Shaking off the awkwardness of his godfathers' far too intimate knowledge of his personal life, Harry dedicated the following days to getting Rowan out of the canopied bed. They spent many hours in the greenhouse, Rowan clipping and de-thorning some roses from a potted bush, while Harry paltered away with whatever stories or knowledge he could spare. This morning, Sirius had joined them, lounging in a creaky chair like a silken cat, eyes flickering around the room as he watched the pair tend the plants.
"You know, I hated my years here, and quite frankly, it is swell to replace them with some quality family time," The gentleman gracefully waved his hand along with his words, drawing a constellation in the air.
"I suppose the screeching lady upstairs did not dote," Rowan said, snipping away gently at another dark purple rose for the vase on her mantle.
"She was quite a harpy; a bloody, evil woman," The clear blue sky of Sirius's eyes brought in a summer thunderstorm, seemingly giving way to the London grey.
Steps could be heard echoing through the hall toward them, the lycanthrope joining his pack huddled around the masses of greenery.
"Who are we talking about?" Remus inquired, quirking a scarred brow.
"Molly Weasley, of course," Sirius grinned.
"Hey! Mrs. Weasley is kind to me," Harry cut in, chest puffing out a little bit.
"We were talking about Walburga, Remus, the former mistress of the house," Rowan cut, imitating the screeching timbre of Kreacher's adoring elegies for the late woman.
"Didn't like her much based on what Sirius told me, your father didn't either," Remus said, gesturing his head to Harry.
"James was ready to turn this place into a giant air balloon and let it carry my evil lot into the Sun," Sirius smirked, his face tightening as he said James' name with a longing glare in Harry's direction.
Harry was so much like James, especially with Harry sniffing after Rowan like an adoring pup. So much like his parents, yet so different. The world was always presenting similarities between the reality of Sirius's youth and the sting of the reality the young ones lived in. Rowan wasn't Lily and Harry wasn't James. This world was much like the one of his youth, but the heat was increasing yet again, reality cooking all of them in a slow rolling boil. So different, so familiar.
Rowan watched Sirius's face sharpen, tighten, and relax as he mentally waltzed around the graveyard of his memories. She knew too well, every day was a reminder of all you had to lose and all you had to mourn. Her dark onyx spheres flickered over to the expanse of Harry's shoulders. She tried to imagine not being able to wrap her arms around them for comfort on hard nights. The phantom giggles of Ron and Hermione from some memory permeated her inner queue, stinging her heart and expanding it at the thought of the friendship and love they were all able to share. This was all for Harry, because of Harry. Her mother gave her life for that very reason. He was the Chosen One, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, and she supposed she should consider herself lucky that he entertained her with the patience that he had.
The haze of the city had also covered Rowan's mind, polluting the inner workings and coating her eyes with smog. Life rarely felt real these days, shock still twinging her skin and organs. She spent her days writing Hermoine letters about her gardening or reading adventures, inquiring with Remus about what else she could potentially learn, enjoying the paternal time and influence she received from him and his partner. Her and Harry would cozy up in the evenings and read or play a game. He had been noticeably distant since the funeral and it made Rowan want to scream.
Usually quick-witted and angered, old Rowan would've shoved her wand into his throat and made him explain himself. Now, she could only blame herself. Her world was spinning so fast, she couldn't find a balance without clinging to him and trying to stabilize herself on him. He had pulled back after they were intimate, yet another detail that frustrated and worried Rowan.
Like any teenage girl, she was insecure. Perhaps she wasn't… shapely enough for him to be impressed? Her older sister told her boys will say anything to get a look or a shake from a girl. Maybe she needed to run and train like the girls who played Quidditch, just a bit more sinew to stitch together this gaping hole in their relationship. Words weren't exchanged and no moves to rectify had been established. She subconsciously thought about the way her figure sat in her current light gown, perhaps too flat or boring to pique Harry's interest.
"The Order will be coming for a briefing tonight, and I believe the Weasleys may stay so you all can catch up," Remus stated.
As Remus mentioned the impending arrival of the Order and the Weasley bunch, Sirius's face pulled yet again, his emotions clear as day on his Azkaban-aged face. Anticipation floated into the stuffy air, knowing this sanctuary would soon be hosting more souls. Souls that would ask questions and check-in on her, Rowan realized.
"More people?" Sirius' finely arched brows pulled up, glancing at Rowan and Harry, "'Suppose we will have a full house then."
Rowan nodded slightly, her mind shifting from her own plague to the flood of humans who would come thundering through the iron-black door and narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place.
The hours leading up to the Order's gathering held a mix of tension and excitement. The news of more visitors seemed to stir Rowan's anxiety in an unfamiliar manner, spiking with each hour that passed. Her insecurities, once subtle whispers, and her grief had been echoing in her mind. It would be the first time seeing the Order members since her mother's funeral and she felt the weight to perform, to be alright for them.
The door knocker thundered and a gaggle of wizards appeared in the narrow hall, masses of ginger, white, and brown hair blending in the chaotic symphony of a crowd. Dumbledore's twinkling eyes found hers and gave a slight nod, a reassurance.
The older Order members filtered into the kitchen, the cramped space feeling more closed in as they all surrounded the table. Molly, always the nurturer, levitated trays of food behind her for dinner with her wand, preparing for a dinner for the gang of misfits. Food floating above heads and gentle chatter fluttered and rose to the ceiling of the ancient home.
"Help me in the kitchen, dear? We'll let them chat and then serve dinner," Molly asked Rowan, watching everyone begin chatting in the dining room.
The members worked through the agenda for the meeting and what would need to be done for the upcoming few weeks to ensure safety was maintained and any intel was able to be acted upon.
"Of course," Rowan followed Molly while the rest of the Hogwarts-aged students caught up in the parlor room.
"I just wanted to see how you are doing with everything, your mother was a kind, kind woman. How are you fairing?" Molly's eyes searched the younger woman's face, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I am managing the best I can, Mrs. Weasley," Rowan said, throwing her guard up to full height.
She knew this would come, the pitying looks and worried side glances. Rowan never desired pity, she felt it made her more weak. She preferred to push through the obstacle, to contain it within herself like a wild animal in a cage and never release it. Harry was truly the only person she had let her guard down in front of and the girl was still trying to push him away and keep him out if she could. He luckily had clammed up and backed off, but she still felt torn.
"I'm always here for you, dear, it is what your mother would've wanted. Now, let's get this feast ready, shall we?"
Rowan offered a nod and tightened her lips, "Thank you, sounds perfect."
The Order's feast commenced, a chicken leg being waved in the air as Moody narrated tales from the old days of his Auror job, using the chicken leg as a makeshift wand, whizzing in the wind as his baritone, scraggly voice boomed across the table. Harry plotted himself down next to Rowan, his arm around the back of her chair, enjoying her company. Remus framed Rowan's other side, nibbling lightly on a chocolate tart.
"Any good Hogwarts stories, my boy?" Arthur asked Ron, nudging him with his arm.
"Harry, remember the time we accidentally set off those dungbombs in Filch's office, I thought he was going to feed us to Mrs. Filch!"
"The look on his face was priceless," Harry agreed, smiling, rubbing slight circles on Rowan's shoulder.
Laughter thundered around the stormy house, balmy summer air amplifying the electricity of the atmosphere, the seeming war outside the door long forgotten by most at the table. However, Ron, ever the tactless storyteller, could not hold back his guffawing about Harry's past.
"Speaking of surprises, Harry was sneaking under our noses in fourth year to get to know Cho Chang, spending some real quality time with her, I heard, even tried to ask her to a ball," Ron shouted, immune to the discomfort the statement presented with Hermione smacking him on his bicep to stop.
Ginny saw an opportunity to strike back at the viper who had wrapped herself around Harry, "Ah, the fit and fine Cho Chang, Harry did always like a girl who knew her way around a broomstick."
"That's the past, all of that, no wishes to go back," Harry said, glaring across the table at the chaotic redheaded duo currently trying to undo any progress he had made with getting Rowan to open up more, adding pressure to the circles he drew on her arm.
"I'm just saying, Harry. Rowan, noticed you've been a bit lackluster lately, maybe some Quidditch or exercise could add a pep in your step. After all, that's what Harry likes. Not so viciously depressed and dreary, he's got enough of that."
"Ginny, that's enough," Mrs. Weasley warned.
Hermione cleared her throat, her eyes darting in panic, "What classes are you most looking forward to this year?"
"Um, herbology. I'm actually tending some rose plants now that I need to check on, so if you'll excuse me," Rowan shrugged Harry's hand off of her shoulder and headed to the sanctuary of the humid greenhouse.
Harry's frustration grew, he stared angrily at Ginny's flaming head, almost so intensely it would actually burst into a bonfire. His jaw moved back and forth as the tension became tighter, all eyes on him. The unspoken tension swirled and shuddered like a massive hurricane. Remus stood up and excused himself, heading in the same direction as Rowan's departure, going to check on her. Ginny continued to push, despite the warnings.
"I mean, her family is all Death Eaters, Harry. Not the in-laws for you," the ginger stated, rolling her eyes.
Sirius interjected instead, "Ginny, I'd advise you to halt your judgments, you are a deemed blood traitor having dinner in the House of Black after all. I don't believe you are able to truly understand the harm and hurt Rowan has experienced in the past few weeks."
Molly, aspiring to protect her daughter, jumped in, "Pot meet kettle, Sirius Black. I think you still have growing up to do. You're letting them share a room, Ron tells me. That's not responsible parenting, Sirius. People are right to have concerns."
The black, curly-haired man's face turned redder with anger, "Molly, you cannot lecture about suitable living arrangements and etiquette when your own daughter is attacking a grieving child, truly both of my adoptive children at this point, at my dinner table in my home. Spouting judgments off at people based on shallow knowledge ended with my mother dying and this home becoming mine. I won't tolerate it here."
The matriarch didn't step down, "You should then understand the importance of a stable family environment and you are permitting them to engage in behavior they might not be ready for. You should not lecture about decorum or responsibility when you are encouraging children to flaunt convention. My children would never live with a partner, much less share a bed, before marriage, it is shameful. You have poor judgment."
Ron snickered at the statement, earning a swat from Hermione.
"Can we stop talking about me and my personal life like I'm not here? Please. I'm not an idiot and I've got my wits about me enough to make choices for myself," Harry said, raising from the seat and storming off to find Rowan and Remus.
Hermione rose, silently excusing herself to the parlor, with Ron in tow, discomfort evident on her face. Snape sat stone-faced watching the verbal match progress, slightly entertained by Molly's screeching. Moody feigned boredom, Tonks wiggled her toes and tried to act unphased, while Dumbledore sat speechless and discomforted. The room was overtaken by uncomfortable silence from the sporadic fight.
"Well, pip pip everyone. Much work to be done, thank you for hosting Sirius and thank you Mrs. Weasley for the meal," Dumbledore said, waving his hands to gesture everyone to leave.
Meanwhile, the soft glow of the moon cast a gentle silver spell over the ambiance of the attached greenhouse. Rowan, sitting on her knees beside her rose bushes, found herself lost in the gentle fragrance of the petals, lightly tracing them with her fingertips and cutting the larger, heavier blooms off. As tears rolled carefully down her porcelain complexion, Rowan reached for another rose, accidentally cutting the rose off of the stem. She stared at the rose, hand slightly shaking in frustration, and let out a nearly-silent cry.
Remus waltzed into the greenhouse at that moment, taking in the scene of hunched-over shoulders and the salty spray of tears.
"Rowan, are you doing alright?"
"I never meant for anything to get hurt or for my presence to offend," her fragile voice croaked.
The tall lycanthrope bent down next to her, gently stroking a petal on a vine.
"These plants were dying weeks ago, you've tended to them with such care. Perhaps it is time to treat yourself with the same grace and care. Take care of yourself well, hmm? Spend time with your loved ones. Ignore the harsh ramblings of angry school girls. Mend yourself as you've mended these flowers."
Remus stood, offering a hand to the younger girl he felt strongly toward.
"They're just flowers, but somehow, they mean something to me; they just make sense to my scattered, hollow head," She sighed, brushing her hands off on her pants and accepting his help, her small soft hand warmed by his larger one.
Harry wandered into the intimate tableau of Rowan's rose garden, pleased to see her chatting with Remus. Even if she would shut him out at any turn, he found himself comforted in knowing others were trying to support her and guide her through her suffering.
"Rowan," Harry whispered, the gentle night breeze carrying his murmur to her ears.
She turned and immediately reached for him, longing for his touch on her fevered, anxious skin. Remus nodded and left them to their private moment.
"Harry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a burden, I'm sorry for shutting you out and making you fight my battles for me. I love you madly, I do. Please know you are my heart," Rowan blathered, holding him closer to her, hearts hammering through their rib cages as though they were trying to embrace each other."
"You have nothing to apologize for, I just want you to let me in, love. Share with me. I love you. Now let's go sleep in our unholy bed together."
"Our what?" Rowan asked, shaking her head.
"Oh, our sinful premarital copulation, didn't you know? I've corrupted you," He smirked, kissing a trail from her nose to her cheek, circling down her jaw and throat."
"Sounds nice," Rowan smirked, allowing Harry to take her hand and guide her in.
"Ro, we aren't done being open, we need to communicate more about these things. Please let me in."
Rowan gave a curt, insecure nod as she headed upstairs to sleep away her troubles, encaged in Harry's arms.