Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i.

Harry Potter was a liar.

Harry Potter was a freak.

Harry Potter was six years old and unloved.

Nobody healed his scrapes when he tripped and fell. Nobody scared the monsters away. Nobody played pretend with him.

In fact, Harry Potter wasn’t even Harry Potter until he was prepped to start Infant School. Petunia told him his name with the same inflection she used when she told him to bring in the paper.

When he heard his name for the first time (he could remember), the name that his parents must have given him, Harry went out into the well-trimmed yard and said it to himself so many times that it devolved into elated nonsense. His parents’ last names were Potter. His mother’s last name, if his mother had had Petunia’s maiden name, Evans. Potter and Evans. He spent hours in the dark of the cupboard wondering if his mum had liked or disliked her last name or what his dad’s first name was or what they looked liked.

Their faces had always been fuzzy blobs in his head. He knew his mum was probably fair-skinned like Petunia, and liked to imagine her with freckles and lighter brown hair than Petunia. His father probably had the same messy black hair that Vernon yanked at to throw him into his cupboard. And now he knew that they had named him, maybe with love. Maybe in between the alcohol and awful mess that Petunia told him they’d been before they died they had loved him. They had given him a name, after all.

With this new, precious piece of himself, Harry Potter started Primary School.

ii.

Dudley was going to a different school than Harry, something Harry was very, very happy about. They both started on the same day, and Petunia dropped him off first. She walked him into the building among a stream of other children and parents, and then looked down at him distastefully. “Well, goodbye.”

“But I don’ know where to go!” Harry said and flinched when she looked back at him. She stalked off, and Harry found himself alone in the hallway. Petunia just… left him there.

Harry bit his lip and walked towards the closest door marked in big red letters, ‘WELCOME NEW STUDENTS!’ and peeked his head into the colorful room.

The teacher was helping another student to her desk, letting her write her name on a shiny plaque so she could display it on her desk. He had a cane in his right hand and a deep green jumper on over a button-down. He looked kind but tired, with a shadow of a beard on his chin and slightly rumpled clothes. Something was almost familiar about him, but Harry didn’t chase the thought.

Harry inched forwards and froze when the teacher looked up at him and smiled warmly. “Hullo there. What’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry said. “Harry Potter.”

“Ah, of course. I saw you on my roster. You’re in the right place, not to worry,” he said gently, and Harry immediately felt much less nervous. “A pleasure to meet you, Harry. My name is Mr. Lupin.”

interlude i.

One day when Remus was seven, with no future and no friends and no real personality other than the way his screams sounded in the cellar under his home every full moon, his parents drove him to the supermarket. A weekly occurrence with usually little to nothing occurring during the trip, but this time a white convertible next to them was filled with screaming and laughing teens who were driving erratically.

“Bound to crash,” his father had said gruffly. “Idiots, driving pissed.”

The car soon sped past them, and it flitted away from all of their minds the way that glimpses into other people’s stories usually do.

A few minutes later, they briefly passed a wreckage— a white convertible overturned, on fire. A charred thing lay on the bloodied pavement. A bloodied arm stuck out from under the car. Glass littered the ground and glinted in the sunlight. A radio still squeaked out bright music. The crash was so recent that the authorities weren’t even there yet.

Remus could still smell it sometimes.

They kept driving, because what else were they to do? But it felt wrong to drive after that. Sick and wrong to keep existing as if nothing had happened. His mum tried to insist they turn back and call but his da pointed out how there had already been people there standing and staring, and if none of them had called then humanity was doomed anyway.

Remus felt the exact same way when James and Lily died.

They had run out of time, yet he was still there. Sirius, god, Sirius was in prison. Sirius murdered them. Sirius, who fake-proposed to James so he could claim to be James’ first at Lily and James’ wedding. Sirius, who still flinched when someone grabbed him and hoarded food in his room. Sirius, who wanted to be something, anything, but an auror. But they were all pushed into it.

Remus wondered if that’s what made him snap. They were pressured to fight a war and Sirius took the side that would end it quickest.

It still made no fucking sense, though, and hurt so much her couldn’t fucking breathe, so Remus drank for four years to forget. He fucked a few men and women to try to fill the hollow area in his chest where his capacity to love used to be. How dare he be the last one left of them? Him, the tainted thing that dared to think happy endings were possible.

Sirius left him money, the son of a bitch. Remus didn’t hesitate to spend it out of utter spite and contempt. Most of it went to either alcohol or rent.

October 1985, Minerva knocked on the door of his flat one day after he’d missed his bi-monthly check-in and, upon receiving no answer, invited herself in to find him on the floor laying in his own piss and vomit. “Get up,” she’d snapped, firm and steely but soft on the edges. When he just stared at her, she cast a rapid sobering charm that made him throw up one more time. She rolled up her sleeves and pulled him into his washroom. “You have ten minutes and then I’m coming in.”

When he emerged, cleaner and ever so slightly less disoriented, she thrust new clothes into his hands and said, “I’m worried about Harry.”

And for the first time in four years, he listened.

iii.

Harry liked Mr. Lupin. He was warm, unlike any adult he’d ever met. He never raised his voice or hit anybody. He gave out gold stars the colour of his eyes when students did well on activities and played records for them during Reading Time. Sometimes he was absent for a few days, but that was okay because their substitute, Ms. Tonks, was nice too.

Harry really, really liked school. Being away from Dudley all day was a dream come true, and he wasn’t afraid for the first time in as long as he could remember. He didn’t talk much, because he wasn’t supposed to talk, Freaks Should Be Seen And Not Heard, but he listened. Listened to Mr. Lupin’s warm voice explain multiplication and Mary talk about her new dog and his own pencil on paper, scratching away at grammar practice.

Recess was his favourite time of the day, because there he began to make real friends that didn’t call him names or steal his food or look at him like he was disgusting or weird.

Bertrude and Cicily Peterson (twins, fraternal, as they liked to tell everyone at recess,) sat on either side of Harry. Cicily was very good at drawing, and drew dogs and cats and her friends and even Mr. Lupin. Bertrude was funny and loud, and knocked down a lot of things on accident.

Harry didn’t mind them at all, except for the fact that Cicily decided she looooooved him and chased him around at recess. He didn’t much like that.

Mr. Lupin was one of their Recess Supervisors, and stood out on the front steps with Ms. Dosia as twenty-six children ran around on the playground structure. He remained in the shade, leaning on his cane and watching them all with a fond smile as Ms. Dosia blabbered on and on about her ex-husband’s new wife or cat or houseplant.

The best part was that none of them suspected that he was a freak.

“Why do you have a cane?” Cicily asked one day in early October. The entire class grew quiet, as this subject had been a popular topic at recess that day.

“Raise your hand, please,” Mr. Lupin replied lightly.

Cicily raised her hand and he called on her. “Why do you have a cane?” she asked again.

Mr. Lupin exhaled slowly and leaned against the front of his desk. “Why do you think I do?” he asked. “Open discussion, so you don’t have to raise your hands, but do be courteous if someone else is talking.”

“You got bitten by a shark!” Greg called out. (He really liked sharks.)

“You were a pirate!” Sven tried.

“It just looks cool?” said Cicily.

Mr. Lupin laughed. “While those are all much more exciting guesses, it’s actually something different. I have a chronic illness.”

“What’s that?” Gertrude asked curiously. “Is it con- con- conjitus?”

“Contagious? Well— no, no it isn’t. It developed when I was five.”

“Five? But you’re like, forty !” Evan protested amid the titter of the other children.

Mr. Lupin looked startled for a moment, then chuckled in amusement. “I am not quite forty, no, but it will still be there when I am forty. ‘Chronic’ means I have it for the rest of my life.”

“That’s pretty sad, Mr. Lupin,” Betsy said. Cicily nodded emphatically. 

“I used to think so too, but I adjusted. I learned to embrace it just as I do the rest of myself.”

“Is that why you aren’t here sometimes?“

Mr. Lupin nodded. “It is.” After a beat of silence, he said, “If there aren’t any more questions, I’m afraid we’ve been distracted far too—“

“Does it hurt?”

Mr. Lupin paused and looked at Harry, who shrank down into his seat as the rest of the class turned to look at him too. “It does. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But that’s adversity. I grew stronger from it.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully, except Cicily spilled some juice and Harry flinched but Mr. Lupin just cleaned it up and gave a gold star to whoever tried to help (Harry got one.) On his way out, Harry stopped by Mr. Lupin’s desk and lingered as everyone else ran out to line up for the carpool line.

“Is everything alright, Harry?” Mr. Lupin asked him, setting down his pen.

“Umm. I wanted to ask you something,” Harry said quietly.

“Ask away.”

“What do you do, when it hurts more?” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.

Mr. Lupin didn’t answer for a moment. “When my illness hurts more?”

“Mmhm. How do you… make it better?”

“Ah.” Mr. Lupin looked at him, and for a moment Harry could swear that his warm demeanour shifted and tensed, and his golden eyes flickered something cold. But then he smiled warmly. “I distract myself. With music, or reading.”

“I don’t have m’ny books,” Harry mumbled.

“That’s alright. Would you like to borrow a book from my library for a few nights?” Mr. Lupin offered.

Harry stared at him. “Me?” he squeaked.

Mr. Lupin stood up and limped over to his little nook filled with books they could borrow for reading time. He perused the shelves until he put a finger on the top of the spine of one and pulled it out. “I’d think… Roald Dahl. You like him, yes? I’ve seen you reading James and the Giant Peach in class.”

Harry nodded. “I thought… we could’n’ take them home overnight.”

“That’s the general rule, but I know you’ll take very good care of it, hmm?” Mr. Lupin said, handing him the book.

“I’ll take very, very good care of it, Mr. Lupin!” Harry said, taking it with awe. He felt like he was going to cry, but he wasn’t sure why.

“I don’t doubt it, Harry. Keep it as long as you’d like.”

“Oi Lupin, is Potter in here with you? Oh— hello.” Ms. Dosia said with her head poked in through the classroom door.

“Yes, we were just finishing up. Run along now, Harry.”

Harry nodded eagerly and ran out the door, stopping in the doorway. “Thanks, Mr. Lupin,” he said quietly, and waved a little.

“Have a good weekend,” Mr. Lupin said, and waved back.

Harry beamed.

That night, when he was stuffed into his cupboard with a hammering heart and tears drying on his cheeks, he gingerly pulled out the book and curled up with it on his cot.

Sophie couldn’t sleep. A brilliant moonbeam was slant through a gap in the curtains…

iv.

Parent-teacher meetings came and went in November. Petunia did not come, and nobody asked Harry why, to his great relief. Chore days were the same as always. He made breakfast every morning. He and Dudley rarely interacted, now, with the different schools. 

A chilly recess in December found all of the children huddled around a dead bird.

“Somebody should tell Mr. Lupin,” Evan said.

Cicily burst into sobs.

"I'll do it," Harry offered. Nobody said anything, so he walked away from the group.

Ms. Dosia and Mr. Lupin were watching them, but Ms. Dosia had dragged him into a conversation of some sort so they were both a bit distracted. Harry walked up to them, already forming the explanation of the bird they’d found, but slowed when he, surprisingly, heard his last name.

“—aunt of Potter, and I replied, ‘oh, wow!’ Can you believe it? She lives right next door.”

“That’s quite a coincidence,” Mr. Lupin agreed amicably.

“I found he’s a tragedy, actually, once I got talking with her. His aunt, saddled with him, says that he’s not quite right in the head—”

“Ms. Dosia!” Mr. Lupin said sharply. Harry stuttered on his feet and stared at them both, his gut sinking. He knows. Mr. Lupin snapped his head towards him and widened his eyes as Dosia steamrolled on.

“His parents died, the poor dear. They were drunks, did you know? Probably didn’t even love him.”

“Dosia, my god!” Mr. Lupin growled at her, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Harry—”

Harry squeezed his eyes tight and balled his hands into fists. It’s not true, they loved me, they loved me. It’s not—

“Hey, look at Ms. Dosia’s hair!” Cicily shrieked from behind him, followed by a bunch of gasps and squeals.

Harry opened his eyes and gaped. Ms. Dosia’s hair, once dark brown and rather drab, was now a brilliant shade of blue.

Ms. Dosia blinked at the students, then turned to Mr. Lupin. “What in god’s name are they talking about?” she asked, but Mr. Lupin just stared at her.

And then, abruptly, he giggled. Giggled! “Your hair is, ah, blue,” Mr. Lupin said politely, and then another chuckle escaped. “Excuse— heh— me.”

The other students, emboldened by his reaction, started laughing as well.

Harry was not laughing. Her hair was blue. Harry turned her hair blue. He just knew it, knew that it had been him. His freakish abilities, the things that made him disgusting.

Harry couldn’t breathe.

Ms. Dosia turned to look at her reflection in the window. Then she screamed, a loud shriek that rang across the playground, attracting the attention of every child outside. “Who did this?” Ms. Dosia asked wildly. “Who—” she turned and made eye contact with a wide-eyed Harry. “You!”

The students around him giggled nervously. Harry tried not to cry.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting that he dyed your hair blue, Ms. Dosia,” Mr. Lupin said. “I think it’s time for you all to go inside. Single-file, please,” he said over Ms. Dosia’s cawing.

Mr. Lupin led the twenty or so children into the building. “Stay with me, Harry,” he said quietly as Harry entered. 

Ms. Dosia shrieked something as Mr. Lupin ushered the rest of the children into the classroom. “I expect to see you all at your desks when I enter, understood?” he called out, then promptly closed the door and turned to both of them.

He pulled out a stick from his pocket and Harry began to tremble, because he had been wrong . Mr. Lupin knew he was a freak and hated him for it and he was going to hurt him.

Instead of advancing on Harry as expected, though, he pointed the stick at Ms. Dosia. “ Obliviate,” he said softly, and then Ms. Dosia ceased her screeching. One more wave of the stick, and her hair was brown again. 

Harry gaped.

“Do you mind covering my class for a bit, Dosia?” he asked her pleasantly.

“Uh…” she swallowed and looked rather confused for a moment. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Thank you very much.”

She nodded slowly and then entered the room. The door closed behind her with a loud click.

Mr. Lupin then turned to Harry, who flinched.

“Come with me, please. You’re not in any trouble, I promise,” Mr. Lupin said gently.

Harry reluctantly followed him into the staffroom down the hall from Mr. Lupin’s classroom. His teacher sat in one of the chairs around the long table.

“Sit?” Mr. Lupin offered, gesturing to the chair next to him.

Harry stiffly sat in the proffered chair. It was a bit big so he had to climb onto it, and his legs swung above the ground. He trembled the whole way.

“Breathe, Harry. Breathe,” Mr. Lupin said from next to him. “Can I touch you, Harry?” he asked, and Harry startled because nobody ever asked, they just did. He gave a tentative nod, and then a warm, soothing hand was rubbing his back.

It felt so nice, like Mr. Lupin cared, and Harry took in a shuddering gasp, and then he was crying, pent up emotions from the last week and maybe the six years before that spilling out. He curled up in his chair, overwhelmed, and didn’t protest when Mr. Lupin moved and then hugged him.

Oh. Oh, this was nice.

Harry buried his face in Mr. Lupin’s jumper, probably getting tears and snot all over it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care because he was so overwhelmed and confused and scared but this was so warm and comfortable and Mr. Lupin was holding him gently like he mattered.

“I didn’t turn her hair blue,” Harry whimpered through his sobs.

Mr. Lupin sighed through his nose. “It’s alright, I promise—”

“I don’t believe you!” Harry shot back, pulling away sharply. Then he paled. “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Mr. Lupin made an aborted movement toward him and Harry flinched.

He immediately pulled back and raised his hands placatingly. “I- I’m sorry for distressing you. I promise, it’s okay. I can do… Other things too. Abnormal things.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

“I’m… I’m magical, Harry,” Mr. Lupin said softly. “And you are too.”

Magic.

“Shut up about magic! Shut. Up!” Vernon screamed, his face red, and Harry couldn’t stop sobbing as he was thrown by the collar into his cupboard.

“I’m— I’m— I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up!”

Harry bit his lip. “But magic is bad…”

“It’s not. It can do so many beautiful things. Healing, growing…”

“But I don’t do that! I’m not a freak!” Harry shouted, and dissolved into sobs. “I’m not bad, Mr. Lupin, I promise!” he cried, even as he didn’t believe himself.

“I know, Harry. I know. I know. You’re just a child, Harry, so strong and good and kind and I’m very proud of you.” Mr. Lupin shushed, rubbing his back, and it felt so warm and loving that Harry cried even harder.

“Petunia says I am,” he explained through his tears. “She—” he gasped a little and covered his mouth with both hands.

“You can tell me anything, Harry,” Mr. Lupin said, and he sounded so warm and kind that Harry felt a little bit like maybe he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space. “But you don’t have to if you don’t feel ready to.”

Harry didn’t say anything until his crying ceased into little hiccoughs and sniffles. He looked up at Mr. Lupin crouching next to the chair. Mr. Lupin gave him a little half-smile.

“I didn’t…” he hesitated.

Mr. Lupin waited patiently.

“I didn’t know my name was Harry until pr’mary school,” Harry mumbled, toeing the ground. “Petun’a told me, ‘cuz I couldn’t be Boy here.”

Mr. Lupin was quiet for a very, very long time, long enough that Harry began to fidget. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now Mr. Lupin knew he was a freak, and would hate him like everyone else. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Sorry? I—” Mr. Lupin said, and his voice sounded weird, all thick and sad. “I’m sorry, Harry. You deserved to know your name; it’s your name. I—” He breathed in deep. “Okay. Um… Can you— can you stay here, and I’ll make some tea?”

Harry nodded.

Mr. Lupin turned away to turn on the kettle, and his shoulders were shaking, like he was crying, but he was completely silent. In fact, Harry couldn’t even hear him fill his kettle with water or set it down. 

Harry tapped at the seat absently until Mr. Lupin returned and sat at his desk. Harry didn’t point out that his face was a bit puffy and red.

“Do you know how to play cards, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “Not good.”

“Well,” Mr. Lupin corrected gently.

“Well,” Harry amended meekly.

Mr. Lupin began to teach him, and smiled proudly when he got the hang of it, and the entire time Harry began to think that maybe this was a person that liked him despite.

continuandum.

Chapter Text

v.

Once Mr. Lupin knew about his magic, things were ever so slightly changed for Harry.

Recess, as usual, was spent with his friends, but sometimes Harry would amble over to Remus and sit next to him in the shade and talk aimlessly about whatever caught his interest that day. For the first time he could remember, he was allowed to talk— in fact, encouraged to. Mr. Lupin listened to him attentively, and laughed at his stories and gave good advice when Harry felt he was in a kerfuffle. For example: Cicily asked him to marry her and he didn’t want to say no because then she wouldn’t be friends with him anymore. Mr. Lupin suggested explaining that they hadn’t known each other very long and it might be wise to wait a week or two decades. Cicily had accepted the rejection gracefully, and immediately asked to be bestest friends instead. Harry was much more comfortable with this option, and accepted.

“See? It all worked out,” Mr. Lupin said, nudging him gently as Harry finished recounting his story.

“Uh-huh,” Harry said, leaping up to his feet so he could skip around on the hopscotch in front of the steps. “Are you married?”

Mr. Lupin smiled wryly. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh. Is that okay?”

“It’s certainly okay, Harry. To get married, to not; both are valid options in life.”

“Huh.”

There was silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by the sounds of Harry’s little worn-out sneakers hitting the ground as he hopscotched back and forth and children laughing further from the pair on the playground structure.

“I was at your parents' wedding,” Mr. Lupin said abruptly. 

Harry stumbled and then stopped and stared at Mr. Lupin. “You knew my parents?” he whispered reverently.

“I did,” Mr. Lupin replied softly. “We went to school together.”

“W-Why didn’t—” Harry stammered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I had been instructed by— well, a powerful wizard told me not to. One I am greatly indebted to. But I simply cannot… cannot let you continue to think that you are not loved, Harry. Your parents cherished you beyond belief,” Mr. Lupin said quietly. 

Harry moved to sit next to him on the steps, overwhelmed. He wanted to cry into Mr. Lupin’s jumper again or smile with all of his teeth or scream a lot and rip paper because his parents had loved him.

“If you ever have questions or want to hear about them, I’m here,” Mr. Lupin said.

“What were their names?” Harry asked immediately.

Mr. Lupin inhaled sharply. “Lily and James. James Potter was your father and Lily Evans was your mother. They were wizards, too.”

Harry looked at the ground. “Lily and James,” he repeated shakily. They were real people. His parents had names, and they loved him, which made him wonder if they’d been alive if he would have been kissed on the forehead and read bedtime stories and taught to ride a bicycle and told not to sit too close to the tv like Cicily and Evan and Bertrude and Greg.

“Would you like a hug?” Mr. Lupin asked gently.

Harry nodded, face crumpling, and he leaned into Mr. Lupin’s side as Mr. Lupin tucked him into his arms.

“They loved you so much, Harry. You’re loved,” Mr. Lupin whispered over his head, and Harry sniffled into his jumper.

(In a small primary school playground in England, a little boy learned for the first time that he was worth something.)

After school the next day, Mr. Lupin stopped him on his way out the door, a small, yellowing envelope filled to its capacity in his hands. "Harry, I have something for you," he said.

Harry stared at him but took the little package. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"Photos," Mr. Lupin said softly. "Of your parents, when they were younger. I should've given them to you earlier; they're yours. If you have questions about any of them, you can ask me."

Harry looked from the envelope to his teacher to the envelope again. "Thank you, Mr. Lupin," he breathed.

"Mmm. Enjoy. I'd... keep them from your aunt and uncle, hmm?" Mr. Lupin said softly, and Harry's eyes widened. 

"Okay," he mumbled.

Mr. Lupin stood up straight and gently ruffled his hair. Harry couldn't help but lean into it for the brief moment and then pulled back, flushing. "Best be off, now; we wouldn't want you to get in trouble with the drop-off line, would we?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and then grinned, giddy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he said again, and then ran off to join the drop-off line, the envelope clutched delicately in his hands.

Mr. Lupin watched him go, a lump in his throat.

vi.

It was 4:52 in the evening. Emery Wilkinson Primary School sat proud and content amidst the pristine suburban neighbourhood of Little Whinging, having been emptied of most of its teachers and students. Near the back of it, however, in front of an empty pick-up zone and past it a barren parking lot stood a small row of benches underneath a metal awning held up by two poles, their dark green paint chipping off. And on one of the benches sat a six-year-old Harry Potter, little legs swinging back and forth as he read another book his favourite teacher Mr. Lupin had lended him. He was going to stay until about 5, when his aunt would finally pull up the pick-up zone. 

Petunia Evans had a habit of being late to pick up her nephew. Dudley’s school ended at the same time, yet was further across town. Petunia’s chosen route had her pick him up first and then her nephew. This meant Harry usually stayed at the school until an hour after. At first administrators were concerned, but after a talk with Petunia who’d given them some excuse that they’d fallen for, they mostly left him alone to wait with everyone else. Harry occasionally saw Mr. Lupin on his way out of the building, who checked in with concerned, golden-brown eyes, but was otherwise left to sit on the bench as every child was picked up but him.

Sometimes there were pleasant surprises, though. One day late November, Cicily skipped out of the front school doors, long after everyone but Harry had left. 

She noticed Harry leaning over with a little stick, drawing cars in the sand in front of the bench, and smiled brightly, walking up to him. “Hiya, Harry! My mum said she’s gonna be late because Berty’s got a teeth ‘appoiment, so I sat in the office to wait. What are you doing here? Is your mum not here?” Cicily asked curiously.

“Uh… I don’t have a mum,” Harry mumbled, digging his stick harshly into the dirt.

“Oh.” Cicily looked at him, then sat down next to him. “I don’t have a da.”

Harry blinked up at her and dropped the stick. “Really?”

She nodded. “He went away when I was really little.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then smiled tentatively.

Cicily responded with a little smile of her own, showing off the newly-made gap in her front teeth.

It wasn’t the same, Harry knew. She still was normal, still loved by her mum and sister. Harry was a freak, wrong, but— but here, with Cicily and Mr. Lupin and crayons and books galore— he didn’t feel that way. “I like you, Cicily Peterson,” he said.

“I like you too, Harry Potter!” Cicily responded brightly.

At that, her mother pulled up, and Cicily stood up. “Bye, Harry!” she waved to him, then skipped off to hop into the car. Her mother buckled her in, then closed the door behind her and took off, though not before a concerned glance was thrown Harry's way.

“Bye,” said Harry quietly, long after the car left.

Another day, late November, sitting in the same spot alone and reading another book Mr. Lupin lended to him, a gust of wind came along and flipped the pages around and he lost his page. Harry frowned and carefully slotted the book into his basic, dollar-value backpack with an exasperated sigh. When he looked back up, there was a small, dark brown snake moving across the pavement.

Harry yelped, and the snake paused to turn to Harry. He pulled his legs up on the bench and hugged his knees to his chest. He regarded the snake with wide green eyes.

What is your problem, little one? the snake hissed.

Harry stared at the snake and then glanced furtively around. “Are— Are you… talking to me ?” he asked quietly.

Of course I am, the snake hissed, beady eyes glinting. I have never met a human with the ability to ssspeak our tongue.

“I-I’ve never met a snake who can speak English,” Harry replied with a shrug.

Hmm. What’sss your name? she asked. (She was a girl. Harry wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.)

“Harry. Harry Potter,” he replied.

The snake moved a little closer. Harry. I like that name. My name is HSSSSSSSSSSDRTĮKASKLJDFSSŚŠLKAŃMĘMSSSDFKJUIÙNŁDVSSSSSCKJSNSSDFJ, but you can call me whatever you’d prefer, I suppose, the snake said with a wave of her head.

“Fluffy. I’m going to call you Fluffy,” Harry decided.

You’re lucky I have a sense of humour. I’ll allow it. Why are you here alone, Harry? Do you not have friends?

“I have friends,” Harry replied, brightening. “Cicily and Bertrude and Evan—”

Fluffy hissed abruptly and shot back, reeling. Evan. The boy. He tried to kill me when I was minding my own business in my bush. Called me disgusting.

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I can tell him to leave you alone. That never feels very nice.”

Fluffy paused and then moved forwards to coil around his arm and peer up at Harry, tongue flitting out. No, it does not, she agreed.

“Mr. Lupin says that we should respect all creatures. Even bugs,” Harry said, then gasped. “Oh! I can tell Mr. Lupin I can talk to you. He’s magic too,” he explained to Fluffy. "I'll introduce you whenever I can. He's nice, I swear."

Hmm. Alright, little one.

Harry grinned.

The opportunity came sooner than Harry thought. A week or so later, after school he had Fluffy coiled around his shoulders. Mr. Lupin stepped out of the school doors and went to wave to him, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of the snake.

Mr. Lupin’s face paled. “Don’t move, Harry—”

“She’s nice, I swear! She speaks English!” Harry said frantically.

Mr. Lupin paused. “What?”

“In like a—” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “—magic way.”

Mr. Lupin relaxed marginally and frowned. “And… you can understand it?”

“Her," Harry corrected.

“I—ah, yes. Her,” Mr. Lupin said, stepping a little closer to the bench.

“Yeah! Her name is, uh, borlugalssswabajoobidah or something like that but I call her Fluffy,” Harry explained brightly.

That was gibberish, not my name, Fluffy hissed, amused. But good try.

“Oh?” Mr. Lupin said, still looking wary.

“Can you not speak to her?” Harry asked curiously.

Mr. Lupin hesitated. “Some wizards can, Harry, but it’s rare even for magical folk. You’re special.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly, and let Fluffy curl around his neck and arm.

Tell him his moustache is stupid, Fluffy hissed.

“She likes your moustache.”

I do not.

“A lot.”

Mr. Lupin chuckled. “Ah. Thank you, Fluffy. How long have you two been… conversing?”

“A week. We’re bestest friends now,” Harry said.

Begrudgingly, Fluffy huffed.

Mr. Lupin smiled softly and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Well, good, I suppose. But you have to keep this—”

“—secret, I know,” Harry said, then flinched. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“No worries,” Mr. Lupin told him gently. “Good that you know. I’d best be off, then. Are you alright here?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. I’ve got Fluffy. And P’tunia’s coming,” Harry lied.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry, Fluffy,” Mr. Lupin said, nodding to both of them respectfully, mollifying the snake. Harry waved at him as he clunked with his cane down the lot until he turned a corner and was out of sight.

He smelled like Wolf, Fluffy hissed. Predator. Danger.

“Danger? To me?” Harry asked slowly.

No. He smells of wolf, which is a danger to snakes. But he loves you, Fluffy said simply. So I suppose I will tolerate his presence.

Harry exhaled and smiled at his snake. “His name means wolf; he taught us when we were learning about my— mythogoly. That’s probably why, silly.”

Fluffy didn’t reply.

“Well, whatever,” Harry shrugged. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

I’m glad I’m yours, Fluffy replied, and Harry beamed.

vii.

As 1986 came to a close, Harry’s stomach twisted back into the knots that had been unravelling since he found sanctuary at the primary school.

It was December. With December came Christmas, but also Winter Break, a whole two weeks with no school at all. Two weeks with Dudley and Vernon and Petunia and no Mr. Lupin or books or gold star stickers or Cicily Peterson. 

Harry’d never liked Christmas. He couldn’t, not when he never received a single thing or an ounce of love or even a little treat. What he dreaded most, however, was Christmas Eve Dinner, because all it did was remind him of how useless and unloved he was. He was locked into his cupboard and forced to peer through the slits between the door and wall for a glimpse of Dudley and Marge and assorted Dursleys celebrating and opening gifts. 

(Somewhere, in another time, a six year-old Harry Potter would’ve been getting ready to receive another training broom from his uncles and new clothes and a train set from his parents and hundreds of kisses at family dinner that he would’ve made a show of wiping off, loudly proclaiming that he was now much too old for kisses. He would be put to bed before the adults, staying wide awake and peering through a different crack in a very different door to see his parents wrapping his presents for Christmas Day. 

But this was not there.)

“I’m worried about winter break, Fluffy,” Harry told the snake after school one day. “Marge is coming, and her dog is really mean. And she likes to hurt me more than even Vernon, I think,” he admitted softly.

Tell your favourite human, Fluffy responded, wrapping around his ankles. The wolf.

“Mr. Lupin? He’s not a wolf, silly,” Harry scoffed, but sombered again. “I dunno. What can he do, Fluffy? He can’t take me away like a magical fairy god—” Harry paused and blinked. “Yeah. I dunno,” he mumbled.

Hmm. Alright, Fluffy said, but he may be able to do something.

"No, he can't," Harry said quietly. "They never can."

The final Friday before break came far too soon. It was joyous and merry, and Harry couldn't help but smile when the principal handed him a candy cane at the front doors, but quickly dropped it when he entered and encountered red, white, and green chaos. Children and teachers were everywhere and the noisy hallway prickled at Harry's skin, exacerbating his already frantic thought-process.

“Happy Christmas-kind of!” Cicily beamed as she spotted him, waving.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously.

"We can't celebrate actual Christmas together because of winter break," Cicily explained. "So, it's only kind of!"

"Oh, I get it," Harry said dully. "Kind of."

"C'mon!" Cicily grinned, pulling him with her to get in line to go to class.

He followed with a plastered smile, something sad and angry pushing and pulling in his gut. Everyone was so... happy, and him too, really, but something sour filled his chest as he looked around at the brightly decorated school.

Mr. Lupin was in the classroom, a santa hat perched precariously on his head as he tried to regulate thirty small children. "Hello, Cicily, Harry," he welcomed them, and handed both of them candy canes.

Harry pocketed his and added it to the other as he said, “Happy Christmas-kind of, Mr. Lupin. Since I won’t… see you at actual Christmas,” he finished quietly.

“Happy Christmas-kind of, Harry,” Mr. Lupin replied warmly. "Happy holidays. We’re having a special day today; we’ll read a storybook and answer questions about it and then have hot chocolate.”

"Yayy!" Cicily hollered, and then dragged Harry to the window to look at the snow outside along with Evan and Gavin. "Hi! Happy Christmas-kind of!" Cicily greeted brightly.

"I don't celebrate Christmas," Evan shrugged. "But the candy canes are cool."

"What do you mean, you don't celebrate Christmas?" Cicily asked, mouth agape.

"I'm Jewish," Evan said. "I think Mr. Lupin is too; he said so last week. What about you, Harry? Do you celebrate?"

Harry shrugged, looking down at the floor. He already felt awful in his gut, dreading the end of the school day, but he also felt bad for not celebrating the last day with his friends before the break. He wanted to, really, but he just didn't know how.

"Well, do you or not?" Cicily prodded.

"It's okay if you don't," Gavin said.

"My- My family does, but I don't," Harry said quietly. "They don't let me."

"Wait, what? Why wouldn't they?" Cicily asked curiously. "Why wouldn't they let you, Harry?"

When Harry didn't answer, she, as young children are wont to do, grew insistent. "Why not, Harry? Why wouldn't they let you celebrate Christmas? Are you in trouble? Are you—"

"SHUT UP!" Harry yelled, frustrated beyond belief, and then froze.

Cicily stared at him, shocked and confused, and then promptly started crying.

"I'm so sorry, so, so sorry, sorry," Harry said frantically and dissolved into sobs immediately, pushing himself away from Cicily and every other student in the classroom, cheery atmosphere dissipated. He backed up against the wall and hiccoughed when his back hit it and he slid down the wall. "I didn't mean to yell, I'm sorry..."

"Oh, dear," Mr. Lupin said at the chaos. "Alright, everyone, settle down," he announced firmly. "Cicily, Harry, are you alright?"

Harry didn't know what happened after that because hearing and vision blurred for a few moments, swelling in the roar of panic in his mind, but it receded when he saw Mr. Lupin kneeling in front of him, concerned eyes trained on his own.

"Sorry," he whispered again, trembling.

"Can I touch you?" Mr. Lupin asked.

Harry nodded, still shaking, and Mr. Lupin shifted to sit next to him. Harry realised with a start that the classroom was empty.

"They went to the auditorium for the Christmas party," Mr. Lupin replied to his unasked question.

"I'm so confused," Harry sniffled quietly.

"I'm sure you are. Are you overwhelmed?"

Harry nodded even though he wasn't sure what that word meant.

"Do you need anything, or just some quiet? I need to do a bit of paperwork, and you can sit here and calm down while I do it?"

Harry flushed but nodded. "Sorry for—" he hiccoughed. "Being a baby."

"You're not. Though you do need to apologise for using unkind words with Miss Peterson," Mr. Lupin said as he hoisted himself to standing.

"Is she okay?" Harry asked miserably as he stood next to him.

"Perfectly alright. In fact, she was worried about you," Mr. Lupin reassured, but it only made Harry feel worse as he followed Mr. Lupin to the front of the room. He miserably peered at the top of the desk, where an array of papers lay spread out.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked curiously, with a wet sniffle.

“Report cards. But don't worry," he winked. "I'll hand them out with a piece of chocolate."

Harry gasped, the heaviness in his chest lightening momentarily. “I love chocolate.”

Mr. Lupin laughed. “Me too. Oh, reminds me—” he stopped rifling through the papers and reached into his leather satchel and pulled out two books. He came around the desk and handed both to Harry. “Happy Christmas. These are for you,” Mr. Lupin said gently. “I found them in my home when I made some progress sorting your parents’ old things. They’re magical textbooks; both over magical creatures. One belonged to your mother and one to your father. There are a lot of little things tucked into the pages of your mother’s; Lily used anything and everything she could find as a bookmark and loved to annotate,” Mr. Lupin said fondly. “And James wrote down awful poetry about his love for her in the margins of his. It’s probably filled with doodles from him and I and… a few other friends of ours.”

Harry took the two reverently and flipped the top, more battered book open. This book belongs to: monsieur mcfart was written on the first page, and Mr. Lupin let out a nervous chuckle. “Teenage boys, hmm? Don’t take everything you read in there to heart,” he said with a wink.

Harry swallowed roughly and tried not to cry as he thanked Mr. Lupin. Maybe with these… the break wouldn’t be so bad.

(It was alright. He was left mostly alone, ignored as he scurried around and cleaned for Eve. Christmas was spent reading, shut inside of his cupboard. It was the best one he’d had that he could remember, reading every night notes passed in between his parents. His parents, who'd lived and breathed and loved. Loved him.)

viii.

“Are you a werewolf?” Harry asked the week he returned from break. (He whispered it because maybe Mr. Lupin didn’t want other people to know.)

Mr. Lupin inhaled sharply and fell into a coughing fit, hacking for a few moments before he stopped with a few shaky inhales.

Harry looked on worriedly. 

“What?” Mr. Lupin asked after a few moments, his voice hoarse.

“You’re a werewolf,” Harry said importantly. “In my dad’s book you gave me. There was a werewolf photo and he wrote Remus Lupin next to it. It’s you. You have your kronik illness, and it sounds like what the book says werewolfism is. On the full moons, werewolfs turn into a wolf. You’re not at school on full moons, and you have am— amer eyes—”

“Amber,” Mr. Lupin whispered.

“And you’re all scratched up. Like me.” Harry tapped his forehead.

Mr. Lupin stared at him. “Merlin,” he said after a moment, his voice strangled. “Ms. Dosia! Harry needs to go to the restroom. Will you cover my class?”

Ms. Dosia called back that she could, so Mr. Lupin held Harry’s hand and led him into the school. His hand was shaking.

“I don’t need to potty,” Harry frowned, affronted.

Mr. Lupin stopped in the middle of the hallway and let go of Harry. He ran his hand through his hair and looked at him frantically. “Harry, I— I’m not— I can’t—”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered.

“How?” Mr. Lupin asked, almost to himself. “I don’t—”

“I told Fluffy that I was reading about werewolfs and she said that she could smell wolf on you. And she’s always right.”

Mr. Lupin covered his mouth with his hand and looked at Harry with red-rimmed eyes. “You can’t tell anybody, Harry, I— It’s a very very important secret that you need to keep, understand?”

“Fluffy said that too.” Harry bit his lip. “I’m sorry for making you sad.”

Mr. Lupin closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths. “I’m not sad, just shocked, Harry. Very, very few people know…”

“I can still visit for tea, right? And talk to you at recess?”

Mr. Lupin nodded. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry I made you think any differently. I very much enjoy your company.”

Harry smiled a little. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Mr. Lupin took a shaky breath.

“Can I hug?” Harry asked tentatively, taking one step forwards.

Mr. Lupin silently opened his arm wide and Harry pulled into it, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I won’t ever tell, Mr. Lupin,” Harry mumbled.

“Thank you, Harry,” Mr. Lupin said quietly. “I believe it’s time to go back to recess, hmm?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “C’mon!” he said, grabbing Mr. Lupin’s hand and dragging him back inside. (He missed the way Mr. Lupin flinched when he grabbed it.)

Interlude ii.

He knows.

He knows and he doesn’t care.

James and Lily and Peter had never cared. They’d never looked at him with the disgust everyone showed him. Harry was the same way, young and without prejudices, and Remus didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

Harry, who was currently living with two monsters.

Here was the thing of it: Remus would take Harry in a heartbeat. He would, really, despite the crippling guilt and regret over not taking him in the first place.

He’d foolishly trusted that everything would be fine and ignored the voice inside of him (that sounded exactly like Sirius) that told him to look into where Harry had gone after the murders more, to make sure Harry was alright. But Remus had been devastated, and terrified, and high on both muggle and magical drugs every night to try and escape reality. He’d been in no shape to even try to take care of Harry, to no-one’s fault but his own.

After Minerva arrived in his flat the year previous, though, they investigated together. The wards on the Dursleys’ home contained compulsion charms that prevented muggle police from interfering, so when he and Minerva discovered that her concerns were, in fact, founded, they realised that Dumbledore had to have known. They knew that beyond pursuing why he knew, the priority was to get Harry away from the Dursleys as soon as possible.

“I know Albus thinks he has to stay there because of Lily’s Blood Magic cast before her death, but that will mean nothing if he is dead by their hands,” Minerva'd said grimly, sitting at the poor excuse for a kitchen table in Remus' flat.

Remus had stared at the flickering candle and said nothing.

Poppy visited for the aftermath of the first full moon after this drastic change in his perception of life and himself. She pulled him back to health kicking and screaming, and a week after the full moon he sat down with both women and Amelia Bones, a rising member of the DMLE who Minerva had gone to school with, and they got to work on a plan to get Harry away from his abusers.

First, to establish a relationship with the child, Remus applied for a job at the local Infant School. A few Confundus charms later, and he had a job. (They didn’t feel too bad. This was for Harry. Nothing mattered more.) He spent the rest of the summer preparing to teach a bunch of young children, an endeavour that he was thoroughly unprepared to follow through on.

“You used to be so good with the first years,” Minerva told him gently near the beginning of that calendar year, pressing a glass of water into his hands.

He eyed the clear liquid in disappointment. “I’m a worthless drunk, Minerva,” he said tiredly. “With one foot on death’s door. I can’t stand up straight because of how the moons have ravaged me and I can’t find it in myself to be kind or— or gentle. There’s nothing left.”

“You—” Minerva’s voice shook in anger. “You look Harry in the eye and tell him that. Tell him that the only man left that has a hope of gaining custody and saving him is giving up because his own self-worth is so poor that he can’t even handle a room of twenty children.”

Remus flushed in embarrassment. “I— you’re right,” he said. “But I don’t know if I remember how to be good, Professor.”

Only twenty-four. He was only twenty-four, and he couldn’t remember how to be kind or gentle or loving because he hadn’t been treated that way in so, so long.

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Minerva said primly. “You are still the boy who came into my office fourth year and told me you were afraid for a Slytherin in your Charms class who seemed more withdrawn every day. You’re still the boy who tutored first and second-years in Defence despite how infinitely rubbish they were at the subject. And you’re still the boy who, excepting some… memorable moments, marked your years in Hogwarts as one of the kindest students in its walls. You can’t remember how to be him again? I understand, I do. The war took nearly everything from us. But not everything. If it takes Poppy and I reminding you every day, then so be it,” she finished.

Remus just looked at her and then burst into sobs, burying his head in his hands. Minerva moved to sit next to him on the sofa. She didn’t hold him and he was grateful for it. But she remained, quiet and firm, until he wiped his eyes, stood up shakily, and poured every bottle of liquor in his cabinet down the sink.

He got clean. Three simple words that couldn’t possibly capture the awful process that took the entire winter, spring and summer and was still ongoing. His fingers still twitched to hold a bottle of liquor but it had all been poured down the drain of his old flat.

With July came the worst moon since Minerva’d shown up the October before. Remus lay in bed for a week, and once able to eat by himself, they’d discovered that he’d permanently mangled his hip.

“Absolutely not,” Remus hissed from his position propped up against the headboard.

“You can’t walk without aide, Remus, please—”

“Poppy,” he growled. “I’m not using a cane; I’m not a cripple —”

“Use the bloody cane,” Minerva said, entering his bedroom with clean towels. “And put some trousers on, for Merlin’s sake,” she snapped. “This isn’t a brothel.”

Somehow, she always managed to get him to shut up.

The next morning, he used the cane to stiffly stand from the bed, passing the guest room that Minerva and Poppy practically lived in at the time.

Poppy was waving her hands around to make tea as he entered the kitchen. She turned to him and smiled warmly. “Good. I was worried I would have to get Minerva to threaten detention in order for you to stop putting so much weight on that hip.”

“I feel like I’m eighty-four,” Remus muttered, his entire body throbbing dully.

“Coming from someone who is in her eighties, I can tell you that you’re most certainly not.”

Remus scoffed, but took her silent offer of tea with a grateful smile as he sat at the table. 

Two months and eight mind healer appointments later, he stepped for the first time into Emery Wilkinson’s Primary School, cane thumping quietly for every other step. He set up the crayon boxes, craft kits, and name tags, swallowing hard at the twenty-third child on his roster sheet. He met the other teachers and felt a wolf in sheep’s clothing but smiled and greeted them politely.

Then September 1st, the day when seven years worth of Hogwarts students were boarding the Hogwarts Express, seeing Hogwarts, hugging their friends again. September 1st, Remus met Harry for the very first time. 

(Harry had been born after the Fidelius charm was cast. Remus last saw his best friend when she was two months pregnant.)

At the end of the day, as Harry left the room to line up for pick-up, Remus discreetly cast a diagnostic charm. Mere minutes later, he called Amelia Bones with the first piece of definitive proof that Harry lived in an abusive home.

ix.

It was six, and Petunia still hadn't arrived.

Well, not that Harry knew. He didn't have a watch or anything to tell him the time. But it had long since been dark and very cold and he remained curled up on the bench without a jacket, only a little scared. He was a big kid now. He didn't get scared anymore—

"Harry?"

"Auygh!" Harry yelped, then clapped his frozen hands over his mouth.

Mr. Lupin stared at him from where he'd just exited the school. “Where are your aunt and uncle, Harry?”

Harry shrugged mutely, wide eyed.

Mr. Lupin looked around at the empty pick-up area. “It’s been three hours…” he murmured to himself. “The school is closed for the day, otherwise I’d take you back inside to call them. Why didn’t you go to the office?”

Harry tapped at the concrete curb. “I don’t want P’tunia to be mad at me.”

“Ah.” Mr. Lupin said softly. “Well…” he bit his lip for a moment. “I know your address; it’s in the school directory. I can take you to your…”

“No!” Harry said frantically, then paled. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.” Mr. Lupin cautiously sat next to him on the curb. “Are you cold?” he asked softly.

Harry clenched his jaw and tightened his arms around himself. “A little,” he admitted quietly. 

Immediately Mr. Lupin pulled off his jumper, leaving himself in just his button-down, and handed it to Harry. “Here, put this on. No good if you freeze, hm?”

Harry stared at him for a moment before nodding quickly and tugging it on. It was much too large, but he tucked his hands into the ends of the sleeves and curled it around himself. It was warm and cosy, and smelled a little like tea. Once his frozen fingers tingled with feeling again, he looked up at Mr. Lupin again shyly.

“Why can’t you go home?” Mr. Lupin asked gently.

Harry flushed but didn’t reply.

“You can tell me anything, remember?” Mr. Lupin said softly.

“I’m scared,” Harry mumbled, twisting his fingers in the grass. “I like it here. I don’t w’nna go to the house.”

“Right. Well…” Mr. Lupin exhaled softly. “You can’t sit here all night, can you?”

“No…” Harry frowned. “Wait, yes I can,” he said stubbornly.

Mr. Lupin chuckled softly. “I suppose you can . But it will become even colder when it gets dark, hm?”

Harry twisted his mouth. “I guess.”

“I think… It’s best if you come home with me,” Mr. Lupin said. “I simply cannot just leave you out here.”

Harry looked up at him. “Is there magic there?”

“Um… Yes?”

“Okay.” He stood up. “Ready?”

Mr. Lupin blinked at him. “If a complete stranger came up to you and told you there was magic in their home, would you go home with them?”

Harry furrowed his brows. “No.”

“Oh, good,” Mr. Lupin mumbled in relief.

Harry pulled his rucksack on and looked up at his teacher trustingly.

“Well then. I, um, usually go home by magic, but it’s a form of transportation that makes young children sick, so I suppose we’ll take the bus,” he said.

“I don’t wanna be sick.”

“I don’t want you to be sick, either. The bus stop is down the street, see it?” he pointed, and Harry nodded, and then they were off. Harry matched Mr. Lupin’s pace with slight difficulty for a moment until Mr. Lupin seemed to realise and slowed down with an apologetic smile.

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry reached up and slipped his hand into Mr. Lupin’s free one. It was larger than his, and calloused and warm.

Mr. Lupin squeezed his hand gently, and Harry grinned tentatively.

They arrived at the bus stop just as one pulled up, and Mr. Lupin helped Harry hop onto the bus before pulling himself onto it as well. He paid the fare for both of them and then followed a bouncy Harry to the back of the half-empty bus.

“It’s only three stops away,” Mr. Lupin informed him as he wiggled happily onto a bus seat. “And I’d advise you not to stand while the bus is moving, or you’ll be tossed around,” he warned, and Harry’s eyes widened as he plastered his butt to the plastic seat.

Mr. Lupin sat next to him with a chuckle.

“Have you ever been to space?” Harry asked abruptly.

Mr. Lupin looked over at him as the bus began to move. “Can’t say I have, no.”

“I want to go to space,” Harry told him. “Far, far away. I’ll have a house and an alien mum and da and Petunia and Vern’un don’t ever have to see me again.”

Mr. Lupin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then— “Would I be allowed to visit?” he asked.

“Of course,” Harry said with a small smile. He kicked the seat in front of him. “Only if you bring—” his voice dropped to a hush. “Magics.”

“I definitely will,” Mr. Lupin said with a little laugh. 

Harry started talking about how at lunch Cicily’d said that dinosaurs were cooler than aliens, which was SO NOT TRUE, and as he blabbered and stumbled over his words and kicked his legs back and forth, he didn’t notice Mr. Lupin looking at him with so, so much love.

When the bus screeched to a stop four stories later, Mr. Lupin led Harry off of the vehicle. “It’s not too far of a walk,” he told his student. “I need something nearby in case I can’t use magic transport one day,” he whispered down to him.

Harry grinned. “If I could, I would use magic transportation every day,” he announced happily. A lady passed by them on the sidewalk and smiled down at what she thought was a young child’s imagination.

Mr. Lupin chuckled but tapped him lightly on the head. “Magic’s a secret, remember? We need to be discreet.”

“Like spies!” Harry exclaimed, then clapped his hands over his mouth. “Super secret spies,” he whispered, muffled under his hands.

“Like super secret spies,” Mr. Lupin agreed. They came along a plot of land in between two townhomes with a gate around the area. A one-story sat in the centre of it, eggshell walls and a dark brown shingled roof. “It’s not much, I’m afraid, but it’s home,” he said, opening the gate so Harry, suddenly shy, could step onto his front lawn.

Mr. Lupin closed the gate and led him up onto the porch. He unlocked the front door with a little wave of his hand and Harry gawked as he followed him into the house.

The inside, while small, was warm and comfortable. As Harry looked around the little foyer and how it split into a book-filled sitting room and a cramped but neat kitchen, he decided that he’d never seen something more welcoming than Mr. Lupin’s home.

Harry watched as his teacher rested his cane against the doorframe and sat down gingerly in a kitchen chair. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, then blinked open to look at Harry. “You can make yourself at home. I’m afraid I’m unused to being up and moving for so long,” he said.

“Oh… sorry,” Harry said, abruptly realising that Mr. Lupin could’ve magic-transportationed home but instead took the long way for Harry and was hurting because of it.

“Please, don’t be. It’s just how it is sometimes,” Mr. Lupin said with a funny look on his face, like he was sad and happy at the same time.

Harry frowned slightly. “The werewolf thing?”

“The werewolf thing,” Mr. Lupin said softly. “Give me a few moments and then I can get up to make us some tea.”

“Oh! I know how to make tea!” Harry said buoyantly.

“Ah. That’s alright, thank you, though,” Mr. Lupin said. He patted the chair next to him. “Tell me more about your day, hm?”

Harry beamed and clambered up onto the chair. “Mkay. Wait, um— I wanna know more about magic. There’s nobody around, so can you show me more now, please?”

“Oh, of course,” Mr. Lupin said. He reached down to his pant leg and slid out his wand.

Harry watched, fascinated, as Mr. Lupin cast a murmured spell and the tip of his wand began to glow. He reached out with his other hand and plucked the ball of light from his wand and held it out to Harry. “You can hold it if you’d like,” he urged.

Harry tentatively held out his hands and Mr. Lupin set it in the centre of his palms. It buzzed and crackled gently against his skin. Harry giggled. “It feels funny.”

“It does, doesn’t it? It’s not electricity, but it emulates the same effect, so it’s safe to touch.”

The ball of light ebbed a few times and then faded away. “That was so cool,” Harry breathed.

“It’s one of the first spells you’ll learn when you go to Hogwarts,” Mr. Lupin replied.

“Hogwarts?” Harry wrinkled his nose. That sounded gross. Warts on a hog. Ew.

“Oh, I forget that you… I’m sorry. Hogwarts. The magical boarding school you’ll go to when you’re 11.”

Harry gaped at him. “Boarding… away? I go away? For the year?”

“Yes, you live in a dorm with other magical children.”

Harry’s mouth hung open. “You mean I get to be with other people… like me?” he asked quietly.

“For seven years. You return home for holidays and the summer season.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?”

Mr. Lupin looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “With your parents.”

“So that’s the school you knew them from!” Harry exclaimed.

“That is,” Mr. Lupin said with a soft smile.

Harry hummed happily. “I can’t wait to go.” He made a hopeful face and asked tentatively, “Are there more photos here?”

Mr. Lupin nodded. "There are."

"Can I see?" Harry asked eagerly.

Mr. Lupin smiled softly. "Of course."

He stood up with a shaky exhale and Harry looked on worriedly as he moved over to one of his many bookshelves and pulled a box down. "Most of it is duplicates of what you were given, but there should be a few you don't have. You're welcome to ask to hear the story behind any of them, if can remember them."

Harry immediately started shuffling through the photos, asking about nearly every one, glowing under Mr. Lupin's warm attention. This is how they spent the evening, and Harry almost forgot this wasn't even where he was supposed to be. Harry knew he would stay here forever if he could, in the warmth of Mr. Lupin's home. But around ten, Mr. Lupin said, with an odd tone of voice Harry didn't quite understand, that Harry had to go home. Harry nodded a little, mouth twisting in slight upset. He'd wanted to stay here where it was soft and kind and the closest thing to his parents he knew. He didn't want to go back to where he was a Freak and cold and lonely. Instead of voicing this, though, he just quietly waited for Mr. Lupin to climb to his feet and call Petunia to take Harry back to their house.

Soon enough, Petunia pulled up in her drab yellow car and honked. 

Harry hesitated at the door to the car, his hand on the handle, and turned back to his teacher. "Wait, Mr. Lupin, your jumper!"

“Do you have any warm jumpers, Harry?” Mr. Lupin asked softly.

Harry slowly shook his head.

"Keep it. I have more," Mr. Lupin said with a small shrug.

Harry's eyes widened as he rubbed a sleeve between his thumb and pointer finger. "Thank you, Mr. Lupin," he whispered, eyes threatening to spill. He'd never felt so many confusing things before he'd met Mr. Lupin, never even cried all that much. But now he wanted to cry all the time and it was so overwhelming and tiring and he didn't know how to feel anymore.

"Of course," Mr. Lupin said, ruffling his head.

Petunia slammed the horn and Harry flinched. "Bye, Mr. Lupin," he mumbled, and then hurriedly got into the tight backseat. Mr. Lupin stood in front of his home, waving to Harry, until he was completely out of view.

Only when Harry was back in his dark little cupboard that night, curled up in Mr. Lupin’s jumper, did he wonder why Mr. Lupin hadn't just called Petunia immediately if he'd had her number all along.

Continuandum.