While they were eating, Remus noted that Harry seemed absolutely baffled—not by the amount of food on the plates of the Weasley boys, as Remus was—but by the fact that Molly piled his own plate with second and third helpings. Not only that, but Harry seemed to think he needed permission to eat, and had had to receive it no less than four times before he believed the adults.

After dinner, Molly led Remus and Harry into the kitchen, where the Floo connection had been set up, and Remus knelt down in front of Harry.

"Harry, I'm going to pick you up now, if that's okay with you."

Harry shrugged. He knew better than to refuse a grown-up, even if that grown-up was not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon.

"Here, let me help you since you seem to have your hands full," offered Arthur, grabbing a pinch of powder, and throwing it into the flames.

Harry's eyes widened as the flames turned green. "It's all right," Remus promised. "I know it's strange, but the fire won't hurt you. This may feel a little funny, so hold on tight to me."

"Lupin Cottage, Berkshire!" Remus called out, stepping into the Weasley's fireplace.

And they were spinning at a dizzying speed… being squeezed from al sides, as if going down the drain.

"Harry?" Remus whispered, as he stepped out of his own fireplace, and became aware of the five-year-old shaking in his arms. "Harry, what's the matter?"

The matter was that Harry did not want to travel by fireplace again, but he didn't dare say this to Remus.

"Come on, cub," Remus wheedled. "You can tell me. You can tell me anything."

"Cub?" Harry repeated, looking somewhere over the man's shoulder.

"Yeah," replied Remus, realizing with a disheartened feeling, that Harry may not appreciate the moniker with which Remus had always privately addressed the boy he considered a nephew since Harry was an infant. "I thought it could be your nickname, my special name for you. If you like, that is."

"I like it lots, sir."

"Good," Remus smiled. "But you don't have to call me sir, Harry. Like I told you before, my name is Remus, or you can call me Moony if you want to because that was my nickname in school."

"Why?

Remus paused, he didn't want to like to Harry, but he was just so young, and the werewolves in Muggle stories… not that Remus imagined Petunia or Vernon Dursley would ever be first in line to read their nephew bedtime story. "Well, it's a bit of a long story, and I shouldn't tell you just now"

"Oh."

Harry did not mention that Remus had promised to tell him anything he wanted to know, because Harry was used to promises made to him by grown-ups being broken, and that was by the grown-ups who even bothered making promises at all, and Harry could easily count those on one hand

The dejected tone of voice made Remus backtrack slightly. "Not until you're older, Harry, that's all I meant. I didn't mean never. It's just that… well, I was kind of a naughty boy in school."

"That's okay, I'm a naughty boy too."

Remus tried hard to stop the ferocious hate his wolf had for the Dursleys from bubbling over so that the resulting growl wouldn't scare Harry, whose trust in him – if it could even be called trust at this stage – was fragile. In fact, the struggle to keep his voice light was one of the hardest of his life, but he hoped his veneer passed for cheerful, as he said

"Oh now, I don't believe that for a second." Remus walked through the house to his own bedroom, and set Harry down on the full-size bed, shocked at exactly how light he was. He was quite sure if he took off Harry's shirt, he could count all of his ribs

"Uh-huh," Harry insisted, with a stubbornness that was distinctly reminiscent of his mother, so much so, that it made Remus's heart constrict with sadness. "Last week I turned the teacher's hair blue!"

This confession was apparently so shameful that Harry looked down into his lap.

Remus had to hold back his laughter because Harry did seem to find this very funny. In fact, he seemed quite fearful of Remus's reaction to the news. "Harry, please look at me."

Under the influence it the direct order – almost like a house-elf – Harry did as he was told… and a strange feeling began to undertake the small child.

Looking directly into Remus's amber eyes, Harry felt a sense of warmth spread from the pit of his stomach, a sense of comfort that was quite foreign to him. Somehow, he knew this new man –Remus – would never hurt him, and this newfound sense of trust propelled him to speak up, as he never would've done before. First rule at the Dursley house: Never ask questions!

"You mean, that you're not mad at me? You don't think that I did a naughty thing? You won't… But this is where Harry's sudden burst of courage failed him.

Remus sensed he had struck a chord. "What, Harry?" he asked, with immense trepidation concerning what he may find out. "I won't what?"

"You won't… you won't hit me?"

Remus's astonishment at this particular question was second only to his fury towards the Dursleys for considering harming the child he considered the last living member of his pack. "Hit you?" Harry started, and Remus was quick to soften his tone. "What do you mean 'hit you', cub? I— I don't understand."

"You know… take off your belt and –"

"Merlin's lacy nightgown, I would never hit you, Harry."

"Never ever?" It was Harry's turn to be surprised.

"Not even if I was hopping, boiling, mad. Not even if you were the naughtiest boy alive, a title you will never hold. I assure you. Now, that that's settled, will you tell old Moony what the matter is?"

The child seemed shocked into silence. "You don't have to tell me now, you don't have to have to say anything about anything until you're ready. Then again, if I know what the matter is, maybe I can fix it."

Harry opened his mouth to answer and expelled the contents of his very large supper all over his front, and the duvet.

Remus was remarkably unfazed. "A bit too much of a good thing, eh?"

Harry stared, thoroughly horrified that he had created the puddle of sick before him. He started to cry. "I'm sorry… I – I didn't mean to… I…"

"Shhh, Harry, shhh, cub, it's all right. I know you didn't mean it. I know it was an accident and one that I can fix up straightaway. Up you come, cub."

Remus lifted him once more ignoring the transfer of vomit and carried him into the bathroom.

"And anyway, I'm the one who should be sorry," he said with a wink. "You'll have to deal with my cooking from now on, and it's not nearly as good as Mrs. Weasley's."

The ploy to divert Harry's attention worked, because he lifted his head, and began to examine his new surrounding. His eyes settled on the tub with distaste.

Petunia Dursley ran a cloth as rough as sandpaper over her nephew's already raw backside.

"Shut up, you useless brat or I'll give you something to cry about!" Petunia frightened. "If you hadn't been sitting in your soil for three days this wouldn't be happening," she added, conveniently forgetting – as was her custom – that the only reason her three-year-old nephew was not potty trained was because she had been too busy spying on the comings and goings of Mr. Number Five's mistress to train him.

"Oh! It's everywhere you dirty freak," she wailed. "As if I had time to give you a bath!"

Petunia dug her nails into the little boy sides, plopping him none to too gently into the claw-foot tub, which was already filling with scalding water.

"Don't you move," Petunia ordered as if Harry could go anywhere, and she went to the linen closet to obtain shower gel, grumbling all the way.

Reveling in the few precious seconds when no one was belittling him, Harry looked up in surprise at the sound of heavy footfalls. It was his cousin Dudley Dursley, dragging a footstool to the edge of the tub, with a great deal of effort. (Probably because he was not used to exerting so much energy.)

"Wanna see if you'll drown?" He asked, pointing to the chain of the tub's plug.

Harry shook his head empathetically "Uh-uh."

Dudley laughed as he pulled the plug, and then grabbed a hank of his younger cousin's hair, and pushed down… Hard!

Remus placed Harry on the closed toilet seat and began to unlace his peeling trainers. "Yeah, you're getting a bath. I know it doesn't look very appealing right now, but as soon we can get you some toys and bubbles. How does that sound?"

Harry began to shake once again as if he were experiencing a seizure or something. "No."

What did the bathroom and the front room have in common? Remus wondered, besides the fact that they most both seemed to produce this reaction from Harry."

"No to the toys, or no to the bubbles?" he asked gently.

"No bath… I'll be a good boy!"

Remus covered his confusion with the ease of a Marauder and offered a smile for Harry. "Of course you're a good boy, and right now, you're also a messy boy who needs to get cleaned up. You'll feel better, I promise."

Harry wanted to feel better, and it felt strange to be defying anyone for the first time in his life but still a deeper fear claimed him, one born of that horrible day almost three years ago, and he shook his head.

Remus was utterly perplexed now. "Well, the least we can do is get you out of these clothes," he said firmly. "They're too big for you, anyway, and we'll have to get you a new wardrobe."

Secretly, Remus did not know how this would be accomplished with his meager life savings. According to Arthur, Remus would eventually receive a waiver from Amelia Bones that stated he—though a werewolf—had permission to be Harry's guardian. He would then present the waiver to Argok, the Head Goblin of Gringotts and trustee of the Potter estate, and would be allowed to access the money that now belonged to his charge. Remus had refused charity from his friend when James was alive and felt even stranger doing so after his death, but how else was he to take care of Harry?

The thought of Harry brought Remus back to present, and he gently lifted the boy's shirt and blanched at the sight.

Harry's torso and back were purple with half-healed bruises and red with infected welts. The Dursleys were cunning enough to leave marks where no one would see them,

With many soothing words and sincere apologies, Remus compromised Harry's apparent fear of water, by gently cleaning his wounds with a wet cloth. This would not do for long, though, and soon Remus knew, healing spells and salves that were beyond his considerable skill for everyday injuries would need to be applied. But not tonight, because Harry was falling asleep where he sat.

"Come on, little one, time for bed," Remus whispered, draping him in a towel. "It's late, and you're tired."

Harry was indeed tired, and so he did not protest but wrapped his arms around Remus's neck instead.

The guest room of Lupin cottage was small—but it would do, Remus decided—once outfitted to fit Harry's tastes.

He Transfigured some of his own pajamas to fit Harry, and tucked the boy in, with a kiss on the forehead, which he vowed would not be foreign to the boy for much longer at all.

At least this eventful day was over, but Remus knew better than to wish it weren't so. After all, yesterday he was alone in the world, and today—due to a chance encounter with the Weasley family, Remus had his little nephew back.

Then again, Remus knew he would be a fool to believe that this would be the easiest step.