~The Rose and the Yew Tree~

...

We are born with the dead: See, they return, and bring us with them.

The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree

Are of equal duration.

(T. S. Eliot: "Four Quartets, Part 4: Little Gidding")

...

Summary: A yew tree grows in the place where a dark wizard's broken wand was once buried. Then a shadowy boy begins to appear in a young girl's dreams... Rose Weasley/Tom Riddle.

Author's Note: This story is written for The Fanfiction F A C T O R Competition.

Rating: T

...

"I wish we had a proper bedroom for you, Rosie." Ginny Potter smiled at her niece. "But for now, this back room is the only private room I can offer you. It's rather dark, I'm afraid, with that tree right outside the window. But it's better than sharing with the boys or with Lily Luna, right?"

Rose nodded, grateful that her aunt understood. She would rather spend three weeks in a dark storage room than share with her cousins James and Al, as she did in the summers when she was little, or with her young cousin Lily Luna, who always looked through Rose's things when she visited. Aunt Ginny had moved all the school trunks and broomsticks out of the storage room, and she had put a plain bed in there, a small bookshelf, one of Grandma Molly's patchwork quilts and a few crocheted lace pillows. It was perfect. And Rose had the room all to herself. Hugo hadn't even come with her this summer; he was off doing some sort of Muggle-style fishing with Grandpa Arthur.

"Harry has always wanted to cut the tree down." Aunt Ginny peered out at the dark green yew that grew outside the little window. "It's making this room so terribly somber."

"I don't mind the tree," said Rose quickly, looking out at the dark branches. "It casts such lovely shadows."

...

"You can't be serious." Uncle Harry frowned when he learned that the small dark storage room had become Rose's bedroom for the summer. "I understand Rose not wanting to share a room with Lily Luna - you are a bit of a pest in your own darling way, my sweet - but why can't Rose share with the boys, as she always does?"

Aunt Ginny looked fondly at her husband and shook her head. "Rose isn't a child any more, Harry. It's only natural that she feels awkward about sharing a room with the boys."

"Not a child?" Uncle Harry shot Rose a baffled look. "Of course she is a child, Ginny - she's only fourteen!"

Aunt Ginny smiled at that. "I remember being a girl of fourteen, Harry. It's a curious age, no longer a child, and not yet quite a woman... Let Rose have her privacy, love."

"But the tree..." Uncle Harry' voice trailed off. He sat irresolutely for a moment. "Perhaps I'll try again. There must be some way to cut that accursed tree down."

Ginny piled some more food on the children's dinner plates. "It's only a tree, love. Even if it casts odd shadows sometimes."

...

That night, Rose had the strangest dream. She dreamed that she was looking out her window at the shadowy yew tree. The shimmering white light of early morning shafted through the dark green branches, and the dew was still a faint silver mist on the grass. To her surprise, she saw a boy sitting under the dark tree, his face upturned to the sky. She could not see his face clearly in the shadows of the tree, but she could make out dark hair and pale skin and black robes that looked like her own school robes. He turned his face to her, and she knew that he could see her at the window. He stared at her for a moment, and she knew that he wanted her to come down into the garden. Rose stood still at the window, her skin suddenly brushed with ice. Something strange and sweet was stirring in her heart. She had a strong sense of being pulled towards him, of having no choice.

He lifted a hand and beckoned for her to come. It was an invitation, an invitation to a dark and shadowed place. Rose felt a slight shiver at her spine.

She walked silently out of her room, along the darkened hall and into the garden. She had always liked the Potters' wild and extravagant garden with its blur of flowers, so much less neat and tidy than her mother's. She liked the way their garden flowed, almost imperceptibly, into the wild forest beyond. But this morning, for the first time, the Potters' garden took her breath away. In the misty half-light of early morning, the dew was drops of silver on the still unopened rose buds. A queer sense of quiet lay over the garden now, a silent suspension in time and space.

The boy rose from his shadowy spot under the yew tree and came towards her. The blades of grass did not move under his feet, and his steps didn't stir the dew drops.

The boy must have been only a few years older than Rose. Dark curls framed his pale face, and his eyes were silver-grey, almost like the dew. He gazed at her in silence, his expression grave.

"I am Rose," she whispered. She held out her hand to him, but as she did so, he began to fade into the pale morning light.

Rose's eyes flew open, and she realized that she was still in her darkened bedroom, and that the boy had been a dream. But he had seemed so curiously real... She lay still, listening breathlessly for sounds from the silent house and the garden outside the window. But nothing stirred in the summer dark.

...

The next day, Rose kept glancing at the yew tree as she played with her cousins in the garden. She flew on her broomstick through the bright blue-tinged summer air with the boys, chasing the little golden snitch until they all collapsed, laughing and exhausted in the grass. Lily Luna, who was rubbish at flying, joined them eagerly as they were drinking lemonade in the shade under the trees.

Rose looked up at the dark yew tree. Its silhouette was a black shadow against the brightness of the summer sky. "Your father said he wants to cut this tree down," she whispered.

Al's green eyes always shone when he laughed. "Oh, he would like to, but he will never be able to. This tree is cursed, you see..."

Lily Luna gave a small squeal, and James gave his younger brother a reproachful look. "Al! You know you are not supposed to frighten Lily Luna with your tales of terror. Mum said..."

"Well, this story is true," protested Al. "I know it is, because I heard it from Dad himself. You see, this tree-"

"Al!"

"Be quiet James, I want to hear it," said Lily Luna firmly. "Besides, it's light out, so I won't get a bit scared this time."

Al grinned. "Well, then! There is nothing much to tell, really. All Dad told me was that he never planted this tree; it just started growing in the garden all by itself. At first, it was just a little sapling, but then it grew and grew until it was taller than all the other trees in the garden."

"That's all?" Lily Luna sounded disappointed.

"That's all, I'm afraid." Al gave a little shrug. "Well, except-"

"Except for what?" Even James sounded a little interested now.

Al's green eyes glittered. "Except that Dad also told me once that this is the exact spot in the garden where he buried the broken pieces of Lord Voldemort's wand. It was after the final battle, and his wand had shattered in the commotion. They didn't know what to do with the Dark Lord's wand afterwards; they didn't want any death eaters to try and put it back together. So Dad took it, and when he and Mum bought this house, he secretly buried the pieces of the wand right here, where no one would ever find it." Al's voice sank to a whisper. "His yew wand..."

...

Rose lay awake for a long time before sleep came. But finally, she felt the familiar wave of dark drowsiness, and a dream began to unfurl, opening like a bud of dew-silvered rose petals in the night.

The boy was waiting for her under the tree. He looked more solid now; perhaps it was because she knew his name.

"Are you a ghost?" Rose whispered.

He put his head to one side and seemed to ponder the question for a moment. "I suppose I am," he said finally. "I must be, since I remember dying, and yet I am still right here, in this garden."

"You are him, aren't you?" breathed Rose. "Lord Voldemort?"

The young boy with the dark curls nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I remember being him... There was a lot of pain, and darkness was all around me. But it all seems so long ago now. Now, there is only this garden, and this tree. It always seems to be dawn here in this garden, like right now." He glanced around at the shimmering half-light that lay over the grass. "Sometimes I wish I could go back... Not to the darkness I made, but to a different world, where I could begin all over." He glanced up at the dark branches of the yew tree and sighed. "But I seem to be trapped right here."

Rose reached out, impulsively, and touched his arm. This time, he did not vanish; she felt a solid limb under her hand, and the dark fabric of his sleeve felt rough under her fingers.

When she opened her eyes a moment later, she could still remember the feel of his robe under her hand.

...

"You seem pale, Rose." There was concern in Aunt Ginny's warm brown eyes. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

Rose shook her head quickly. "Oh, I've been sleeping fine, Aunt Ginny. I've just been having a lot of strange dreams."

Uncle Harry got up from the table abruptly. "Of course she is not sleeping well in that shadowy room. How could she? If you won't move her to another room, Ginny, I'll find a way to get the tree down. It seemed to resist being cut down when I tried before, but I'll find someone who can do it. I'll call Neville. He understands trees; I'm sure he will find a way."

Rose glanced up at her uncle. A sudden fear rose in her, dark and iron cold, a fear for the boy in the garden. "Not the yew tree, Uncle Harry! Please don't cut it down. I rather like it... I want it to stay."

Uncle Harry looked at her for a long moment. "If you have grown attached to the tree," he said quietly, "then that's even more reason to cut it down, Rose."

...

She saw the boy for the last time in her dream that night. He came towards her with a smile and took her hand in his.

"They are going to cut down the tree," she whispered. "I wonder what will happen to you now."

He glanced up at the dark branches overhead. "I don't know," he said softly. "Perhaps it's all for the best."

"I feel sorry for you, Tom." She stood uncertainly next to him under the tree. His hand was warm around hers.

"You feel sorry for me?" His voice was a whisper. "There is so much I don't understand about the world, Rose; it seems to be a far more vast and mysterious place than I ever imagined. But even so, it suddenly seems to me that you feeling sorry for me is the only thing that matters in the whole world..."

She hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled his face closer to hers. Softly, she pressed her lips against his. His mouth was warm and trembling against hers, and the kiss tasted like dew. Then they parted, and they looked into one another's faces with wonder.

"Goodbye, Rose," he whispered.

"Goodbye, Tom." She hesitated for a moment, then asked shyly: "Will I ever see you again?"

"See me? No, I don't think so." He shook his head slowly. "I am done with lingering in the shadows, Rose. But I shall think of you, wherever it is that I will go. And perhaps you will think of me sometimes, as well."

Rose nodded, unable to speak.

...

The next day, the yew tree was gone. Rose never saw the shadowy boy again. But sometimes, when she got up early on summer mornings, she would feel something brush lightly and invisibly against her skin, like a sprinkle of dew drops or gentle kisses.