Chapter Text
Remus frowned at the note he’d just received. It seemed Harry might not be doing well. By all accounts, this should be a nice break from the turmoil at school he’d been experiencing, but perhaps not. Remus had hoped it would be a quiet few months for him, time enough to mourn his godfather before sixth year.
Remus gave an explosive sigh, and shook the thoughts of Sirius away. He reread the letter.
Professor Lupin,
I don’t know who else to write about this. I tried to address it to Professor Snape, but my hand refused to address it. Must be a serpent’s curse or something. Anyway, I know Harry trusts you more than him.
Harry sent me a letter today, and I think someone needs to go check on him. He would never admit it, but he doesn’t have the best life with his relatives. It makes him screwy in the head and he won’t let my brothers and I hex them or prank them, let me just put it that way.
It’s hard to explain, but he’s less present in his letters. And after spending weeks there, he doesn’t share any details of his life with them. I thought he didn’t trust me for the first few years, but I think he pushes thoughts of home away so much that he forgets it all. He doesn’t want to think of it at least as much as he wouldn’t want anyone to find out any details. I hope he forgives me for telling you even this much.
Hedwig should be bringing Harry my reply soon, and I wrote that you might stop by. She was pretty lethargic and hungry though, and Mum said she needs a couple days’ rest with extra food.
Ron Weasley
P.S. I’m sorry you lost Sirius. I know you were close. Harry took it hard, too, but you knew him differently than he did. I can’t imagine something happening to Harry or Hermione.
Remus scrubbed a hand over his face, setting the letter aside. He might have really fucked up here. A distracted letter from a teenager was one thing, but Harry would never willingly mistreat Hedwig, or forget to feed her.
A doe patronus darted through the wall of his sitting room, and Remus stood, immediately tense.
“Lupin, your final dose is ready. Do come by quickly, it does not keep well,” Snape’s dry baritone rang out from the delicate deer, which turned and vanished the way it came.
His wand in hand, he apparated from where he stood directly to the back step of the house of Severus Snape. It baffled him that he was even privy to such delicate information as to where Snape lived when not at Hogwarts, but he managed to hide his surprise when Snape grumbled out the address a month ago.
The door swung open just as Remus raised his hand to knock, and there Snape stood. He, like Remus, wasn’t wearing robes atop his clothes, and he looked a lot smaller than he did the last time they’d spoken. He was wearing black trousers and a black shirt, impressive for the heat, until Remus stepped inside and realized Snape had charmed his house to such a cool temperature that he almost wished he’d brought a sweater.
“Feels nice in here,” Remus commented politely to Snape’s back. He grunted in response and disappeared around the corner. Remus felt it was rude to follow at his heels, so he shifted his weight with his hands clasped behind his back.
“In here,” Snape said after a moment.
Feeling foolish, Remus went into a small but decently kept kitchen. He stepped up to the table, where Snape was picking up the familiar steaming goblet.
Remus tried to thank him again, but was brushed off with a wave of Snape’s hand.
“Well,” he said, steeling himself for the assaulting taste, “Cheers,” and swallowed the Wolfsbane as quickly and efficiently as he could manage.
The potion burned everything it touched; the thin inner skin of his lips, his tongue, his gums, his throat, all the way past his heart. The sensation always lingered for several minutes, and he shuddered once as he set the empty goblet on the table.
Snape watched him with no expression as he drank, but his eyes tightened in what might be satisfaction when he set down the empty cup. Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed he would never let Remus forget how he’d missed his last dose at Hogwarts over two years ago, now. The memory of Harry’s and his friend’s shrieks of fear as he transformed wasn’t something to scoff at, though.
Snape ushered him back towards the door without ceremony. It seemed Remus would not be needed to stay and chat, not that they ever had before.
Remus had nodded in thanks again and was hovering a foot outside when Snape cleared his throat behind him.
He looked behind him to see Snape with one hand outstretched expectantly.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He drawled.
Remus felt his face lose color. Did Snape expect payment after all? He hadn’t brought any money with him. Not that he’d ever carry enough gold for an entire Wolfsbane cycle, Merlin.
Several weeks ago, to his utter surprise, Severus Snape had informed him that Remus would be accepting a month’s worth of Wolfsbane, for no payment whatsoever.
Remus could barely comprehend what he’d offered, the both of them leaving the Hospital Wing shortly after the ministry battle. Nothing made sense to him really, since that day.
At first, he’d suspected Dumbledore had had a hand in this shockingly merciful offer, but the disdain in Snape’s eyes had shifted to reveal something worse:
Snape pitied him.
Remus remembered bristling, ready to shout loudly enough to echo through the stone halls of Hogwarts that he didn’t need his , or anyone’s help. Handouts were for the weak and vulnerable, and he was neither. Sirius was…he was gone, and he’d have to be strong, now, without him.
Again.
Instead of rejecting the charity and standing tall, he nodded to Snape. He’d stuttered his appreciation as the tail of Snape’s robes swished around the corner, having turned away the instant his kindness had been accepted. He seemed to enjoy walking away from Remus mid-conversation.
“Stop thinking, you idiot, you’ll only hurt yourself. I need the alarm. For the boy.”
Remus blinked, then shoved his hand into his pocket, swallowing back a curse of embarrassment.
“Of course, here.” He hurriedly placed the charmed alarm into Snape’s waiting hand. It was a chess piece, oddly enough; a little gold knight. He’d never asked Dumbledore why he chose such a thing to alert them when Harry left the bounds of the blood wards.
Just as he let it go, the knight unsheathed his sword and began to shout incoherently.
Remus thought he could make out the words “To arms!” but he couldn’t be sure. Its voice sounded a lot like a chipmunks’ squeaks.
It wasn’t a huge concern. Remus had had the thing on him for several days and it had alerted him twice. Harry was a teenager, and a Gryffindor. If he knew Harry at all, he’d be bored to tears at home, probably itching for something to do or to see.
Something as paltry as a vague rule would hardly give him pause. They never had for Remus and his friends.
He had two thoughts at once. The first was the memory of Harry, screaming and struggling to tear free from his arms, as Sirius fell through the veil. That had been mere weeks ago. Whatever Harry was up to, it may not be safe. Even Ron Weasley was concerned, and that was through letters alone.
The second thought was that he’d never seen the knight parry a wand. Snape had raised his to tap the knight’s helmet in order to acknowledge the alarm and silence it.
“Blasted thing,” Snape snarled. He quickly tried again, successfully ending the alarm. The knight teetered a bit as it sheathed its toothpick of a sword and snapped back into its resting position.
“If it left a gouge, I’ll take it out of his hide,” Snape grumbled, inspecting his wand for damage.
Remus was briefly amazed that Snape would threaten Dumbledore, even out of earshot, but he realized Snape had been referring to Harry.
He opened his mouth to defend him, but Snape carried on, “If the little imbecile won’t heed the boundary line, I’ll have to go remind him myself.”
That wouldn’t do, not at all.
“Don’t bother yourself with it, Snape,” Remus said quickly. “I’ll go.”
His stomach sank with the implication that something may actually be wrong. The odd behavior from the knight and Snape’s willingness to go to Harry in person was a concerning combination.
“Do it quickly, then. If you waste my work this month by mauling the precious Boy-who-Lived and a horde of muggles, I will transfigure you into a mouse and feed you to the boomslang in my cellar ,” he hissed, and then the door had closed in Remus’ face.
His last thought before he apparated to Surrey was that Sirius would have laughed until he cried if he’d heard Snape’s oddly concerned yet horrifying warning.
Laughed, and then found a way to turn the boomslang invisible or something.
At the end of the day, Sirius had never tolerated threats to the people he cared about.
-
Apparating twice paired with the pressing effects of the final dose Wolfsbane left Remus winded. He was inside the tunnel that marked one edge of the blood ward’s reach. It was immediately too hot, even out of the sun. He breathed deeply, trying to get air to the bottom of his lungs, when a faint scent caught his attention.
A scent he knew: Harry’s.
Remus would never admit it, in fear of dying of mortification, but he noticed he became needier leading up to the full moon. After starting at Hogwarts and making friends, he’d realized, to his horror, that the wolf he became wanted to be surrounded by familiar scents, the scents of those he valued. As monstrous as the wolf was, he wanted his loved ones safe, even if being protected by a turned werewolf was far from it.
This resulted in behaviors Remus was recognizing now, as he stomped towards the smell, his concern expanding behind his ribs. He had to consciously uncurl his snarl as Harry’s scent strengthened just as he caught sight of white fabric crumpled behind a tree.
With a shaking hand, he lifted a ragged t-shirt off the ground. It was large, wrinkled, and covered in dirt and grime.
And what was definitely Harry’s blood.
He swallowed around a wolfish growl that rolled out of his throat.
Something was very wrong, and Remus needed to do something about it.
Before he could truly panic, his eyes caught on the bent and broken grass around the shirt’s hiding place.
A single set of footprints, which had to be Harry’s.
He dropped the shirt, as it would only distract the wolf that was still distraught with worry, and followed the footprints. They ended on the paved path, but Harry could only have been walking along it in this direction.
Remus soon came upon a line of buildings, trailing away down a narrower street than Harry’s neighborhood. It was reasonable that Harry had gone to the store, Remus assured himself. He pretended his heart wasn’t racing and stepped inside.
Harry’s scent, his living, healthy scent was here. Remus was so relieved that he would have sworn he could feel the warmth of Harry’s body heat even all these meters away.
He approached quickly, thoughtlessly; all he knew was that he needed to put a hand on him, to be sure his senses weren’t deceiving him.
Remus said something, and Harry replied, but he was barely paying attention.
Harry had clearly been in a fistfight, and recently.
Irritation flooded Remus, and he had to fight it from showing on his face.
The blood on his shirt hadn’t been that plentiful, now that he thought about it. It hadn’t been enough to mark a serious injury.
Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, and it made his face difficult to look at. He was, all at once, too many people he’d lost. Lily’s green eyes blinked at him, nervous and guileless in an odd combination. James’ mouth twitched, his shoulders tightening when Remus’ hand did, and he let Harry go.
Worst of all was the reminder of Sirius. The poorly hidden evidence of a fight that seemed to have gone in his favor. Who had he hurt? Who had he targeted as the outlet for his grief and pain? How often was this happening?
When he asked, Harry’s face closed off immediately.
It hurt, but it was familiar.
Also familiar was the intense worry. James and Sirius, the wonder duo, had made sure of that. When he wasn’t envious of their closeness, he was wondering why they were late to class, if they were hurt or hurting someone, if they would leave Remus behind.
His boyhood insecurities were anything but relevant right now. He focused on his conversation with Harry.
Something wasn’t right with Harry, but Remus couldn’t grasp it fully. He could attribute all his concerns to the trauma of losing Sirius, but that didn’t feel right. The wolf’s instincts drew his attention to the defensive set of his shoulders, the absence of life in his eyes and flitting gaze. His clothes, too, were much shabbier than one incident of fighting.
Remus had an uncomfortable theory that the clothes Harry wore had not been purchased with him in mind, but what he didn’t know was why it bothered him so much. People had to make do with second hand clothing all the time; he was no elitist.
And then Harry asked him to buy alcohol.
He hadn’t thought Harry was one for vices, but apparently he didn’t know him as well as he thought he had. Certainly, he’d been through enough in the last several years to warrant it, but that didn’t make it alright.
He wondered what Sirius would have said to Harry in this situation.
Sirius would offer him a drink with supervision, perhaps. Or maybe he would express his disappointment. Sirius’ father had been a piece of work after drinking, as Remus had found out long after Sirius was free from his parents.
Yes, he would be disappointed. And so was Remus.
Harry was given the time to recover from a truly horrible year, and he was wasting it breaking rules and putting himself in unnecessary danger. Remus would need to keep a closer eye on him.
If only the full moon wasn’t hours away, he could invite Harry to stay with him for the night. His guest bedroom was still made up for Sirius. It would be a good opportunity to sit down and have a serious discussion about the choices Harry had been making lately.
When Harry handed him the shopping list, it only deepened his worry. To make a teenager grocery shop for the household was a little odd, but not terribly concerning. Given Harry’s recent behavior, it was a reasonable task to get him out of the house for a bit. Perhaps it was a weekly chore assigned to him.
But Petunia Evans was not the type of person to forget a law. Especially one that could embarrass her family; a charge for underage drinking could definitely do that.
Now that the relief of finding him had worn away, he took the time to really look at Harry. The purple beneath his eyes and the pallid grey on his cheekbones showed a persistent exhaustion. The way he carried his shoulders, thin and slumped, was nothing like the proud, energetic stance of James. He needed help, but Remus wasn’t convinced he could be a real help to Harry at this point.
The sight of him made his heart ache anyway, and when Harry flinched as he reached for him, the ache in his heart deepened into a crack.
Whether Remus could help or not, he would return to see Harry again. As soon as the blasted full moon was over, he’d come back and get some real answers.
Remus apparated a third and final time to the front walkway of his house. Magical exhaustion rushed over him like a thick cloak had settled over his body and pulled down. It was an effort to lift his hand to the doorknob, and to raise his foot over the small step inside.
As wonderful as Wolfsbane was, the side effects were annoying.
It wasn’t late, but he was too tired to do anything but undress and climb into bed. The shuddering pain would wake him later, when the moon would rise to strip him of his humanity for a few hours.
-
His body twitched and broke. At some point, his writhing had dumped him onto the hard wooden floor, and he felt his hands curl, his nails slightly catching in the wood grain as they lengthened into claws. Every bone snapping crinkled behind his teeth until he was finally in his wolf form. It hurt, it would always hurt, but the Wolfsbane took away the worst of it.
Best of all, he didn’t have to lock himself away like normal. The potion would keep him aware enough to be able to sleep here in his own room. No bloody animal carcasses when he woke in the forest, no aching joints from the chains in the attic. The worst thing that would happen as a result of his curse tonight would be the shedded wolf hair left on his blankets.
His gratefulness was expressed in a high-pitched whine that he cut off as soon as he noticed.
Padfoot would have been worried if he’d heard it, snuffling his great furry head right into Moony’s face, then darting around him in hopping circles.
Even the most recent full moon had been that way, with Padfoot full of vibrancy, no trace of his time in prison, save for some extra cuddling as the hours neared dawn. Not even years in Azkaban had ruined Sirius’ comforting presence.
Remus had been suspicious for weeks after they’d reunited, waiting for Sirius to break. It would be expected and entirely natural. It should be normal to react to bad things badly. Or so he thought.
He’d cried, had nightmares, had more nervous tics; but they were rare. When Sirius insisted he was fine, Remus had no choice but to believe him.
Sirius was either insane with his ability to not be affected by his circumstances, or perhaps, more frighteningly, Remus had never known Sirius as well as he imagined.
Moony padded over to the corner of the room, where he’d already prepared quite the extravagant, wolf-friendly pile of blankets to use as his bed for the night. He hated finding the coarse fur in his bed and on his pillows, so the floor would have to do.
When he had doubts about his relationship with Sirius, he liked to bury the thoughts far into the recesses of his mind and think no further of them.
But seeing Harry so despondent today had unnerved him, and so he settled his snout on his paws, and thought.
Harry and Sirius seemed like opposites in many ways, but they were both troublemakers, both kind but brought chaos wherever they went.
Harry was softer, quieter.
Now that he was actively comparing them, Moony realized with a jolt that he had no examples of Harry courting chaos. The times he’d given him a headache had actually been something that happened to Harry, not something he’d sought out himself.
Being caught with the Marauder’s Map after curfew was one thing, but Harry had been investigating a murder related to his parent’s death at the time.
What did he know, then? Harry had been roughed up, but hadn’t gone home to change. He’d finished his errand instead, an errand that really shouldn’t have been his responsibility, especially since he’d been asked to buy wine as a minor.
He’d looked grim, but that could be attributed to grief from the school year. He’d flinched away from Remus, winced when he shouldn’t have.
Harry had shut Remus out, and was cagey when asked questions.
He huffed a breath, fighting against the drowsiness of the Wolfsbane. This felt important.
He should have paid more attention to their interaction. He’d been thinking of his dead friends and how much they would worry over him.
He shouldn’t have been so quick to judge Harry for things James and Sirius used to get in trouble doing, like drinking and fighting. Now that he was solely focused on his memory of Harry, he didn’t believe he was involved in either.
A tree bent in the breeze outside his window, casting a shadow through the sharp moonlight. The flicker it made on the floor of the room distracted him, alert to possible threats. He raised his head, ears poised. When the seconds passed and the house remained silent, a thought slid into place.
It wasn’t distrust of Remus that he’d seen in Harry, it was fear. He’d found him in a safe little store, away from whoever had fought him, in the town where he’d been raised, surrounded by his family and perhaps some muggle friends.
And Harry was afraid.
His ribs vibrated with a low growl. Moony was tired, but he desperately wanted to make his way to Surrey, to stand guard over Harry himself until he could transform into someone who could protect him best.
Whoever scared Harry would regret it.
He realized he’d been worrying at the knit blanket that had wrinkled between his paws, the heavy yarn sliding in his teeth, soothing and satisfying the sudden urge to bite. He released it and buried his nose in it instead, sighing.
Tomorrow, then. When he was human, he’d be collecting Harry himself.
-
For all his complaining about the somnolence of Wolfsbane, Moony had paced the floors of his bedroom well into the night, fretting and planning. He’d had to convince himself to settle again multiple times over, because fleeing to Surrey in the dead of night instead of during the day was a terrible, catastrophic idea.
For some reason, his intent to kidnap Harry didn’t seem as drastic if he did it during working hours.
He’d finally worn himself out utterly mere hours before dawn, unable to take another step. When he woke, his body was only partially on the mass of blankets, having collapsed before Mooney could reach it.
Thus, Remus was late.
He hadn’t suggested a time to visit Harry yesterday, but his worry was a potent thing, writhing in his gut like an annoyed snake. Any extra time was time wasted.
After a cursory clean-up and dressing in whatever clothes were closest to his reach, he’d set off for Harry’s house. It was already well into late morning by the time he apparated back to Surrey.
Remus hesitated as he exited the tunnel, the other direction this time. Had Remus ever even walked this way before? He knew the way, and which house was Harry’s, but had he really never seen it himself?
A grave sense of d éjà vu settled in him. When Sirius sought safety at the Potter’s house between Hogwarts’ terms, Remus had had the same realization. Not once had playful, jovial Sirius invited them over to Grimmauld Place for a weekend visit, or to meet his family over a holiday. By the time Sirius had taken James up on his offer to live with him, Remus had assumed Sirius was extremely private about his personal life, maybe one of those children who are intensely embarrassed by the mere existence of their parents.
Remus had understood, at least a little. He certainly never invited his friends to his cottage in the woods, with his quiet, warm bedroom settled beneath the dark, gloomy attic that featured in many of his nightmares.
He gathered himself as he quickly approached the correct house on Privet Drive: Number 4. He’d been wrong about Sirius for years, and he could only hope he was wrong about Harry now.
He hoped he hadn’t left Harry to suffer in any way, under any roof.
He rang the bell, and waited.
There were several long seconds of silence, in which Remus glanced to the side of the road, where a muggle car probably parked when it was here. Was the whole family out for the day? He felt a vague disappointment, but also relief. Maybe the Dursleys and Harry were on a family outing, having lunch together or going shopping. Maybe Remus had worried himself into a senseless storm, and Harry, while not completely alright, wasn’t being hurt in his own home.
The sound of clattering footsteps approached the door, and Remus had a wild second where he thought Harry was about to greet him wearing a smart pair of heels as a prank, when Petunia Evans opened the door and glared at him.
Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. Something felt missing.
“What do you want?” She hissed.
Ah.
“Mrs. Dursley, hello,” Remus said. He was already intensely uncomfortable. There was very clearly no happy family outing happening today, and he felt stupid for hoping otherwise. “I’m here to speak with Harry, we’d made plans for the afternoon.”
“He’s not in, I sent him to the shops. You just missed him,” she said it loudly, as if speaking to someone behind her.
“Well, that can’t be, he was just there yesterday, wasn’t he?” Remus asked, trying for politeness. His stomach plummeted as she blushed faintly, caught in the lie.
“What business is it of yours? You’ve never bothered to wonder where the brat was off to before. Every summer he comes back looking worse and worse. The world of freaks don’t seem to care about him either. I haven’t even seen your face since before my dear, idiot sister died.” She sneered at Remus. “The years haven’t been kind to you, have they? I almost didn’t recognize you. Mr. Loopy or something.”
At least she wasn’t pretending at politeness. Remus swallowed his anger as best he could.
“If he’s not at the store, where is he then?”
She scoffed. “Who’s to say? Probably bothering my poor son and his friends. He knows better, but we never could keep him from his natural state of being a bothersome wretch-”
“Mrs. Dursley.”
He said it with quiet agitation, but she at last fell silent.
“I honestly don’t care what you think of him or any of us, I just want to talk to Harry. I told him I was coming, and I want to make sure he’s alright. If there’s a problem, I’d be more than happy to find other arrangements for him, but please, where is Harry?”
Her arm flexed as if she restrained herself from slamming the door in his face.
“I ask you again, why on earth do you care? That freak isn’t here, and I don’t know or care where he is.”
Her eyes shifted to the side, almost behind her, involuntarily. Remus’s heart pounded, certain she was lying to his face. He couldn’t help his voice from rising.
“Mrs. Dursley, I must ask you to stand aside. I know he’s in the house somewhere –”
Something white and odd-shaped cut through the air just over his shoulder, and he ducked on instinct. He nearly swatted at the creature descending on him in a panic, when he recognized Harry’s owl.
“Hedwig? Is that for me?” he reached for the letter on Hedwig’s ankle, thinking it was Harry asking when Remus was coming. Hedwig dropped her head in front of Remus’ nose and hooted urgently, blocking him from grabbing the tied letter. She held eye contact for a breathless moment, in which Remus wasn’t entirely sure if he was about to have an eye pecked out. Hedwig launched herself off his shoulder and barrelled past a shouting Petunia.
Hedwig landed on the floor of the hallway, in front of a small door under the stairway. She stared Remus down, cocking her head side to side. The feathers around her neck were lifted slightly in agitation.
The letter wasn’t from Harry, it was for Harry, from Ron. And Harry had never received it.
“Ma’am,” he said, his eyes still locked on Hedwig’s. “Where is Harry?”
He had a terrible, awful feeling that he knew exactly where Harry was. Remus fervently wished in that moment that he could walk back down the road, then re-enter the house to find Harry happy and healthy, ready to spend an afternoon tea with Remus and Sirius, no one trapped and no one dead. No one who had been utterly failed by Remus.
He heard three feeble knocks from behind the cupboard door, and each rap felt as if his very heart was cracking in his chest.
His body didn’t allow him to think or hesitate, striding straight for the door and drawing his wand.
“Harry?”
“In here,” Harry answered almost in a whisper.
He shakily unlocked the door with a spell, and collapsed to his knees. Kind, strong Harry was folded up in a musty closet, his limbs too long to stretch out in any comfortable way. He’d barely waited a second for Harry to move on his own before he reached forward himself. He pulled Harry out and onto his lap where he sat on the floor.
Harry wouldn’t look at him.
He quickly assessed his health as he held Harry’s flimsy body in his arms. Was anything broken? Had he been starved? Beaten? Would he find blood or missing teeth if he looked on the floor of the cupboard?
Harry’s face was sickly white except for the tops of his cheeks–either red from embarrassment or fever, his body was clammy but too warm–and for the massive, swollen bruise on the side of his face that pointed away from Remus.
“Oh, Harry. Who hit you?”
He reached up to turn Harry’s face toward him, to make him look Remus in the eye, but the memory of Harry flinching away from him yesterday stilled his hand.
“Told you, I got in a fight.” A lie. He wouldn’t tell him who had locked him up, either.
He didn’t really need an answer to his questions, anyway.
He felt extraordinarily rattled, even with his suspicions before coming here. How was one of the most compassionate teenagers he’d met mistreated this way? How had no one crashed down the door years ago?
How had Remus not?
He could think on it later, drown himself in guilt when he wasn’t hoisting Harry’s head above water, as it were.
“I’m getting you out of here, kid, for good,” he murmured, tightening his hold. “Right now. Alright?”
Harry gazed at him, eyes wide and nearly vacant. It was better than an outright ‘no’, he supposed.
Mrs. Dursley was quiet now, her lips mashed together in bitter rage.
“We’re leaving,” he told her, proud that it wasn’t a scream. “Where are his things?”
She was as unhelpful as she was awful, but once Remus warned her away, she stayed gone.
His trunk was being kept outside, most likely holding everything he possessed that was magical, as if shoving it away would stop Harry from being a wizard.
Knowing Harry, he wouldn’t want to see his relatives brought to justice for anything they’d done to him, but standing in his house with him, Remus deeply wished he felt otherwise. Or that Sirius or James could exact their perfect dose of revenge on the Dursley household, once Harry was away.
The wish increased tenfold when he saw Harry’s bedroom. Because before he even entered, he had to unlock no less than four locks bolted through the door and its frame. If he didn’t know better, he would think Harry was a werewolf himself, with a family of petrified potential victims.
The room itself was no better. It was clearly an afterthought, both used as storage for random garbage and intended as a slight towards Harry all at once. The room didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone.
He opened his mouth to say it reminded him of a bastardized, muggle version of the Room of Requirement, but he thought a joke might not land at this point. Harry would take it as a personal jab, which was the last thing they needed.
All the things he’d said and implied in the grocery store yesterday felt quite abhorrent, now.
His keen sense of smell perked at the scent of bread and meat. Harry was kneeling on the floor pulling his things out of a secret hiding place, and he quite obviously was trying to block Remus’ view, by the set of his shoulders.
Remus dared a glance when he had a moment of view before Harry replaced the board. Food and small bottles of potions, most likely medicinal. He couldn’t see the rest.
His gut churned. Instead of prized possessions, Harry had survival necessities. How often did they hurt and starve him, that he needed all of that?
He looked away before Harry could see him staring. His glasses sat on a desk against the wall, the frames bent and unusable.
Harry stood and turned around, and Remus could see the exact path across his face where the frames must have scratched him.
That tiny scratch was somehow the final straw, and he hoped Harry was ready to leave for good.
-
They were finally outside, finally walking away, when Harry asked to stop.
“I’m going to go say goodbye.”
Remus assumed the boy on the swings was his cousin, someone who’d lived with Harry all his life.
He had no qualms about hexing the kid if he hurt him.
Harry looked peaceful enough, even if he was a bloody liar, so Remus faced the road and didn’t even cast a sneaky eavesdropping charm, even to make sure Harry was alright. He deserved a private goodbye, now that he’d been reassured that he would never live with these wretched people ever again.
Instead, he took several deep breaths of stale, suburban summer air as he waited. This was never a muggle experience he’d had, the cottage and the quaint village nearby had been Remus’ world. He hoped Harry preferred it, too; since every second that passed secured Remus’ decision that Harry should stay with him for as long as he’d allow it.
Remus hoped he would be enough.
When Harry rejoined him on the sidewalk, he showed clear signs of crying. He waited for Harry to tell him his cousin had been cruel, and to ask if Remus could hex him. Or maybe he wanted his cousin to come with them.
He said nothing about it, though, only that he was ready to leave. And so they did.
-
The last day or so had been utter hell on Remus’ body. He felt wrecked, plowed over, and gutted. It didn’t help that the moment he set eyes on his sad little house, he felt the urgency of sleep rise exponentially.
Remus felt about as peppy as a pile of rocks, but Harry needed to be settled in properly. He couldn’t say he knew Harry’s state of mind well enough to be sure he wouldn’t run off if he felt uncomfortable or scared.
Remus had an injured, grieving boy in his care now, and he needed three things: reassurance, first aid, and a bed.
And food. And his confirmed choice to stay here. And his acceptance of a cowardly werewolf as a guardian.
Shit.
“Is this your house?” Harry’s soft voice drew Remus’ attention back.
“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty bad.”
“Bad? I think it looks great.” He sounded like he meant it, too. Remus’ heart softened. Harry was a good kid.
-
“That’s the attic, it’s not really anything special right now. I had to spend some full moons locked up...there.”
His mumbling made a flower of shame bloom in his gut. Why bring that up?
He couldn’t tell if Harry was worried that Remus might lock him up there, or for the reminder that he was isolated with a known werewolf. He veered off the topic immediately, trying for a joke.
“Well, at least there’s nothing under the stairs, guess we’ll have to find somewhere else for you.”
Harry’s laugh sounded more like a cough, and Remus knew he’d messed up again already. He almost didn’t want to bring up Sirius and his bedroom here, but it was where Harry would be sleeping, so he had to.
He opened the door for the first time in weeks and they both stared inside. After a moment, Harry stepped past him into the room. It was nothing special, just a bed, a desk and chair, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a wide window. Normal bedroom things. Remus couldn’t help but to compare this cozy room to the museum of unwanted things that Harry had been locked in for years.
Even undecorated and showing signs of a messy inhabitant (Sirius, all Sirius), this room had much more warmth and life in it. There was room to breathe in here. And it locked from the inside only.
Not like that cupboard, not like the attic–
The thought sent him rambling, and before he knew it, he had nervously started oversharing about Sirius and his pornographic posters. He dearly needed to stop. Sirius would piss himself laughing if he’d heard any of it.
After getting Harry settled on the couch, Remus searched through the front closet for his first aid supplies. He was shocked to find the closet in disarray, the bag of potions and bandages nowhere to be seen. If asked, he could have sworn this closet was perfectly organized, everything in it labeled and precisely situated. Sirius must have needed something out of here at some point and messed it all up without telling Remus.
He felt a surprising flash of irritation. Why couldn’t he have left it alone? Why hadn’t he just asked Remus for help? Why had he never asked?
He turned his attention back to the boy waiting on his sofa.
“Can’t get into any more fights here, eh, Harry?” He finally found the medicine bag buried under a coat and plucked what he needed out of it. “And unfortunately, I don’t keep any wine on the premises, for my own bad habits, really,” he joked. He’d never had issues with drinking; it never really interested him. It seemed to be the same for Harry, as far as he knew.
Harry didn’t answer, and his heart lurched at the coldness on his face when he turned around.
“Harry?”
Harry wanted to leave. Harry thought Remus was treating him like James and Sirius.
And it was worse than that, even. He remembered Sirius bringing his concerns to him, fretting that Harry was not alright at home. He remembered Sirius rambling about responses that didn’t sit right with him, flinches and stooped shoulders and silences that should never come from James’ son.
Eventually, Remus convinced Sirius to drop it, that his concerns were unwarranted. Remus had taken a long glance around the dreary cave where Sirius had chosen to hide, a short walk to the boundary of Hogwarts. He’d taken in the scraggly curls hanging around Sirius’ face, and the grey pallor of his skin. His friend had been locked away for twelve years, but the man who escaped looked thirty years older. Sirius wasn’t in his right mind; he more easily saw fear and hate where there was none.
So he’d turned him away from Harry. Sirius needed to heal first.
Now, he stared at the boy he’d taken from his only living family. Harry was shaking with tension, bruised, and wretchedly furious, accusing Remus of the wrong crime. Harry wanted Remus to have let him save Sirius himself.
To have died in his place.
It might have hurt less if Harry had cut him open with a hex and left him there to bleed.
The two people Remus loved most in the world had been tormented, hurt, and separated; first by distance, then by death, all because Remus thought he knew better than them.
The result of Remus’ poor choices was Harry collapsing back on his sofa, drained. Remus may be a complete fool, but after hesitating only a moment, he slowly sat next to him and pulled Harry close to him. He would make better choices from here. For Harry.
“There’s stuff I can’t talk about, with the p– with Voldemort and me and what I have to do but...but it doesn’t look good. For me. But I’m ok with not surviving the war, if it saves everyone–” Harry coughed around another wave of tears and he clutched Remus’ arm.
If Remus’ will alone could lift the burdens from Harry, Harry would never know pain like this ever again. He settled for a tighter hold on Harry and let them sit in silence.
Remus would find out what Harry meant by “what he had to do”, and eliminate the problem. Deep down, he worried this was Albus’ doing. It was an irritating irony, that a man so obsessed with destiny also pulled more strings than a master puppeteer. He first would have to convince Albus to leave Harry here with him, if Harry agreed, and then Remus would do his best to unearth the secrets that had brought Harry to tears and to accept an early death. It was simply unacceptable.
Later, as he dressed Harry’s wounds, he realized that there were many other things about Harry’s life so far that were unacceptable. His list of people to attack on sight was only getting longer. By all accounts, Remus should be at the top of the list, but he had better things to do than wallow in grief and guilt for another minute. Harry needed him now.
Harry looked amazed that he’d be offered a bed, even though Remus was sure he’d said he would during the tour earlier.
“I don’t mind sleeping out here, looks comfy,” Harry offered.
For a brief moment, Remus saw Sirius sitting on that same couch, saying almost the exact same thing. Sirius claimed he hadn’t wanted to assume Remus slept in his parent’s old room, but Remus suspected that after the cold cells of Azkaban, he didn’t care one whit where he slept, as long as it was soft.
Harry was probably just trying not to be a bother, which Remus would have to train out of him. For now, the poor kid was too exhausted to say otherwise. It was easy to herd Harry into bed, and easier still to press a gentle kiss to his forehead as he tucked him under his old blankets.