Harry waited as Saturnine deliberated for a moment before deciding what to do next.

“Right,” the witch said abruptly, springing into action. “The bedroom’s that way.” She pointed to the corridor Harry had seen before. Taking the lead, she walked briskly towards the first door on the right. She pushed it open, then stepped aside so that Harry could be the first to walk in.

“Your room for the rest of the summer,” she explained as he entered the room and waited eagerly.

With a flick of her fingers, the overhead lamp flooded the room with light, revealing a rectangular-shaped bedroom much larger than the one Harry had grudgingly been allowed to use at the Dursleys’. A comfortable-looking queen-sized bed stood on the right, complete with a white-painted wooden bedside table. Harry discovered a small wooden desk with a chair and a plain, white door on the opposite side. The room’s best feature was the large bay window that faced him; it was open a crack, and Harry could smell the ocean wafting in, carried in over the breeze.

“The door leads to a small shower room,” Saturnine indicated as she followed his gaze.

Not only a large room but an en-suite—with its own shower, just for him. Harry couldn’t believe his luck; this was even better than the Hogwarts dorms. He’d never had such a spacious place to himself before.

“The decor’s a little sparse. I’m sorry—we haven’t had the time to prepare the cottage for your arrival, but there are some books in the living room.”

“It’s fine,” Harry whispered, not risking putting more strength in his voice through fear that it would break under the intense wave of emotion he felt. “I get to stay here? All summer?” Forced seclusion had never looked more inviting.

Saturnine nodded from where she stood leaning against the doorjamb. “Yes, that’s what Dumbledore and I agreed on.”

She couldn’t have given him a better answer. If the headmaster knew and approved of this, then it was really happening—no more 4 Privet Drive for him. And the woman was a witch; so, maybe he could be allowed to work on his summer homework for once—and she’d said something about there being books, too.

“Feel free to do with this room as you please—but keep it tidy,” she instructed. “I don’t want to see a pile of dirty socks and filthy underwear every time I walk in.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

“You can start to unpack, or take a shower if you’d like, while I prepare dinner. It should be ready in about half an hour.”

With that, she was gone, and Harry looked about the room once more in amazement. He was half-tempted to pinch himself to check that he wasn’t dreaming, but he fought the impulse. If he was dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up.

***

Saturnine’s thoughts were racing, and she welcomed the distraction that cooking a proper meal for two provided her. She rarely bothered when she was on her own, preferring to fix herself a quick sandwich that was more of a pile of whatever edible stuff was left in her pantry than anything else. But tonight, she chose to go through the motions of preparing a salad and a dish with proteins and vegetables. If she was to be trusted with the task of looking after a growing teenager, a full belly on the daily was the way to go.

Harry Potter, Dumbledore’s poster boy, was nothing like what she had imagined. So far, she’d only known him through word-of-mouth and a series of articles in the Daily Prophet—and everyone knew how unreliable that rag was. So, she had been unprepared for the fragile husk of a boy she met at the park when she decided it was time she formed her own impression of the Chosen One. The poor boy had looked as if the merest of blows could have shattered him; he was falling apart—fraying at the seams.

A closer inspection—under an Invisibility Charm—had confirmed her suspicions and told her everything she needed to know about the Dursleys’ unique brand of care for the boy—or lack thereof. She hadn’t minced her words when she had headed to 12 Grimmauld Place the next day to give the headmaster a piece of her mind. Her displeasure had given way to utter dismay when she realised that the older man knew—or at least suspected—that the Muggles treated him in a way that was not even remotely adequate. She’d had a more difficult time keeping her temper in check from that point forward, and there probably lay the explanation for the debacle that followed.

Saturnine had only sought to right a wrong and ensure the boy’s safety—nothing more. But Dumbledore, being who he was, somehow turned things around to suit his own schemes, and she found herself roped into accepting the role of caretaker to one Harry Potter, prophesied saviour of the Wizarding World.

The fact that she had no idea how to care for a teenager seemed no cause of concern to the old codger. And that she knew even less about how to help a grieving boy who’d just lost the only loving relative he’d ever had flew right by the man’s pointy hat. It had been just like when she complained that she was not fit to teach anything to a bunch of unruly scholars, much less something as complex and demanding as Defence Against the Dark Arts. Or the fact that she would rather cut her wand-hand than join the old fool’s merry band of do-gooders, which called themselves the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore hadn’t heard her then, and he hadn’t heard her now. And really, she should have known that once the man got an idea in his head, it was easier to have a conversation with the giant squid in the lake than to get him to change his mind.

“Meddling old coot,” she muttered under her breath, as she flipped the steaks she was cooking onto their other sides. If only I weren’t in such a pinch.

Loner that she was, she was full of shortcomings and had zero experience whatsoever in raising anyone. How was she supposed to know what to do? As if having to take over the Defence of the Dark Arts in September wasn’t frightening enough as it was…

It was a good thing she’d thought of bringing Remus along to get the boy. She would never have managed to persuade Harry to come with her otherwise. Fear had been easy to read on his young face as he’d entered the living room, and it was only when his former teacher joined them that he started to relax. Of course, stunning the boy’s relatives might not have been the best way to go about it—but there was a limit to what Saturnine could put up with, and she always did hate Petunia Evans.

“It’s a nice house,” Harry said as he crept into the kitchen.

Saturnine hadn’t heard him approach over the sound of sizzling meat and boiling vegetables, and she was thankful for his decision to make his presence known with an innocuous comment.

“It’s Dumbledore’s,” she explained as she reached for the salt and then the pepper. Unsure what the boy liked, she decided to be sparse with both. Harry could always add some later if he found his meat tasteless. “He maintains several safe-houses like this one throughout the country.”

“Oh,” the boy said, and the sound came from much closer than his previous comment.

Saturnine turned to find him hovering uncertainly two feet away from her. “Why don’t you try and find the plates and cutlery and set the table?” she asked. “If you don’t mind, of course. I’m almost done here.”

Harry nodded eagerly, and he started opening cupboards at random to locate the various items he was looking for.

Supper was ready less than five minutes later, and the word ‘ravenous’ crossed Saturnine’s mind as she watched Harry dive into his food. Either she was a much better cook than she gave herself credit for, or it had been a while since the boy had had decent food on his plate. Going by how skinny he seemed underneath his baggy clothes, she leaned towards the latter.

“I hope the food’s okay,” she said, testing the waters. “I’m a bit rusty.”

“It’s delicious,” the boy muttered over a forkful of carrots and haricots. “Thanks a lot.”

Her palate, and the eagerness of the boy’s thanks, confirmed her suspicions. Blasted Petunia Evans, she thought. Should have used a Jelly Legs Curse on her or something before I stunned her.

“You don’t really work for the Treasury, do you?” Harry asked once he’d polished two-thirds of his plate.

Saturnine chuckled between two sips of water. “No, I don’t. I’m—in-between jobs at the moment.”

“You really had me believing you were a Muggle, though,” Harry continued as he speared the last of his carrots with his fork.

“Raised as one,” was the only explanation Saturnine was willing to provide him with. And her tone was enough that Harry understood it was better to drop that line of questioning.

“Well, thanks for, uh—” he paused, seemingly lost for words, “—taking me in, I suppose. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

Whatever misgivings Saturnine had about the situation, she fought not to let any of her self-doubt show on her face or in her voice as she replied, “None at all.” Grown-ups’ problems were just that, and this boy had enough on his plate as it was. She’d do her best to make him feel welcome and try and ease the pressure off him. “As I said, I’m in-between jobs, so, it’s no bother at all.”

In an attempt to smoothen the road for the bumps she knew were bound to arise along the way, she decided to be honest about the situation they found themselves in. “I hope I’ll be adequate for it, though. I’ve never had a child in my care before, so, you’ll have to be lenient with me. I know you’re almost sixteen, and you don’t need me to baby you every second of each day. So, I’ll give you a wide berth. I do have some ground rules for you to follow—nothing extravagant, mind you—but I’ll be very displeased if you break them. And you wouldn’t like me much then.”

Harry nodded as he brought the last bit of steak to his mouth.

“A clean room, as I’ve said before. No leaving the house without my permission. No going to bed at an ungodly hour. No foul language, and I require respectful behaviour at all times.” She paused to see if she could think up any more rules. “That ought to do it for now,” she said eventually. “I’ll let you know if I think of something else.”

Harry finished chewing the meat before saying, “Fine by me, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that.” She shook her head. “My name’s Saturnine, though my closest friends call me ’Nine sometimes, as you probably noticed earlier.”

“Not ‘Leen’, then?” Harry asked, with something that was but a barely veiled smirk.

“Eileen’s my middle name,” she explained. “I use it—or a variant thereof—when there’s a need for discretion, or if I’m dealing with Muggles.” She chuckled. “For some reason, they seem to think Saturnine’s an odd name.”

She was glad when the boy didn’t point out that she’d given him both her first and middle names but had yet to reveal her family name. Either he was too afraid to ask, or he was used to only being given a little information at a time—and wasn’t that Dumbledore’s favourite modus operandi?

“Summer homework?” she asked, to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “Have you done it yet?”

The boy lowered his eyes as he shook his head, and Saturnine sensed Petunia’s hand in the situation yet again. Everything that had to do with Hogwarts had been hidden away at the bottom of Harry’s school trunk, and his room couldn’t have looked more Muggle if he’d tried. She knew Harry’s despicable aunt had hated magic as a child; a shortcoming she probably still had to outgrow.

“Get working on it tomorrow,” she continued. “I will be checking on your progress and the quality of what you write.” She paused, thinking up another rule. “I might give you some additional homework to do, once you’re done—if I think you need it.”

The smile Harry gave her in return for her request might have been more at home on the face of a child who’d been promised a bag of sweets than on one who’d been sentenced to an extra helping of homework.

“I will also see that you start school in good shape. That means regular meals and daily physical exercise.” Both requests seemed to be equally well-received, and she continued, “You’re on the Quidditch team, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, Saturnine,” he quickly amended. “Seeker, for Gryffindor.”

“Then flying practice as well, I suppose,” she said, thinking about how she could further expand the reach of the wards so that the boy could go for a few laps around the cottage. “Would twice a week and once on the weekend be enough for you?”

The smile that split Harry’s face from ear-to-ear was a sight to behold. “You’ll let me fly?”

“Of course,” she replied, taken aback. “What kind of monster do you take me for? I told you I’d give you a wide berth, didn’t I? Just give me a few days to tweak the wards enough to allow you some room to fly about the house.”

“That’s brilliant, Saturnine,” Harry said, still grinning. He’d had no trouble using her first name this time. “Thanks.”