Saturnine could have slapped herself. Or she could have hit someone else—someone like Albus Dumbledore, perhaps. Yes, that would have felt good.

“Meddling, scheming old sod,” she muttered through clenched teeth as her gaze settled on the jagged cliffs. The violent Atlantic that came crashing down against the rugged granite was the perfect match for her flaring temper.

She’d known all along that the headmaster had a game plan she wasn’t aware of. It was always like that with him—plans within plans within plans. His life played out like a three-dimensional game of chess—four-dimensional even; she wouldn’t put it past him to use a Time-Turner to up his game now and then. But the more time passed, the less she enjoyed feeling like a pawn—someone to be made fun of. Dumbledore was stringing her along his board, and she was powerless to stop him; worse even, she’d started to move about the squares willingly.

She had let herself care for the boy, and she had dropped her guard. Those weren’t really mistakes if one looked at them honestly. But they were at war, and emotions could easily become dangerous liabilities during such dark times. Sweet mother of Circe, she should have known better; she did know better. But Harry being Harry, he’d done to her what he did best. He came at her from an angle she hadn’t anticipated—with a kind smile and trusting emerald eyes—and he’d blindsided her and sneakered his way past her carefully erected defences.

And there she stood now, at the breaking point—forced back onto the chessboard she so hated, teetering on the edge of her square, and unsure of which way to move next. So, she’d taken the coward’s way out, choosing to flee rather than being forced into a lie. And she felt horrible for it. She’d left the poor boy alone by the fire, crumpled in on himself and still reeling from their abysmal Occlumency lesson. A lesson where she’d mucked things about, too. Merlin, but she was on a roll today, and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she fought hard not to scream. She’d been feeling like doing that a lot recently. Screaming—and flying. Damn, but she could go for a flight just now. A strong wind was blowing in from the oceanfront, and she’d love nothing more than to battle it head-on. She could feel her magic thrum with envy in her veins, the heels of her boots pushing slightly off the ground in anticipation. She clamped down on the feeling, hard, like she did everything else.

Harry needed her, and so she chose her path. The myriad of possible chess moves narrowed down to a single entity: the only one that she could, in good conscience, contemplate making. So, the little white pawn turned on her heel and returned to the square labelled “Cove Cottage” to guard the white knight she’d been tasked to protect.

***

Harry had retreated to his bedroom after the Occlumency fiasco. Unsure what the future held for him, he’d returned to his desk to finish his Transfiguration essay. Who knew what would happen now? Or if he’d be allowed to stay at the cottage for much longer? If Saturnine decided this was over, and he was to go back to the Dursleys, he wanted, at least, to try and wrap up Professor McGonagall’s essay. After that, he only had Potions left; but it didn’t matter if he had to hastily scrawl that one on board the train to Hogwarts. With Snape, he was in for a T at best, anyway.

Though he’d left his bedroom door open, Saturnine knocked twice to announce herself. And she didn’t step through until he’d allowed her to do so.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that,” she apologised, standing awkwardly by the foot of his bed as if she was half-tempted to sit down but unsure if she should do so.

Harry had remained seated at his desk, quill in hand. He’d turned on his seat to face her, though, essay forgotten behind him. “It’s okay,” he said.

Sighing softly, she crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s really not. It was rather immature of me to react like that.”

Harry shook his head; she wasn’t the one who had to apologise. “No, it’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, with as much honesty as he could. “Really.”

“For what?” she asked, surprise marring her face for an instant. And Harry was relieved to see the beginning of warmth return to her features. “I’m the one who let out something I had not intended to. You did nothing wrong, Harry.”

Then, heaving in a breath, she said, “Come sit with me.”

Harry obeyed, first placing his quill safely on the side of his desk before sitting up to cross the room. Saturnine sat down at the foot of his bed, and he wondered if he should sit on the pillow or if he dared sit in the middle. When she patted the space in front of her, Harry aimed for the middle of the soft mattress.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said. “I know you don’t like to talk about yourself much.”

And it was the truth—Harry could count on the fingers of his hands the number of personal titbits he’d gleaned over the weeks. Despite her frankness and truthfulness, Saturnine played her cards close to her chest. While she had no qualms about sharing her knowledge of magic with him and providing emotional support and a wealth of general advice, she had remained forcefully tight-lipped about her personal history. And that was fine with Harry. Sure, he was curious. Anyone else would be, but he could live with not knowing, he’d decided. What mattered most to him was that Saturnine was here, and she was helping him. He didn’t need to know what her favourite colour was, or what kind of music she liked to listen to when she was a teenager. He himself had many memories that he would rather keep buried until the end of time; so, he could understand her need to keep her past hidden.

“We’ve been talking about you a lot, Harry. And I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. Occlumency will only strengthen that—” she paused, sounding hesitant to continue. “I am aware that I’ve given you very little in return. But I want you to know that it is not because of a lack of respect towards you. I am a very private person. I’ve always been. Besides, there are things in my past that it is best you do not learn about at this stage. It’s not that I want to keep secrets from you, Harry. But we are at war, and it is something I have to take into consideration.”

“Information is key,” he quoted from one of their earlier talks, willing her to see that he’d understood what she meant. Voldemort had a direct connection to his mind, and he couldn’t spill her secrets if he didn’t know them.

“I won’t ask anything again,” he promised, looking up to catch her gaze. He prayed she would see the honesty in his eyes as he silently begged her to give him another chance. To not give up on him.

He found equal warmth in her blue gaze, and the corners of her mouth lifted as she said, “You can ask, Harry. You can always ask. I only wanted you to understand why you won’t always be getting an answer from me.” He nodded, throat too tight to speak up. “Now, tell me, how’s your homework coming along?”

***

From that day forward, the nightmares became less of an issue for Harry. They still occurred, but not every night. And when they did, he would retreat to the forest in his head and fly through hoops until he fell asleep again.

In the mornings, he’d wake up early and prepare breakfast for the two of them. Not because he had to but because he wanted to. And he’d gotten quite good at it over the years—if Saturnine’s compliments were to be believed. Then they would practice Occlumency until it was time for her to cook their lunch. Harry would usually use the time for a walk outside to clear his head. If it were a good day, he’d walk to the cliffs’ edge and sit down to gaze at the horizon. On one of his bad days, he’d run a few laps around the cottage to burn off the excess of steam.

Despite Saturnine’s care, dark and twisted memories sometimes resurfaced during Occlumency, and Harry needed a breath of fresh air afterwards to centre himself. She wanted him to learn to protect himself from the attacks, and Harry had gotten around to planting metaphorical trees everywhere to circumvent her effort to trip him up. In every new memory that she dredged up, ferns and spruces would pop into existence under his command until they obscured everything. “An unlikely strategy,” Saturnine had said, “but efficient nonetheless.” And thus, she’d encouraged his behaviour.

Trees came about easily in the more innocuous memories, but they were harder to grow when the feelings intensified. Fear or pain would have him rooted to the spot, unable to think for a while. At that point, Saturnine would have to urge him to fight her back. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. When the fear won over his resolve, and he was left a mess of tears and pain, she would retreat from his mind as softly as she could and end their Occlumency lesson there.

Saturnine was always available for him afterwards. She’d remain with him by the fire in case he wanted to talk. She wouldn’t push or prod, but she’d always stay. Most times, he’d be okay after a few steadying breaths. But once or twice, the tears overcame him then, and she’d move closer to rub his back, soothing him in silence—a quiet, reassuring presence by his side.

His afternoons were spent either reading or working on his essays. Or flying, twice a week. And once on the weekend, just like Saturnine had promised. The raven-haired witch rarely ever left their home; she’d go out in the afternoon every once in a while to restock their pantry or get some books for Harry to read, but she was never gone more than an hour at a time.

After supper, they would sit in the living room and sip tea while they talked or played games. They’d found a couple of old board games tucked at the bottom of the linen closet. The game of Scrabble was missing a few letters, and the Gobstones had lost their smells, but the two of them still managed to have a bit of fun.

Professor Lupin visited a couple of times, coming over in the afternoon and staying for supper. If the weather was kind, he and Harry would go out for a walk along the coast. If not, then they’d stay inside to play, with Saturnine joining them most of the time. While the werewolf was pants at the Gobstones, he trounced them at Scrabble every time. It was a fact that had led Harry to discover that Saturnine was a bit of a sore loser, even if she tried hard to hide it.

Although he missed his friends, and at times felt somewhat lonely in this small cottage by the ocean, this was by far the best summer Harry had ever had. He felt safe here and well-cared-for. And a part of him didn’t want the holidays to end. But July was coming to a close, August would fly by just as quickly, and then it would be time for the both of them to return to Hogwarts.

Harry tried to draw solace from the fact that Saturnine would be there with him. She would be his new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And if the time and effort she put into creating her very own syllabus out of the notes Harry had given her were any indications, she would be a damn good one.

The quiet routine they’d eased into settled itself more firmly as days passed. Having finished all of his homework—except for Potions, but he lacked the will to tackle that particularly nasty beast—Harry made good on his promise to help Saturnine with the Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus.

Reverting to his manuals, notes, and the copious and detailed lesson summaries Hermione had shared with him when they prepared for their fifth year O.W.L. exams, the two of them slowly compiled a comprehensive list of what should be taught during each school year. Then, using Harry’s lists, they colour-coded the topics (Hermione would have been proud) to highlight the parts missed by their heteroclite assortment of professors.

Saturnine was gobsmacked to discover they had somehow managed to dismiss Wandlore completely. Wasn’t that an essential subject in the Wizarding World? Curse-Breaking had been seriously glossed over, and the students’ knowledge of wandless spells was only theoretical and needed to be put into practice at the earliest convenience. Not to mention the fact that their knowledge of dark creatures had more gaps than Swiss cheese—except for werewolves. That chapter had been explained in detail to everyone who attended Hogwarts.

“It’s going to be a tough year for you,” Harry said, commiserating as he reached for a piece of Emmental that he placed between two slices of buttered bread. Sensing that they were almost done with their list-making, Saturnine had decided to forgo cooking supper for once so that they could finish it. Thus, it was that they were making their own sandwiches and eating them in the living room while they hunched over the mass of parchments strewn across the coffee table. “Is Professor Dumbledore really expecting you to fill in all these gaps in one year?”

Saturnine chuckled over her ham and tomato sandwich, “No one could be expected to do that much in one year, Harry. And even if I could, I doubt students would be able to retain that much information all at once.”

“Then why bother to write it all down?” he asked between two bites.

“I—uh—” she paused, taking another bite as she thought it through. It was with a slight blush that she eventually said, “—couldn’t think of doing it any other way. While I know you guys can’t learn everything you’re missing in a year, I’m still going to try. That’s—well, that’s the only way I know how to do things.”

“All or nothing?” Harry asked.

She shook her head, her blush deepening, “Not really—rather aiming to do the best I can.” She chuckled. “I blame that bad habit on the fact that I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“If you give us your best, the students will, too,” Harry said after wolfing down the last of his sandwich. “And who knows? Together, we might just succeed.”