Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An ordinary street, on an ordinary summer night, even if the light posts flickered oddly in the rain on the windscreen. Gooseflesh erupted on the back of Hope's neck and arms as she steered the little Ford around the tight corner and past another row of identical houses, their front gardens shadowy and strange.

"Pull yourself together woman," Hope muttered to herself, "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a nice, clean, empty, street."

One wheel dropped into a pothole and when the headlights bounced back up the street was no longer empty.

"My-goodness." It came out as a strangled gasp as Hope pounded the brake, wrestled the car into a standstill, put it in park and sat, staring at the hunched figure, trying to make sense of what she saw.

Another sheet of rain blurred her view and she moved on instinct. Dashing out and slamming the door, she approached the forlorn figure. Unable to see much in the pounding rain, she gathered the child in her arms, looking down the street for an open door or a porch light on. Looking for a sign that someone, somewhere was waiting or looking for them.

But no. The only light was the streetlight, flickering still more intemperately overhead.

Thin arms wrapped around her neck as she grappled with the slick handle of the passenger seat and though she tried to lower the bundle, a whimper and the tightening stranglehold made her choice. Sliding in, with the child still in her arms, closing the door against the invasive wet.

Hope cranked the dial on the heater, praying it would work. A warm breeze answered her supplication and the bundle shivered. Flicking on the overhead light, Hope finally allowed herself to believe what she was seeing.

"My dear. Are you alright?"

The child wasn't alright, not a bit.

Teeth chattered in the gaunt grey face, sunken eyes squeezed tight shut, the boney cheek pressed into her shoulder, arms too thin. A ragged shirt several sizes too large hung in wet folds, dripping in little puddles on her raincoat, and running in rivulets onto the seat and floor mat.

"I need to warm you up, ok?"

A shiver answered.

"I can't take my coat off if you don't let go."

The hands clasped tighter, catching a few strands of hair on the nape of her neck. She flinched at the sharp tug.

The arms withdrew. The child, a boy, hugged himself and leaned away from her. Hope unbuttoned the heavy jacket and pulled the left sleeve until there was nothing between her good sweater and the wet seat back. Raised an arm to wrap the boy, but he shrunk away from her violently, squeezing his eyes shut again until the warmth enveloped him and no blow fell.

A soft whimper escaped and Hope sighed.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Green eyes regarded her doubtfully from the collar of her own coat. The mouth remained hidden and the boy made no sign that he would, or could speak to her. Oh dear, that might complicate things.

"I'm Hope. What's your name?"

A blink.

"Are you hurt?"

Nothing.

"Do you know where you live?"

A slow blink and a slower shake of the head. No.

"Parents?"

Another, quicker shake- No.

"Who looks after you?"

The boy looked confused.

"Who do you live with?"

No.

"Do you think you could spot your house if I drove around a bit?"

No.

"Surely somebody will be out looking for you, maybe we'll see them?"

A vehement shake that sent water everywhere.

"Ok, it's going to be okay… I need a name for you, can I call you George?" no response so Hope kept talking, to calm herself as much as him. "Alright George, it's going to be ok. We're going to go to the police station and figure out where you belong…"

He shook his head at the word police, shivering more fiercely and crumpling in on himself.

The clock on the dash showed quarter past eleven. She was exhausted, the boy was wet and cold, perhaps a hospital would be better. But the boy wasn't speaking, and she recognized the way he flinched.

"Okay, so here are the options, George. one: We find the nearest police station and see if they can find your home," Hope ticked off the options as she spoke, "two: we go to a hospital and they will keep you safe while the police find your home."

"NO." The boy's attempt at a shout croaked instead from a dry throat, hiding his face and curling deeper into the recesses of the coat. His whole body trembled and the light in the car began to flicker to the time of the streetlight outside.

"Ok, George. Ok. no police tonight." Hope sighed, running a hand over her forehead and rubbing at tired eyes. "But we can't stay here, and I don't know what to do…would it-? no. but what other choice is there… Is it alright if I take you to my flat?"

The curved back shrugged.

"I take it that means ok, George?"

Another shrug and the green eyes reappeared, studying her before mumbling something she couldn't quite make out.

"Pardon?" Hope asked gently, unable to the lashing rain and the huffing heater.

"m' not George." Not-George said in a rough whisper, coughing a little for the effort it cost him. "Harry."

Hope smiled warmly, ignoring the wetness about her own eyes. "Well then, hello Harry."

The rain was letting up as she settled Harry in the passenger seat, though drops still trickled down her back and settling into the wet folds of her skirt. The streetlight had ceased flickering and now cast a warm glow on the road ahead. The drive was uneventful, Hope stewing on what to do next and Harry staring mutely out the window as the houses turned into grocers and shops and apartment buildings too high to see the tops of in the rain.

The car finally stopped in a carpark surrounded by slowly rusting chain link next to a grimy looking building, not as tall as the brightly lit ones they had passed. Harry hopped out of the car before Hope could assist him and she allowed him to follow just behind her, not objecting when a slight pressure indicated he'd grabbed a fold of her skirt.

No doorman with their highly pressed uniforms greeted them, the elevator wore a faded "under construction" sign, the tape holding it up curling and yellow.

Harry refused to be carried up the first flight of stairs, but when they'd gotten to the landing he was panting and sweating, his arms tired from trying to lift the heavy coat high enough not to drag on the dirty steps.

"We've got two more floors to go Harry. Do you want to rest here or can I carry you the rest of the way?"

Harry's hands curled in little fists, one still clutching her skirt. A sniffle and he lifted his arms with a resigned sigh.

Hope picked him up easily, too easily. The old wool coat, carefully mended and lovingly brushed weighed more than the child within. How old was he? When had he last eaten? Why did he think no one was looking for him? One thing at a time Hope, lets get dry and warm first.

She unlocked the door to 3-G with some difficulty, Harry still in her arms. Lights flicked on, and Hope set Harry down at the door to untie her shoes and set the coat on a hook to dry, noticing as she lifted it that Harry was barefoot. Fighting back the urge to cry, she turned the anger into action.

"We've got to get you dry Harry, or you'll catch cold," Hope said, moving past him into the small kitchen and turning the dial on the heater up. "Wonder is how you've not got one already, dressed like this in all that cold and damp."

Past the couch and coffee table that served as a living space there were only two doors in the short hallway, a bathroom and her own bedroom. She emerged from this second with a small stack of folded things. A warm bath would be best, but this wasn't Tyler, this was a boy named Harry who didn't know her from a stranger, and she didn't want to overstep. This was all odd enough as it was.

"I've not got any underthings for you, but these old clothes of mine might fit alright, do you think you can dry off and dress yourself?"

Harry shrugged and excepted the pj's and the fluffy towel she handed him and walked into the bathroom, waiting for the door to close. It didn't and he turned to look at her in confusion.

"I need a change myself, then I'll be in the kitchen, come find me when you're done." Hope pulled her bedroom door closed, leaned against it in the dark and took three long, deep breaths. One thing at a time, just the next step.

And so, she stripped off the wet clothes, dried herself and pulled on the fleecy pajamas Lydia had gifted her as a joke last year. Woodland animals frolicking over a field of pastel flowers, childish as the fabric may look, the soft warmth of it outweighed any argument in Hope's mind. She went through the motions of filling the kettle, setting it on the hob and lighting the flame. The best two of her odd collection of mugs set next to a small teapot. Much as she needed a cuppa just then, there were other concerns for the boy.

She couldn't simply feed him the leftovers in her fridge if he'd been without for as long as she suspected. Curry wouldn't sit well, rice might be alright, but he'd need fluids first. Decided, she pulled the tin out of the cupboard, spooning a bit of cup-a-soup into each mug and tapping her fingers on the counter waiting for the kettle to hum.

She'd just poured the water when the floorboards creaked in the living room. Harry, newly dry, wearing some sleep shorts and holding the tangled long-sleeved shirt with a frustrated expression, one sleeve half on and the other seemingly tied in a knot.

Hope moved quickly to him, dropping to her knees as she saw his eyes squeeze shut again. "It's ok Harry, I just want to help you."

He blinked and his arms went limp, which she took as a sign that he would tolerate her assistance. Gently untangling the tucked-in sleeve, Hope noticed the bony shoulders, the too-bare ribs. Yellow mottling discoloured his upper arms and a greenish blush showed through the pale skin of his abdomen on the left side.

"Does anything hurt Harry?"

A furious shake of the head and defiance sparked in the dull green eyes.

Hope lowered her voice, half whispering, and looking directly at him so he could see her honesty, "I think that I would hurt if it were me. You won't be in trouble; I just want to help you feel better. Ok Harry?"

Harry looked down at his arms, now covered in soft blue. And shrugged.

"let's get some soup in you first, ok? Then, if you're feeling up-to it, you can tell me what hurts."

His look was equal parts doubtful and hungry.

Hope pulled out the chair for him, and set the mug and spoon in front of him. "I don't know what you're used to, but I just want you to eat slow, ok Harry?" but Harry had already wrapped desperate hands around the mug and lifted it to his lips. She allowed him one long sip before gently directing the cup back to the table, holding it there against his straining arms. "Use the spoon Harry, and take it slow, I don't want you to be sick."

The arms ceased their struggle but didn't release the mug.

"It won't do you any good if it all comes back up. You can have more in a bit if you can keep this down, ok?"

Harry nodded solemnly, finally relaxing his right hand. He watched her as she took her own mug and spoon and sat down across from him, mimicked her as she took a spoonful, blew gently to cool it and put the spoon in her mouth. He matched her slow movements spoon for spoon, though his stomach growled painfully after each swallow.

When the mugs were finally empty and there was no sign of the boy turning green, Hope picked up the pen and flipped the page of the notepad to a fresh page.

"Do you think you can tell me a little more now Harry?" Hope asked, writing his name on the top line as he raised his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. "How about we start with some simple questions, and I'll make you some more soup?"

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise but he lifted his mug eagerly and nodded.

Hope took the cup and turned away from him, asking short questions and fiddling with the kettle and the cupboards as he thought about the answers, taking breaks to jot down details.

Harry

Last name- Potter

Six years old, birthdate July 31st 1980

Attended reception and grade one.

The conversation stalled when she asked for the name of the school. He froze, and set the mug down, pushing it away with a sad look.

"You're going to make me go back, aren't you?"

"I'm not making you do anything Harry, but its not up-to me. Your guardians make those sorts of decisions."

"I don't have guardians." He said flatly, refusing to meet her eyes.

She'd heard those words before. Hope slowed the steam train in her mind, forcing herself back to the present, to the boy whose problems were not yet in the past.

"Is there somebody who is supposed to be your guardian Harry?"

"I'm not going back. I'm not. I'll run away, I can live on the streets, I'll-"

"How did you get those bruises Harry?" Hope asked softly, blowing a curl of steam of her fresh cup of tea and waiting for the answer she knew.

Harry stared at the table, stared at the mug, fidgeted. Grabbed the mug. Sipped. Sighed and finally, with his eyes resolutely on the rim, answered. "Dudley, mostly. And Uncle Vernon, and… and Aunt Petunia."

Hope made a note, waited for more, but none came. "Who is Dudley?"

"Cousin."

"Ok. Can you tell me their last name?"

"I don't want to go back." He was shrinking again, curling in on himself like an armadillo.

"I know Harry, I don't want you to go back there either."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't, and the more you can tell me about them, the better chance we have of making sure of it, so do you think you can answer a few more questions before bed?"

Harry agreed, still stumbling over bits of the story, the frying pan his aunt had thrown at him for sneaking a bit of bacon, how Dudley pushed him down the stairs, how strange things sometimes happened, though he refused to say what they were, and how Uncle Vernon would rage and lock him in the cupboard. He even allowed Hope to take a few photos of the bruises with the old polaroid camera.

"It looks worse than it is, really." Harry said sagely, letting the blue shirt drop back over the sickly green colour on his side.

"So you've said," Hope replied unhappily, "and you're sure it doesn't hurt when you bend or breathe?"

"It did a bit, at first, but it hasn't twinged since I left."

"Is that the reason you ran away?" Hope asked, keeping her tone light, inconsequential.

"No, I didn't, I never ran away." Harry muttered, looking ashamed. "I wanted to. Tried sometimes, but I never… no."

"So when you say, you left…?"

"They kicked me out, and I went."

"Oh."

"It's alright though," Harry continued quickly, putting one small hand on her arm comfortingly, "I was better off, loads better then that place. I can do whatever I'd like now, and sometimes I find food that's still warm, just set out like it was made for me. I don't know how or why, but I just knew I needed to go somewhere, like someone else was steering me, and I'd find what I needed."

Hope's eyebrows bunched together as she tried to sort through his anxious retelling.

"That's how I found you. I was looking for a jacket, and I just followed that feeling until I found you."

Her eyebrows shot straight up at that admission, "really?"

"Just like magic." Harry finished softly, daring to smile at the floor.

"Just like magic…"

Chapter Text

Hope did what she could for Harry Potter. She made up the couch with care and took the soft and fuzzy blanket from her own room to tuck him in. Harry seemed unfamiliar with the action, having the blanket carefully brought up to his chin and over his shoulders. But he tolerated it mildly, green eyes and green blanket matching in the yellow light of the lamp.

“You can leave the light on, if you want,” Hope offered softly, “in the morning we’ll go see the authorities about getting you to a proper home, so try and get some sleep, alright?”

“I could… maybe, if you wouldn’t… stay?” Harry asked in a raw whisper, voice almost lost to the fluffy fibre he pulled over his mouth.

It shouldn’t have come to this, Hope thought. No boy should have had the barest of kindness from a stranger and think it was the best he was likely to get.

For the briefest moment, the hopeful flicker in his expression fanned an ember in her soul. A determination to take him in, and to do better for him than she had managed for herself. A vision of Tyler took his place on the pillow and with a heartbroken wrenching, the ember failed.

“I’m sorry Harry, I can’t.” Hope tried to soften the blow, but it stung to see the pain reflected back at her. “But someone out there will, and you’ll have the kind of home you deserve, with all the love and care and feeding-up that you need. Sleep now, and in the morning, we’ll take the first steps to finding that home, alright?”

The boy merely shrugged, and turned away.

“I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” She said as she rose, sorry for causing him pain, and certain that he’d be better off with someone else. “Sweet dreams, Harry.”

If Harry’s dreams were sweeter than they’d ever yet been, they still left him bitter and sorrowful in the morning.

The porridge didn’t interest him much and he nibbled the toast despairingly as Hope called various agencies and asked questions about temporary placement and group homes and medical examinations. Every person Hope spoke to seemed to want an extraordinary amount of information about Harry, very personal information, and Harry was greatly relieved that Hope gave only general answers and assured them ‘we’ll give all the pertinent information to the official case worker, if you can just start a file and assign one, we can make an appointment with them.’

Hope then left Harry to his breakfast as she prepared herself for the business ahead. A quick loose braid corralled all but the most tenacious of curls, and she wrapped the base of it with an odd contraption that Harry hadn’t seen before, a coil with a short thong of leather and a finger-long fat wooden needle at the end. He watched her as she moved expertly around the small space, like he was trying to make an imprint of her in his mind.

And then she was dashing down the hallway and muttering under her breath as she reached the very top shelf in the narrow closet, pulling out a latched wooden box. Hastily rifling through the contents, she pulled a few things free and with a sigh closed the box and put it away again.

The shoes she set before his feet were not new, and she brushed the dust away impatiently, blinking rapidly as she helped him put them on over a pair of her own socks. “Can’t have you walking around without shoes, now, can we?”

Harry looked down at the grey sneakers with worry. “I can, pay, give them back, once…”

“No Harry, you keep them as long as you need them. they’ll do more good on your feet than they can in my closet.” Hope answered firmly, though her eyes still watered traitorously. “Are you ready to go? Its nearly time.”

Harry didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he rose, stepped experimentally to the door and waited for her to open it.

They arrived at the police station a half hour before the appointed child protection officer was expected to arrive, and Hope had to argue with the secretary for a full minute before a man popped his head out a door and asked what the problem was.

“I’ve found a neglected child and want to file a report, sir.” Hope answered before the secretary could obfuscate.

“And I’ve told her to make a report to child services, Detective Davin.”

“Where it might get lost in the mountains of paperwork? Besides this is a case of criminal neglect and that is your job, sir, is it not?” Hope fired back, hackles raised, while Harry did his best to hide behind her full skirt.

“So it is, Ma’am, why don’t you step into my office, and I’ll see what I can do for you?” Detective Davin answered, mildly amused and gesturing them to follow him.

Hope laid out what she knew, offering Harry opportunities to speak for himself and speaking for him when he shook his head no. The envelope with one set of the photos she had taken the previous night were passed over and Davin looked a little grim after he’d flipped through them. But he softened his tone and offered Harry a gumdrop from the bowl on his desk.

The report was completed and Davin had assured Harry that he would personally be looking after the case, but that Harry would need to submit to a full medical exam to make sure he wouldn’t have to return to his former guardian’s care. The case worker arrived, agreed to take him, and they signed the paperwork as Harry clung to the folds of Hope’s skirt with one hand and the detective’s card with the other.

“Good luck, Harry.” Hope said, patting the trembling head gently.

Sorrowful green eyes broke her heart again as he was led away, and she turned away to smother the lump that rose in her throat.

“If there’s anything you need, feel free to call me.” Detective Davin said stoutly, handing her a card with his name and phone extension.

Gathering herself, and straightening up Hope replied, “thank you,” and left the precinct.

Friday chores were insufficient to overcome the impression Harry had left on Hope’s mind.

As she shopped for the next weeks groceries, she pondered which kind of biscuits might be Harry’s favorite, whether he liked bananas or apples, if he’d ever tried the ginger beer she liked best. And though none were on the list she’d made, a few of each made their way into her basket.

Frighteningly few coins remained as she handed the cashier her total, but it was only a half week to her next paycheque and she’d managed with less before.

Hope was not a nervous woman by nature, careful and diligent and always over-prepared. Wary of strangers, cautious of too-good promises. To her few friends, she was generous and kind. But there was a corner of tenderness that she had locked away, walled off behind high gates of deep sorrow. A place she had preserved for another little boy, a shrine for the only one who had ever seen that gentle-love-look, which Hope was most capable of giving.

Yet now, a new face and name floated before her, as she folded up the green blanket, remembering the eyes, filled with hope.

“I’m not the mothering kind.” Hope said aloud, as though it might shake away the sour feeling in her gut. “I never was.”

The mugs lay in the drying rack, the room had been tidied and swept and Hope was staring at a fresh sheet of notepaper. Her list of chores, of grocery items and every possible job for the next week’s work had been notated, struck off and otherwise completed.

But the sense, that something had remained undone, undecided, still rankled her. She sipped at the cooling cup of tea disconsolately, and finally put pen to paper again.

Cons:

Single

my job

flat- too small

he deserves more than I can give

Pros:

Hope’s pen paused. Her mind chewing over the many seemingly insurmountable problems. No. Harry would be loved and cared for by a family that could give him everything. She was sure such a sweet boy wouldn’t be overlooked for adoption. No. He was better off.

That decided, Hope turned the page, set the pen aside and settled on the couch to read.

The words however, had lost their magic, and though she tried, she couldn’t make sense of the paragraph, though she’d reread it thrice. The bookmark reinstated, and the book was slapped irreverently on the coffee table.

“Detective Davin?” Hope asked over the phone, trying to hide the embarrassment of calling so soon behind a brisk tone.

“Yes, may I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Hope Williams, sir, from this morning?”

“Ah, yes. How may I help you, Miss Williams?”

“I was… It’s not my place, but I was hoping you could tell me how Harry’s doing?”

“Ah…” The detectives tone was not encouraging and Hope’s heart dropped. “Well, it’s a bit of a difficult case miss. The family is claiming that he’d run off months ago and they don’t know where he’d gotten the injuries.”

“You can’t be thinking of sending him back!” Hope asked furiously.

“Not if I can help it miss, but it might be difficult to make the case, you see…” a sigh crackled through the line before the detective continued. “As you’re the one as brought him in, I don’t suppose it’ll hurt to tell you. He’s been uncooperative with the hospital staff, won’t speak and we’ve been called back to restrain him twice this afternoon. Throws things at anyone who gets in the room, how he’s still doing it with his hands tied to the bed, I don’t know…”

The detective’s voice faded off thoughtfully for a moment, adding, “it’ll be difficult to make a case without any evidence, the family doesn’t want to give up the stipend for raising the kid, and other than taking him to an institution we’re rather out of options, he can’t be sent to a group home in this state.”

Hope sank into the nearest seat, horrified. the ache in her stomach gnashed to life and she felt as though she’d be sick, but swallowed it down and forced out a question, “where is he?”

“I’m not sure that’s-”

But Hope cut off his objection. “Where is Harry?”

“Children’s hospital in Brickfeld.”

“Thank you.”

Hope pressed the phone into the receiver to disconnect the line and dialed a second number from memory.

“Lydia? Lydia, I need a favor.”

“You alright Hope? You sound fluttered.” Lydia answered, her prim voice crisp on the t’s.

“I need a little legal advice.” Hope pressed on hurriedly.

“What did you do?”

“I haven’t done anything, Lydia, not yet anyway.”

“That sounds awfully serious.” Lydia chirped back brightly. “What mischief can I help you with then?”

“Transfer of custody papers.”

Hope heard the rapid tapping of keys and smiled as she pulled the notepad closer again, flipping to a previous page. Lydia was a curious cat but a good friend.

“For who?” Lydia asked, business-like now.

“Harry Potter, birthdate: July 31’st 1980”

“Mmhm… and the name of the present guardians?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Vernon and Petunia Dursley. I don’t know their birthdates though.”

“That’s alright, I’ll leave it for them to fill out. And the new guardian?”

Hope paused, long enough that the tapping stopped and she imagined Lydia’s sharp suspicious look. “Uh… me.”

A loud lip smack answered her statement.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious Lydie.”

“You’re only twenty-two, you’ve got a whole life to live! Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s a terrible idea, but it’s the right thing.” Hope replied, equal parts exhausted and exhilarated. “I can’t let him slip through the cracks. Not if I can do anything to help.”

“This hasn’t got anything to do with…” Lydia trailed off, leaving the name unspoken.

“I can do this, and Harry needs me.” There was a new certainty in her voice, one that disregarded the entire list of reasons against it that she’d written up. “Will you help?”

“Of course. I’ll have it printed right away.”

“You’re a dear, I’ll be there in a few.”

She was halfway out the door in a minute, but returned in a second, walking briskly back through the flat with her shoes still on to grab the soft green blanket from her bed. Holding it to her chest she ran back out the door, locked up, jogged down the flights of stairs as though her feet were winged, and pulled the car from the car park and into late afternoon traffic.

A brief stop at the law firm Lydia clerked at and Hope had a thick envelope in her possession that would determine the future of herself, one lonely boy and unbeknownst to either, an entire world they didn’t know existed.

“One step at a time, one crazy, truly insane, step at a time.” Hope muttered softly under her breath as she walked down the pavement to the hospital entrance.

She was directed to Harry’s room with surprise, but she didn’t wait to answer the nurse’s queries over her business there. A steely haired woman sat on a chair outside room 13, flipping through a folder and occasionally shaking her head. She looked up at Hope’s approach.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Harry.” Hope answered simply.

“And you are?”

“His new guardian.” Hope said. “You are?”

“Gladys, I haven’t seen anything about a new guardian in Harry’s file.” The woman replied flipping quickly through the papers she held, somewhat baffled.

“I just arrived to make the application. I’m hoping you can put me in touch with the aunt and uncle, I have papers for them to sign.”

“This is most unusual, miss. You are very young, and you don’t know how these things usually go. Your application must go through a thorough vetting process before we can even begin to consider you for a temporary placement, there would need to be a trial before he could be officially removed from the care of his family, and the child is not stable, I’m sure if you saw him, you’d realise you’re not the right person to take charge of him.”

“I know exactly how this works Ma’am.” Hope pulled her shoulders back, raised her chin at the doubtful older woman and spoke with an authority that made Gladys visibly start. “I was approved for permanent placement four years ago, I intent to convince the aunt and uncle to sign over guardianship voluntarily. As for being the right person, that should be Harry’s decision.”

Hope passed the woman a folder containing the previous applications and the various signed approvals.

“On your head be it.” The woman muttered, looking over the new set of papers with a critical eye and waving Hope through the door.

“Harry?”

“Am I dreaming?” Harry whispered anxiously. He sat up slowly, pulling against the restraints on his wrists, his eyes swollen and bleary. “This must be a dream.”

Hope unbound the restraints quickly, laughing a little as the first thing Harry did was pinch himself and then launch into her arms.

“You came back.”

“Yeah, I did.” Hope couldn’t say more then that, simply held the trembling child, and rubbed little circles into the back of the sweater she’d given him the night before.

“Just like magic.” He whispered into her shoulder. “I wanted… but I was stuck. And then you came anyway.”

“I was worried about you. The detective said… well a lot of things, and I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“Is that all?” Harry asked, a crackle in his voice as he slumped from her embrace and landed cross-legged on the bed with a plop.

“Well, no. I’ve got to ask you something.” Hope replied, keeping her voice even and moving a chair so she could sit across from him. “This morning you asked if you could stay with me, do you remember?”

Harry nodded, ducking his head.

“Is that what you really want? I want you to think about this for a while before you decide, ok Harry? I’m not rich, I haven’t got much to give you.”

“I don’t need presents.” Harry answered, as if she’d accused him of something terrible. “And I don’t eat much, besides, I can help out, clean, and cook. I’m good with plants, but as you’ve not got a garden… maybe you don’t need me.”

Conscious that he was watching her from under his eyelashes, Hope shook her head slowly. “I think you misunderstood me, Harry, my needs are not the question. I want to make sure you grow up with everything you need. And if you come live with me, things might be a little tight sometimes, I won’t have the money to make things as comfortable as you deserve.”

“Well…” Harry said, sharp eyes finally meeting hers, “you’re the first person who ever thought I deserved anything.”

Hope hid her sorrow at his matter-of-fact tone, directing the conversation back to the issue at hand. “It’s your choice, Harry, and I won’t be hurt if you want to wait for a good family. I’ll help as much as I can until we find a good fit, I promise.”

Harry nodded, twiddling his thumbs and wriggling his toes inside the purple socks. “I think you’re a good fit.” He whispered shyly to the floor.

“If you’re sure, then we’d better go tell Gladys, there’s some things I’ll need to sign, and you still need to be examined.”

“Do I have to?” Harry whined, then -noticing his petulant tone- froze, suddenly fearful.

“I’m afraid so, they can’t release you until they are sure you’ll be ok.” Hope explained patiently.

“You’ll stay?” Harry asked timidly.

“Of course, as long as you want me to.”

Gladys was happy enough to sign off on temporary care pending the transfer of guardianship, glad to be off early and to leave the unexpectedly compliant child with the young woman who had miraculously tamed him. It may have been an accident, or perhaps rather not an accident, that the Dursleys address was left on a slip of paper in the copy of the forms she gave Hope before she left.

Hope stayed with Harry, holding his hand through the jabs, wearing a lead-lined coat while he was x-rayed, and sitting on the opposite side of the curtain, where Harry could see her scuffed boots as the doctor looked him over.

When he was re-dressed, a nurse showed them to a room with a light box on the wall and a set of x rays.

“A few healed fractures on the forearms, one on the fifth rib, here.” The doctor pointed at the spot for both Hope and Harry to see the faint line. “And one on the left knee, just there. That one’s a bit older, isn’t it Harry?”

Harry nodded.

“Do you remember what happened?” Hope asked.

The little fingers squeezed her palm, and he explained. Dudley had tripped him in the schoolyard in kindergarten.

“You’ve healed up well, I must say.” The doctor nodded at him, clearly impressed. “Even the rib, are you sure that was just three weeks ago?”

“Yes sir.” Harry answered stiffly.

“It’s alright son, I believe you, but I must say it’s a near miracle that it set so well, and without any bruising on the lungs. Well, Miss Williams, I’ve prescribed a regimen of vitamins and iron for the boy, and I’d like to you to bring him back in a month to see that its working, any other questions?”

Hope asked a few questions about diet, nodded and made notes in her notepad, the sight of which made the doctor smile broadly.

“You’re in good hands now, Harry-lad, and I expect you’ll be fit and healthy as a horse in no time.”

Chapter Text

The return to Hope’s flat was quiet. Harry seemed to think he’d said enough for one day and Hope was chewing through thoughts and plans. The roasted chicken she’d purchased earlier could be stretched over several good dinners, and she didn’t regret the fruit, Harry needed it. But he also needed clothes.

They ate quickly, in silence. Hope set the dishes in the sink and directed Harry to the bath, showing him how to work the finicky nobs for a bath or shower and leaving him to make the choice alone. She waited for the water to run before calling.

“Lydia?”

“Hope! I was just about to call, how are… things?”

“Uh, well, that’s why I’m calling, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Anything, how can I help?”

“I, I hate to do this Lydie…” Hope paused, trying to squash the sticky feeling and blurting out: “Harry needs some things, he hasn’t got anything, he didn’t even have shoes on when I found him. And well, I don’t get paid until Wednesday, I can get you back the moment the check clears, I promise.”

“Goodness, please Hope, take a breath. I’ve got you covered.”

“I- I’ll pay you back Lydie, soon as I can.”

“I know.” Lydia muttered mutinously. It wasn’t the first time Hope had refused outright charity. “But really, this isn’t for you, its for the boy. So, you ought to accept a gift on his behalf, goodness knows you’ll have enough new expenses.”

Hope sighed, pressing the heel of her palm into her forehead. “I- alright, fine. Just a few necessaries… For Harry.”

“That’s my girl!” Lydia cooed through the line. “How’s tomorrow? I’ll pick you up?”

“You’re the best, you know that?” Hope said, half-laughing with relief.

“Course!” Lydia answered sweetly, “I’ll be there around ten.”

The couch bed was made up and the dishes drying when Harry finally emerged from the bathroom in a clean set of sleep shorts and t-shirt. There was a new sort of shyness in his movements as he accepted the tea and biscuit Hope set out. She sat across from him and sipped her tea, tapping a pen thoughtfully against the waiting pad.

“There’s a few things I’d like to know, if you’re up for it?” Hope said. “About the Dursleys.”

“Why do you want to know about them?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to ask them to sign over their guardianship rights, and I’m guessing they don’t like being told what to do?” She smiled at Harry’s sharp affirmative nod. “Right, so if I approached them and asked nicely, they’d probably tell me to shove off. And if I tried to bully them into signing, they’d balk against it. But if I know what they are like, I can make myself agreeable, and maybe we can avoid taking them to court.”

Harry looked at her appraisingly and finally nodded.

A new list was created,

Dursleys:

Uptight- arrogant

flatter wealthy or powerful people

hate anything odd or unique.

Pride themselves on ‘good breeding’ and punctuality.

Saturday morning was a repeat of the previous one, though Harry ate his toast and banana with much more enthusiasm while Hope talked on the phone and jotted notes.

She arranged for a home visit with the case worker for the coming Thursday, called her boss to ask permission to bring Harry along for the work week, and a brief but important conversation with Detective Davin. They would meet him at the Dursleys that afternoon.

Hope washed up quickly, gently refusing Harry’s offer to dry the dishes. “They’ll dry all by themselves. We need to get ready to go out, Lydia ‘ll be here any minute.” She grabbed a fresh tee from her room and rummaged up a pair of sweatpants from the hall closet that were just a little too big for him, still less ridiculous than the worn-through hand-me-downs he’d had on when she’d found him.

A hasty knock sounded as Harry shuffled into the bathroom to change.

“Hope! You look… well tired, but that’s to be expected. Where is the new addition to the William’s household?”

“Just getting himself ready, he’s a little shy so try not to overwhelm him, will you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Lydia smiled brightly, perching herself on the chair nearest the door.

Hope tugged on the sleeves of her sweater and chewing on her bottom lip as they waited for Harry to emerge.

“You going to be alright out there sweetie?” Lydia asked, resting her hand over Hope’s on the table. “I can take him, or we could just measure him and I’ll figure out the rest…”

“It… I’ll be alright, I’ve got to manage it, can’t look after someone else if I can’t brave downtown on a Saturday.” Hope straightened up a little, returning the smile uncertainly. “Besides, I’ve got you to scare the strangers off for me.”

A creak in the hall gave away the eavesdropper, and Harry peered around the corner sheepishly.

“Oh Harry, are you ready to go? Harry, this is Lydia, Lydia, meet Harry.”

“Hello.” Came Harry’s soft voice.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry.” Lydia stood and offered him a hand to shake, which he tentatively shook. “I’m looking forward to our expedition. Well, I’m ready if you are. Hope, have you got your list? Course you do.”

Harry sat in the wide backseat of Lydia’s car, watching out the windows and trying to print the landmarks into his mind-map. The traffic brought them to a crawl, but they did eventually break free of the press and left the car in a covered carpark next to the shopping mall.

“I’d like you to hold my hand while we’re shopping, Harry, I don’t want to lose you in the crowd.” Hope said when she’d closed the door after him. He did as she asked, and the hard look on her face softened as she looked down at his palm in hers.

Unused to that kind of contact, Harry shivered a little. Her hand was warm, the pressure of her fingers, gentle. A new confidence seemed to infuse both of them as they approached the wide doors together.

Strangers gawked impolitely at the trio. It was easy enough to understand why. Harry, looking smaller than ever in oversized clothes and borrowed shoes, Hope wearing a thick, long-sleeved sweater on a warm summer day, and Lydia, who’s perfectly coiffed updo matched her meticulous cream blouse and pencil skirt.

Hope’s list was long enough, perfectly practical, but the amazement in Harry’s face at Lydia’s additions stopped her tongue. And thus, a brand-new pair of sneakers and a fancy button-up shirt were added to the pile of underwear, shirts, jeans, toiletries and a jacket.

And there was the jumper.

Hope had caught Harry running his hand over it with a longing expression, but it was still summer, and Lydia had already been so generous.

No one quite saw what happened, but somehow, in the moment between Harry last longing look at the soft blue sweater and them approaching the purchase counter, an identical sweater flopped off the top of the tall stack and fell onto the stack in Hope’s arms.

“Oops, let me just put that back,” Lydia said, reaching for it.

“Just a second…” Hope replied, looking from a hopeful Harry to the jumper. “Do you think I could loan an extra tenner, Lydia? It’s Harry’s birthday on Friday.”

“Of course!” Lydia agreed, a wide smile on her open face.

Having accomplished what they’d come for, Lydia insisted on paying for lunch. The open-air courtyard was quieter than the mall had been and Lydia kept up a stream of pleasant conversation, batting her questions to Hope and Harry equally and answered it herself if neither of them did.

“Next thing’s to get you some toys, cars? Blocks? What do you like?”

Harry shrugged, “don’t know, what do they do?”

Lydia paused, perfectly startled by the question. “You know, I’m not really sure… we’ll just have to go have a look, won’t we?”

“Just a few Lydia.” Hope interjected sternly.

“My treat, Hope.” Lydia insisted, “Harry needs something to do while you’re working, you are taking him to the restaurant, aren’t you?”

“Just until I can figure out a sitter, Jacobs isn’t exactly thrilled about the situation.”

“You’re too good for that place.” Lydia said stoutly, not for the first time. “And Harry will be bored stiff waiting for your shift to end, I’ll just get him some things to pass the time!”

“Fine, but nothing noisy and keep it small, I’m not sure where I’ll fit all this-” Hope gestured at the pile of bags occupying the fourth chair, “-in the flat as it is.”

“Hadn’t thought of that.” Lydia admitted, deflating a little. “You’re not thinking of staying there, are you?”

Hope shook her head, looking past Lydia before she responded, “no, Harry needs a room and a proper bed of his own.”

“I don’t mind the couch, really, its much better than the old cot I used to have.” Harry interrupted anxiously.

“We’ll find a new place, I’ve got another three weeks on the lease, that’ll give us time.” Hope said, passing off his comment with a smile and a nervous glance over Lydia’s shoulder again. “Say, that fellow over there, does he look familiar to either of you?” she motioned discretely in the direction of a man in a scruffy coat, the collar turned up as if to hide his face. Lydia made a show of shuffling the bags beside her and turned back with a short shake of the head.

“No one I know.” Lydia answered quietly, calm, as if that sort of question wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“Have you seen him before Harry?”

Harry seemed surprised to be consulted, but he looked the man over as he pretended to take a thoughtful bite of his sandwich. “Maybe… Kinda looks like a guy I saw when we were in the shoe shop; he was looking in the window.”

Hope tensed in her seat, shooting another glance at the shifty looking man.

Their eyes met.

Hope looked away immediately, pretending to read a distant sign instead and letting her gaze pan back to where he stood.

The man was gone.

“We’ll go somewhere else for the fun-stuff.” Lydia suggested.

Hope scanned the courtyard carefully and nodded, “that’s a good idea, I’ll find a security guard to walk us out to the car.”

Lydia didn’t object and they were escorted by a rather austere looking middle-aged man.

The department store was two floors tall and Harry froze just inside the doors, pressing himself into Hope’s side as he looked at the high ceilings and a group of children arguing loudly in the nearest section of toys.

Hope led the way to the escalator and they ascended above the ruckus to a quieter section, one half was filled to bursting with books and the other half carried an assortment of every art and craft a child could dream of.

Whether it was the scare of the stranger at the mall, or the riot of sound and colour in the children’s store, Harry had grown steadily more withdrawn. Lydia offered him various things, oohing and ahhing over plaster kits and paint sets. Mostly silent, Harry shook his head at nearly everything except the paint set, when he squeezed Hope’s hand and looked to her for approval.

“How about we start with some pencils and a sketch book and you can put that paint kit on your Christmas wish-list?” Hope offered gently.

“Christmas?” Harry asked, non-plussed.

“The Dursleys don’t celebrate Christmas?” Hope lowered herself to his level, keeping a hold of his hand.

“Dudley always got loads of presents, but I never…” Harry whispered, blushing and ducking his head.

“Oh dear!” Lydia half wailed, looking perfectly distraught at the thought. “No Christmas gifts?”

“Lydia, could you find us a decent sketchbook? And a set of pencils, please?” Hope said, waving her away with a meaningful look. When she’d gone, Hope turned back to Harry. “Harry, could you look at me?”

He sniffled and rubbed his face with his free hand, raising his chin proudly as he met her eye.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Harry, I want you to know that,” Hope said, “I wish I could say the same for your relatives.”

Harry looked away again, his cheeks still hot with shame. “They said I cost too much to keep, that I should be ‘grateful they bothered to feed me.’” There was a practiced ring to his voice as he finished, as though he was quoting from memory.

“That was wrong, its wrong to treat anyone that way, do you understand?” Hope asked, lifting his chin gently. “I might not have much Harry, but what’s mine is yours, ok?”

Harry swallowed feebly and he blinked furiously against the moisture gathering in his eyes.

Hope saw the rising emotion in the overwhelmed boy and opened her arms in a silent invitation, her heart broke again as he looked confused by the gesture. Time seemed to slow and Hope’s arms felt heavier with each breath, still she held her position, giving Harry time to decide what he wanted.

He moved tentatively, and then threw his arms around her neck with a sob, and buried his face in the soft collar of her sweater. A strange tingle ran through Hope as she embraced Harry, somehow, this felt natural to her, right even.

Lydia returned quietly with a small stack, pencils, a sharpener and eraser, sketchbook and a slim book with ‘sketching for beginners’ written on the spine.

“Are you ready to go home Harry?” Hope asked softly.

Harry nodded into her shoulder and released her, taking her offered hand tightly in his own and rubbing his face again.

Harry lay curled under the green blanket on the couch, paging through his new book and listening in as the two women sat at the little table chatting.

“Very status conscious huh.” Lydia said in answer to Hope’s description of the Dursleys and her plans. “We can work with that. I’ll take you. My car fits the profile better, and I can pretend to be the nanny. You’ll have to drive of course.”

Hope smiled at her friend’s easy way of solving problems. “Not sure anyone would buy you as my employee, dressed like you are.”

“Oh, that’s an easy fix, lend me one of your cardigans. Now what are you going to wear?”

Four pm on the dot, a deep blue sedan pulled into Number Four Privet Drive followed closely by a police vehicle.

The woman that approached the front door couldn’t have looked more different than she had just an hour earlier. Her brown hair was immaculately swept up into an intricate knot, the sharp blazer, crisp blouse and black slacks she now wore wouldn’t have looked out of place in a courtroom and there was a cool, impassive expression on her face.  The face of a woman in perfect control.

Harry and Lydia stayed in the backseat as Hope and the Detective knocked on the front door.

Aunt Petunia folded her arms across her best dress, looking over the pair with suspicious distaste sparing only half a glance at the car and its other occupants. “On time. What a pleasant surprise.” She said sarcastically as heavy footfalls approached behind her. “They’re here Vernon.”

“Oh, they are, are they? and parked a squad car in our drive? Trying to draw suspicion down on us? Well, I don’t scare easy, no siree.” Vernon Dursley exclaimed as he attempted to stare down the taller man and ignored Hope’s presence entirely. “Well, come in if you must, and make it quick.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Hope answered calmly, stepping confidently past Vernon and walking into the sitting area Harry had told her Petunia was most proud of.

A tea tray and a selection of carefully cut sandwiches and squares waited in an elaborate arrangement.

Vernon settled himself on the large corner chair, glancing out the picture window at the spotless car again.

Petunia sat herself on the love seat and poured tea into a fine set of bone china. “tea?”

“No thank you,” Hope answered crisply, refusing likewise her offer to take a seat. Standing instead near the mantle, looking over the assortment of delicate ornaments and photographs with a snobbish curl of her lip. “Nice home you have here.”

“Thank you.” Petunia said, shifting uncomfortably at the awkwardness of the situation but unable to break the conventions of proper etiquette herself, despite the dry tone Hope used.

“Well, get on with it.” Vernon blustered. “You’re here about the boy, that’s what you said on the phone officer, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Detective Davin said, stepping more fully into the room. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Fine, sit, sit.” Vernon said, waving again at the couch.

Davin stayed where he was, filling the door frame and looking severe. “You’ve made a statement to the effect that the boy ran away several months ago?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Vernon countered.

“And therefore, you can’t account for any injuries he may have been suffering from when he was recovered, is that right?”

“Precisely.” Vernon huffed proudly, “can’t be responsible if he was already out of the house.”

Davin took another step into the room, towering over the seated man. “That’s where I run into a little hiccup… see, the school says he was in attendance up until the last week of term, July the 8^th to be precise.”

“They must have mixed up the records.” Vernon insisted.

“They also said they called you on the 10th, and you told them he was ill and you were withdrawing him from the school indefinitely.”

Vernon exploded to his feet, his face red as he glared at Davin, “are you accusing me, sir?”

The detective smiled, and shook his head. “Not at all, just informing you of the discrepancy. I’m sure it’ll all sort itself out.”

“So, what exactly are you here about then?” Vernon spit out at Hope.

She met his eye with an icy patience that chilled his wrath. “Mr. Dursley, Mrs, Dursley, I am here to make you an offer.” She passed the paperwork to Petunia, ignoring Vernon’s confusion. “It is clear the boy doesn’t fit into your family unit, it is a huge burden to take a child in, and I understand money might be a little tight.” She raked her gaze over the décor again, and glanced obnoxiously at Lydia’s watch on her wrist. “We can place the child in a more suitable environment, all you have to do is sign these forms.”

“Money? Tight?” Vernon blundered under his breath, turning purple as his wife flipped the pages slowly, reading. “How, dare. We? Can’t afford?”

Petunia looked up, squinting at Hope. “If we sign these, he can’t be forced on us, ever again?”

“No, this constitutes a full legal relinquishment of rights and responsibility for the boy.” Hope answered indifferently.

“Hush.” Petunia admonished her husband sharply, bringing an end to his defiant muttering. She turned to the detective. “If we sign this, you can’t charge us with neglect, right?”

“There is no solid evidence for a neglect charge ma’am, that’s right.” He answered lightly.

“And Dumbledore can’t make us take him back?” She asked Hope, her eyes flicking back over the prepared papers.

“I do not know who you are referring to, but no, this filing would have to be overturned in court for it to even be considered, and you would have the right to refuse custody at that point.” Hope said.

“Right. Have you got a pen?”

The Dursleys signed quickly, Hope followed suit, and the Detective witnessed the document.

“Now is that all?” Vernon demanded, still hot under the collar.

“I’d like to take Harry’s belongings off your hands.” Hope replied coolly.

A minute later a pillowcase full of things was thrust unceremoniously into her arms and they were ushered out the door.

“Doesn’t seem right that they’ll get away with it.” Hope said, disgust colouring her tone as they walked away together.

Davin smiled at her with predatory grace, “there’s not much of a case for neglect without forcing Harry to testify, but there’s pretty solid evidence that they failed to report him missing and obstruction for lying to the school as they are mandatory reporters. It might not amount to more than a hefty fine, but it’ll stay on record.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job.” He grinned again as he ducked into his car.

“How’d it go?” Lydia asked.

Harry- Hope noticed, was holding his breath.

Hope tossed the papers into the backseat, passed over the pillowcase and settled in behind the wheel. “We got what we came for.” Scanning the street over her shoulder, Hope’s attention was caught by the shadow of a man against the neighbor’s fence. Dull brown hair, scruffy coat, turned up collar. He kept his head down as the car passed, but she caught him watching them leave in the left side mirror.

She stayed stern and alert until they were out of sight of the picture window and the shadowy figure. When neither were visible, she allowed the mask to fall, grinning into the rear-view mirror at Harry and a whooping Lydia.

“What did I tell you Harry! Hope could con a magician out of his hat, if she’s got enough time to prepare!”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far.” Hope laughed, letting the relief wash away the nervous spark of fear. There was no need to freak Harry out further, his day had been long enough. “I just do what I can.”

Harry clutched the pillowcase to his chest and met her eye in the mirror with a shy smile.

Chapter Text

Hope cleared two of the lower shelves in the hall closet and Harry shoved the lumpy pillowcase into the farthest corner and set his new clothes reverently in pride of place at the front. Except the sweater, which Hope left on a higher shelf, still in the brown bag.

Sunday was spent in relative peace. Harry, dressed in his new button up and the darkest pair of jeans he now owned, attempting a line drawing of a puppy while Hope scanned newspapers for apartments and job offers.

Apples, biscuits and vitamins for morning tea, and Harry watched with interest as Hope turned the chicken carcass into a savory noodle soup for dinner. She didn’t ask for help, didn’t seem to think he ought to be stirring the pot so the vegetables didn’t burn. No, she simply did it herself and moved so efficiently around the tiny kitchen that she seemed to fill the entire space at once.

Three new lists were made as the evening progressed and Hope turned the page over for the last time with a dissatisfied huff.

“Can I help?” Harry asked softly.

“Pardon?” Hope looked up blearily, focused on his face and shook her head, “no, no need to worry, I just get caught up in my head sometimes trying to calculate the best decision.”

“Is that what that’s for?” Harry pointed at the notebook.

Hope followed his motion and flipped back a few pages. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“Is it because of me? Is that why you’re worried?” Harry looked tiny as he asked it, fragile and thin as an underfed sparrow.

“I have a responsibility to take care of you now Harry, so I am allowed to worry a little about you every now and then.” Hope smiled tiredly, “but I am the adult, and adult problems are not yours to worry about until you’re an adult, yourself.”

Harry looked mildly defiant, jutting his chin out with determination. “you said that everything that’s yours is mine, everything. Didn’t you mean it?”

“I- yes, I meant that everything I own, my home, my wages all of it will be used for your wellbeing not just my own.”

“But you’re trying to find a different job and a new home, so maybe I can help you decide, since it’ll be mine too?” Harry asked, slyly innocent and opening his eyes just a little extra like the cartoons he’d seen on the telly.

Hope chuckled softly, and raised an eyebrow with amusement at his reasoning. “You’ve got a point there. But I think we’ll leave that question for tonight, we’ve got to be at the diner before six and my brain is going to turn into porridge if I read one more ad just now.”

Harry smiled at his victory and ran off to brush his teeth and climb into his soft pajama’s, navy blue with little sheep-clouds all over them. Finished with his newly acquired bedtime routine he slid onto the couch cushions, leaving the blanket folded back and waiting expectantly for what would come next.

Hope knelt beside him, pulled the blanket straight to his chin and tucked it in around his shoulders. She ruffled his shaggy hair affectionately and whispered, “g’night Harry, sweet dreams,” before disappearing down the hall.

“G’night.” Harry whispered back, so softly she didn’t hear him over the soft padding of her feet and the click of her bedroom door.

“This is your new protégé, is it?” Jacobs asked bluntly between puffs of a fat cigarette.

“This is Harry. Harry, I’d like you to meet my boss, Mr. Jacobs.” Hope said, her voice flat and civil. Harry thought it sort of awful in its politeness.

Jacobs looked down his nose at the boy one last time and then snuffing the stub out on a brick near the back door, motioned them through. “Go on then. He can sit in the half booth, but if it gets busy, send him to the backroom. And I expect you to manage him, Hope. If he disrupts a customer, it’ll come out of your pay.”

“Yes of course, Mister Jacobs.” Hope answered quickly, ushering Harry through the door with both hands on his shoulders.

She hung her jacket on a peg in the hall and switched her sensible running shoes for a pair of shiny black kitten heels and tied an apron around her waist before showing Harry through to the dining room.

The layout had been refurbished years ago, cracking vinyl booths filled most of the far wall, leaving a narrow space at the back end in which Jacobs had contrived an awkward half booth. There Harry stayed with his new pencils and books, content for the moment to watch the diner come to life.

Hope set down the chairs that had been stacked on the small round tables the previous night, wiping down the formica tops and setting out salt and pepper shakers. Just as the clock struck six, she unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to ‘open.’

Meanwhile someone swore loudly in the kitchen and another voice answered with, “watch your language Jimmy, there’s a kid in here.”

Another startled swear was interrupted by what sounded like a stomp and a squeal.

“Oi! what’d’jya do that for Salty?”

Salty answered in a low voice, “I’m telling you to watch the language, there’s a kid in the dining room.”

A light, freckle faced youth stuck his head out the service window and spotted Harry. “Well, would’jya look at that! Say kid, where’d you come from?”

Hope stepped between Harry and the window, “he’s with me, Jim.”

“You?” Jimmy spluttered, “didn’t know you had a kid Hope. Never would’a pegged you for a-”

Whatever he was about to say was abruptly cut off by a big black fist dragging him back into the kitchen by the back of his stained white collar, “now Jimmy, if you can’t talk nice before a lady, I’m going to put you back on dishwashing duty and let Samuel take your place.”

The man who filled the gap smiled and spoke more smoothly to Hope and Harry, “sorry about him, learned all his manners in the gutters, its nice to meet you son, you can call me Salty.”

Harry smiled back, “pleasure to meet you Salty, my names Harry.”

Salty grinned more broadly still, nodding at Hope, “right polite young man you’ve got there, Hope.” He waved back at Harry as the door chime rang its first visitor. “You need anything Harry, you just ask ol’ Salty. Mind you don’t come in the kitchen though, dangerous back here.”

As if to emphasize his point, a clang and another loud swear resonated from the narrow galley. Salty disappeared from view, though his voice could still be heard.

“That's it, Jimmy, take off that jacket. Samuel? I’ve got a job for you.”

Hope waited tables, stopping only to bring Harry some toast for breakfast and a sandwich at noon. She sat beside him and ate her own meal quickly in the lull between the lunch and afternoon tea break crowds, keeping one eye on the door as she asked him about his sketches.

The dining room was empty by five, the door locked and closing sign hung in the window. Harry beat Hope to the salt and pepper shakers, gathering them two at a time and setting them on the tray they’d come from that morning. Hope thanked him quietly as she overturned the chairs onto the tables and began to sweep.

“Hope?” Salty peered through the serving window, setting two take-out boxes in a bag on the counter as he spoke, “there’s some leftovers here that won’t keep, take them home, will you?”

Hope smiled at his obviousness. “Thanks, Salty, see you in the morning.”

“Have a goodnight, you too Harry.” He left with a wave and the lights dimmed as the backdoor closed.

Hope swept, mopped the floor and finally motioned Harry to the back door with the bag in hand.

“Guess that’s supper sorted out, eh?” Hope sighed, setting the food in the backseat before slumping into the threadbare driver’s seat and checking Harry’s seatbelt clasp was secure. “I’ve been thinking about getting a sitter to watch you while I’m at work, it’s got to be deadly dull sitting in the café all day.”

Harry shook his head slowly, still as ever watching the buildings and towering buses pass by. “I wasn’t bored.”

“A sitter would be able to give you more attention, take you to the park or the zoo, that kind of thing, wouldn’t you like that?”

“Not…” Harry started, changed his mind and hid his mouth behind his hand.

“It’s ok, you can tell me.” Hope encouraged softly.

“I’d… I want to. But-” Harry stammered out in fits and starts, “just, with you.”

“I see.” Hope smiled at the steering wheel, warmth flooding through her. “I’ve got Friday off, we could go to the zoo together for your birthday.”

“What about looking for a house? Isn’t that more important?” Harry asked quizzically.

“I really don’t want you to worry about that Harry, we’ll find a place, and we can still spend your birthday doing something fun together.”

They arrived at the flat, and Harry chewed on his cheek as they mounted the stairs.

“Can I decide what to do for my birthday?” he finally asked.

“Within reason, yes, of course.” Hope answered absently, putting on the kettle and opening the first of the boxes. “Goodness, Salty must think we’re elephants, look at all this!”

Harry looked in at the heaping scoops of mash and thick slabs of roast beef. The second box was bursting with slightly soggy Yorkshire puddings and hearty roasted carrots and beets. “Wow. That’s just for us? How come Salty made so much extra?”

“I really don’t know Harry, but we’d better eat what we can, so it doesn’t go to waste.”

She made up plates for each of them, crisping the Yorkshires in the little toaster oven before pouring the gravy for each of them.

“There’s no deadline here Harry, you have time to chew.” Hope admonished gently as he nearly gagged on the first bite of roast. “Have you decided what you’d like to do on your birthday?”

Harry slowed, chewing his carrot thoughtfully and swallowing it before answering with a decided nod. “I want to go house hunting -that’s what they called it on the telly- with you, and maybe… could we have a slice of cake?”

“Are you sure you don’t want a party? We could invite some of your classmates to the park?” Hope asked, but he shook his head decisively. “Alright, we can have cake and go house hunting, and we can always scout for parks while we’re looking around.”

That decision made; Hope started a new list. Harry watched and even ventured an occasional suggestion.

Needs:

Two bedrooms

Full bath

Kitchen -H

Wants:

Working oven

Tub

Garden -H

Good closets

Furnished

near a park -H

The rest of the week passed in a similar manner, early mornings in the diner, Harry had put himself in charge of the salt and pepper shakers and Hope patted his head affectionately as he flipped the open sign as she unlocked the door.

Every evening Salty ‘made too much’ and a box or three found their way into Hope’s hands. Harry helped to wash or dry the dishes at Hope’s side every evening, looking so satisfied to help that Hope couldn’t bring herself to tell him to go play. There was a comfortable rhythm beginning to form between them, made easier by Harry’s eagerness to please. That eagerness worried Hope, she’d have been better satisfied with a little rebellion now and again, it would be a sign of confidence in her.

Nevertheless, Harry was learning to voice his opinions in public, and she watched with pride as Harry confronted Salty about the fourth take-away box on the usual stack, Thursday evening

“You really need to measure more carefully, Salty. It’s not good to waste.” Harry admonished gently stern.

“It’s not wasted if it makes you grow up strong and healthy, eh son?” Salty answered with a wink.

Harry contemplated the evening meal of porkchops and rice and concluded in an astonished voice. “I think Salty does it on purpose. Makes so much food, I mean. There are even extra carrots, and I told him how much I liked them last time…”

“You might be right, Harry, he’s got a soft spot for you.”

“Why?”

Hope considered whether or not to tell Harry the truth, he was so young. Young, yes, but not naïve. She bit her lip and said simply, “Salty was a young and hungry little boy once too.”

“He was?” Harry’s eyes widened at the thought. “And he still grew big and strong?”

“He sure did, and so will you if you keep eating like this.” Hope smiled at him; her warm eyes gleaming at him as he wiped the last of the sauce from his plate with a bit of dinner roll. “Well, tomorrow’s a big day, I think we should get to bed early.”

Harry nodded eagerly, jumping up to carry his plate to the sink and begin the washing up.

For the first time in Harry’s memory, he dreamt of a happy birthday, and believed it could really come true.

Chapter Text

“Happy Birthday Harry.” Hope whispered as Harry blinked awake.

She was sat at the table, wearing the woodland creature pajama’s she’d had on that first night, sipping from a cup and marking her place in the thick book she’s been quietly reading. A sparkling gift bag and a simple brown paper bag- decorated with a slightly rumpled red ribbon, waited next to a take-away box in front of his seat at the table.

Harry approached the packages dubiously, as though something was going to jump out at him the moment he opened them. Kneeling on the edge of the seat, he prised the top of the sparkly bag open first. A brown and tan bookbag and a card from Lydia that read: For the boy who deserves gifts on his birthday, Happy Birthday -Aunty Lydia.

He patted the bookbag gently, setting it on the table with reverence. The brown bag was pulled into his lap with marginally more confidence. He leaned over it to peek inside, then gasped with delight and pulled out the pale blue sweater.

“Not much of a surprise, I know.” Hope said modestly.

“No.” Harry said, hugging the sweater to his chest, “it’s the best thing I have, thank you.”

Hope directed his attention back to the table. “There’s one more thing to open.”

The box contained four slices of cake, two each of chocolate and vanilla, and a birthday note from Salty.

Happy 7^th birthday Harry!

Breaking every rule Harry could imagine, they ate chocolate cake for breakfast, still dressed in their pjs.

And then they were on their way, with a packed lunch and an umbrella. They drove for forty minutes before the first stop. The village was small, the barman scowled at Harry when Hope inquired about job openings.

The next town was larger, there was a secretary position open for an accounting firm, but the only apartments available were well above their reach. They ate their lunch in the courtyard of a lovely building, admiring the sturdy brick faces of four-bedroom homes they hadn’t bothered to tour.

And on and on it went.

A good rental or a decent job, neither seemed to co-exist that could fit their needs.

“Just one more stop, and we’ll turn back.” Hope said, hiding her dejection behind a calm cheerful mask.

There was a position open in a small café, and an apartment on the second floor in need of a tenant. The owner, a prim, fussy looking woman, looked Hope over with a raised brow and took a drag on her cigarette, “single mother, and not much to look at. But I suppose I could give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Harry tugged on Hope’s arm, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there.

“We’ll think about it.” Hope answered politely.

She followed Harry back to the car as the woman snarled through a fresh cloud of acrid smoke, “don’t think too long, or I’ll find someone else!”

Harry slammed the door and said, “I hope she does.”

“What?” Hope asked.

“Find someone else.”

“It’s the only place we’ve found today that could work.”

“It doesn’t work for us.” Harry mimed a cigarette with one hand and pinched his nostrils shut with the other. “I need fresh air, that’s what you said. Can’t get any here. Besides, she was awful rude to you!”

“I can handle rude, but you’re not wrong about the smoke. We’ll just have to keep looking another day.”

“We should keep going.” Harry said suddenly, resting his fist against his chest and giving a yard-long stare out the window. “Just a little further, that way.” He pointed down a dusty looking sideroad.

Hope looked from him to the dubious path. “half an hour, if we don’t find another village in that time, we turn back. Deal?”

“Deal.” Harry answered. After ten minutes the road branched, and Harry insisted on turning left. “it’ll be there, I know it.”

Another twenty minutes passed as they traversed sharp corners and bobbed up and down small hills. Hope was looking for a drive to turn around on when the spire of a church appeared above the treeline.

‘Welcome to South Deelmuth’ a sign proudly read.

Flower pots spilling over with riotous colour marked the town hall and church. A corner store which advertised petrol and ice cream on the same sign, several small buildings and a large storefront rounded off the short street where a sign indicated ‘Deelmuth mine and train station 10km’ with an arrow pointing down the winding road.

Harry pointed to a shop that was clearly once a two-story home, but now carried a ‘books’ sign and several other oddly shaped building additions, including a covered walk connecting it to the café next door.

“Alright Harry, lets go have a look, shall we?” Hope said with a sigh of resignation.

Harry exited the car before she’d finished speaking, and was walking forward, his hand still pressed over his heart.

“Well hello deary, is there something I can help you find?” an elderly woman asked Harry as he approached the sales counter.

Shyness seemingly forgotten, Harry placed his hands on the edge of the counter and looked up to meet her eyes. “I’m looking for a job and a home,” he said, just as Hope walked through the front door.

“I’m afraid we don’t sell houses, just books, and you’re a little young to be in the business, aren’t you?” The woman offered back cheekily.

“Not for me, for my… my- Hope.”

The woman looked properly confused at this statement.

“That’s me, Hope Williams.” Hope offered her hand to the stranger and found it pressed with surprising strength.

“Ah, I see. Yes, yes, well, I hadn’t advertised yet, but I was telling Angus just last night that I needed an extra set of hands in the shop, and here you are. Wonderful how these things happen.” She smiled warmly from Hope to Harry, “and you’re looking for a place to live?”

“A home.” Harry said pertly, offering his hand as Hope had done. “I’m Harry.”

“Dorothy Curtis, call me Dot.” Dot pressed his hand in both of hers, her face crinkling into a kind smile. “As it happens, I know a fella who’s trying to sell a house, I’ll draw you a map. Just don’t let old Joseph scare you off, he’s a good man under that gruff demeanor.”

Two streets over, they found the sale sign planted in the grass. The small front yard was neatly trimmed round a grand English oak, but long grass grew through the cracks in the peeling fence. Hope looked over the property with a skeptical eye, she hadn’t been looking to purchase, and this place clearly needed work.

Harry marched up to the front door with confidence. An aged white-haired man slammed the door on house to the left and approached around the low garden wall separating the two homes, walking with a slight rolling gait, as though one knee couldn’t bend as it should.

“You the young man Dot sent over? Harry, was it?” he asked abruptly.

He seemed to be inspecting the boy and Harry straightened up further, puffing up his chest proudly and holding out his hand to shake. “That’s me sir. Harry Potter.”  

“And you must be Harry’s mother.” He offered her his hand as well, a curious spark in the coal black irises. “Joseph Cooke, You want to look around?”

“If we could sir.” Hope answered clear and lightly.

“Right.” Joseph fumbled in his pocket for a moment, handing her a set of keys. “Take your time, I’ll just be at home. Number 24.” He gestured at the faded blue house, grunted and said: “right” again, before stomping back the way he’d come.

Harry led the way inside.

The front door led into a short empty hall, an archway opened onto a dining room to the right, a closet door stood ajar to the left and a door straight ahead led to the kitchen. Through the kitchen door the room opened up to the living room on the left, separated by a half wall from a small breakfast nook and the kitchen proper on the right.

Harry stared out the big windows at the overgrown back yard as Hope inspected the refrigerator and oven.

The stairway in the farthest right corner led up to a landing with a window where the driveway could be seen from, and turning back towards towards the center of the house ascended to a hall above. Four doors for three bedrooms and a bathroom. Each room was a different colour theme, the beds dressed in frilly lace edged coverlets and pillows to match the violet, fuchsia or Periwinkle walls.

Harry turned his nose up at the rooms, sneezing at the smell of baby powder and old perfume that seemed to float in the dust their feet kicked up from the carpet. His excitement nearly snuffed out until he opened the door to the bathroom and found a large claw-footed tub.

They sat together on the front doorstep to consider.

The house met most of their requirements, though Hope said it would need some work, she wrote a new list, narrating as she went.

“The back step sounds like its about to fall through, the closet door won’t close properly, no living room furniture, a crack in the pink room window we’d need to seal before winter, the kitchen floor is curling up in places, and the bedrooms need a fresh coat of paint.”

“And bedding.”

“And new bedding.” Hope agreed. “Well, I’m not sure if we can afford it, considering how much money it’ll take to set things right. What do you think Harry?”

“Well…” Harry hesitated, running his hands along the worn brickwork of the front steps. “It’s kind of, well perfect. We can manage without some furniture, can’t we? I can help paint, and maybe we could glue the floor down where its curling. And the lacy bed covers…” he paused, huffed and shook his head. “I don’t know how to make them less awful.”

Hope laughed outright, “I’ll wash my bed linens from the flat and you can have them for your room.”

“But then you’d be stuck with the itchy stuff!” Harry exclaimed.

“I’d manage, though I might be tempted to take a seam ripper to the pillows at least. Well, should we go see what Mister Cooke is asking for our perfect house?”

Harry took her hand, his eyes shining brightly.

Joseph was sat in a big reclining chair in a sitting room that mirrored the dining room of number 22, darning a pair of woolen socks.

The price was reasonable enough, though Hope admitted she didn’t have the means to offer a large deposit. Joseph conceded that some work needed doing, and decided that in leu of a deposit, he’d except the investment of their time in fixing the place up, and a rent-to-own agreement.

“It’s about time it had a new family again.” Joseph said, the corner of his mouth turning up gently. “My sister passed a year ago and it’s been standing empty ever since.”

Harry looked suddenly anxious; he hadn’t been shy about telling the man how much he disliked the fussy bedrooms.

“Don’t you fret young man, Irene had a strong sense of taste, but I must admit I never shared it.” Joseph’s laugh rumbled from a place deep in his chest and he patted Harry’s arm kindly. “You two make all the changes you’d like; it’ll be your home after all.”

“We’ll be back next week with papers, if everything on my end works out.” Hope assured him.

“Home.” Harry whispered solemnly as Hope and Joseph shook over their agreement. “Our home.”

Chapter Text

Hope and Harry were on their way to a new beginning.

Gladys, the case worker visited the apartment and begrudgingly approved it, she liked the new house better and so the paperwork for full legal guardianship were signed and witnessed.

Harry watched the entire process with curiosity but acted shy again in the car ride back to the flat.

“You alright Harry?”

“M’ fine.”

“You sure?” Hope asked again, but Harry only nodded and tucked his face into the bookbag in his lap. “I’m a little surprised you haven’t got any questions. You know you’re allowed to ask me anything, right?”

‘Uh huh.” Harry replied, voice muffled through the canvas. A minute later he spoke up, “All that stuff you signed… does it. I mean, can you… I can really stay with you?”

“Yes. I’m your legal guardian now, and you can stay with me as long as you want.”

“What if, what happens if I…” Harry started, then paused and hid his face again.

“If you want or need a new guardian, then arrangements would be made.” Hope’s voice and heart dropped as she thought of it.

“What if you want a different boy, what if you have a real son someday, and then you wouldn’t need…”

“Harry,” Hope interrupted softly. “Nothing can make me change my mind, nothing and nobody will ever make me want you to leave.”

Harry waited with Salty in the diner’s kitchen, while Hope gave her notice. Mr. Jacobs was not happy, and he let it be known, but Hope didn’t seem rattled by the shouting and cursing, answering him firmly that she had made her decision, she was going and she didn’t need his endorsement to do it.

A fulltime job with the bookstore wouldn’t quite equal what she’d been earning from the diner, but Dot reassured her that there were plenty of simple odd jobs the elderly community would be happy to pay for. The only downside was the lack of a school. The few families that remained in Deelmuth usually sent their older students to a school more than fifty kilometers away where they boarded for the week, taking the train home on weekends.

“We’ll just have to see what we can do ourselves.” Hope had said when, from the deepest recesses of the hall closet, she extracted a dusty stack of primary school workbooks. “These are old, but do what you can, we’ll go through them together when you’re finished, see where to go from there.”

Harry carried his bookbag, filled now with the primers and the sketchbook to the diner for Hope’s next shift, and when the salt and peppers had been properly distributed and the sign flipped in the window, he bent to his task. The first pages were not blank as he had expected.

A ruler lined page with examples of letters to practice was marked with a name and a date at the top.

TyleR W   Nov 2 1982

The alphabet letters started strong, following the dotted lines carefully, but the lines veered and the pencil faded to nothing around the letter M.

Harry turned the page.

TyleR W  nov 8 82

Lowercase letters fading into misshapen lines around the w, and finished with the barest pressure at the very end.

Another and another, Harry walked through the struggles of a boy who’d been there before. Here and there a blue pen corrected an error or added a little smiley face next to something done particularly well.

“Ready for breakfast?” Hope asked, startling him. He fumbled the book and dived for it as it slid off the table, bumping Hope’s tray.

For a moment it looked as though the sausages, toast and tea were falling, the tray tilting at an irretrievable angle, aimed at the same place on the floor that Harry knelt, scrabbling for the edges of the booklet he’d been entrusted with. The thick and heavy plates were at the edge, tea and apple juice already spilling. He raised his arms to shield himself.

And then everything was set right again. Drips of tea and apple juice on the table remained as the only sign of impending disaster.

“Oh goodness,” Hope said, setting the tray down suddenly as though it had come to life, “terribly clumsy of me. Are you alright Harry?”

“Yeah.” Harry answered quickly, sliding back into his spot in the booth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I think I startled you,” Hope chuckled, her nerves still on edge. She slid in beside him and shifted the tray nervously. “Looked like it was going to get away from me there for a minute.”

“But it didn’t.” Harry said, strangely defensive.

“Well, no, I suppose not.” She contemplated the tray for another long moment and slowly lifted the mug of tea to her lips, nudging the rest of the tray towards Harry. “Breakfast. Did you get a start on your book?”

Harry ducked his head anxiously, pressing the cover shut with both hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t mine, someone else already started it.”

“Ah.” Hope sighed, easing the book out of Harry’s hands and opening it. Her fingers paused on the name, swallowed heavily and turned the pages until she found an empty page. “Start here.”

“But what if Tyler wants to finish it?” Harry asked, sounded more petulant then ever.

Tears muddled her vision and Hope gulped for air. Several sips of tea restored her equilibrium and her voice. “He doesn’t need this book anymore, and he wouldn’t be upset with you for using it.”

Harry shrunk further into himself as she dabbed at her eyes and rose with the sound of the door chimes.

“What can I get you sir?” She asked the newcomer as he sat.

“Tea.” The voice answered gruffly.

Harry picked at his sausage, uninterested until he spied Salty watching him from the kitchen. Then he ate quickly and determinedly until the plate was empty. He offered a thumbs up when the concerned face reappeared and noticed a bearded man watching him from a booth at the opposite end of the diner. Self consciously, Harry ducked his head and began to work in earnest.

The final week at the diner was uncomfortable. Whether it was the huffing disgust of Mr. Jacobs, puffing at cigarettes in his office, the new job applicants coming in for interviews, or Hope’s patient attempt at training her replacement, there was an unquestionable atmosphere of anxiety. An atmosphere not improved by the now daily addition of strange men. They wore different coloured caps, the jacket was sometimes brown, tan or black but it always had the same collar, the same scuffed cuffs. Always sitting alone with their back to the door, where Harry could see the man flipping through a newspaper or humming over the crossword.

“Can I get you another coffee John?” Hope was asking one of her regulars, a veteran whose pale skin was peppered with liver spots.

“Oh no, that’s quite alright lass, I should be getting on now.” He rose on shuffling feet, nearly falling against the observer of the day, a tall man with dark scraggly hair to his shoulders and a heavy 5 o’clock shadow. “My apologies young man,” turning back to Hope, “Well Hope, my love, I wish you and your boy the best of luck for the future, wherever It may take you.”

Hope took the man’s hand, steadying him as the stranger slipped past them into an empty booth. “Thank you, John.”

The elderly John kissed her hand gallantly and left with a final wave at Harry.

The stranger was the only other customer in the shop and he was apparently absorbed in a book, sipping at his tea.

Salty passed Hope a fresh order of cheese toasties with extra sausages and the stranger watched her carry the plate to Harry, setting it on his table and ruffling his hair gently.

“Got time for a snack?” She asked, leaning against the edge of his booth and looking over the sketchbook Harry had been working in since noon. “You’re lines are getting so clean; all that practice must be paying off.”

Harry chewed on a crust and cast a critical eye over his most recent attempt at sketching the salt and pepper shakers he had chosen for his models. “It’s easier with how you showed me to hold the pencil.”

“Soon you’ll write a prettier script than I do, more legible at any rate.”

Harry huffed a laugh at her self-deprecating quip and gave her one of those dazzling smiles that seemed to slow time.

The stranger's book drooped an inch and piercing black eyes peered over the rim at the pair.  

Nearly five and the stranger didn’t move as Hope began to prepare for lockup one last time. She was growing worried with the way his eyes seemed to follow Harry as he gathered the shakers, so she stepped between them, arms crossed and a firmly polite mask on her face.

“I’m sorry to bother you sir, but we’re closing.” She swept the shakers from his table, passing them to Harry and still keeping her body between them at all times. “If there is nothing I can get you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man rose, opening his mouth to speak, one hand in the inner pocket of his coat. Salty stepped through the kitchen doors at that moment, setting one hand on Harry’s shoulder and casting a long broad shadow from the brightly lit kitchen.

“The time must have gotten away from me, accept my apologies.” The man said hurriedly, his eyes shifting from Hope, to Salty, to where Harry stood shielded by both. He nearly forgot his book in his haste to leave, turned back to get it, and left with one last long look at the boy.

“I’ll walk you two out. Seeing as its your last night.” Salty suggested lightly, setting two bags filled with takeaway boxes on the counter. “And here’s something for the road.”

Harry hugged the man impulsively and then released him as suddenly, reddening and busying himself about his bookbag.

Salty walked them to the car, but there was no sign of anyone still hanging about.

“We appreciate everything you’ve done for us Salty, if you ever find yourself down our way, there’s a frilly guest room waiting for you.”

Salty accepted her thanks with a quiet smile and a shake of the head. “You don’t owe me anything, Hope.”

“All the same.” She patted his arm affectionately. “Thanks.”

“Do me a favor, see Harry here grow up strong and healthy and loved.” The burly man said softly, smiling at Harry in the passenger seat.

“That, I can do.” Hope said with perfect confidence.

Chapter Text

“Angus, meet our new employee, Hope, and her son Harry.”

Harry watched as Hope, Dot and Angus talked, shaking hands and smiling. Her son. And Hope didn’t correct them. She had never used the term herself, but he’d noticed she never corrected people if they assumed a familial connection. Even when the assumption made people turn their noses up at her. ‘so young, and the boy already seven or eight, my goodness!’ ‘another young single mother, what is this world coming to?’ ‘at least she gave the boy his fathers name, even if the rogue isn’t in the picture.’

No, Hope would smile her coldest polite smile and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder protectively, as though she were proud to be known as the mother of such a son.

TyleR W.

That one scrawled name was the reason Harry wouldn’t dream of using those special words for himself. Hope hadn’t said anything more about the half-used workbooks, but he guessed enough. She’d had a boy before, a real son. And Harry had had a real mother and father, even if he couldn’t remember them beyond the nightmare flash of green light.

It seemed wrong, to want to have a mother again. Hope hadn’t asked to be his mum, she’d just found him on the road. He’d been thinking about a jacket, blindly following that need to wherever the little warm thing in his chest told him to go. But it wasn’t just the jacket he’d been wanting that night.

In the glowing lights of other houses, he’d seen families together, sitting and playing, a mother gently ruffling a boy’s hair and laughing at something the kind-looking man said.

And the want in Harry’s heart had throbbed painfully, bringing him to stumble onto the road in front of her car.

Hope was uncommonly kind as it was, Harry thought: looking after him, tucking him in every night under her nice blanket, making sure he never left the table with the hunger unsatisfied.

He couldn’t ask for more.

Shouldn’t.

But that didn’t stop the throb in his heart when she smiled at him from across the hall, carrying another box into the periwinkle room that was now to be hers.

Harry’s room, no longer violently violet, was painted a warm cream, the bed covered in Hope’s thick blue comforter and the old wardrobe in the corner had been polished back to its original rich brown with a little guidance and wax from Joseph. The window overlooked the backyard and had a brilliant view of the forest rising up beyond the back fence.

He sat on a doily covered stool and set a scrap of paper on the windowsill. Putting pencil to paper, Harry followed Hope’s example and wrote a list.

Good things:

New paint

Nice people-   Salty   Dot   Joseph

Sharp pencils

Fresh bread

Trees

Hope  : )

Sticking the paper to the inside of his wardrobe with a tack he’d found there, Harry went about unpacking the rest of his things.

He hung his sweater at the very front of the wardrobe, so he’d see it every time the door opened. It was too warm to wear just now, but he liked to brush his hand over the soft fuzzy fabric. When every last pair of socks had been carefully tucked into a drawer, Harry looked around his room, proud and not just a little astonished. All this, was his.

The bookbag leaned against the wall near the door, ready for his next outing. There was only one thing left. The grubby pillowcase from the Dursleys.

He made a pile of the few ragged shirts and drawstring pants he’d ‘inherited’ from Dudley, eager to be rid of them. The pillowcase wasn’t quite empty though and he dumped a wad of papers onto the floor.

Birth certificate: Harry James Potter, mother: Lily Jane Potter (nee: Evans) Father: James Potter

Harry traced their names with his fingers; whispered them aloud. “Lily and James Potter.”

“You alright in there Harry?” Hope’s voice preceded her down the hall and she popped her head in at his door to see Harry staring at a stack of papers, tears streaming silently down his face. “What’s this?” she asked, sitting down beside him with her back against the foot of his bed.

He showed her the paper, still staring at the names. “Lily, and… James… I didn’t. I didn’t remember.” And he broke down again as she rescued the pages from his lap.

Hope wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. She didn’t speak and Harry was grateful for the silence. She didn’t tell him to stop crying, didn’t tell him it shouldn’t hurt like it did, just held him close. The way he imagined his mother might once have done. This idea brought on another bout of sobbing and he wrung his heart out on her sleeve.

When he’d wiped the snot from his face with the clean handkerchief Hope offered him, he straightened up and shifted the birth certificate to one side. There was a report card from his kindergarten year, the negative report of his unfinished first year, several bits and pieces of envelopes and papers regarding previous hospital visits and an eye exam from the previous year when a teacher had requested it.

Hope read that one carefully, seeming to grow stiffer as she made it to the bottom. “Harry, have you ever had glasses?”

“No.”

The low growl in her throat made Harry look up. She noticed his anxiety and smiled calmly down, ruffling his hair affectionately. “It’s alright Harry, we’ll set it right.”

At the very bottom of the stack were two pieces of paper that Harry had not anticipated.

Death certificate of: Lily Jane Potter (nee: Evans), October 31^st 1981, Cause: gas leak.

Death certificate of: James Potter, October 31st 1981, Cause: gas leak.

He expected the tears to come, but he seemed to have run dry. Instead, he whispered his question to the thin, creased papers, “I thought they died in a car crash.”

Hope kissed the top of his head again and he thought he felt a drop of water land on his shoulder as she drew back.

Harry remained grimly contemplative as Hope made space in a drawer of his wardrobe for his papers, and barely cracked a smile as she binned the horrid worn-out old clothes. The reheated roast and carrots didn’t seem to taste as good and he pushed them around the plate for a long time before seeing Hope’s worried look and beginning to chew deliberately.

It wasn’t until Hope was tucking him into his bed that night that he finally asked her about the thing that had been playing on his mind. It was safer somehow, to say difficult things in the dim light of the lamp at his bedside.

“Do, do you think it hurt?”

Hope sat still for a minute, rubbing little circles on his back. “No, Harry, I don’t think it hurt.”

“Where they scared? Do you think they knew?”

“I don’t know, Harry. I really don’t know.”

“How come I didn’t die too? I was just a baby.” Harry whispered to the night.

“Can I tell you what I think?”

He nodded, nestling deeper into the blanket that smelled like Hope’s shampoo.

“I think life wasn’t done with you yet, and I think your mum and dad loved you. And… I think they are still thinking about you, loving you, smiling and crying and laughing with you from the other side.”

“The other side… Is that where Tyler is?”

Hope paused, her fingers forgetting to make the little circles that were steadily putting Harry to sleep. “Yeah.”

“So, it’s kind of like a trade… my mum and dad can look after Tyler and you’ll look after me?” His voice was slurring now, eyelids too heavy to open.

“I suppose it is.” Hope said, tucking the blanket up around his ears the way he liked it and again kissing the top of his head as she whispered, “sweet dreams Harry.”

Hope and Harry walked to the bookstore most days, strolling through the sleepy village in the morning with keener appreciation for the old oak trees then ever before with Harry’s new glasses. Hope had put off painting her room again to afford them, and though he wanted to refuse at first, seeing the leaves so high up, fluttering in the summer breeze had filled him with so much wonder he quickly forgot.

Hand in hand, with a bookbag over his shoulder and Hope’s purse and umbrella on her arm, waving at the neighbors as they passed.

Not everyone was as quickly won over as old Joseph next door, and Harry gave dirty looks to anyone who dared mutter behind their hands at Hope, dismissing their patronizing complements to himself out of loyalty to her.

The Williams-Potter family was changing stubborn opinions, though they might not know it yet. One small kindness at a time.

With a woman who seemed perfectly inflexible -prim and poised from her fastidious buttons to her stiff steely curls- Hope chatted about her extensive flower garden, offering to weed for her and asking all sorts of questions about growing vegetables. Hanging on her every word, making notes as the old woman warmed to teaching. Harry followed Hope’s example and asked how she made the lilies and roses grow so pretty, and wishing aloud that he could someday grow such beautiful, nice smelling things.

Ophelia gave him an old pill bottle of seeds she’d saved. Zinnias and sunflowers and cosmos, “might not get anything on them this year, but that there’s a good mix of cutting flowers for next spring,” and promised him a few cuttings in the fall. “We’ll see if we can’t make a green thumb out of you yet, young man.”

Harry seeded a few of each in the little plot in the backyard, and tucking the rest carefully away in his ‘important papers and things’ drawer.

Mary and Peter across the road where openly skeptical of the pair, but softened when Hope asked for her recipe for scones and praised the bramble-berry jam they’d brought over as an excuse to ‘meet the new neighbors.’

They got the recipe and Peter talked long about all the wonderful fruit foraging opportunities in the area, how back in the war all the hedges were picked clean of berries, but now so much seemed to just go to waste. “Shame, that; more young folks like yourselves ought to take up with the old traditions.”

Many a Sunday afternoon found Hope and Harry walking home with a bounty of blackberries, damson plums and currents, fingers and lips stained. One of the many frugalities they were more than happy to practice, the exercise stretching and straining Harry’s growing frame, brightening his complexion and giving him a wealth of precious new memories.

Laughing and picking berries and whistling at birds and stirring a fresh batch of jam as Hope prepared the jars. Harry was convinced the bright, sweet preserves he spread on his toast were far tastier than any confection Dudley had ever stolen from him.

When they ventured back to see the Doctor, he was impressed by the change in Harry. He’d gained nearly a stone, and was well on his way to an extra two centimetres in height. Not to mention the colour and energy of the boy, gone was the lethargy and pale skin. Harry was sun-browned, his only injuries: the small scrapes and callouses of a boy who climbed trees, dug in the dirt and spent hours each day sketching, doing sums and practicing his letters.

Hope’s job at the bookstore was quiet enough, there weren’t many customers, though quite enough for a village of that size. Her duties were to keep the shop clean, sort the books and look over ordering lists. Mail order had become more ubiquitous and every afternoon Hope and Harry ventured to the post office with books wrapped carefully in brown paper and returned with more orders to fulfil for the next day.

When the day’s tasks had been done, in the long breaks between customers, they went over Harry’s workbooks together. Hope was thrilled with Harry’s rapid progress, and Harry was pleased to be praised for doing well, without having to worry if he’d done better than his cousin. There would be no punishment for a job well done, and Hope’s form of discipline for poor work was simply to do it again until he mastered it.

A tide had turned that night that Harry had asked about his parents, the guilt he’d felt, replaced by a new sense of generosity. He could share his parents with a boy he’d never met, and he’d look after Hope too.

With the pressure and terror of the Dursleys removed, Harry found a new hunger. A yearning to know. To read and understand and draw and create. He traveled from the safety of the lumpy armchair in the back corner of the shop, to worlds and mysteries untold within the pages of his surroundings.

No longer consumed with survival, Harry was learning to live.

Not that all worry had evaporated, fears he’d thought he’d forgotten would still rear their heads when he least expected.

August was drawing to an end and Hope, Harry noticed, was becoming more withdrawn. She still smiled over his practiced letters, but it was thin and crooked and he wondered why tears seemed to gather in her eyes. She watched him toil away at his little flower garden, pretending to read a book but forgetting to turn the pages.

 “Are you sick?” Harry confronted her, dirty hands turned to fists on his hips.

Hope startled, sniffed and wiped her face quickly before attempting a smile. “What? of course not, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been looking all pale and sad for days now. If you’re ill, or tired, or you just want to be rid of me, I need to know!” without realizing it Harry’s voice had risen to a shout in his spiraling panic.

Hope pulled him, dirt and all into her arms. “That is never going to happen, Harry. I promised I’d look after you always, and I don’t break my promises.”

“Then why are you sad?” he asked in a whimper of mingled worry and relief.

“It’s a long story.” Hope said, releasing him gently. “But I think it’s time I told you.”

Harry looked at her, nodded once and sat beside her on the back step, with his arm around her back.

“You see, it’s coming up on the anniversary of my baby brother’s passing.” Hope said softly, ruffling his hair mindlessly.

“Your brother?”

“Tyler. You remind me of him sometimes.” She said wistfully.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said, fidgeting uncomfortably. There was a strange sense of relief with the revelation that Tyler had been her brother, but being relieved seemed wrong and his stomach churned horribly with guilt.

“Don’t be sorry. He was sick, always sick, a blood disease, no cure. But he had a spark too, just like you, used to make me laugh with all of his stories.” Hope sighed again, putting her arm around Harry. “I wish I could have done this for him too.” She gestured across the backyard. “I wish that you could grow up together, healthy and happy with dirt under your nails and grass stains on your jeans.”

“Didn’t you have a house and a mum and dad?” Harry asked, surprised by the suggestion.

Hope shook her head. “For a while, but they passed shortly after Ty was born. No one wanted to take in a sick baby and a teenager, but I wouldn’t let them take him away, so we got sent to a group home.”

Harry’s eyebrows were raised, wrinkling the lightning bolt scar into a squiggle on his forehead.

“The day I turned sixteen I applied to take him. I got a job, moved us into that flat.” Hope continued, her voice subdued but still rough with emotion, “but he didn’t get better. I did everything the doctors told me to, but…”

“Is he still sick? In that other place?” Harry asked quietly.

“No. He’s all better now.” Hope said, half laughing to hide the lump in her throat. “But I still miss him, I used to go visit his grave, talk to him, tell him about my life.”

Harry considered it for a minute, twirling a piece of grass between his fingers. “But he’s not there, ‘cause he’s… on the other side with my mum and dad, right?”

“That’s right. It was just a place I used to go to remember.”

“We could go, talk to him.” Harry suggested hesitantly, leaning into her side. “I don’t know where my parents are… are buried. But I’d like to someday… to visit- tell them, about everything.”

“We’ll go together.”

Harry picked the very first of his baby flowers, a barely out of the bud zinnia, to add to Hope’s collection of wildflowers. Together they lay the bundle on the grass, just under the small wooden cross.

Tyler John Williams

1976-1983

“Hey Ty, buddy.” Hope said, her voice thick as she rested a palm on the rough wood, tracing the letters and rubbing off a bit of dirt covering the T. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Harry stood a little to one side, shifting from one foot to the other, afraid he’d mess this up. The Dursleys had never taken him to a funeral, and this was the first cemetery he’d ever even been in.

“Harry is my ward now, just like you were. We’ve got a nice little house, and Harry grew this pretty little flower all by himself… In the spring we’re going to plant a vegetable plot, just like nan used to.” Hope paused, swallowing heavily and bowing her head.

Harry stepped up to her shoulder, put one small hand on her arm, and patting the top of the cross with the other. “It’s nice to meet you, Tyler… Hope is nice, she let me have the nice blanket without that terrible itchy lace. I wish you could taste the brambleberry jam we made last week, its better than candy!” he hesitated again, his confidence fading with his ideas. “Hope misses you but you probably know that. Do you think… do you think you could tell my mum and dad, that I miss them? And that I’m not scared anymore… do, could you, maybe, give them a hug for me?”

Harry’s voice broke and Hope gathered him into her lap. Together they mourned. Unashamed and honest in their grief. When Harry’s shuddering sobs subsided, they sat for a long time - Harry still in Hope’s lap - looking across the peaceful churchyard and letting the breeze cool their flushed cheeks and dry the last of their tears.

A bell tolled in the distance and Hope lifted Harry from her lap to his feet, gathering herself up stiffly and taking his hand. She faced the cross one last time and spoke softly.

“Love you, Ty.”

“Thanks.” Harry started, paused with a blush, then decided he didn’t need to be embarrassed for saying anything to someone he couldn’t even see. “Thanks for letting me share Hope with you, I’ll take good care of her, promise.”

Chapter Text

September passed in a blur as summer sang its last songs on warm salt-tinged breezes from the south coast and caressed the tops of the trees Harry loved to climb.

Aunt Petunia would have had a fit over Dudley climbing, not that the over-indulged boy had ever expressed such active desires. Hope on the other hand, allowed Harry room to explore. There were still rules, ones they had decided together, a list somewhere in the growing stack of used pages in Hopes notes.

Don’t go out in the woods without letting Hope know,

Stay within sight of the church steeple so you can always find your way back,

Don’t climb trees narrower than you are,

Return before dark

Harry’s confidence grew, even as the knees of his jeans were steadily shredding away. Joseph was teaching him how to read the time based on the sun’s position and how to whistle an s.o.s. if he ever needed to call for help, how to build a signal fire and a lean-to shelter for emergencies.

As Harry was learning to be a child for the first time, Hope was learning to cook. She’d managed simple stuff, had needed to to survive, but Mary had leant her a cookbook and she’d started copying out recipes from others in the bookshop with Dot’s permission.

This week’s experiment was spaghetti Bolognese, and though she hadn’t bought the ‘correct’ Italian tomatoes, and though they couldn’t afford the ‘necessary’ cheese to finish the dish, the extra tomatoes from Mrs. Bradford’s waning garden and the half-wild thyme Harry had found in the scrub of what must once have been an herb garden in their own backyard gave it a flavour and aroma neither Harry nor Hope wished to quarrel with.

The evening was coming in quickly, what little of the sun remained reflecting red and brilliant against a sky that roiled with the promise of rain. Harry took little notice, carrying his plate to the sink and making preparations for washing up.

Hope had just finished drying and was putting the last plate in the cabinet when the lightning struck. Thunder rattled the window panes and the wind began as a roar in the trees, building slowly into a cacophony.

“Is it a hurricane?” Harry asked, flinching as a small tree branch slapped the kitchen window.

“I… I’m not sure.” Hope answered, looking out with growing concern.

She walked quickly to the small radio on their otherwise undecorated mantle and turned the knob. Crackling white noise answered, interrupted by what might have been a half-garbled word –‘histo’- followed by more buzzing, -‘tay in’- and finally it smoothed, into a calm posh voice, -‘ll folks, if you must travel keep in mind, highw-‘ another boom of thunder obscured the words. ‘and remember avoid windows and doors, stay safe out there folks.’

Hope was at the front door pulling on her coat as Harry watched on, looking frightened and helpless.

“I’m going to check on Joseph, why don’t you grab the pillows and blankets from our beds and we’ll make a nest in the living room.”

“But you could get hurt.”

“Yup, but I’d feel worse if Joseph needed something and I was too afraid to go. I’ll be right back, Harry, so put the kettle on and go get those cushions, alright?” She hugged him briefly, ruffling up his hair affectionately and exited the front door quickly, pushing against the wind to shut it.

She was gone too long. Harry had already brought every cushion and pillow down, piling them against the living room half wall where a couch would normally have sat. She blustered in the door just as he was pouring hot water over the cocoa mix.

“I’m back. Joe’s fine, he’s got a little bomb shelter under his back deck, looks set to outlast us all.” Hope was saying as Harry set the kettle down and hurtled down the short hall to the door, barreling into her and choking on his relief. “Told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratched out, then clearing his throat he squeezed her round the middle again and stepped back with a proud little grin. “I got the stuff, and I’m making cocoa.”

“Now that’s a great idea. Joe gave me a few emergency candles too, so I think we’ll be set.” Hope’s hair was windblown and her face was a little red where her hair had whipped her, but she smiled as she saw the great mound Harry had collected. The windows rattled again as more branches hurtled through the air.

“hm. I’ve got an idea, what do you say we drag a couple dining chairs over there and spread that awful pink blanket over the top like a tent?”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, until she’d assembled quite an effective blanket fort right in front of the bricked-up fireplace with a properly padded nest underneath. She melted the bottoms of two of the emergency candles, sticking them to the rough brick of the hearth and setting the little matchbook between them and the radio.

“PJ’s first.” She said as he approached her construction with wonder in his eyes.

The Potter-Williams’ snuggled into their nest with hot cocoa, tuning the radio to a dramatized show about a white cat and a blacksmith, who’s frustrated voice continued rising to a pitch that made Harry giggle.

The storm grew outside, and sometime long after the rabbit program ended, the power went out.

“I suppose that’s our sign, it was bedtime anyway.” Hope said, turning off the little lamp next to the radio on the hearth

More thrashing against the south wall of the house made Harry shudder and retreat into his half of the makeshift tent. “I- I don’t want to go sleep in my room.”

“Course not.” Hope smiled gently, “after all, we’ve got this perfect little fortress to camp in tonight, can’t put it to waste now, can we?”

“Right.” Harry answered, relief breaking from him in a little giggle as he dove back onto the biggest pile of pillows.

She rearranged the cushions so Harry could lay across three of them and tucked him in like it was any other night. The frilliest and flattest pillows made her own bedroll between Harry’s spot on the floor and the nearest window. She pulled the oddly frayed looking periwinkle coverlet over herself, thankful she’d taken the time to cut so much of the starched trimmings away and rolled onto her side to face him.  

“Sleep tight Harry.”

His long lashes drifting closed unresisting to the siren call of sleep after a long evening of anxiety, Hope smiled to see him so relaxed. He’d come such a long way in the several months since they’d found each other. He was still remarkably polite and thoughtful, but it seemed a reflex out of care rather than the pure fear of his beginnings.

“Love you.” Harry mumbled, snuffling, shifting and slipping deeper into the grip of sleep.

“I love you too, Harry.” Hope said softly, needing to say it though he wouldn’t hear it.

Hope slept fitfully, waking to the creaking of the house and the continued howling outside which only seemed to be building in ferocity.

Harry tossed and turned occasionally but didn’t wake, and Hope’s eyelids drifted shut once again.

Crack.

CRASH.

Hope and Harry sat bolt upright as an ominous groaning began overhead. Their eyes met in the dim light of the lamp and realization came upon them both. The sound was unmistakable. The snappling creak of wood under immense pressure. Bits of plaster rained down on the pink exterior of their little fortress.

Hope pulled Harry into her arms on instinct, tucking her head and curving her back over him as another groan rent the air. Harry tried to push her off, reaching his hands up as though he could hold up the roof by sheer force of will.

A flash of light seemed to swell from him, leaving them both blinded.

The sound of wind, of rubble pelting the windows, the heaving of air and roof; ceased.

Stillness.

The lamp light was dim and Hope’s bewildered eyes strained to see beyond the pinpricks in her vision. The pink coverlet had been blown off. The plaster that had fallen was attempting to screw itself back into place, the cracks still visible.

This. This is impossible. I’m… imagining it, it can’t be real. She thought, releasing Harry. He scrambled to his knees beside her and still clutching her hand stared at the ceiling too.

“It’s… like, well, like magic.” He said, voice trembling.

Their eyes met.

A sharp crack echoed from the entry way hall.

“Harry!” A strange voice, strained and frantic called from near the front door. “Harry? Are you in here?”

Chapter Text

Shadows cast by a brilliant white light advanced on the living room and Hope leapt up, planting herself between Harry and the intruder who was pointing the thinnest torch she'd ever seen, directly at them.

"We don't have any money, just take the car, keys are by the door." She said, firmly, schooling her fear into outward calmness. "Please."

"I, I'm not here to steal from you." The hoarse voice sounded vaguely bewildered.

Hope's heart sunk deeper, and she clutched her fists tight, trying to remember how Joseph had taught her to hold her thumb on the outside so she wouldn't break it on the first punch. "Then leave, now."

"I'm here for Harry." He said simply, hoarsely again as though he was unused to speaking.

"Get out!" Hope roared, "get out now! Take my son from me? Over my dead body." She steeled herself, pressing her feet into the floor as if she could draw strength from the earth itself.

A low chuckle shocked her, and as chilling as the idea of the man laughing at her declaration should have been, it wasn't a cruel sound.

"I was hoping you'd say that." The torch lowered, dimmed and the man flicked the switch on the wall. Nothing happened and he sighed. "I'm not going to hurt either of you, I just saw the damage and needed to see that Harry's okay. You are alright, Harry?"

Harry sidestepped Hope, tilting his head slightly to see around her outstretched arm. "m' fine. Who are you?"

"I'm a… friend of your dad's. Remus Lupin." He said gravely, once again ashen faced. "You look like just like him."

He gave them a very slight bow that reminded Hope of an aristocrat. She felt momentarily like she ought to curtsey, but pushed the thought aside. "I've seen you before, at the hospital, the day I went to get Harry…" he'd looked thin and grey and sickly at the time, but newly scabbed over scratches marked the side of his neck now, and his five o'clock shadow cast deeper shadows over sunken cheeks.

"Yes, I was there, you quite interfered with my plans, I must say."

"And on the Dursleys street too, was it you sending those men to the diner to watch us? Who are you with, Scotland Yard? MI6? Why are you after Harry?"

The man sighed tiredly, "it's a rather long story, but I think its time for the secrecy to end." He muttered almost to himself, "Dumbledore is terribly clever, but he was wrong about this from the start… Could I trouble you for a cup of tea?"

With this last question, he sank gratefully into the one odd chair that had not been used to make Hope's blanket fort. He did seem rather done for, the long stick he'd used as a torch was tucked away in a pocket and he carried no other weapon that Hope could see.

"Stay here." she whispered to Harry, motioning to the nest of cushions in the farthest corner as she took an emergency candle and lit it. She moving cautiously into the kitchen, set the candle on a plate and filled the kettle, grateful when the gas stove fired up without hesitation. "You said it's a long story…" she prompted as she readied the pot, keeping an eye on Lupin in her periphery.

"Yes, right, well… I don't quite know where to begin…"

"You said you where a friend of my dad's?" Harry asked as he dragged a chair to the table on the kitchen side. Hope raised an annoyed brow at him but he ignored it, focusing on Lupin instead.

"James, yes, we went to school together. Hogwarts." Remus seemed to study Harry as he said this strange name, but Harry didn't recognize it and just shrugged. "That's what I feared. Dumbledore insisted his letter would keep the Dursleys in line…"

"Dumbledore. That's what Petunia said made them take Harry in." Hope said softly, dangerously. "So, he's a person then?"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts." Remus supplied, "he brought Harry to them the night Lily and James…" he faltered then, whether over the death of his friends or the earnest green eyes that watched his every move.

"When they died?" Harry offered.

"Right, yes. So, you know…" Remus paused again, biting his cheek like there were too many things he couldn't say.

"I know they died cause of a gas leak, and not a car crash like my aunt and uncle said." Harry said bluntly, "they lied about it and they said my dad was a drunk."

"He wasn't," Remus interrupted quickly, one hand raised as if to fend off the accusation, "he was a good man, your dad. A good friend to me, both of them were.

The kettle whistled, jerking him and Harry from their close observation of each other. Hope filled the tea pot and set several cups on the table as Harry ran to get another chair for her.

"Two lumps please. Thank you." Remus said. He accepted the mug and breathed in the bergamot scented steam. "I think it's best if I start with the truth."

"I don't like liars." Harry stated sharply.

"Quite. Well, this may be difficult to believe, but: magic is real." Remus said.

Hope had been blowing on Harry's cup to cool it and nearly choked as the words registered, "what?" she squinted at him, surprised to see him sipping his tea and looking perfectly mundane and sane.

"I'm a wizard, and Harry, so are you."

"Me? I- no- that's…"

"Don't believe me? You've been doing magic for some time now, just this evening in fact." Remus pointed at the cracks in the ceiling. "That was a rather impressive bit of accidental magic, knocked the tree right off your roof as I was coming to check on you. It looked so dreadful I had to come in, make sure you were okay; statute of secrecy be damned." He shrugged, smiling out of one corner of his mouth at the wide eyes Harry shone in his direction.

"Just like magic…" Harry whispered, gripping Hope's hand tightly. "Like when I found you. It was magic!"

"So magic is real and you're a wizard." Hope said, in a measured and sceptical tone. "How did you find us? And why didn't you know when Harry was living on the street?"

"Dumbledore was keeping tabs on the Dursleys, there was a protective ward, blood magic tied to Lily's bloodline, he was supposed to be safe as long as he stayed with them. The night he disappeared the instruments went wild. Accidental magic must have set them off. When Dumbledore visited the next day the Dursleys told him Harry had gone to spend some time at a friend's. They didn't seem to remember what had happened the previous evening, and couldn't say where Harry had actually gone.

"Magic had tampered with their memories." Remus took a long breath and another sip before continuing. "Dumbledore sent out search parties, but he's been keeping it quiet from the ministry, so our search efforts were restricted. They don't put the trace on children until they're of age to attend school and use a wand, so I've been tracking your magical signature with an instrument Dumbledore devised, we couldn't follow it unless you used magic, and until the day in the hospital, the signals were too weak to triangulate."

"But I didn't do magic at the hospital." Harry stated, brows furrowed.

"Ah, but you did; you accepted a new home. The blood-wards breaking created a significant ripple and it led back to you."

"Blood wards?" Hope inquired.

"Magical protection, Harry was safe from Voldemort's dark magic as long as he called home the place where a blood relative lived." He raised a hand to Harry's rebuttal, "no, you're not going back. As I said, the wards broke the day I traced you to the hospital, though I didn't know what had caused the disturbance then. Dumbledore sent me to collect you before an Auror arrived to investigate the surge of magic in a muggle public place, I intercepted him myself, said I'd done a spell to get into the hospital. I don't have muggle I.D. and I needed to have a cut tended to and didn't want to be seen in the St. Mungos, no one witnessed the event and he wrote it off as an abnormality due to my... well, he accepted my story at any rate, and you were gone by the time I'd run him off."

Hope's mind was spinning, questions chewing through her mind too quickly to keep track of. She was reaching for the pad and pen when Harry slid both to her with a knowing smile. "thanks, Harry."

"It helps to write stuff down, so our brains don't go squirrely." Harry supplied knowledgably to Remus's raised eyebrows.

Questions:

magic tracking, auror, mugle?

Dumbledore- Who? why is he involved?

What ministry? why keep Harry's disappearance a secret?

Blood magic- protect Harry from who? Why?

Remus cleared his throat and answered as briefly as he could.

"Aurors are our form of police, one of their jobs is to investigate magical incidents in the muggle world, non magic folks are called muggles by witches and wizards, anyway, its their job to ensure our secrecy act is upheld, the little bit of magic I've performed here won't send them our way, it goes mostly overlooked unless its in a crowded area where muggles are likely to have witnessed it.

"Dumbledore is perhaps the greatest wizard of our time, headmaster of Hogwarts and responsible for much of our recovery after the last war. He knew Lily and James personally; Harry had no other living relatives that shared Lily's blood. The ministry of Magic is the governing body in the wizarding world and not particularly airtight about such news, making Harry's disappearance known to them would also alert anyone else who wanted to find him.

"Harry… your parents' deaths weren't an accident… This is difficult-" he cleared his throat, and spoke so softly that Harry leaned forward to hear, "the wizarding world was at war, a dangerous man, the most evil wizard since Grindelwald, was hunting down your parents and everyone else who fought against his attempt at world domination. He… well, he murdered them. and tried… now he didn't succeed, clearly. But he tried, to do you in as well."

"Me?"

"Your mother, she tried to protect you, in her final act of love an ancient magic was produced. I'm not sure how precisely, but when you-know-who tried to kill you, the spell backfired. He disappeared, and you ended the war."

"You-know-who?" Harry asked, his voice small.

Remus looked down at the table, swallowed a lump in his throat. "Voldemort, that was the name he used to his followers, though even they didn't dare call him anything other than the dark lord. There's a strange sort of magic around names built around spells, we suspect he may have been working on a taboo. Most just call him you-know-who, out of fear."

"Voldemort. That sounds made up! Why would anyone name their kid like that?" Harry scoffed, lightening the mood and making Remus bark out a laugh.

"I'm quite sure he crafted the name himself; he was obsessed with immortality and magical lineages and perhaps he had French roots, I wouldn't know. I heard Dumbledore call him Tom once; Dumbledore was a professor when Voldemort attended Hogwarts as a boy. But that's enough talk about him for one night."

"Is that why I'm a secret to the magi-str-y or whatever its called? Cause I didn't die?"

"Ministry, and yes, sort of- Harry, I realize this is a lot to take in, I don't want to overwhelm you." Remus said gently.

Harry's eyes were drooping, the warm milky tea taking effect and the clock on the mantel reading 3:27 am. He tried to hide a yawn behind his mug and saying defensively, "You can tell me, I'm tough, I'm not just a stupid little kid!"

"Harry," Hope put a warm hand on his shoulder, making him meet her eye, "no-one thinks your stupid, but it has been a long night and I'd like you to try to get a little more sleep, ok? I'll write everything down, and we can discuss it later, when your not falling over."

"No secrets?"

"No secrets." Hope promised.

Harry held her gaze for a long moment, blinked, nodded. "Okay." Together Hope and Harry rebuilt the pillow fort, half the size now with two chairs instead of four. Harry re-fluffed his pillow pile and yawned again making Hope yawn too as she draped the frilly pink blanket back over the top so he could still see the table.

"Hope?"

She knelt down to tuck him in, "yes Harry?"

"Before, when Lupin came in, you- well, you called me your son …"

She looked thoughtful, brushing his fringe out of his eyes tenderly. "I did, is that okay?"

"Yeah." Harry whispered, smiling shyly again. "I, I liked it."

"Well then, sweet dreams my son." And she kissed the top of his head. "I love you."

"Love'you." Harry mumbled happily back, sleep stealing over him irresistibly once more.

Remus was pouring another cup of tea for both of them, fresh steam curling from the spout of a pot that should have been nearly empty.

"So, its true then? Or did you make a fresh pot when my back was turned?" Hope asked, accepting her cup with some skepticism.

He smiled ruefully, "fresh. I could multiply the dregs of course, but I much prefer a fresh brew myself. But if you would like to see proof…" he offered, waiting for her nod before he pulled the thin stick from his pocket and tapped the top of the sugar dish and whispered a Latin word.

The feet lengthened, bent in the middle like knees and scuttled across the table towards her, the handles unfurled, lifting the lid like a top hat and bowed to Hope who looked blankly at the sugar bowl, cleared her throat and accepted the offered cube, the bowl nodded once, set the lid back on and reverted to its usual inanimate state.

"I'd offer you the milk as well, but I'm liable to spill it." Remus said ruefully, passing the spouted vessel by hand instead.

Hope stirred slowly, still eyeing the sugar dish, she took a sip, sighed tiredly and set it down to level an investigative gaze at Remus. "You say there are people who would hurt Harry out there, why should I trust that you aren't one of them."

Shame washed over Remus's features briefly, "I- that's fair. I suppose nothing magical could convince you."

"Should it?"

"Perhaps not." Remus said, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Facts then… I was at the hospital to collect Harry that day, I could have easily erased your memories and taken him then if I'd wanted, that was my plan."

"Why didn't you?"

"I saw Harry with you. A simple diagnostic spell showed clear evidence of abuse and it was obvious he trusted you."

"Where would you have taken him?" Hope asked, the sharp tone relenting just a little.

"I was supposed to bring him back to the Dursleys, but given the scan… I decided to pay them a visit first, I had to be sure it was safe. I hadn't expected them to be fond of magic, given how Lily died, but I didn't expect the vitriol… I couldn't send him back, and anyway the wards were useless."

"You had people watching us at the diner?" Hope pressed on.

"Harry's accidental magic tipped me off," Remus said. "I was keeping an eye on both of you, making sure no one else was following the trace while Dumbledore worked on an alternative housing arrangement. I convinced him to leave Harry in your care for the time being, a decision bolstered by Harry's rapid recovery."

"That was magic as well, was it?"

"Magic? Yes, but more than that, it was care. Latent magic can protect the child from immediate deadly harm, though it tends to be expressed in a wild uncontrolled manner that is itself dangerous, but that magic can also be suppressed in cases of physical or verbal abuse, a more dangerous thing still, bottling it up- exploding in violence when the child is pushed to an emotional extreme. Harry's tolerance was high, having been raised in it, he expected nothing less. but we are lucky indeed that more permanent harm wasn't done, though the mental scars cannot be discounted." Remus's expression was grim, but he softened as he met her eye once more. "With you, Harry's magic is calm, remarkably so for a seven-year-old with his history. He knows he is safe."

Hope turned to look at the sleeping boy, cuddled in the blue blanket under a ridiculous pink tent. Her Harry, safe and well and perfectly magical.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked gently, "You've taken the truth rather better than I expected."

"Yeah." Hope replied, turning back to the conversation. "Its, well, it's a bit like a mystery novel, the strange bits and pieces all falling into place. Harry, is a wizard… there're many more questions I need answered but I am exhausted, and I'm not sure how much longer my mind will cope with new information." She yawned the last word, covering her mouth. "It may not be wise, but I feel I can trust you. So, tell me Remus Lupin, are we safe here for tonight?"

"I can put up a boundary, an alarm to warn you if anyone approaches, cast an extra charm on the roof and the like."

"Good, do that and when you're done you can have the pink room upstairs, assuming its intact, you can take my blanket." She walked over to the fort, pulled the periwinkle coverlet out and turned back to hand it to him.

Remus was standing by the table still, mouth open, eyes wide. "I- I can- your letting me stay?"

Hope raised a brow, and said dryly, "you didn't think I was going to send you back out in that gale, you look ready to drop as it is."

When Remus returned from setting a perimeter and ensuring the roofs integrity, Hope was curled protectively around the still form of Harry, breathing slow and deep.

The pink room was clean, no longer dusty though not much else had changed.

Remus slumped onto the mattress with a groan. He was asleep nearly instantly.

Chapter Text

The alarm tripped at 6 am. One sharp clap that echoed within the house.

An urgent pounding on the back door followed. “Hope, Harry? You in there?” more pounding. “I’m going to break the door down in a minute.”

This warning prompted Hope to her feet, and she rushed to the back door nearly tripping on the dining chair as she rounded the half wall and reached for the lock. Pounding footsteps on the stairs echoed hers stopping with the click of the lock.

“Don’t-” Remus warned, too late.

“Joseph!” Hope said, clasping the man’s forearm in glad greeting and stepping onto the back stoop, half closing the door to hide the cautious wizard’s raised wand. “You’re alright?”

“Still on my feet. And the boy?”

“Harry’s still sleeping.”

“Some storm to sleep through, there’s a big ol tree blocking your front door, just missed my place but it’s put a hole in your roof.” Joseph said, settling on his good leg and looking around them.

Hope followed his gaze and shook her head as the scale of the damage began to sink in. Branches and small tree limbs littered the grass, part of the fence had vanished entirely and a broken clay pot sat askew over Harry’s precious flowers. Wooden shingles and piles of leaves were trapped against what remained of the fence.

“How bad is it? I’ve been setting a little money aside for Christmas, I’m not sure how far that’ll go, but we’ll need a roof more than presents and pies.”

“One thing at a time ducky.” Joseph said kindly, patting her arm. “Get yourself dressed for yard work and bring the boy over for breakfast, your friend can come too, supposing he doesn’t object to bangers and hash.” He cut off her objection with a back handed wave as he stomped back through the broken bit of fence. “Ten minutes, mind you don’t be late, there’s a fair bit of work to do today.”

Hope returned into the house, looking at Remus, who had stowed his wand though he still watched out of the windows anxiously. “Joseph knows you’re here.”

“You can’t tell him about magic, you can’t tell anyone, do you understand? The statute of secrecy is one of the strictest laws we uphold. It was a stretch telling you, seeing as you’ve not been recognized as Harry’s guardian in the wizarding world.” Remus said, rubbing his eyes and looking utterly sorry. “I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you and Harry.”

“I am Harry’s legal guardian; are you telling me that they could still take him away?”

“They don’t know that you are, but yes. The wizarding world is in some ways… Old fashioned, guardianships can be transferred in your world, so it is not seen as a permanent relationship. There are guardians in our world of course, but they are created by way of binding oaths and in the few instances where it is necessary, an adoption may occur instead, again a binding blood contract that ensures familial obligation of care. It must be witnessed by a wizengamot member to be fully legal.”

“But that would be registered at the ministry, exposing him and I to unfriendly eyes.” Hope inquired shrewdly.

“Indeed, secret adoptions are theoretically possible, but it would require a particularly skilled and senior member to perform.”

“And what of adoption in the legal, non-wizarding government?”

“Muggle, we call non magical people muggles… A muggle adoption contract would be given nearly the same precedence as a magical one. and it is quite unlikely any death eaters would be ferreting for information there,” Remus smiled slowly. “Yes, if you are willing, that would solve at least one of our problems.

“Not the problem of Joseph though, I’m afraid the breakfast invite isn’t optional. If you leave now, he’ll only be more determined to investigate you.”

“Why?”

“Joseph has grown rather protective of us. And if it gets out that I’ve had a man in my home overnight… well the rumours have already been rather cruel.”

“Rumours?”

“I’m a twenty-two, unmarried woman with a seven-year-old son.” Hope said.

“Ah yes, I see. The wizarding world is much the same. But why don’t you tell them he’s not yours?”

“Because he is mine; Biology or no, and everyone -Harry especially- needs to know that I mean it.”

Harry was beginning to stir, having heard his name spoken.

Hope looked at the clock, realizing Joseph’s timer was nearly up. “We can discuss the legal arrangements later, but if we are going to succeed in convincing Joseph that you are not a rogue with bad intentions, then we need to make a plan… I could say that you’re a cousin, though that might not be enough. You could pass for an older brother I suppose, but only if you can create a convincing paper trail, Joseph’s like a bloodhound if you make him suspicious and Remus isn’t exactly a common name.”

“Will you stay?” Harry had woken, and was watching them, observing before speaking just as Hope always did, but he came forward now rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I- I’d like to know more, about, about my parents. And magic, and well, everything.”

Under the double pressure, Remus capitulated. “I, I could, I’d like, I can’t stay long, there are places, times- I can’t. But for a little while…”

Harry smiled brilliantly and darted off up the stairs shouting, “better get ready then, Joseph is very particular about punctuality!”

Hope shrugged at Remus and followed Harry up the stairs. Both emerged from their rooms only a few minutes later wearing faded jeans and long-sleeved shirts, Hope had tied her hair back into a snug braid and Harry wore an old ballcap with a small winged pin on the brim. Remus meanwhile had run a scouring charm over his clothes and scrubbed his face with cold water in the dark little powder room.

Joseph’s home smelled of bacon and the distinct smell of a kerosene lantern glowing from the center of the small table.

Remus followed Hope reluctantly, but Harry kept a half step behind him, smiling brightly every time he looked back.

Joseph was turning eggs on a griddle, barely able to fit on the stove next to the huge skillet of sizzling meat and potatoes. “Just in time, think you can set the table for me quick?”

“Yessir.” Harry chirped, dodging around Remus and heading straight for the cutlery drawer as Hope lifted plates from an upper cabinet.

“You had no trouble last night, Joseph?” Hope asked, putting a hand on his shoulder as she reached past him for the whistling kettle.

“Slept sound, lost some shingles, and there’s a tree through my shed, you’ve got the worst of it maybe, but we’ll need to do a thorough inspection to see what’s most needful first.” He slid the eggs onto a platter, heaped as much of the sausages, rashers and hash as would fit. “Now are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“My apologies,” Hope said, “Joseph Cooke, this is my older brother.” She looked meaningfully at Remus.

“John.” He supplied lightly, smiling. “Pleasure to meet you sir, I’ve wanted to thank you for taking such good care of my sister and nephew.”

“Mentioned me, have you?” the dark eyes twinkled through grizzled eyebrows at Hope and winked at Harry.

“Course we did!” Hope said, smacking his arm playfully, “you’ve been a real friend to us these past few months.”

They sat at the table, said grace and began to eat in semi-strained silence.

“What do you do for work, John?”

“Odd jobs mostly.” Remus looked nervous, prepared for the disgust and condemnation he was used to receiving from the admission of his temporary work schemes.

“Anything at the moment?”

Hope jumped in for him as Remus took an overlarge bite, “he just finished a job, decided to pop in on us on the way back north. Eh, John?”

Remus was trying to read between the lines and chewing slowly to give himself time when Joseph picked up the thread. “Just in time for the storm of a century. Say, John, you any use at carpentry?”

“I’ve done a little, can’t say what its worth though.”

Joseph put a strong hand on his shoulder, nodding in an approving way. “Well, I can tell you how, if you’ve got the strength. My old knee don’t bend much anymore, and there’s a fair bit of repairs needed in the village, between the two of us, and young Harry here, I recon we’d have our work cut out for a week at least.”

Remus was backing away as well as he could, still seated, shaking his head and trying to swallow at the same time.

“Now, don’t go thinking you won’t be paid for your time, we might not be a rich set round here, but we’re good for it and by the sounds of it you’ve come at just the right time.” Joseph offered him a hand, smiling encouragingly when Remus shook it, “there’s a good lad, now go finish off them bangers, you’ll need the strength.” He nudged Remus in the direction of the half full skillet and left the table.

He went about the house muttering things they only heard in snippets. ‘skin and bones,’ ‘proper feeding and sunshine’ ‘hammers’ ‘nails’ ‘good bucket’ evidently collecting tools near the front door in anticipation.

Harry gave Remus a glowing thumbs up at the table.

Hope and Harry’s roof wasn’t the only damage, though it was near the top of the priority list. Several windows in the town hall needed boarding up until new glass could be arranged for, fences, light posts and sign posts were twisted and wrapped about with trash.

Remus and Joseph got to work, sending Harry for tools, screws, nails and bits of wood that could be used to patch holes. Hope and other townsfolk walked along the row of houses, bagging rubbish and using a garden tractor to pull branches off the street. Peter’s chainsaw was cutting firewood from the best of it, and Mary and Ophelia prepared a midmorning tea to reward the busy workmen and women.

“You know the world can be set right again with fresh scones and a hot cuppa tea.” Joseph said to Harry and Remus, sighing his deep contentment over the precious cup.

“Glad to hear our labours were not in vain.” Ophelia clucked gently, setting a second scone on Harry’s plate and being rewarded with a brilliant grin. “I’ve got a job for you Harry, if Joe and John can spare you for a few hours.”

Joseph pretended to consider, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Well, John? Do you think we can manage?”

Remus smiled slightly, “I don’t think Hope wants him on the roof, so we could work on that while he’s away.”

“Very good.” Ophelia said, smiling at Harry again. “Several of my prize roses need pruning, and there’s a mess of perennials over my front walk, there’ll be some cuttings and divisions to had if you can give me a hand setting it to rights.”

Harry, mouth full of scone and eyes wide at the opportunity, nodded eagerly and made to rise.

“You’ve got time to chew, son.” Joseph answered, steering him back into his chair with a hand on one shoulder.

Remus disappeared before the scones and tea were gone, and Harry’s keen eyes caught the flight of a large bird from the wooded area he’d gone off to. His desire to follow the man, to start asking the thousands of questions he now had, was baffled by his promise to Ophelia and his enthusiasm to make the most of the opportunity to create a beautiful back garden of his own.

Remus seemed to read his conundrum, and shook his head slightly as he rejoined the almost festival atmosphere, whispering in Harry’s ear. “I just had a letter to send, I wouldn’t run off without letting you know first.”

When the evening light faded and Harry, Hope and Remus were again alone in the little house, Harry’s questions had nearly evaporated under the deep exhaustion of a long day’s work.

“You sent a letter by bird?” Harry asked, resting his chin on his arms next to the empty bowl of stew he’d demolished.

Remus nodded between mouthfuls. “Yes, owls carry most of our post. There are couriers for larger packages.” Seeing Harry’s raised eyebrows, he added, “human couriers.”

“Who was the letter for?” Hope asked offering to take the empty bowls with a gesture of her hands.

“Dumbledore, I expect a return owl soon.” A swish of Remus’s wand had the dishes and cutlery floating gently away to the sink.

“Magic is so cool.” Harry breathed happily. “How come you don’t just do everything with magic Remus?”

Three square meals, and several rounds of tea and scones had brought the ill looking man to life, and his eyes were warm and brown, crinkling in the corners at Harry’s easy admiration.

“It’s a bit, macabre maybe to say this, but spells don’t last forever, Harry. When a witch or wizard dies, many kinds of spells and charms can come undone. The wise are careful never to spell something that would be dangerous to reverse.”

“What sort of things?” Harry pressed, his head drooping nearly to his elbow.

“Well, I could spell your clothes bigger as you grew, just keep mending and expanding. Imagine then, one day, you’re walking along in your favorite pair of trousers and the spell breaks.”

Harry chuckled at the image, but bobbed his head understandingly. “That’s why you didn’t just magic the roof back together?”

“That would be difficult to explain to the neighbors for one thing, but yes, the same principle applies.” Remus cracked a smile, wiping his mouth carefully with a napkin. “The roof suddenly caving in could hurt someone, but washing the dishes by magic wouldn’t do any harm.”

“I love magic.” Harry sighed again. “When can I do magic, real magic like you?”

“When you turn eleven and get your Hogwarts letter, only at school though, at least until your of age at Seventeen.”

“Wicked!” He said dreamily, waving his fingers like a wand and pretending to make the salt and pepper dance. The salt shaker trembled slightly.

“What you need right now is a bath and bed.” Hope said firmly, sensing the oncoming argument. “Nope, bath, PJs, then you can ask a few more questions before bed. Don’t think I didn’t catch that yawn!” She laughed as Harry rolled his eyes and stalked up the stairs, his steps growing softer as he wearied from his pretend outrage. “I love you too, son.”

Hope’s hair was still damp from her shower and Harry had just finished his bath when the answer to Remus’s letter arrived.

A sharp rap on the backdoor heralded the arrival of the most obviously magical man Hope could have imagined. Silver hair and beard flowed from the wizened head to the belt across his star-spangled midriff. A pointed hat and half moon glasses failing to conceal twinkling blue eyes full of kind curiosity.

“Hello Miss Williams, my name is Albus Dumbledore.”

The mask that fell across Hope’s face was obvious to both Remus and Harry, who watched from the top of the stairs.

“Professor Dumbledore.” She crossed her arms and stepped into the gap of the door, blocking his entrance. “What is the purpose of your visit, sir?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, taken aback at her coldness, “I mean you no harm Miss.”

“I’m more concerned about your plans for my son.”

“Your son, Harry you mean?” Albus met her steely gaze for several long seconds. “Yes, I see what Remus meant. That is precisely what I wish to discuss, may I come in?”

Hope, still leveling an untrusting glare at him, gestured him inside.

“Ah, Harry. I’m glad to see you doing so very well.” Albus greeted Harry, who descended the stairs fidgeting with the sleeves of his favorite sheep pajama’s. Dumbledore chuckled, lifting the hem of his robe to display the constellations of stars and planets on the dark fabric. “I see I’m not the only person in this house with proper dress sense.”

The man was sunshine personified, and Hope had to work to stay hardened against the grandfatherly smile.

“You read my letter Albus?” Remus said, cutting through the tension and placing himself between the headmaster and them.

Dumbledore’s eyes locked on Remus, then Harry and finally crinkled at the corners on Hope. “You seem to have a way of stealing hearts Miss Williams, and I must say, I’m beginning to understand the enchantment. Whatever you do, please refrain from offering me a home, I really must be getting back to Hogwarts when this is all over.”

She squinted, “you don’t want to take Harry away, do you.” It wasn’t a question, the way she asked it, but rather a request for confirmation.

“No, I do not. But I am concerned about security. That has been my concern from the beginning, though I’ve been made aware that my sights were too narrow.” Albus dropped to one knee, meeting Harry at his level. “I must apologize, Mister Potter, in my haste to protect you from magical enemies I overlooked the danger of cruelty and neglect. I am rather too clever for my own good and forget sometimes that I can make such errors.

“And to you Miss Williams, I must say: thank you, for doing the decent thing. If I’d scoured the entire island for someone who would love Harry for himself, and not for his fame, I couldn’t have done better, and I did try. The wizarding world is full of families who would love nothing less than to have the boy who lived under their control, and even the well meaning would struggle to see past that terrible legacy and treat him as truly their own. And here you are, standing - not for the first time I understand- between Harry and an unknown danger.

“Yes, you will do very well.” Dumbledore finished speaking softly, sounding for all the world like he might begin to cry at any moment. His blue eyes blinked rapidly and he rose to his feet again, clearing his throat loudly. “About Security…”

Hope found Harry’s hand in hers as the two wizards began to discuss spells and wards and many other unfamiliar words. Remus sat on the rickety dining chair, but Dumbledore took one look at the still barren living room and conjured a most impressive and squashy looking armchair in the corner near the empty fireplace.

A moment later and a fire crackled merrily as Dumbledore lowered himself with a grateful sigh into the soft looking brown upholstery. “That’s better.” He said with satisfaction. “You need some proper furniture; Harry’s inheritance could be put to some use in making this place comfortable.” He said offhandedly.

“I- I have an inheritance?” Harry asked, still clutching Hope’s hand.

“Of course, you do. One of my tasks for tonight was to pass this along.” Dumbledore lifted a tiny gold key on a chain and floated it across the room to drop lightly in Harry’s palm. “Remus will, I’m sure, be willing to take you to the bank to visit your vault at your earliest convenience.”

“I could buy us a couch, and paint for your room and a new bedspread and a big pot, and, how much money is in there?”

“No.” Hope interrupted solidly. “You’re inheritance, however much it might be, should be kept for your future. We’ve gotten by just fine without it until now, and I’m sure we’ll manage another ten years just as well.”

“But Hope, the couch would be for me too!” Harry insisted.

“Already negotiating? And here I thought it was bedtime.” She said, patting his head affectionately. “Say goodnight, and I’ll be right up to tuck you in.”

Harry grumbled but leaned into her hand and waved bashfully at Dumbledore. “Goodnight sir,” he turned to Lupin, “goodnight Remus, I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?”

“I’m not going anywhere, assuming your mother lets me stay another night?” he looked to Hope for her answer.

“The pink room is yours for as long as you need it.”

“Then I’ll be here in the morning, sleep well, Harry.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry.” Dumbledore lifted the brim of his hat in farewell, smiling widely as Hope chivied the boy up the stairs, still ruffling his hair affectionately. He spoke in a low voice to Remus, “yes, I see it now. My mistake… Now about that fidelius,”

Albus was casting spells on the fireplace when Hope returned, and Remus pulled her aside to explain the fidelius, keeping his voice low so as not to distract the other wizard’s wand work.

“The parameters are going to be a bit different since you’re living in a muggle area, we can’t have the house just vanishing off the street, but we can direct the spell so newcomers will not be able to find it unless you- the secret keeper- tell them the address.”

“What about owls?” Hope asked, concerned.

“Owls will still find you, their flight is naturally silent and untraceable. Albus is warding your fireplace against floo incursions as well.”

“Flew?”

“Floo powder allows us to travel between fireplaces in the network, muggle dwellings are not supposed to be connected, but its still a weak point, Albus’s spell will prevent that and alert him if it is attempted.”

“And this fidelius charm, will make our house invisible?”

“Non-existent unless you know its there, there will simply be no house or yard at all between number twenty and number twenty-four.”

“That’s a bit of a give away, isn’t it?” Hope asked.

“Not as much as one might think, after all, if they don’t know that number twenty-two should be there, they’d have no reason to look for it.”

Hope struggled to wrap her mind around the idea that Remus stated as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Shaking her head she spotted another loophole. “What happens if the wizard who casts the spell dies?”

“Fidelius isn’t a charm that ends with its caster, it’s magic is not reliant on Dumbledore, but rather living on the existence of the secret itself. Should the secret keeper die, the spell is inherited by all who knew the secret. It becomes rather thin when so many are in on it, but it gives them a chance to put up new barriers before it fails.”

Dumbledore and Remus cast the charm together, with Hope standing between their outstretched arms. She fought back a shiver as their voices rose in powerful cadence and a cool feeling, rather like raindrops dripping down on her, sinking into her scalp and leaving a coolness behind her eyes.

“Remus has informed me that you intend to adopt Harry, officially.” Dumbledore said conversationally, when the icy feeling dissipated. “Will you make an Oath to it?”

“Yes.” Hope answered without hesitation.

“Hope Williams, do you swear to remain Harry’s parent, regardless of the danger?” He asked, wand again raised. “Do you swear that only death could take you from him?”

She nodded, a warm feeling was now creeping up her feet and she fought away the shifting urge to shake it off. “Yes.”

“Do you swear that you will love him as your own blood?”

“Yes.”

A tiny strand of gold shot from the end of his wand, wrapped around her wrist and lay for a moment, glistening like a tattoo against her skin, then sinking within, leaving only a shadow behind.

“By my authority as the head of the wizengamot, I pronounce this rite, sealed and true, not to be revealed until a time where both Mother and Son wish for it’s revelation.” Dumbledore gathered his hat and the cloak he’d removed before the spellcasting. “You’re binding will be recorded in the book of oaths in the department of mysteries. Quite secure, I assure you, and should anyone else make a magical claim to Harry, they will be unable to proceed without your mutual approval. Magic itself will now recognize your bond and it cannot be broken, on pain of death.”

This pronouncement seemed to swell the air in the room and a hush fell in its wake. Dumbledore shook it off first, moisture glistening behind his glasses.

“Thank you, Professor.” Hope said, taking his offered hand.

“Please, call me Albus. If there is anything this old man can do for you, don’t hesitate to send me an owl.” He tipped the brim of his pointed hat and walked out the back door, disappearing in the shadows of the woods beyond.

Hope sank into a seat, and exhaled a long slow breath.

Remus settled into another across the table and waved his wand to start the kettle. “I expect your feeling a little overwhelmed.” He said gently.

Hope lowered her head into her own arms, in imitation of Harry’s posture after dinner. Her shoulders shook slightly, but no cry escaped.

Another wave of the wand brought the kettle, pot and cups to the table. Remus poured carefully, allowing her the privacy of the moment.

“I suppose its all beginning to sink in.” She finally said, lifting her head and wiping the tears from her face. “Magic, voldie-lord, Harry… is my son. He’s really my son, and I can’t do magic. How am I supposed to protect him from… whatever is out there? If I fail, who does he have left?” The tears had begun to stream again. “There’s so much I don’t know. How can I raise a child into a world I can never be a part of? How would you do it?”

“I- I don’t think I could.” Remus answered, stumblingly. “I’ve never thought about it, being a parent- I just assumed that was one more thing I’d be denied in my life.”

“What, why?” Hope asked sharply.

“I- I’ve lost everyone, everyone I ever cared for…” It was Remus’s turn to hide his tears. “They’re all, gone, dead or worse.”

“We still have Harry.” Hope laid a hand on his forearm, her eyes wet but earnest. “And now you’ve got a friend, even if I’m just of the muggle sort. An odd family, perhaps, but it’s what I’ve got to offer.”

That prompted a question about her upbringing, and Hope and Remus talked late into the night about the past. The swirling steam of tea, and the dim light of the lamp in the corner setting the scene for a long midnight discussion.

Remus had always been ill he said, and making friends had been difficult, but he told her of James and Peter and Sirius. Choking on that last name like a fishbone in his throat. James and Sirius had been inseparable from that first day on the train, but they had welcomed him in, attaching him to the little group as though he belonged. And Peter was always a bit of a straggler, but James and Sirius protected him from bullies, and he’d clung to his heroes until he’d eventually died a hero himself.

Hope in turn told him about Tyler, and the group home. There were hints of her life before, in the empty gaps of her stories that made Remus wary, but she never directly discussed her parents, or what they were like. Instead, she told him of the medicinal garden her nan had grown, and reminisced over the awful tasting cough medicine she’d make, and how Lydia had stood up for her in school, despite her shabby clothes.

Sometime in the space between oaths and dreams, Remus Lupin and Hope became true friends.

Chapter Text

Remus stayed the week, helping repair roofs and fences the ‘muggle’ way each the day and telling Harry stories about his parents in the evenings. Once Harry was washed and brushed and tucked away in his bed, Hope and Remus sat over a late cup of tea and talked.

The details of the last wizarding war were brutal. A weaker woman would have shied away from descriptions of dark magic and cruel deeds, but Hope was not weak, not in that way.

“Here I was, worrying about learning to cook and how I’d pay the bills. I almost wish I could go back to being that innocent.”

Remus looked at her, an expression like pity on his face.

“I don’t mean that, not if it meant giving him up.” Hope sighed running a hand over her eyes and gesturing at a spot somewhere on the ceiling. “That little boy up there, my Harry, he was just starting to feel safe.”

The clock ticked nearer midnight and Remus stared into the bottom of his dwindling cup, like answers might be found in the dregs.

“Well, there’s nothing else for it.” Hope said with some finality, setting down her mug and starting to scratch a new list on the thinning note paper. “I can’t learn magic, but I can learn self defence. Joseph said he could teach me a little… I suppose it’ll be useless, but its better than sitting here doing nothing.”

Remus chuckled quietly, “an old friend of mine used to say he’d rather punch Voldemort in the nose than hit him with a spell, might not work, but it’d be lot more satisfying.” He caught her eye, then looked away suddenly sober. “Halloween is only a few weeks away.”

“That’s right?” Hope replied enquiringly.

“That’s when it happened, he killed them on Halloween.”

A beat.

The clock tic-tocking,

a slow exhale.

“Harry’s mum and dad?”

Remus nodded. “Harry was just over a year old, they’d been in hiding for six months, and he- James, was getting antsy, waiting. He wanted to march out in the street and duel the madman just to get it over with, but he had Harry and Lily to think of. Brave, so brave, and naive… but we all where. We were young. I mean, Twenty-one, none of us really understood, and Sirius…” his gravely voice faded into the silence.

“Sirius? He was in your group of friends from school, wasn’t he?”

Remus choked, clawing one-handed at his own throat. “He was our friend. Their best friend. I- I didn’t, we trusted him, we all trusted him. He was best man at the wedding… Harry’s godfather!”

Hope held her breath as his tone rose tremulously.

“He was their secret keeper. In Godric’s Hollow.”

“But, he, riddle-volde- he found them?” Hope gasped out as the implication dawned on her. “Harry’s godfather gave him the address?”

Remus nodded, tears streaming freely down his face until he dropped his head to the table, encircling it with his arms.

The rest of the sorry tale wasn’t long in coming, and Hope rubbed little circles in his heaving shoulders as he told it. Peter hunting down the villain, Black’s mass murder of innocent bystanders and the complete decimation of poor Peter. Sirius Black was in some sort of wizard prison now, going mad. Hope didn’t understand half of what was said about dementors, and less than half about the award that was posthumously awarded to the brave little man. But she understood loss, knew how it burned a pit in your soul until your heartbeat ached in your chest.

Remus was alone, as alone as she had ever been. She remembered crumbling at the foot of a too-small casket, alone except for a kind reverend she didn’t know.

“You haven’t talked about this to anyone, have you?” Hope half whispered, her palm still pressing his arm.

“Who was left to tell?” Remus answered, lifting his head to look at her with bloodshot eyes. “My friends, my family, they were all dead and everyone else just wanted to celebrate, to put the war as far behind them as possible. To forget.”

“You have us now, Remus, me and Harry. You’re not alone anymore.” She smiled but it felt brittle on her tear dried cheeks. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. Harry wants to know where his parents were buried, we wanted to pay our respects, but I couldn’t find them in any of the obituary notices.”

“Godric’s Hollow.” Remus answered. His brows furrowed into the accustomed expression of worry. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for the two of you to go, death eaters might be watching, especially on the 31^st.”

“You could take us, next week maybe? It’s important to him.”

“Of course.”

They took Hope’s car to Godric’s Hollow. Remus had offered to apparate them both, but Hope discarded that notion when he warned them about the nausea it was likely to induce the first few times. Harry was already a bundle of nerves; she didn’t want him sick too.

Remus wore his battered coat with the collar turned up and a hat pulled low on his head. Hope’s hair was spelled a different colour and Harry had to drink an awful looking potion that made him look like someone else, but he was determined.

Together they walked up the main street of the little town, shoes crunching on fallen leaves. Harry holding tightly to Hope’s hand, Remus’s arm protectively on the boy’s shoulder. Together they approached the monolithic war memorial. The names of fallen soldiers morphed into a flowing sculpture of a family. A tall man standing proudly next to his wife, both looking lovingly at the babe in her arms.

The inscription across the square base hadn’t changed.

‘Gone but not forgotten’

Harry’s breath hitched and Hope pulled him closer to her as he whispered, “not forgotten.”

“Never.” Remus added, stepping in to wrap an arm around Hope so he could set the other on Harry’s head, gently ruffling the curly brown hair. “The house is still standing too, invisible to the muggles, a reminder of the cost.”

“Are, are we going to see…” Harry began, worried brown eyes looking up at Remus. “to look at it?”

Hope answered for him, “maybe next time, love.”

“Oh.” Harry sighed, relaxing under her hands. “Ok. I, I think I’m ready now.”

Remus lead the way through the gate, down a path his feet well knew. And there, two headstones standing side-by-side. Harry pulled two rumpled pink roses- drying around the edges, from his coat pocket. Remus had offered to conjure something but Harry insisted on using the ones he’d rescued from the clippings himself.

A gentle nudge from Hope and Harry walked forward; laying one rose on each cold stone and beginning in a whisper, Harry told his parents everything.

“Hi Mum, Dad…”

“…school used to be terrible, but Hope got me glasses and now its kinda fun, I mean, with no Dudley around it was bound to be better, but I just want to know how to do stuff, Joe, he lives next door, he taught me how to use a compass and build a survival shelter and even how to start a fire, but Hope says I can’t actually do it without supervision unless I’m in a real emergency. Kinda like the big storm we had last week, I was scared, but Hope made it kinda fun, we made a tent inside! And then Remus came, and I like him a lot, its kinda like having an uncle, and he’s told me all about you and I know he was your friend, so I figure its okay if I call him uncle, right? That’s another thing… I was wondering, cause, Hope called me ‘son’ and I, well I like it, I like feeling like I belong to her, but I was wondering, mum, if you think its okay for me to call her mum too? Cause, I want her to belong to me too, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to have two mums. Seems kinda spoiled, doesn’t it? I don’t know if you can answer me back from where you are, but if you can, would you let me know?”

The rambling talk continued and Hope took several steps away to give him more privacy, her hand over her mouth and tears trembling on her eyelids. Remus followed, taking her free hand in his own trembling palm.

“Mom, Dad? I love you, so much… I know its silly, but I think you sent Hope to me, and Uncle Remus too. Thanks, its loads better now, I’m even growing! Maybe I’ll be as tall as you someday Dad. I’ve got to go, Hope and Remus look worried. But I’ll come back next year, I promise.”

Both the adults paid their silent respects to the departed, and the three of them together strolled slowly away.

A priest hailed them near the gate, “A beautiful afternoon, isn’t it?”

“It is, I hope the weather holds.” Hope replied.

The man stepped closer, not seeing the hand Remus thrust into his wand pocket. “They get a lot of visitors, the Potters. So young…” When nobody seemed willing to answer he added, “most treat it like some kind of pilgrimage, leaving notes and even gifts, but its good to see someone give them the respect we all deserve, I thank you for that.”

“Thank you,” Hope said, “for looking after them.”

“It is my honour to look after all those in my care,” He said, smiling gently and dropping to one knee to address Harry in particular, “in just the same way your mum and dad look after you, young man.” He rose again, beginning to step back as Remus’s fidgeting grew more noticeable. “You have a beautiful family, feel free to stop in the chapel at any time.” And with a wave he was away.

Remus didn’t let go of his wand until they were back in the car and driving back home. “I don’t like that we were seen.”

“He didn’t recognize us.” Hope answered.

“He might have known me. I’ve been there a few times… I knew I should have disillusioned us.”

“He thought you were my husband, not a mistake he’d make if he knew you.” Hope persisted gently.

“I don’t think he’s bad.” Harry piped up from the back seat. “He was supposed to give me that message.”

Remus’s head spun faster than Hope would have thought possible. “Message? What message?”

“From my mum, I asked her to tell me if I was allowed to have two mums, and that man said -” Harry pointed at Hope in the rear-view mirror, “-my mum and dad were looking after me, he meant you.” He finished simply.

 “A message from your mum and dad?” Remus asked, looking thoroughly befuddled and relieved.

“Yup, from the other side, where they are, with Tyler and everyone else who’s good.” Harry smiled wistfully and looked out at the passing countryside, “I think it must be peaceful there…”

Remus exchanged a misty-eyed glance with Hope, who smiled back and began to hum a lullaby to herself as the road wound on before them.

“I like that song, Mum.” Harry said sweetly.

Chapter Text

Once a month Remus would show up at the Potter-Williams house, stay a few days to 'check on the wards' eat food and get a few good night's sleep. And when the dark bags under his eyes were just beginning to lighten, he'd be gone again, dragging himself away as though he was punishing himself with his absence from them.

Harry was reading more books too, what started with bushcraft guides had graduated to kid-level books on injuries and medicine.

He was worried about Remus. Hope saw it in the way he urged extra portions on the still too-thin man, and the way he clenched his fists at the new scratch marks Remus bore on each visit, offering plasters and lecturing him on proper care of animal bites.

More than once he mentioned that Remus must work around some bad-tempered cats to get so clawed up. A comment that made Remus laugh and shake his head, "yes, my furry little problem just won't go away."

Winter seemed to make him worse, and his Christmas visit was punctuated by his rough hacking coughs echoing down the hall from the pink room.

Hope and Harry pooled their little stock of savings to buy Remus a new coat. Not quite new, but clean and unpatched with a zipper that worked.

The wrinkles in the corners of his grey eyes crinkled up when he opened the paper package and he swung Harry in a circle before hugging Hope and whispering his thanks into her cardigan.

Remus gifted Harry with some of his old school books. And Harry sat beside the scraggly tree trimmed with paper stars they made the night before, poring over the pages, stopping occasionally to stroke the new pair of runners Hope had set under the tree with his name written in them. His brow crinkled every time he did this and he stole a furtive look at his mum.

It's not that he wasn't thrilled to have new shoes, or that he was disappointed with the treacle tart she had made specially for him. It was the fact he knew she'd put off painting her bedroom and replacing the awfully frayed blanket on her own bed again to do it. But he was working on an idea, bolstered by the transfiguration textbook. He couldn't understand Latin, or many of the other funny words that were used, but the pictures were clear enough.

"Remus, I need help with something upstairs." He said softly as Hope puttered in the kitchen putting diner together, and led the way to her bedroom. "She hates that old blanket; do you think you could fix it? And maybe change the walls? She likes blue but says this one is much too bright to be restful."

By the time Hope had come looking for them, the frayed blanket was repaired and a warm cream colour that matched Harry's walls, and the paint was transformed from intense periwinkle to a cool pale blue.

"Merry Christmas Mum!" Harry shouted, startling her as she peeked around the doorframe. "We did Remus's room too!"

"It's the least I could do, with all that you've done for me." Remus said, blushing as she admired his handiwork first in her own room, and then in the former 'pink room' which would need a new name to match the gunmetal grey and dark wood accents.

She pulled them both into a hug, grinning from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas boys!"

Winter winds blew, bringing only the faintest threats of snow, most of which melted within a day. And in an upper story window of a little brown house, sat a small pot with a single dead looking stick in it.

Every day a little boy appeared, turning the pot carefully and whispering encouraging words. Once a week he watered it. And as the days grew longer, signs of life began to appear. Brown buds swelling into pink, and bursting forth into verdant green.

Remus's visits were shorter and shorter these days, and every time he walked into the forest to disapparate, he looked up into that window and the little boy who waved next to his potted rose cutting.

"What's happened to you Remus?" Hope asked. She'd sent Harry up to bed only moments before the knock on the back door that signalled his arrival. "You're bleeding!"

There was blood dripping from a deep gash in his forearm and he was slumped against the doorframe.

"Sorry, I didn't- know where else-" Remus gasped.

"Come in, can you stand?" Hope ducked under his arm as he swayed and she wrapped an arm around his waist to help him inside.

She cleaned the ragged wound and wrapped it tightly, asked a few questions about the pain and how much blood he'd lost before he'd showed up. He didn't know. He'd had to admit he hadn't eaten in two days and he scarfed down the leftover porkchops like a wild animal, looking embarrassed when his hunger had finally been sated.

"Now you're going to tell me what's going on."

"I- I can't-"

"Don't give me that. Harry's been driving himself sick with worry about you, and now you show up at night looking like death warmed over? Fess up or I'll learn how to make that truth potion myself." Hope said, squaring up to him. "I thought it might be leukemia, but it's not that is it? Once a month you show up here, the week after a full moon looking like you've been in a fight with a badger."

Remus half-smiled and mumbled, "should never have brought those books over."

"Too late for that I'm afraid." Hope answered, her face lifting into a wry smile. "So, is it true? Lycanthropy? You're a werewolf."

Remus hid his face in his hands, wincing as the bandage on his arm twisted.

"You should have told me." She said.

"I know." Remus ground out, "I'll, I'll go. I'm sorry."

"Go where? Sit down and drink your tea." Hope stopped him with a hand on his arm.

He froze, staring at her hand on his scarred skin. His shock was doubled by what he heard her say next.

"How can I help?"