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Rose Evans felt decades younger as she stumbled down the hall in the dim of early morning. Her husband had been up an hour or so already, making his tea and reading the paper, as he had done every morning for years. Rose was heading for the nursery, likely to be greeted by a small and sleepy pair of green eyes. If there'd been an older child as well, she might have felt that she'd fallen through time somehow.
The colors as she entered the room held her firmly in the present. The yellow that her husband had picked was a change from the pale pink it had been when the Petunia was on the way. It was still more different from the sea foam green they'd chosen for Lily, after Petunia had moved into the room next door. Harry's version of the nursery was sunny and bright, like the wallpaper in the background of the pictures Lily had sent them before... Before. Even Harry himself was different, darker skinned than Lily had been. It was a jolt, sometimes, but a needed one. Harry was not Lily. Harry was new, and he claimed a distinct, if not wholly separate place in her heart and home. He was his own kind of bright joy, and a different sort of miracle than either of her daughters had been.
Harry was sitting up and babbling softly to a plush toy dog in his crib (another choice prompted by the pictures of his first nursery) when Rose came into the room. He stood up and walked a couple of steps to the side of the crib.
"Gran'mum," he pronounced carefully in greeting. He smiled wide and bounced a little when Rose nodded and leaned down to kiss his forehead, brushing a hand over the little cap she'd put on him with his jammies to ward off the last traces of winter.
"Harry," Rose replied, echoing his care in a way that was mostly teasing, but a little necessary. Half a year had made things easier, but grief was grief, and not easily put aside. "Good morning, Love. Today is going to be brilliant. And warm. Lets have that hat off of you and go down to join your Gran’da for breakfast."
Rose swept him out of the crib and, with more strength than she'd have thought she had, held him high for a spin before settling him on her hip.
"Down?" Harry requested, patting her side to get her attention.
Rose smiled and tickled him a bit before helping him to the floor. Once down, he took a couple of tentative steps before darting down the hall with a happy shriek.
Rose laughed and followed her little grandson, keeping a watchful eye as he navigated the stairs down to the first floor of the house. Being Lily's child, she had reason to believe that he wouldn't be hurt by a fall, but he was so young, and even Lily had seemed ordinary at twenty-one months, hadn't she? But then, Lily hadn't bested any dark lords before her second year of life either, so Rose wasn't exactly certain of what to expect with Harry. There could be even more years of flying books, sparks, and flowers. There could be twice the disappearing vegetables; Lily had been nearly fourteen by the time Rose had thought back and worked that out.
"Gran'da!" Harry called as he reached the bottom of the stairs and sped off to greet Lyle Evans.
Rose listened happily to the shrieks and chortles that marked their first mutual sighting on any given morning and then, to her husband's voice as he read to Harry from the paper. Not everyone would have taken so well to being thrust back into parenting when they'd thought themselves long done, but Lyle Evans was a magnificent, and attentive grandfather. No small part of their grandson's miracle was in managing to find untapped depths of love in Rose, not just for Harry, but for everyone in their small family.
She made her boys and herself some oatmeal and toast and called them in to eat.
"Is he bigger than he was when we put him to bed last night?" Lyle asked, as he often had of the girls when they were young. He walked over and prepared her tea as she liked it, setting it down in front of her and kissing her temple as she answered.
"Maybe a touch," Rose replied. "though he'll be smaller than Petunia's boy for a while yet."
"James was a bit of a scrawny fellow, rest his soul. I suppose, he'll take after his father in build as well as looks," Lyle mused.
"Lily was no giant herself Love, and he has her eyes." Rose reminded him. "I suspect he'll take after them both. "
"Do them both good and proud, you will," she said to Harry.
"Good'n prow," Harry echoed, before taking off in a language of his own, making occasional pauses to spoon oatmeal into his mouth and onto his shirt. Lyle listened, nodding and smiling when Harry paused or made inquisitive sounds. Rose watched the way the growing light from the window played on their hair, Lyle's grey and red, and Harry's black, but nearly brown in the light.
When Harry had finished his … story? Lesson? Lyle turned to her.
"Is Petunia still coming for the weekend," he asked affably. Petunia's complicated response to Lily's magic and accompanying assimilation into the magical world had led to a similarly complicated response from, well, both Lyle and Rose, if Rose were being honest. They'd tried to love both of their daughters, but it'd been difficult, Rose was often unsure of how successful they'd been. In its own way, the afternoon when Petunia had shown up with Harry had been a validation. Petunia trusted them with another child, even when the famed Albus Dumbledore had thought them too old, or somehow unwilling to take him on.
"Yes, Dear. She's been coming like this for months. You might start to trust her," Rose nudged. It was true. Since January, they'd had Petunia back in their lives for at least the last weekend of every month. Rose was only a little surprised. They'd named their girls for perennials, after all. They always came back in time.
Always, she reinforced in her mind, taking Harry's empty bowl away.
"I trust her well enough," Lyle said. "It's good that Harry will know his aunt, I just don't quite understand her, is all."
"She knew that she couldn’t care for him, so she left him with us," Rose said. "Do you remember? She was so angry and hurt, she could barely look at us, much less him. Kept him covered up like a picnic in that basket she had him in. Now she can start to forgive. Now we all can."
Lyle sighed. "It's alright for now I suppose. Besides, it'll be good to see her and Dudley. Time was, I worried we'd never get to hold either of them, and now look. Lily'd never believe it."
"She'd be glad of it, though," Rose said. She looked down into her daughter's eyes, young, wide and blissfully alive. She watched them peer out of her grandson's messy face. "She is glad of it. I know my girl."
Lyle's face softened a bit. "That you do, Love. I'll get our wee oatmeal beasty into a bath, if you'll make certain Pet's room is in order."
Rose grinned at the face Harry made when he heard the word "bath", only to jump as there was a flash and the oatmeal disappeared suddenly from Harry's face and clothing. Rose bent down, and took a deep breath as she kissed him on the cheek.
"He smells like soap," she announced. "No bath till this evening then. You boys can go pick some toys and books to share with Dudley."
Harry cheered and said, "Padfoot!" The name of his toy dog. Lyle lifted Harry down from his seat and argued, "You don't like to share Padfoot. Perhaps your trains?"
Harry made train sounds going up the stairs, pausing every few steps to let his gran'da catch up. Rose let them get into the nursery then followed them up and looked into Petunia's room, thinking still about miracles, and daughters, and grandchildren. She soothed a hand over the already made bed and opened a window to let in the spring air. There was a picture of her girls on the night stand that Petunia must have left out the month before. In it the two girls were covered in watercolor paints and laughing. The paints had been Petunia's of course. Lily had loved the playground and her bicycle, never quite as rooted as her older sister, never so content to sit still when there was exploring to do, though she eventually learned to tolerate it. When Rose had last seen her, just after Harry's birth, she'd spent half the time fidgeting, made nervous by her daughter’s newfound calm. Trust Lily to find stillness in war, and new motherhood.
She heard Harry's squealing laughter through the wall. Trust Lily to make sure that Rose never had time to dwell on things. Harry was every inch his mother's son, no matter how much he favored James in looks.
Rose hoped that Petunia would keep bringing Dudley around when they were older, or Harry might actually tire her out someday.
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Later, in the afternoon, Rose watched as Petunia sat on the floor of the nursery where Harry and Dudley played trains. They were young yet, and still tended to play next to each other rather than join in any shared activity. Every now and then one or the other of the boys would stand and dart over to Petunia. Dudley went for affection, Harry because he thought people made good tracks, but both were treated to Petunia's smile and a kind word or two.
If it was a little hesitant with Harry, the boy didn't notice. Petunia was making slow progress towards accepting all that Harry was, and would likely become.
"He's grown since last month," Petunia mused aloud.
"In more ways than one," Lyle replied, almost too casually, "Magic'd himself clean this morning to get out of a bath."
"No bath!" Harry cheered, and Dudley joined in the celebrating with a truly heartfelt, "No!"
"Be nice if Dudley could do that," Petunia replied without thought. Then she paused.
Rose and Lyle held their breath as the seconds ticked by until...
"You know, I think it might be? Really, just fine," Petunia said, a little tentatively.
"And not a whit worse if he has to learn to love a good scrub," Rose added. "We'll have to do it anyway next time. It'd be a shame to let that sweet boy trick us into spoiling him."
Petunia sighed, smiled, and nodded, "Thank you for that. I could get him a bath toy? Dudley loves his little duckie. It's made things easier."
"Would you, dear?" Rose asked. "We can go to the shops tomorrow. And I saw this tie that Vernon would rather like."
The evening went on, till Petuntia bathed the boys (Harry rather enjoyed Dudley's rubber duck too) and tucked them in, one at a time, in the nursery. Then she sat on the floor between them and told them a story that Rose had made up for for her and Lily when they'd been small, and happy together.
It was a story about two very special flowers, who wandered from the garden at night and had all sorts of thrilling adventures, always settling into their bed before the first rays of dawn, to be properly cared for.
It was a good story.
They'd been such good girls. The best flowers in any garden, in Rose's unbiased opinion. They'd grown well, and strong.
Rose leaned over Dudley, asleep in Petunia's old bed, commenting, "Such a happy little tyke."
The healthy looking blond boy was smiling softly in his sleep, clutching a well worn plush bear.
Petunia smiled and nodded, "A bit pushy, like his father, but I think he'll grow out of it once he starts really playing with other children. Harry might grow into it; if he's got any of Lily in him."
Rose laughed fondly, "Only you ever called her pushy, Pet. She was restless, is all, and didn't understand that you weren't. Harry and that war of theirs seemed to settle her."
"Lily, settled?" Petunia said with a half-mocking, half-fond sort of outrage. "I'll never believe it. He tired her out for a few minutes perhaps."
"Maybe that," Rose hedged, " but maybe not. Love changes a person and she really, truly loved that boy. They both did."
"He makes it hard not to," Petunia said, softly. "I've certainly tried my best. I should keep trying. They'll take him too, one of these years."
"Never so far that love won't find him, Pet," Rose sighed, and stood. "The letter said that Voldemort, the man who... well he's gone, maybe forever, but even if there's some new ill, they'll still send him back every summer. It doesn't have to be the same."
"It won't be," Petunia vowed.
Rose couldn't tell if she liked what Petunia was promising, but there was time yet, and space. Petunia would grow out of some things, too. Rose felt more confident with each visit; Harry would have Petunia when he really needed her. Rose had been right earlier, with Lyle. Petunia could be trusted.
Rose kissed her daughter's forehead and left her sitting with the two boys.
In her dreams that night, her husband, daughters, sons-in-law, and older grandson waited at platform 9 and ¾. A bright light shined in the distance, growing closer, accompanied by thunderous sound and steam until at last-
A little boy making train noises bounded down the tracks towards his family.
All was well.