She rolled over to face the day, decided that she didn't entirely want to meet it and burrowed back under the covers where it was still warm and dark, wrapping an arm around her husband, who was still snoring soundly.

In his sleep, he caught her hand, pulling her closer. Content to be drowsy for a little longer, she shuffled closer, snug against his back. While her husband wasn't much of a morning person, Amelia Lupin generally was. Usually she hated staying in bed of a morning, tending to feel a little claustrophobic and eager to get on with her day.

Not today.

Today was the kind of day you weren't sure you wanted to begin: moving day.

Since her belated entrance into the Wizarding World two years previously, Amelia had spent the majority of her time teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Hogsmeade, Scotland. Consequently, her flat on the edge of London had largely been left empty, unless her Aunt Beatrice or one of her migratory flock of old friends needed somewhere to stay while they were in town.

Before accidentally falling into teaching, Amelia had been an archaeologist, working as a roadie for various touring bands in the quiet season. For the better part of a decade her life had been mobile and she had travelled across most of Europe. All her old friends were settling down now, but they all showed the occasional need to become semi-nomadic again; Amelia was no exception.

When she and Remus had decided that their futures were going in the same sort of direction, he had moved in. The pair of them had shared the flat for the two months of the year they weren't required to be in Scotland. It had been Amelia's retreat from a hectic world for a long time now, amplified by the chaos caused by her previous, rather unbalanced boyfriend. It was the first place she had chosen and saved up for entirely on her own. It was going to be something of a wrench: like saying goodbye to her young-adulthood before moving onto the next phase of her life, with Remus.

Recent events, however, had made the move a necessity. Just a couple of months before, the followers of Lord Voldemort had made a bid to kidnap the Boy Who Lived in order to use his bodily fluids to raise their cult leader from the – well, not entirely from the dead (there had been much discussion in the staffroom about this); from the differently alive.

It wouldn't be long, now, before he started to flex his magical muscles, consolidating his position and starting to move towards completing the mission he had been focussed on when he sort-of-died: total domination and control of the Wizarding World, starting with the UK and moving out from there, taking his own, peculiar idea of racial and ethnic cleansing with him.

With the Wizarding World teetering on the brink of war, the flat felt horribly exposed. They had talked it over and both she and Remus wanted somewhere more easily protected – preferably somewhere that a known quantity could keep an eye on while they were up at the school. They would keep the flat, for the time being, and rent it out (either to a muggle with no connections to the Wizarding World, or to someone they could trust), as soon as they found a suitable tenant.

The move to Bea's farm in Shropshire had been on the cards for a week or two now, and it was hard not to feel a little like they were running away. Amelia had written to Bea to ask if it was a possibility back in May, the day after she and Remus had exposed and apprehended Lord Voldemort's key supporter inside the school, who had been hiding in plain sight for the better part of a year.

The altercation between the Lupins and Barty Crouch Junior had been quick and bloody, and there had been several moments when forcing the imposter to show his hand had seemed foolhardy. Her forthright and outspoken cousin, Hermione Granger, who – along with the rest of her year – had witnessed the brief, but violent, fight from the windows of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, had been surly and short with them both for several weeks, muttering darkly about Gryffindors and undue risks.

Given her propensity for nearly getting herself killed in the first four years of her scholastic career, Amelia had told her she hadn't a leg to stand on and eventually the girl had given up, distracted (in any case) by the end of term exams and the conclusion of the ill-fated Triwizard Tournament. Besides, after he'd murdered his own father in the Hospital Wing and they'd worked out just who the imposter posing as ex-Auror, Alastor 'Mad-Eye Moody' was, removing him from access to the student body had been something of a priority. Remus had shown Amelia the man's court records from the previous war; she didn't like to think that anyone who would willingly torture someone to the very edge of their sanity should be allowed the freedom of a school.

She didn't like to think what might have happened if they hadn't intervened when they did.

With these unhelpful thoughts chasing around her brain, Amelia drifted back to sleep. It was with some surprise that she woke a little while later, to an empty bed. She hadn't expected to go back to sleep at all; she squinted at the clock. Nearly an hour had passed since she'd first opened her eyes that morning.

Amelia groaned. There was so much to do!

She rolled over as Remus nudged the door open with his hip, carefully carrying two mugs of tea. A slow smile spread over his face when he saw her sprawled across the bed, watching him.

"Morning," he said, with that slow, sunny smile still gracing his lips.

She paused for a moment to take him in. His tousled light brown hair – already flecked with silver though he was only just approaching his mid-thirties – shone like burnished wood in the fresh morning light. Like Amelia, much of Remus's youth had been spent on the move, but for all the wrong reasons. Bitten by a werewolf when he was very young, life had not always been kind on her husband, the Wizarding World having an inexcusably dim view of lycanthropy.

When they had met, Remus had been thin and exhausted, bouncing from job to job and town to town to make ends meet, having to pack up and move on every time someone found out about his condition. The way he described it (which he did only reluctantly), the general reaction of modern society was one of disgust, and a slight improvement on the way things had been in recent history, mostly because there were fewer actual torches and pitchforks around.

Three thin scars on his face were a permanent, visible reminder of his condition and the things that got him noticed most often. Once, he had admitted to her that he had hated them when he was younger, but these days he barely paid them any mind. He had made his peace with his scars, and the world that reviled them.

Amelia would have preferred him never to have had the pain of any of the network of scars that crossed his body like cobweb, but since they were there anyway she told him they only added to his charms. It wasn't as if she didn't have her fair share of scars, too, including the ones he had inadvertently given her.

These days, having a steady job and a permanent home, he was much healthier – and it showed. Amelia thought he was extremely good looking, in an understated way, and she always had, even when he had been skinny with lack of food and his clothes had been threadbare.

Having grown up outside the Wizarding World, Amelia had much more progressive views on his condition, though it pained her to see how he suffered around the time he transformed. It took it out of him and – even though these days he had access to a potion that reduced the pain and allowed him to keep his mind – it was still fairly traumatic on the body. She was always pleasantly surprised by how quickly he bounced back, and how much energy he had the rest of the month.

Remus's grey-blue eyes sparkled with mischief, enjoying her obvious assessment of him.

"I hope you like what you see, Mrs Lupin," he told her. "I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me."

Amelia stretched happily in the sheets, a satisfied smile on her face. "Are you still going to bring me tea when we're old and doddery?"

"Well, you'll be old and doddery," he teased, sitting beside her on the bed and handing her one of the mugs. "I have no intention of being."

Amelia laughed, pushing her unruly blonde hair out of her face. She took a sip of tea – Osmanthus and Green Tea this morning – and made herself comfortable against the pillow propped up on the headboard. Remus joined her, cradling his own mug in his hands.

They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, content to enjoy the moments of stillness before the expected chaos of the day.

Amelia leaned out of bed and put her empty mug down on the floor beside the bed. She straightened up, looking around her old familiar bedroom, and sighed.

"You don't really want to move, do you?" Remus asked, softly.

"No, not really," she admitted, leaning her head against the pillow. "I know it's not much, but I love this old place." She pulled a face. "It feels a bit like I'm leaving a part of myself behind, you know? Still, needs must when the devil drives."

Remus gave her hand a squeeze. "I know, love," he said, and kissed her hair. "But we can't stay out here – the stronger Voldemort gets the more he's going to be looking for people who oppose him, and we're both a bit too vocal for our own good."

"And if they're going after us, they'll go after Bea, too." Amelia nodded slowly. "I know. I know it makes sense, but it just makes me a little sad."

"Try to think of it like we're moving forward in our marriage," he suggested, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Starting the next chapter. Okay it's not entirely by choice, but…" He smiled slightly. "I have so say, even if we spend most of our time at Hogwarts I'm rather looking forward to setting up a home with you."

Amelia smiled. She couldn't help it. "Well, when you put it like that…" she said, and he laughed. "No, you're right. I'm just being silly. It's the next great adventure."

"That's the spirit," he goaded, kissing her forehead.

"You're okay with essentially moving in with my aunt, though, right?" she asked, chewing the inside of her lip.

"Of course I am," he assured her. "And moving into the cottage isn't quite the same thing as moving in with Bea – it's a different building, for a start."

Amelia grinned, feeling relieved. It was something that had been weighing on her for some time.

"Yes, but her personality is roughly the same size of the farm."

Remus laughed and pulled her into his arms. "Meeting her for the first time was a little intimidating, I have to admit," he said, and Amelia snorted at the memory*. "I think she's warmed up to me now, though."

"Her bark is worse than her bite."

"Hah! Like mine."

Amelia swatted his arm, affably. "You, my love, hardly bark at all," she teased. "You're very well trained."

Remus shook his head, unable to stop the corner of his mouth twitching up, and kissed her. It was usually the simplest way to stop her talking, and she knew exactly what he was up to. She could feel him trying not to laugh.

"Come on," he said eventually, when they broke apart. "Or Molly and your aunt will never let us hear the end of it."

They rolled out of bed, dressing quickly in old clothes suitable for moving. Most of their belongings were already packed, ready and waiting for the small army of 'volunteers' who were helping get them settled. Most of Amelia's friends were off digging, since summer was their busiest season, so instead they had reached out to the Weasley clan, who had become close friends over the last couple of years, and more reluctantly to Sirius Black and his godson.

While Remus was sure that his oldest and best friend would do anything for him, should he ask, he also knew how frequently things exploded around the man, particularly if he was allowed to get bored.

Harry Potter, Sirius's godson, had assured him that Sirius would be on his very best behaviour, however, and Remus almost believed him: Amelia and her aunt could be terrifying when they wanted to be. Since his release from the wizarding prison, Azkaban, where Sirius had been serving time for a crime he had not committed, he had taken up residence in a spacious cottage in the country, about as far away from his old life as he could get. Although Harry had to spend some of his holiday with the loathed Dursleys, he also had a room at Sirius's, where an eye could be kept on him.

Since Voldemort had returned, keeping an eye on Harry had become a permanent preoccupation of the adults in his extended family.

Molly and Arthur would be bringing four of their seven children along to help (or hinder, depending on how the twins were feeling), and Hermione had invited another of their friends, Neville Longbottom. The kids would be staying for a couple of days, so they could ramble around a different part of the countryside for a change and give Molly and Arthur the opportunity to have a short holiday in Devon, the first they'd had as a couple since their first son had been born.

Amelia set to work dismantling the bed, bundling their bedding up and carefully tying together the wooden slats that made up the frame. She hummed while she worked, as she often did, smiling when she heard Remus whistling along with the tune from the kitchen. As they packed the last few things, she found that she couldn't be unhappy with the move – not with Remus pottering around in the background, knowing that wherever she was heading, he would be there too.

She had to admit, the cottage at Pear Tree Farm wasn't a bad place to start married life, either. She and Hermione had grown up around the farm, spending their summers in the orchards and their winters by the fire in Bea's kitchen while their parents played Scrabble or cards together in the sitting room. Though she loved her, she and her mother had had a rather rocky relationship, so most of her happiest memories were at the farm, where there had been other people around.

Bea and her late husband, Ernie, had moved into the old stable block and barn at Pear Tree Farm when her grandmother had run it, renovating it bit by bit over the years. The farmhouse itself – now illogically referred to as the cottage – had fallen into disrepair over the years following Bea's great grandmother's death and had needed some serious work to make it habitable again. Work that Amelia had been happy to help with between excavations and gigs.

Bea had always intended to rent it out, one day, but she preferred her own company and that of her family, so the house had stayed vacant, but cared for, for some time. Even when Hazel, Amelia's best friend, had moved into Pear Tree Farm, she had taken a room in Bea's part of the buildings, at least until everyone worked out what they wanted to do.

Her arrival at the farm had been a bit of a rush decision, too, her relationship with one of Remus and Amelia's colleagues and closest friends, Severus Snape, potentially putting her in a great deal of danger now that Voldemort was back in business. Severus had been on the wrong side of the last war, and Hazel's lack of a magical background made her an obvious target for the Death Eaters, who were probably even now wondering how to test their old friend's loyalty.

Being a double agent was never simple.

Amelia grimaced; she hated to think of any of her friends being put in that position, but he didn't really have a choice. His loyalty was now firmly, unshakeably to Dumbledore, and as a spy he could be very useful to anyone who didn't want the old man's genocidal opposite to take over the world.

The war – though it hadn't quite started yet – was never far from peoples' minds.

No one Amelia knew had any doubt that there would be one.

Knowing that it was inevitable, she pushed these darker thoughts as firmly to the back of her mind as she could, determined to enjoy whatever peaceful time they had left. Now Amelia had made a start on packing up the last of her things, taking over the old farmhouse with Remus seemed much more like an adventure. They could make it their own, together.

She carried the last few bags and bundles of things through to the living room, currently containing all of their possessions, mostly in boxes – predominantly books. Remus came out of the kitchen with the few breakfast things they'd left out, ready for the move. Amelia looked around.

"I hate this place when it's tidy," she sighed, dusting her hands off on her jeans.

"You said that last year," Remus told her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She felt him tuck his chin into her shoulder and smiled, hugging his arms to her.

"It's not a bad old flat, really," she said, running her eyes over the bare walls. "I hope whoever we get to move in treats it better than I did, leaving it alone for ten months of the year, poor thing."

"Come on, let's get this first lot Apparated across, and then you can bunk off and take charge of the kids."

"Yes, if by 'bunk off' you mean 'be sick in the bushes'," she grumbled.

Apparation, though convenient, was not Amelia's favourite means of travel. It had a way of making you feel like you had been turned inside out and back again, which was very inconvenient if you had eaten anything in the last forty-eight hours. She just didn't seem to be able to get used to it.

Remus grinned and took the opportunity to pat her soundly on the bottom. She flailed ineffectually in his direction and he sprang back, looking impish. His childish side was a delight to see, and usually Amelia would be happy to encourage it. Today, though, with two Marauders and the son of another (let alone the Weasley Twins) around, she was prepared to err on the side of caution.

"Race you there?" he suggested, and then vanished with a loud pop.

"I suppose I should be grateful the cottage actually has fireplaces."

0o0

*See the Epilogue of Dreams and False Alarms.