Despite the current situation, Harry was delighted to be back at Cove Cottage. He and Saturnine had Apparated here the evening before students would board the train back to London. While it meant he couldn’t spend the last night of the school year with his friends, it also meant he had one more Cornish sunset to behold. And what a treat this had been. The Cornish cliffs were even more impressive in winter as the ocean raged at their feet, froth forming on the surface as angry waves leapt at the half-submerged rocks.

Saturnine was back to her old self the following morning, makeup and coloured contact lenses gone, as she’d reunited with her favourite navy hoodie and sturdy pair of black boots. The only thing different from last summer was the absence of the plait over her shoulder; she’d let her hair loose, for once. It was probably to let it breathe after months of being held back in a tight chignon, Harry thought. He had only seen her with her hair untied a handful of times, and it was a different look for her. The dark-brown strands added volume to her long oval face, cast shadows over her cheeks, and made her traits appear more mysterious. And, most of all, that sea of dark walnut really made her blue eyes pop.

“No chignon this morning,” he asked, unable to stop himself from teasing her. Merlin, but he was glad that disguise was gone, and he’d gotten his witch back.

“No Gryffindor tie?” she replied with a pointed look at the maroon sweater he wore over a pair of denim slacks.

Harry made them breakfast—an omelette with bacon. Though he hadn’t cooked in months, he wasn’t the least bit rusty.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asked before taking a bite.

“You have some homework to do, yes?”

He nodded over his mouthful.

“I expect you to be done before the end of the year,” she continued. “You can work on those in the afternoons. Come see me if you have any questions.”

“Occlumency in the mornings, then?” They hadn’t trained together in all his time at Hogwarts, but he’d kept practising bringing his barrier up—almost daily.

Saturnine’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’m not sure you need more classes. I will, however, test you to make sure you haven’t regressed. If your level is consistent with that of last summer, it’ll be enough.”

Harry sensed there was more to it, but he remained quiet, waiting to see if she would elaborate on her own.

“Professor Dumbledore would want me to teach you Legilimency,” she offered after a sip of coffee.

“You disagree?”

“Strongly,” she said, her brow furrowing. “You don’t need that.”

“Why?” he said. Then, he felt the need to clarify. “Why does he want me to learn it, and why do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“No,” she replied as if that single word answered everything.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated in the same definite tone.

“To which question?” Harry demanded, puzzled.

“Both,” she replied, slicing through her omelette with more strength than was necessary.

“Why?”

“Because I know you, Harry. And if I tell you, you will want to do it.” She speared the bite of omelette she’d just cut and brought it to her mouth. After swallowing it, she continued. “I will have none of it; so, my answer is no.”

“What if I promise to be reasonable about it?” Harry offered. “And not to do anything rash without talking to you about it first?”

A suspicious glare zipped past the tip of the empty fork she still held up.

“I am capable of learning, after all,” he said. Then, he frowned as the words caught up with him—wasn’t that word-for-word what Professor Snape had told him earlier that year? That shook him up; Harry had never thought he would see the day when he’d started quoting Snape, of all people.

The suspicious glare became intense and challenging as Saturnine weighed her options. In the end, she relented, and placing her fork back on the table, she steepled her fingers and caught Harry’s gaze above them. “Dumbledore wants you to go looking inside Lord Voldemort’s brain. I refused.”

Panic surged within Harry at her words. Then, something akin to rage at the headmaster’s scheming caught fire in his belly. But Saturnine’s gaze held onto his, willing him to make good on his promise to behave like the grown up he claimed to be. Pushing the feelings aside for now, he tried to view the situation as she did and sought to ask a more mature question. “What information is he after?”

Saturnine’s lips curled up at the corners, and he knew his reaction had been the right one. “Have you ever heard of Horcruxes?” she asked.

He thought about it long and hard but couldn’t remember ever having heard the word. He shook his head no, and Saturnine did what no adult had ever done for him: she told him the truth. The whole truth, in its unabridged version.

“That’s why we haven’t seen much of the headmaster since the start of term?” Harry asked when she’d reached the end of her tale.

“Yes, his health has declined,” she said. “Severus and Poppy are doing the best they can, but it’s not enough.”

“What—” Harry wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. It was Professor Dumbledore they were talking about; he was the most powerful wizard he knew. Surely he couldn’t be dying. “How long does he have?”

“Months,” she said, giving him the cold, hard truth once more. “They estimate that he will not live through next summer.” A long silence punctuated her words, and she added, “I’m sorry, Harry. But you wanted the truth. And now, you have it.”

“Thanks for that,” he said, swallowing hard. “You were right all those months ago. Asking the question is the easy part; being ready for the answer isn’t. What can I do? Will it make a difference if I do what Dumbledore wants me to?”

“I honestly believe that it wouldn’t. Even if you could master Legilimency—and it’s a big if. The odds of you actually finding out the exact information we’re after—no, that’s madness. Besides, there are other ways to get to that result—safer ways.”

“Is that what you’ve been working on?” A curious eyebrow arose at his question. “You’ve been leaving the castle a lot. I wondered where you went. Were you looking for those Horcruxes, then?”

“How would you even know that I ever left Hogwarts? Have you been spying on me, lad?”

“No, of course not. I would never,” he said hurriedly, although he was pretty sure she wasn’t angry with him. She wouldn’t have called him lad otherwise. “It’s just the Marauder’s Map. When I was looking for Draco, I noticed a couple of times that you weren’t there—that’s all.” Come to think of it, he had never seen her on the map, had he? Surely it couldn’t be; the map showed everyone. But then, he would remember it if he had seen her on it—to this day, her surname remained a mystery to him.

As that last thought crossed Harry’s mind, understanding dawned on him. “You did something!” he exclaimed. “You—you found a way to trick the map or to confuse it, didn’t you?”

Saturnine smiled an innocent smile over the steeple of her fingers but remained silent.

“Didn’t you?” he repeated, realising that a little part of him was hurt by that realisation. The Marauder’s Map was all he had left of his father and Sirius, and he hated to think someone had tampered with it.

It must have shown on his face, for Saturnine relented and explained, “You do know me, don’t you? Or have you just met me? Of course I did, Harry. I nagged Remus for a solution to that little conundrum the minute I learned of the existence of that bloody map of yours.”

“How? How did you do it? It shows everyone, it always has.”

Another smile. “That is a secret between me and Mr Moony, I’m afraid.”

Harry threw lightning at her with his eyes, or at least he pretended to. But that only made Saturnine chuckle. Learning that Remus had helped eased the pain a little. He was one of the Marauders, after all, and if he’d sanctioned her behaviour, that changed things.

Then, finding his serious again, Harry asked, “You did look into the Horcruxes, though—didn’t you?”

“Yes, the headmaster tasked me with finding them,” she explained. “Since I apparently stood in the way of his Grand Plan or something, it became my responsibility to come up with an alternate solution.”

“And?”

“I’ll tell you this—it’s a long and difficult job. But I have a list of potential items the Dark Lord could have used and a list of potential victims that could have been part of the ritual ceremonies. One of my leads is a serious one, and I’ve been focusing on it a lot lately.”

***

On Christmas morning, Harry awoke bright and early. A glance outside the bay window revealed a fresh layer of snow outside the cottage, and it couldn’t have been more apropos. This was his first Christmas in a real home. The ones at the Dursleys had been very festive, but he’d never been allowed to participate. The last five he had spent at Hogwarts with a handful of other students remaining in the castle for the holidays. Those had been brilliant, and the Christmas banquet the headmaster always insisted upon was divine. But still, it had been that—Christmas at school.

This year, though, it would be different. He would spend the holiday in a proper home with a lit fireplace, with stockings on the mantelpiece—one with a big letter ‘H’ on it and another with a big letter ‘S’. There was a Christmas tree in one corner that they had decorated together a week ago, and Harry knew—he just knew—that despite the Fidelius Charm, all his gifts would be found beneath it when he entered the living room later that day. Saturnine might never reveal how she’d done it, but he was certain that she would have seen to it that he got his presents on time. And that warmed Harry’s heart.

A home, a parent, and a decorated tree—this truly was Christmas.

His hand rose to cup the necklace that he wore beneath his shirt. He never took it off, not even for the shower. The small ‘S’ was a comfortable weight against his chest. And it had inspired him for his gift to Saturnine.

Pushing away the heavy blanket, Harry ambled to the shower room to freshen up. When he reached the living room half an hour later, the smell of freshly-baked gingerbread cookies welcomed him.

Sure enough, he found Saturnine in the kitchen, bent in half over a tray of biscuits she had just pulled out of the oven. Her braided hair was in its traditional plait, and she peered over the cookies as if they were a dangerous artefact to be analysed. One of her onyx eyebrows rose as she peered down more closely. Reaching with two delicate fingers, she flicked a biscuit over to inspect the other side. It must have passed inspection, for she eventually gave it an approving nod before straightening up.

“Morning, lad,” she said with a warm smile when she caught Harry hovering in the kitchen’s entrance. “These will be ready in a few minutes.” She paused. “I think.”

“They smell delicious,” Harry said. The smell was enough to make his mouth water.

“I hope the taste matches,” she said as she flicked her wrist until a plate landed on her waiting palm. She delicately pushed half a dozen cookies on top of the ceramic surface. “I can’t remember when it was that I last baked cookies.”

The sight was so eerie that Harry couldn’t hold back the bubble of laughter that escaped his lungs.

“What?” she asked, placing the plate on the table.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. He could feel his cheeks beginning to tinge.

Saturnine crossed her arms over her chest with the beginning of a pout. “Harry?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Professor,” he admitted at last, “but you look like a mom.” And she did. She had put a navy apron over her green hoodie to make sure her clothes would stay clean, and several fingerprints made of flour could be seen on the blue cotton surface. A few stray hairs had gotten loose from her plait, adding to the overall attitude she gave off. And Harry couldn’t help but think of her as a younger-looking Mrs Weasley.

Saturnine exploded in laughter at his words, and a minute later, he couldn’t help but join in. Sweet Circe, but did it feel good after months of gloom and doom.

“Come here,” Saturnine said at last as she fought to get her breathing in check. She waved at him to get closer, and the instant he was within reach, she pulled him in for a hug. “I’m so glad to have you here with me, Harry. Merry Christmas.”

Harry let himself be pulled willingly into her open arms, not minding the flour and crumbs that would stain his clean jumper. “Merry Christmas, Saturnine,” he muttered as he soaked in her warmth.

“Now,” she said a while later as she pulled him backwards. “Gifts?”

Harry nodded with an eager smile, and they brought the plate of cookies with them as they relocated to the living room. And just as he’d imagined it, he found his presents piled beneath the tall decorated Christmas tree. They’d done one half in Gryffindor red, and the other, in Ravenclaw blue. And Saturnine had charmed an enchanted golden snitch to hover around the green tip.

In the pile of presents, Harry found the traditional Molly Weasley jumpers—blue this year, for both of them. Books from Hermione—for both of them, too. Ron had sent Harry a box of special Christmas edition Every-Flavour Beans. Luna had sent him three wooden cherries tied to a red ribbon—he appreciated the sentiment, although he had no idea what to do with the gift. There were more books from Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, and a box containing half a dozen board games from Remus—who promised, in the adjoining card, that he would drop by shortly and often to give each of them a try.

Aside from her Weasley jumper and the book from Hermione, Saturnine had received a bottle of Meade from the headmaster and a blue scarf the exact colour of her eyes from Remus—‘because anything that is not a baggy hoodie is a good idea,’ read the adjoining card. Though she’d huffed at the words, a warm smile stretched her lips at the kind gesture.

When they were done opening every present, Harry went back to his bedroom to retrieve the one he’d secreted away—the one that was destined for Saturnine. When he returned to the living room, the dark-haired witch had a large Manila envelope that bore his name between her fingers.

Harry held out his gift before she had the time to hand out hers.

“For me?” she asked with a playful smile.

He nodded, feeling his cheeks turning red, despite his better judgement. He’d spend a long time deciding what to get her. And he’d had to dig deep within his Gryffindor courage reserves to go through with his idea. But after the last four months they’d had, he had felt the need to clarify a few things and redefine their relationship. What he’d chosen for her was as much a statement as it was a gift; it was honest and truthful and reflected how he felt. Moreover, it was everything he had never dared say aloud. But in a world where children were killed because of so-called blood purity, and headmasters were sent poisoned Meade, time was in short supply, and things had to be said before it was too late.

Saturnine made quick work of the playful Quidditch-themed wrapping and unveiled a small, plain black rectangular box. When she went to open it, Harry stopped her by raising a hand.

“It—it’s probably unexpected,” he admitted, feeling the need to explain. “But it’s honest and something I have meant to say for a while. I—I wanted you to know.”

A small frown marred Saturnine’s brow, and she slowly pushed the lid open to reveal a simple silver charm bracelet. Several engraved charms had been added to it: six in total. Peering down to inspect them, she saw that they had been etched with runic symbols.

Harry listed each one in turn. “Respected, valued, safe, cared for, cherished, loved.” He paused, then added, his voice faltering, “It—it’s how I feel—when I’m with you. I wanted you to know.”

“It’s a lovely gift, Harry. Truly.” Holding out her left hand and the box, Saturnine waited for him to fasten the bracelet around her wrist.

“You’re not mad?” he asked as he closed the clasp with shaking fingers.

Saturnine reached for his hand with hers the instant he was done. “Why would I be?”

“We never really spoke about this—what we—I don’t even know how to call it.” And it was true. They had never broached the subject, choosing to go with the live and let live approach instead. But that tactic didn’t work for Harry anymore. There was too much nastiness going on in the world. Dumbledore was dying. He, himself, was marked for death, and parts of Voldemort’s soul had been left hanging about, waiting to be found. Harry couldn’t deal with any more uncertainty. He needed Saturnine by his side—needed her reassuring presence, her steady personality and calm attitude. And he needed to know that she cared.

“I know you didn’t want any part of this in the beginning and that Dumbledore somehow made you take me in,” he continued. “But I really wanted you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me and how much I value the moments when it’s just the two of us. I didn’t know how to explain it—I’m not good at those things. But that bracelet seemed like the perfect way to get the point across.”

There was mist in Saturnine’s eyes now, and she had yet to let go of his hand. “I care about you a lot, lad, you know I do. And you’re right that it wasn’t my choice to come here, but I don’t regret for one instant having had the chance to get to know you.” She blinked furiously, and Harry was taken aback to see her so close to tears. “I know I’m not perfect, but I’ve tried very hard to make you feel respected and valued and cared for—and the others, too,” she said, and her voice broke a little at the end. “This truly is a lovely gift, Harry. And I’m glad you feel this way—you deserve to.” Using the hold she still had on his hand, she drew him in for their second hug of the day.

“Thanks,” he murmured in the crook of her shoulder. If home was a feeling, he knew it would be that exact moment—Christmas morning at Cove Cottage, with the smell of gingerbread cookies and pine needles filling the air, the fireplace crackling at their backs, and the loving arms of Saturnine holding him close. It was all the assurance he had needed that he truly was safe and cherished and loved—and the others, too.

“Do you want to know what my gift is?” Saturnine asked softly after a while.

Harry nodded and reluctantly pulled away. The envelope was back in her hands an instant later.

“It’s a bit of an unusual gift, too,” she admitted, and she sounded hesitant. “I wondered how it would be received and almost thought better of it, but—” She glanced down at her bracelet. “Something tells me that this will be okay.”

She handed him the plain tan-coloured Manila envelope, and Harry tore it open. It was a bunch of documents, and he was surprised to see the Ministry of Magic’s crest at the top of the first page. His heart nearly leapt from his chest when he saw the words printed in bold on the white paper. His eyes teared up as he read the subject matter again and again: “Adoption Request Form 22b.”

“I know you already have a mother and a father, Harry. But they’re not here anymore, and you need someone to take care of you,” Saturnine said, tone cautious but earnest. “While I know I’m far from perfect, I am willing to try my best to be the guardian you need—if you’ll have me.”

Harry was too choked up with tears and surprise to reply. So, he just burrowed himself deeper in her chest and hoped that his action got the message across.

“I will fill in my half of those papers now, and I want you to fill in yours,” she continued. “And while we cannot send it to the Ministry just yet, I promise you that I will go there myself to hand it in the instant the situation allows me to.” She paused, and her voice gained in resolve. “But please know that, while the adoption won’t be official just yet, it will be for me. As I hope it will be for you.”

Sitting there in the witch’s strong, yet gentle embrace, inhaling the smell of pine needles and gingerbread cookies in the air, Harry felt everything he’d carved into the small round silver charms that now adorned Saturnine’s wrist bracelet. He felt respected, valued, safe, cared for, and cherished. And most of all, he felt loved.