Minerva had flooed from her office to the Leaky Cauldron at precisely 4.35. She’d tipped her hat to Tom and briskly made her way into Diagon Alley where she could safely apparate, to the same spot near an abandoned playground that Severus had recommended before her last visit to Cokeworth, about a 15-minute walk from Rosemary’s block of flats. She walked quickly and was standing in front of the building with several minutes to spare, and swiftly used an unlocking charm on the front door before making her way up the stairs, anxious to see little Harry again. While she trusted Rosemary Evans a lot more than she had Petunia Dursley, she certainly wasn’t going to make the same mistake again and allow Harry to stay in an unsafe home for even a second. She had come back last weekend as well, but it was a lot more difficult to observe a second-story flat than a suburban home, even as a cat, so she’d given up her reconnaissance mission after a couple of hours – if she stayed away from Hogwarts for too long, or too obviously, Albus would get suspicious, and she presently did not trust him with any information pertaining to little Harry’s whereabouts.

Having thus been forced to retreat prematurely the previous week, Minerva had pursued a more offensive strategy this time and simply informed the other woman of her intention to visit, with little room for negotiation. To her credit, Miss Evans – no, Rosemary, she reminded herself – had replied very promptly and invited Minerva into her home, which Minerva thought was encouraging: At least, Rosemary had nothing to hide. Rather unlike her niece, Minerva thought darkly, who had preferred to hide the very existence of her nephew. At precisely five o’ clock, as she had specified in the letter, she knocked on Rosemary’s door, much like she’d done only two weeks prior.

This time however, it was Rosemary who was carrying a toddler on her hip as the door opened, looking more confident, if perhaps less put together, than she had on Minerva’s previous visit.

“Hello, Minerva,” she said, smiling up at her, “do come in!”

Harry, too, looked much better than he had the last time she’d seen him – while he was still too skinny for a child so young, he at least didn’t look like he was starving any longer. He’d also lost that horrible, empty look in his eyes, and was now looking at her with attentive eyes. Although he did look a bit scared and clung a little tighter to his aunt, hiding his face in her shoulder.

“Good afternoon, Mi- Rosemary. And hello, Harry!”

Rosemary led them into the living room, which showed clearly that there was a child living in the flat, with building blocks set up in one corner, and a blanket, picture books, and cuddly toys in the other. Rosemary set the boy down on the blanket, before gesturing for Minerva to sit on the sofa. Harry was now staring at them with wide green eyes, still looking rather suspicious of the newcomer, so Minerva conjured a few blue iridescent butterflies, much to the delight of the little boy, who was soon clapping gleefully and attempted to catch the lights when Minerva directed them towards where he was sitting.

“He likes that,” Rosemary said, “Magic, I mean. I saw it earlier with your owl as well, I don’t think I’d ever seen him happier.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he? Magic is a fantastically useful tool; and can be stunningly beautiful in the right hands.”

“I never claimed that it wasn’t,” Rosemary shrugged, “I only meant that he needs to see more of it.” After a questioning glance, the woman huffed and expounded. “I think magic things, like the owl earlier, or your butterflies now, remind Harry of his Mum and Dad. He finds them comforting, but as much as I want to, that’s not really something I can give him.”

This was not something Minerva had considered before, but she supposed Rosemary did have a point – and not a bad one at that. But before Minerva could respond with anything more than a hum, Rosemary pressed on, sounding much more adamant than before.

“Now, I’m not saying that I don’t want to raise him. Harry’s staying with me. But I need help. He’s already lost so much, and magic’s part of who he is. It would be cruel to take that away from him.”

Again, Minerva was stunned, and a bit angry with herself. Despite taking young Harry away from the Dursley home, she’d still blindly followed Albus’ lead in thinking that it would be best for the boy to grow up tucked away safely in the Muggle world, completely removed from fame, yes, but also away from wizarding society and his heritage. While she did feel ashamed to have overlooked Harry’s needs in this, Minerva took some comfort from the fact that at least Rosemary hadn’t.

“I thought we could get an owl, too. Harry really liked having yours around and that way, we can contact you if we ever need to.”

“Yes. Of course,” Minerva replied, finally able to shake off her stupor. “We should also open an account for you at Gringotts – that’s the wizarding bank – so that you can order essentials by owl post. I’m afraid it’s a bit late to do that today, but I can make time to take you later this month.”

At this point, Rosemary rose from the sofa and made her way over to Harry, who was motioning to be picked up. She did so, and spoke softly to the toddler before turning to Minerva and continuing in an only marginally louder voice: “About that… Well, with Harry living with me, I won’t be able to continue working the same hours that I have, not for a while at least,” Rosemary began, wrapping her arm protectively around Harry’s shoulder, “And I thought about applying for benefits, but I don’t think the council even knows Harry exists, and… I really hate asking for this, but –”

“We will take care of that. Harry doesn’t yet have full access to the Potter vaults, but there is a trust fund set up specifically for Harry’s education and upkeep, which I’m sure the goblins can set up for you.”

“A trust fund,” Rosemary began, tickling the little boy in her arms, “who would have thought you were a toff, eh, Harry?” Minerva was about to continue when Rosemary spoke up once more, “Sorry, did you say goblins?”

“I did. They run Gringotts.”

“But that’s absurd!”

“I assure you; they are quite real. And it would be best not to express those sentiments when we do go to Gringotts, for they are quite particular when it comes to their status in the bank.”

“Are they fully integrated into your society, then? Any other fantasy creatures? Or, well, reality creatures, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Minerva conceded after pausing to consider the matter. “While they do venture into wizarding society occasionally, most magical beings – like goblins, leprechauns, or merpeople – exist quite separately from wizarding society.”

“Well, why on earth would you have them run your banking system then? That just seems awfully inconvenient. There must be some wizards somewhere who know about finance.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.” For the next hour or so, Minerva tried to explain the relations between wizards and goblins as best as she could – though her own history lessons had been mostly forgotten, and she often found herself unable to adequately answer Rosemary’s many questions. Being a good forty years older than most outsiders introduced to the wizarding world, Rosemary’s inquiries were of a very different nature from those Minerva was accustomed to from young Hogwarts hopefuls. Rather than asking about the best broomsticks or most impressive spells, Rosemary’s questions were a lot more practical, and Minerva found that she couldn’t answer how an isolated economy might function when nearly all goods could be conjured from thin air. Or, for that matter, why the goods that did sell seemed so backwards and out-dated to the other woman.

As the two women chatted, Rosemary sat on the blanket with Harry, helping him to stack his blocks while Minerva kept conjuring different illusions keep ostensibly only Harry, but really all three of them entertained: flower petals dancing around Harry, red sparks and a tiny humming bird. She even transformed into a cat, which prompted a gasp from Rosemary, a yank of the tail from Harry, and another lengthy explanation from Minerva. Finally, she conjured a set of three pulsating orbs of brilliant green.

Harry, who’d been very content all afternoon, except for a minor frustration when he’d accidentally knocked over his tower, and who’d been delighted at all other displays of magic suddenly started wailing. But these weren’t just the cries of a toddler who didn’t yet know how else to articulate his feelings, these were piercing shrieks of unadulterated fear and terror. Minerva immediately extinguished the lights, but it still took several minutes of Rosemary cooing and rocking the child for him to calm down. Even then, the look on his face was one that Minerva had seen countless times before, on much older faces in the middle of a war, and filled her with a terrible sense of cold dread crawling out from in between her shoulder blades and creeping up her spine.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what set him off there,” Rosemary said, bouncing a still distressed looking Harry on her hip.

“I think I might. The Ava- the curse that killed his parents, it emits a green light. I shouldn’t have –”

“You think he remembers that?”

“I dread to think it, but I think he must.”

“Christ. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate already. No more green lights, then?”

“No more green lights.”