“Nagini, my faithful servant,” the Dark Lord hissed as he held out a hand to his serpent.

A long dark-green snake slithered her way to her master, coiling in on herself to raise her head and allow thin bone-white fingers to run along her scales. Her forked tongue curved in delight at her master’s touch.

“The time is near, my dear.” The grey-faced wizard continued in the same sibilant tongue. “I can feel it. By the end of the year, Dumbledore will be no more, and victory will be in sight.”

“Yessss,” Nagini agreed, wanting, needing her master’s happiness.

“But first, we must be parted,” Lord Voldemort explained as his fingers stroked harder. “I need to keep you safe—you know why.”

Nagini didn’t like the sound of that; she belonged with him. She’d been with him for so long, now; it was all she knew. “Masssster?”

“I need to find the wand, Nagini. You cannot come with me while I look for it. Wormtail will see to your needs while I’m gone.” He chuckled, a dark guttural sound distorted by the Parseltongue that escaped from his lips. “Do try not to eat him, even if he smells like a rat.”

“Mousssse,” Nagini corrected him, turning her head to where the portly wizard recoiled in the corner of the room. She could smell the fear pouring out of him; it always frightened the short man when her master spoke to her in their language. Which, in turn, whetted her appetite for the biped, who smelled like the four-legged rodents she was so fond of.

“Nothing foolish, Nagini,” the Dark Lord cautioned. “Remember the gift I have bestowed on you. I need you to keep it safe.”

“Yessss, Masssster.” The snake nodded her head. It was a strange gesture for her, but one she’d seen many bipeds do over the years. It appeared to convey both obedience and agreement, and as she felt both, she decided it was safe to use now and again.

“Now—” Lord Voldemort announced to the room at large. He turned on his heel, and the snake slithered to one side and back to turn on herself before following him to the centre of the room. His hand had risen to point at a long wooden table where many dark-clothed wizards sat in utter silence. The slow rise and fall of their chests was the only movement they allowed. Unlike the bound woman tied to the table with magical rope; she hadn’t stopped struggling since Nagini had entered the room at her master’s call. “—Dinner, Nagini.”

The snake didn’t speak human anymore, but ‘dinner’ was one word she had committed to memory. She knew what it meant, and she used the closest wizard’s leg to slither her way up the table. Mouth open, fangs at the ready, she pounced on the offered prey.

***

Harry awoke with a scream. Sweat-drenched and out of breath, he could feel bile rising in his throat, and he fought hard to push it back down, even as he struggled to free himself from the tangled blanket’s grasp. Swaying on shaking legs, he padded his way barefoot to the bay window, which he yanked wide open to breathe in the fresh air.

It smelled of the ocean, crisp and cool, and Harry stepped outside to stand in the grass, needing more of it. In the distance, he could hear the waves crashing at the foot of the nearby cliffs, a lone seagull screaming, and the wind rustling through blades of grass all around the cottage. These sounds helped to quiet his brain as he fought to regain his bearings.

Voldemort, the snake—and that poor woman who’d had her neck torn apart in front of his eyes. He couldn’t get the sight of the blood out of his mind, nor the sound of her dying screams out of his ears. ‘Dinner,’ Voldemort had said. Bile rose again as Harry clasped at his heaving chest. Merlin, that madman had called her dinner. He’d only seen her face briefly, but she’d looked but a few years older than he was.

Unsure of what to do, but knowing that he was done trying to sleep for the night, Harry walked further away from the cottage until he reached the edge of the cliffs. Finding a rock large enough to sit upon, he let his gaze wander along the horizon. The waning moon was still pretty full, and Harry had no trouble making out the jagged landscape that surrounded him.

There was a strong breeze coming in from the oceanfront, and it seemed to make the waves crash even harder on the rocks below. It was a soothing sight, he realised, and he tried to match his erratic breathing to the rhythm of the ebb and flow.

The sun had started to rise on the horizon when a warm blanket landed over his shoulders. He shuddered at the feel of it against his skin, realising that he hadn’t noticed how cold he was. Saturnine sat down next to him without a word, and Harry wondered if perhaps he ought to apologise to her. He was sure that he wasn’t supposed to be outside this early in the morning. Had he broken one of her rules? She said he wouldn’t like her if he did; what had she meant by that? Harry knew what an angry Uncle Vernon looked like, but he had no idea what an angry Saturnine would do to him. How would she punish him?

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I didn’t mean to disobey you, but I—” He what? What was he supposed to say? I’m a freak, and I can see into You-Know-Who’s mind, and I saw his pet snake tear a young woman apart, so I needed some fresh air? “I had a nightmare.”

“It’s a nice sight,” was all she replied. “Violent and angry, but strangely, peaceful, too.”

Unsure if further comments from him were required, Harry nodded to show his agreement.

“Are you feeling better now?” she asked.

Harry nodded again. He was.

Saturnine stood up then, reaching out a hand to him. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. He was glad for the help because his legs had cramped up with the cold.

“Let’s get back inside and see if we can get some hot soup into you.”

Saturnine’s hand was warm in his; her fingers carried strength and comfort, and he held onto her the rest of the way. She didn’t seem to mind, and he decided he didn’t either.

She had him seated at the kitchen table in minutes with the promised bowl of soup.

“Next time, I’d appreciate it if you could stop long enough to put on some shoes and warm clothes,” Saturnine said as Harry blew over the bowl of reheated tomato soup she’d just placed between his hands. It smelled amazing, and he couldn’t wait for it to have cooled enough to be edible.

“Even better, I would prefer it if you woke me up so that I could keep an eye on you.”

“It was the middle of the night,” Harry said, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. She’d been right about the need for shoes and warm clothes. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It wouldn’t have been a problem. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t hear you. I’m usually a light sleeper.”

Harry dove into his soup with his spoon to avoid facing her as guilt racked through him at the thought of the Sound Shields he’d put up in secret.

“Ah,” she said, in a tone that made it clear she’d seen right through his act. “I never stood a chance to hear you, did I?”

Harry had the decency to shake his downcast head.

“Sound Shields?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “This is a problem, Harry.”

He looked up in alarm at her words. That was it; she would get angry now.

“I’m not mad at you, lad. Relax.” She rose a hand, palm forward in a placating gesture. “I thought I had a pretty good grasp on how you were doing, but now I realise I was wrong. I don’t know what’s going on because you’ve been keeping the truth from me. I’m not mad, but I’m worried. How many nightmares have you had since you got here? How bad were they? How many times did it get to the point where you had to go outside to ease the pressure?

“Do you see what I mean?” she continued. “I was complacent and allowed you to trick me into a false sense of normalcy. I failed in my duties to take care of you. I’m sorry.”

Hearing Saturnine blaming herself tugged at his heart. “Don’t be. I’m the one who put up the Sound Shields.” He felt as if he’d let her down, and the feeling didn’t sit well with him. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known—I should have thought of that.” She allowed a small smile on her lips to sweeten the bite of her words. “Merlin knows, it’s most likely what I would have done in your situation.”

“It’s not like you could have done something about it.” He shrugged between two spoonfuls of soup. “It’s just nightmares—Sirius and stuff. They come and go. I’m used to it by now.”

“There’s no getting used to it, Harry. Nightmares aren’t something you’re supposed to accept without a fight. You get better, you heal, and then they stop coming. That’s what you do.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know how to do that.” And it was the truth. He couldn’t stop his nightmares any more than he could stop the visions. Occlumency hadn’t worked, Snape’s litany of ‘Clear your mind’ hadn’t worked, and Hermione’s breathing technique hadn’t worked either.

Saturnine sat up at his words, and she made to leave the room. Stopping in the doorway, she said, “Take your time to finish your soup, then join me in the living room.”

***

As she sat sideways on the sofa, Saturnine pondered Harry’s last words. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’

She hadn’t known what to reply. Of course she didn’t know. But why did Harry think she ought to have known? What kind of childhood did that boy have? Merlin, Petunia, what did you do to that kid?

When, from her bedroom window, she’d caught the boy’s silhouette by the cliffs’ edge, her heart had missed a beat. Outside, defenceless, and underdressed—she’d had half a mind to come at him like a harpy. Thank the stars that she took a minute to calm herself and analyse the situation first. The boy didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger—safe from hypothermia—and he’d walked outside of his own volition. To figure out why had been child’s play once she’d recovered from the shock.

Finding the words to coax him back inside without a fuss had been harder. And now, figuring out the best course of action to help him felt like something beyond her reach.

Not even sixteen, she reminded herself, still a child. It was easy to lose sight of that sometimes. The lad was more than self-sufficient; he didn’t need anyone to hold his hand anymore—except that he did. If this morning had been any indication, he desperately did. What more did he need? And how could she give it to him?

When Harry walked into the room—still barefoot, she noted—he looked much better than he had before. There was a rosy tinge to his cheeks now; his lips had coloured, too.

She gestured for him to sit on the sofa next to her, and Harry did with reluctance. He still held onto the blanket she’d brought him and placed it between them before raising his feet and burrowing them underneath the pooled layers of cotton.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked. “And by that, I mean warmer.”

He nodded as she adjusted her position to face him more fully, leaning her side against the back of the sofa.

“We need to talk, Harry.”

At her words, the boy’s lips parted, and she rose another hand to halt whatever complaint he had.

“I know you don’t want to be a bother. And I assure you, you’re not. You’re a sweet lad, and I genuinely want to help you.” She paused to let the words sink in. “You’re not well, Harry. You can’t go on like this—you need to talk to someone. I’d understand if you don’t want it to be me. I could ask Remus to come by, or maybe the headmaster.”

“I—I’d rather not,” he mumbled, words barely more than whispers. “Talk to them, that is.”

“Unless you can think of someone else, I’m afraid I’m the only option you’ve got left.”

A pale attempt at a shrug was the only reply she got.

“Harry, save from the day we met at the park, I’ve only ever been honest with you. I haven’t told you everything there is to know about me because some things must remain private at this stage, but every word I’ve ever spoken to you has been the truth.

“And I would like you to return the favour to me. Please don’t lie to me again. And putting up Sound Shields to hide what is going on during the night is like lying to my face. Do you understand that?” She waited for him to nod, to continue. “I want us to be able to have open, honest conversations about important matters. That’s the only way I can ever hope to begin to help you. I do not know how to care for a child, so, I won’t baby you. Rather, I will address you like the sixteen-year-old little man you’re about to be. But know that you can tell me anything, there’s no need for you to hide from me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said to the blanket, rather than to her face.

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry, tell me you will do better from now on. You don’t have to tell me everything, you can keep things to yourself, but no more lying, please.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t enough for her.

“Promise?” she asked. “And look me in the eye while you do it.”

Heaving in a deep breath, Harry did. “I promise,” he said as his forest-green eyes met her azure-blue ones.