Author’s Note: This was written for deanine as part of a story swap. As part of the same swap, she also wrote Harry/Luna fluff of a slightly different nature, which she is also posting.

---

Thud. Sigh.

The two sounds chased each other around the room, stealing the joy from the house; the slamming of a door, and the sharp exhalation of a frustrated male breath. As they died away, tumbling past each other up the stairs, the cottage sagged. It wasn’t grand enough for it’s master, wasn’t the mansion that people expected. It’s cheerful colors and plain decorations weren’t what a hero was supposed to have, and it’s occupants were far from glorious.

Sitting by the French doors that led out to the frozen garden, the youngest of the family felt much the same. He was huddled in on himself, rocking slowly. His big (creepy, they called them, vacant) eyes looked past the grass and the snow and the winter, back to the garden in the summer and the laughter they all shared. He frowned, little face turned down sadly, and petulantly blew his black fringe away from his eyes in a sound that unconsciously imitated his father’s.

Without knowing it, he’d lightened the mood. His mother smiled her dreamy smile, and his father chuckled reluctantly and squeezed her hand.

“It’s not so bad,” Luna said softly. “At least she didn’t get offended when I asked about Snorkle Pox…”

“…or ask for my autograph…”

“…or try to take pictures of the house…”

“…she even stood up well when I asked her about defensive spells.”

What had gone wrong hung heavily in the silence. Even the boy, somewhere in his dreamland, knew the problem. The girl had been scared of him. (Wrong, they said, unnatural. No good.) He stared outside stubbornly. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t ashamed.

“You can’t expect them to stop fearing a thousand years of evil in one generation,” Luna said.

“But he’s only just a little kid! How could he have done anything to deserve that sort of thing?” Harry stood, pacing across the room. The floorboard creaked under his feet, and silent tears began to fall from the child’s eyes. Daddy was angry.

“Slytherin and his heirs never used it for anything but evil,” Luna said. “They think it’s an evil power.”

Harry knew she was right. She usually was, when she turned her slightly odd intellect to human relations. But he’s just a kid, the part of his mind that even still clung to fairness shouted. Just a kid.

The war had taught the better part of him not to expect fairness from his fellow humans, and the righteous anger died away quickly. Rather than pace the floor, Harry bent down and pulled his son into his arms.

-- -- --

“Punctual, anyway,” Harry muttered, answering the door at precisely ten o’clock the next morning.

The young lady on the stoop eyed him coolly, her expression polite and nothing more. He invited her in and they exchanged pleasantries (how many times must a person do this in their life? Harry wondered dully.) as he took her cloak and hung it with the others by the door.

When they were seated, Harry beside Luna and the woman, Sarah Grey, across the low coffee table from them, they dropped the pretense of idle chatter. This wasn’t a social occasion, and after two days of unsuccessful and increasingly frustrating interviews, neither Harry nor Luna were feeling talkative.

And so it began, the questions starting out innocently enough.

“I’ve been taking care of children Jon’s age since I was eleven, Mr. Potter,” Sarah explained, and continued after some prompting, “When my parents found out I was a witch, they kicked me out. I lived in an orphanage while I was attending Hogwarts, and I helped to care for the younger children during the Holidays.”

She said it simply, matter-of-factly, but Harry felt sympathy bubbling up through the layer of impatience that had settled over him after the second of these interviews. There was still every chance that she would leave, as uncomfortable with their oddities as the rest, but Harry found himself willing to give her an honest chance.

Beside him, Luna smiled. She liked this confident young woman. “Have you ever been infected with Snorkle Pox?” Luna asked some time later.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of Snorkle Pox,” Sarah said. “Is it a danger?”

“It sometimes infects young children,” Luna explained solemnly, “and the germs can cling to a person’s magical aura for years. Do you mind if I test you?”

“Please do!” Sarah replied with some concern. “I see children so often - I’d hate to think I might be placing them in danger.”

She sat through the testing uncomfortably, but uncomplaining, and didn’t try to make her excuses and run for the door when it was over. For that, both Harry and Luna gave her credit.

“There’s always a chance that someone might try to harm Jon,” Harry explained a few minutes later. “So some basic defensive magic is required. Can you cast Protego?”

“Yes.”

“Then you won’t mind if I test you with a small hex?… No? Locomotor Mortis!”

She cast the shield silently and effectively, directing the rebounding spell harmlessly into the ceiling. When she saw Harry’s surprise, she bristled. “You’re not the only one who fought in the war, Mr. Potter.”

Harry, helpless to respond to that, changed the subject. “You seem suitable for the job, but there is one more thing: I will require a background check. I have to be careful who I allow near my son.”

“That will not be a problem,” Sarah answered at once.

Luna smiled. “Jon, come meet Sarah.”

The little boy regarded Sarah for a silent moment, then turned to his father. “Does she make daddy angry, too?” he asked - hissed, rather, for his young mouth formed the language of snakes more easily than that of humans, and he always spoke to his father this way.

“No, Jon,” Harry replied in English, “Sarah will be your friend.”

And Sarah proved that by dropping to her knees and addressing the little boy as though he hadn’t just spoken in an enchanted language. “You were sitting very quietly, Jon. What were you doing?”

With that, the Potter family gained another member. Sarah didn’t think much of Harry and his fame, so it didn’t occur to her to question the small house. She hadn’t been raised in a traditional Wizarding family, so she came without the prejudice of generations. But most importantly, Sarah was just a little bit different, which made her just right for the little house with the garden.