Chapter 18
“S’meant to protect us against Dark creatures, that’s why Gran had it planted, I think. Only when you’re touching the bark, though, so I guess we’d have to run out to the garden if we were under attack… You’ve got to be careful of the bowtruckles, look, they like to nest up in the branches and they get very protective…”
The tree is nice enough, as far as trees go, Harry supposes. Neville seems enamoured by it, as he is by most of the plants he’s eagerly told Harry about as they’ve passed them, but to Harry it just… looks like a tree. Supposedly there are little twig-like creatures living in the branches, but when Harry follows Neville’s pointing finger, all he sees are leaves and what might be a few pairs of beady eyes.
The Longbottom gardens do have some interesting plants. Neville introduces him to some pretty white flowers with black stems, calling them Moly flowers, a leafy plant called a puffapod that Neville warns him to stay away from, and bouncing bulbs, which, astonishingly, actually do bounce.
“We have to keep them behind the fence,” Neville says. “They get aggressive if you get too close.”
The gardens are extensive, too, with different sections and paths, and Neville tells him they’re not allowed into some places, because the plants there are too delicate or too dangerous. Apparently, Tilly cares for those plants. Tilly’s a house-elf, Neville says, like Marnee, the one who had led Harry and Remus through the manor.
Harry wants to ask more about house-elves—mostly, just what the hell are they? —but doesn’t want to ask stupid questions, just in case Mrs Longbottom overhears. He’ll ask Remus later.
The point is that the fancy Longbottom gardens seem like a mix of fascinating and boring plants, which is surprising, if only because he can’t believe there are such things as boring magical anything. Harry was sort of expecting every magical plant to be as incredible as some of the ones he’s read about in Remus’ herbology book, like the kind that eat people whole or sing different tunes based on the phase of the moon.
At least Neville seems to love them all, boring or not. He’s been much more talkative since they got outside, among the plants and away from his grandmother.
“You must like gardening an awful lot,” Harry says.
Neville blushes, turning cherry-red. “Oh, well, yeah,” he mumbles. “Plants just make sense, you know? I’m not very good with the other subjects I get tutored in, but I’ve always been good with the garden. Great Uncle Algie says at least it means I’ve got a spark of magic in me, since I can handle the magical plants. Muggles can’t, really, not safely.”
“I like gardening, too. I usually do all the planting and weeding and stuff for my—at my old guardians’ place. Don’t think I could keep track of all these like you, though.”
Neville ducks his head, but he seems pleased.
“Gran says you might be coming to stay with us,” he ventures. “Maybe—Maybe I could show you how to take care of the plants? It’s dead easy. If I can do it, I’m sure you can.”
Harry frowns. He knows the whole point of this visit is to meet Mrs Longbottom and talk about her taking him in, but he feels funny about it. A little resentful. The way he and Neville have just been sent off while the adults talk about his life makes him feel a bit like a pet dog being passed back and forth, no one wanting to claim full ownership. Everyone just keeps passing him off—the Dursleys, Madam Pomfrey, Remus. Harry just wishes they’d let him stay somewhere, somewhere he chooses.
He doesn’t even know Mrs Longbottom. Neville is nice, and he’s glad beyond words to have his very first friend, but that doesn’t mean he wants to live here with strangers. What if they’re afraid of werewolves? What if they think Harry’s something that he isn’t, all because of some stupid evil wizard that died when he was a baby?
“Alright, Harry?”
Harry blinks, finding himself scowling at the ground. Neville’s watching him warily, looking as skittish as a squirrel, but sympathetic, too.
“Yeah. Sorry, Neville,” Harry says. “I’d like that. I don’t know much about magic, but I’m sure you could teach me loads.”
Neville smiles at him. “I don’t know much either,” he admits. “Gran didn’t bother to get me a tutor for ages because everyone was convinced I’d end up a squib. Er, that’s like a muggle kid born to magic parents, sorry. Said it’d be cruel to teach me the basics and then take it away. I only got tutors last year after Uncle Algie dropped me out the window. I bounced all the way into the garden!”
Horrified, Harry gapes at him. “Is that normal?” he asks. “Dropping children out of windows?”
“Well, no,” Neville says, uncomfortable. “Least, I don’t think so? I don’t think he really meant to, anyway. He got distracted by Auntie Enid’s meringue and forgot he was holding me, I guess. He’s been trying to scare the magic outta me since I was little. What about you?”
Unsettled, Harry decides not to push the issue. He wouldn’t much like Neville asking about the Dursleys’, after all, and he’s pretty sure Uncle Vernon would happily dangle him out the window if given the chance.
“I dunno,” he says uncomfortably. “I guess I’ve done a coupla things. My guardians didn’t really like when I did things, though. Said it wasn’t, er, normal. I turned my teacher’s hair blue, I think, and one time all my hair grew back overnight.”
Neville looks suitably impressed, which makes Harry wonder what’s considered normal magic for kids their age. Neville can survive a several stories fall, and Harry can teleport to the school roof mid-run. It must be difficult, trying to raise wizarding children.
“Oh, there’s Mr Lupin,” Neville says, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “He and Gran must be done talking.”
Harry turns. Remus is indeed there, standing some ways back at the main gate to the gardens, patiently waiting. He has his hands in the pockets of his robes, though he briefly withdraws one to wave at them.
Abruptly, Harry is afraid to go over to him. He doesn’t think he wants to know the outcome of Remus’ discussion with Mrs Longbottom.
“Aren’t you coming?” Neville prompts. “If we don’t come back when we’re summoned, Gran’ll send one of the house-elves to fetch us, and they don’t like doing that.”
Glumly, Harry falls in line behind the other boy, trailing back down the path.
“Hello, boys,” Remus says once they get close enough. “Enjoy the walk?”
“Yes, sir,” Neville says politely. He seems more confident outside amongst the plants, which is interesting.
“Harry?”
“Yeah,” Harry grumbles. He glares at the ground by Remus’ feet and ignores Neville’s nervous glance at him.
“Alright,” Remus says after an awkward pause. “Well, Neville, your grandmother wants you back in the sunroom. She said to tell you to grab your schoolbooks and cauldron, she wants to review your week’s lessons.”
Neville groans. “I’m pants at my practice potions,” he says, then immediately colours in embarrassment when Remus raises his eyebrows, amused. “Uh—sorry. I’ll just—go. See you, Harry.”
“Oh,” Harry says. “Um, bye, Neville. See you.”
Neville takes off back towards the house, while Remus gestures for Harry to follow at a more sedate pace, quickly losing sight of the other boy. Tentatively, Harry does.
“You and Neville seem to get on,” Remus muses, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Harry glances at him suspiciously, but Remus, while perhaps a little tense, doesn’t seem to be feeling particularly—or at least visibly—guilty, or nervous to impart bad news.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “He’s nice. He knows loads about plants and stuff.”
“I’m glad. You were right, what you said earlier. I think your mother and Neville’s would be happy to see you two becoming friends.”
Harry almost trips, feet stumbling over a misstep, but recovers quickly before Remus gives any indication of noticing. Now Harry feels his own face flush like Neville’s, although he doesn’t think it’s embarrassment. He’s pleased, he thinks. It’s nice to hear that he’s doing something his parents would approve of.
“I’m sure we can arrange another visit with Augusta, if you like,” Remus continues, oblivious to Harry’s tumultuous seesaw of emotions. “She’s happy to see Neville making friends, too. Perhaps we can do another visit before Christmas.”
This time Harry really does stumble. Remus pauses in his stride, reaching out to help catch him, but hesitating at the last minute. Harry rights himself quickly, staring openly at Remus.
“You mean… You mean I’m going back with you? You’re not leaving me here?”
Remus’ face does some complicated gymnastics, cycling through emotions. “No,” he says slowly. “That is… Augusta has agreed to take custody of you, but that process takes time, so, for now, I thought… Well, I could talk to Augusta about letting you stay, if you wanted, but I wasn’t sure—Do you want to come back with me?”
“Yes,” Harry says quickly and vehemently. “Yes. Please.”
Remus blinks as if surprised, which is ridiculous, since Harry thinks his answer should be fairly obvious. Exactly what does Remus think Harry wants, and if he’s so unsure, why didn’t he just ask before all this?
“I like staying with you,” Harry says, deciding he might need to spell it out. Adults can be so stupid sometimes. “Even with your beans on toast and depressing werewolf cellar. I like your house, I like staying there, and I like you. I want to stay.”
Harry feels more and more awkward with every word, but he makes himself say them because he thinks he needs to, and because for the first time in his life, he thinks someone will actually care about what he wants. Remus gets paler and paler as he listens, looking old and tired, and Harry almost stops just to make Remus stop looking like that, but he doesn’t.
For a moment, they just look at each other. Then Remus sighs and closes his eyes.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, Harry. Let’s go home, then.”
So, astonishingly, they do.
*
Back at the cottage, Remus tells Harry the plan he and Mrs Longbottom came up with. He stresses that Harry still gets a say, and if he doesn’t like something, he should say so, and they can talk about it.
As far as Harry understands, Remus will still be looking after him here at the cottage, at least for some of the time. Especially the week of the full moon, Harry will be with Remus, safely away from Neville and out of the way of peeping eyes. Mrs Longbottom, however, will be his technical guardian, so she has final say in things to do with his schooling and doctor visits and such. He’ll stay with her and Neville sometimes when Remus needs to work, or if the ministry people get too curious about his living arrangements, or if Harry just wants to spend time with Neville.
It still sounds a bit like being passed around like a parcel, but at least this feels a little less like being a troublesome pet no one wants. Now it reminds him of Anthony, a kid in his class who spends every other weekend with his dad but lives with his mum for the rest of the time.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still want to stay with me outside of the full moon, when you could be with the Longbottoms instead,” Remus says awkwardly, sheepish under Harry’s glare. “I see I should have just asked you first. Luckily, Augusta talked some sense into me. She’s the one who came up with the idea of, ah, shared custody, of a sort. I’ll have to write Minerva before she does, else she’ll never let me hear the end of it…”
The arrangement sounds alright to Harry, so he’s cautiously optimistic. Remus says they’ll have to deal with the Ministry to change custody—and maybe the muggle government, too, since Remus says he lives mostly in the muggle world, and someone is bound to notice if he just randomly acquires a child, not to mention his missing presence at Privet Drive—and that all of that legal stuff can take time. So, he’ll be staying with Remus until then anyway, to avoid anyone getting suspicious of the Longbottoms’ extended house guest.
“Suppose I’ll have to properly clear out the spare room now,” Remus says. “Give you a space of your own.”
This casual offer is almost enough to overwhelm Harry completely. He’s never had someone be willing to rearrange their own home, inconveniencing themselves just for him. Mrs Longbottom may be willing to house him, but their manor is plenty big, and they have house-elves to help. Remus’ cottage, however, is small, with only him and Harry to do the work of emptying the spare room.
“Thank you,” Harry says.
“Don’t thank me for that, Harry,” Remus says, looking pained. “I should have done it a long time ago.”
*
They get started on the spare room the next day.
Harry pores over his acquired charms books, happily bookmarking everything he thinks may be useful: colour changing charms, switching charms, spells to remove and replace wallpaper, dust banishing. In his mother’s advanced charms book, he finds a section on a neat spell that supposedly creates an illusionary window—acts just like the real thing, except you can change the view to anything you want!
“I could never master that one,” Remus admits when Harry eagerly shows it to him. “My scenery always comes out blurry and the wrong colours.”
This is only mildly disappointing, since, as Remus points out, the spare room already has a window. The view’s only a bit boring—it looks out onto the neglected back garden, full of weeds and knee-high grass visible even through the snow that Harry isn’t allowed to wade in until Remus checks for gnomes and pixies.
Because gnomes and pixies are real. And mean, apparently.
Remus has already promised to try to find a book on magical creatures next, though he seems to know a lot just off the top of his head; he’s answered all of Harry’s questions so far.
Harry keeps the window illusion spell bookmarked anyway, for future reference.
“You won’t be able to cast anything until you get your wand next year,” Remus reminds him. “Even then, that’s complicated magic that you won’t even start to learn until your latter years at Hogwarts. Here, help me carry out these boxes…”
They seem to be committed to clearing out the room by hand, with only a little bit of magic. Remus only uses it to shrink some of the furniture stacked in there, and to float the heavier items out over Harry’s head, much to Harry’s awe.
“Can you use that spell on me?” he asks.
Remus grimaces. “I’d rather not.”
Disappointed, Harry turns back to the mouldy books he’s trying to shuttle over to the sofa without the covers disintegrating in his hands.
At first, Harry wonders what Remus is going to do with all the junk they pull out of the spare room. It’s just sort of slowly cluttering up the sitting room as they go, and he isn’t sure where there is to store it—the cellar’s off limits for storage, and there’s no shed out in the garden that he can see. Finally, he catches Remus using magic to float some of the stuff up a ladder to an attic that Harry didn’t know existed. It reminds him of doing this same chore for Uncle Vernon, what feels like ages ago, in a dream, in another life, but was really only—what? A month ago? Two?
Remus’ way is much easier.
It goes by much quicker, too, maybe because of Remus’ occasional sneaky magic, or maybe just because there are two of them instead of one. Either way, soon the sitting room is mostly set back to rights, the attic ladder is retracted back into the ceiling, and the two of them stand in the doorway to the spare room assessing their progress.
“I’d almost forgotten there was a bed in here,” Remus says.
Harry eyes it suspiciously. “Is it gonna disappear like the chair in the infirmary?”
Remus huffs a laugh. “No,” he assures. “It’s a proper bed, made to be one and everything. Not sure about the dresser, though… Kidding. All the furniture left in here is safe and sturdy. Er. Well, I’ll cast reinforcement charms, just in case.”
Harry watches him do so in fascination. The furniture doesn’t look any different after the casting, but Remus seems satisfied that nothing will collapse under Harry’s weight or use, so it must have worked.
“Now,” Remus says, stretching his back. “We’ll try to pick up some decorations and things when we pick up a wardrobe for you, but I think I can manage a few things… What colour would you like for the bedding? The curtains?”
He idly twirls his wand for a moment before Harry’s silence evidently stretches too long. Remus turns to him with a prompting look, but all Harry can do is stare.
“It’s just a simple colour switching spell,” Remus says. “You read about those, remember? Simple enough, with practice. Harry? Starting to worry me a bit, now.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Harry finally unsticks his tongue enough to say. His voice comes out faint and scratchy.
Remus blinks at him. “I know. I want to. It’s your room—you can pick the colours, at least. We’ll work on the rest as we go.”
“The rest?”
It seems like Remus has cottoned on to the fact that there’s some kind of problem. His eyebrows have gone all funny and scrunched. “Yes, the rest. You’ll need clothes, toiletries, things to occupy you. More books, perhaps, or games; whatever else you like to do. You know… things.”
Harry swallows thickly. “I’ve never,” he starts. Stops. “Never had many things. They—the Dursleys, you know. I, er, slept in a cupboard under the stairs. My whole life.”
Slowly, Remus’s face gentles. He doesn’t look at him with pity, though, which is the only thing that keeps Harry from turning on his heel and leaving the room immediately. Instead, Remus studies him for a moment with kind, careful eyes.
“I never had things,” Harry makes himself continue. It feels like he’s scooping the words out of his chest with a spoon. “Not like—not like Dudley. I stole a couple of his toys, sometimes, but only when they were broken and he’d forgotten them. I didn’t steal any that he’d miss, honest. He had a bedroom and all of these toys, and I had my cupboard. So. You don’t. You don’t have to do this.”
“On the contrary, I’d argue that’s all the more reason,” Remus says. “Harry, look at me.”
Reluctantly, Harry does.
“You won’t be going back to them. If anyone tries to make you, for whatever reason, I won’t let them. That’s why we’re handling custody with Madam Longbottom. Legally, she’ll be your guardian, and even the Ministry won’t be able to interfere, though I’d like to see them try. From now on, you’ll be staying either with Augusta and Neville, or with me. It’ll never be like with the Dursleys. I promise.”
Harry squints at him suspiciously. It sure sounds nice—better than nice, even, better than he could have hoped for—but he can’t forget some key things.
“You didn’t want me to stay with you, though,” he says. “I don’t mind. I get it, and if you don’t want—” Me, he doesn’t say, because that’s a bit too honest. “Anyway, all that’s expensive, I know it is, even with magic. Aunt Petunia always said so. I don’t have any money.”
He doesn’t mention that he doubts Remus can really afford all the expenses that come along with acquiring a child. That’s rude. But he sure thinks it, with Remus’ shabby clothes and poor grocery maintenance.
Remus’ face grows pinched. “Let me worry about the money, for now,” he says. “As for the rest… Harry, it was never that I didn’t want you to stay. Please don’t think that. I’ve been—well, I think I’ve been a bit of an idiot. That’s on me, nothing to do with you. I suppose I was just afraid.”
“Afraid?” Harry repeats, confused.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Remus confesses. “I don’t know how to take care of you. I’ve spent most of my life considering myself too dangerous for normal company, let alone a child, and now here you are. It’s just been a… difficult adjustment.”
Harry’s faintly reminded of the Headmaster’s words, that time he visited to tell Harry about his being a werewolf without actually telling him much at all—he’d called it a difficult adjustment, too. It seems a bit silly for Remus to be as nervous of Harry existing near him as Harry is of transforming into a violent monster for the rest of his life, but, well. Maybe Harry’s been a little nervous, too.
“So,” Remus says bracingly, settling back on his heels. “What do you say?”
Harry thinks about it. “Blue,” he says. “For the bedding.”
Remus smiles. “Blue it is.”