[1982]

The new flat was a few blocks away from a park. I knew that because the landlord felt the need to remind me every few seconds as if it was a deciding factor. It wasn't, and I couldn't have cared less about an area where Muggles congregated, except perhaps to be sure to steer clear of it.

For the first time in my life, it had come down to money. I had no income, and there was no vault this time that I could leech savings from. There was no other choice but to make due with what I had.

So as the clock chimed midnight, we found ourselves crammed into the one-bedroom flat. It was disgraceful living quarters for a Black, but at least there were no nosy neighbors and no one around to recognize Harry. That was good enough—for now, at least.

"Happy New Year, Kreacher," I said as he shuffled past the couch, muttering under his breath.

He grunted at first and then elaborated, "What's there to be happy about?"

I couldn't blame him for his attitude. The move was hard on him, as well. More so, even, than for Harry and I. After all, the relocation meant that he had to be extra careful not to be seen. Then there was the restriction on magic. It was too easy to track, too easy to be found out, and therefore had to be kept at a minimum.

"We're alive, aren't we? Isn't that something to celebrate?"

"Yes, alive." He scoffed as he turned his back to me and walked towards the bedroom, though I could still hear him grumble, "Alive and living as Muggles."

He'd come around...eventually. But not without a fair amount of griping, if I had to venture a guess.

Beside me, Harry took uneven steps along the length of the couch. Keeping two fingers in his mouth, he used his free hand to reach for the book that was open in my lap, but I snatched it into the air before he managed to grab it.

"No, no, this is my book. I fear you're a bit young for the Dark Arts. Go play with your own things."

I motioned to a stack of toys in the corner, and the green eyes glanced between the toys and I as if sizing us up, deciding which was more deserving of his attention. After a moment, he turned his back to me and toddled over to his cars and plopped down beside them.

I watched him for a moment, playing and laughing like he didn't have a care in the world. If he missed his parents at all, he didn't show it. Did he even notice they were gone? Would he remember them at all? He was better off that way, I supposed, with no real knowledge of what Voldemort had taken from him.

"Happy New Year, Harry," I said as I turned back to my book.

He laughed and said, "Vroom," as he hurled a car across the flat. I knew what he meant.

...(X)...

The weather turned earlier than usual, but we remained holed up in the flat. There was nowhere really to go; everywhere we turned, there was nothing but Muggles. I had to remind myself that it was for the best, that we were safest here. As many times as I repeated it, it never made me feel any better.

But then the flowers started to bloom, and the once dreary world burst into color. It was no surprise to find Harry with his face pressed against the glass window, round eyes watching the world pass us by below.

"Play," he said without looking at me, poking his pudgy finger against the pane.

"We're not going outside to play, not with all those filthy Muggles about."

"Play!" He said it louder, as if that would convince me to change my mind, and banged his palms against the glass.

"You're a proper wizard, Harry, so act like it. We can go out after dark when they've all turned in."

"Wanna play!" Harry whined, emphasizing and drawing out each syllable.

Then all hell broke loose. His whine turned high-pitched as he threw himself on the floor. His arms and legs flailed loudly, and his face turned a bright crimson as he emitted a shrill wail that would have made any Fwooper jealous. And I didn't even have the benefit of a silencing charm.

Before I could decide how to handle the situation, Kreacher stepped out of the kitchen carrying a cup. Without a word, he walked over to the toddler and dumped the whole glass of water on his head.

Harry didn't seem to know how to react, but he stopped his tantrum, at the very least. His green eyes scoured the room for the source of the sudden wetness, but Kreacher had already returned to the kitchen as if nothing had happened, though I could hear him ranting quietly about bratty children.

It was hard to blame him for wanting out. We had all started to go a bit stir crazy, despite the stolen moments after dusk or before dawn when we'd wander to abandoned areas away from the Muggles. There were so damn many of them that it almost became a pastime just trying to avoid them. They were like a plague.

"Maybe we should take a walk," I said to myself as I stared out the window. The sun was already rising over the small Muggle town, and with no clouds in the sky, it promised to be a nice day.

"But Master, the Muggles," Kreacher said as he handed Harry a bottle.

"I doubt there will be many Muggles about." It was early on a Monday morning, late enough to have missed the morning commuters but early enough to avoid the lunch crowd. "Besides, we can always just come home if there's too many people about."

"But where will Master go?"

"We'll go..." I hadn't actually given it any thought. I hadn't explored the town, so it wasn't like I really knew what was available. Though, there was one area, at least, that I was aware of. "We'll go to the park."

I acted confident in my decision as I piled Harry's things into a sack and dressed him to go out when in reality I was anything but. This would be the first time I took Harry out on my own. Kreacher couldn't come, of course. To make matters worse, I'd be at the mercy of the Muggles, and I'd heard enough stories about their ignorance and naivety—neither of which was a trait that was easily forgiven.

"Are you sure about this, Master?" Kreacher asked as I made my way to the door with Harry in tow. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Being left behind, for him, was just as nerve-wracking as leaving was for me.

"Of course I'm sure."

I shot him a reassuring grin, but I don't think he was convinced. He was probably thinking how far the Blacks had fallen—one son locked in Azkaban, one son living among Muggles. Thank Merlin Father was already dead, because the thought alone would have been enough to drive him into an early grave.

"We'll be back before you know it," I said as I closed the door, but he had already Apparated away to do whatever it was he did when we were gone. I had decided long ago that it was probably best that I not ask. I figured even House-Elves needed some amount of personal space.

There was no one in the stairwell and no one hanging around outside the buildings. So far so good. The air had a bit of a nip to it still, but the sun was warm and the air smelled fresh, and Harry already seemed to be in a better mood. He was clapping and cooing as I carried him, pointing at random things over my shoulder.

The walk to the park was short, and thankfully, there was no one in sight. It was a square grassy area with a sandbox in one corner and a worn-down swing set that I wouldn't even trust my worst enemy to use. Even calling it a park in the first place was generous, but Harry was squirming to be put down, and we were already there, after all. Might as well make the best of it. So I turned him loose and took a seat on the lone bench by the sandbox.

He tottered around, oblivious to the world, chasing one bug after another like they were amazing creatures that ought to be captured and studied. He seemed happy, though for the life of me I couldn't imagine how. In the past three years, my life had, almost literally, come to an end, but in that same time his was just beginning. Yet, after everything he'd been through, he came out the other side unharmed, save for a single lightning bolt scar. He was much more resilient than I was.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

I started at the sudden voice, and it took all my restraint not to draw my wand simply out of habit. I hadn't heard anyone approach—I was getting careless and would have to remedy that—but I looked up into light gray eyes embedded in an old, smiling face.

"Sorry if I startled you, dear. I didn't want to bother you. It's just that this is the only bench, and my old bones aren't quite what they used to be."

No, I wanted to shout. No, no, no! But she was right; she was old, even for wizard standards, and she looked worn out. She smiled like she didn't have a care in the world, laugh lines accentuating her face, but the perm was falling out of her gray-and-white mottled hair and her clothes looked a bit ratty. It didn't look like she had much going for her as it was. The least I could do was let her sit, I supposed.

"Of course," I said, instead of all the other responses that came to mind. I scooted to the very edge of the bench, as far away from her as I could possibly get.

The three girls with her had already run off to frolic in the grass. Merlin, how could I not have heard their big mouths? They were a couple years older than Harry, but they swarmed him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. He looked duly terrified, and I could hardly blame him.

"You don't get out much, do you?" the woman asked as she lowered herself onto the bench with a grunt.

"Hm?"

So she was a talker. Just great. I'd have to find a way to excuse myself so I could rescue poor Harry from the Muggle girls and we could be on our way. Maybe Kreacher was right. Maybe we should've stayed home after all.

"Just a guess. Your son is awful shy, but not to worry. My girls have a way of getting people to warm up to them, bless their hearts."

"He's not my son," I said out of force of habit and then instantly regretted it. Why was I engaging her? A conversation was the last thing I wanted.

"Just his guardian, then? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all." She paused, folding her hands in her lap as she watched the children play. "The girls aren't my children, either. Goodness no, I'm far too old for that. They're my granddaughters. But I'm all they've got, and that's what really matters."

One of the girls shrieked, and I couldn't help but smile at the triumphant look on Harry's face as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and gave it a yank. The other girls were laughing at their sister's misfortune, which caused Harry to break out in a giggling fit, too. For whatever reason, he seemed incapable of laughing without failing his arms, so the more Harry laughed, the harder he pulled. I couldn't decide which of them was simpler, the baby or the Muggle girl who was foolish enough to get caught.

"Mindy, dear, if you don't want him pulling your hair, don't get close enough for him to pull it," the grandmother scolded. "He's just a baby, but you're a big girl."

The girl managed to wrest her hair free, and she ran off laughing with her sisters chasing her. Harry remained sitting on the ground for a few moments as if he was deciding what to do. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and half-stumbled, half-ran after them. When they realized they had a tag-along, they slowed their pace so he stood a fighting chance of catching them.

I had to admit, they weren't at all what I was expecting of Muggles from the stories I grew up with. They welcomed Harry into the fold and treated him almost like a little brother. They were patient when Harry was slow and encouraging when he hit his stride just right. Everything older siblings should be; everything my own brother had once been. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if they were so accepting because they thought he was the same as them. Would they be so understanding if they knew that he was a wizard?

"Look at that." The voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I glanced sideways at the old woman only to find that she was studying the children with a smile on her face. But it was different somehow from when she first arrived. It was almost sad. "Didn't I tell you? He's come right out of his shell."

"Yes, you're right."

I should leave. The thought kept nagging at me like a parasite, gnawing away at the back of my mind. The indignity of it. I was so much better than this town and these people and this park. I was a Black, for Merlin's sake! But...I was a Black with no home in the wizarding world, no money to my name, no family to speak of. Besides, Harry was playing in a way that I'd never seen before. So, I stayed.

A few minutes passed in silence, and then the woman started suddenly and turned to face me.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. I don't believe I've introduced myself. I'm Margaret Latche, but you can call me Viv."

"Viv?" I asked, trying to work out how Margaret becomes Viv. I knew Muggle names were often weird and eccentric, but if there was a correlation there, I couldn't find it.

"It's short for Vivian. Margaret Vivian Latche, that's my full name, but Margaret is such a stuffy name. I always thought Vivian suited me much better."

"Oh. I'm Reginald Friedman."

Sirius had thought of the alias when I first decided to rent a flat in the wizarding world, where my name would be too easily recognizable. It sounded stupid to me, but I didn't have his imagination, nor his experience with half-bloods and Muggles.

"Reginald? What an interesting name."

"I come from an interesting family."

"Do you go by Reg? Or Reggie, maybe? I rather like Reggie. I think it suits you."

"Reg is fine, I guess. Only my brother calls me Reggie."

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Reg."

She extended her hand, but I hesitated. I didn't actually want to touch her, but I couldn't be rude, either, could I?

"Likewise," I said, trying my hardest not to look disgusted as I shook her hand. I must have pulled it off, because she didn't seem offended.

"We should get going," I said as I stood, for my sake just as much as for hers. She didn't seem anything at all like the Muggles in Mother and Father's stories, and I wasn't sure how to handle it. I couldn't trust her. Of course not. Sure, she seemed nice at first, but if she were ever to find out—the minute she found out—she would turn on us. That's what Muggles did. That's why there was a statute in the first place.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, and she genuinely sounded disappointed. That wasn't my problem. "Do take care of yourself."

"Harry! It's time to go."

He stopped running as soon as I called his name, looking between the girls and I. He was torn between two worlds, too young still to understand his proper place and where he belonged. He came racing up to me anyway, calling a hasty, "Bye," over his shoulder at the girls.

We were just about to leave when the Muggle woman called, "Oh, Reg?"

"Hm?" I pulled Harry's hand to signal for him to stop as I turned back around.

"I live right down the road from here in the old McGregor building. You know, the one they converted into flats?"

"I'm not from around here."

"Well, it's a big, red complex. Can't miss it. The McGregor sign's still out front. We're in flat ten. The girls don't start school until next year, so we're usually around. You know, just in case you and that boy of yours ever need anything."

"Uh, sure."

I ushered Harry back towards the flat, pulling him along when he got distracted by something, which was every five steps or so. I understood. Outside was a whole new adventure to him, especially in the daytime like this, but I just wanted to get home.

We passed a middle-aged man as we entered the building. He started to say hi, but I hustled along before he could get the words out, lifting Harry into my arms as I entered the stairwell. I'd had more than my share of Muggles as it was, and I had no intention of getting dragged into another conversation with one.

Before I even opened the door to the flat, I knew Kreacher already had lunch going. The aroma wafted straight into the hall, even though I didn't recognize the smell, and my stomach grumbled in response. I'd been in such a rush to leave that I'd completely forgotten breakfast.

"I'm back," I called as I stepped inside, locking the door behind me.

Kreacher stepped out of the kitchen, regarded us up and down, and grunted.

"Master smells like Muggles," he muttered as he returned to his cooking.

...(X)...

"Do you...do you think he sounds funny?"

I studied Harry, but he looked the same as always. He'd been crying on and off all day for absolutely no reason, but this time it sounded different. It was almost like he was hoarse. Could babies lose their voices from crying too much? Probably not. I couldn't be so fortunate.

With a sigh, making it all too clear that it was an inconvenience, Kreacher picked Harry up and started turning him every which way. Harry sure wasn't happy about it, and I couldn't imagine it helped him figure out what was wrong. Then again, he knew more about children than I did, having helped raise two already.

"Potter brat has a cold," he declared, setting Harry back down and going on his way like it was nothing.

"What kind of cold?"

His cheeks were an awfully bright red, upon closer inspection, and his normally bright eyes looked glassy.

"Kreacher does not know. Probably sick from Muggle filth," came the answer from the bedroom.

A Muggle illness? It seemed likely. That meant there was probably no potion to cure it, not that I had the ingredients to make one even if I wanted to.

"What do Muggles do when they get sick?" I wondered aloud. I had no clue, and there wasn't anyone I could ask.

"They die," Kreacher answered. Then, softer, he added, "Stupid creatures."

"I suppose I'll just have to watch him," I said to no one in particular.

Still sobbing pitifully, Harry pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over to me, holding his arms out insistently. That's just what I needed—a crying, snotty child on my lap. But he was persistent, and by the time he started trying to climb up himself, I pulled him onto my knees.

"Kreacher, does Mother still have that old book of bedtime stories? I need you to fetch it for me."

He didn't answer, but I heard the pop as he Apparated. A few minutes later, he reappeared in front of the couch and handed an old, dusty tome to me. With a sleeve, I wiped off the layer of grime enough so the gold lettering could be seen. Harry immediately went to grab it, but I held it out of his reach. He started to fuss and whine as he tried to squirm his way closer to it.

"Listen, Harry, because I have a few rules. First, I won't read while you're crying. It's a waste of both of our time. So if you want a story, you'll have to sit still and behave."

It took a few minutes, but he managed to stifle his tantrum to the occasional sniffle and whine, but he pouted, bottom lip jutting out, the whole time.

"Good. Rule two is you don't touch. This has miraculously survived both Sirius and I as it is. I don't want your drool and boogers all over it, so your hands need to stay in your lap as I read."

I tried to lower the book, but as soon as it was within range, he reached for it. A few more attempts, and he quelled the urge, wiggling impatiently as I opened it. I skimmed through the stories until I came to one particular one.

"Ah, here it is. This was my favorite when I was little. There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight..."

...(X)...

I woke with the vague notion that I had been sleeping, even though it felt like I had just laid down. I wasn't even sure what had woken me. Kreacher was nowhere in sight, no doubt returning to his cupboard in the manor to sleep.

I stumbled to my feet still trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. Harry was in his crib sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with each respiration. The living room was empty, save for a few lurking shadows made by light filtering through the blinds, and the wards were all undisturbed. Must have imagined it.

I returned to bed with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like there was something I should know but didn't. I had been dreaming, I think, though I couldn't remember what about. Maybe that was it.

I stretched out in bed, but before I could fall asleep I heard barking. It was an odd sound, unlike any dog I had ever heard. By the time it turned into a long, wheezing inhale, I realized it was coming from the crib. Everything was still for a few minutes as I watched Harry sleep, but before long he had another coughing fit. Only, it sounded more like a bark than a cough. Something was wrong. I had no idea what, and I didn't know much about babies, but this definitely wasn't normal.

Harry was sick. That much was obvious. Now what? A Muggle doctor was out of the question, but so was a Healer. What options did that leave me with?

It had been a month since we had been to the park, and I didn't know what made me think of the old lady, but I did. Even if she was a Muggle, she was practically the only person I knew in this town. Besides, she had offered to help if we needed it. But...would I really stoop so low as to accept help from a Muggle, of all people?

Harry answered for me as he coughed again. He really sounded horrible. In the end, I had no choice. This was way over my head, and if I didn't so something then who knew what would happen.

I didn't even bother changing his clothes, just threw him in a blanket, wrapped it tightly, and slipped my coat and shoes on. The streets were deserted this late at night. I hadn't even thought to look at the time. The Muggle would be home, but would she answer the door to a stranger in the early hours of morning?

The old McGregor building was easy enough to find. It was only two blocks over—a giant, looming shadow with peeling red paint. The sign was swaying slightly, causing its hinges to bang. I almost didn't recognize it, as worn as it was. Half the letters were missing so that what it actually said was 'M reg or'. I couldn't even begin to guess what the building had been in its past life.

I pushed through the doors into the empty entryway and wandered the first floor until I found flat ten. I stood there just staring at the door with Harry's head resting on my shoulder as he snored into my ear.

Was I really about to do this? Yes, I was. I had to. I raised my fist to knock, but stopped with it just before the door. Did I really have no other choice but to beg a Muggle for help? Was this how far I'd fallen?

I shoved the doubts to the back of my mind. I could worry about all of it later, after Harry was feeling better. Despite my reservations, I knocked a pattern on the door and waited for any signs that someone was in the apartment. I wasn't disappointed. After a minute, there was scuffling, and then the door swung open to the end of the chain and a gray-haired head appeared.

"Oh, Reg!" The door closed and there was the click of the chain being slid before it swung back open. "Please, come in, come in. You look exhausted. Has something happened?"

"It's Harry. He—"

My explanation was cut off by a few sharp barks, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably before settling back down to sleep.

"Oh dear, sounds like he's got croup."

"What's that?"

"An infection of the upper airway," she answered while she closed the door and did up the chain. As if that explained everything. I still had no idea what she was talking about, and Muggles had the most ridiculous names for illnesses.

She turned around and immediately started laughing—a light, airy sort of a thing. What the hell was so funny about this situation? For all I knew, Harry could be dying. Then what?

"First time he's gotten sick on you, isn't it? Oh my, it's written all over your face." She chuckled again, but this time she at least had the decency to cover her mouth and try to compose herself. "I'm sorry, it isn't funny except that I've been through this time and time again. It'll be a long night—more so for you than for him—but he'll be just fine. Harry, you said, yes?"

I nodded, and she reached out and took him. Harry grunted a little, but he didn't wake up.

"Don't fret. I'll show you what to do for tonight. Follow me." She led the way around the corner and to a small bathroom, where she started unwrapping the blanket around Harry. "Close the door, will you?"

I did as instructed, and she turned on the hot water in the shower.

"Do this any time he starts having trouble breathing. The steam will help open up his airways and let him breathe easier. Are you giving him milk?"

"Well...yeah."

"No more milk for the next week or two. Give him water or the occasional juice."

The room was starting to fill with steam already, and I was growing uncomfortable in my coat. But the Muggle woman sat there on the cold, hard floor with Harry sleeping in her arms like it was nothing. She never once complained that I had woken her, even though I clearly had. If Harry stirred, she shushed him, and the one time he woke, she rocked him back to sleep with a level of patience I had never witnessed before.

By the time we returned to the living room about fifteen minutes later, Harry was breathing easier in my arms.

"He might still have problems later on," the old lady warned, "but at least now you'll know how to handle it. If it gets worse, take him to the doctor, but honestly, there's not much they can do. It's a virus, which means antibiotics won't touch it. Just make sure you sleep by him at night so you can watch in case he has trouble."

"I...I don't know...how..."

The words were there. They were simple enough. Thank you. How hard was that? But to a Muggle? And now I was indebted to her and would have to find some way to make up for the help she'd given me.

"Don't worry about it. I suppose you've probably only recently come to raise him, hm?"

I didn't have to answer that. She may have helped me, but I had no intention of spilling my life's history because of it.

"No, it's okay, you don't have to say if you don't want to," she continued as if she knew what I was thinking. "It's hard at first, I know. It's been a little over two years now since my daughter was killed by a drunk driver. I found myself with not one but three small children. They're triplets, you know, but they're all so different. This isn't my first time raising children, but still I struggled."

"It's been..." I started, but I had to stop to do the math. How long had it been? Forever it seemed, but that wasn't accurate. "It's been about six months since his parents died."

"It gets easier with time. I promise." She smiled, and her gray eyes flashed with a fire that reminded me of another pair of gray eyes. I could still hear his words echoing in my mind. I trust you. Even after everything, even when he didn't know who he could trust, he still said that.

"But my door's always open if you find you need some help," she said as she held the door open. "I may not know you, Reg, but I've got a good eye for people. It comes with age." She winked before continuing, "You can do this. I know you've got it in you."

"I'll let you get back to sleep now," I said as I stepped into the hallway. I was going to leave it at that, I had every intention of it, but I knew there was more that should be said—more that had to be said. "And...thank you."

I didn't wait for an answer, just headed down the hall and back out into the crisp night air.

She wasn't bad, I decided, for a Muggle. Surely there had to be at least one or two exceptions to the rule. What was it she had said her name was again? Ah yes, Vivian. I supposed I should remember that from now on.

Author's Note: I'm so surprised at the support this has gotten so far, and I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read this thus far, especially everyone who took the time to leave a review. :) Your words are what make me want to keep writing and keep improving.