The ride to the airport was mostly silent.

Harry slumped gracelessly in his seat, all teenage lankiness in a twisted slouch that would have left an older body aching for days.

From the tiny slit atop his window, his fingers danced loosely in the wind, until the cab caught speed and the air became too frigid.

The driver made half-arsed attempts at conversation, but they all fell short.

"Goodbyes can't always find the words, I suppose" he grunted, almost to himself, and let them be.

It was surprisingly insightful and, at the same time, it left no doubts about what this really was. A goodbye.

A goodbye loaded with deceit and too many unknown variables that could all go to shit.

Harry looked like a child with his forehead pressed against the window and his fingers idly tracing the path of raindrops running down the glass.

Despite the pillow lines etched onto his face and the drowsiness from the early start, Harry had woken buzzing with energy. Breakfast had been filled with nonsensical blabbering and growing bucket lists of things that simply needed to be done.

"Do you think I will see the dolphins?", breakfast Harry had asked, eyes wide in wonder, before gleefully shrieking at the endless possibilities of the ocean.

It had passed in a whirlwind of emotions and words that made the contrast with the silence in the cab even the more poignant.

He observed the boy's profile against the glass, haloed in the soft light of rain mixed with speed, and tried to catch any sign of nervousness. Any indication that maybe this wasn't the right decision after all. That, maybe, he should call this insane plan off and just take Harry back to where he belonged.

He watched closely, not sure if hoping or dreading for a trace of uncertainty, something that could excuse his sudden need to keep Harry close and damned the consequences.

Harry didn't seem distressed, thought. Eyes lost to the blur of 9 am traffic, he appeared merely deep in thoughts. There was a soft smile parting the boy's lips and that was enough to strengthen his resolve.

Harry looked calmly happy, in a way he hadn't since before that blasted tournament in fourth year.

Deep in his heart sat the knowledge that he wasn't likely to survive the war. It was more resigned acceptance than a feeling. He was the last man standing of a group that did everything together, and his death seemed the only natural conclusion. The last step bringing a friendship stronger than life, stronger than the limits of human form, to full cycle.

But Harry didn't have to die. If things went the right way, he didn't even have to know there was a war going on at all.

Harry could be a boy, somewhere along the sand and the ocean, while the men fought in the conflict he had already given so much of his youth to. It felt somewhat wrong, making the choice for him, but then Harry hadn't chosen to be the obsession of a madman either.

Harry hadn't chosen to lose his loving parent before having the opportunity to get to know them properly. He hadn't chosen to be raised by people that despised the inner essence of his own being. He hadn't chosen to be the child hero of a world quick to turn its back on him at the first, uncomfortable truth.

Harry hadn't chosen.

"Having second thoughts?" He asked, just to be sure.

"No - definitely, no. I just worry, what if I am not able to fit in? To do it on my own?"

"Ha- Evan. I might not know you well -", not as well as I'd like "but I am sure that whatever you put your mind to, you'll do just fine. Better than that, you'll do great".

Harry still looked doubtful, eyes gazing at the open palm resting on his legs as if they held the answers to his concerns.

"People will like you for who you are". The distraught faces of Ron and Hermione, tear streaked and lost, ignite a different kind of guilt. Some already have, it's what he wanted to say.

Harry nodded. His left hand slid to the chain around his neck, twirling the little pendant between his fingers absentmindedly. An owl, eyes two round pools of glass.

During the purging of Grimmauld Place, he and Sirius had come across the trinket, looking innocent among the cruelty collected by generations of Blacks. But Sirius had been disgusted.

"That thing is vile" he had growled, trashing it into the rising pile of objects on the floor of one of the guest rooms.

"I think it was made innocently enough, as much as anything owned by my beloved family can be considered such. It was meant to absorb the wild magic of children before they were ready enough to use it, something to avoid them accidentally breaking one of these rich assholes' delicately evil heirlooms. I am sure Great Grandfather Black and his delightful gang of blood purists enjoyed using it on Muggleborns to weaken their magic. All charm and snake. Pretty lady, a special gift to adorn your lovely neck-" his voice had taken a mockingly concerned tone "and there you have it, Your Honour, a squib. Of course, I will take her into my service, poor thing. It was one of Mother's favourite bed time stories". He had concluded bitterly.

Despite Sirius' glare had almost been enough to set the entire pile on fire, the matter of Voldemort return had taken priority over everything, so that anyone from the Department of Magical Artefacts and Regulations had yet to come and collect it. To this day, the objects still lay scattered across the cold tiles.

It had felt like the foulest sin to pick it up and pocket it swiftly whilst the house was preoccupied with Harry's disappearance. Sirius' words resounded sharp in his mind, accusations of betrayal. Vile! Nasty! Wrong!

There was no way, however, that Harry's wouldn't freak out at his incontrollable bursts of magic. What could have passed for tricks of an active imagination as a child, would definitely raise some questions in his 16 years old mind.

Vile. Nasty. Wrong. But safe.

It was on the spur of the moment that, after finding the shards of Sirius' two way mirror in Harry's trunk, he had decided to encase two small, round pieces in the void of the owl's eyes.

Not enough to see much or to give a location, just small glimpse to assure himself that Harry was okay. There wasn't any other way, nothing that could put him in closer contact with Harry without it being dangerous for the boy. He needed to cut all the ties and let Harry's future decisions hide his tracks in between the billions of people and paths life threw his way. Hidden to all and to him, too.

With the second mirror safely stored at his grandparents' Muggle house as the only connection left, it was time to let Harry go.

The cab pulled into one of the airports drop out spots, and there was no to time left.

This was it, a goodbye.

They thanked the driver with few words and a roll of cash. Harry stood awkwardly at the side, a backpack slung across one shoulder and his new red luggage gripped firmly in the other hand.

The urge to take him into his arms was overwhelming, but they weren't there yet, not in this life. Not when he was only Evan James' school teacher and little more.

"So, it's time. . ." He trailed off, feeling silly and vulnerable.

"Yeah" Harry replied with a half smile.

"Do you need, you know -" he gestured to the luggage.

"No. No, I'll be fine. . . Thank you. Thank you so much".

And then Harry was hugging him. It was brief and a little stiff, but it took all his strength not to hold on and never lose his grip.

"Goodbye, then".

"Goodbye". Harry, "Good luck".

He stayed there, looking at Harry's retreating back and long after he was gone. People passed around him in a busy blur and, in the chaos, he was invisible. So, he took his time, a steady breath after the other.

The sky had cleared and the airplanes stood in contrast against the blue, faint tails of white going in all directions. He had never been a believer, but today he wanted to. He wanted to imagine James and Lily watching their son fly.

He shook his head. James and Lily were gone.

A van honked by, diverting his gaze to the flashy vehicle advertising Christmas deals. It was only September and the end of the year seemed so far away.

He wondered if Harry would be happy that Christmas.

With that thought in mind, he found a secluded spot and apparated back to Cardiff.

In the privacy of his uncharted house, for the first time in years Remus wept into his palms.