QLFC, round 12 - CHASER 1: You'll be writing about two characters in an employee/employer relationship (Ron & Rose).
(scenario) a quidditch accident
(dialogue) "Move away from the door and let me at him!"
(object) blouse
Go Wanderers!
Beta(s): Vivi
AU. Mention of character death.
Some scents are so strongly related to a person, a place, a situation that you only need to smell them once, even after several years, to find yourself cast into the past. It's a fascinating and pleasant sensation that often proves cruel and deceptive, all the more so if the memories belong to a time you can't go back to. To people you can't go back to.
Rose had adored cinnamon since she was little, and her mother, knowing it too well, never missed an opportunity to bake something with that flavor so her nose immediately recognized that spicy aroma now, making her mind go crazy.
It was unusual to smell such a scent in a joke shop. Maybe someone had been eating some cinnamon cookies before entering, or maybe it was just some kind or perfume — Rose didn't know and didn't care. All that mattered was the overpowering aroma that filled her nostrils and took her into a sunny little kitchen where she was surrounded by her smiling family.
She basked into that warm feeling.
"Miss?" An impatient voice cut through her thoughts like a disturbing buzzing in the background, but Rose didn't pay attention to it, lost in her world as she was.
"Hey, Miss! Can you hear me?" the voice said again.
Rose frowned.
Someone grabbed her wrist, startling her, forcing her back to reality. A harsh reality in which she was not a carefree child and in which her father's smile had been buried along with her mother and Hugo a few months ago. Even the scent had disappeared.
"Rose!" another raspy voice called. It belonged to the same person that had a grip on her wrist.
Rose's eyes widened and quickly shifted from the calloused hand around her wrist to her father's face. He looked at her in a disconcerted way, then his head tilted to his left as if to point at something, or rather someone. Suddenly, the shop and the customer reappeared in front of her eyes, replacing her fantasy.
"Rose, this boy is searching for a tricked out broom. Could you check if we still have some, please?" her father said, his tone professional and somehow itchy.
Rose realized she had blushed out of embarrassment; the heat she felt in her cheeks was enough of a clue of it. Forcing herself not to tug at the collar of her blouse, she merely tucked some red locks behind her ears to clean out her hot face. "Of course. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I'll immediately do that," she said in her gentlest voice, hating herself for her previous distraction.
This job was way too important for her and her "rebirth" after her mother and Hugo's deaths, and she couldn't afford to lose it. It was thanks to it that she managed to keep alive her relationship with her father. Well, maybe she should say her employer. But if it took the two of them leaving their house at different hours in the morning depending on their shifts and him paying her the salary at the end of each month, she'd take it. At least, here in the shop, he was forced to talk to her from time to time, unlike at home where he tried to avoid her.
She looked at the boy who was still waiting for an answer, and with a sigh, she picked up the catalog. "Just one moment, please," she said.
The boy nodded.
Out of the corner of her eye, for a split second, she saw regret flash in her father's eyes before he turned and left her alone again, his steps faltering, his shoulders slumped.
.
Her father had been twisting a little object in his hands for over an hour now, and Rose had had enough.
Plus, it had been a few days since the last time they had talked, and she missed him despite seeing him every day. But he had been so distant and professional that she felt the urge to do something about it.
Granted, it was probably Rose's fault if they were in this situation, each of them giving the other the cold shoulder whenever they had to interact, because of her stupid wish that had caused Hermione and Hugo to get involved in a car crash and die, but she couldn't bear his silence any longer.
Adjusting her blouse, she walked towards him.
He cast a glance over her shoulder, sadly met her eyes, and turned to leave.
She drew closer. "No, it's not for us," she said. There, she had done it. She had spoken against the object he was clearly interested in without even knowing it; this would prompt a reaction.
Sure enough, he cleared his throat and answered what was predictable, "But you don't even know what it is."
Rose still counted it as a win. "I just don't like the idea."
"It's wonderful how you make up your mind so quickly. It took me a whole hour to decide I like this box. But of course, you know better. George," he called.
Once Uncle George was in front of them, Rose's father tossed the box at him. "I don't want to bother you, but what do you think of this?"
Uncle George looked between the two of them, confused, then he glanced at the box and shrugged. "A nice thing to trick smokers, perhaps."
Rose huffed — that was not a cigarette case — and threw his hands up. "It's awful," she said. "Can't you see it?"
"Rose, in my office," her father said, putting his hand on Uncle George's shoulder. Rose couldn't figure out whether he was trying to support himself or comfort her uncle.
"Yes, sir," she murmured.
.
Before her father even sat, she spoke. "I'm very sorry, sir, but it was not my fault."
"Whose fault was it? Mine?"
"Yes." She knew it was hers — a pang in her chest painfully reminded her of it — but she couldn't help herself.
"What's the matter with you, Rose? You're my…" He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. "You are our oldest employee."
That was not true. She had just started working in the shop a year ago. But she had definitely been around longer than Jason, their oldest apprentice. She had even taken her first steps in the back room; her mother had not been pleased.
Remembering that time when she was more than just an employee, Rose bit her lower lip. "I do everything I can to show my dedication." Everybody knew how much she liked working there whenever she was not at Hogwarts.
Her father himself had been dubious at first, but after catching her sneaking in more time than he cared to count, he had decided to officially "hire" her — with her mother's consent.
"You have a funny way of showing it. I don't like your recent attitude, and I wouldn't want to be forced to fire you," her father said in a sigh.
"What?"
"You don't miss an opportunity to contradict me. Whatever I say, you say, "No.""
"From now on, I'll say "Yes. Yes, Mr. Weasley.""
Her father looked startled, hurt, and Rose stood and left; she could not bear to see him like that because of her. Not again.
.
"Move away from the door and let me at her!" a frantic voice demanded.
Dad, Rose thought. He came. She smiled and tried to rise, to leave her bed, but her head was spinning too much for her to actually be able to do it. "Dad," she weakly called. "I'm here."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you near her yet. She needs to rest," someone said — the nurse.
She heard her father growl. "Haven't you heard her? She's clearly awake, so I'm not going anywhere but there." Then he said, "Rose, I'm coming."
Rose relaxed.
More commotion followed.
Then, "Please?" her father tried at last.
Taking a peek outside the white curtains around her bed, she saw her father with his hands up. She frowned; was he giving up?
"As you can see, I'm unarmed," he joked.
"Please," Rose said too.
The nurse huffed. "All right. But Rose needs to sleep, Mr. Weasley, so I'll only allow you to sit by her side as she rests."
"Deal," he said.
"Dad, my broom —"
"And," the nurse said sternly, "you are not allowed to talk about how her accident happened or about Quidditch or about anything at all. Do you understand?"
Rose pouted.
"Don't worry, Princess," her father whispered. "She'll be gone in three, two, one…"
"Help!" a voice called.
The nurse quickly left the Infirmary.
"Was that James?" Rose asked.
Her father laughed and winked. "You can always count on him and his friends for a diversion."
She yawned.
"But I think the nurse's right. You need to sleep now," he said, caressing her forehead.
"What about Mum and Hugo?"
"They…" her father hesitated. "They'll come too. Now close your eyes." He started humming some soothing melody and she fell asleep.
.
She wouldn't have had if she had known that by her awakening, her mother and little brother would be dead, killed in a car crash as they were reaching King's Cross station to take the Hogwarts Express. She still wondered why they couldn't have just apparated, but that didn't mean it was any less her fault. She had been the one who had showed off and stupidly fell off her broom as she and her housemates were playing Quidditch.
With that thought, she stormed again in her father's office. "It's no use."
"What?" Her father's head shot up from the desk from where he had rested it, an arm around it.
"It's no use," she repeated, defeated. "Fire me and hire another employee you don't have troubles with."
"But you love this place."
"I know you're mad at me for their deaths. They wouldn't have been in that car, had it not been for me."
"I-is this why you pushed me away?" Her father's head fell on the desk as if it was too heavy for his neck. "What a fool I was. What an idiot," he murmured, raising his head again, his eyes glazed.
She blinked away her tears and nodded. "I'm s-sorry."
"Rose, it's my fault. Mine, not yours," he said, closing his eyes.
Rose took a step closer to him and her lips parted, but he was quicker than her.
"You, my child, were in that bed, injured, and all you wished for was your mother and brother. You didn't cry, you didn't complain, so I —" He passed a hand over his eyes before looking at her, silently begging for her forgiveness. "I wrote a letter to your mother and pleaded them to come as soon as possible, not waiting for Hugo's morning lessons to end."
"Dad —"
"Because you missed them." His voice broke. "I only wanted you to be happy."
"Dad, you… This is why you stopped talking to me if not at work."
"Rose, I'm sorry."
"Oh, Dad." Her tears were falling freely now and as much as she tried to think of something to lift this burden off her father's shoulder, to comfort him, all she could say was, "Dad, Dad, Dad…" She repeated that precious word endlessly, unable to get her mouth to stop. It was like her tongue had decided to make up for all the times she couldn't say it in the past weeks.
Her father got up. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around her. His too long beard tickled her neck, but she didn't care; she had craved for his warm hugs for too long to care.
Rose sobbed on his shoulder.
"I love you, Princess," he said in her ear.
"I love you t-too, Dad."