AN: So, it's been waaaaaay too long since my last update. I have been writing this fic on and off over the past year (while doing an INSANE university course), but the following chapter gave me mucho grief, and has now wound up far longer than I intended it. But oh well, on with the show!

Many thanks to my lovely reviewers You brighten up the rainy Irish days – of which there are many.

Chapter Two

The Boy who Vanished the Glass

June 23rd, 1991. 1pm.

It seemed impossible that a more annoying person existed than Dudley Dursley.

Harry watched as his cousin rapped hard on the glass surrounding the snake enclosure with his thick knuckles, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"Move!" Dudley bellowed, slamming his sizeable fist against the glass for the fifth time. The snake didn't budge, almost as if it refused to reward a tantrum. Harry had to admire a snake with standards.

His cousin quickly became bored, and moved on to yell at another reptile, aided and abetted by his friend, Piers Polkiss. Remus often mused that Piers was excellent sidekick material, being unpleasant enough to share in Dudley's love of humiliating others, but too weak to pose a threat to the latter's position as leader of the pack. Harry mused that his cousin just liked the other boy's knack for pinning people's arms behind their backs.

Keeping Dudley in his peripheral vision – as was often safest – Harry moved closer to the boa constrictor, who still hadn't moved or even opened its eyes. He sighed, and leaned on the railing in front of the glass, tugging on the sleeves of his navy blue jumper – an unexpected gift from Remus. He wished his godfather hadn't had to work that morning, meaning that Harry had to accompany the Dursleys and Piers to the zoo to celebrate "Dudley's special day." Uncle Vernon's eyes had very nearly popped out of his head when the telephone call came, but surprisingly he hadn't done more than make odd choking sounds and mutter incoherently under his breath. For some reason, Remus was the only person his uncle would ever yield to.

"Are you sure you don't mind going?" Remus had asked Harry, "Would you like me to arrange for someone to come over and stay with you instead? Mrs. Figg, perhaps?"

Harry shook his head, before copping that Remus couldn't actually see him through the receiver. "No, it's okay. I don't mind, honestly."

The truth was that he did mind – he relished the time he spent with his godfather, and hated spending more minutes in the Dursleys' company than he ever had to. They barely tried to conceal their dislike of him, and Dudley savoured any and every opportunity to pick on him. But he knew Remus's job was important – not that he knew exactly what it was the man did for a living. His godfather told him it was detective work, of sorts, but never divulged more than that. Harry initially thought he might have worked for the Met, but the amount of time his godfather spent travelling caused him to swiftly dismiss that notion. Plus, Remus's colleagues were very strange people; his boss was a hulking figure who walked with a limp and always wore a cap pulled down over one eye, while his partner, Kingsley, always had jars of unusual ingredients tucked into his coat pockets. Harry had found these fascinating as a young child, but once he discovered one filled with what looked suspiciously like eyeballs, he became a little less curious and a little more concerned about what exactly his godfather did every day.

As he got older, Harry began to speculate that their work must have been less conventional, and more James Bond-style, 'Special Branch' stuff. The sort that was always life or death on the telly. And if Remus had a job that was that important, Harry had no right to sulk over a postponed day out with his godfather. So, he pretended to be okay with the impending zoo visit, and wished Remus a pleasant day at work with as much cheer as he could muster.

But Remus, as usual, saw right through him, because a moment later he said, "How about I come by tomorrow morning instead and take you out for the day? You can stay over at mine for the night if you like; I have Monday off work."

Harry had almost done a dance at this (but restrained himself as Aunt Petunia was peering down at him over the banister). He'd stayed over at Remus's dozens of times, but the thought of it never failed to produce a reaction akin to deliria.

When he was much younger, Harry had routinely asked why he couldn't live with Remus; the Dursleys were the very epitome of unpleasant, and he had a feeling they would have been even worse if his godfather hadn't been a constant presence in their house and their lives. Remus was technically his guardian – the person Harry's parents had chosen to take care of their son if anything bad happened to them – so what was the issue? It had all seemed rather black and white to Harry.

Yet, every time he asked, Remus had hugged him close and told him he wished it were possible, but his job kept him away a lot – some nights he didn't get home at all. Harry thought this was a silly reason – Mrs. Figg sometimes took care of him when Aunt Petunia had one of her migraines from "dealing with that Potter boy," so perhaps she could take care of him when Remus had to work late? He'd suffer through a dozen photo albums of cats if he didn't have to live with the Dursleys! So he continued to ask, hoping that his good-natured guardian would eventually give in, as he did every time they debated takeaway options.

However, the final time Harry asked – in late October, after his eighth birthday – Remus's face seemed to crumple, and with horror the little boy realised his godfather was trying not to cry. He'd never seen a grown-up cry before; he thought it something only he and other children did, and something he'd eventually grow out of. Grown-ups were meant to be strong, and Remus was the strongest person he knew... Harry never asked again, and gradually accepted that what he had was more than other kids without parents might.

Cheered by the thought that in a little over twenty-four hours he would be having an entirely Dursley-free day – maybe even two! – Harry glanced back up at the snake and sprang back several steps. The creature was now right beside the glass, reared up at eye level with him. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed this presumably unusual behaviour, but no-one around had so much as turned their head. Tugging on the sleeves of his jumper again, Harry turned back to see the snake had cocked its head to the side, as though trying to read his mind.

"Hello," Harry said, and then shook his head at his own stupidity. The snake couldn't understand him.

But then…why was it staring at him so intently?

"Er, hope you're having a better day than I am," Harry said, scratching his head and wondering why on earth he felt so awkward around the reptile. "But tomorrow I'll get to hang out with my godfather, so that'll be great. And maybe Kingsley will be there too – he used to live with Remus, but then he moved in with his girlfriend a few months back. I've never met her, but apparently she makes great lasagne…"

The snake slowly cocked its head to the other side, and Harry's stomach clenched with something that was more curiosity than fear. He took a step forward, but the snake didn't move, head still tilted as though it were trying to figure out a complex problem.

"So…" Harry continued, looking behind him to make sure no-one was listening to his bizarre one-sided conversation. Uncle Vernon was tapping on the glass of an unfortunate iguana, while Piers and Dudley argued over which kind of snake would make the deadliest pet. Satisfied, Harry turned back around just as a voice whispered near his ear.

"Huuuuumaaan?"

Startled, he glanced around, but there was no-one beside him. Perhaps he still had water in his ears from his shower that morning? He jammed a finger into his ear and wiggled it around.

"Huuuuuumaaaaan!"

Harry's hand fell limp at his side, as he raised his eyes to meet those of the snake. Who had just spoken to him.

"DADDY! PIERS! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE!"

Harry had barely turned his head when his cousin's elbow slammed into his stomach and he fell to the ground, winded. Dudley pressed his face against the glass, gawping intently at the boa constrictor, who was in turn gazing down at Harry.

Harry could feel himself shaking with anger. He wasn't sure what had been happening – obviously, snakes couldn't speak! – but something had been happening, and Dudley just had to go and ruin it.

And the moment that thought formed in his mind, the glass between Dudley and snake vanished. Dudley's arms flailed, trying desperately to grab onto to something that simply wasn't there, before Piers managed to pull him backwards, and they both tumbled to the ground. The three of them watched, stricken, as the snake slid, rather gracefully, over the railing and onto the cold concrete floor. Dudley and Piers clutched at one another, whimpering quietly, but the snake ignored them. Instead, it slithered past Harry, hissing what sounded like "thaaaaaanks, amigo", before escaping through the entranceway, snapping at the heels of screaming tourists.

For a long moment, Harry thought his uncle might lock him in the cupboard under the stairs. He hadn't slept in there since he was three years old, but it was always a threat whenever he did something to displease his aunt or uncle. And for a second, it seemed as though Vernon was seriously debating it. However, with a longing glance at the cupboard, he growled low in his throat and marched Harry up the stairs instead, his grip on the boy's arm entirely vice-like. In fact, if one were to look up 'vice-like' in the dictionary, Harry was sure they might read 'circulation-constricting grip, patented by Vernon Dursley'.

"I swear Uncle Vernon, I didn't do anything!" But, as usual, his uncle didn't believe him.

"You just wait, boy – you'll get your comeuppance one of these days. And when you do, I'll make sure to have a front row seat, you mark my words!"

He kicked open the door to Harry's room, ignoring the sound of splintering wood as the latch unwillingly ripped through the frame. Harry, certain that he would regret what he was about to say, decided to go ahead and say it anyway.

After all, he was in enough trouble as it was.

"There must've been something wrong with the glass, seriously! One minute it was there and the next it was gone – it was like –"

"There's no such thing as magic, boy!" Uncle Vernon snarled. He shoved Harry inside and slammed the door behind him.

With a quiet groan, Harry threw himself onto his bed, burrowing his face in the pillow. When it finally became too difficult to breathe, he rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. The Dursleys hadn't bothered to decorate the room much when Harry moved in, and left the walls a faded Magnolia, but Remus had painstakingly painted dozens of stars across the ceiling one day when Harry was ill and bed-bound. Uncle Vernon had apparently viewed this as some sort of competition, and bought Dudley an assortment of glow in the dark stars for his own bedroom ceiling, and refused to take them down when Dudley complained he couldn't sleep.

Harry stared up at a small cluster right over his head, and let out a long breath. It was odd, but he wasn't scared by what had happened in the reptile house. The oddities of the world almost seemed to wait for him to arrive before making themselves known.

There was that time, when he was eight, that Aunt Petunia cut his hair so short that he was practically bald. Dudley almost wet his trousers from laughing, and Harry had spent the evening curled up under his duvet, dreading the moment when he would fall asleep, as the morning would bring school and utter humiliation. But when he chanced a glance in the mirror before breakfast, he was shocked to discover his hair had grown back, just as long as before! Aunt Petunia shrieked when she saw him, while Dudley wailed, undoubtedly at the loss of what would surely have been an excellent day of bullying at school.

And of course there was the incident when Uncle Vernon was driving them home from school shortly before Easter. They were stopped at a set of traffic lights, when a group of middle-aged men and women sitting outside a café stood up and applauded – staring right at Harry! He figured they must've been looking at someone or something else, but before he could figure out what that was, Uncle Vernon floored it, speeding through the still red light and narrowly missing an elderly cyclist. Vernon had spent the evening grilling Harry about the group, and for the rest of that week, Harry felt his uncle's beady eyes on him, as though waiting for something to happen.

The only person who ever seemed to believe him when he swore his innocence in these situations was Remus. In fact, after the haircutting episode, the man had laughed in delight and ruffled Harry's hair, much to Aunt Petunia's chagrin. Maybe it was because Remus was a spy and had seen a lot of unusual things in his time, or maybe he was just humouring his godson, and didn't actually believe him at all, but Remus seemed completely and utterly unfazed by these often ludicrous events.

Harry, on the other hand, wasn't quite as unruffled. He always felt somewhat at odds with himself, as though some part of him was missing or lying dormant in an unreachable part of his body. The school counsellor would probably call that "the perturbing effects of puberty on one's soul", but to Harry it felt like something much more concrete that he just couldn't put his finger on.

He sighed again, rolling onto his side, to find the frozen face of his mother grinning back at him. It was his favourite photo, which was why he liked to keep it on his bedside table, and painstakingly made sure the frame remained free from dust and grime. The sight of it never failed to calm him, because it reminded him that complete happiness was possible. Because the four people in it just looked so damned happy.

It had snowed heavily, Remus told him, just before Christmas, 1980. Harry's mother, Lily, had been beside herself with joy – she loved snow, and had been ecstatic to have it fall in her son's first winter. So, despite James's protests that it was too cold outside, and that baby Harry was sure to get lost in a snowdrift, she bundled her small family up in coats and various woollen trimmings, and dragged them out into her wonderland. Their small town, a place called Godric's Hollow, was surrounded by a normally lush countryside, and the small gang had wandered through the glistening lanes and snow-coated trees. James had continued being grumpy and nervous about the baby, so Remus and another of their friends began pelting him with snowballs, beginning a small, icy battle. A battle which ended swiftly when James landed face first in a frozen cowpat, causing baby Harry to laugh for the very first time. And Lily insisted on a picture right then, so she could remember that moment forever.

In the photo, Lily was beaming at the camera, her green eyes sparkling as she cuddled her son in her lap. James sat on her left, pulling a face at the baby Harry, and squeezed in on Lily's other side was Remus. He looked so much younger than the man Harry knew; his face was unlined and carefree, as he laughed at someone who was off camera. (Harry had asked him more than once who it was, but Remus only shrugged, saying it was an old friend who was no longer around.) Staring at the photograph, Harry wished, not for the first (or last) time, that he could remember his parents. And wishes did come true, at least sometimes – of that he was certain.

When he was very small, Harry had been terrified of the dark. Dudley swore there was a monster living at the bottom of the garden – a monstrous beast with three heads, razor sharp teeth and a taste for little kids. If it got into the house at night, it would surely eat Harry before everyone else! He had often lain awake in his cupboard at night, blankets clutched to his chin, ready to dive under them at the slightest creak or crack. After all, if Harry couldn't see in the dark, then maybe the monster couldn't either?

On some nights when Aunt Petunia forgot to close the kitchen door, light from the moon crept in through a small crack in the door to keep him company. Its presence was comforting, as though it was there to protect him in the night, and Harry didn't feel silly telling the moon about his secret wish – of the unknown relative who would come to save him from the Dursleys.

This person would arrive, right in the middle of one of Aunt Petunia's rants about how she was "sick to the back teeth of that Potter boy", and silence her with a look (or turn her into a potted plant with some sort of magic spell). Then, they would scoop Harry up in their arms, hold him close, and promise to take him far, far away from Little Whinging, and stay with him forever. So sure had Harry been of the power of his moon wishes, that any time the doorbell rang, he was convinced that this would be that person. Once he even leapt to his feet and ran as fast as his tiny legs would carry him, certain that this was the day. The unknown relative had finally come to take him away.

But it had been Aunt Marge – Uncle Vernon's sister – and three of her bulldogs, who proceeded to chase Harry around the living room for the next twenty minutes. He never ran for the door after that, which was somewhat ironic, considering the visitor who arrived thirteen days later…

October 31st, 1983

The sizzle of the frying pan seemed to be taunting Harry's empty stomach. He wasn't allowed supper tonight; Aunt Petunia had caught him playing with one of Dudley's toy dinosaurs in the back garden. Dudley didn't even like the dinosaurs, and hadn't touched them since he'd been bought his latest action figure, but he'd screamed and screamed at the sight of Harry having fun with them.

In the living room, Uncle Vernon was tying the string around Dudley's vampire cloak – a proper soft, black length of material Aunt Petunia had bought at the shops. Harry's costume consisted of an old, yellowish bed sheet, which had been parted with only after Mrs. Figg had inquired as to what Harry was dressing up as. Aunt Petunia had been forced to come up with an answer, and a costume.

Uncle Vernon took a step back, a proud grin spread across his red face.

"Dudders, you're growing into a proper young man."

Dudley responded by promptly punching his father in the knee, which only garnered a chortle from the man.

"That's some right hook you've got there, son. Petunia, we'll have to buy this boy a pair of boxing gloves before long."

Harry shuddered, clutching the bedsheet around him. That was the last thing he needed – Dudley with an excuse to punch him more.

The doorbell rang. Petunia sighed.

"More trick-or-treaters, Vernon."

Uncle Vernon grunted, attempting to fix the tie on Dudley's cloak, which Harry's cousin was now whinging was "too tight", and glanced at Harry.

"Boy! Give out the sweets from the bucket in the hall. And if I catch you eating ANY of them, it'll be the cupboard for a week! Understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered, trudging out into the hall, the sheet trailing behind him. He hoped it wouldn't be some of Dudley's friends from pre-school; they always teased Harry, and he was sure they'd make fun of his costume. He reached up for the latch, but his fingers barely grazed it. He was quite small for his age – Aunt Marge always said so when she came over, calling him a 'runt', whatever that was – so he had to stand on his tip-toes and jump a few times before he was finally able to grip the latch and tug it down.

But as the door creaked open, he realised it wasn't the kids from school. It was a grown-up; a man, and a very tall man at that – Harry had to bend his neck right back to look up at his face. A pair of large brown eyes gazed down at him, from the friendliest face Harry had ever seen.

"Hello, Harry," the stranger said.

How did the man know his name? He remembered his manners and said "Hello" back, but it came out as little more than a whisper. The man's smile grew wider, and Harry felt his own lips twitch in response. No-one ever smiled at him like that.

But then he remembered his family, only several feet away in the kitchen, and felt a twinge of panic. Uncle Vernon would be sure to box his ears if he caught him chatting.

"Do you want some sweets, mister?" he said.

The stranger laughed. It was different from the way Dudley and Uncle Vernon laughed whenever Harry was around – it was as though he found Harry's words funny, but was laughing with him, not at him.

"I don't," he replied. "But thank you very much for the offer."

The man then crouched down on his hunkers, which Harry was very glad for, as his neck was beginning to ache, and pulled the bedsheet up over Harry's left shoulder, where it had been sliding off.

"That's a very nice costume, Harry."

Harry shrugged, thinking longingly of Dudley's silky black cloak. "I'm just a ghost."

"Are you a scary ghost, or a friendly one?"

Harry frowned. "Can ghosts be friendly?"

"Oh, yes!" said the man, "I know several very nice ghosts. They can be a little insensitive on the topic of death, but then I guess they should know all about it, shouldn't they?"

Harry blinked. It didn't seem like the tall man was mocking him, but…he must be, surely? His frown deepened; he was confused, and he didn't like it.

"Why don't you have a costume?" he asked.

"Oh, well! I wanted to make one, but my boss made me stay in work late all this week, so I didn't have time." He stuck out his bottom lip, which made Harry giggle, before his eyes brightened. "I was going to be a ghost too, actually."

He looked so delighted at the thought that Harry forgot his confusion and smiled back.

"Boy! What are you - "

Uncle Vernon's bark made Harry jump, and instinctively back away, tripping backwards over the sheet. The tall man steadied him, with hands that were warm and gentle.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Vernon barked, striding towards them.

Harry looked back at the tall man quickly. Uncle Vernon was going to make him leave; he didn't like it when people were nice to Harry, because it gave him 'notions', or something like that. But the man only smiled and stood up. He was much taller than Uncle Vernon.

"Vernon, I presume?"

"Depends on who's asking," Vernon replied, stepping closer until Harry was wedged in between the two of them. Harry noticed that his uncle was straightening his back, as though trying to make himself longer, but it was no use.

"Remus Lupin." The man held out his hand for Uncle Vernon to shake. "I daresay Petunia has mentioned me."

Uncle Vernon glanced at the hand, but didn't take it. "No, she hasn't. Who are you and what do you want?"

Just then, Aunt Petunia appeared in the kitchen doorway, her narrow features pinched in irritation.

"Vernon, what on earth –"

She saw the tall man and the rest of the words died before they met her lips. Harry had never seen her silenced before.

"Hello, Petunia," the man said, pleasantly.

Aunt Petunia shrieked and dropped the frying pan she was holding. Oil splattered all over the linoleum, sausages rolling in every direction and somewhere in the kitchen Dudley began bawling over his lost fry-up. Harry glanced up at the tall man, who merely raised his eyebrows at the display.

"Oh dear – was that supper?"

"What are you doing here?" Aunt Petunia demanded, her voice quavering. She clutched the kitchen doorframe, swaying on her feet. "Are you here for, for…" She couldn't finish, so she pointed. And she was pointing at Harry!

The man – Remus Lupin – cleared his throat. "Sort of. How about we all step in from the cold and have a chat –"

"You stay right where you are, sir!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, and the man hesitated. He stared at the Dursleys for a long moment, and Harry felt sick to his tummy. Would the man leave?

But leaving didn't seem to be on Remus Lupin's mind. "I don't think you want to continue this conversation here," he said, his voice calm as a summer breeze, "Unless you want the neighbours listening in."

With those magic words, he'd won his way inside; the Dursleys loved spying on their neighbours, but hated the idea of anyone knowing that their life was anything other than tip-top and utterly spiffing. And so, Remus Lupin was ushered into the living room. The Dursleys were so distracted, they didn't seem to notice Harry sneak into the room behind them and stand in the corner.

"Well, this is very lovely," Remus Lupin said, looking around at the furnishings. "Did you decorate it yourselves?"

Aunt Petunia nodded stiffly. Uncle Vernon was swelling like a balloon; he was obviously confused, and not enjoying that fact.

"Who is this, Petunia?" he hissed, jumping when it was Remus Lupin who answered him.

"I already told you who I am, Mr. Dursley. But to add a little context, I am – was – a friend of Lily and James."

The air seemed to vanish from the room, and Harry frantically pinched his arm to make sure he was still awake. Those were his parents' names – this man was here because of his parents! The revelation seemed to have had the opposite effect on Uncle Vernon, whose ruddy face had drained of all colour. But Remus Lupin didn't stop there with his surprises.

"I'm also Harry's godfather."

"Codswallop!" Uncle Vernon cried, as Harry's heart began a frantic dance in his chest, "The boy hasn't got anyone but us."

"He's got me."

"Where have you been all this time?" Aunt Petunia whispered. Her face twisted in an expression Harry had never seen before. She looked strangely upset, but in a different way than when Harry tracked mud in from the back garden. It was almost as if Remus Lupin reminded her of something very sad.

The smile on the stranger's face faltered, but only a little. "I've been, indisposed, you might say, these past two years. But I'm here now."

And there was a beautiful finality to his tone that told them he was here to stay.

"DADDY!"

Dudley appeared beside Harry, his round face red. There was obviously a tantrum coming. "You said we were going trick-or-treating!"

"Not now, Dudders," Uncle Vernon said, moping at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.

Dudley's eyes widened, and his chest swelled and swelled – he was not accustomed to being dismissed.

"YES NOW!" he bellowed.

"NOT NOW, DUDLEY!" Uncle Vernon roared back, and Dudley leapt backwards in shock. Harry thought his cousin would burst into one of his spectacular crying fits, but the larger boy seemed too stunned to even think of it. No-one ever raised their voice to Dudley.

"Are you here to take him?" Aunt Petunia asked, gesturing at Harry.

"I can't. And you know exactly why," Remus Lupin told her, cutting across Uncle Vernon, who had begun to protest loudly. "I would dearly love to, but as Dumbledore's letter told you, he has to stay here."

Harry's heart began to pound even more, but it was joined by a horrible lump in his throat and stinging eyes. Maybe wishes didn't come true after all…

"So, you came here to tell us, what, that you're alive and well but dumping him on us?" Uncle Vernon snarled, clenching his fists. He looked ready to punch something, and Harry made sure he was far out of his uncle's reach.

"Not at all," Remus Lupin said. "For one, I intend to be a constant presence in Harry's life from now on, and I will, of course, take over any and all costs related to his upbringing from hereon in. I can see it's been hard on you, considering you could only afford one Halloween costume this year."

His eyes roved over Dudley's outfit, and Aunt Petunia's bony face flushed.

"I say, sir!" Uncle Vernon blustered, "If you're insinuating that we are hard-up in any way, you are seriously mistaken!"

"Regardless, I will take over the financial burden from now on. You may rest assured that Harry will want for absolutely nothing."

Uncle Vernon looked more put-out by this news than relieved.

"Now, as I said, I cannot bring Harry to live with me. But, I would like to get to know him, so what I propose is this: I will collect Harry every Saturday morning at 9am, and return him at prearranged time that evening. If Saturday is not convenient for you, you can of course propose another day; I will be as flexible as you need."

Uncle Vernon's sputtering was, at this point, spectacularly incoherent. "But – what if – he – I – he –"

"You're absolutely right, Vernon," Remus Lupin said, nodding, "I haven't asked Harry his own opinion on the matter." He turned to Harry, who felt dazed and already had a bruise on his arm from continually pinching it.

"What do you think, Harry?" the man said. Harry stared up at him, at his smiling mouth and kind eyes, and wondered if he had any idea what he was offering. His throat felt so tight that he couldn't form a single word, but he nodded his head so vigorously that he thought it might fall off. Remus Lupin seemed to get the message, because his smile grew and grew.

"Saturdays are fine," Aunt Petunia said, quietly. She looked suddenly exhausted, and her eyes looked overly bright and seemed to shimmer when she moved her head. "You'll have to collect him at 8:30 though; I have aqua aerobics at 9, and I'll have to leave at twenty to."

Remus Lupin smiled softly at her. "8:30 it is then."

The rest of that evening had been decidedly strange. Uncle Vernon took Dudley trick or treating after the boy got over his shock and started to snivel, his beady eyes boring into Remus Lupin as he backed out the door. Aunt Petunia made tea for the visitor, but also hot chocolate for Harry, and served both up with thick slices of Halloween brack, before locking herself in the kitchen.

Remus Lupin sat on the sofa and chatted to Harry while he sipped his tea, asking him all sorts of questions: what did he like to do? Where did he like to go? What was his favourite colour, favourite animal, favourite dessert? Harry had never spoken so much in his life, but the man – his godfather! – seemed to hang on his every word, and after a while Harry forgot to be nervous.

Eventually, Remus Lupin put down his empty cup. "Why don't you show me your room, Harry?"

Harry nodded, bouncing to his feet. This was a big deal – when Dudley's friends came over, they always played in his bedroom. So, if Remus Lupin wanted to visit Harry's room, maybe that meant they would be friends? He'd never had a friend before, and the thought made him feel sick and excited all at once.

He scurried out into the hallway, and began tugging at the latch of his cupboard.

Behind him, Remus Lupin chuckled. "What are you doing, Harry, hanging up your sheet?" He abruptly stopped laughing when the door swung open to reveal Harry's room. Harry looked up at him, not really sure what was meant to happen now, but his godfather just stared into the little space.

Harry began to feel a little uncomfortable; he thought his little room quite nice, and he tried to keep it tidy so Aunt Petunia wouldn't yell at him. It wasn't as big as Dudley's room, but he'd finally figured out a way to keep the spiders out of his pillow, and he always tried to make the bed. But from the horrified expression on Remus Lupin's face, he obviously wasn't impressed at all. Harry felt himself turn red, and stared down at his shoes. He'd only met the man an hour ago, and already he'd displeased him. Maybe he really was just a waste of space after all…

"This is your room, Harry? Your bedroom?"

Harry felt so wretched, he could barely nod his head. "Sorry."

He sensed the man kneel beside him, but couldn't bring himself to look up as gentle hands gripped his shoulders.

"What are you sorry about, Harry?"

"You – you don't like my room…" He wiped his nose on his sleeve, trying to hide the tears slipping now down his face. Aunt Petunia was always furious when he cried. But his new godfather didn't say a word, just softly wiped the tears away with a blue polka dot handkerchief.

The kitchen door creaked open, and Aunt Petunia appeared. Harry fully expected a scolding, but when he looked up, he found her staring not at him, but at the man beside him. Nothing was said for a long moment, but Harry was left with the impression that there was something happening in the silence.

"Why don't you go back into the sitting room, Harry?" Remus Lupin said eventually, his voice little more than a whisper. "I'll be right back."

The last thing Harry saw before the kitchen door closed was Aunt Petunia's face, as his godfather walked towards her.

What happened after Remus entered the kitchen remained a mystery to Harry, even now. His three-year-old self had tried pressing his ear to the door, but there wasn't a sound. He reckoned Remus and Aunt Petunia must have gone into the back garden to speak, because something was definitely said between them; Remus emerged ten minutes later, his eyes fierce and his pale face blotchy. Behind him, Aunt Petunia sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. The next morning, Harry had awoken to the sound of Uncle Vernon clattering about in Dudley's second bedroom, putting together a bed for Harry, who never spent another night in the cupboard under the stairs.

Back in the present, Harry shook away the memory, kicked off his shoes and pulled the bedcovers over him, not bothering to undress. Outside, he could hear the shrieks of the other children who lived on the road, and the quiet buzz of traffic on the main road. Glancing once more at the photograph of his parents, he took off his glasses and placed them carefully beside the frame.

The morning couldn't come soon enough.