Saturnine couldn’t have said why it happened when it did. It was time, she supposed. She was reading, engrossed in a murder investigation. And she felt the detective was getting closer to unravelling the mystery; he only needed one more clue to get there. But then Harry barged in, all controlled haste and nervousness—and instantly, she knew.

She closed the book and placed it on the coffee table before folding one leg beneath her to make room for the boy. Harry stood frozen by the armchair. The assurance with which he had walked into the living room had suddenly evaporated—as if it had grown wings and fluttered away.

“Everything all right?” she asked, keeping her tone measured and welcoming.

Harry’s hands twisted together as he struggled to reply. He was nervous; whatever plan he’d made must have slipped his mind. Saturnine motioned for him to sit by her side, and he did. But his posture remained tense.

“Harry?” she prompted him again, offering him a chance to start, to lead the discussion. “Was there something you wanted to ask me about?”

He nodded once, twice, wet his lips, and then asked, “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “We can always talk, Harry.”

“Really? Don’t always feel like it,” he muttered, and the bitterness in his voice was painful to hear.

“If you have something to say to me,” she offered, “just say it.”

“I…” He faltered. He knew what he wanted to say. But it seemed like he couldn’t decide if he ought to.

“Just say it, Harry. Speak your mind, lad.”

Harry seemed to come to a decision. He took a breath, then another. Then his words poured out in a painful torrent of conflicting emotions. “I miss you, Saturnine. I’m sorry; I know it’s selfish of me, and you have many things to consider. I know you worry about your brother and this shitty situation. Then there’s me and Draco and the war. And there was that potion to make, and we’ll have to make more. The Dark Lord’s out there. And the Order lost its spy, and now we don’t know what Voldemort is up to. But we all know it’ll be nasty. I know there’s all that and more. And I’m sorry, but—” He had tears in his eyes now, and his words came out in short puffs. “I miss you. I miss my friend. I miss the woman who signed those adoption papers.”

And Sweet Circe, did hearing that hurt. Saturnine was sliding closer to him an instant later, gathering the shaking boy in her arms in the next breath. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered above his head. He shuddered against her. “Merlin, but I’m sorry.”

She had known this was coming, but she hadn’t done anything about it. She’d been too busy—too wrapped up in her own guilt, in her own twisted memories. The ghosts of the past had somehow seeped into the present—old memories of her taking care of Severus entwining with fresh ones. It had stirred up so many things that it was hard to tell where the past ended and the present began. And as soon as she had that figured out, the present became past again. And it felt like the world was unravelling beneath her feet once more. And she was tired—so bloody tired.

But that was no excuse, and she told her boy so. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry I cannot be who you need me to be right now.” And then she gave him the truth, as she always had. “It’s so difficult, all of that. I—I’m not doing so well.” She blew out an exasperated breath, desperately searching for the right words, with no idea what to lead with. “There’s so much I want to tell you. But I don’t even know where to begin,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure that I understand everything myself. Seeing Severus again brought back so much—so many bad memories. I thought I’d buried them deep enough. But they reared their ugly heads again. And now I’m hurting all over again.” She paused and caught the boy’s gaze, willing him to read the truth of her words in her eyes. She owed him that much, at least. “And I’m not the only one,” she continued. “Severus is hurting right alongside me, and I can’t have that. I must help him, Harry. I have to. It’s always been me helping him, you see. He has no one else. He needs me, and I must be there for him. I have to.”

She held her valiant Gryffindor slightly closer and placed a closed-mouthed kiss on his brow. “I know you need me, too, lad. I’m here. I love you, and I’m here, Harry. But please give me a little bit of time if you can. Just a little bit of time to work things out with my brother, okay?”

She felt him nod reassuringly against her shoulder. His voice was equally comforting as he replied, “Sure, Saturnine. Take all the time you need, of course. I just—I just needed to know you were still here—that you still cared.”

“Of course I do, Harry. Of course.” She kissed the top of his head as another stab of pain shot through her heart at his words. The last thing she wanted was for Harry to feel abandoned all over again. Merlin knew he’d had enough of that when he lost his parents. “I always will; you know that. Even if I’m not here all the time, it doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking about you. Or that I’ve stopped loving you.”

He nodded again. “I guess I just needed to hear that. I’m sorry that I was selfish.”

“Don’t be sorry about it. Never be sorry about how you feel.” She kissed him again. “I missed you, too, lad.”

She felt him snuggle a little closer, and she was glad to let him.

“How are you?” she asked a short while later because she needed to know. “How are you, really?”

“I’m okay. Things could be worse, right? You found me.” He sniffed. “You and Professor Snape—”

“Oh, call him by his first name, will you?” she cut in. “It’ll be easier for everyone.”

“Not sure he’d like that,” Harry huffed.

“Well, not sure he has a choice,” she countered. “Call him Severus. You have my permission.”

“I’m glad you and—Severus found us when you did. Voldemort would have killed us otherwise. He really wanted to, you know. He really wanted to.”

“I know, Harry; I’m sorry.” She held him a little closer. “I can’t imagine what that must have felt like to see all that hatred directed at you. It’s not your fault, you know. You did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah—I just exist,” he said.

Wasn’t that the ugliest of truths? she thought bitterly. Harry’s only crime, the reason he’d been made to hurt time and again, was simply that he existed. She held him a little tighter at that. “You have a right to,” she told him, with every measure of strength and assurance she could add to her voice. “You’ve every right to be here, Harry. You have a right to have a life, to be happy. That’s what we’re fighting for—to give you the future you deserve. You and all the other children in that school—a future free of Voldemort’s reign of terror.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “Thanks. Thanks for that.”

They remained quiet for a little while, simply enjoying the moment and each other’s presence.

“How’s your brother doing?” Harry asked a moment later. “Is he getting better?”

“Yeah, little by little. He’s still extremely frail. He really burned himself up. But his strength is returning.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Not quite as fast as he’d like it to.”

Harry snorted. “Can’t imagine him being very patient about it.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” she chuckled.

“Will he be okay, though?” the brown-haired boy asked. And it sounded like he really wanted to know.

“Yes, I believe so. But it will take time.”

“You should make him come out of the bedroom,” Harry suggested. “It can’t be good for him to stay locked up like that all the time. Maybe take him outside for some fresh air, too. I’m sure he’d enjoy the sights.”

“I’m sure he would,” she agreed, all the while knowing Severus would rather cut his wand-hand than face two of his students in the state he was in.

“He doesn’t want us to see him that way, does he?” Harry, ever the perceptive one, asked. “That’s stupid.”

“Yeah—well, that’s Severus for you,” she said. In truth, she was amazed that he’d let her help at all.

“Has he always been like this?” he asked, and Saturnine’s first instinct was to snap at him for his rudeness. But then Harry’s tone registered, and she realised it hadn’t been a jab at Severus’ poor manners but genuine curiosity. Sweet Circe, where did that urge to protect my brother’s good reputation come from? she wondered.

“No. He’s got a good heart beneath that cold exterior,” she replied truthfully. “It’s just hard getting through the massive walls he’s built up over the years to protect himself.”

“He risked his life to save us,” Harry said, nodding to himself as he did. “He didn’t have to. And it wasn’t the first time he went out of his way to help me—I know that much.” He sighed. “But he really knows how to make it difficult for us to want to show him our gratitude.”

“Hmm—you may want to hold off adding him to your Christmas list.” She chuckled. “But I know what you mean. He wasn’t always like that—well, not quite as bad. He used to be thoughtful and considerate—at least where I was concerned. But life has been hard on him. And I’m not even talking about You-Know-Who.”

Harry remained quiet for a little while. Then he asked cautiously, “Was it bad for you, too?”

It was still too early for them to be having that discussion, Saturnine knew. Truth be told, she wondered if she ever would be ready for it. But she chose to give the boy the beginning of an answer, anyway. “Yes, but not as bad,” she answered, “because Severus was there.” She shivered as she remembered the sacrifices her brother had made for her sake—the beatings he’d taken willingly so that she would be spared. “I owe him an awful lot.”

Harry sighed. “Get him out, then, Saturnine. He won’t get better by hiding beneath his blanket,” he said. “Besides, I need to thank him for what he did. And so does Draco.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

There was a lengthy pause. Then Harry asked, “So, did you guys—talk?”

“Yeah.” She snorted. “We talked about his physical health, about Horcruxes, about Voldemort—we’re trying to come up with a plan. We discuss many things—sometimes late into the night until one of us falls asleep.” And it was the truth. But she knew it wasn’t what Harry had meant. “But we haven’t talked about anything important yet.”

“You should,” he advised.

“I know,” she replied. She hated how petulant she sounded just then. When had Harry become the adult in this discussion?

“It’s not gonna go away, you know. It’s not gonna get easier. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do,” he said, and it was such a Gryffindor way of seeing things that it made Saturnine smile. “It’s just how it is.”

“I know, but I’m not quite sure he’s ready for it yet.”

Harry scoffed. “Him or you?”

An excellent question, she thought.

***

On the twentieth day of their summer at Cove Cottage, two wizards and a witch awoke to the smell of freshly baked bread wafting deliciously through the air. Harry had decided the day before that he felt like having a slice of buttered bread with jam for breakfast. Having scared up a recipe from one of the cookbooks Saturnine got him the summer before, he’d prepared the dough the evening before so that it could rise all night.

It didn’t turn out half bad. It had a nice crunchy crust and soft holes inside. And Harry was glad he’d picked this day for the special treat. Everyone came to the kitchen that morning—by coincidence or because they’d been lured in by the smell, he didn’t know. And all four of them ate together.

Saturnine had heeded Harry’s advice and somehow convinced her brother to join them. The Potions Master had needed her help to make it to the kitchen and remained weak. But he’d made the trip from the bedroom, and Harry was glad he had something special on offer for the occasion.

It was strange to see his much-dreaded Potions professor in such an informal setting. Moreover, his choice of clothing—simple cotton sweatpants and a long-sleeved jumper—really stood out. It was so far removed from what he habitually wore that Harry had difficulty keeping himself from glancing at him repeatedly to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. The rest of his appearance was almost the same as usual—lank, greasy, dark hair, and pallid complexion. But he looked worn-out, and he’d lost a bit of weight.

Saturnine cut him a slice of bread, but he buttered it himself. His fingers shook slightly from the effort, but he managed and added a large dollop of strawberry jam on top before taking a tentative bite.

“Bread’s really good, Harry,” Saturnine said as she took a bite of her own. She’d gone for the blueberry jam.

“You really made it from scratch?” Draco asked over a mouthful of bread, butter, and raspberry jam.

Harry smiled at the sight of a Malfoy talking with food in his mouth. He nodded, though, feeling his cheeks flush slightly at the praise. It hadn’t been that difficult. He’d just followed the recipe. Besides, bread was easy to make. It had only four ingredients: flour, yeast, salt, and water.

The only one who offered no comment was Professor Snape—not that Harry expected one. But the man ate the bread he’d made. So, that was a compliment in itself, he figured.

Harry was surprised to find that this new addition to their morning routine didn’t upset the balance in the slightest. The wooden, square table had been designed to accommodate four guests. And the same number of chairs were available. The cupboards housed more than enough plates and cutlery for everyone. And his loaf of bread was large enough to satiate them.

The presence of Severus Snape at their table didn’t disturb the peace. If anything, it added to the balance of energies, Harry found. With him present, Saturnine didn’t need to worry about what was happening in their bedroom. Her eyes were focused on Harry and Draco in turn as they discussed their respective homework and never once darted towards the corridor, as they had for the past weeks. Her brother was sitting on her left, proof that he was all right.

And she wasn’t the only one who was more relaxed now that the potioneer was present. Draco was, too, Harry noticed. He’d seen the changes, small but evident, nonetheless—an absence of tension in his shoulders, fewer worry lines on his brow, and a slight upward curl of his lips that hadn’t left since Severus Snape had entered the kitchen. Draco clearly enjoyed the opportunity to have breakfast with his godfather and even dared address him with one or two questions regarding his homework—a feat that Harry had yet to muster the courage to attempt.

When all four teacups were nearly empty, Harry offered refills to everyone. When he got to the cup of the man facing him, he received a muttered, “Thanks,” for his effort. Harry beamed at the display of gratitude—inwardly. On the outside, he gave his professor a polite nod and contained smile before he moved to fill his own cup.

As he placed the kettle back in the centre of the table, Harry was surprised to realise that he, too, felt marginally better now that Severus Snape had joined them at the breakfast table. Despite his poor state of health, he knew that this was a man he could count on in a pinch—someone who’d stand by his side in a fight. Sure, Snape would never cuddle or shelter him from the horrors of the world, as others would. But with his exacting attitude, he would forever force Harry to be the best version of himself he could.

Yes, there was a certain comfort to be found in the taciturn wizard’s steady presence at their table—fancy that.