Rosalie shivered as the waves crashed over her legs. She could feel the mixture of sand, tiny shells, and cold water beneath her feet and lifting her head, she watched a group of teenage girls splashing each other, herself among them. Her dreams were, to put it mildly, strange. While some people dreamt of flying amongst the clouds or talking animals, hers never made much sense, especially when she could see herself like an out of body experience. Other times, she seemed to be someone else though her mother simply deemed it an overactive imagination.
The wet sand hardened beneath her feet, replaced with a polished wooden floor. She was no longer on the beach where she spent most of the summer with her friends but an unfamiliar hallway. Her right leg numb, she carefully climbed the stone steps, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, provided by the mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and taking in her new surroundings, a once grandiose home hidden beneath decades of built up dust and grime.
Stopping at the end of the hallway, she peered through an open door where a timid, balding man was tending to someone sitting in an armchair. The hidden man, speaking in a high-pitched, chilling voice, appeared to be the one in charge. She listened to them talk about a Quidditch World Cup, wizards, and muggles.
Her chest tightened when the hidden man mentioned needing Harry Potter, something his partner anxiously opposed due to him being heavily guarded, leading to him being chastised as cowardly and weak. Their conversation continued with a casual conversation of a woman's death at their hands, after she divulged useful information, and the timid man, referred to as Wormtail, shifted uncomfortably upon learning that he was an essential part of their dangerous plans. Her surroundings changed once more and she found herself glancing up at the balding man.
"M—my lord?" he stuttered.
A gigantic snake slithered towards them, resting on the rug. Rosalie's lips moved, speaking a different language, and as the snake hissed, she understood every word.
"According to Nagini, there is an old muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say." Wormtail glimpsed at the door. "Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"
He beckoned someone into the room, a soft tapping sound indicating their use of a cane. Their voices became muffled and an intense hatred and disgust brewed deep inside her. Her view switched between a blinding light and the elderly man attempting to be brave. As Wormtail turned the armchair, she raised her thin, scaly hand, the room enveloped in a flash of green.
Her eyes popped open but instead of a bed, tangled in a blanket with her best friend Mina, she was flat on her back, in the middle of the kitchen. The lamp above her flickered and when she was not seeing dots in front of her eyes, she thought her pillow was sticking out of the ceiling. She jumped up at the porcelain tile floor shaking beneath her and the cabinets opening with a loud bang.
"Rosalie?" A woman in a silk robe entered the kitchen, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I uh wanted a glass of water," said Rosalie, her eyes darting to the bare ceiling.
"Well, why don't you gather your things and I'll get you home?" she suggested. "By now, half the neighborhood is talking about that little quake and knowing your parents, they'll think you're buried under rubble if they don't hear from you straight away."
Rosalie sighed in relief, thinking that she had gone crazy. Mina, dressed in a pink tank top and matching plaid pajama pants, hurried down the staircase, her blonde curls smacking Rosalie in the face as her arms wrapped around her petite frame.
"Rosie, I was so scared," she said, squeezing her tightly. "Everything started shaking and then you weren't there."
"We're fine," assured her mother. "I'm taking her back home once she's packed. Don't you pout, Mina Grace. You'll have plenty of time to see each other. Make sure your brother's up and get dressed. We need to go grocery shopping and you both best behave."
"Mom, we could've died just now." Rosalie stifled a laugh at her best friend's dramatics. "Isn't it safer for us to stay inside the house? I'm sure Rosie's parents would agree."
Her mother pointed at the doorway. "We're out in ten, no exceptions...unless you'd like to spend some time with Mrs. Figg. I hear she's got a new cat."
Rosalie packed her belongings into her duffel bag, with Mina sitting cross-legged on the bed and simultaneously tossing her a piece of clothing and whining about her uptight mother. It could not be farther from the truth, her best friend simply letting out her frustrations. Mrs. Becker was known for being a free spirit ("a lazy hippie", according to Rosalie's father), who managed to raise her two children by herself. Most people in the neighborhood focused on the fact that she was a single mother, instead of her friendly demeanor or excellent baking skills.
"You sure you're okay?" asked Mina, as Rosalie folded her shorts. "I thought I heard you talking in your sleep. It sounded like you were hissing."
"Yeah, I think Harry's scary stories about St. Brutus's are getting to me," she replied, almost fooling herself. "I wish my parents let him go to Smelting's instead but somehow, that would be worse."
Mina nodded solemnly. "Better to be whacked on the head with a ruler than have to suffer being crushed by the human beluga."
"Mina!" said Rosalie, throwing a stuffed panda at her. It was second nature for her to speak her mind, particularly about Rosalie's tactless brother. "Don't call him that. You know, the diet is starting to work."
"Oh, so now he's a baby beluga?" Mina rolled her eyes. "Rosie, just because he's your brother, it doesn't mean you can't call him out for being horrible. It's our job as sisters. If I don't rag on Evan at least once a day, I'm not fulfilling my duties."
"Is that why you do it?" she heard.
An amused Evan was leaning against the doorway. Seeing that he was shirtless, a black tee draped over his shoulder, Rosalie focused on zipping up her bag. Mina chucked the bag at him, intending to hit him in the face but he effortlessly caught it with one hand.
"Nice try, raccoon eyes." She responded with a quiet snarl. "Mom said get a move on. She's already outside."
On her way out the door, she purposely knocked into her older brother's shoulder. Rosalie reached but he merely shook his head, managing to slip his shirt over his head.
"I've got it," he said, with a smile. "Hey, where's your necklace?"
Touching her bare neck, she turned towards the bed. A golden chained necklace, a dove-shaped pendant with rubies for eyes dangling from the center, was resting on the pillow and for a split second, the rubies seemed unnaturally bright. Rosalie had worn it for as long as she could remember, a present from her Aunt Lily and Uncle James. Having never met them, her parents considering them outcasts, it was the one thing that gave her any sort of connection, aside from her cousin Harry. Picking it up, she frowned, noticing the clasp broken in half.
"Danny's aunt owns a jewelry store in town. I bet she could fix it," offered Evan, knowing it meant a lot to her. "We could swing by later."
"We?" she asked, uncertain.
Her father would blow a gasket if he saw her with a boy, let alone an older one with his own car. Since her days on the playground, he was wary of any boy close to her, swarming in as soon as they asked to play with her on the swings or to borrow her shovel. His overprotectiveness grew over time, worsening as not just boys acknowledged her looks but grown men. It was why he rarely allowed her to attend company picnics, not wanting his employees or his superiors to leer at her. It was why he prohibited her from visiting Mina's house often, wanting her far away from the charming and handsome Evan.
When he was unable to intimidate the poor boys, the task was left to Dudley, who relished his role. At Smelting's, not a day went by where he didn't threaten another boy for simply glancing in her direction. His massive size, along with his gang of fellow bullies, intimidated most of them. Her mother was no help in the matter, finding their scare tactics noble.
"We can tell your dad that you're going with Mina...but I don't know if that's much better," he joked. "I wouldn't want her to think I'm stealing you away so we can go while she's at her guitar lesson."
Torn between not wanting to upset her mother and potentially enraging her father, with the added bonus of being locked in her room forever, she agreed to his idea. With any luck, Dudley would be too busy bemoaning another day of dieting, courtesy of a letter from the school nurse, to catch her in a lie.
The ride back to her home was a typical one with the Beckers: Mina kicking Evan's seat from the back then pretending that she was simply stretching, an ensuing argument that consisted of silly name calling, and Mrs. Becker, tired after five minutes, drowning them out with the radio.
As Rosalie waved from the front porch, she gripped the door handle, immediately retracting her hand. She thought tiny silver sparks were bouncing off her fingertips but blamed it on a trick of the light.
"Sweetheart, thank goodness." Her mother, placing her purse back on the glass front table, embraced her then cupped her face in her hands. "I've been calling the Beckers for the past ten minutes. I was beginning to think—are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No," said Rosalie, her voice muffled against her mother's collarbone. "Mrs. Becker drove me back right away. I'm sorry that you were worried."
"It's not your fault. I'm simply glad that—" Her lips curved into a frown. "You aren't wearing your necklace."
Rosalie lowered her gaze to her black flats. "T—the clasp broke...from the quake, I guess. I'm going with Mina later to the new jewelry store in town. My friend's aunt owns it and I'm sure she could fix it. Please don't be mad."
"I'd never be mad at you, darling but I don't want you going out on your own." She delicately slipped the necklace into the pocket of her apron. "If you're certain that you don't need to rest, why don't you go help me set up in the kitchen? Your father and brother will be down any minute."
There was something off about her smile, one that did not fully reach her eyes. Brushing away her paranoia, she walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet above the stove for the plates. To her confusion, the cabinet was empty and as she began to call for her mother, the table was already set with plates, utensils, and glasses. Her first thought was that Harry had cast a spell, as a prank. Rosalie did not understand how he could be that reckless, considering two summers ago he had received a letter warning him against using magic outside of Hogwarts.
She was startled by the whistling of the tea kettle. Catching her breath, she turned the dial and removed the kettle from the stove.
"All right there, dove?" asked her father, straightening out his suit.
Her brother was two steps behind, with his permanent scowl on full display. That scowl deepened when her father kissed the top of her head. Rosalie and her brother were as opposite as night and day, in looks and personality. While Rosalie had a sunny disposition, known for being friendly and caring, her brother was as welcoming as a prickly cactus, taking pride in his reputation as a rude bully. Most people, upon meeting them, looked at the two in disbelief, wondering how they could be twins.
Though his features more resembled their mother's ("my little cherub", she called him to his annoyance), he inherited their father's portly frame and short temper. Rosalie was a perfect blend of her parents, with her father's dark hair and her mother's petite figure and eyes the color of forget me nots. One thing that she did not share with any of her relatives was their tendency to be judgmental towards, what they deemed, abnormal.
An example of that was their treatment of her cousin Harry, his magical abilities seen as monstrous instead of wondrous. From the moment he had been left on their doorstep as a baby, her parents acted like he was a burden, not a member of the family, and when they noticed the friendship between him and Rosalie, they did their best to keep their interactions at a minimum. Their efforts proved futile, with the two sneaking around so Harry could tell her about his adventures at Hogwarts.
Almost immediately, her father questioned if Evan had been inappropriate around her. Evan could rescue people from a burning building and her father would continue to see him as a dirty monster.
"You always think the worst of him, Daddy," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. "He's very nice."
As she sat at the table, Dudley taking up one whole side, he purposely kicked her leg. She had given up on being friends with her brother around the age of six, after he threw mud on her dress at a family reunion.
"After breakfast, why don't I take you into town for some shopping?" suggested her father. "We can stop by that ice cream parlor you like as well. I don't want to risk you being alone if another of those quakes strikes. I'm sure it was frightening.
Dudley whimpered at the mention of ice cream. "I didn't really feel it," she admitted, spotting a shared glance between her parents as her mother opened the fridge. "Did you hear what caused the quake? It's like it came out of nowhere."
Her father's mood soured at the arrival of Harry, his dark eyes passing over his disheveled hair and baggy clothes. Knowing it was best not to anger him, he sat across from Rosalie, trapped between her father and brother. As her mother placed grapefruit quarters on each plate, Rosalie managed a quick wave, Harry responding with his own before hiding his hand under his sleeve. Her brother devoured his grapefruit then eyed hers and Harry's greedily.
At sound of the doorbell, her father left the kitchen and seconds later, he returned, looking livid. That expression was reserved for only one person, Harry, who he ordered into the living room. Unable to intervene in the verbal lashing, rather tame since her father's voice was not carrying across the hall, she kept an eye on the door and blocked Dudley's hand, inches from her plate, with her spoon.
"It's not like you need it, twig," he hissed. "Give it to me now or—"
Just as he lifted his fist, the chair split in half, causing him to fall to the floor. Her mother shrieked at the sight of her brother flat on his back and groaning in pain.
"Diddy darling!" She struggled to lift his head, checking for open wounds. "Don't move too much. Rosalie, help him up to his room while I get the first aid kit."
Asking her to help brother was like asking her to lift up a truck. She could not get through the door without pausing every few steps. Once they were out in the hallway, he pushed her roughly, knocking her into the wall.
She rubbed her shoulder, wincing. "Why can't you let me—"
"Shut it," he snapped, making her clench her fists. He pressed his ear against the living room door. "I'm fine. I'm trying to hear Dad yell at four eyes."
The lights in the hallway flickered. "Don't call him that. He's family."
"Am I hurting his feelings?" he asked, mockingly. "Cry me a river. Shove off unless you want me to tell Dad about your little chat the other night. Bet he'd love to hear that you think those freaks are cool. On second thought, I should tell him so he'll want to keep you as far apart as possible. Maybe he'll send you to a boarding school on the other side of the world."
Biting her tongue, nearly piercing it when he called her a 'stuck up brat' behind her back, she continued down the hallway, resisting her own urge to eavesdrop on the conversation. She found the perfect opportunity, noticing a pile of scattered letters on the doormat. It was the typical bills and letters from relatives and family friends, including a birthday card for her from Aunt Marge that contained a few fifty-pound notes.
Under the birthday card was another letter addressed to her, one that looked strangely familiar. The envelope was made of thick yellowish parchment, with emerald green writing on the front.
Miss R. Dursley
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
As she started to flip it over, the envelope was snatched from her hand. Her father, standing behind her and half of his face looking like a grape, pocketed it in his suit and grabbed the rest of the mail. Harry was by the staircase, looking surprisingly pleased.
"Thank you for getting that, sweetheart. I thought I forgot something," he said, sifting through the letters.
"It was for me," she replied, curiously.
Her father chuckled. "From Smelting's. I was wondering why I only had your brother's. It's nothing to concern yourself with...boring school matters and all that. Are you ready to go?"
"I want to unpack first," she said, tearing her gaze from his breast pocket. "I'll be down in a couple minutes."
Harry joined her on the staircase, jumping three steps at a time. It was odd for him to be in a good mood after a conversation with either of her parents. When they were at the top of the stairs, away from her father's watchful eye, he held up a piece of purple parchment. Her father's anger stemmed from a letter written by Mrs. Weasley, inviting Harry to the Quidditch World Cup finals. She offered to let Harry stay with her family for the rest of the summer.
Rosalie giggled at the envelope, covered in dozens of stamps, something the postman also found hilarious. Her father, never wanting to be perceived as anything less than normal, did not share in his amusement but one mention of Harry's godfather Sirius Black, a wizard and former prisoner who was wrongly convicted and on the run, made him reconsider allowing him to attend the World Cup, on the condition that the Weasleys picked him up from the house.
"Dad must be spooked if he's letting them in the house," she said, walking towards her room. "It sounds fun."
"Yeah, I can't wait. Ron's been telling me about—ow!" He clutched his arm. "What was that for, Rosie?"
"This morning. What's your plan, to get expelled so you can run off with Sirius?" she accused. "It wasn't funny."
"What are you going on about?" he asked, confused.
"Fine, play dumb but we both know what you did, Harry." She placed her hands on her hips. "If you do it again, I'll take your wand away myself. I'm not letting you ruin your future."
Harry raised his brow. "Thanks? Want some birthday cake before you go? I've got some of Sirius's and Hermione's left."
"Maybe later." She opened her door. "I'll sneak you back a sundae, extra fudge."
Throughout the day, her father doted on her, even more than usual. He seemed intent on keeping her happy, buying her whatever she showed the slightest interest in no matter the cost. It felt a bit excessive when they left their third store, with enough clothes to fill another walk-in closet. Upon returning the same, her mother acted in a similar manner, allowing her to have extra helpings at dinner, despite Dudley's complaints.
Their strange behavior continued into the next morning, with her parents never taking their eyes off of her. Dudley used it to his advantage, scarfing down ice cream directly from the freezer. They treated Harry like he was invisible, aside from her father warning him that the Weasleys were expected to be properly dressed and arrive on time.
Rosalie was brushing her hair when her mother entered her room, carrying a load of laundry. "Oh, is that one of the new dresses you bought yesterday? It's lovely, sweetheart, but why are you wearing it?"
"For when the Weasleys come," replied Rosalie, as if it was obvious. "You and Daddy always say to look our best. The girl at the boutique told me it brings out my eyes."
Her mother gripped the laundry basket. "I think it's unwise for you to be around those...people," she said, taking time to choose her words. "With what happened last time, I don't want you in any danger. Your brother still has nightmares about that incident, no doubt. I'd prefer if you stayed in your room."
"Mom, don't overreact," said Rosalie, not the least bit worried about the Weasleys. She smoothed the front of her dress. "They're here for Harry, not to attack us. I know last time was a little scary but it was a misunderstanding. Besides, wouldn't you feel better if I was with you and Dad?"
Placing the basket on Rosalie's bed, she wagged her finger. "If I say to go upstairs, you'll do it straight away. Understand? This isn't a game."
Knowing that she had won, she simply nodded. At a quarter to five, she joined her family in the living room, holding in her excitement. She had never met the Weasleys before, her father forbidding her from the trip to King's Cross each year.
Her only experience with magic being Hagrid, who barged into the shack her father brought them to when attempting to escape Harry's never-ending Hogwarts letters, and though she had been anxious at first, his sheer size making her cower behind the couch, she was interested in meeting other wizards. Harry's stories made the wizarding world sound like a fairytale come to life.
Her mother was compulsively straightening the cushions while her father read his newspaper and Dudley sat in an armchair, his hands clamped over his backside. Rosalie sat on the bottom of the stairs with Harry, who was constantly checking his watch. At half past five, there was no sign of the Weasleys, irritating her parents. They spoke in terse mutters, believing that the family was expecting a dinner invite, and seeing Harry doubting himself ("Maybe I got the day mixed up. I swear it said Sunday."), she scooted closer, placing her hand over his.
"They're coming," she said, assuringly. "It's not the end of the world if they're a little late. They wouldn't forget you, Harry."
At that moment, her father, in the midst of insulting the Weasleys, shouted in a panic. A terrified Dudley fled from the living room, his hands still on his backside, and without saying a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Hurrying into the living room, Harry and Rosalie saw her mother backed against the wall, staring at the fireplace in fear. Voices and scraping could be heard behind the wooden boards.
Hearing the voices call out for Harry, her parents rounded on him like rabid wolverines. "What is this?" growled her father. "What's going on?"
Harry held back a smile. "They—they've tried to get here by Floo powder."
"It's how they travel sometimes," said Rosalie, remembering a letter from Harry a couple summers ago. "They can move through fireplaces."
That fact was met with more anger, directed at Harry, than intrigue. Hearing anything related to magic from Rosalie's mouth triggered the alarm bells in her father's head, that Harry was secretly corrupting her. Ignoring his accusations, Harry approached the fireplace, speaking to the people crammed in the small space. Her father's snarl fell when Mr. Weasley warned them to stand back but before he could say a single word, the boards burst outward, sending rubble and loose chippings all over the pristine room. It was her mother's worst nightmare.
Rosalie, completely unharmed, lowered her hands from her head, Harry using his body to shield her from the debris. She looked at the four people who had been expelled from the fireplace, exactly as Harry described: redheaded and freckly. The three teenagers, two of them twins, were dressed like anyone she would see in town, their clothes a bit raggedy, but the older, balding man could have been plucked straight out of the Middle Ages, sporting long green robes.
The rubble had settled into her father's dark hair, making him look like an elderly man. Mr. Weasley held out his hand but instead of shaking it, he stepped back several paces. His anger was not assuaged by Mr. Weasley's apology or his promise to fix the fireplace, most of his words (floo networks and disapparate) flying over his head.
Sensing the tension in the air, he greeted Harry warmly. Rosalie could not help but giggle as he proudly mentioned collecting batteries to her parents, catching his attention.
"Ah, this must be your cousin Rosalie, yes?" he asked, brightly.
Harry smiled. "Yeah, this is Rosie."
She would have greeted them if her mother was not digging her nails into her arm. The tall, lanky boy next to him lowered his eyes to his muddy shoes, his cheeks a slight tinge of pink. Leaving the room to grab Harry's trunk, the twins winked at her. Amidst the awkward silence, Dudley reappeared, practically glued to the wall. Rosalie had only seen him this frightened twice before, when Hagrid gifted him with a pig's curly tail and when Leo Stillwell, an intimidating boy several years older, threatened payback for bullying his little brother.
Fred and George returned to the room, carrying Harry's trunk, and upon seeing Dudley, their faces broke out in identical grins. With a flick of his wand, Mr. Weasley created flames in the fireplace, the flames turning emerald green when he tossed a glittery powder from a drawstring bag.
"Go on, then, Fred," he said, tucking his wand into his robes.
One of the twins stepped forward, accidentally dropping a bag of sweets from his jacket. Watching him walk through the flames, Rosalie's eyes widened as he vanished and his other brothers soon did the same.
"Well...bye, then," muttered Harry.
If the rest of her family were not around, it would have been much more heartfelt. He and Rosalie always struggled with goodbyes after a long summer.
Mr. Weasley held him back, looking surprised. That awkward tension skyrocketed when he noted her family's lack of a response, almost indignant at their silence. Swallowing his pride, her father muttered a goodbye, barely hiding his resentment.
"Miss you," Harry mouthed to her.
"You too. Be careful," she mouthed back, his school years typically perilous.
Rosalie was distracted by a loud choking sound and her mother screaming in her ear. Kneeling beside the coffee table, Dudley gagged and sputtered on a long, slimy purple thing protruding from his mouth. She soon realized that the slimy thing was his tongue and bent down beside him with her mother, who was having a panic attack.
Mr. Weasley deduced that Fred's sweets had been enchanted with an engorgement charm, as a joke. Her mother, tears pouring down her cheeks, tugged on the swollen tongue, determined to rip it out, while her father chucked a china figure at the apologetic man, imploring them to let him help Dudley. In the chaos, Harry disappeared through the fireplace. Pleading with her father, who was throwing figure after figure at Mr. Weasley, Rosalie rested her hand on Dudley's back, his tongue growing to more than four feet long and extending to the kitchen.
"Dudley, you need to stay calm," she said, as Mr. Weasley blasted a figure in mid-air. "Just be calm, please."
For the first time, he listened to her, no longer thrashing around on the floor. Mr. Weasley cautiously stepped towards them and twirling his wand counterclockwise, he cast a spell that returned his tongue to normal.
"I'm terribly sorry about this. My sons can be a bit of a handful," he said, regretfully. "Rest assured, they will get a stern talking to about their behavior. I hope our next meeting goes better. Lovely to meet you all."
He vanished with a sudden pop. Rosalie kept her hand on Dudley's back, comforting him as he panted heavily. Her father, spurred by what had just occurred, began one of his usual tirades about Harry, how he and his 'unnaturalness' were banned from the house.
"He didn't put them up to it, Dad," she insisted. "Dudley's not hurt. It was a bad prank."
"Don't go feeling sympathy for that...freak," he said, his voice low. "Ever since we took him in, I knew he'd be trouble. He's filling your head with nonsense. You're never to be alone with him, Rosalie. Do you hear me? If he so much as—"
He was interrupted by a soft tapping on the door. Her parents looked at each other, as if the other would know who was visiting at such a late hour. Brushing the dust from his hair and mustache, he opened the door to one of the strangest men Rosalie had ever seen in her life. He was tall and thin with waist-length silver hair and beard and half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. If his appearance was not enough of a giveaway, his deep purple robes, embroidered with silver stars, were like a flashing sign that read 'Wizard'.
"Go to the Polkiss's, both of you," whispered her mother, ushering her and Dudley to the door. "Don't leave until I call."
A dark-haired boy, looking no older than eighteen, appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His biceps showed through the sleeves of his henley though Rosalie noticed that his boots were not made of typical leather. His head nearly reaching the top of the frame, he towered over her and her family. Unexpectedly, Dudley inched himself in front of her, acting like a protective brother.
"You were right about them sneaking off, sir," he said, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Muggles really have no sense."
"It isn't wise to paint them all with the same brush." The elderly man stepped over the threshold. "Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course, but it has been a long time since my last visit. Your rose bushes are looking lovely, I must say. Shall we assume you graciously invited me inside, Mr. Dursley?"
Her father was surprisingly silent. Dumbledore's gaze flickered to her mother, who was beginning to cut off circulation in her wrist.
"A pleasure to see you again, Petunia." He turned towards Rosalie and Dudley, who was once again clutching his backside, with a kind smile. "Forgive the intrusion but it is a matter of utmost importance. May we speak in the living room?"
His tone hinted that it was more than a request. Despite her father's objections, threatening the elderly man to leave their home, Rosalie followed him into the living room. Dudley tagged along, clearly afraid of being turned into a full pig or worse. The tension from the Weasleys' lingered, Dumbledore somehow maintaining his serene expression. Harry always described him as a wise grandfatherly figure. Even in his old age, there was something imposing about his presence.
Sitting in an armchair, he introduced the older boy as Alec Cabot, a recent Hogwarts graduate. He was one of several students participating in an internship program that paired former students with professors to gain proper experience. Feeling his dark eyes on her, Rosalie lowered her head, trying to act oblivious.
"Normally, Alec would be handling this matter by himself," he explained. For a second, she thought his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. "But under these circumstances, I thought it was best to accompany him."
"I—is Harry in trouble?" she asked, fearing he was about to be expelled "He didn't mean to use magic. He was goofing around and technically, the first time doesn't count because it was a house elf that made that pudding float, not him. Don't you have a three strikes policy?"
Dumbledore's pale eyes shined in the light. "Your cousin is in no trouble. We are here—"
"Is it because of Fred's candy?" she wondered. "I—it was an accident. Right, Dudley? They didn't mean to mess with your tongue."
Dudley was too busy staring at the blue carpet. "Typical Weasleys," mumbled Alec.
"I believe this will make things clear."
Reaching into his robes, Dumbledore handed her an envelope, the same from this morning. Her father was about to snatch it again but he lifted his hand, with a groan, as if repelled by an invisible shield. Flipping it over, her eyes widened at the waxy seal of the Hogwarts crest.
"I suggest you leave at once," her father snarled. "We won't entertain these delusions."
"If anyone has been entertaining delusions, it is me," said Dumbledore, a fury in his voice. "As I said during our last encounter, you are not equipped to handle this situation. Lily's enchantment has been holding on by a thread these past few years. Your negligence could have caused far worse than an earthquake."
Her head snapped up at his words. "Wait, you think I caused it? I'm not—I'm not like Harry. We're the same age and I didn't get a letter."
Dumbledore surveyed her with deep regret. The next few minutes made her question if she was experiencing one of her vivid dreams. Ignoring her father's increasingly purple face and her mother's quivering lip, he confessed that he intended for her to receive her letter much earlier, arriving at her home the day Hagrid brought Harry to Diagon Alley. It was common for a professor to visit muggleborn families to explain their child's unique abilities.
When she and Dudley were born, her mother noticed odd incidents like Rosalie's blanket changing color. Recognizing the signs from the years spent growing up with Aunt Lily, she begged her estranged sister to 'fix' Rosalie. Her aunt enchanted a necklace to inhibit her magic, though it was not enough to hide her from a magical quill that recorded the birth of any witch or wizard in Britain.
Dumbledore's arrival was met with denial and outrage, her parents refusing to send her to Hogwarts. Sensing that it was a losing battle, he reluctantly agreed to let her stay in the muggle world. He sent constant letters, warning them of the dangers of an untrained witch, but her parents never bothered to read them, throwing them in the trash. The earthquake caught the attention of the Ministry, who was able to pinpoint her as the culprit with a charm that tracked all underage magical children. Quelling their concerns, Dumbledore surmised that her magic was growing too rapidly, leading to the broken necklace and the reversal of her aunt's spell.
"This is not a game," he said, unfazed by her father's murderous expression. "I implore you to see reason and accept that Rosalie must be enrolled at Hogwarts. She could cause serious harm not only to herself but to others."
"She won't be going," stated her father. "I won't have you turn her into one of you freaks."
"Freaks?" asked Alec, speaking for the first time. He crossed his arms. "You're really Father of the Year, aren't you? Why don't you let her get a say? It's her choice. She's the one with magic, not you."
"Alec," warned Dumbledore. "Mr. Dursley, surely you do not wish to see Rosalie in any danger."
As they argued back and forth, Rosalie felt numb. Her parents had been lying her entire life, never intending to reveal this hidden part of her. Thinking back to the morning of the earthquake and Harry's reaction to her accusation, she realized that she had been the one to make the plates appear, not him. Dudley's look of disgust was one he usually reserved for Harry or a piece of broccoli at dinner. While her parents' voices were getting increasingly louder, Dumbledore somehow remained even-tempered. Her mother somehow blamed her aunt and uncle, calling it a twisted joke and believing they had poisoned her at her wedding.
"Perhaps it's best for you to mull it over. You've had an eventful night but do not think this discussion is over," said Dumbledore, rising from the couch and brushing glittery powder from his robes. "I will be back tomorrow, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley."
"It will be a waste of time," replied her father, his mustache twitching in anger. "I suggest you stay away from my home."
With a small nod, Dumbledore left the house, accompanied by Alec who glanced over her father with disdain. Her father ordered her and Dudley up to their rooms but she did not move from the couch, her manicured fingers digging into the cushion.
"Darling, it's time for bed," her mother said, gently. "I'll bring up some warm milk to help you sl—"
"Why did you keep me?" Those four words conveyed her inner heartbreak. "You knew all this time so why didn't you just give me away? You say you love me but that's a lie."
"That old fool is putting nonsense in your head," argued her father. "How dare you think that way, Rosalie? After everything we've given you—"
"So you don't feel bad about keeping secrets!" she interrupted, tears in her eyes. "How can you love me and hate what I am? Because pretending it doesn't exist won't make it go away. It's part of me!"
Her parents likely would have followed her up the staircase, if it were not for her slamming her bedroom door. In any other scenario, she would be venting to Mina over the phone but she doubted even her best friend would believe her about being a witch. The only one who could understand was Harry, who was miles away with his friends. A wisp of purple smoke formed over her bed and a small piece of parchment appeared on her pillow.
Remember, it's your choice.
Later that night, emboldened by Alec's words, she quietly sneaked down to the living room with a packed suitcase. She was unsure of her next step, having no way to write to Harry. The previous summer, after accidentally making Aunt Marge swell up like a balloon and storming out of the house, he hitched a ride on the Knight Bus but he never explained how he summoned it. Pacing around the room, stopping each time she heard her father's loud snores, she spotted a drawstring under the coffee table. The glittery powder inside was the same that Dumbledore wiped from his robes and the Weasleys used to travel back home.
Mimicking Mr. Weasley, she scooped it into her hand and tossed it into the fireplace, the flames turning emerald green. Her heart raced at the thought that she was essentially running away, leaving the life she knew for a mysterious world, one that she had been denied for years. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stepped into the fireplace.
"T—the B—burrow," she stuttered.
It felt like she was being sucked through the chimney. Spinning very fast and a deafening roar in her ears, she stumbled forward but managed to steady herself before her face smashed into the wooden floor.
"Rosie?!"