Kreacher, the old house-elf of 12 Grimmauld Place, supplied them with tea, while Molly Weasley fretted and fussed over the lot of them. Their wounds, though numerous, were minor, and between Remus and Mrs Weasley, everyone was soon patched up, cleaned up, and tucked into one of the living room’s comfortable sofas or armchairs with blankets draped over them.

Dumbledore wasn’t long to join them, eyes hooded and worried behind his half-moon spectacles. He wasn’t the only member of the Hogwarts staff to have made the trip. Harry’s least favourite teacher, Professor Snape, had come along. The dark-haired Potions Master settled himself in a corner near the door, his black robes and clothes mingling with the darkness found there, making it easy to forget he was even in the room.

The Lovegoods started in on the explanations, recounting the attack on their house and Luna’s idea to use her Patronus to call for help. Then, Hermione took over as she explained how she’d been the one to receive the message and how the three of them quickly got to the Rookery. Then she described the fight that ensued.

Harry couldn’t help but notice that she glossed over a few details, such as the magical Galleons she’d used to contact Harry and the fact that she could Apparate even though she was technically still under-aged. If Professor Dumbledore noticed any of those facts, he let them slip. But a glance at the back corner of the room told Harry that neither lapse had been missed by their attentive Potions Master. His black eyes had narrowed both times, and Harry could tell, he could just tell, that the man was dying to cut in with a biting comment each time. Guessing that the headmaster’s presence was what forced him to keep his temper in check, Harry was relieved that Snape wasn’t the one asking the questions.

“—then we retreated to the Forest of Dean to hide for the night,” Hermione finished. As if she were parched, she reached for her teacup to take several long sips.

“That’s where Tonks and I found them,” Remus explained, and it was Harry’s turn to frown in confusion. Nymphadora Tonks had left quickly after everyone made it safely back to Grimmauld, saying she had to go inform the Aurors of what had happened. But she wasn’t the only one missing now, Harry noticed. Saturnine was equally absent from the room, and he was startled to realise he had no idea when she’d given them the slip. And now, Remus had just implied she’d never been part of the rescue mission at all.

“They were facing half a dozen Death Eaters,” he continued. “We’re lucky to have gotten there when we did.”

“How did you find us?” Harry asked him. He’d been wondering that ever since he’d had a minute to think.

Turning to look at him with a sly smile, Remus replied, “A silver hare told us where to go.”

Harry’s bewildered gaze moved to where Luna was sitting with her father.

“It was Hermione’s idea,” she said, with a dreamy look in her silver eyes. “I wanted to ask the Bowtruckle, but she insisted I use my Patronus instead.”

A good thing she did, Harry thought, but he kept the comment to himself.

“Whose fog spell was that, incidentally?” Remus asked. “It was very thick.”

“It was mine,” Hermione replied, her tone revealing she’d taken pride in the comment. “What was that wind spell that got rid of it? I’d never seen anything like that.”

“Ah, one of Tonks’,” Remus said, but something in his tone told Harry that wasn’t quite the truth. Besides, the Metamorphmagus had been close to where he and Ron were. And she was too busy fighting off their attackers to have had anything to do with that small tornado. “A Windstorm Charm, I believe.”

“Thank Merlin that you two were here, though,” Harry said, deciding it was probably best to play along and keep Saturnine out of the story. He stared hard at where Ron and Hermione sat next to each other as he said the words, hoping they would catch on. “Don’t know what we would have done without you and Tonks.”

“Did you recognise anyone?” Dumbledore asked.

“Fenrir Greyback was there,” Remus said, and Harry’s gaze was quick to return to the man sitting by his side. He’d never heard so much anger seep out of the mild-mannered wizard’s voice before.

“He’s still by his side, then,” Dumbledore said. “Dark news indeed—not that I am surprised.”

“He was with You-Know-Who before,” Harry said, remembering the dream-cum-vision he’d had before waking up in the Forest of Dean. “He said something about wanting a better life. ‘A better life for us all,’ were his exact words, I believe.”

That caught everyone’s attention; even Professor Snape edged a little closer.

“Who is he?” Harry asked.

“Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and contaminate as many people as possible. He wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards,” Remus replied, the anger barely restrained in his voice. “It was Greyback who bit me,” he said at last, and that was the only explanation Harry needed for his strange attitude. He inched slightly closer to the sandy-haired man, offering what little comfort he could.

“What else did you see, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry told them of the cave with the bones and the wet stone floor. He was surprised when the headmaster turned to the Potions Master at the end of his tale. “Have you any idea where he is, Severus?”

“Albania, I believe, though I cannot be sure,” he said in a flat tone. “The Dark Lord’s been gone for a few weeks now, though no one knows why.”

Harry hated to be reminded that Snape was on their side. It had come as quite a shock when he’d been told he was the Order of the Phoenix’s spy within Voldemort’s ranks. Ever since he’d discovered the truth, it had been harder to hate him. “Do you think he’s looking for—” He stopped himself before saying ‘the wand’, suddenly unsure if it was okay to talk about that, given the present company.

“Yes, Potter?” Snape asked, arching an imperious black eyebrow. “You’ve got something to say.”

Harry’s eyes left the sour Potions professor to latch onto Dumbledore’s form, silently asking him for directions.

“Perhaps,” the old wizard said as he stroked his beard. “Or perhaps he merely seeks to form new alliances. There are large werewolf packs in Eastern Europe, and Greyback’s presence could indicate that they’re trying to recruit them.”

Venom dripped out of Snape’s eyes as he was forced to swallow what had to be yet another scathing retort. Dumbledore was keeping him in the dark, Harry noted with glee. It was a petty reaction—and he had no doubt Saturnine would have chastised his behaviour had she been there. But it had been a lousy day, and Harry would take all the silver linings he could get.

The Order of the Phoenix meeting—for that was what this had been—didn’t last much longer after that. And within ten minutes, both Snape and Dumbledore departed. An exasperated Mrs Weasley soon pushed a reluctant Ron and a more subdued Hermione through the Floo. They were soon followed by Luna and her father.

That left Harry with only Remus and a ball of worry that had grown to a pumpkin size in the pit of his stomach.

“Everything okay, Harry?” the sandy-haired wizard asked, having sensed that something was off.

Heaving in a deep sigh, he forced the words out. “How mad at me do you think she’ll be?”

“I think she’s going to be happy that you’re okay, for the most part,” Remus answered with an amused chuckle. “But I’m afraid you should prepare to lock your broom away for the remainder of the summer.”

That made Harry feel a little better. If taking away his Quidditch practice time was all the punishment he would get, he would suffer through it gladly. But somehow, he doubted Saturnine would be so lenient. She’d warned him not to disregard her rules, and he’d failed miserably at that.

“I had to go and help them,” he said, and it was hard to tell who he was trying to convince. “I didn’t know how to warn her. I—I would have otherwise.”

Remus stepped closer to place a hand on his shoulder. “Really, Harry? You do tend to rush headlong into danger without alerting anyone. Especially not adults.”

“Not anymore,” he said defensively. “I learned that lesson when—” His words died on his lips, and Remus’ hand tightened on his shoulder. It was evident the man knew what lesson it was. “I did leave her a note, and I would have come to her if I’d known where she was. Or done that thing with my Patronus, if I knew it was possible.” After a pause, he added, “Will you teach me how to do that, Remus?”

“You should ask Saturnine. If I remember correctly, she has quite the impressive sea eagle Patronus,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy teaching you—once you’ve properly apologised.” At that, he used the hand he had on the boy’s shoulder to steer him towards the fireplace. “Come on, Harry—time to go make amends.”

“Why did she leave?” he asked halfway there, partly to buy himself more time and partly out of sheer curiosity. “And why did you act as if she hadn’t been in the forest with us?”

“Ah,” Remus said, removing his hand from his shoulder to scratch his chin instead. “Glad you caught on to that and followed my lead, by the way. I—I was rather afraid you would mention her by name. Given the present company, it would have been quite the gaffe.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Do you mean the Lovegoods or Professor Snape?”

“Both, actually,” he said. “Only Dumbledore and I know her real identity, Harry. Everyone else in the Order has been introduced to Leen Nine, soon to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It’s important that you remember that when you mention her to the others.”

“A good thing you intervened, then,” he said, making a mental note to tell Ron and Hermione that the next time he saw them. Though he’d made them promise not to tell anyone about who he was spending his summer with, he figured it was best they started watching their tongues before September 1st rolled around.

***

There was comfort to be found in repetitive gestures, and Saturnine had never felt more grateful for cooking in her life. She had a simple list of steps to follow, with no thinking required. A hundred and fifty grams of flour joined one tablespoon of sugar and fifty grams of sliced butter. Forgoing magic, she mixed the dough by hand until its consistency was perfect. Then she went about peeling the apples and cutting them into thin, identical slices—much like a potioneer would prepare her ingredients.

Apple tart in the oven, she wondered if she ought to cook something else or if she was ready to face the worry that had settled in her gut. She was saved from having to decide by the sound of the Floo roaring to life in the living room.

Bracing herself with both hands on the tiled counter, she lowered her head over the sink to heave in a couple of deep breaths.

“I brought Harry back,” came Remus’ voice from the kitchen’s entry. “The meeting was a quiet affair, but I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Thank you, Remus,” she said, straightening up. Her gaze lost itself out of the window, and she peered at the cliffs and the ocean she could see in the distance. She couldn’t face Remus yet; she had no idea what she’d find in his eyes—probably some form of I told you so.

“I’ll get going then,” he said, sounding hesitant. “Unless you need me for something.”

“No, we’ll be fine. Thanks again, Remus.”

When she heard his retreating steps, she turned on her heel to watch him go, following after him into the living room. Harry stood poised by the sofa, looking sheepish and slightly green around the gills. Remus said goodbye to him, and then he was gone. A heavy silence settled on the two of them as they remained frozen where they stood.

What was she supposed to do? Chastise him, yell at him—punish him? Thinking back on her own childhood for a role model was a lost cause. Harry could commit the worst foolishness known to mankind, break all the rules, and doom the entire Wizarding World if he so wanted, and still, she wouldn’t resort to punishing him the way her father did.

Merlin, she wasn’t even sure she was the one who ought to come up with any such kind of reaction. What right did she have to criticise the boy’s actions? She wasn’t his mother. She was just the poor sod who’d been asked to look after him for a couple of weeks. She hadn’t been granted any parental privileges.

And yet—someone had to do something. Right?

“Harry,” she said, words forming in her mind as she moved to stand closer to him. He took a step back at her approach, and she froze in fear. Harry looked dreadful enough as it was with his head hung low and eyes downcast. Guilt ebbed off of him in waves.

Rethinking her actions, Saturnine did the only thing that made sense to her. She stepped closer, opened her arms, and drew him in for a hug. She felt the boy shudder against her—whether in surprise or something else, she didn’t know—but that made her hold him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled from somewhere near her left shoulder.

“Never do that to me again, Harry,” she begged him as one of her hands lost itself in his tangle of dark-brown locks. “Never again—I was so worried.”

She felt him nod, and he mumbled another, “Sorry,” that sounded much tearier than the first one.

“You come and find me the next time—me or another adult. Or you wait until I get back.” She placed her chin atop his messy mop of hair as she held him close. She was afraid of what would happen if she ever had to let him go. “But never pull a stunt like that again. You and your friends mustn’t go facing off with Death Eaters on your own ever again.” Some of her agonising worries seeped away at the words; somehow, mentioning her fears aloud forced their claws to retreat from where they’d sunken into her heart. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if we’d showed up any later than we did? What the Dark Lord would have done if he’d got his hands on you, Ron, or Hermione?”

She heard a wet sniff come from the crook between her neck and shoulder, and the arms around her back tightened their grasp.

“Thanks—for coming for me—’Nine,” Harry said between two more sniffs that were close to sobs.

“Always,” she promised. And by Merlin, she meant it.