A.N. Thank you again for all reviews! Here is the confrontation some of you have been asking for.
Chapter 11: Growing Towards the Sun
Rose returned to Hogwarts to find a letter from Harry waiting for her. It was late, nearly midnight, by the time she had been able to apparate back, but she opened the letter eagerly before going to bed.
Dear Rose, it said, I'm doing fine. Dudley's a boxer at school now. He keeps in practice by bullying grade school kids in the neighborhood. Usually he limits it to kids at the playground; he doesn't like to walk too far. He's leaving me alone, though, which is good, I guess.
Things are pretty dull around here, as usual. I miss Hogwarts. I hope you find work and a flat soon. Where do you want to work? Next year is O.W.L. year, and Hermione says that's when we start talking about careers. I'm not sure yet what I want to do.
In the summers I mainly try to stay away from Dudley, so that's going pretty well so far. I even got an ice lolly yesterday when Dudley accidentally got the wrong flavor. What I'd really like is some news. Do you know what's happening with Voldemort? I keep looking on the Muggle news to see if anyone's disappeared or been murdered or anything, and nothing seems to be happening along those lines. The Prophet's no help. I haven't heard anything from Dumbledore, but I got the impression he was rounding up people to fight Voldemort. Has he rounded you up to fight, too?
You can still visit on July 31st. I'm not going anywhere. Hope you're doing ok.
Harry
Oh dear, thought Rose. He's already asking for information I can't give. Quite apart from the concerns she had shared with Dumbledore, Rose was unhappy about keeping Harry in the dark because she wanted to earn his trust. How could he trust her if she was just another adult who refused to tell him the truth? Exhausted, Rose pushed the matter from her mind and went to bed. When I go to visit, she promised herself, I'll buy him a package of ice lollies.
Rose found plenty of things to occupy her time in the weeks that followed. She began by packing her summer clothes and sundry of her most necessary items (her photo albums from Cokeworth and Godric's Hollow, her stationary, her favorite books and Lis in her cage) and accompanying them by portkey to London, via Diagon Alley. As he had promised, Remus Lupin met her there, and helped her to to surreptitiously move her things into Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
The Blue Bedroom, as Sirius had called it, was dusty and dour, but with a little tidying up she found it serviceable enough. Sirius' own bedroom was just down the hall, a fact which, until the arrival of the Weasley family on July 10, made her feel a little bit self-conscious. At first, she got up quite early to make use of the bathroom before there was a chance of bumping into Sirius before her morning toilette. However, she soon found he was a late sleeper, and the prospect of meeting him before she was ready in the mornings no longer concerned her.
She spent her days at Grimmauld Place chiefly in planning her curriculum for Studies in International Magical Issues. Meetings of the Order of the Phoenix were frequent, too. Rose was placed on duty at the Department of Mysteries several times a week, an eerie and tedious experience from which she always returned drained and strangely cold. Sirius got in the habit of fixing her tea when she returned from duty, and they whiled away many an evening with card games in the stern-looking library, Kreacher wandering in at random to glower at them. Rose taught Sirius to play Disappearing Coinche; Sirius taught her to play Exploding Snap.
Rose kept up her end of her correspondence with Harry. For his part, Harry rather dropped off writing letters once it become clear that Rose was not going to provide any specific information about the doings of the anti-Voldemort movement. Rose had tried to be honest in her letters, but found she could come up with nothing better to say in response to his constant questions than things like, "I'm sure you'll find out all you need to know soon," "I can't communicate very much by letter," and "I'll see you soon." She knew he must find this infuriating, and her mind was uneasy as she contemplated what he might do in his desperation if he didn't get some information soon.
A few days before the end of the month, Rose began to shop. She was gone for most of the day on July 30th, and when she returned, to the Weasley children's (and Arthur's) excitement, she had rented a car. Early the next morning, Rose said good-bye to the crowd at the breakfast table, assuring Molly that she would bring Harry her love. With Ron's help, she packed her bags and parcels into the stylish looking SAAB and was on the road to Surrey before 8:30.
Harry woke up on the morning of his fifteenth birthday in a glaze of sweat. The heat was already intense, though it was only a quarter-past nine. He rolled over and blearily put his glasses on before he realized what day it was. His birthday! Rose's visit! Harry sat up and abruptly began to get dressed. Then, he straightened up his room as best he could, making his bed properly for the first time in weeks and hastily shoving the detritus on the floor under the bed. Harry wondered as he brushed his teeth how Rose would travel. Floo Powder seemed much the easiest way. He wondered if he should have warned her about the Dursleys' fireplace being electric. Perhaps she would find a safe place to apparate.
Harry kept his ears pricked, listening for the telltale crack that would signify apparition, so when he heard the sound of a car in the driveway he was quite flummoxed. He peered out the window. Rose Evans, wearing an airy-looking dress and holding a handbag just big enough for a wand, was getting out of a small, shiny car and approaching Number Four, Privet Drive. Her blond hair, so like Petunia's in color in texture, was braided down her back, and she wore sunglasses. She looked for all the world like a Muggle, like someone Petunia would consider "normal." Harry wondered if she had arrived this way to avoid offending the Dursleys. Well, that's not going to work, Harry thought drily as he started for the front door.
Petunia beat him to the door, however. She opened the door, just wide enough to admit Rose, and then shut it quickly as if hoping to keep Rose out of the neighbors' view. Dudley, no doubt at his parents' encouragement, was already at a neighbor's house.
Vernon stood in the hall, arms folded across his chest, looking thunderous. At a glance from him, Harry retreated back up the stairs. He stopped once he was out of view, however, and listened.
"Hello, Petunia," Rose began, but Petunia spoke over her.
"The boy is upstairs," she said, in a tone that made it clear she expected Rose to go upstairs and out of her sight immediately.
"His name is Harry," Rose said quietly. "But I need to talk to you, first. Can we sit? Where is your sitting room?"
"Anything you need to say to Petunia you can say in front of me, right here," Uncle Vernon snarled.
Rose sighed. "Very well. Petunia, I've sent presents to Harry and Dudley every year since they were one. What did you do with Harry's gifts? I know Dudley got his."
There was a silence. Rose persisted, "Did you throw them away?" Another silence. At long last, Harry guessed that Petunia must have shaken her head, because Rose said, "Then where are they? What did you do with thirteen years' worth of gifts?"
"They're in the attic," Petunia's voice was resentful and cold. "I'll show you." Harry hardly had time to dash back into his room and shut the door before they were passing by and heading for the attic stair. He hardly knew why he was hiding, except that he suspected that Petunia's attitude toward Rose would not be improved by the sight of him.
Harry heard the sounds of both his aunts tramping up to the attic and he opened his door. They had left the door to the attic stair open. Harry could not help it; he followed at a safe distance until he could hear their voices.
"They're there, in the box." Petunia was saying.
"You kept them all?" Rose's voice.
Petunia's response must have been silent. Then Rose spoke again.
"Why did you do it, Tuney?" she said in a stifled voice. "Why did you keep me from him? I sent everything in Muggle Post. All the toys are Muggle toys, if you couldn't tell. Why would you keep them from him?"
Again there was silence. Rose spoke again, and Harry had to admire her persistence. "I asked you for visits. I had nowhere to go for the holidays. I'm your family, Tuney." Harry could hear the voice of the child Rose had been in her voice. He did not like to hear her sound so vulnerable.
Petunia finally spoke. "I've had enough of witches." The last word came out as a hiss.
Harry heard Rose take a deep breath. "I understand. I do. But why could you not treat Harry with love, with kindness at least? Why could you not treat Lily's baby the way you treated me, when I was a girl?"
When Petunia was silent once more, Rose's voice became cold with anger. "I want to hear it from you. How could you treat your own family this way? I recovered, I grew up, but Harry was a child. He had no one."
Again Petunia was silent. Harry heard the creak of her feet start toward the stairs and he made to run back to his room, but Rose's feet suddenly moved and he saw her sandals at the top of the attic stairs. She had blocked her sister's retreat.
"Put that foul thing away!" Petunia spat, and Harry almost gasped, realizing that Rose must have drawn her wand on her sister.
"I will not," Rose replied harshly. "I have deferred to you, I have respected you, I have trusted you. And you have returned my trust with deceit, with cruelty towards our nephew. I gave you fourteen years of silence, Petunia, you owe me five minutes." He hadn't heard Rose sound so angry since she cornered Barty Crouch, Jr. at Hogwarts.
Rose took a moment before she began in an even voice, that Harry could yet hear shaking with anger. "When you abandoned me, I was a child. And when Lily and James were killed, I was still a child. I could do nothing. I had to trust that you had enough decency to do right by our sister's child. But Petunia, I am not a child anymore. And you will no longer mistreat Harry, or allow your husband-" Rose hissed in a voice uncannily like Petunia's, "to mistreat him either."
Harry backed up a pace, stumbling a bit, but he listened with all his might.
Rose continued, "Harry must stay here. Believe me, I wish he could live with me, but you and I both know why he must stay here. But," Rose's voice became steely now, "Harry will have all his meals. He will be allowed fresh air. He will not be locked into any more cupboards, or rooms, or have bars put on his window. From now on, I will know it if he is not treated humanely. I will know it, and you will not be able to avoid the things that will start to happen to you. You will not be able to put them in the attic. Your-neighbors-will-notice."
For a moment there was silence. Harry stood, unwilling to move and risk missing any of the conversation, yet poised in case his aunt should begin to descend. His heart was pounding as if he himself had given that speech to Petunia, and he was filled with an odd mixture of exaltation and dread. Then he heard Rose speak again.
"I'm going downstairs now. I will be spending the day with Harry. You are welcome to avoid us. If you should ever decide that you want a sister again, let me know."
The footsteps began to fall now and Harry hastily backed into his room. He heard one person come down to the second floor in a hurry, and continue down to the first floor. The other pair of feet came more slowly, and Harry was sure they were Rose's. He opened his door to see her struggling to carry a huge cardboard box down the attic stairs. When she saw him, her face broke into a wide grin.
"Hello, Harry James!" she said happily. She was smiling at him so radiantly that he couldn't help smiling back. He felt the way he usually felt upon first seeing Ron and Hermione again. It was the first time anyone had smiled at him in over a month.
"Here, let me help," Harry said, stepping forward and grabbing hold of the side of the box. Together, they lowered it from the ladder, and carried it into Harry's room. The box was large, heavy, and taped shut with only one piece of tape, as though Petunia had expected to open it again.
Rose straightened. "Thank you, Harry! I've got several boxes to bring in, too, in the boot of the Saab. Will you give me a hand?"
"Of course," said Harry, intrigued. "You have a car?"
"Rented it," she explained. "Thought a car in the driveway would be easiest on your neighbors. I had to learn how to drive in America," she added in answer to his unspoken question. "Come see it! It was fun to drive!"
He followed Rose down the stairs. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were nowhere to be seen; Harry supposed they had taken Rose's advice to avoid them for the day. They took two trips to carry the parcels and boxes and grocery bags into his room. Harry was glad he had thought to straighten it up.
When he arrived at the top of the staircase with the last of the bundles, Rose was busily taking things out paper, emptying grocery bags, and tidying up the packaging as best she could. Harry was astounded. Every surface of his room was occupied. On his desk was a tall bottle of lemonade and a closed bakery box. On his chair, aroma rising tantalizingly, was a pizza box. The foot of his bed hosted a gift wrapped in colorful paper, and on his nightstand was a cluster of disposable napkins, plates, and forks. Rose was crouching and pointing her wand at the final grocery bag, which was still on the floor next out his desk. "Just a freezing charm for the ice lollies," she said, cheerily. "Should last as long as they do." Then she stood and looked at him. They knew a moment of awkward silence.
Harry spoke first. "All this- this is incredible. Thank you."
Rose smiled, still not taking her eyes off him. "Professor Dumbledore says I can't take you to London. That will have to wait. But I did want to- well, you know- I've got quite a lot to make up for. Speaking of-" and she moved to the large cardboard box which was still in front of Harry's closet, where they had left it. "Why don't we see what's in here?"
What was in the box was no fewer than twenty-six birthday and Christmas gifts. The most recent, a trilogy of exciting-looking novels and a thick green jumper, were on the top. Harry and Rose sat on either side of the box, lifting items out one at a time. Some were wrapped; others were still in packaging that bore the stamp, Jolis Jouets. "That's the Muggle toy shop in Cauterets where I used to get all your gifts," Rose explained. She continued to offer comments as they worked their way through the box. "You see, this I thought you could play on your own, on all those trips I thought were taking in the car," she said about a small hand-held game featuring battling dinosaurs. "Oh, there's the message board!" she cried a few moments later. "It glows in the dark, you know!" Some of the gifts were duplicates of things Harry remembered Dudley receiving as gifts from his parents or his Aunt Marge. Most, however, were unique, and Harry was undergoing a strange internal process as they worked their way to the bottom of the box. All these years that he had been receiving gum wrappers and used up toothpaste from the Dursleys, there had been someone sending proper gifts, meant for him alone. Every one of those lonely Christmases and birthdays, he had been remembered.
Finally, they reached the end of the trail of gifts. Rose reached all the way into the box and, with a stricken look on her face, retrieved a brown, shabby-looking stuffed rabbit. "Coney," she said, and her voice was choked. "I didn't expect to see this again. I meant it for you. This was my rabbit, Harry, but that first year at school I couldn't go shopping for a gift for you, so I gave you Coney." She looked at it a moment longer, before handing it to him with a watery smile.
Harry was touched, but he shook his head. "Keep it," he advised. "That was yours. You should have it."
For a moment, it looked as if Rose would argue, but then she nodded and placed the rabbit next to her handbag, wiping her eyes and smiling brightly. "Now. Why not open this year's gift? I hope you like it as well as you liked the Christmas gift," Rose said, referring to the tiny model of a quidditch pitch with tiny flying balls which she had given him at lunch on the day of the Yule Ball.
"You've just given me twenty-odd presents, Rose!" Harry laughed, but he tore open the paper anyway. Inside the box were a pair of shiny, new, red, gold, and black trainers. When he reached for the tongue to check the size, the laces sprang loose and the tongues lifted on their own accord. "Wicked," Harry breathed. "Did you find out my size?"
"I didn't have to," Rose replied. "These are wizarding trainers; they come from this little shop on Diagon Alley that specializes in Muggle spin-offs. You see, they look like Muggle trainers, even with the insignia-" here she pointed at the curving shape on the side of the shoe, "but they stretch to fit your feet. Also, Dudley won't be able to steal them; they'd chew his feet. Once they get used to the size of your feet, they won't let anyone else wear them, unless you point your wand here," and she indicated a small red spot on the bottom of the left shoe. "So you should be safe to wear them here, as well as at school."
"These are brilliant, Rose. Thank you. I- wow." He felt overwhelmed; for the first time, he had brand new trainers of his own.
Rose seemed to realize what he felt, and also that he was too uncomfortable to say it, for she patted his shoulder and said simply, "I'm glad. Now," she looked around brightly, "Shall we eat?"
Harry hadn't had such a feast since he left Hogwarts. They sat cross-legged on the floor and ate slices of pizza laden with toppings, washing it down with the lemonade, which was fizzy and which squeaked when you drank it. "Got it at Florean Fortescue's," Rose explained when Harry blinked in surprise.
"Where are the ice lollies from?" Harry asked.
"Tesco," said Rose, and they both laughed. When they had finished their pizza and lemonade, Rose opened the bakery box. Inside was a perfect, brown, fragrant-
"Treacle tart!" Harry yelped. "That's my favorite!"
"I know," Rose answered, as she deftly cut the tart into eighths with a plastic knife, "Thanks to Ron."
"You're in touch with Ron?" Harry asked.
Rose looked uncomfortable. "Yes," was all she said, but Harry could tell there was something she wasn't telling him.
The desperation he'd had for information seemed to rear up from some forgotten place in his mind, and he blurted out, "What's going on with Voldemort? I know he's doing something, and I know Dumbledore's working against him. What is happening, Rose? I know you know," he added, accusingly.
Rose didn't speak right away. She looked terribly unhappy, which seemed to confirm Harry's suspicion that she was not at liberty to act as she wanted. Then she said, "Listen, Harry. I know how frustrating this summer must be for you. You must feel you're going mad; I don't blame you. But I need you to understand: the things that Dumbledore and others are doing right now are being done in strict secret. They must be."
"Why do they have to be a secret from me?" Harry demanded. "I was the one who saw Voldemort return. I was there when he murdered Cedric, I was there when Pettigrew cut off his own hand. It's my blood he used to come back, so why can't I know how we're fighting him?" Without meaning to, he'd been raising his voice, so that it was nearly at a shout when he finished his speech.
"You don't have to persuade me, Harry," Rose said gently. "I know what you've been through, and what you've done. I know you've been placed in the center of this fight, whether you want to be or not."
"I do want to be," Harry said, making an effort to lower his voice this time. "I want to fight. So what, I'm just supposed to go back to school and do Charms homework and take my O.W.L.s like none of this happened? Does Dumbledore think I'm a child?" Harry demanded angrily.
"Not at all," Rose answered. She shifted her position on his floor, stretching her legs out in front of her now and alternately pointing and flexing her toes while she seemed to consider her words. "Dumbledore has a great deal of respect for you. So do I. So does anyone who's met you, Harry, you're really quite extraordinary." She looked at him with affection for a moment before continuing. "Soon, Harry, you'll be told what we can tell you about how we're opposing Voldemort. Soon. Until then, I'm afraid, you just have to trust. Trust that we are fighting him. Trust that Dumbledore has a reason for what he does. Just like I have to do. Do you believe that?" Rose fixed her green eyes, so like his own, on his face and waited.
Harry looked back at her for a moment. Then, he sighed noisily and flopped back onto his floor with a thump. "I suppose," he muttered, knowing he was not going to get anything better from her today. Rose smiled down at him and tousled his hair. "I know it's hard."
Harry closed his eyes. She was still treating him like a frustrated child, he thought, whatever she said. It's just my age, he thought bitterly. 'm underage, so I'm a kid. I have to be sheltered. Protected, even from having information I might need when Voldemort finds me again. "Voldemort doesn't care how old I am," he said aloud.
"I'm sorry?" said Rose, clearly taken aback.
"Voldemort didn't care that I was underage when he summoned me to that graveyard. He didn't care that I was underage when he tried to get Quirrell to kill me when I was eleven. And," Harry could feel an angry flush rising in his face, but he didn't care, "he definitely didn't care that I was underage when he tried to kill me in Godric's Hollow."
"I-" Rose looked uncertain, then plunged on. "I don't think it's about your being underage, Harry."
Harry looked up at her. Didn't she know what this was about? "What do you mean?"
"I mean I think Professor Dumbledore wants to keep you from knowing everything for another reason. I don't know, Harry. He hasn't told me everything either, you know," Rose said, a slight bite to her voice. "But from what I gather, his reasons have nothing to do with your age, or your ability. If that helps anything."
"It does." Harry frowned. It was occurring to him for the first time that summer that Dumbledore might have secrets from other people than himself, and that he, Harry, might not be the only person who didn't like that. "I didn't mean to take it out on you, Rose," he said, after a moment.
"It's all right," she said quietly. "I expected you to feel this way." She crossed her legs under her and faced him then. "This isn't much like a party," she said, suddenly blithe. "What is there to do around here?" She handed him a fork and a plate with a fat wedge of treacle tart on it.
"Cheers," said Harry, accepting it gratefully. "And there isn't much to do, I'm afraid." He put a forkful of tart into his mouth and sighed happily. It tasted wonderful.
Rose was looking around his room, studying it. "So, they gave you this room after they let you out from under the stairs?"
"Yeah, it was Dudley's toy room before. Still got some of his broken toys in the closet, as a matter of fact. I don't really unpack that much while I'm here, so…" he trailed off, and put another bite of tart into his mouth.
Rose wasn't eating tart; she seemed more interested in the contents of his room. She got to her feet and examined the assortment of broken toys in the closet. "What's this?" she asked, holding up Dudley's broken Playstation.
"It's Dudley's playstation. He smashed it last summer. Threw it out the window, in fact. It was spectacular," Harry smiled, remembering the noise it had made.
"He didn't let you play it, though?" Rose asked shrewdly.
"Me?" Harry scoffed. "Nah, that wasn't likely." He continued to eat the treacle tart hungrily, and, as Rose didn't seem inclined to cut herself a slice, he cut himself a second piece.
Rose was rummaging around in the back of the closet, now. Suddenly she sat back on her heels and clapped her hands. "There's a television too!" she said happily.
Harry scratched his head. "Yes, but that's broken as well," he said. "Everything in there will be bro-"
"Oh, that won't be a problem," Rose interrupted. She dragged the television out and grinned at him over her shoulder. "I don't have to abide by The Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery, after all." She pointed her wand in the direction of the television and twisted it slightly with her wrist. "Reparo."
The glass on the television's monitor instantly sprang together. Rose did the same thing in the direction of the Playstation, and the plastic immediately assumed its original shape, the controllers leaping out of the closet to rejoin the cords. "Now we just need to plug everything in, I think," Rose knelt and began holding up cords, apparently trying to work out how they fit together. Harry knelt down beside her and together they plugged in the power cords, fitted the Playstation's display and sound cords into the appropriate places on the television, and turned on the power switches.
Harry punched his fist in the air as the words Motor Tune Grand Prix! appeared on the screen and the familiar music began to play. He seized a controller and looked at Rose. "I don't really know how to play it," he warned her.
She picked up a controller and scooted next to him. "Then we're evenly matched. Come on!"
Harry and Rose occupied the next hour racing their wide-eyed cars against each other. Harry learned faster than Rose; he suspected he had played more computer games in his lifetime than she had. But she just threw back her head and laughed each time he beat her, and demanded another game. He could not remember having so much fun at Privet Drive before. After an hour, they took a break to snack, and then put in Tekken and tried to make sense out of it. It was a fighting game, and more complex than Motor Tune Grand Prix. Again, Harry grasped the game more quickly, but again, Rose seemed delighted just to play. "I've always wanted to play on one of these things," she confided. "The American Muggle Liaison had one, and all my higher-ups got to have a go."
"They didn't let you play?" Harry asked, indignantly.
Rose chuckled. "I had to translate." When they finished another round, at which neither of them performed very well, Harry suggested they break open the ice lollies.
As promised, Rose stayed the day with Harry. They took a walk around the neighborhood, and Harry found he rather enjoyed having someone to show around. At the playground, from a distance, Harry was able to point out Dudley, surrounded by a knot of his friends and fellow bullies. They were in the act of surrounding a child who looked around eight, but the sight of Harry and Rose on the walking path caused Dudley to gesture suddenly to his friends. They all left the park in a hurry. Rose sighed once, then shrugged. "Maybe someday I'll meet him properly," she said.
After they had cleaned up from what Rose kept calling the "party," and when they could hear Petunia in the kitchen beginning to prepare dinner, Rose secured her wand in her handbag and said she would have to be on her way. "I've got to get back before six," she said, looking at a slender wristwatch.
"Right," Harry responded. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down. "Thanks. This has been my best birthday so far. Next to my eleventh, I mean."
"I had so much fun, Harry," Rose said, earnestly. Before opening her car door, she leaned forward and gave Harry a brief hug. Harry was surprised to find that he didn't mind this at all.
On his way back into the house, Harry was cheered by a sudden thought: Dudley did not know that his Playstation and television were now working. And if he was careful, Harry thought, smiling to himself, he could keep it that way.