CHAPTER FIVE – A TROUBLING REUNION

The memory troubled Rose, as she watched the countryside whiz past her on a very different train. Robin, too, was troubled, though for a different reason. He could sense his mother's displeasure by the way she had said very little since their departure from France. She hadn't even chastised him for putting his feet up on the chair. She was too busy staring out at the sea, as though she could see right down to its murky depths. Robin, who had finished his book and was struggling to find ways to pass the time, broke the silence.

"It's quite cool, isn't it? This train."

"Hmm?" His mother, her trance broken, looked up at him at last. "How so?"

"Well, that it runs across water."

Rose shrugged and readjusted her cloak. There was a particularly chilly breeze coming in from the compartment window, but she refused to let her son shut it. She found the ocean air very calming. "It's quite normal for international travel. You can't exactly put the train in the sea, can you? Imagine how slow it would be, with all that pressure."

"Yes, but Muggles can't do it."

"Muggles can't do a lot of things."

Robin was not to be dismayed however, and he reached into his pocket and produced a leaflet. Rose squinted at it: on the front it said EUROSTAR. "Where did you get that?"

"At Calais, when you stopped at the station to go to the toilets," he said brusquely, brushing off the question. "But look! The Muggles can't go over the water – or even through it – they have to go underneath."

He passed the leaflet over for inspection, which Rose did, thoroughly. She seemed unimpressed. "Terribly inefficient."

Robin frowned. "I thought it was quite clever really."

She handed the leaflet back and sighed deeply, which did nothing to alleviate her son's concern. Her skin was very pale, and made even more so by the way it stood out against her hair. "We're quite close to London now, so you won't have to wait much longer before you can stretch your legs." She paused, as if deciding whether to say anything at all, and then added, "Are you excited to see your cousins?"

"Yeah?" Robin rubbed his nose. "I mean, we see them most Christmases so…"

"I suppose that's true… But you haven't been to the UK since you were – well, since you were a baby, really."

Robin bristled. "I was three! That's not a baby."

"It's close enough." She shot him a wry smile that, at his tender age, he did not fully grasp. He took a second to calculate his mother's age – thirty-one, as of two months ago. It was really very young, but Robin could not imagine being so old. His Uncle Arthur and Aunt Molly were even older, which was even more baffling to him.

"Why did we move again?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Rose's frown deepened. "Oh, lots of boring reasons. Adult reasons."

Robin didn't think that was a particularly a helpful answer, but knew better than to push it. He moved to safer ground. "Will we be living in the same place as before?"

Rose laughed in a hollow way. "Oh, no, no. We used to live in the tiniest hovel imaginable. Even for London, it was pretty grim… one room, with a bed, your crib, a hob, and a toilet, and I'm being quite serious when I say that was it. Still, we loved it at the time because it was ours…"

Her son was about to comment that he didn't think we was necessarily true, as he didn't even remember it. But then it occurred to him suddenly, as a small voice niggling at the back of his head, that it wasn't Robin who made up the we she was referencing at all, but his father. Robin didn't know a lot about his father – his mother didn't ever mention him, and she was extremely cagey when it came to any questions from her son. He didn't even know his name – other than the fact it wasn't Prewett, because Prewett was the name of Aunt Molly and his mother's own father, Christopher Prewett, who had died before Robin was born and was his namesake. It was all terribly complicated.

Perhaps that was why it took up so much space in poor Robin's brain. He often spent hours imagining what his father looked like, if he was still alive, that is. It was difficult, however, because he and Rose looked so terribly similar, which made picking out the features that must have come from his father challenging. The red hair and high cheekbones, for example, were lifted straight from her. Nevertheless, the resemblance was not perfect. Robin's hair was darker, and more rust-like, and his face shape was not as round as Rose's. He had a much stronger jaw and no freckles. His eyes, too, were a cool grey colour whereas his mother's were deep brown. So, he could surmise, his father had dark hair, light eyes, and strong features. But he wondered about the little details in between – did he have dimples from smiling? Or the frown lines of someone who has spent their whole life being stern?

These questions were enough to occupy Robin for the remainder of the train journey, which was a relief for his mother who had a splitting headache. Rose spent the small sliver of peace with her forehead against the cool glass, dying for a nap but unable to drift off. It was a wonder either of them even noticed when the train chugged, at long last, into Platform 8 and ½ of King's Cross Station.

As the train rocked gently to a halt, Rose immediately stood, desperate for more fresh air, and busied herself with retrieving their luggage from the rack. It was only one small bag each for their essentials, as Madame Maxime had kindly agreed to send the bulk of their things by her Pegasus carriage. Robin, on the other hand, was scanning the station, looking for the tell-tale sign of bright-red hair.

"Mum, look, they're here!"

"Well I would hope so…" She glanced out of the window and, sure enough, there was her sister, beaming. Arthur was there too, though the children were not. She supposed they were waiting at the Burrow, under Percy's supervision. Rose tried to send a warm smile back, but, as ever, it came across a little tense. "Alright then, out we get."

Barely had they stepped foot on the platform before Molly had engulfed her sister in a huge bear hug.

"I can't believe it's you!" she squealed, squeezing tighter and tighter until Rose could barely breathe.

"It's me," the younger sister wheezed, before adding, "I think you've cracked one of my ribs."

Thankfully for Rose, Molly had just spied Robin, and hurried over to the poor boy to hug the living daylight out of him too. She was audibly sobbing by this point.

"I can't believe it's really you! Oh look at you, you're so big… and here, in England!"

"Aunt Molly, you only saw me at Easter!"

"I know, I know, but this is different!"

The distraction allowed Rose to sidle over to her brother-in-law, who gave her a much less exaggerated welcome, though no less warm. "Welcome home," he said into her shoulder as they too shared a hug. Something about the phrase made Rose oddly emotional, and she felt herself tearing up, though she was careful not to let Arthur see.

"Thank you for having us – I promise we won't stay long, just until we find a place of our own…"

Arthur shook his head firmly. "Not at all, Rose – it's our pleasure! After all this time, you think Molly and I wouldn't relish the opportunity to have you stay with us?"

"Well – thank you. But it's a terrible imposition –"

"It's nothing. You're family."

Rose wanted to argue, but it felt a little rude, so she simply pursed her lips and nodded in thanks. To others it may have seemed ungrateful, but Arthur knew his sister-in-law very well, and so it did not bother him. Being standoffish was simply in her nature, and what she lacked in social graces she made up for in goodness of heart.

The car ride was fairly uneventful, though Rose found it strangely satisfying, riding through all the old stomping grounds of her youth. As the Devon countryside rolled past the windows, she couldn't help but make connections to old memories. There was the forest where her brothers had built her a fort one summer. And there, the newsagents where Molly had bought her a lolly every day after school. They passed a turning on the right that would have led them to their old family home, since sold to a new family after their father's death. She wondered if the new occupants felt the same sense of contentedness as they walked over her old floorboards. She wondered who lived in her old room now, with the floral wallpaper and creaky window. She thought about how strange it was that they would never know all the secrets that lived on as ghosts in their house: the window in the attic which wasn't original because Fabian had accidentally broken the first while practicing his beating skills; the scorch mark above the hob, now under layers of paint, where Arthur had lost control whilst setting the Christmas pudding on fire one year; and the old treehouse her father had built for her, where she had shared her first kiss.

They were fond memories, but for some reason, they left a bitter taste in her mouth, and Rose was glad to leave the car when they finally arrived at the Burrow. The flashbacks were soon pushed out of her mind as her niece and nephews poured out of the building to meet her to calls of 'Auntie Rosie!'.

She couldn't help but laugh as little Ginny through her arms around her waist. She was perhaps not the most fun Aunt in the world, but she was the Weasley children's only aunt, given that Arthur had two brothers, and she supposed her arrival was an exciting change for them all. Fred and George certainly thought so.

"Alright Auntie Rosie, want us to help with the bags?"

"Fred can fly them right to your window on his Cleansweep 7 if you pay us a Galleon."

"Thanks for the offer boys, but I think your dad might carry them up the stairs for free."

"Ah, well, we can't argue with that."

"Yeah, we have to respect a sound business decision when we see one."

Percy was a lot more muted in his greeting, as was Ron, who it must be said was standing rather sulkily at the back. Rose didn't have much time to explore this, however, as Molly quickly tugged her into the kitchen and began making her a cup of tea.

"You must be exhausted of course. Now, is it milk and two sugars…?"

"Milk and no sugar."

"Oh, yes of course, I can never remember – ARTHUR, REMEMBER THAT ROBIN IS WITH RONALD, AND ROSE IS IN BILL'S OLD ROOM!" she called up the stairs as her husband single-handedly lugged their trunks.

"Oh, I can help Arthur…!"

But Molly wasn't having it. "Nonsense, he's fine. You sit down – you too Robin!"

Robin, who couldn't hear his aunt over the thousand and one questions that Ginny was asking him about his Hogwarts letter, didn't reply. Molly didn't seem too fussed.

"Now, we've put you in Bill's old room because – well, I didn't think you'd want to sleep in the spare…"

They both remembered that fateful night well enough to know why. Rose thought it was better left unsaid, and wished Molly hadn't brought it up, though she appreciated the thought.

"Of course, that's very kind of you."

"And we'll be having dinner almost straight away – I hope you still like roast beef, because we bought a roast especially, and I think it will be nice for you to have a proper English meal to celebrate being home…"

She continued chatting away, clearly thrilled to have her sister back, though Rose didn't reply. She was too busy watching Robin, who was fending off Fred and George's attempts to get him to have one of their Bertie Bott's every flavour beans (Ginny still holding on to the bottom of his jumper like an adoring fan). Percy, who seemed quickly to have tired of the new arrivals, was sat reading his book by the fire, and Ron had quietly slipped away to his room somehow. Still, the atmosphere as a whole was particularly joyous, and the scene made Rose genuinely smile for the first time in goodness knows how long.

"Ronald, you are being utterly immature."

Her youngest nephew's face immediately turned a flaming red at her comment. "I am not!"

"Oh yes," said Fred from the other end of the table. "Because that comeback was the height of maturity."

"Shut up, Fred!"

"Thus proving my point," retorted Fred, grinning.

George shook his head in the manner of a wise old man. "Honestly, Ronald, listen to your elder siblings… we are older, and therefore wiser, and therefore better in every way."

"That's so stupid!" snarled Ron. Rose would feel bad for him if he didn't bring it on himself.

"You know," said Percy, sticking his chest out to display his Prefect badge at a better angle, "George has a point. You should pay attention to the example we're setting you. Well, the example Aunt Rose and I are setting you."

"Hear that, Ron?" said George as he refilled his glass of orange juice. "If Percy the Prefect says we're right, then it must be the truth. A Prefect could never be wrong…"

"That's enough, you two," said Mrs Weasley sharply, setting down her knife and fork, and shooting the twins a glare as she picked up her wine glass. "You too, Ron. This dinner is supposed to celebrate Rose's news, and you're not showing her any kind of support."

"But mum!" said Ron, furious that no one was taking his side. "This was supposed to be my year at Hogwarts!"

"Your year?" piped up Ginny from opposite Fred, one eyebrow raised. "What's that supposed to mean? Robin's staring too. You think just because you're joining Hogwarts this year that everything has to be just as you want it?"

"Yeah!" said Robin indignantly, too busy filling his mouth with roast potatoes to really listen, but he had looked up at the mention of his name.

"I didn't say that –"

"I have to be honest," said Mr Weasley lightly, helping himself to an extra dollop of bread sauce, "that does seem to be the case. I don't see what difference Rose being your school nurse makes to your education other than it makes you uncomfortable."

"Well… yeah," said Ron, unable to think of a better argument than that. "I bet if Percy was the one teaching at Hogwarts, Fred and George would be complaining non-stop until he quit!"

"Yeah, but that's because Percy's a prat," said Fred nonchalantly.

"Fred!" snapped Mrs Weasley. Her son held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Sorry, sorry…"

From the look on Percy's face, he did not accept the apology.

"He's right though," said George matter-of-factly. "Auntie Rose is cool – ergo, her being at Hogwarts is also pretty cool."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure 'cool' is a word I would use to describe myself, but thank you for defending my honour."

Ron scowled at his roast parsnips. "I already have to live up to all of your reputations, and now, on top of being known as your younger brother, I have to deal with being our nurse's nephew as well."

"Oh, Ronald, will you stop being so melodramatic," said Mrs Weasley tersely. "All of your brothers had to go through that. Even Rose had to deal me. You're no more maligned than anyone else. I mean, for Merlin's sake, this is Robin's mother we're talking about and he's making less of a fuss than you are!"

"I know when to keep my mouth shut," muttered Robin, winking at Ginny.

"No, no, in all seriousness, I understand," said Fred through a mouthful of roast chicken. Ron looked up in shock.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I mean, just think about it – all the teachers are going to associate us with you." He added a fake shudder for dramatic effect. "The horror."

"Alright, that's enough," said Mr Weasley, his stern tone contrasting strangely with the snickers coming from the twins, Robin and Ginny. "I think Ron's learnt his lesson."

Ron looked as though he would never speak to any of them ever again.

There was light coming from the bottom of the door. Rose knew, therefore, that her nephew was up still, even though it was fast approaching midnight. She had spent most of the evening catching up with her sister, but now she was retiring to bed, she thought she should check in on him. She knocked on the door.

The light immediately turned out.

"I'm sleeping, mum," came her nephew's voice, not without a hint of annoyance. "You don't need to check on me all the time, I'm not a child."

Rose felt a laugh bubbling in her throat, but she suppressed it. Though she might consider eleven to be child-like now, when she was that age she would have thought herself incredibly grown-up. It was better not to patronise him.

"It's not your mother, it's me," said Rose through the door, her hand on the doorknob. "Can I come in?"

There was a small pause, but then, "Yeah."

Rose opened the door slowly, smiling at her nephew as she entered the room. He didn't smile back, but he didn't scowl either, which she considered a success. He was tucked up in bed, Scabbers curled up in the crook of his arm, though he appeared to be playing chess, the board set out on his lap. Rose walked over to him and sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to disrupt the pieces.

"Hello."

He looked up at last. "Hey."

"I'm sorry about dinner," said Rose quietly, as Ron went back to playing his chess game. "The teasing may have gone a little far."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, well. I should have been more supportive."

They sat in silence for a little while as Rose watched Ron play. She tried to think back to if they'd ever really spent time alone. She concluded probably not – Rose was twenty years older, and had only briefly lived in the Burrow for a few months when Ron was one. After that, she and Robin had moved to France, and they would soon move into their own home now they were back in the UK. Her work at Beauxbatons had kept her busy, and since then Ron and she had only seen each other at Christmas, when she finally had time off. Still, the same went for Ginny and the twins, and Rose still remained close to them. She wondered why the same couldn't be said for Ron.

"I know it's hard," said Rose. "Starting a new school. Especially when your aunt's working there."

Ron sighed, a lock of red hair falling into his eyes. "I just wanted to be noticed, you know? For being something other than someone else's relative."

"Listen to me, Ron," said Rose, leaning forward so that Ron was forced to look at her eye to eye. "You are much more than anyone's relative, and don't you forget it."

Ron smiled for the first time. "Thanks, Auntie Rose. You're pretty cool too."

"I'll take it," she said, laughing. She ruffled his hair and he groaned, edging away from her. The chess game lay forgotten, though Scabbers squeaked in indignation, and Rose had to stop before the rat was accidentally squished. "Now get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah…" said Ron as Rose got up to leave. "God, you're just like mum…"

Rose fake glared at him. "Don't make me give you a detention before we even get there." She turned to leave, but then paused and poked her head back round the door. "Oh, and by the way, the next time you play Wizard's chess, ask Robin to play with you. It's his only hobby he's any good at."

"Well, what do you think?"

Rose didn't know what to say. She was worried that if she said anything, that she might burst into tears. But Arthur was looking at her expectantly, so she had to say something.

"Oh Arthur, it's…"

She found she couldn't finish her sentence. Arthur watched her worriedly.

"I know it's not a lot – it's only three bedrooms upstairs, and the facilities are a bit worse for wear – but it's only ten minutes' walk from us, and there's space for you to have a herb garden. Plus, the rent is very reasonable. And, of course, away from the prying eyes of Muggles."

"Arthur, it's just what I've always wanted."

Her brother-in-law was clearly thrilled, and he beamed widely before joining her in staring at her new home. The little cottage, nestled into the outskirts of the wood, with honeysuckle climbing the walls, looked like something out of a Beatrice Potter book (something that Robin's godmother had introduced her to when he was born). She was ecstatic. When Arthur had woken her up that morning, only one day after her arrival, she had been sceptical about what he was going to show her, but he had proven himself ten times over.

Of course, there was someone else she had to check with first before ploughing ahead. She turned to her son.

"What do you think?"

Robin eyed the cottage warily. As an eleven-year-old boy, it was difficult for him to muster up excitement about some pokey old cottage in the woods (especially when their cottage in Provence had been a lot more lavish), but he appreciated that it was important to his mother and so he smiled.

"Looks good to me."

Rose beamed and squeezed Robin's shoulder tight. She gazed again at the place she would call home for the next seven years at least. Oddly enough, despite all of her trepidation, she had the strangest feeling she was in just the right place.