Harry returned to the park the next day and the day after. For what, he couldn’t be sure. Did he hope to meet his mysterious stranger again? Or was it only that it was a comfortable place to while away the days.

September 1st was nine more weeks away, and Harry wasn’t sure to be able to make it. In truth, it looked less and less likely the more time passed. He felt as dead as Sirius was, as if he’d fallen through a veil of his own: a magical portal that had sucked the breath out of the marrow of his life and dimmed the colours of the world, dulling his senses to the point where only a hazy fog remained.

To say that he felt numb to the world around him was an understatement. Harry had stopped feeling like a human being at some point and gone straight into walking corpse territory. He kept going through the motions because he had to, but he’d stopped exerting his will to do so long ago. He felt like little more than a wraith and knew plenty of ghosts livelier than he was. Some hero he was. Oh, how low the Boy Who Lived had sunken. What would readers of the Daily Prophet say if they knew what had become of their precious ‘Chosen One’?

His morose thoughts followed him like a second shadow throughout the day and, as he returned to 4 Privet Drive at sunset, they followed him inside the house. Harry was just in time to prepare the supper that Uncle Vernon insisted upon eating the instant he was done watching the evening news. Crossing through the living room, the young wizard was surprised not to hear the babble of the television in the background. It took him longer than it should have to notice something was wrong, and it was only when he took in the aligned straight backs of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley that he realised today wasn’t a normal Sunday.

He was forced to walk past the three of them to see what had them so captivated. Someone else was in the living room with them. A particular someone that was currently occupying Uncle Vernon’s spot on the sofa, looking perfectly at ease despite what was a very tense situation.

It was the woman from the park—Leen, Harry’s brain supplied at last. Tonight, she was dressed in a similar pair of jeans and had exchanged her navy hoodie for a burgundy one. A familiar plait of dark-brown hair hung over one of her shoulders, stopping a little way above the arms she’d crossed over her chest. There was no smile on her lips tonight, only grim determination.

As he stepped closer, the coffee table revealed more of her feet, and Harry noted that her left leather boot was resting over the top of a school trunk—his school trunk. And that wasn’t even the weirdest thing about the strange tableau that the Dursleys’ living room had become. A finely carved piece of wood rested above Leen’s bent knee. Twelve inches and acorn by the look of it—a witch’s wand.

An ingrained reflex had Harry reaching out for his own wand before he had the time to remember that it was the summer holidays and that he didn’t have it with him. His was somewhere in his school trunk, along with every other magic-related item the Dursleys banned him from using while he stayed under their roof.

“What’s going on?” he asked, stopping where he stood. In his head, he was calculating possible means of egress, trying to discern if he was closer to the front door, or if he’d better try and make it to the back door that was at the end of the kitchen.

“Evening, Harry,” Leen said, turning a smile to him that was a far cry from the sour look she’d been regarding the Dursleys with. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

It was a testament to how badly off his rocker he was that he hadn’t noticed how silent and unmoving the Dursleys were. The fact that Uncle Vernon managed to keep silent while a witch sat on his sofa should have been his first clue. How perfectly still and straight-backed his family had remained since he’d walked in should have been number two. Add to that the actual way they stood, aligned next to each other, their backs as rigid as if they’d been carved in marble…

“What have you done to them?” Harry asked, forgetting his own safety to take a step forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Dursleys’ faces now. The unnaturally taut features left little to the imagination, as did the drops of perspiration pearling on their brows and the silent tears streaming down Dudley and Petunia’s faces. They’d been stunned into immobility and arranged in a straight line by a wizard’s hand.

“Don’t worry, they’re unharmed.” Leen stood up, uncoiling her long limbs with an agility that betrayed an athletic body. “I merely grew weary of their constant complaining.”

A pair of heavy footsteps bounded down the staircase, and the familiar figure of Remus Lupin entered the living room; he held Hedwig’s cage in one hand and his wand in the other. The snow owl peeked through the bars with undisguised interest, for it had, after all, being a long time since she’d been allowed downstairs.

“Harry!” the werewolf said, a smile stretching out his tired lips. “Home at last.”

“Remus?” Harry was torn between running towards him and running for safety. Before, he’d been tricked by wizards pretending to be who they weren’t. Merlin knew that he could brew the damn Polyjuice Potion himself if he needed to. “Is it really you?” he asked, needing to be sure. It couldn’t be—it had to be a trick; Harry couldn’t be so lucky that his former professor and parents’ last remaining friend had come to rescue him from the Dursleys.

The sandy-haired wizard seemed to understand the boy’s uneasiness, and he stopped where he stood, cage still in hand. After a pause, he said, “I’m quite certain that within that trunk of yours is a map that only works for those who are…up to no good.”

The carefully-worded allusion to the Marauder’s Map that Harry had inherited from his father was more than enough to convince him that this truly was Remus Lupin, and Harry forgot everything about his fear, the Dursleys, and the strange woman that remained rooted by the leather sofa. He rushed forward, throwing himself at the man’s chest as if he were eleven rather than fifteen years old.

The elder man gladly welcomed him, moving Hedwig’s cage out of the way and wrapping a comforting arm around his back while Harry buried his head in his tweed-covered shoulder. There was no need for words between the two—Harry wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone dear that night at the Ministry. Sirius had been Remus’ best friend, and now, the werewolf was the last of the four Marauders still alive.

“I hate to interrupt,” came Leen’s voice from their left, “but I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome enough as it is.”

“Of course, ’Nine,” Remus acquiesced, without letting go of the boy. “Harry, we fit everything we could find in your room into your school trunk, and I’ve got Hedwig right here. Is there anything else you need to take with you?”

Harry shook his head; he owned so few things that it wasn’t hard to trust they’d got everything. And even if they didn’t, he held nothing dear enough to make him want to miss what looked like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to leave Surrey behind. He didn’t even stop to ask where they were going. Wherever it was, he couldn’t care less. So long as that place wasn’t the Dursleys, he would be fine.

And then his brain caught up with him. Anywhere else would be fine—but one place.

“Remus,” he whispered, more than asked. “We’re not going to—you know.” He couldn’t even say the name of Sirius’ home aloud, he realised. He’d never really liked 12 Grimmauld Place; that house always gave him the creeps. But his godfather had lived there, and Harry had loved his godfather, so, he’d easily overlooked his uneasiness. Now that Sirius was gone, he wasn’t sure if he could ever go back. The man’s presence would be everywhere; he’d see him in every room, like a ghost that his memories had conjured up.

Remus’ arm tightened around him. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’re not going anywhere near London.”

Relief seeped into him as Leen gave them a nod that had the werewolf gripping Harry’s forearm in his hand. “Hold on tight,” he instructed, and Harry felt a familiar tug behind his navel as he Apparated away.

Their trip ended in a desolate plot of land near the ocean. Looking to his left, Harry was surprised to find himself near the top of a very high cliff that looked much like pictures he’d seen of southern Cornwall when he was a kid. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, drawing crimson lines in the sky that mingled with the blue of the ocean, which spread further than the eye could see.

“Like the view?” Remus asked as he let go of Harry.

He nodded. “Where are we?”

“Cornwall,” he answered. “Not that far from a place called Land’s End. But you don’t want to be going that way—it’s a pretty touristic spot. Unless you’re really craving some Cornish pasties.”

Harry nodded, committing the strange name to memory. “What are we doing here?”

In reply, Remus fished out a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket before handing it to Harry. It contained only a single line of text, written in what was undoubtedly Albus Dumbledore’s hand.

“Cove Cottage can be found at the end of Sennen Path, Cornwall.”

The instant Harry’s eyes finished taking in the words, a cottage shook itself into existence in front of him. It wiggled itself out of the ground like a mole who’d just decided to peek out of its hole. The small building even shook itself out a little as it finished settling on the flat, desolate surface by the cliff.

The walls were built out of light-grey stone bricks and covered with a slated roof of the same colour. Several windows made out of white-painted wood and clear glass afforded the boy a peek inside what looked like the cosiest home he’d ever laid eyes upon. “We’re staying here?” he asked, unable to keep the mirth that bubbled inside of him from seeping into his words.

Remus nodded as he made for the door. “You are,” he confirmed, waving his wand left and right in a complicated set of motions to lower the protective wards to allow them inside.

The living room within Cove Cottage was as cosy as Harry had imagined it. A well-worn brown leather sofa faced a stone-edged fireplace. Between the two stood a low, wooden coffee table and, next to it, a matching leather armchair. On the left, next to a row of shelves filled to the brim with books, stood an opened door that led to the kitchen. Harry could only get a glimpse of it, but it was enough to see that it overlooked the oceanfront; the crimson hues of the setting sun that tinged the old floorboards were a dead giveaway. On the opposite side of the room stood an unlit corridor that Harry guessed led to the bedrooms.

Remus moved to open a window before letting Hedwig out of her cage. An instant later, the snow owl was off in a flutter of white wings. “’Nine will show you about tomorrow,” he explained before setting the empty cage on the floor by the shelves.

“You’re not staying?” Harry whirled on him, surprise evident on his face and in his tone.

Something akin to chagrin and shame filtered across the older man’s face for an instant before he sighed. “The moon is rather full, Harry. I’d rather not risk it.”

Of course, thought Harry, the full moon’s only two days away. He could have smacked himself at his lack of tact. He’d known that—of course he’d known that. Ever since befriending the man and discovering his secret some three years ago, Harry had made a point of always knowing when the celestial body was full. It didn’t matter that Remus had all but slipped out of his life by now, his constant reminding himself of the phases of the moon was like a secret connection he’d kept to him. How could he have forgotten it was next week?

He was saved from having to apologise by the arrival of his school trunk and the mysterious woman who carried it. She’d chosen to use a Levitating Charm to avoid having to lug it about, and she set it by the sofa with a flick of her wand. Another sharp move of her wrist set the fire alight in the fireplace, while a wiggle of her fingers turned on the lights.

Harry was amazed she’d done all of that without uttering a single word. He was pants at nonverbal magic, but all three spells had seemed effortless to the witch, who now stood awkwardly with her hands in her jean pockets at the other end of the living room. She seemed unsure what to do with herself now that all her tasks were accomplished.

Remus stepped forward to make the introductions. “Harry, this is an old friend of mine, Saturnine. She’ll be keeping an eye on you for the rest of the summer.”

“Hello, again,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I best be going, ’Nine,” Remus continued. “Unless you need me for something?”

“I should be able to keep a teenage boy alive through the night, Remus,” she replied. “Despite what some think.”

“You did admit that children weren’t your cup of tea,” the sandy-haired man teased her.

“Yes—children, plural.” She sighed. “I should be able to handle just the one.”

“It’ll be good practice, for you,” he assured her as he headed for the door, turning to give Harry one last friendly smile. “Be good, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I will.” The boy nodded. “Good night, Remus.”

The dark-haired witch echoed his goodbye, and he was gone, leaving the two strangers looking at each other from either end of the living room.