New Home
The steady hum of the Hogwarts Express beneath him was almost soothing, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to match the beat of Harry's heart as he sat in the compartment with Ron and Hermione. They were chatting quietly, their voices low as they discussed the events of the school year, but Harry found himself distracted, his mind drifting toward what was to come.
No more Dursleys. No more cramped cupboard or cruel words. This summer, he was going home with his dad.
"I’m going to change. Be right back," Harry mumbled, excusing himself as he grabbed a small bundle of clothes. He made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
The bathroom mirror was small and cracked in the corner, but it reflected enough. Harry stared at himself for a long moment, taking in the changes that had happened not just externally, but within. He had always been small for his age, but the past few months had seen him shoot up in height, his wavy brown hair brushing his ears now, a bit longer than he was used to. He ran a hand through it absently, feeling the unfamiliar texture beneath his fingers.
So much had changed.
He set down the bundle of clothes, carefully unfolding them. The green sweater, worn but soft, still carried the faintest scent of his father—Remus—and it brought a sense of comfort. Beneath it was a simple cream-colored shirt, which he slipped on before pulling the sweater over his head. He adjusted the fabric, feeling the warmth of the knit as it settled over him.
Harry stared at his reflection again. He looked... different. His features were sharper, his hair a deeper brown, his eyes no longer the familiar bright green but warm brown like Remus’s. He wasn’t Harry Potter anymore, at least not in the way the world had once known him.
And for the first time, that was okay.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ran his fingers through his hair once more, smoothing it into place. Gratefulness washed over him. He would never have to go back to the Dursleys. Never have to endure their neglect and disdain. He had a family now, someone who wanted him.
With a steadying breath, he turned and left the bathroom, walking through the narrow corridor of the train. His thoughts were still whirling, thinking about what awaited him at the train station. But as he rounded the corner, he almost collided with someone.
"Watch it," came a familiar, cold voice.
Harry’s eyes snapped up and landed on Draco Malfoy. He blinked, startled, but Draco didn’t react beyond a brief scowl. He didn’t recognize him.
Malfoy pushed past, but Harry turned and, with deliberate coolness, called out, "Malfoy."
Draco stopped dead in his tracks, glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Who the hell are you?" he sneered. "Some mudblood I’ve never met?"
Harry’s jaw clenched, the insult hitting its mark, but he held his ground. His stare was cold, the anger simmering just below the surface. He took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving Malfoy’s.
As Draco stepped closer, his eyes suddenly narrowed in on Harry’s forehead. The scar, a lightning bolt mark he had borne since that fateful night, stood out starkly against his now warmer-toned skin.
“Wait a second...” Malfoy’s smirk widened, and Harry’s eyes widened in realization.
“Potter?” Draco said, the name dripping with disdain.
Harry felt his heart race, the realization hitting him hard. He glared at Draco, fury igniting within him.
Malfoy slowly smirked, clearly reveling in the discovery. “Well, well. Look who it is. Have you finally gotten tired of seeing your dead father’s appearance and your mudblood mother’s eyes?”
The words cut deep, sharper than any spell could. Despite the fact that James and Lily weren’t his real parents, the impact of those words ignited a fire of rage within him. “Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Harry spat, his breath quickening with fury.
In a flash, he pulled out his wand, the familiar weight of it feeling both empowering and terrifying. He was ready to lash out, ready to teach Malfoy a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
But before he could make a move, Hermione’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension. “Harry! What are you doing?” She rushed forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
“Let go, Hermione! He—”
“I don’t care what he said!” she insisted, her grip firm. “You can’t let him get to you like this.”
With a furious shake of his head, Harry felt the adrenaline start to fade, but the anger still boiled within him. Hermione dragged him back to their compartment, and Ron looked up, concern etched on his face.
“What was that about?” Ron asked, glancing between Harry and Hermione.
“Malfoy being Malfoy,” Harry muttered, unable to shake the tension from his shoulders. He sank into his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, fuming silently.
As the train rattled along the tracks, Harry focused on the scenery outside, the fields rushing past in a blur. The anger slowly began to ebb, replaced by the realization of how ridiculous it all was. Why let Malfoy ruin his last moments on the train?
He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself as Hermione and Ron chatted softly about their summer plans. Gradually, he felt the tension in his muscles begin to loosen, the chaos of the encounter fading into the background.
The train finally slowed, the familiar sound of the whistle signaling their arrival at King’s Cross. Harry felt a rush of excitement course through him at the thought of stepping off the train and into a new chapter of his life.
As the train came to a complete stop, Harry rose from his seat, glancing one last time at Ron and Hermione. “Ready?”
They nodded, and together they stepped off the train, the familiar platform bustling with students and families.
They nodded, and together they stepped off the train, the familiar platform bustling with students and families. Harry’s heart raced as he scanned the sea of faces, searching for the one that would make everything feel right. The station was alive with laughter, shouts, and the occasional squeal of excitement, but all he could focus on was finding his dad.
As he made his way through the crowd, he spotted Molly and Arthur Weasley standing together, their arms full of bags and their faces alight with joy as they waved to their children. A pang of longing hit him. He loved the Weasleys, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was finally stepping into the life he had always wanted.
Then, like a beacon in the chaos, he saw him—Remus, standing a few paces away. His dad looked a little tired, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made Harry’s heart swell.
“Dad!” Harry shouted, breaking into a run.
Remus turned, and his face lit up with a smile that made Harry’s chest feel light. In a heartbeat, he was engulfed in a warm embrace, Remus pulling him close, the familiar scent of books and fresh air wrapping around him.
“Harry!” Remus said, his voice filled with relief and happiness. “I missed you, kiddo.”
Harry pulled back, beaming. “I missed you too!”
“Did you have a good journey?” Remus asked, ruffling Harry’s hair affectionately.
“Yeah, mostly,” Harry replied, a slight frown creasing his brow as he remembered his confrontation with Malfoy. But the moment passed as he took in the sight of his dad, feeling more at home than he ever had at the Dursleys.
Just then, he spotted Ron, who was standing with his family, his face lighting up as their eyes met. Ron waved, his smile infectious. Harry returned the gesture, a wave and a grin that spoke of their friendship. It felt nice to know that Ron was still a part of his life, even as everything changed.
“Take care, mate!” Ron called, his voice just above the din of the crowd.
“See you soon!” Harry shouted back, his heart feeling lighter as he turned to Remus.
“Come on, let’s get your things,” Remus said, glancing down at Harry’s trunk, which was still sitting on the platform.
With Remus’s help, they navigated through the crowd, Harry feeling a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. Together, they collected his trunk and bag, Remus’s presence beside him grounding him amid the bustling chaos.
“Now, let’s make this a bit easier,” Remus said, glancing at Harry’s trunk. With a flick of his wrist and a quiet incantation, the trunk shrank down to a much more manageable size. It now fit neatly in Harry’s pocket, along with his other belongings.
“Whoa, that’s amazing!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.
Remus chuckled softly. “It’s called shrinking charm. Useful for travel.” He glanced around, then added, “Now, we’re going to Apparate to my house.”
Harry furrowed his brow, the term unfamiliar. “What’s Apparate?”
Remus looked down at him, his expression kind but serious. “It’s a form of magical transportation that allows you to instantly appear in another location. You just have to focus on where you want to go and hold onto me tightly.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Harry replied, excitement bubbling within him.
“Just make sure to keep your eyes closed,” Remus instructed. “Apparating can be a bit jarring for first-timers.”
With a nod of determination, Harry reached up and grabbed his dad’s arm. He could feel the warmth of Remus beneath his fingers, a reassuring anchor. “I’m ready.”
“Alright, here we go. Just relax,” Remus said, and with a deep breath, he turned on the spot.
The world twisted and spun around them, colors blending together in a dizzying blur. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tighter, a mix of exhilaration and apprehension coursing through him. In an instant, the sensation changed. The spinning stopped, and a cool breeze brushed against his face.
“Open your eyes,” Remus said gently.
Harry did, and he found himself standing in front of a quaint little house surrounded by a lush garden, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air. “Wow,” he breathed, taking it all in.
Remus smiled, his own eyes glinting with pride. “Welcome home, Harry.”
He led Harry through the front door, into a cozy hallway that smelled faintly of wood and old books. The house wasn’t large, but it had a warmth to it that instantly made Harry feel at ease. Remus guided him through the rooms one by one, giving him a tour of the place that Harry would now call home.
"This is the living room," Remus said, gesturing to a comfortable space filled with well-worn furniture, bookshelves lining the walls, and a fireplace that crackled softly. The room had a peaceful atmosphere, and Harry could already imagine sitting by the fire with a book.
Next was the kitchen, small but functional, with a wooden table tucked into the corner and a window that overlooked a small, colorful garden. "I’m no gourmet chef," Remus chuckled, "but I can manage a decent meal or two."
Harry grinned, feeling more comfortable by the second. He followed Remus down a narrow hallway until they stopped in front of a door. "This," Remus said, opening it, "is your room."
Harry stepped inside, and his eyes widened with surprise. The room wasn’t large, but it was bright and welcoming. A bed with soft, simple bedding sat against the far wall, and there was a small desk by the window with a few books already placed neatly on top. The walls were plain, but it was unmistakably his space.
"You can change anything you like," Remus said, standing behind him. "The bed, the desk—it's all yours. And if you want, we can repaint the room to a color you like, or get you more things to make it feel personal."
Harry spun around, eyes glistening with emotion. He had never had a room like this before—one that truly felt like his own. The Dursleys had always made him feel like he was an unwelcome guest in their house. But this? This was different. This felt like a home, his home.
"Really?" Harry asked, his voice a little breathless from happiness. "I can choose the color?"
Remus nodded, smiling warmly. "Anything you want, Harry. This is your space now."
Overcome with gratitude, Harry rushed forward and hugged his father tightly. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
Remus hugged him back, his hand gently resting on Harry’s back. "You don’t have to thank me, Harry," he said softly. "I’m just glad you're here."
After a moment, they pulled back, and Remus waved his wand to unshrink Harry’s belongings. The trunk and bags expanded to their full size once again, neatly placed in the corner of the room.
"I’ll let you unpack and get settled," Remus said, giving Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But take your time. We’re not in any rush."
Harry nodded, watching as Remus gave him one last smile before stepping out of the room. As the door clicked shut, Harry looked around, taking in his surroundings with a sense of wonder and joy. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged somewhere.
Harry moved around his new room, unpacking his things with a light heart. He placed his clothes neatly in the closet, feeling a strange satisfaction in hanging them up—an act that felt so simple yet symbolized something far greater: that he had a home now. Next, he carefully arranged his books on the desk by the window, glancing out at the peaceful garden every now and then. The sense of belonging that filled him was overwhelming.
Once he finished, he left his room and wandered downstairs, following the sound of dishes clinking. He found Remus in the kitchen, setting the table for lunch, the smell of something warm and delicious wafting through the air.
Remus looked up and smiled. “All settled?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s... really nice. Thanks, Dad.”
Remus’s eyes warmed at the word "Dad," but then he asked, "Do you think we should go back to the Dursleys to collect the rest of your things?"
Harry froze, an uncomfortable knot tightening in his chest. The thought of going back there, even just for his belongings, filled him with dread. He shifted awkwardly and quickly responded, "I don’t have anything at the Dursleys. Everything I own is in my trunk."
Remus paused mid-motion, confusion flickering across his face. “Everything?” he asked, frowning. “But surely you left something behind? Clothes, books... anything?”
Harry bit his lip, avoiding Remus’s gaze. “They didn’t... they didn’t really give me anything. The Dursleys didn’t like me very much,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, as if it were no big deal. “I just got hand-me-downs from Dudley and stuff like that. I didn’t get much from them.”
Remus’s frown deepened, and he put down the plate he was holding. “Harry, did they... did they at least take care of you? Make sure you had enough to eat?”
Harry hesitated, a cold wave of memories rushing back. He glanced down at his feet, suddenly finding the floor fascinating. “I mean, yeah, most of the time,” he mumbled. “It’s just... if I ever did any accidental magic, they’d lock me away for a bit. And, well, not feed me sometimes.”
Remus went very still. Harry could feel the weight of his father's silence, as though the room had been drained of warmth in an instant. He purposely left out the part about the cupboard, hoping Remus wouldn’t press any further. But the older man’s eyes darkened, a dangerous flicker of something yellow sparking behind them.
“Harry,” Remus said, his voice calm but with an edge that made Harry’s stomach twist, “where exactly would they lock you up?”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t lie to him. Not now. Not with the look on Remus’s face. So, in barely more than a whisper, Harry answered, “I stayed... in the cupboard. Under the stairs.”
For a moment, the world stood still. Harry didn’t dare look up, but he could feel the shift in the room, like a storm about to break. There was a terrifying silence before Remus’s voice broke it, low and guttural.
“I’ll kill them.”
Harry’s head snapped up in alarm. Remus’s usually warm eyes had turned cold and predatory, his body tense with barely contained fury. His fists clenched at his sides, his face darkening with anger.
“No!” Harry rushed forward, grabbing onto his father’s arm, his heart pounding in his chest. “Please, don’t! Don’t tell anyone. Don’t do anything.”
“Harry,” Remus snarled, his voice trembling with rage. “They locked you in a cupboard and starved you. I can’t—how could they—” He cut himself off, unable to even finish the sentence.
“I know,” Harry said, his voice soft but pleading. “But it’s over now. I’m here with you. I don’t ever have to go back. Please, just... leave it alone. Don’t make things worse.”
Remus looked down at Harry, his eyes filled with a deep, furious sorrow. It took every ounce of control for him to swallow the rage that burned inside him. His son, his precious boy, had been treated like this—abused and neglected for years—and there was nothing he could do to change the past. But he could protect Harry now. He could make sure he was never hurt again.
After what felt like an eternity, Remus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His muscles slowly relaxed, though his hands still trembled.
“Alright,” Remus said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Alright. I won’t do anything... for now. But, Harry, if anything like this ever happens again, I won’t stand by and let it.”
Harry nodded, relief flooding through him, though guilt gnawed at him for making his father hold back. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Remus pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him close, as if to protect him from everything that had ever hurt him. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” he murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.”
The smell of something acrid hit their noses, and Remus pulled away abruptly, his head snapping toward the stove. “Oh no,” he muttered, rushing over to rescue what was left of their lunch. He waved his wand to put out the small flames licking at the edges of the pan, the once-delicious meal now slightly charred.
Harry watched from where he stood, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the tension. It was such a normal, domestic scene—something he had never experienced at the Dursleys, who had only ever demanded that he do the cooking but never shared moments like this.
"Do you need any help?" Harry asked, stepping closer to the stove, eager to be useful.
Remus glanced back at him, his expression softening despite the slight mess he was now dealing with. “I think I’ve got it under control, but I wouldn’t say no to a hand. Here,” he said, motioning to some ingredients on the counter. “How about you help with the salad?”
Harry’s heart warmed at the invitation. He moved to the counter, setting to work chopping vegetables. It was simple, mundane, but it felt like so much more. Working side by side with his father in their own kitchen—it was the kind of life he had never thought he could have.
As they quietly worked together, Harry occasionally stole glances at Remus, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions from their earlier conversation. He knew his dad was still angry about the Dursleys, but Remus was making an effort to focus on the present.
They finished preparing the meal together, the kitchen now filled with the comforting scent of roasted vegetables and fresh salad. Once everything was ready, Remus gestured for Harry to take a seat. The table wasn’t anything grand, but to Harry, it felt more like home than anywhere else had ever been.
They started eating in companionable silence at first, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound. After a few moments, Remus glanced up from his plate, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Harry, what kinds of food do you like? I want to make sure we have things here that you enjoy.”
Harry paused mid-bite, slightly taken aback by the question. It wasn’t something anyone had ever really asked him before, and the idea of someone caring about his preferences felt strange and wonderful all at once. He set his fork down, thinking for a moment.
"Honestly… I don’t really know," Harry admitted, his brow furrowing slightly. "I never really had favorites. I ate whatever the Dursleys gave me, when they felt like giving me anything. I was usually just hungry, so I didn’t care what it was." He smiled softly. "But the food at Hogwarts? That’s amazing. I like everything there."
Remus’s expression darkened for a brief moment as Harry mentioned the Dursleys again, but he quickly masked it, nodding thoughtfully instead. “I see… Well, then we’ll just have to try all sorts of things until we figure out what your favorites are, won’t we?”
Harry grinned at that, the idea of exploring new foods and having a say in what they ate feeling almost unreal. “Yeah… I guess we will.”
They continued to eat, and as the conversation flowed, Harry felt more at ease with every passing minute. They talked about small things—school, Quidditch, and what life would be like now that they were living together. Remus’s voice was calm and steady, filling the room with a sense of peace that Harry had rarely felt.
By the time they finished their meal, the kitchen felt warm, cozy, and—most importantly—like a place Harry could finally call home.