(A re-telling of 'The Elf of the Rose' by Hans Christian Andersen )
On the grounds of a large manor and hidden from prying eyes, there was a great garden that grew the most beautiful of roses. They were all in full blossom and in the very prettiest of all the roses lived a creature that was so small that no human eye could see. And behind each petal of the rose, hidden in a chamber of his own creation, the little creature slept away.
He was a well-formed being who was beautiful as a little child could be and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet.
Oh, what sweet fragrance there was in his chambers!
And how clean and beautiful were the blushing rose-leaves that made up the 'walls'!
During the whole day this little creature enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flying from flower to flower before dancing on the delicate wings of the butterflies. And then after all his play and mischief, he would then take into his head the measurements of how many steps he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that were on the leaf of the linden-tree that was nearby - what we would call the veins on the leaves, this fairy would take for roads; and what very long roads they were for him; for before he had completed even half his tasks, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon and replaced by a crescent moon: he had commenced his work too late.
Before he knew it, it had become very cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew and the fairy knew that it would be good to return home. He hurried himself as much as he could; but he found the roses all closed up and he could not get inside.
Not a single rose stood open.
The poor little fairy was very much frightened for he had never before been out at night, preferring to slumber secretly behind the warm rose-leaves.
Oh, this would certainly be his death!
At the other end of the garden, he knew there was an arbour, overgrown with beautiful honey-suckles. The blossoms looked like large painted horns; and the fairy thought to himself that he would go and sleep in one of these until morning.
He flew thither; but came to a stop when he found he was no longer alone - two people having made themselves comfortable in the arbour. One was a handsome young man and the other a beautiful lady, both sitting right next to the other in a way that spoke of neither wanting to be far from the other and it was clear to the fairy that these two people were in love - far more than that of the best child could love its father and mother.
"But we must part," said the young man; "My brother does not like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride; for so you are to me."
And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, handing him a rose; but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower opened. It was then that the little fairy took his chance and flew inside, leaning his head against the delicate, fragrant walls of the flower and clearly hearing the pair saying their farewells. He felt the rose being placed against the young man's breast.
Oh, how his heart did beat!
The little fairy found he could not go to sleep with such a thundering, thumping ruckus.
The young man took the flower out as he walked across the grounds of the manor alone and kissed its petals so often and so violently that the fairy feared he would be crushed. He could feel it through the red leaf how hot the lips of the young man were and the rose had opened, as if from the heat of the noonday sun.
There came another man from across the grounds who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the wicked brother of the young man and as he watched his brother kiss the rose, the wicked man revealed a sharp blade and stabbed him to death; then he cut off his head for good measure and buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden-tree.
'Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten,' thought the wicked brother; 'He will never come back again. He was going on a long journey over mountains and seas; it is easy for a man to lose his life in such a journey. My brother's – no! My love will suppose he is dead; for he cannot come back, and she will not dare to question me about him.'
As these thoughts crossed the wicked man's mind, he scattered dry leaves over the light earth with his boot, concealing the place his brother was buried before returning back to the manor through the darkness - but he went not alone as he first thought for the little fairy accompanied him. The magical being sat in a dry, rolled-up linden-leaf which had fallen from the tree above and onto the wicked man's head as he was digging the grave. The hat was on his head now, which made it very dark for the fairy who shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed that had been committed.
It was the dawn of the morning, the sun slowly rising over the horizon before the wicked man had returned home; he took off his hat and went to his brother's room. There lay the beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him who she loved so, and who was now – she supposed – travelling far away over mountain and sea. Her love's wicked brother stopped over her and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh – for he had been jealous of the love his brother had for the girl and wanted her for his own, and now he could have her.
The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane: but he did not notice it and went instead to get a little sleep during the early morning hours. But the fairy slipped out of the withered leaf and placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl. It was then he told her, as if in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place where the wicked brother had slain her lover and buried his body; and told her of the linden-tree in full blossom that stood close by.
"That you may not think this is only a dream that I have told you," he said, "You will find on your bed a withered leaf."
Then she awoke and found it there.
Oh, what bitter tears she shed!
And the girl could not even open her heart to anyone for relief.
The window stood open the whole day and the little fairy could easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers but he could not find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. But in the window he'd spied a bush bearing monthly roses and the fairy sat himself in one of the flowers, gazing over the poor girl. Her love's brother would often come into the room and be quite cheerful – in spite of his base conduct. But he knew that he could not win the girl's heart if he did not appear to act 'normal'.
But the girl dared not say a word to him; not of anything - and least of all her heart's grief.
As soon as night blanketed the grounds once more, she slipped out of the manor and went into the grounds, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up. There she found him who had been murdered.
Oh, how she wept and prayed that she also might die!
Gladly would she have taken the body back to the manor with her; but that was impossible; so she took upon the poor head with closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the beautiful hair.
"I will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered the body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a twig of one of the many roses from the garden that reminded her of their last moments and took them home with her. As soon as she was in her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find and placed the head of her dead love inside, covering it up with earth and planting the rose-twig in it.
"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little fairy, for he could not any longer endure to witness all this agony of grief. He therefore flew away to his own rose garden. But the rose was faded; only a few dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.
It was as if all magic had fled and the fairy sighed. "Alas! How soon all that is good and beautiful passes away."
After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. However, every morning the little fairy made the trek to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the rose twig, and each day – as she became paler and paler – the rose-twig appeared to grow greener and fresher. One bud after another sprouted forth and blossomed into the most beautiful of roses the little fairy had ever seen, but such sweet bitterness was not the home for one such as he as he watched the heartbroken girl kiss the petals with such a fondness that he found his own heart aching in sympathy.
"Thorn Sirius Black! Get your nose out of that book and hurry up!" a voice called and caused a young boy's gaze to snap up from the barely held-together book that he'd been reading. Irritation ignited behind odd, golden-brown eyes as the front door of the car the recently turned eleven-year-old was sitting in was suddenly slammed shut. "We're going to be late!"
"I'm coming!" the boy called, a slight grumble entering his tone as he tucked a few blond strands of his hair behind his ear at the same time he closed the book. Placing it carefully into his bag, Thorn finally got out of the car and faced the rather red-faced woman who was still glaring at him like the traffic they'd been stuck in was his fault. "You do know that no one's going to care, right," he reminded his mother for what felt like the thousandth time, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag.
"You know that's not what I'm worried about," Kiara replied, shaking her head even as she ushered her son towards the ever-bustling Kings Cross Station.
"Then what are you worried about?" the eleven-year-old found himself asking as he allowed himself to be guided by his mother, only stopping when they almost collided with someone blocking their path with an overloaded trolley.
"Mister Potter?!"
Golden-brown eyes grew wide as the person Thorn and his mother had almost run into turned on their heel so suddenly and with that much surprise that they almost lost their balance.
"Oh, I'm sorry for startling you," Thorn's mother apologised as she quickly steadied the boy, her eyes concerned as she glanced around for his guardians.
"I-it's okay," Harry Potter stuttered as Kiara let his arm go the moment he was steady. He adjusted taped glasses with his free hand as he eyed the rather normal-looking pair and it was then that both Thorn and his mother noticed the ticket that was in his other hand, half-hidden behind his back.
"Is no-one taking you to the platform, dear?" Kiara asked softly, not wanting to say something she had no right in saying - and least of all to the Boy-Who-Lived. And by the gods did Kiara get a sense of déjà vu as she watched the eleven-year-old. He looks exactly like his father, she thought with no little wonder, having thought that Harry would have taken more after Lily. Though, as those familiar green eyes looked up to her with such fear and surprise - along with a little bit of hope - the red head was suddenly reminded of the witch who'd given her husband hell during his Hogwarts years.
"I, um, Hagrid was taking me," the boy ventured slowly, though jumped when Thorn snorted, reminding him that there was another with Kiara.
"Hagrid couldn't find his way to the right end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Thorn muttered half under his breath.
"Thorn!"
Kiara chastised her son with a look. One of which he only rolled his eyes at - and not for the first time, the witch noticed. It was a move that she had realised he'd been doing a lot of lately. That and the one-shoulder shrug he'd give her when he really wasn't that interested or listening to what she was saying. The red-head wondered if she was going to be suddenly hit with the, 'I'm eleven going on twenty-five' attitude soon and begun to dread how her usually well-behaved son would start acting. If he was anything like his uncle, there was no telling what mischief Thorn could end up getting himself into while at Hogwarts.
At least his Godfather's there and will be able to keep him on the straight and narrow, she thought to herself, looking back to Harry with a much warmer expression and noticed that the shyness she'd seen had disappeared, that air of hope around him growing. A part of her - a part she'd long thought buried - suddenly felt sorry for the boy, knowing that despite how his parents may have treated her husband and his friends, Harry had clearly not grown up the same way.
Anyone who knew James and Lily Potter had the unfortunate pleasure of also knowing Lily's sister, Petunia. And Kiara knew that it was with that wretched woman and her oaf of a husband that Harry had spent the last ten years or so living under the same roof with.
"You know Hagrid?" Harry asked, his gaze darting to Kiara before it returned to Thorn when she offered him a small smile and nod.
"My father went to the school where he works," Thorn stated a little boastfully, though was mindful that they were in the Muggle-side of King's Cross.
"A lot of people did and still do, Thorn," Kiara interjected with a small chuckle, ruffling her son's hair. She looked back to Harry when Thorn just battered her hand away with an exasperated look, noticing something flicker across Harry's face before he could fully hide it. "Did you need some help getting to the platform?" she offered, already knowing that if he'd been left with Hagrid, the eleven-year-old was quite fortunate to have actually reached Kings Cross Station at all.
"I-"
"It's this way," Thorn said as he moved around Harry and his trolley, heading off in the direction he and his mother had been originally going.
Harry looked to Kiara a little wide-eyed and she just shook her head with a chuckle.
"He's nervous," she explained quietly to the bespectacled boy whose eyes seemed to brighten at her words at the same time his posture relaxed at the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who was scared – even if Thorn didn't act like it. "Though if we don't catch him, he's bound to leave us behind," she added before heading off after her son, pushing Harry's trolley along with her.
The Boy-Who-Lived stuck close to Kiara's side, unwilling to let the red-headed woman out of his sight for barely a second.
Thorn didn't even bother to retrieve the book from his shoulder bag and finish the tale he'd been reading as he waited for his mother.
Instead, the young blond was chewing over the fact that out of everything he'd been preparing for today, he'd forgotten about the bloody Boy-Who-Lived! And not only that, but Thorn had succeeded in almost running into the other boy – quite literally, thank you! – before they'd even stepped foot inside Hogwarts.
A line appeared between his brows; a look of intense concentration that seemed a little out of place on one so young as Thorn tried to figure out just how this would change things. The eleven-year-old knew that his mother wished to keep who his father had been a secret and Thorn was glad that his looks didn't scream that he was a part of the Black family. His blond hair and golden-brown eyes were said to have been a throwback from his grandmother on his mother's side, though he had never met his grandparents and couldn't state if that was the truth or not.
He knew that something had happened between his grandparents, though whatever it had been was something that had been lost with the passing of time. His mother refused to speak of her parents, much like his father had never spoken of his own family and Thorn had just decided that the entire lot was crazy and had left it at that; deciding that he'd surpass them all and prove to the entire world that just because his surname was Black, it didn't mean that he was anything like them.
"...o the left, ma'am," a voice caught the eleven-year-old's attention just as a Trainmaster turned to him with a confused expression before it turned disapproving as the man frowned.
"I'm waiting for my mother," Thorn stated rather abruptly before the man could say anything, raising an eyebrow as the Trainmaster continued to stare at him for a few moments longer before finally moving off. Sighing, the boy couldn't stop himself from glancing at his rather muggle attire, wondering why that despite everything he did to seem like he was doing anything else, people still thought that he was up to no good. He had even thrown on his best jacket because of the day!
"It's all the dark colours," a feminine and familiar voice spoke up from behind Thorn and the boy jumped, turning to the source with a look of astonished surprise on his face. The curly-haired blonde just smile at him before she chuckled, shaking her head when all Thorn did was just continue to stare at her. "Most people would just take a picture," she added as she closed the distance between them and pulled the eleven-year-old into a hug.
Thorn let her hug him, still surprised to see her. And he said as much as she pulled away and took a step back to look him up and down. "I-I didn't think you'd come," he all but whispered.
"Ah, but what kind of Fairy Godmother would I be if let you start your Hogwarts career without a little send off?" the woman said as she produced a small envelope from, well, somewhere. And having grown up in a magical household, Thorn didn't question the blonde as she held the package out to him, though he did look at her rather questionably as he accepted the envelope – though another voice cut through their moment and Thorn turned to the voice as they all but screeched, "It's the same year after year. Always packed with Muggles, of course," and the boy almost fled at the sight of the six gingers all bustling towards him with four lots of overloaded trolleys.
"Enjoy your first year," Thorn heard his companion say. Although when he turned his head back in the curly-haired blonde's direction, she was nowhere to be seen.
"Come on. Platform 9 ¾ this way!" the ginger-haired matriarch of the gaggle that was heading Thorn's way had his attention returning to them even as he stuffed the envelope into his jeans pocket to open later. The woman's pitch was one that anyone who lived in the British Wizarding Community – both past and present – knew to be a Weasley and the thought of running into a gaggle of them had Thorn's heart pounding within his chest.
Although, he was saved by a fourth voice. One that was far colder than he'd heard not ten minutes ago.
"This is the Muggle side of Kings Cross," Kiara interrupted the Weasley matriarch as she appeared like a spectra behind them, Harry still at her side. The bespectacled boy was looking like a rather wide-eyed deer in headlights at what could only be described as utter chaos in the making as Mrs Weasley turned to Kiara with a brief look of surprise before her eyes lit up with recognition and then narrowed on the red head.
"Mrs Scamander," the woman greeted with a faux air of surprise. Though, when she quickly tacked on, "Oh, I'm sorry. I mean Ms Scamander," Thorn found his hackles raising, knowing that the woman was far from apologetic.
And it seemed as though Thorn wasn't the only one who picked up on the woman's undertones as the gaggles eldest was rather quick to interject himself into the conversation as he grabbed his younger brother and all but practically dragged his trolley – and rather red-faced boy – straight into the wall between the platforms of 9 and 10 that Thorn had been waiting by as he called, "Mum, if you'll excuse us," and promptly vanished from sight. Harry's eyes widened as he watched them disappear before his very eyes, though his attention was drawn back to Thorn's mother when the red head continued to speak in those frosted tones; ones that he hadn't thought the woman was capable of considering how nice, warm, and polite she'd been to him.
"Mrs Weasley," Kiara replied coolly. However as her gaze drifted to the children around the ginger, her expression changed back to the warm look Harry remembered. "Fred. George," she greeted the two boys – twins if the inability to tell them apart was anything to go on – before her gaze settled on the youngest Weasley – only for her view of the girl to be blocked by Mrs Weasley.
"Is this His' son?" the ginger questioned with a tone that surprised Harry as she took in his rather thin appearance, her expression one that the eleven-year-old knew all too well.
"Actually..." Thorn decided that he'd heard enough and cut in as he stepped away from the wall between the platforms. Six sets of eyes turned to him as he added proudly, "I am," and the looks he received from the four remaining gingers were a mix of unfriendliness and surprise. However, when he caught a glimpse of his mother behind them; the proud look that he could see on her face reflecting his own feelings towards his father, Thorn met their disbelieving and rather hostile – from Mrs Weasley, at least – gazes evenly.
"Whoa! You're kidding, right?" one of the twins exclaimed, "Did you dye your hair?"
"Fred, that's enough!" the twin's mother scolded, of which both Thorn and Harry were surprised when the twin in question turned to his mother and cried, "I'm not Fred, he is!" as he jerked his thumb towards the ginger at his side.
"Honestly, woman," the one who was claiming to be Fred continued with a put upon sigh. "You call yourself our mother!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, George," the rather flustered woman apologised, clearly embarrassed about looking wrong-footed by her fumble and her expression had Harry's lip twitching upwards slightly at the corner in hidden amusement at seeing someone who clearly thought herself better than Thorn and his mother being put in her place by her own children.
And much to Thorn's outward amusement, the boy who had clearly claimed he was George just grinned at his mother before stating, "I'm only joking. I am Fred," before running through the wall with his trolley – followed closely by his twin brother. The older boys threw Thorn a wink as they passed, the grins still on their faces even as they disappeared through the wall and they had the blond blinking when he realised that not all Weasley's were as bad as he'd heard. And as he turned back to his mother and the others, the eleven-year-old found himself wanting to follow the older boys to thank them for what looked to have been their version of defusing what was surely going to have been something that would have caused a scene.
Mrs Weasley was looking far more humbler than mere seconds earlier, though Thorn wasn't certain as to which blunder she'd made had her looking as such. Though he noted that even his mother looked more relaxed, clearly not wanting to have a confrontation with someone before they'd even gotten to the magical side of Kings Cross.
"Come on, Mister Potter," Kiara said as she moved passed the Weasley matriarch, the woman's daughter, and youngest son's forgotten trolly – and ignoring all three. "Do you have everything?" she asked, looking to Thorn who only nodded silently as he patted a hand against the shoulder bag that hung at his side. Nodding, Kiara looked back to Harry, smiling warmly at the look the blacket was giving the wall they had stopped before. "We'll go with you," she assured the boy, giving a nod to Thorn. "It's his first turn as well, so remember what I said earlier," she added with a wink and mischievous smile – one that had Thorn shooting her a suspicious glance when he noticed the Boy-Who-Lived's eyes widening a fraction before he nodded, returning Kiara's smile with a small, slightly hesitant smile of his own.
Before Thorn could ask what they were talking about however, all three had stepped through the wall and disappeared from sight, leaving a gapping Molly Weasley and her embarrassed daughter behind.
