Saturnine made good on her promise, and two days after settling in Cove Cottage, Harry was allowed to un-shrink his Firebolt and take it out for a spin. Flying was the one thing he missed the most during his summers with the Dursleys, and he couldn’t believe his luck when Saturnine told him he could fly twice a week, and once more on the weekends. That was almost more flying than he got at Hogwarts.

The witch had extended the wards to reach the edge of the cliff on one side and stretch out for fifty yards in every other direction, and he could fly some thirty feet up throughout the protected zone. That wasn’t as wide as the Quidditch pitch on which he was used to training, but it was more than enough to split through the air and to practice his loops, twists, and turns.

For once, Harry wouldn’t return to Hogwarts out of practice, needing two weeks of intense training to return to his usual level of flying. To say that he was elated was the understatement of the century.

Saturnine had kept her other promises, too, and, aside from making sure he showed up on time for the meals she prepared, she gave him the space she had promised him. Harry had finished his Herbology assignment and gotten a head start on the complicated essay Professor Flitwick had assigned for Charms. He had yet to look at the cottage’s collection of books, having decided to finish his homework first. For once, Harry had the time to complete each essay at his leisure, and he had decided those would be the best they could be. Of course, he knew his very best would not be enough for his demanding Potions professor, but Harry nursed the secret hope of scoring something other than a Troll on his summer assignment for once.

Remus Lupin hadn’t returned to the cottage yet, but Saturnine had assured him that he’d be back as soon as he could. Her tone had been enough for him to understand it to mean that Remus would return as soon he was done feeling the excruciating aftereffects of surviving a full moon.

The change in setting and fresh sea air did wonders to boost Harry’s morale, and he found himself capable of sleeping a few hours each night. Of course, the nightmare still haunted him, but now that the wrath of Uncle Vernon’s rage no longer loomed over him, and he was allowed to use his wand, a simple Silencing Charm cast over his bedroom had solved that particular problem.

A dimmer, darker part of his soul couldn’t keep from wondering if that wasn’t the calm before the storm—a short respite given to him to lull him into a false sense of safety. The war wasn’t over, and Harry knew that more blood would be shed before it ended. And thus, he didn’t let himself relax too much. Try as he might, a part of him held onto the grief and despair he’d become comfortable with. That way, it couldn’t surprise him anymore. If he kept it buried deep inside him, the pain couldn’t sneak up on him—attack him unaware—ever again.

***

“Have you finished your Defence homework?” Saturnine asked over a plate of spaghetti topped with the most delicious tomato sauce Harry had ever tasted. It was clearly homemade—not something that came out of a Tesco tin can.

“Don’t have one,” he answered honestly, sprinkling parmesan over his plate.

One of Saturnine’s dark-brown eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

“We weren’t given any by our latest, er—” he paused, reluctant to call Dolores Umbridge professor, “—well, the person who was in charge of that class.”

“Hmm, yes. There was quite a disparity in the level of teaching for that class over the years, wasn’t there?”

Harry nodded as he twisted a small mound of pasta around his fork. “That’s one way of putting it. I wonder who we’ll be getting next.”

Saturnine had to admit he had a point. Between the appointments of Dolores Umbridge and Gilderoy Lockhart, the bar had been set pretty low. “Remus was the best, I gather.”

The boy gave her a bright smile despite the mouthful of spaghetti he was chewing on. He waited until he’d swallowed the lot to add, “He was brilliant. Everyone liked him, and we all wished he could have stayed. If only Professor Snape hadn’t told on him—he’s a right git,” he muttered darkly before taking a sip of water.

“Harry,” Saturnine cautioned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in his glass—a half-heartened apology if she’d ever heard one.

“As a member of the faculty, Professor Snape deserves your respect, Harry. Regardless of what you think of him.”

“You sound just like my friend Hermione, you know. But you’re right.” He sighed. “He’s still a git, though.”

“Potions is a trying subject where the smallest of distractions can lead to very dangerous accidents. It’s a class where students must be well-behaved—it’s a matter of safety. Your professor doesn’t have a choice but to be demanding and strict.”

A long crease appeared between Harry’s brows at her words. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

Saturnine let one of her eyebrows raise in question to see if he would elaborate. She was curious to hear what the boy had to tell her about Severus Snape, but she didn’t want to make it that obvious to him.

“Demanding and strict, I could understand,” Harry said, “but that man hates the sight of me. More time than not, he finds excuses to not even grade my potions. Merlin knows that he’d fail me on principle if he could get away with it.” Harry’s tone had risen, and he all but shouted his next words, making Saturnine wonder how long he’d kept his pent-up anger bottled up inside. “He’s as biased as they come, only Slytherin students stand a chance in his class. The rest of us aren’t even worthy of his time—except for detentions, of course. He’s always got time to have us scrub his bloody cauldrons. Git’s far too kind a word for a man like Snape.”

That wasn’t the kind of explanation Saturnine had been hoping for. Severus Snape’s reputation had long since seeped out of the confines of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Harry’s description of the Potions Master made her insides churn. Biased, hateful—those words were hard to reconcile with the quiet, reserved young man she once knew.

Something of her internal struggle must have shown on her face for Harry hastily amended his words. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I know he’s a teacher, and I shouldn’t talk like that. It’s just—Professor Snape and I—we really don’t get along. He’s got a bad history with my father, and he takes it out on me.”

“It’s okay, Harry. Thanks for your honesty.” Saturnine forced the beginning of a smile on her lips. “I’ll look over your Potions essay once you’re done if you want. Make sure it’s the best it can be.”

The smile was back on the boy’s lips. “That’d be brilliant.”

“Now—about Defence, would you be partial to some homework that would assist me?”

An eager nod. “Once I’m done with everything else, sure. What did you have in mind?”

“A list of everything you’ve learned so far so that I know what the previous teachers failed to cover.” She already had received a copy of Remus’ syllabus, but she had yet to figure out what the other teachers had covered. Knowing Umbridge, it had probably been something Ministry-issued and incredibly dull, and she wouldn’t put it past Lockhart to have used his own books as reading material. But that left her in the dark regarding the subjects the other teachers had taught.

Ever since she’d been roped into taking over the class, she’d been making a list of everything she could remember from the lessons she had taken as a child, supplementing it with elements she’d learned about since, ones that she felt were relevant. If she could compare her list with Harry’s, that would give her a good starting point to complete her course plans.

“If you could break it down by school year, that’d be even better,” she added as an afterthought.

Harry’s fork stopped mid-way between his plate and mouth, and he gaped at her with eyes that were as round as his glasses. “Why do you need to—you’re the new—I mean, are you—Defence?”

“Was there a proper question in there?” Saturnine chuckled. “Yes, I’m to be your new teacher—apparently.”

“That’s brilliant. I’m sure you’ll be fantastic, Saturnine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Harry, but you should kerb your enthusiasm. I’m hardly qualified for the job.”

“The headmaster forced your hand?” At her nod, he added, “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

Deciding on honesty once again, she explained, “I’ve worked for the Aurors for the past seven years, so, I know a thing or two about defending myself against the Dark Arts. But I’ve never taught anything to anyone in my life—much less children.”

Harry took the time to ponder her reply, and his answer carried the same honesty that her words had. “You said the same thing about having to look after me for the summer. I’ve yet to starve or mortally wound myself, so, I think you’re more resourceful than you give yourself credit for.” He paused, seemingly unsure if he should say more, or not. “You’ve been doing right by me so far, Saturnine. Honest. Keep that up in class, and you’ll be fine.”

What was the saying, ‘out of the mouth of babes’? Did it also hold true for teenagers? she wondered. Well, she knew the type of professor she didn’t want to be—the words ‘biased’ and ‘hateful’ drifted back to her—now all she had to figure out was who she did want to be. Caring for Harry had been easy. He was respectful, followed her ground rules to the letter, and he never asked her for anything. So, they’d fallen into a simple routine where the most requested from her were daily meals and the occasional homework pointer. Surely classes full of students would be a tad more demanding.

Setting her finished plate aside, she leaned forward a little. Their discussion had brought her the opening she’d been seeking for days, and she didn’t want it to pass her by.

“Thanks for your kind words, Harry. I’m glad you seem to be having a good time here. I am trying my best to do right by you, you know.” She paused to allow herself a chance to phrase her words in the best way possible. “I know your last year at Hogwarts has been hard. And I know you haven’t been getting the support you ought to have been given at your uncle and aunt’s house.” She paused again as she took in the dark expression that had come over the boy’s youthful features. She hated having to bring up Sirius Black’s death. But it was obvious Harry was stuck in the middle of the grieving process, and she wanted him to know he could talk to her if he needed to.

“Losing someone always hurts. Both of my parents are dead now, so, I know a thing or two about grief.” A half-truth if there ever was one—but it was a technicality she chose to overlook. “What I mean to say is that you can talk to me about it if you need to.” Merlin, that had sounded better in her head. Now that she heard the words aloud, they sounded hollow even to her ears. “I’m here for you.”

Damn, but she’d been right to argue with Dumbledore; she wasn’t what Harry needed right now. Deficient, unqualified—an utter lack of maternal instinct. Why couldn’t the older man have gone with her suggestion to entrust the boy’s care to Remus Lupin? She could have supplemented him during the full moons, and he’d have done a far better job than she had so far. Now Harry sat crestfallen with tearful eyes, and it was obvious from the way he’d let his fork clatter to the side of his plate that he’d lost his appetite as well. Some caretaker you are, she berated herself.

How could she salvage what was left of the day? Clinging onto honesty as if it were a lifeline, she hastily said, “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to ruin our meal. I am trying to do my best here, but I’m out of my depth.”

“It’s fine,” he said, in a voice that was way too small. She felt like reaching out to him, but she reined it in, unsure if her affection would be welcome.

What can I do? What should I say? she felt like asking, but she kept her mouth close.

“May I be excused?” Harry asked, eyes downcast.

“Of course.” She nodded as she watched him leave.

She remained seated long after Harry had retreated to his bedroom, eyes fixed on the empty chair facing her—unseeing, as she lost herself in her thoughts.

She’d been a child once; could she remember what that had been like? What had she needed then? What was it that got her through those rotten years? The answer was easy enough to find, but it was more of a ‘who’ than a ‘what’. Her older brother had seen her through her worst years. He was a constant presence by her side, a comforting embrace anytime she’d needed one. They’d had each other’s backs back then; they’d been each other’s worlds.

And then they grew up, and they fucked it all to hell.

Yes, she’d been fifteen once, too. And by then, she’d been scared, angry—and utterly alone.