Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter, unfortunately.
(sorry in advance for any mistakes!)
Chapter 1
The August sun is hot and unforgiving, and Harry can feel small beads of sweat running down the side of his face, even with the windows of the small, beat up car rolled all the way down.
He has been staring at nothing but empty, open fields around every curve for miles now, growing irritated with the ever-present buzz of static that creeps in through the radio of the old car, its engine rumbling loudly while the woman beside him just drives and drives. They've been driving for what feels like hours now, and he can feel the perspiration seeping through the back of his shirt, the underside of his thighs sticky with sweat. His throat feels scratchy with thirst and he's almost tempted to ask for a drink of water from the bottle the woman has in one of her cup holders, but doesn't say anything, keeps his lips sealed tight; he's lived long enough with the Dursleys to know better than to ask.
"We're almost there," the woman says, using that same soft, soothing tone she had used when she had first met him, what feels like a lifetime ago. "You're gonna love it there, I promise."
Harry just nods, staring out the window again, clutching his small bag full of his belongings even closer to his chest. His fingers reach out to pinch at the skin of his inner elbow, just underneath the sleeve of his old, baggy shirt, a nervous habit. He leans his head against the side of the door, tries to make sense of the thoughts rattling around in his head; everything seems like a long, endless blur. He's still not entirely convinced this is really happening, that after wishing for so long for someone to show up and save him, somebody actually had.
"Hullo, Harry. My name is Mary; how would you like to live somewhere else?" the woman had said the first time they had met and Harry had nearly pinched himself, convinced that he was dreaming.
That had been nearly three weeks ago, and now Harry is sitting in the passenger side of an old Ford Escort, driving down a long, winding road to what Mary had promised would be a new and better life.
He still doesn't know if he believes her; she's probably just lying, and this is just some cruel joke the Dursleys had planned out, another one of their sick and twisted games that Harry had fallen right into. Uncle Vernon had been cruel enough for him to believe it.
Uncle Vernon had also threatened Harry enough about sending him away for good for Harry to have his doubts about this all, to still have trouble believing Mary when she promises things will be better.
He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice they're turning into another road, this one leading up to a small and quaint cottage, doesn't notice they're slowing down, not until the car is coming to a complete stop, and Mary is murmuring a soft, "Well, this is it."
Harry can feel his hands start to shake, his breath coming in short, fast gulps as he turns to stare out the window.
The cottage seems to be in the middle of a large field surrounded by a small patch of trees. It's painted a soft white colour, the door and the frames around the windows a deep blue. A small wooden table sits on the front porch next to the door, two chairs set next to it. He can see a large, brown dog sleeping under the shade of an old oak tree next to the house, a few sheep and a handful of clucking chicken grazing about a few feet away. There's an old, white wooden fence running around the backside of the house, before it stops just as it rounds the front, as if someone had started it before giving up halfway and leaving it unfinished.
A small shed to the right of the house and from there Harry can see an old baby blue car sleeping inside it, covered only partly by a white, dirty cloth.
"You alright?" Mary asks, placing a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze; Harry flinches away from her without thinking and he can see the way the corners of her smile drop, just a little. "It's going to be alright, Harry, I promise," she says, in that reassuring way that she has, giving him another smile, before she's opening the door.
Harry doesn't bother telling her that, at this point, her words are nothing more than empty promises, as he turns and opens his own door.
Mary waits for him on the side of her car as Harry slowly climbs out, holds out her hand tentatively. He stares at his feet, long enough for Mary to take the hint and she starts walking after a moment, Harry following closely behind her.
It isn't until they're a few feet from the porch when the door to the house swings open and a man with sandy hair and tired eyes steps out, giving them a small smile as he climbs down the small wooden steps. Mary approaches him and Harry stays behind a little, kicking at the dirt under his feet as they talk. He allows himself to wander a little, far enough so that he can't hear their rushed, quiet voices, but still close enough that he can see Mary from the corner of his eye.
A sudden movement catches his attention and he turns his head, just a little. He spots a large, tabby cat perched on the side of the porch, staring at him, its grey tail wagging lazily behind it. There are markings around its eyes that look almost like spectacles, and Harry has a feeling he's seen the cat before. He shakes away the thought as soon as it crosses his mind, scoffing a little at himself; there's no way this cat is the same one he'd sometimes see sitting around Privet Drive.
He's about to step closer, reach out a curious hand to pet it, before Mary's voice is calling him back.
"Harry, darling, will you come here a moment?"
He gives the cat a sad smile as he turns away and walks slowly back toward them, taking only as long as he dares, his hands starting to shake again the closer he gets.
"Harry, this is Remus. Remus, this is Harry." The man-Remus, as he's now learned-gives him a warm smile and from this close Harry can see the long, angry scars that run along the side of his face, the smaller ones that fade into the skin of his neck. "I have to go now, but Remus is a very good friend of mine," Mary says, giving Harry another one of her reassuring smiles. "He's going to take very good care of you, Harry, I promise."
Harry doesn't say anything as they look on at him expectantly, can only manage a small, curt nod as he pulls his small paper bag impossibly closer, the crinkling paper sounding loudly in his ears.
"You take care now, alright, darling?" Mary continues softly, reaching out a hand tentatively, before thinking better of it and letting it drop at the last minute; Harry feels a small wave of guilt wash over him, but he keeps his lips pursed. "I'll see you around."
She gives him one last lingering smile, before nodding her head at Remus and she's turning on her heel and walking away. Remus waits until they hear the sound of an engine sputtering to life, the crunch on gravel as it drives away, before he's turning to Harry again, crinkles in the corner of his eyes as he gives him another small smile.
"Come, I'll show you inside," he says, beckoning Harry to follow him. He doesn't try to touch him, doesn't hold out his hand like Mary had, and for that, Harry is grateful.
He follows behind him, being careful to keep enough distance between them, and Remus seems to understand this as he holds the door open for Harry, angles his body away from him just so, so that can Harry can slip by with ease.
The inside of the cottage is much more spacious than the outside suggests and Harry let's his eyes wander around the sitting room. There's a comfortable-looking sofa set up in the middle of it with a small blanket hanging precariously off the back of it, across from a small fireplace, two armchairs on either side of it. A still-steaming cup of tea sits on the coffee table, an open book placed upside down beside it.
The walls are bare of any pictures, except for a painting of what appears to be a silver wolf , a large black dog and a stag under a yellow full moon. There are various books and strange trinkets on shelves lining the walls and those Harry stares at curiously for a moment, before turning away.
"Well, this is the sitting room," Remus says after an awkward pause, waving his hand around lamely, as if Harry hadn't already deduced that, before moving further in, pointing to a doorway at the far corner of the room. "There is a study right over there, along with a small library as well, which you're more than welcome to, anytime you want. And if you go that way, you'll find the kitchen."
Harry follows after him, through the doorway he points out and the kitchen seems warmer than the sitting room, much more cosier, somehow. It's painted a warm shade of yellow and there are pots and pans lining the wall over the sink, an assortment of different spices crammed on shelves over the stove, the open pantry next to it stuffed with different ingredients. Even the large, wooden table in the middle of the kitchen seems to be cluttered, a pile of unopened mail claiming one corner, a stack of books sitting in one of the chairs. There's an open door near the back, which leads to what Harry assumes to be the back garden, a pair of muddy boots set next to it, a long trench coat hanging over them, a large umbrella hanging beside it.
It's such a stark contrast to Aunt Petunia's pristine kitchen that Harry lets himself linger a bit in awe, before letting his eyes wander again, as Remus moves awkwardly around the kitchen, as if trying to tidy it up.
"That door leads to the garden," he says, confirming Harry's suspicions, before pointing at a small corridor as he keeps walking toward the open door. "The scullery is right over there. And here are the stairs."
He turns right, toward a large, open corridor, the old, wooden stairs taking up much of the far end of the wall, a small door beside it. He walks toward them, rubbing the back of his neck as Harry follows closely behind him.
"Not very practical, having the stairs in the back of a house, but…" He trails off, giving a small shrug as he starts climbing, but Harry stays behind, staring intently at the door. Remus is partly halfway up the stairs before he realises Harry isn't following after him, and he climbs back down, brow furrowed. "Are you coming?"
Harry says nothing, still staring at the small door, before turning to look questioningly at Remus.
"Is that where I'll be sleeping?" Harry asks, voice small and rough with misuse and it startles him, the sound of it; it's the first time he's spoken all day, and he flinches a little, half expecting a reprimand, for speaking without permission.
"What? No," Remus says, sounding aghast, giving Harry a pained look. "Is that where-?" He doesn't finish his sentence, as if he's not sure he's allowed to ask, but Harry understands him all the same. He shrugs, gives him a small nod and there's a glint of something in Remus' eye that he blinks away, shakes his head as he lets out a small sigh. He gives Harry a small smile, his voice thick with emotion when he talks again. "I actually have your room already set up upstairs, next to mine. It's got the best view of the garden and the pond, if you want to come see it."
Harry hesitates for a moment, before giving him a small nod, takes a hesitant step toward the stairs. He's still not sure he believes it, believes this, still thinks it might be some cruel joke, because there's no way that in such a small amount of time, he feels much more comfortable around a man he's barely met, than he ever did in the seven years he spent living at the Dursleys. It just doesn't seem really plausible to him.
Remus leads the way, up the creaking stairs, turning back every few steps, as if to make sure Harry is still following after him, giving him a reassuring smile each time.
The landing is another corridor full of a series of several doors and Remus walks toward the last one, opening it slowly. The bedroom is spacious and bright, and Harry takes a small, tentative step inside. There is a bed set up in the middle of it, an open, empty trunk set at the foot of it. There are two rows of shelves filled with different books on the wall above it, and a bemused look crosses Harry's face at that, at the obvious love this man has for books.
He takes another step inside and sees a desk taking up a corner of the room beside the bed, a small bedside table on the other. There's a wardrobe opposite it, next to an open door to what Harry guesses is a loo. A large, open window takes up the wall directly in front of Harry and from it he can see a small pond from where he's standing, surrounded by trees; Remus hadn't been lying. The view is beautiful, but Harry doesn't let himself linger on it too long.
Other than that, the room is bare; Harry hadn't expected anything else.
"I know it's not much, but I wasn't sure exactly what to get you," Remus says, rubbing the back of his neck once more as he gives Harry an apologetic smile. "But I promise we can go into town later, when you're up for it and you can pick out some stuff and decorate it however you like. Maybe some clothes too. A few toys too, if you'd like."
Harry says nothing, only gives Remus a small nod as he sits tentatively on the bed, hoping he'll take the hint. Thankfully, Remus does, because he's clearing his throat loudly, backing out toward the door.
"Right, well, you must be knackered after that long drive, I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything I'll be downstairs," he says, giving Harry one last smile before he closes the door.
Harry lays down on the bed, feeling tired all of a sudden, his eyes slowly drooping shut as he lets sleep claim him, his small paper bag still clutched tightly to his chest.
A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I felt it was better to cut it short than risk messing with the flow of the story. The next two chapters might be a bit on the shorter side as well (I'm still debating on a few things) but they should get longer as the story progresses. I should have the next chapter up by this time next week if nothing else comes up (I'm already more or less halfway finished with it so *fingers crossed*)
Feel free to let me know how much you hate (or love!) the story so far. All the love x
