Saturnine hadn’t expected the cottage to feel so quiet. Not that Harry was noisy when he was around, but without him, the place felt oddly... empty. There was no Occlumency lesson to be taught this morning and no one to cook for at lunch. She didn’t bother to cook for one, choosing to go with two apples and a slice of cheese instead. And there was no sound of a quill scratching parchment in the afternoon.

It was irrational to feel this way, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. She missed the brat. And he’d only been gone a couple of hours.

“Damn it, girl. You used to enjoy being alone,” she muttered before casting a quick Tempus to check the time. It was barely seven in the evening.

Try as she might, she couldn’t focus on the book in her lap. Flipp Vermar’s Thousand-And-One Facts about Ghouls, Gnomes, and Goblins couldn’t hold her interest. Not when her brain kept circling back to the discussion she and Remus had had two days prior as they finished their plans regarding Harry’s birthday party.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Saturnine,” he had warned her, the comment seeming to come out of the blue. But she’d known Remus Lupin long enough to understand that it had not.

They were seated at 12 Grimmauld Place’s kitchen table, where they’d been meeting in secret once a week since Harry had moved into Cove Cottage with her. At first, it was only to discuss the boy’s mental state and permit Remus to pass on information to her regarding Order business. But their most recent meetings had taken a compelling turn when the two adults had begun trying to organise a birthday party for a sixteen-year-old.

“I’m not the one playing a game,” she replied, pushing her chair back a little so she could cross her arms over her chest. “Dumbledore is.”

“Walking a tightrope then, dancing too close to the fire, stroking the dragon’s beard—call it what you will, ’Nine, but you’re slipping.”

The arms over her chest tightened. “Am I now?”

Her closed-off posture was no deterrent to Remus, who continued with his unwanted analysis of the situation. “Harry has started to care about you. Please tell me you’ve noticed that much, at least.”

“Of course I have. What do you take me for?” She was glad when he didn’t reply to that jab, and she forced herself to calm down a little. “How could he not? He lost his parents when he was one year old, and he spent the next ten playing house-elf to the Dursleys. Of course he’s going to latch on to anyone who shows him the least bit of kindness.”

“True,” Remus admitted. Placing one elbow on the table, he leaned his chin down on his upturned palm. “But Harry’s not the only one who grew attached.”

Saturnine felt her eyes narrowing as she glared at her friend. “Careful what you’re saying, Remus.”

“Or what?” he asked, his gaze full of amusement.

Or what, indeed, she thought, observing the man facing her. He was slumped in his chair, chin resting on his hand, with a knowing smirk plastered on his face. Remus Lupin had been her friend for more than ten years, and she knew he’d been through about just as much shite as she had. And he’d stood by her side through it all, just as she’d stayed by his. Purely for form, she huffed before looking away.

“I thought so,” he said, and she didn’t need to be looking at him to know that the smirk had turned into a smile. “Listen, all I mean is for you to be careful, ’Nine. Harry won’t take it well that you’ve been lying to him. It’s going to cut deep when he finds out.”

She kept looking away, not wanting to meet his gaze, as she said, “I’ve never lied to him.”

“Semantics, and you know it. You’re withholding information—that’s about the same.”

“Harry knows that, and he knows why.” She turned to face him then, resolve shining fiercely in her eyes. “We’re at war, Remus. Or have you forgotten?” She paused to let the words sink in. “It was dangerous enough of Dumbledore to involve me in the first place. Some things must remain in the shadows for now. It’s safer this way.”

“For whom?” Remus questioned her. “Harry, or yourself?”

Either—both—she wasn’t even sure she knew anymore. Did it even matter?

Of course it did—who was she kidding? Was her friend right, though? Had she chosen the wrong path? She sighed. She wasn’t ready to come clean, not yet. There was still too much she needed to come to grips with first. She might put up a brave face for the world to see, but what went on within her head and her heart were an entirely different affair. She had yet to confront the Boggart in her closet. As things stood, she’d just slammed the door shut in its face, locked the room, and moved to a different house. She hadn’t dealt with anything. And time was running out on that front.

“What are you going to do about Hogwarts?” Remus asked at long last, and she was thankful for the change of topic.

A cryptic smile and wink accompanied her answer. “I have a plan for that, old friend.”

“Confusion Charm?”

“Wouldn’t work for days on end.”

“Hmm—Polyjuice?” he asked as if they were playing a guessing game.

“Please—that’s been done before. And you know me, I’ve always liked a touch of originality.”

Remus nodded. “Ah, yes. Thinking outside the box.”

“Semantics,” she said, throwing the word back in his face, and he chuckled in reply. And just like that, they were okay again—with their argument laid to rest, friendship and camaraderie reigned once more.

“I missed you, ’Nine,” Remus admitted in a soft voice. “Merlin, but I’ve missed you.”

The sandy-haired wizard remained curled up in his chair, one hand resting on the table and the other holding up his head. Looking at him, Saturnine felt like she was back in the small flat they shared when they hid away in France, years ago. How many hours had they spent sitting on their tattered old canapé—Remus sitting at one end with his head cradled in his hand, and her taking up the rear, legs folded beneath her and arms loosely crossed over her chest—talking about everything and anything for hours on end.

She reached for the hand that rested on the table and curled her fingers around his. “As have I, old friend. As have I.”

***

It was close to nine in the evening when the flames roared to life in the fireplace and a sixteen-year-old Harry Potter crossed through with an armload of presents.

He unloaded the lot on the coffee table and began to show Saturnine who had given him what. Then he told her everything about the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes he’d sampled. He was gesturing madly left and right by the time he got to the fireworks part.

“I’m glad you had such a lovely day, Harry,” Saturnine said. “You deserved it.”

“Thanks for helping to arrange it, Saturnine,” he said honestly. “It was the best birthday party ever.”

She nodded before standing up from the sofa to retrieve something from a nearby shelf. “Have you got room for one more?” she asked, handing him a small, rectangular-shaped gift wrapped in crimson paper and gold lace.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, reaching out for something that felt a lot like a book.

“I wanted to,” she replied warmly. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Unwrapping it carefully, he was surprised to discover a Muggle paperback inside with a black and crimson cover. It was a copy of The Art of War, by Sun Tzu.

He flipped over the first page, and atop it, he found his name written in blue ink. Saturnine had written a quote below, and reading it, Harry promised himself to go over this book time and again until he knew it by heart. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

“Do you really think that’s possible?” Harry asked, gaze still tracing over the quote.

“Sometimes, it is. But I doubt it will be with You-Know-Who.” She moved to the coffee table to pick up half of the gifts he’d piled there. Harry gathered the other half in his arms, and they took the corridor down to his bedroom.

“Shall I regale you with another quote before you go to bed?” she offered as Harry finished placing the presents in his trunk.

“Are we doing bedtime stories now?” he asked with a smirk. “You do know I’m sixteen, right?”

She chuckled and leaned against the doorjamb. “It has been mentioned, I believe.”

“I’ll get changed and get in bed then,” Harry said, reaching for his nightclothes and retreating to the bathroom to empty his bladder and wash his teeth.

Saturnine was still where he had left her when he walked back out, but the blinds had been closed, and the bay window was open a crack, just the way he liked it.

Lifting the blanket, he slid into bed, and Saturnine turned off the lights before coming closer. He patted at the mattress by his feet in the hopes she would take the hint and sit down. Though the day had been almost perfect, he’d missed having her around, and he treasured the opportunity to spend a little more time together.

She obeyed the unspoken command, perching herself on the edge of the bed by his feet. The only source of light came from the corridor. The room was engulfed in shadows, rendering Saturnine’s expression unreadable.

“I’m glad you had such a good time with your friends, Harry. Treasure them and keep them close.”

“Aren’t they a liability?” he asked, daring to voice aloud a concern that had been steadily growing in his heart. Shouldn’t he keep his distance? What if they got hurt because of him?

“For whom?” she asked. “Do they pose a threat to you—or you to them?”

Despite the blanket around his shoulder, Harry felt a chill run through him at her words.

“No one can win a war alone,” she continued. “And friends make the best of allies. They’re a source of strength.”

“But they can get hurt,” he managed despite the lump in his throat.

“Yes—people get hurt in battles, and sometimes, they die.”

The lump grew more pronounced, and now, tears pricked at his eyes. “I don’t want any of them to die.”

“Of course you don’t.” One of Saturnine’s hands found his left calf through the blanket, and Harry felt a surge of affection for her. “It’s not your choice, though. If your friends decide to join you on the battlefield, it will be their decision. And you’ll have to respect it, just as you would want them to respect yours were the roles reversed. Just like it was Sirius’ decision to go to the Ministry that night when he’d been strongly advised not to.

“Free will is a strong aspect of who we are, Harry. Merlin knows that it’s part of what we’re fighting for. Accepting your friends’ decisions—accepting their sacrifices, should it come to that, is part of it. I know it’s hard, and I know it hurts, but if you love and care about them, you owe it to them to accept and respect their choices.”

Tears were falling freely now, and Harry couldn’t do anything more than a nod. Saturnine was talking about his godfather, he knew. Sirius’ choice—Sirius’ sacrifice. Sweet Circe, but it hurt to think about that. He’d lost more than a friend and guardian that day; he’d lost his hope for a better future. His hopes for a family of his own, a home—a place where he’d feel like he belonged. Wanted.

Saturnine moved closer, and her hand left his calf to come to grip his shoulder instead. “It wasn’t your fault, Harry. No one forced Sirius’ hand that day. It was his decision to come to the Ministry, his choice to join the others to come help you. A brave choice borne out of his love for you. A sacrifice that allowed you to survive. Don’t belittle his actions. You need to respect the man he was, the choices he made—even if it hurts.”

“Hurts,” Harry managed to push the word through his clogged throat. “So, so much.”

Another hand caressed and soothed him, losing itself in his hair this time. “I know it does, lad. I know.”

And Harry cried. He wept openly for the first time since that night—letting everything go, all the anger and bitterness, so that he could finally accept Sirius’ decision. And the reason why he’d done what he did.

Now that he’d had it explained to him in a way that he understood, Harry had no other choice but to do as he’d been told. Sirius’ love for him had meant everything, and he refused to belittle that. Not even a little—not even for his own comfort. He owed himself better.

Then, he let go of the anger and the self-recrimination and cried himself to sleep.