stared at Harry over the top of his book.

The children's awkwardness must have been felt by the adults in the room, as Harry could see Molly and Remus exchange a look themselves. And thankfully, Molly took pity on them. 

Molly took a quick glance at each of her children’s plates, and when she saw they were all mostly empty she clapped her hands together briskly. “Alright you lot. Get out of my kitchen. Go outside, breathe some fresh air. DO NOT TOUCH MY ROSES!”

Molly huffed as the dust settled after the stampede of red headed children rushing out the backdoor. They left the table in a disarray of dirty dishes, cutlery scattered everywhere, crumbs covering nearly every surface, and a particularly stunned looking Harry.

Remus nearly choked trying not to laugh at the baffled look on the boy's face as he stared at the still open door. 

“Why don’t you go too, Harry?” Remus said when Harry didn’t move after a moment.

Harry swung his head around to blink at Remus. His glasses had slipped part way down his nose, and that combined with his usual bird's nest of hair gave him the appearance of having gone through a wind tunnel.

“Oh!” Harry said, like it had just occurred to him that he was included in the ‘lot’. He slid off his chair and headed off into the garden, belatedly remembering to pull the kitchen door closed after himself.

Once he was outside, with the door pulled closed behind him, Harry turned around to find all five of the Weasley children staring at him silently.

“Ugh, hi.” Harry said, with an awkward little wave.

Once of the twins snorted out a laugh, breaking whatever invisible force had been holding them all silent.

“Are you actually the Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out, before any of his siblings could get a word in.

“Ronald!” The oldest boy, Percy, gasped, “H-”

Whatever Percy was going to say was drowned out entirely by one of the twins crying out as he swooned and fell into the waiting arms of his twin.

“How uncouth, Ronald!” Twin number one sobbed, completely dry eyed but with the utmost hysterics. 

“Look how you’ve upset him!” Twin number two scolded Ron, patting his twin on the back.

“I can’t take it, Georgie! Where are his manners?”

“I don’t know, Freddie. Clearly he was raised in a barn.”

“No, a shed!”

“In the woods - “

“By pixies - “

“That’s  enough!” Percy snapped, “That’s no way to behave around a guest. He’ll think our parents actually did raise us all in a barn!”

Harry, who’d been watching the dramatics with a mix of bewilderment and delight, jumped as Percy finished his speech by pointing at him. The other Weasley siblings all turned to him in tandem.

“Er,” Harry cleared his suddenly very dry throat, “I don’t mind, really. Yes, I am Harry Potter. But I don’t remember anything about the night my parents died or anything.”

“Well, you were just a baby.” Percy said, “Obviously, you wouldn’t  remember it. Surely no one would expect you to. . .”

Harry shrugged, “Professor McGonagall says people think I’m the one who stopped what’s his name. . . It’s just easier to get it out of the way, isn’t it?”

“But. . . it was you?” Ron insisted, “Everyone knows that.”

“Can’t have been.” Harry shrugged, “I was a baby. Besides, I didn’t even know about magic until this summer.”

“What d’you mean?” Fred asked from where he was still lying on the ground, his expression had lost any trace of his earlier teasing smile.

For the umpteenth time that day Harry shrugged, “My aunt and uncle are muggles. They said magic wasn’t real. Even when I made stuff happen, they said it wasn’t magic. No matter what happened.”

“But you’re Harry Potter! And a Spark!” Ron cried in disbelief.

“Ron!” Percy gasped again, “Honestly!”

“You don’t still live with your aunt and uncle, do you?” George asked, his expression just as serious as his twin’s.

“No. Remus is supposed to be my guardian now.” Harry said, “He’s still fixing up the house though, so I’m staying at the castle.”

“All by yourself?” asked Ginny, who Harry had completely forgotten was there.

“Well, the professors are there. And Hagrid.” Harry said.

“Imagine the stuff we could get away with if we had the whole castle to ourselves, Georgie.” Fred said wistfully.

“All that would mean is that the professors would have more time to focus on the two of you.” Percy scoffed, “You wouldn't get away with anything.”

“Such a killjoy.” Fred rolled to his feet, brushing dust off his trousers. “What’s the verdict, Harry old chap? Are you feeling highly supervised, or more like you could get away with planting a couple hundred dung bombs in the dorms?”

“I don’t think I’m that unsupervised.” Harry admitted with a surprised laugh, “McGonagall said I could mostly go wherever, so long as I stayed out of the dungeons and forest.”

“Ah, yes. Best to steer clear of Snape if you can.” The three oldest Weasley’s nodded solemnly. 

“He seemed alight.” Harry said.

“Did he?” Fred said in genuine surprise.

“Yeah, bit stiff maybe. But he’s helped me out a couple times though. Can’t be all bad.”

“I think you’ll find you’re the only student that feels that way.” Fred said, “Even the Slytherines know not to piss him off.”

“And he favours them like you wouldn’t believe.” added George.

“Really?” Harry thought back to the handful of times he’d interacted with the Professor. He supposed that Snape could turn mean if you crossed him, but Harry was having a hard time imagining him as someone to be afraid off. He’d just seemed sort of annoyed about. . . life.

“Have you two ever thought that he may be less nasty if you stopped causing so much trouble in his class?” Percy said in an arch tone.

“Maybe.” George said, with a lopsided grin.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Fred said, a matching grin plastered across his face.

“The fun would be winning the House Cup for once.” 

“Oh, Percy.” Fred shook his head in mock disappointment, “So brilliant, yet so limited.”

Harry took a side step closer to where the younger two Weasley’s were standing as Percy sputtered out an indignant series of denials over his limitations.

“Are they always like this?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

“Always,” Ron said as his sister nodded along beside him. “The twins get bored easy. Best not to interfere once they’ve picked a target, it won’t help and they’ll just start in on you too.”

“Right.” Harry said, thinking of Bishop’s dung bomb rant earlier, “So. . . should we just wait for them to finish or?”

“They’ll probably be at it for ages.” Ron said, “We can go fly for a bit if you want. Dad’s got an old Comet 260. . . it’s not very fast, and it might try to buck you off, but if you stay low it won’t hurt too bad.”

Harry was coming to terms with the fact that he would likely never stop being surprised by things magic people just said, like it was totally normal. “We could go fly”, as if that was just as exciting as a bike ride through the park.

“What’s a Comet 260?” Harry asked.

“Just an old model racing broom.” Ron said, “I guess it was popular when mum and dad were at school. It’s a bit rubbish now though.”

“Sorry, a racing broom ?”

Ron stared at Harry as though the other boy had suddenly sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead for a second before his expression cleared. “Oh, you’ve never flown before, have you?”

Harry shook his head, still stuck on the idea of using a broom for racing, flying. . . or anything other than sweeping. 

“So, no Quidditch either then?”

“McGonagall said something about that, but she never really explained what it was.”

This opened the floodgates of information. The twins disengaged from their older brother as they started hearing Ron explain the rules of this game that was apparently played while flying on broomsticks. Or, at least Ron was trying. The Twins seemed to just wait for their brother to say something and then re-explained whatever Ron had said a little louder. Harry was able to hear enough to gather that Quidditch was some sort of sport. The rules of the game seemed a bit odd, and he had no idea what a bludger was or why you’d need a bat to beat one with. It sounded a bit mental, but the idea of being able to fly had really taken hold of Harry’s imagination.

“Alright, enough!” Percy snapped, “Just take him out to the pitch already!”

“What an excellent idea.” Fred said.

“Positively genius, brother.” George chimed in.

“Just show him how to fly first, for Merlin's sake.” Percy looked like he was already regretting making the suggestion.

“Of course, brother dear.”

“What kind of irresponsible rapscallions do you take us for?”

The look on Percy’s face told Harry that the older boy clearly expected some level of responsibility from them, but Harry was too excited to care much. He was going to fly.

Chapter Text

Remus grinned as Harry rushed out the door. 

“He’s a sweet little thing, isn’t he?” Molly said with a little chuckle once the door was closed.

“He is.” Remus agreed, “Here’s hoping I don’t ruin that on him.”

“Oh, pish.” Molly said, “You’ll do no such thing. As long as you make sure he knows that he’s loved, the rest will sort itself out.”

Remus frowned into his tea, but sighed in concession. “I hope you’re right.”

“Hasn’t steered me wrong yet.” Molly said, “I’ve got two successful adults out in the world so far.”

“How are Bill and Charlie? I can’t remember the last time I even saw them.”

“They’re well, for all that they’re off galavanting around the world chasing dragons and treasure hunting. They could have had nice safe jobs here at home, but they had to have ‘real experiences’.” Molly heaved a slightly dramatic sigh, but sobered quickly. “But you’re not here to talk about my boys.”

“I’m not not here to talk about your boys.” Remus said, “I’m open to any and all parenting tips you have.”

“Arthur said your situation with Harry is new.” Molly said, her words careful and a little hesitant. “I must say I’m a little surprised, we all assumed that you’d had him since. . . well, since that night.”

Remus cleared his throat a bit nervously, and took a sip of tea just for something to do. “Yes, well. It was a bit complicated at the time, but things have. . . changed. And, hem, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind month, for the both of us.”

Molly hmmed sympathetically. “Well, I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. So, go on then. Fill me in.”

He let a long breath out through his nose and started talking. He told her about getting McGonagall’s letter covered in Harry’s scent, finding out that he desperately needed a new home, how McGonagall and Bishop had positively steam rolled through his every objection. He told her about meeting Harry for the first time, and exchanging letters with him over the past couple weeks. How Remus had been working on setting up the little house in northern Scotland, trying to make it a proper home before Christmas.

“She pretty much bullied me into taking the house.” Remus said, “Bullied me into the whole thing if I’m honest.”

“Minerva can be a little forceful when she sees fit. And I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of Bridget Bishop either.” Molly said, “But I can’t imagine either of them would ever dream of putting you in this situation if they thought you’d be a terrible guardian.”

“I’d have to really try to be worse than Petunia, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be any good. I’ve don’t nothing but put my foot in my mouth since I met him.” Remus said ruefully.

“You’ll have to get used to that.” Molly said, “Half of parenthood is second guessing everything you do. The other half is mostly just trying to keep them alive.”

“You’re not inspiring a whole lot of confidence over here.”

“Look on the bright side. You only have the one.” Molly reminded him with a shrug, “The worst is when they start egging each other on. The amount of times I’ve had to get one of those boys off the roof because someone talked someone else into thinking they could fly without a broom.”

“Oh, god.”

“Oh, yes. It’s - oh, Ginny dear. Where are you off to?”

Ginny who had come stomping inside from the front door paused on her way through the living room to frown at her mother. “They’re teaching Harry to fly, and Percy said I’m not allowed. It’s not fair!”

“Oh, darling. I know. The boys are just excited to have a new friend.” 

This was apparently not what Ginny wanted to hear, as she threw herself face first onto the couch with a drawn out groan of despair.

Molly watched her daughter wallow in misery for a moment before turning to Remus with a raised eyebrow and gestured to the living room as if to say ‘see’?

Remus fought down a grin as Molly turned back to Ginny and said, “Why don’t you send Luna a letter? You two could have a playdate once the boys are off to school?”

“I guess.” Ginny said into the cushions before rolling off the couch and disappearing down the hall. 

They could hear her heavy footsteps echo through the house as she climbed the stairs. Molly waited until they heard the sound of her door slamming closed before saying, “She’s been talking about Harry since you all met in Diagon the other day. I think she may have a little crush, and the boys all think that’s terribly embarrassing.”

“Ah.” Remus said, unsure what to say to that.

“They’ll all sort themselves out, I’m sure.” Molly said, “So -”

“Hang on.” Remus said, sitting up straight, “Did she say they were teaching Harry to fly?” 

“I think she did. Has Harry not been on a broom before?”

“Not since he was a toddler I’d imagine.” Remus said chewing on his bottom lip. “He terrorised the whole house on one of those little toy brooms. Lily’s cat was never the same.”

Molly smiled at Remus with a touch of sadness and the sort of understanding that could only happen when grief recognised itself in others. “Why don’t we take a little walk then? They’ll be in the field just past the garden.”

Remus agreed, and they strolled out into the garden. Molly kept a steady stream of small talk as they went. Tips on how to spruce up an old kitchen, and a reminder to set wards against pests like mice and gnomes.

Soon enough they passed into a little pasture that had been set up as a little home quidditch pitch. Percy had installed himself on an old tree stump. Apparently he was not willing to participate, but also unwilling to leave his brothers unsupervised. The other three were all standing in a loose circle with Harry off to the side holding a racing broom that had seen better days. The Weasley’s were all talking excitedly over each other as they tried to give Harry advice at the same time.

“Put it on the ground and make it come to you first!”

“That’s stupid, he’s already got it in his hand - “

“He’s got to wake it up first, idiot.”

“It’s a broom, moron, it doesn’t wake up.”

“The magic does!”

Harry was following the argument like a tennis match, head swiveling between each of the boys as they got louder. When the argument showed no signs of slowing down he turned his attention to the broom in his hand. He seemed a bit dubious about the whole situation, giving the broom a distrustful scowl, but he still turned it over in his hands with interest.

As Remus and Molly watched, he held the broom out, as though trying to balance it on his palm, gingerly letting his hand fall away. The broom only flattered once before hovering in the air, just where Harry had left it.

Remus couldn’t help but smile as a delighted grin spread across Harry’s face. The Weasley boys were still arguing, although things seemed to have devolved into them critiquing each other’s flying techniques. None of them noticed as Harry poked the broom into hovering around hip height and swung a leg over, wobbling a bit as he found his balance.

It didn’t take him long at all to get comfortable and start experimenting with getting the broom to turn this way and that. He’d just managed to turn in a little circle when he noticed Remus and Molly at the edge of the field. With what looked like very little trouble Harry urged the broom forward at a leisurely pace so that he could hover around Remus’ shoulder.

“Remus, look!” The boy crowed happily, grinning from ear to ear.

“I see!” Remus said, grinning right back. “How do you feel? Steady?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Got your feet in the tight? Yes? Why don’t you take a lap then?”

“Stay below the tree line please, Harry dear.” Molly called as Harry turned the broom away from them.

“Yes, ma’am!”

And with that he was off. Slowly at first, but by the time he’d gotten half way across the field he was soaring! Remus felt his throat tighten a little as he watched Harry start to pick up speed. If James were here he would be sobbing. The man had teared up just watching baby Harry on the little toy broom that he and Si - . . . they had smuggled into the house against Lily’s wishes. He remembered thinking for a split second that Lily was about to murder them all, but then she’d seen her husband blubbering like a baby over their actual baby. A baby who was giggling and smiling, just having the time of his little life. She’d relented and James had spent the rest of the day gushing over what a natural talent the little boy was. How Harry was destined to play professionally. They’d all indulged James at the time, speculating on what team he would sign with or if he’d make the cut to play for England. Here and now, Remus wasn’t going to be speculating on Harry’s future career choices, but he could practically hear James’ voice in the back of his mind - blubbering and professing his son to be a prodigy. It made his chest ache.

The Weasley boys were quick to join Harry in the air. Minus Percy, who had once again opted to keep his feet on the ground. He’d wandered over to stand with his mother and Remus at the edge of the clearing. The trio watched as the boys organized a little two on two game. They designated a tree on each side of the clearing as a goal post, and showed Harry how to hold the quaffle and the best way to throw it. 

Harry fumbled the quaffle a number of times, his hands were just too small to properly grip the quaffle. Remus had to smile as the boy just continued to try. At one point Harry became frustrated and took both hands of the broom to hurl the quaffle at the goal tree. He missed, spectacularly, and his broom went into a nosedive. To his credit, Harry got the broom under control very quickly, and with a little help from one of the twins managed to correct his course. 

The boys played for a couple of hours. Percy decided that he had had enough fresh air, and went back up to the house within a half hour. Molly indulgently conjured a couple of chairs for them to sit in, and stayed out with Remus to watch the boys. 

They chatted amicably, catching up. Molly had a great number of tips and tricks on how to make Tiagh Lyall not just livable, but comfortable. 

“No, no it needs to be a rug.” Molly said, “If you try to charm the floor in front of the hearth the charm will get over powered by whatever other spells are woven into the home. If you charm the rug it will hold much longer, and there’s less chance of any soot from the floo scattering across the floor before the charm can take care of it.”

“Ah,” Remus nodded along, “does the material of the rug factor in?”

“If you’re not expecting too much floo traffic I wouldn’t fuss about it too much, dear.” Molly said, “Arthur says the ministry uses Puffskien fur rugs, but ours here are just sheep wool.”

“Right.”

They watched in silence for a few minutes as Ron argued with one of the twins over whether or not the last shot counted as a goal or not. Molly seemed to decide that her intervention wasn’t needed as she turned back to Remus.

“I could ask Bill to come have a look at the wards for you.” She said, “Just to make sure they haven’t degraded. Maybe add a few, well, wolf specific ones to the property if you like.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked, “There’s no need to bother Bill. I’m sure he has more than enough on his plate.”

“Oh, nonsense. He’d be happy to help. Besides, he didn’t come home for Christmas last year, so he owes me a visit.” Molly said.

“Well. . . if you’re sure it wouldn’t be a bother.”

He had to admit it would be a load off his mind to have “wolf specific” wards put in by a professional curse breaker. Nothing he did himself would be able to compare to the quality of wards Bill would be able to put up. No matter how remote Taigh Lyall was, there would always be the chance of Remus getting loose and hurting someone without proper wards. It would devastate him if he ever hurt someone on the full moon. But if he hurt Harry? Remus would throw himself off a bridge. 

It was an incredibly morbid thought. Something his friends would have railed against years ago, when they were all alive and . . . not a mass murdering psycho. Now that he was alone, the last Marauder standing, it was hard to pull himself out of these spirals. Until he’d been handed custody of Harry he hadn’t really bothered to try in years. Things were different now.

“Well, here you all are!” 

Molly and Remus turned to see Arthur, still in his work robes and with little Ginny hanging off his arm, coming towards them.

“Arthur, you’re home early!” Molly said, with a warm smile and reached a hand out for her husband as he approached.

“I let Perkins take a long lunch, so he’s covering both our paperwork.” Arthur said, bending down to place a kiss on Molly’s forehead, “Hello, Remus, glad you made it! Ginny tells me the boys have been getting along.”

Remus had a feeling that was not the way Ginny had described their afternoon as the girl grumbled something under her breath and pressed further into her fathers’ side.

“I know Gin-Gin.” Arthur said, as he pet her hair consolingly, “You’ll be flying circles around all of them with a bit of practice.”

“Did you write to Luna, sweetheart?” Molly asked.

Ginny sighed, “Yes. She said she’d ask her dad, but they might be going on another trip soon.”

“I’ll see if I can get a hold of Xeno before they go.” Arthur promised, “I’m sure whatever creature he’s hunting now can wait a day or two.”

“Well, I should head inside and get dinner started.” Molly said. Arthur offered his wife his hand and helped her up from her chair. 

“Shall we come help you?” Arthur asked.

“No, no. You stay out here and keep Remus company. It’s Harry’s first time on a broom.”

“I don’t mind helping, Molly. Really.” Remus said, moving to stand and follow her into the house.

“You stay right where you are.” Molly pointed a threatening finger at him, “I’d like to eat sometime before midnight, and the last time you cooked in my kitchen the oven mysteriously exploded.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” Remus said, a blush creeping across his face.

“I’m sure.” Molly said, but held a hand out to her daughter instead, “Come on, Ginny dear. You and I will sort everything out.”

“Percy should have to help too.” Ginny said immediately, “He’s just reading his homework again.”

Remus managed to keep his laugh in until Molly had herded the little girl back into the garden and out of ear shot. “I see where her priorities are.”

Arthur popped himself down in Molly’s vacant chair. “She’s bound and determined to level the playing field between her and her brothers. She never misses a trick, I tell you.”

“I see that.” 

The two men turned to watch the boys fly just in time to see Harry drop the quaffle again. One of the twins caught it, but before he got halfway across the pitch Harry had looped around him, effectively cutting the other boy's path. Ron snatched the quaffle from his brother and went tearing down the pitch. The other twin was waiting for him, but it was a good little ploy.

“Did Molly say this was his first time on a broom?” Arthur asked.

“That’s right. He looks comfortable up there, doesn’t he?”

“He does. Minerva is going to be over the moon.”

Remus barked out a surprised laugh. He’d nearly forgotten McGonagall’s near fanaticall obsession with the inter house Quidditch Cup. The woman was infamous for her competitiveness when it came to Quidditch. She’d rescheduled a number of James’ detentions so that he could attend his practices. And one of the more grueling lectures Remus ever remembered her delivering had been when he’d had to miss the last practice before a crucial game because he’d charmed the dragon skeleton in the Defense classroom to sing rude limericks for two days. The Defense professor had been livid and hadn’t been willing to reschedule. After that James had been very careful to be on his best behavior two weeks before any match.  

“I don’t know if Chaser is really his calling,” Remus said, “But he does seem to be having a good time.”

“They all do. Have they been at this all afternoon?”

“Mhm.” Remus said, checking his watch, “Well, Percy decided to opt out very early. And they sort of ganged up and told Ginny she couldn’t play.”

“I’m surprised Percy came outside at all.” Arthur admitted, “He’s been very concer -”

A yelp cut off Arthurs’ comments on Percy’s life choices, and the two men turned in time to see Ron clutching his head with one hand and steering his broom to the ground with the other.

“Ow, Fred, what the hell?” Ron cried, dropping his broom to clutch at his head with both hands as soon as his feet were on the ground.

“Me? You didn’t even try to catch that!” Fred said, coming to land beside his younger brother. 

"You threw it too hard!” Ron snapped.

“Oh, dear.” Arthur said, climbing out of his chair, “What’s happened, boys?”

Both Fred and Ron started talking over each other, both trying to explain what happened to their father first. The chaos only escalated when George landed too, and jumped to his twins’ defense. All three boys got so much louder as Arthur coaxed Ron’s hands away from his face to reveal a cut on the boys’ forehead that was bleeding.

Harry circled around the group of Weasleys to land beside Remus. His expression was tight, and his little shoulders tense.

“I don’t think Fred did that on purpose.” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Remus said, “And Arthur knows. Ron’s going to be just fine.”

Arthur had the situation well in hand. The cut on Ron’s head was healed with a simple episkey, the blood was vanished from his face, and the boys were all sullenly listening to a lecture on not playing overly rough when none of them were wearing any safety gear.

“You all know better than that. If you can’t be trusted to play without injuring each other we’ll have to start locking up the brooms along with the beater’s bats.” Arthur told the boys sternly, “Now go on inside and see if your mother needs help in the kitchen.”

He shooed the boys on ahead, and beckoned Remus to follow them inside.

“I’m a little surprised they made it that long without an incident.” Arthur confessed to Remus as they walked, “They get a little riled up, you see.”

Arthur ushered the two of them inside, grimacing slightly as they could already hear the boys protesting whatever tasks Molly had set them.

“That’s enough of that!” Molly snapped, “You like to eat the food, don’t you? It won’t kill any of you to help make it. Percy and Ginny have already peeled and chopped all the potatoes, it’s your turn to help. Oh, not you, Harry dear. You’re a guest, you can just go on into the sitting room with Remus and Arthur. Sweet of you to offer, dear.”

Poor Harry looked at a loss, stood off to the side as the younger three Weasley boys were all given bowls to stir or chop as directed. 

“Harry.” Remus called softly, gesturing for Harry to follow him. He led the boy into the sitting room where Arthur and Ginny were already fiddling with the dial to an old wireless radio in the corner.

“Molly’s already banned me from the kitchen.” Remus told the boy as they sat on a little loveseat together. 

“Remus has a lifetime ban though.” Arthur said, as the wireless began to play softly, “I’m sure she’ll let Harry help next time if he wants.”

“Why are you banned for life?” Harry asked.

“Never you mind.” Remus said, ruffling Harry’s windswept hair as Arthur chuckled merrily in the corner. 

They all spent another hour or so chatting in the sitting room while they waited. The wireless played in the background, cycling through music and a news show that prattled on about the Ministry’s goings on. Molly and the boys joined them once dinner was set to stewing, boiling or roasting as needed. The kids all produced games and split off into groups. The Twins and Ginny apparently had a running gobstones tournament they needed to finish before the start of term. And Harry was coaxed into learning how to play wizard's chess by Ron.

Remus found himself being lulled into a near doze as the group chatted around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this much at ease. Harry was getting along well with the other boys, maybe making friends? It might just be wishful thinking on his part, but it didn’t look like his impulse decision to play friendship matchmaker hadn’t gone horribly awry. 

At the very least he didn’t seem to have traumatized Harry with an awful playdate. So, that was something. 

Chapter Text

Dinner with the Weasley’s was as lively and chaotic as the rest of the afternoon.

The Weasley children were forever talking over each other, bickering and teasing while Mrs. Weasley tried in vain to get them under control.

Mr. Weasley seemed to thrive in the chaos. He smoothly transitioned between chatting with Remus about a car he’d recently purchased, dodging a bread roll one of the twins had lobbed across the table, all while he charmed a knife to cut Ginny’s meat for her.

To Harry, who’d only recently become acquainted with the novelty of being allowed to speak during a meal, the whole thing was overwhelming. It was also very good fun.

“Do you collect Chocolate Frog cards?” Ron asked through a mouthful of roast chicken.

“I have a couple.” Harry said, “I don’t get them much. The frog always gets away.”

Ron nodded sagely, “Yeah, you’ve got to grab them quick. I’ve got loads of cards. I’m only missing Agrippa. Want to see them after?”

Harry agreed readily, and as soon as they were excused from the table Ron pulled him upstairs by his sleeve.

Ron’s room was on the top floor. The staircase zig zagged its way up, branching off here and there to various rooms. The walls were lined with family photographs that moved like the portraits at Hogwarts. The little miniatures waved and smiled, or went about whatever they were doing, but it didn’t seem as life-like as the portraits. When Harry asked about them, Ron shrugged.

“It’s a different enchantment. They’re not meant to, like, be alive. It’s just a picture.”

Harry was still mulling over the difference as they climbed what had to be the last set of stairs and was so preoccupied that he nearly didn’t notice when Ron stopped dead in his tracks a few steps from the landing. He wobbled a bit, trying to regain his balance, and settled back onto the step below the other boy. He waited for a second, but Ron didn’t move or speak. Harry wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he was breathing.

“You alright?” Harry asked, trying to peer around the other boy's shoulder to see what he was staring at.

Ron raised a shaking hand to point at the door. Harry peered around Ron’s shoulder, at first he didn’t see anything - just a door with “Ron” spelled out in bright red lettering, but then he noticed the door knob. Or rather, the spot where the door knob should be. It was covered in a mass of white, sticky looking web. He’d never heard of a spider big enough to make webs like that before. . . but if unicorns were real then maybe giant spiders were too.

“Is that, er, normal?”

“N-n-no!”

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, the other boy seemed more pale than usual, the freckles on his face stood out in sharp contrast.

“Yeah. No. . . I don’t like spiders.” Ron said, voice trembling.

Harry looked between Ron’s frozen form and the door, the other boy gave no indication that he would, or could, move anytime soon. So, Harry inched around him, rolled his sleeve down over his hand and batted at the webs on the handle. It clung to him, even as he waved his arm around, in one big glob. He had to wipe it off on the wall, and he hoped that Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t be too angry.

“T-there’s probably more i-inside.” Ron said, “They n-never do j-just one thing. T-there’s a-always something else!”

“Okay.” Harry said, “Do you want to go get someone?”

“No! If I get mum they’ll just do something worse.” Ron insisted, sweat beading along his forehead.

“Okay. . . do you want me to open the door?”

Harry waited until Ron nodded before he reached for the door knob again. He opened the door like he was defusing a bomb. Slowly, inch by inch, with Ron flinching at each creak and groan the door made. Harry was half expecting for something in the room to actually explode, or for a giant spider to launch itself at them as he pushed the door open. But nothing moved, exploded, or even twitched.

After a few seconds of silence Harry peered inside and winced. The whole room was covered in spiderwebs from floor to ceiling. Every surface, from the dresser to the bed, were all completely covered too.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Ron, “Well, the good news is I don’t see any spiders. . . but this is going to take a while to clean up.”

“You’re sure there’s no spiders?”

“Pretty sure.”

Ron took a large gulp of air, nodded and pushed his way into his bedroom. Harry followed behind him, waiting until Ron had taken another steadying breath and started pulling webs off his desk to start helping. They worked in relative silence for a little while, broken only by Ron’s occasional yelp or gasp as some web got stuck to his hands. They dumped all the webs they pulled down into one big pile in the corner. Harry wasn’t sure what Ron thought they were going to do with them once the room was clear, but Ron was getting more and more angry as his fear of finding spiders under every web faded. He used some very colourful language that Harry was sure Mrs. Weasley would not have approved of, but he couldn’t blame the other boy. The webs were a terrible nuisance, and Harry didn’t even mind spiders that much.

“They’re always doing stuff like this.” Ron grumbled as he and Harry worked together to pull the webs off the redhead’s bed. “They think its funny.”

“You really don’t like spiders, huh?”

“They’re awful.” Ron shuddered, “All those creepy legs - and the eyes.”

Harry had a brief moment to be thankful that Dudley had never been clever enough to actually think about what would scare him. At least Harry had always known what to expect from his cousin and his little gang.

“They’re never real spiders, are they?” Harry asked, a little concerned at how true to life the webs felt in his hands.

“No. They just transfigure stuff into spiders or webs and charm them to move around a bit. Takes ages for the spells to wear off though. It’s just as bad, honestly.”

Harry certainly thought so. The twins had been so nice to him all afternoon, a bit silly and they teased a lot, but Harry was having a hard time reconciling them with the sort of people who would purposefully torment their own brother.

“Do you ever get them back?” Harry asked, uncertainly. Ron didn’t seem like the type to bother going out of his way to do much of anything, but Harry’d been wrong before. . .

“How?” Ron moaned miserably, “I don’t know any real magic yet, and even if I did it’s impossible to get anything past them. They’re always together, and they have their dumb Twin Spark thing.”

Harry waved his hand frantically trying to get an especially sticky bit of web off his hand. “What thing?”

“Twin Spark.” Ron said as he stripped the blanket of his bed and gingerly shook it out. When no spiders came tumbling out he eyed the blanket suspiciously but kicked it into the ‘clean’ corner.

“Right.” Harry said, feeling more stupid by the second.

Ron must have seen the confusion on Harry’s face, “It’s cause they’re Sparks and twins. They have this weird bond. They don’t talk about it much, but it’s like they always know what the other one’s thinking. And they say they can feel when the other one is hurt and stuff.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, “I guess I’ve heard of stuff like that before. Sometimes nor - I mean, muggle twins say they can do stuff like that, I think.”

“Twin Sparks are different.” Ron insisted, “I saw George collapse one time cause Fred flew his broom into a tree. And when we were little they used to talk about their dreams like they’d both seen it. But not like they’d just had the same dream. . . it was like they’d had the dream together. At the same time.”

“How is that different?”

“I don’t know exactly. . . it’s like they both knew the other was there while they were dreaming. It’s just different.”

A part of Harry’s brain itched. Like there was a question on a test that he should know, but just couldn’t remember the answer. At first he wasn’t sure why, but the more he thought about it an image of the Quiet Boy from his dreams flickered through his imagination. He’d pushed the dream from last night mostly from his mind in all the excitement of the day, but now all he could think about is how last night's dream had felt different. How much it had felt like the boy was trying to talk to him, to reach him.

“And that’s a Spark thing? The dream sharing?” Harry asked, hesitant and slow.

“Just twin Sparks, I’m pretty sure.” Ron shrugged, “Never heard of anyone else doing it.”

“Huh.”

So that was that then. The Quiet Boy couldn’t be real. Or at the very least Harry wasn’t dreaming of - or with- a real person. The boy was just a figment of his imagination, like he’d always thought. Unless. . . unless Ron was wrong. . . what if any Spark could do the dream thing?

Bishop would know, surely. . . but she’d probably want to know why he was asking. Then he’d have to tell her about his dreams. And did he really want to tell his new Professor about how he’d been so lonely he’d dreamed up an imaginary friend so vivid that he was seriously considering the boy might be real?

“I think we got it all.” Ron said. Together they surveyed the room one last time. Once Ron was satisfied that all the webs were contained to one corner of the room he finally relaxed. He let out a gusty sigh and turned his back on the pile of webs to go and rummage through his bedside table, pulling out a large stack of Chocolate Frog Cards. “Let’s go downstairs, yeah? Just in case there’s more.”

Harry nodded, and let Ron lead the way back downstairs to the sitting room. Ron seemed to shake off the last of his spider induced fear the further they got from his room. The red headed boy started talking about his card collection, and how long he’d been collecting them. Harry listened half heartedly, he nodded and ‘hmm’ whenever Ron paused, or took a breath. He tried to look suitably impressed by how many versions of Headmaster Dumbledore he had, and be interested in how many of the facts he could rhyme off about the various Quidditch players’ cards. All the while he was running the dream of the Quiet Boy over and over again in his head.

“You can have some of mine if you want.” Ron said as they settled on the floor in front of the fire. “I have a million of some of these - then you can start collecting them too if you want!”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry said.

“Here, take Dumbledore to start, I have a million of him. And here - I’ve got two of Horton, he’s on the Cannon’s. He’s brill, honestly. Mhmmm, here take Flamel too.”

“What did he do?” Harry asked, turning the card over in his hands to see a frail looking white haired man blink up at him solemnly.

“Ugh, I dunno, he enchanted a rock to make gold or something.”

Harry turned the card over again and read the brief description, “The Philosopher's Stone? Is he the Philosopher?”

“I guess.” Ron said, shuffling through his collection and passing Harry various cards periodically. “He did make it.”

“He’s six hundred years old!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yeah I think the stone keeps him alive or something.” Ron shrugged, “Oh, here look this is Ragmar Dorkins - he’s the manager for the Cannons.”

And off Ron went on another Cannon’s history lesson. The distraction of Ron’s stories only kept Harry so occupied. Try as he might to pay attention the Quiet Boy tugged at the corners of Harry’s mind. Worry coiled in Harry’s gut, making him feel queasy and a little light headed. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d found himself in a world of magic and wonder only to find out that he really was just a freak here too.

Chapter Text

By the time they’d all made it through dinner, Remus was feeling downright proud of himself.

Harry and the Weasley children were getting along like a house on fire - every doubt that had nagged at Remus before they’d arrived had melted away as he’d watched Harry interact with the other children throughout the day. He blended in with the group well, following along in conversation and played well with them all. With the exception of the one little bump to Ron’s head no blood was shed and they all seemed happy enough. Of everything, what soothed Remus the most was how Harry was smiling. He was hesitant, shy, and never took the lead. . . but he was smiling.

He’d been pleasantly reminded of his own Hogwarts days during dinner. It wasn’t just the noise, or the abundance of food, the energy of a full house was infectious. It was something that Remus had nearly forgotten. He spent so much of his time alone in the last decade. . . Well, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. For Harry’s sake he wasn’t going to be able to isolate himself anymore.

“Remus, dear.” Molly whispered to him from behind her glass, “Are you alright?”

“Just fine.” He whispered back, not that either of them really needed to whisper - the general noise and bustle from the table covered their conversation well enough, “Thank you for all this.”

“You don’t have to thank us for this. We’re more than happy to have the two of you, and I hope you know that this isn’t a one time thing. Even when Harry and the boys are off to school, Arthur and I would love to see you.”

Remus cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. “Yes, well.”

“Oh, “yes, well” nothing.” Molly huffed, setting her glass down with a sharp ‘click’, “Don’t think you’re going to be able to hide yourself away in that cottage of yours now. If you think Minerva won’t show me exactly where it is, you’ve got another thing coming. I know that things have been . . . difficult for you since James and Lily. I promised Arthur I wouldn’t get into it today - and I won’t! I just need you to know that the war took a toll on all of us, and we all moved on in our own ways. But I can’t help but feel that we left some of our own behind when the war ended.”

Remus stared down at his plate as Molly’s words draped over him like a wool blanket. Warm, but scratching at the exposed parts of him that never fully healed. “You had the boys to take care of.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that we couldn’t make any time to check in with you.” Molly sighed, “We all lost people, we were all hurting. But we should have shared that burden, and lightened the load for everyone.”

“We can’t change the past.” Remus said, “And I’ve been very firmly reminded of that fact recently.”

Molly laughed, wiping at the corner of her eye, “I have no doubt. And no matter what comes, you’re going to keep being reminded.”

“Even when the Profit gets wind that the living embodiment of the Light’s triumph from the most devastating wizarding war Britain's seen in generations is part of a werewolf pack?” Remus asked, voice low.

“Especially then.” Molly said, “I think the two of you would benefit from a proper pack bond. Harry’s Spark is definitely going to need grounding as he gets older, and what’s better for grounding than pack bonds?”

“You think?”

“Oh, yes. Everything I’ve read on the subject suggests that pack bonds are nearly identical to the bonds that Sparks make with each other.”

Remus blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any literature on Spark bonds.”

“Well, it’s not something the Ministry really sanctions the study of.” Molly shrugged, “you know how purebloods are. The Swiss on the other hand, very open to the subject.”

“Would you mind lending me some of those books?”

“Ofcourse, dear. Bishop could get you your own copies if you ask though. I’m a bit surprised that she hasn’t already offered to be honest.”

“I’m sure that’s coming. I think they’ve been more concerned with getting the guardianship finalized before anyone could. . . object.”

“Hm, well - “

“Mum!” Ron called from the other end of the table, “Harry and I are done, can we be excused?”

“You may be excused, yes.” Molly said, sighing as her son didn’t even acknowledge her attempt to correct his grammar and instead dragged his new friend away from the table by the sleeve. “I swear, that boy.”

“That may be a losing battle, Molly.” Remus chuckled.

“I’m going to remember you said that the first time Harry rolls his eyes at you. And don’t you fool yourself into thinking it won’t happen - they all do it.”
The remaining Weasley children finished off their meals and similarly peeled off in various directions, and Molly and Arthur offered Remus a cup of tea and the three of them moved into the sitting room. Ginny and Percy both wandered off out of sight, but the twins didn’t go far and they were setting off alarm bells in Remus’ head. Curled up in the corner of the sitting room, with their heads bowed together - they were up to something. Remus wasn’t sure what the twins were up to, but he certainly knew the look of two mischief makers plotting mayhem when he saw it.

He was still debating on whether or not he should point out whatever the twins had going on to Molly and Arthur when Harry and Ron came back down the stairs. Suddenly Remus had his own problems.

Harry trailed behind Ron like a storm cloud rolling in on a sunny day. He followed Ron over to the table and nodded along as the other boy spoke to him, but it was clear from the slump of his shoulder and the glaze in his eye that he really wasn’t paying attention.

Remus watched, hoping that whatever funk Harry had fallen into would be shaken off and the boy would go back to enjoying his evening. But minute by minute, Harry’s frown deepened and he sank lower and lower into his seat. When Remus turned to tell Molly and Arthur they were also watching the two boys, and they also seemed to notice Harry’s shift in mood.

“I think I may take him back to the castle.” Remus said, keeping his voice low. “It’s been a big day, he’s probably just getting tired, right?”

“Probably.” Arthur nodded, “I’m sure ours will start dropping off any minute.”

“You’ll let us know if Ronnie upset him at all, won’t you?” Molly asked, watching the boys.

“I’m sure he’s just tired.”

“Yes, yes of course.”

It took very little time to get Harry gathered up and out the door. The Weasley boys all promised Harry they would see him on the first day of school, and Harry managed a smile and a wave for them. He thanked Molly and Arthur for the meal like a perfect little gentleman and Remus wasn’t sure if he was more or less worried by the boy’s ability to push through social norms when he was so obviously upset.

As they walked down the path to the apparition point, Remus hedged on whether or not he should prompt Harry to talk. Would it be better to let McGonagall or Bishop get the story out of him? Or would that make Harry think that he couldn’t tell Remus his problems?

They made it all the way to the apparition point before Remus had made any kind of decision. But Remus still had the walk up to the school grounds to waffle about, so he offered his arm to the boy and appareted them both away.

They continued their walk in silence while Remus continued to spiral until Harry let out a heavy sigh, and Remus decided he had to at least say something. Surely he couldn’t make it worse. . .right?

“You doing alright?” Remus asked, trying to look as though he wasn’t already second guessing himself for asking.

“Mhm.” Harry said, “Just tired.”

“It was a big day.” Remus agreed amicably. They walked along in silence for a time with Remus anxiously glancing down at the boy from time to time, and the pensive look never left his little face. “I hope it was a good day, even if it was long?”

“Yeah.” Harry said, “I liked the Weasleys.”

“I like them too.” Remus smiled.

“It was kind of cool to meet other Sparks.” Harry admitted, “I still don’t really understand what the difference between us and everybody else is. Ron tried to explain it a bit, but it just sounds. . .I dunno.”

“Like they weren’t really differences, maybe?”

“Some of it, yeah.” Harry blew a noisy breath out of his nose, “but some of the stuff was just. . .” Harry made a vague gesture with his hands, too frustrated to articulate.

Remus walked on, waiting to see if Harry would find the words. Just when he thought Harry had decided to keep his thoughts to himself the boy blurted out -

“I have weird dreams, and Ron says only twins have those dreams, but I’m not a twin, and I don’t even know if its a real dream, or maybe I really am crazy. Cause Aunt Petunia says - “

“Woah there.” Remus came to a stop and put what he hoped was a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Slow down a bit and try that again, please?”

Harry heaved a sigh, “Ron says twins who are Sparks sometimes have these weird dreams, ones they have together.”

“Sure.” Remus said, still feeling completely lost.

“But I have weird dreams all the time.” Harry continued, “So, either the dreams are for more than just twins or I’m crazy.”

“I think that I might need a little more information.” Remus said slowly. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t let Harry walk away from this conversation thinking he was crazy - that had to be bad parenting, right? He felt very much like he was walking through a minefield. “Can you tell me a bit more about your dreams? Why do you think they’re not normal dreams?”

“Because it's always the same.” Harry kicked at a loose rock on the path, keeping his eyes glued to the ground as he spoke, “I can’t ever see the room, it's like I’m not wearing my glasses - except I can see the boy.”

“The boy? What boy?” Remus asked tentatively, “Someone you know, from school maybe?”

“No. He looks like me but his eyes are brown.”

“Is. . . is that a colour you wish your eyes were?”

“No! You’re not listening! He’s not me, he just looks like me.”

“Okay.” Remus said quickly, “A boy who looks like you. So, what does the boy do?”

Harry shrugs, looking back at the ground again. “He’s just sort of there. . . Sometimes he hugs me.”

The last part was said so quietly that Remus almost missed it. “Okay. . . and that’s the whole dream? He doesn’t do anything else, or talk to you at all?”

“He tries, but he can’t”

“Okay.” Remus was starting to get sick of hearing himself say that word, but he honestly didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like a recurring dream was the most unheard of thing in the world. And Remus was no therapist, but a neglected little boy dreaming of a mirror image of himself who was unable to speak certainly sounded like it had come out of a psych 101 textbook. He couldn’t say that though. So instead he said, “And did Fred and George tell you they have dreams like that too?”

“No, but Ron said that they have. Sort of. He said they had the same dream, at the same time, and they both knew that it was a dream, and - “

“They share the dream, you mean?” Remus cut Harry off, sensing another spiral coming.

“Yes! Ron says that only twins who are Sparks can do it.” Harry said, looking up at Remus with hope in his eyes.

“That’s not something I’ve ever heard of.” Remus admitted, “But I’ve never really known a Spark before.”

“But it could be, right?”

“I suppose.” Remus hedged, “I think it might be best to ask Professor Bishop about it though.”

“I guess.” Harry said, “It’s just. . . I’ve been the freak for forever. And when McGonagall and Snape came and got me it was so cool to be normal for once. The stuff I can do isn’t strange here. Everybody here can do magic. But. . .but then it turns out I don’t have regular magic, and I’m famous, I guess? I really really want to know if the dreams are real or some kind of magic, but I dunno. . . I just. . . “

Harry trailed off again. Poor thing, Remus thought, nothings ever been easy has it?

“How about this, I’ll find out what I can about Spark’s and. . . dream magic. And we can decide if we need to talk to Professor Bishop after I’ve done a bit of reading, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Harry beamed up at Remus, and any doubt the man had had about this course of action melted away. He had no idea where he was going to start or what he was getting into, but Harry had trusted him enough to even bring up the dreams. As he continued on their way back to the castle, with a much more cheerful youngster at his side, Remus had to count this as a win.