When Saturnine returned to Hogwarts after the New Year, it was as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Glancing down at the charm bracelet around her wrist—the one piece of jewellery that she would never remove again—she felt a surge of love for Harry. For her son.

While the adoption wouldn’t be official for some time yet, it was already in her heart. And within the privacy of her thoughts, she had taken to referring to the lad as her son. And sometimes, late at night, she wondered if Harry ever thought of her as his mother. And if she would ever hear that word pass his lips. It was the most marvellous of feelings. And part of her wanted to share the happiness she felt with the world. Another meant to keep this precious secret under wraps so it would always be theirs and theirs alone.

Another part of Saturnine wondered what people would say if they knew the truth. A Snape adopting Harry Potter—that one was certain to make the headlines of the Daily Prophet. Not everyone would be happy at this turn of events, she knew. There would be some serious public backlash, but she wasn’t overly worried about that. She had long since learned that the opinions of strangers mattered little to her. The opinions of those close to her, though, was another thing.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Lily and James would have had to say to this. She liked to think that Lily would have understood that she wasn’t trying to take her place. Having never once spoken to Harry’s father, Saturnine was less sure how James would have felt. But Remus had assured her that his old friend would be glad that someone was there to love and care for his son.

That only left one unknown variable in the equation: Severus Snape. And try as she might, Saturnine didn’t have the first clue how her brother would react to the news. Knowing him, it could go either way. He could be curious enough to want to learn how this had come to be, or he could simply declare them both persona non grata, curse them into next week, and storm out in a fury.

***

By mid-February, Saturnine was certain Harry’s instincts had been right. Something awful was going on with Draco Malfoy.

The Slytherin prefect who had returned to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays wasn’t the same as the one who’d left. If Saturnine had thought the young wizard was depressed before, she had no words for his current state. And it wasn’t simply his classes and prefect duties that paid the price of the boy’s lack of interest. Last she’d heard, young Mister Malfoy had bowed out of the Quidditch team.

Last year, she had discreetly observed Draco at Quidditch practice twice. Not only was the boy good, but it had seemed like he was truly enjoying himself, too. Though nothing in the classroom seemed to hold his interest, he had come to life when he mounted his broom. And after a few laps around the pitch done at breakneck speed, a large smile had been plastered across his face.

It pained her to think what might have caused Draco to let go of Quidditch. Had he been ordered to focus his energies elsewhere? Had it to do with whatever nefarious business that kept him occupied in the Room of Requirement, night after night? Saturnine hadn’t needed a magical map to ascertain Draco’s not-so-secret destination when he left the confines of his dorm. A concealment charm or two did the trick, and she followed him about the old castle a couple of times during his nightly pilgrimages to the seventh floor.

As a master of Disillusionment Charms, Saturnine was adept at noticing when other witches and wizards tried pulling the wool over her eyes. It had surprised her, one night, to discover that she wasn’t the only one keeping tabs on young Mister Malfoy’s illicit comings and goings. With an idea of who else might stalk the deserted hallways, she had sought to put her theory to the test.

Hogwarts’ sour Potions Master hadn’t disappointed, and he had predictably swooped in to rescue his godson with his typical intimidating intensity and poise.

Saturnine would never have dared stage such a close quarter interaction with Severus in broad daylight. But she had taken a chance in an unlit corridor, late at night. And she’d been on top of her game, too, shying away from the mean Potions Master as if she were a first-year student caught wandering the hallways after curfew. It didn’t hurt that in so doing, Saturnine moved further away from the corridor’s only light source.

It would take more than mere Invisibility Charms to determine what was going on with Draco, though. But stuck on the sidelines as she was, it would be hard for her to take a more proactive stance. For now, she could only hope that if it got too hard for the boy, he would have the good sense to seek his godfather’s help.

***

Saturnine’s worries for Lucius Malfoy’s son and heir peaked when the boy missed two consecutive days of classes a couple of weeks later. Coincidentally, his Head of House only showed up for lunch on the second day, and he missed all the other five meals. If the headmaster took notice, he didn’t comment on it. But Saturnine had realised that her brother was at his wit’s end. She hadn’t seen that level of tension in him in years. He was wound tighter than a spring, and she could only guess at what had happened to his godson to put him in such a state.

She got her answer when Draco rejoined the world of the living the next day. Though the boy tried to, he couldn’t hide the intermittent tremors coursing through his fingers—signs of a lengthy exposition to the Cruciatus Curse. And if the young Slytherin still bore signs of the curse’s aftereffects after having spent forty-eight hours in the care of the best potioneer she knew, it had been no quick introduction to the Unforgiveable Curse. Draco had been tortured, plain and simple. And Saturnine could think of only one wizard evil enough to want to do that to a child.

The dark-haired witch gave Headmaster Albus Dumbledore a piece of her mind that very evening. It didn’t matter that the boy’s father was a known Death Eater and that Draco’s own loyalties were in question. The young Slytherin wizard was sixteen years old and a student of this school, and as far as she was concerned, they had failed him.

The headmaster hadn’t liked to hear her opinions on Draco Malfoy any more than he had enjoyed hearing the ones she had about Harry Potter. And this discussion, too, ended with the slamming of a door.

***

It was under the cover of darkness that Saturnine and Remus committed their next bout of larceny a couple of days later. Apparating into Knockturn Alley straight from 12 Grimmauld Place, they clung to the shadows of the twisting cobblestoned alleyway like the thieves they were. Skulking around a corner, they cast Disillusionment Charms over themselves as they readied for their next step.

All of their research pointed towards old Salazar’s locket being a Horcrux, and it was high time they started looking for its current location. Saturnine was pretty sure that she knew the necklace’s story by now—from Merope Gaunt to Caractacus Burke, from Borgin and Burkes’ collection to Hepzibah Smith, from the antique collector’s dead fingers to Tom Riddle. She only needed evidence to support her claims and a lead to its current whereabouts.

Moving past the bulging front windows of Borgin and Burkes, silent as ghosts, Remus and Saturnine rounded the building to get to the back door. Though this was one of the least reputable establishments in Knockturn Alley, the wards on the property were much easier to disassemble than those of a Hogwarts Potions professor.

Taking care to muffle their steps, they crept inside, searching for the space where the owners kept their archives. Saturnine doubted it would be in the front section of the shop, between skulls, leering masks and otherwise cursed items. But it was more than likely that there would be a room around the back where they kept their bookkeeping.

It may have been a questionable idea to hope to find any kind of paperwork in an establishment such as this one. But Saturnine was aware of the boutique’s reputation at the Ministry. The Aurors had had their eyes on it since its grand opening in 1863. But to this day, they hadn’t been able to nail the owners down for anything. Borgin and Burkes was a legit business, and its bookkeeping had always been more than adequate—all i’s dotted, all t’s crossed.

Saturnine had no doubts that if they could administer that paperwork Veritaserum, it would reveal a truth or two. But as it stood, the deceit was so cleverly disguised that the Ministry had never been able to pin anything on either Mr Borgin or Mr Burkes’ backs.

“Found it,” Remus murmured from further down the hall.

Though she couldn’t see him, Saturnine followed the sound of his voice to the second-to-last door down the corridor they were in. Inside, she found a large room with serpentine lengths of shelves stacked from ceiling to floor with rows of boxes. Moving closer, she noted each one was impeccably labelled with its content and the year it concerned. Crooks they may be, she thought with a smirk, but they were also orderly to a fault.

“Purchases, 1926,” she told Remus, who ‘mm-hmmed’ in reply.

She went to search for information regarding past employees. In ‘Staff, 1940-1970’, she found the work contract seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle had signed. Attached to the last page was a manuscript note reporting that the shop assistant had abruptly deserted his position without giving due notice of resignation. She used a spell to duplicate both items before placing the originals back in the box.

She was about to open ‘Sales, 1961’ when the loud meowing of a cat made her freeze on the spot. It started softly enough, but three cries in, the noise turned into a right yowling. Moving towards the sound, Saturnine found a beastly-looking cat with shaggy dark-grey fur and yellow eyes. It was standing guard at the entrance of the room. Though the witch was still invisible to the naked eye, the mangy thing hissed at her.

“Time to go,” Remus said from close behind her.

At the werewolf’s arrival, the cat growled, even as the hair on its back stood on end. She wondered if it could smell the lycanthropic stain on Remus’ skin.

Saturnine debated momentarily paralysing the annoying feline, but the sound of footsteps echoing somewhere above her head told her it was too late.

“We’re leaving—now!” She started forward, sidestepping the cat who’d gone back to yowling like it was the end of the world.

The sound of reverberating footsteps was approaching, and soon enough, the entire corridor was bathed in a harsh white light. Saturnine started running, giving up on discretion in favour of speed. She was almost at the back door when a spell zinged past her left ear. It missed her by an inch, and she crouched as she barrelled forward, her long legs stomping hard on the hardwood floor. She prayed Remus was following and tried listening for his footsteps as she made it past the door and into the dark alleyway.

“Thief!” a loud voice bellowed behind them, “Thief!” The cries echoed off the cobblestones and disturbed the peaceful night.

Another jet of light flew past Saturnine, and she veered to the left as she ran down the alleyway. Though she was still invisible, the dark-haired witch chose not to run in a straight line. She zigzagged left and right all the way to Diagon Alley’s embranchment. Pushing forward until she saw the familiar columned entrance of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, she was relieved when the only other disturbance in the night was the thumping of Remus’ shoes on the cobblestones and his heavy panting.

There hadn’t been anymore spells thrown at them since they had entered Diagon Alley, and Saturnine suspected that whoever their pursuer was, he’d given up the chase. She took a sharp turn into a smaller street and kept running. It was only because of Remus’ pained, “Saturnine—need to—stop,” that she slowed down.

She stopped by a bookstore and used the light from its front window to search for her friend. She could tell he was close, but he was still invisible to her. “Finite Incantatem,” she murmured, accompanying the words with a flick of her wand, and both Disillusionment Charms lifted.

Remus was hunched in two, three feet to her left. He was panting as if he’d just run a mile—which he had. She was about to make a joke about getting in better shape when her friend straightened back up, and she caught sight of the blood on his fingers.

“Remus,” she said, hurrying forward. She pushed his hands away and discovered he’d been wounded on his left side. Whichever curse had gotten to him, he was bleeding profusely. He hissed when she tried to assess the wound.

“Time and place—Saturnine,” he said in a panting voice. “Much as I appreciate your—concern, perhaps we should—head back?”

Looking around and reminding herself of where she was, the dark-haired witch realised he was right. Taking a step closer, she grabbed a tight hold of his forearm to Apparate them both back to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was wide, and she had better close it before her friend lost enough blood to warrant a trip to St. Mungo’s. Thankfully, the Order of the Phoenix’s headquarter was stacked to the roof with medicinal Potions and equipment. They had a room set aside just for that, equipped with a hospital bed and the fittings one would find in a cheap countryside clinic.

Saturnine was quick to get to work. She helped Remus shrug out of the black woollen jumper he’d been wearing before he leaned down on the sturdy medical bed. The old townhouse was predictably empty, save for one cantankerous house-elf, but Kreacher knew better than to bother them. And Saturnine did not need the pesky creature’s help. A few years back, she had rented a room at a Mediwitch’s place and sometimes helped her out with patients. She had seen her heal wounds worse than this one and felt confident she could replicate her actions.

“So, how are things going with Tonks?” Saturnine asked conversationally as she poured a little water on Remus’ wound to wash away the blood.

“Don’t,” Remus warned her, shivering lightly.

The temperature wasn’t cold; so, she figured it came from the blood loss rather than the fact he was shirtless. Glancing around, she spied a heavy blanket. Once she finished cleaning his wound, she placed it over the man’s legs and uninjured side. Then, returning to her task, she opened a phial of essence of Dittany. She poured a generous amount over the wound, wincing in sympathy with Remus when it touched his bleeding flesh.

“So, it’s all right for you to pry your nose into my relationships, but it isn’t for me to return the favour?” she demanded, closing the phial and placing it back on the nearest flat surface—a small trolley with plastic wheels. Leaning down, she inspected the wound closely to ensure it was free of dirt, tissue fibres, and other foreign objects. Satisfied, she moved to a nearby shelf to pick up a jar filled with a type of strong cicatrising paste she was familiar with. The spidery scrawl on the label left little doubt as to which Potions Master had prepared it.

Returning to Remus, Saturnine covered the wound with a thick layer of the green, gelatinous substance and watched as it magically solidified. It would help kick-start the cicatrisation process while ensuring no infection would occur.

As she worked, Saturnine kept the chatter up. In situations like these, any discussions were an excellent distraction from the pain—even unwanted ones. “You appear to like her.”

“I do,” Remus admitted, apparently resigned to participate in the conversation. “She’s got a kind soul.”

“She seems to like you, too,” the dark-haired witch pointed out as she cleaned her hands. After drying her fingers, she grabbed some gauze and set about carefully covering the solidified paste.

“She does,” Remus admitted with a sigh. “For some reason.”

“Good news all around,” she said, bandaging the man’s chest. “I say, go for it.”

The werewolf growled low, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of her ministration or her words. She pulled the blanket firmly over him and tucked the sides around his frame. Then, checking how much time had passed since the last dose, she uncorked another phial of Blood Replenisher, noting as she did that this, too, had been brewed by her brother’s expert hands.

“It isn’t for me,” Remus said after swallowing down the foul substance. “I tried telling her, but she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Saturnine demanded. “Is it the potions talking?”

“You know what I mean.” Remus shook his head slightly, blinking owlishly. He was getting drowsy fast. “You know what I am.”

“Yes, I do.” She reached for a stool and sat down next to his torso. “And so does Tonks. And she’s still there, isn’t she?”

“That’s not—”

“Hush,” she said, placing two fingers on the stubborn wizard’s lips to stop him. Leaning down, she caught his heavy-lidded gaze. The time for restorative sleep wasn’t far ahead, but Saturnine was determined to finish their discussion first.

“My dear Remus, you know that if things had been different, you and I…” She willingly let the words hang. “I would have been happy to build a life with you. You’re a wonderful person and friend—and I always thought so. I’m pretty sure Tonks sees it, too.”

“It would never work; I could hurt her,” he said, looking pained despite the large dose of analgesic he had swallowed upon his arrival at 12 Grimmauld Place. “And what if she wants a family? I cannot even give her that.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never hurt anyone. You are the most careful werewolf I know. Besides, you have the potion now; there’s almost no risks anymore,” Saturnine reassured him, running her fingers through his sandy hair. “And you wouldn’t be the first werewolf to father a child.”

“But the risks…” Remus insisted, his words closer to a moan than an actual sentence.

“I know the odds. But you and Tonks could be amongst the lucky ones.”

“I can’t condemn a child, least of all mine, to the life I’ve had,” he said, eyes brimming with tears.

Saturnine felt a few of her own burn behind her eyelids when she thought of how much Remus had already suffered because of his affliction. His lycanthropy had already taken so much from him—would it also steal his chance at happiness?

“You should still give this relationship a chance, Remus.” She caressed his cheek tenderly. “You deserve to be happy.”

The werewolf said nothing. His eyelids were battling sleep and losing ground fast.

“I just want you to be happy,” Saturnine said again, leaning down to kiss his brow. Their gazes met for one last intense moment before sleep took over the wounded wizard.

Saturnine let out a deep wary sigh before rolling her tensed shoulders. She was in for a long, uncomfortable night, she knew. But there was no way she would leave her injured friend’s side.