Chapter 3. Rose Weasley.
They stood in the middle of a narrow street, sparsely lit by the few street lights. They could hear a distant motor running, people laughing. Chilly wind gusted from tall, freshly snow-covered mountains. In the distance, at the foot of the mountains and above, they saw rare lights of the human dwellings, to which led a narrow road.
"It appears we have arrived," Rose pointed at a three-story building, with brightly lit windows and the English sign reading "The Burrow" blinking invitingly, casting glow on the parking lot and the benches before it.
Rose looked back anxiously at Theo. He squeezed her hand in encouragement and nudged her toward the entrance. She smiled tightly, opened the glass door and entered the warm and well-lit foyer, preceded by the tinkling of the doorbell. Almost instantly, a smiling young girl materialised behind the counter and said in flawless English:
"Welcome to The Burrow. How may I help you?" she looked over the anxious-looking couple who were glancing around them, seemingly in search of something or someone. "Would you like to check in?"
"We are looking for Ronald Weasley," Rose said, her voice breaking a little in the end; it had been so long since she said that name out loud.
"Oh! Mr. Peter warned me that someone might be coming…"
"Mr. Peter?" Rose glanced at Theo in surprise, but he watched unperturbed as the girl picked up an object and put it to her ear. Rose, who was close to her grandfather and also rather well-read knew that this was the Muggle telephone – a devise for communicating remotely. The girl said something into the receiver, probably in Bulgarian, and smiled again at the visitors:
"Mr. Peter is expecting you. To your left and down the hall, please."
"Excuse me, but we want Ronald Weasley," Rose was beginning to think that they had come to the wrong place.
"Yes-yes, Mr. Peter is expecting you," the girl insisted, pointing to the door.
"Let's go," Theo put his arm around Rose's shoulders. They hurried across the foyer – Rose's hands were shaking. Who is Mr. Peter? Could it be Father's new alias? She could not think straight in her agitation. And she was afraid that they were too late. What happened to Dad? What is he doing here?
"If your father was in harm's way, this young woman would not be smiling so," Theo remarked calmly, as though reading her thoughts. Rose was not surprised: they could easily know each other's mind; for that, they needed no magic.
At the end of the hallway they saw a wide-opened door: the small and well-lit room had a coffee table surrounded by chairs, a bookcase filled with books, and a portrait of a woman on the wall, which did not move. Everything in the room identified its inhabitant as a Muggle, save for the owl that Rose recognized. The bird slept, its head tucked under its wing.
"Hello, Rose."
The girl started as she stepped into the room. An old man of small stature rose from the chair to greet them. His hair was completely white, and his eyes bright blue. He smiled warmly at his guests.
"Do you know me?" Rose hoped until the last moment that they would finally see her father, but there was no one else in the room. Her anxiety grew: why isn't Dad here? "We…"
"You are looking for your father; yes, I know," the old man shook Theo's hand. "Peter MacDall, or simply Mr. Peter. I am the inn's manager."
"This is…," the girl turned toward her friend.
"Theodic Mancilli," Mr. Peter finished for her. "Your father has told me."
"Where is he? What is wrong with him?" Rose finally got out the question that was on her mind. "He wrote that…"
"He lives high in the mountains," the old man replied, motioning for his visitors to sit down, "and you need a break before Apparating there… Yes, I am a wizard, albeit not a very talented one," Mr. Peter laughed at Rose's astonishment. "The only one for miles, save your father and Sarah…"
Rose looked down: it had skipped her mind that her father was living with another woman. She feared for him and longed to see him so much that she had all but forgotten about Sarah.
"Why does he need a Healer?" Theo would not sit. Rose knew that he was eager to reach whoever needed his help (Xenia was the same way, judging by her skipping out on her own wedding reception).
"Not him," Mr. Peter's eyes grew abruptly sad. "Our Sarah is very ill, and other healers have given up on her. You know… Our kind does not look too kindly on werewolves…"
"You know that too?" Rose was easy for the first time since she received the owl. He was alive and safe, not in any immediate danger. And she would see him presently; after all, he was so close.
"I know almost everything about him," the old man took his wand out of his pocket, and a couple of moments later a tea tray appeared on the table before them. "Have some tea, and I shall take you to their house."
"Right now," Theo's eyes were on Rose, letting her know that he did not need tea or rest or anything else, if a patient needed his care. She was just as unwilling to postpone the reunion with her father. "Let's go."
Mr. Peter shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
"As you wish… Only it is very cold out there," the old man took a parka off the coat rack in the corner and glanced longingly at the blazing fireplace. "Oh! We get them some supplies; they should not venture out in this storm, and the full moon is drawing near…"
Mr. Peter motioned for them to follow him and, as she stood up, Rose saw a small back door that led into the back yard, with the backdrop of the snowy mountains, half-hidden as though by the mist.
"Blizzard," Mr. Peter muttered, taking two baskets out of the niche in the wall. Theo took one from him, and looked at the old man for further directions. "Rose, give me your hand; I shall guide you, lest you miss your destination and get buried in the snow. Your father would never forgive me… Theodic, hold on to Rose… Ready?"
In the moments it took them to Apparate, Rose felt nauseated – the long journey took its toll. When she was finally able to draw breath, she choked up – because of the snow that instantly filled her nose and mouth.
"Quick, under the awning," she heard Mr. Peter's voice through the wind and the rustling of snow, as he pulled her forward. Only then did she see the contours of the half snow-covered one-story cabin and a dim light in one of the windows.
As soon as Rose found herself under the awning, next to stacked firewood, a wheel barrow and gardening tools, she vigorously brushed the snow off her clothes. Theo appeared next to her – a cap of snow topped his black hair.
"Let's go?" smiled Mr. Peter, moving aside a small snowdrift and opening the massive front door. They were instantly enveloped in the warmth and the aroma of wood-burning fireplace and chicken noodle soup.
Rose took a step forward and her heart raced in her chest. This was his home, her father's home. He is here, he is close, as she fantasised for four years….
"Ron!" called out Mr. Peter, wiping his feet before entering the living room from the small foyer where the three of them were crowded. The fireplace lit the room, showing well-worn but very cozy furniture, books, chess set on the coffee table, a doll house and a big grey cat sleeping curled up in the chair.
From somewhere in the house came the sound of footsteps, the door clicked quietly, and a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway just as Rose and Theo entered from the opposite side.
"Daddy," the girl breathed: she could not but recognize the lanky form. She hugged her father, powerless to stop the flow of tears as they fell onto the old, knit by Grandma Molly, maroon jumper. Ron stroked her snow-soaked hair and kissed the crown of her head, the way he often did when she was a little girl. His big hands trembled slightly; his heart thumped against her ear. He smelled harshly of some potion, which made Rose smile unexpectedly: just like her Theo.
"Theo…," she forced herself away from her father and turned toward her friend.
"Theodic," the young man extended his hand.
"Ron," her father said curtly, shaking the Healer's hand. His other hand was still around his daughter. "Thank you for coming here…"
"Daddy…" Rose raised her eyes to her father's face, still hard pressed to believe that he was here, and well. He was thinner now, but still himself, save for a multitude of small scars marring his face and hands; and for the look in his eyes: a bit different…
"I shall leave the baskets in the kitchen, Ron. And whip us up something quick to eat, I think…" Mr. Peter remarked softly. "If you need me, holler."
"Where is Sarah?" Theo seemed to ignore the old man's words as he disappeared down the hallway behind him.
"Let's go," Ron pointed at the door from whence he had come. "She is hardly ever conscious anymore…"
Rose heard despair and pain in her father's voice – he was never good at hiding his feelings. He loves her and he loves Sarah. The girl sighed deeply, covering up, even from herself, the feelings of jealousy and disdain she should have long conquered by now, and followed her father and Theo. He loves her; therefore, she must be a remarkable person. She, Sarah, has been with her father all these years. And Rose is grateful…
Ron opened the door into a small, warm room, and Rose's eyes immediately fell onto the bed where lay a very pale and thin woman. Sarah could not be above thirty, which shocked Rose a little. Sweaty hair was plastered against Sarah's high forehead; her dry lips were slightly open. There were scars on her face as well.
Theo walked around Rose and Ron, opening his suitcase.
"Wait in the living room," he said shortly.
Ron nodded. Silently, they returned to the room filled with the crackling of fire in the fireplace. Rose didn't know what to say, because she knew that her father was really in the other room now, with that sick woman. She, too, had trouble focusing on anything else at the moment.
"Hardly changed at all," Ron was looking at his daughter, smiling slightly. "And looking so much like her…"
These words brought it home to Rose that, despite his last four years with Sarah, her father never forgot them. Or Mother… She felt abruptly easier about looking him in the eye and talking to him.
"Hugo now favours Uncle George a lot, although not in personality," the girl smiled, sitting down on the couch next to her father and looking at him. "That he must have gotten from Grandpa Arthur…"
"How is Dad?"
"Well, you know him: even in retirement he is still crazy about Muggles," Rose laughed lightly. "He has a new idea fixe: to put together a com-pu-ter that would do the cooking on its own… As the result, the kitchen at The Burrow now looks like a workshop, which Aunt Audrey is not too thrilled about. A couple of times a week someone is bound to find a metal part in their soup…"
They grew silent, looking at each other. Rose felt as though, just for a moment, this strange house filled with the coziness of The Burrow, the comfort of the time long gone, the time before this house. But only for a moment…
"How are you, Daddy?" the girl peered intently into her father's face.
"Not bad, as you can see," he motioned around the room. "Living."
"Do you work?" she knew that they were making small talk, but talking of something else, something serious meant hurting him anew. That he would hurt she knew after his words of how she favoured Mother.
"You could say I don't," a shadow of the familiar smile ghosted his lips. "Peter is managing our inn."
"This is your inn?" Rose asked in amazement.
Ron nodded. Another pause ensued. As though they were grasping desperately for things to talk about, while avoiding touchy subjects.
They started when Theo entered the room. He was toweling his hands dry.
"How is she?" Rose's father stood up immediately, his anxious gaze on the Healer.
"Not well," Theo glanced at Rose, as though addressing her alone. "She needs to be transferred to our house. There I can help her. Not here."
Rose held his gaze, knowing that Theo was, in fact, talking to her. Asking for her permission. Father's eyes were on her, too.
"Of course, but can she Apparate?" Rose nodded at Theodic.
"She is weak, but the sooner she is there, the quicker I can treat her," Theo handed the girl her cloak and a bottle filled with a potion. "I gave her a strengthening potion; it will help. You ought to take some also. Mr. Weasley?"
Father nodded tersely and hurried out; Theo followed him after smiling encouragingly at Rose. The girl had no idea what they were getting themselves into, as she held on desperately to one thought: Mum and Uncle Harry had gone. She downed the potion in one gulp.
Mr. Peter promised to look after the house and the cat. They got ready in five minutes. Father held Sarah, wrapped in blankets, in his arms.
The way back took more time, because Theo made an extra stop. He was tired too, but he could not rest, for he was in a hurry. After each leg of the journey he stopped to examine Sarah.
It was sunrise in England, when they appeared at their house. Cold wind chased newspaper pages down the still deserted street.
"Inside," Theo said curtly, waving his wand to remove the shield. Rose was about to remind him that in their haste, they had forgotten to put the Protective Charms on, when her father froze in his tracks and said in a startled voice:
"Bertie?"
Rose followed her father's eyes: sat on their porch, wrapped in her Hogwarts cloak, was a sleeping girl.