I didn't forget, I promise x

The first thing she did when she arrived at the cottage was put Harry in the shower, clothes and all. Stomach acid and milkshake did not make for a pleasant assault on anyone's senses. She told him to take his clothes off in the shower, and when he was done to grab a towel from the cabinet under the sink, and she left some fresh pyjamas waiting outside the door.

She didn't tell him to keep the shower brief. In fact, the longer it took the better. It meant she had time to gather herself as she scrubbed and pre-soaked her skirt, standing in her underwear and t-shirt in front of the laundry sink.

She plucked a pair of comfy shorts and a fresh shirt out of the basket of clean laundry beside her, dumping the soiled stuff in the basin to deal with later. She heard the shower shut off, and the squeak of the door opening and closing. Absentmindedly, she made a note to get some grease for the hinges, which she would no doubt forget about later.

As she walked to the kitchen she piled her hair into something resembling a knot, tied it off with a scrunchie and shoved her wand through it. She filled the kettle, plonked it down on the stove and cranked on the gas. The low hiss of the flame gave her body something to focus on while her mind drifted.

Mustn't panic. One moment at a time. You're not his mum. You're his family. You can do this. You can do this.

First step. It's nearly four. He's still small, so bed time should be half seven. Dinner needs prepping. Dinner…

Upon opening the fridge, she had to wrinkle her nose. Sour milk, despite her best go at a preserving spell, it hadn't lasted nearly as long as she'd liked. This time, she wrote the thought down on the notepad stuck to the fridge - Buy milk.

The cream, however, had stayed odourless. And she found potatoes in the crisper, along with cabbage, and some sausages in the back. It would have to do, she supposed. Not a grand homecoming meal, but hot food at least. As she set about peeling the spuds for the mash, she heard the latter of hesitant feet down the creaky wooden stairs. She smiled, set down the spuds and peeler, and called out, "Harry, are you there? I'm making tea if you'd like some."

A pause, and then the footsteps continued downwards until he appeared. He was a sight. Pale, near to skin and bones, swimming in his grey vest and shorts. The drawstring, she noted, was pulled so small that despite the knot he'd tied, the string still fell near to his knees. His hair, whilst flat in some places from the damp, was sticking every which way. If it hadn't been so heartbreaking he would have looked quite cartoon-ish.

She forced out the words stuck to her throat - "I know it's a little warm still but, I thought maybe… if you'd like, the kettle… How do you like your tea?"

Small voice. "Milk, but no sugar please."

"My milk has soured, but there's a little cream left?"

A nod. He stayed standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Until the kettle started whistling. Then he sprang to action.

Harry walked with purpose for the first time since she'd met him. He strode over to the stove with his little legs, turned off the gas, and started reaching for the kettle. She reached to keep him away from the hot metal, but as she did so, the water splashed over his little arm. He yelped, and so did she, both at the horror of burning him and at the spray of her own she received.

Harry cowered away as she put the kettle back on the stove and reached for him. Another pin through the cushion in her chest.

"Harry, I need to see it so I can make it better. I'm sorry I splashed you, I didn't mean it. Please, sweetheart, I need to see your arm."

Harry shifted, and tentatively stuck out his red arm whilst still cowering into the cupboards. She gently took his hand, and rotated so as to reveal the large welt that had appeared. Choking back her tears, she reached up and plucked her wand from her hair, and muttered an incantation as she waved the 12 1/4 inch ebony stick. A white mist sprouted from the tip, coating and soothing the redness. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that his shoulders relaxed a touch, just enough to reassure her. She stepped away, and reached above the refrigerator for the first aid kit. From inside it, she plucked a small brown jar that had beige goop in it, smelling strongly of herbs and something else Harry couldn't identify. She gently took his arm again, and dabbed a light coat of it on before she washed her hands.

"Let that dry, and don't scratch it if it gets itchy," she told him. He nodded, still looking a little dumbfounded. She only realised then that he hadn't actually seen her do magic yet, disapparating aside. She sighed, and coaxed him over to the couch. As they sat, he didn't scooch closer than a throw pillow's width away, so she didn't push him. He was staring at the wand she'd stuck back in her hair. She smiled.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. Is it feeling better?"

He nodded, and without looking away from the black stick, asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

She grinned, in spite of the extra pinprick the question gave her.

"Why, Hogwarts of course." Harry looked her in the eyes now, his own wide and full of wonder. She took hold of her wand again.

"Would you like to see more?"

A nod. More eager this time.

She turned to the kitchen, and flourished her wand once more. From the lounge, the watched as the potatoes and peeler floated from the bench. Harry grinned.

It took a while, but by eight o'clock she had fed him, washed his face and hands, had him brush his teeth, and tucked in to bed with a story. He was softly snoring by the time she reached the landing outside his door.

Darcy gently eased down the stairs, past the kitchen, and over to the arm chair next to the hearth. She stared into the empty fireplace, too hot to light, and started to feel the pieces come away at the edges of herself. Her chest felt heavy, throat tight, and vision blurred as she finally started to come to grips with everything that had happened.

She'd brought him in. She was going to care for him now. For the rest of her life. She wasn't his mum, wasn't Lily, but she was as good as. And the woman that had been meant to stand in for Lily in the first place had reduced him to the broken little thing he was now.

She let herself quietly sob into her hands for a few moments more, before taking a hold of herself and forcing herself to get a grip. Wiping stubborn tears and a leaky nose, she grabbed the gritty green powder sitting next to the hearth. She cast a handful into the gaping maw, and the logless pit was aflame. Sparkling green kisses her face as she leant in, and clearly called out.

"The Burrow."