A/N: Anything recognizable, I do not own.

Chapter Three

Rose

If Anderson droned on any longer, Rose thought she might just Avada herself then and there. Yes, it was nice that he'd had a lovely holiday with his wife and kids in the Canary Islands, and yes, she was happy that he'd gotten to reconnect with his moody teenager over snorkeling and whatever-other-shit people did on a family holiday, but Merlin, the man wouldn't shut up. She was going to have to spell-o-tape her eyelids open if he kept going at this rate. She concentrated on staring into one of Anderson's beady eyes, and then the other. Maybe if she just kept nodding, he wouldn't notice that her eyes had glazed over.

"Rose, can I - borrow you for a second to look at this report?" came the voice of her friend Portia Thomas, from across the room.

"Yes!" she knew she'd gotten up too quickly to be discreet, but she'd been genuinely on the brink of death by boredom.

"Merlin's tits," Portia said as Rose sat down beside her, waving her wand to put up a muffliato so that the girls could talk at a normal volume without anybody overhearing. "I thought you were going to melt into your desk just to get away from that conversation."

Rose laughed with relief and grimaced at her friend. "I think I need therapy after that. I kept picturing him on the beach in a speedo."

Portia choked on the water she'd been drinking. "That is vile," she said when she'd recovered.

Rose nodded and pretended to be gagging.

"So, how was your weekend?" Portia asked when the two of them had recovered from their laughter. "How was working Sunday with She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Horrible," Rose said, shooting a furtive glance at their boss, who was sat at her desk in the adjoining room. Cassandra Kyle looked as irritatingly bright and chipper today as any day, with her pin-straight mahogany coloured hair and gently pressed lilac robes. She was sipping tea from a bone china set she'd brought into the office specifically for when she wanted to impress the higher-ups.

"Uptight bitch," Portia said, her eyes following Rose's glare. They giggled again.

"Girls," Cassandra said, coming to the doorway of her office and raising an eyebrow at the two of them, while Portia quickly took the silencing charm off of them. Cassandra smiled, but it didn't reach her calculated, cool eyes. "Are we working, or are we chatting?"

"Portia was just showing me the report she's done on the new curriculum outline for the NEWT-level arithmancy course," Rose lied easily.

Cassandra's smile was so bright and insincere, it was almost frightening. "Lovely," she said, and returned to her desk.

Portia smirked at her friend.

"Agrippa's sake, I hate her," Rose spewed as they stepped out of the Department of Magical Education offices to head out to lunch. Portia laughed freely, and agreed.

"She's just so simpering," Rose continued, "And did you see the way she behaved when Peters was in the office earlier? Such a brown noser!" She undid the top button on her robes angrily, and shook out her mass of red curls.

"I know," Portia said, hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder and nodding her head. "I swear I'm going to just accidentally slip a calming draught into her stupid china teacup one day, just to see if we can turn her into an actual decent human for a change."

Rose laughed and turned to the elevator, which had suddenly arrived on their floor. She stepped inside, and started with a shock.

"Mum."

Hermione Granger-Weasley looked every bit the professional, her brown curly hair smoothed back into an elegant updo that Rose never could have managed. Her smile was easy and genuine as she hugged her only daughter. "Rose, sweetheart, it's good to see you." she said, sounding delighted at their run-in.

"Hello, Madam Minister," Portia said, sounding as if she were encountering particularly strict teacher, rather than Rose's mum.

"Ms. Thomas," Hermione said, shaking the girl's hand and smiling at her kindly, "always a pleasure." Rose's friend did a strange little curtsy, and Rose had to keep herself from snorting as her mother left the lift.

"I hope you'll come for dinner on Sunday, Rose," her mother said, turning to her before she left with a pointed stare, "Your nan's been asking after you, and it'd mean a lot to her if you came." She smiled and walked down the hallway, her heels clicking on the floor, as if she hadn't just essentially guilt-tripped her own daughter.

Rose sighed, knowing her brilliant mother had played the grandmother card to her distinct advantage. Instead, she turned to Portia, shaking her head.

"I can't believe you curtsied," she said, snorting.

"She's the Minister for Magic, Rose, and she helped to defeat Voldemort," her friend replied indignantly.

"She's just my mum," Rose muttered, grumbling a bit.

"Yeah," said Portia with reverence, "exactly."

When Rose arrived home, it was an empty and cold flat that awaited her. Kicking off her boots, she busied herself with the kettle, letting the steaming mug of tea warm her insides as she threw a ball of flames into the fireplace with her wand. The sound of the fire crackled and reverberated around the empty flat.

Rose sighed, glancing in her cupboards for something to eat, and found an old can of tomato soup. She heated it up quickly, and sat down to eat it with a battered old novel from her shelf, ignoring the sound of deafening silence in her home.

She finished her soup, cleaned the dishes the slow Muggle way, and was still done by half seven. Rose stood at her counter for a minute, willing herself to go and pick up her book again and change into her pyjamas. After a moment of half-hearted internal battling, she grabbed her wand from her pocket, and headed outside to disapparate.

She arrived with a crack outside of a fancy flat complex in wizarding London, heading with purpose for a second story apartment that overlooked Diagon Alley. When she knocked on the door, it was opened by a handsome man whose smirk was only accentuated by the lazy aristocratic way he draped himself across the doorframe.

"Can I help you?" He said.

"You know, I think you can," Rose said, pushing her way into the flat.

"Didn't expect you to be here tonight, Weasley," he said, shutting the door behind her and flicking his wand to conjure up two wine glasses. He made his way into the kitchen to find a drink to fill the goblets.

"I didn't expect to be here, Selwyn." she said, purring as he handed her a glass full of sparkling elf-made wine. She took a sip, watching him over the rim of her glass as she did.

"I'm glad you are, though," he said, touching the side of her face. His hands were cold.

"Me too," she lied, and let him kiss her soundly as he moved her to the bedroom.

It was all over rather soon. Afterwards, he began to snore softly, and Rose was left staring at the ceiling, counting the knots in the wooden beams, wondering how she'd ended up back in bed with Rhys Selwyn, of all people. She didn't even like him.

There were a series of knots in the wood that looked almost like a face. Rose stared at it so long that she didn't realize that the dots were blurring from tears. Hot, fat drops silently fell down her cheeks in a salty river, burning their trail on her face. Rose swiped at one with her hand, and sat up quietly. "I'm going home now," she said, though she knew Selwyn was asleep and couldn't hear her. The words fell flat, masked by the sounds of his gentle snoring.

She quickly put her clothes on, gathered up her coat, and left.

Sunday came slowly. The workdays were measured, gruelling torture, and the nights flashed by in a tangle of sheets, limbs, and alcohol. By the time the weekend came, Rose was worn out, and spent much of it in bed, sleeping and avoiding the world.

Sunday afternoon, however, was family time. Rose knew that her presence at the Burrow was not only desired, but after the run-in with her mother on Monday, it was now expected. The Weasleys, who never did anything by halves, threw a weekly roast dinner at Rose's grandparents in Devon every Sunday, and whatever family members could make it would religiously turn up. Rose had used a handful of excuses to get out of attending for the last month of so, but was now inconveniently bereft of credible reasons for her absence. So it was with begrudging reluctance she floo'ed over to the Burrow that Sunday afternoon.

She nearly walked back into the fire as soon as she arrived. It was absolute chaos. There were redheads everywhere; in the sitting room, chatting and gossiping about Merlinknew what, in the backyard, tiny children with brightly coloured hair chased each other on broomsticks, and in the kitchen, just about every cousin Rose had was crowded around her grandmother, baking pies or stirring sauces, or just generally getting in the way.

"Have we been breeding again?" she asked Albus, who was tucked up with a book in one corner of the living room that wasn't completely overrun by Weasleys.

He grimaced. "Godric knows Vic and Teddy are," he said, as a child with magenta hair streaked past, chasing Rose's mother's cat.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Rose muttered, folding her arms across her chest, glancing around the room and wondering if she could make a clean getaway.

"I can't believe you did, either," Albus said, setting down his book. It was Seventy-Two Magical Uses for Your Home Garden , Rose noted with a snort.

"My mum cornered and coerced me," she explained to him, "in the lift at work, with her eyes."

Al nodded knowingly.

"Rosie!" Came a voice from behind her, and her little brother's broad smile came into view. She grinned back, a part of her instantly relaxing when she saw him.

"Hugh," she said, opening her arms. "I didn't know you were back!"

"Been back for nearly a week now," he said, smiling, though his freckled forehead crinkled slightly. "Which you'd know if you'd been 'round to mum and dad's at all lately."

Rose ignored the jibe, and instead pinched her younger brother on his cheek and kiss him on the forehead, which was quite a feat considering he'd inherited their father's height.

"I missed you," she said genuinely, "how was Russia?"

"Fucking cold," he laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. "But, yeah, great. Fascinating, and all that."

"Did you find the creatures you were looking for?" Albus asked.

"No," her brother said, the light in his eyes dimming slightly, "we were on the trail of a Cikavac, but we lost its tracks and couldn't catch it," he frowned, "It's a real shame, because finding one could mean incredible advancement in communication with magical creatures."

"Will you get to go back again?" Rose asked.

"I don't know - just this one trip cost us galleons of funding. I don't know if there'll be another one anytime soon." he half-smiled at them.

"Well," Rose said, attempting to turn the conversation around. "At least you'll be home for a while now. Mum and Dad must be thrilled to have you back."

"Yeah," he grinned, "feels like ages since I was home. How are you?" his face turned serious. "How are you after the split with - you know..." Rose felt Albus tense beside her.

"Fine." she smiled, effectively ending the conversation.

Fortunately, a bell rung out, signalling dinner time. They all shuffled into the magically expanded dining room, calling out to one another and laughing. Rose took a seat between her brother and Albus, directly across from her cousins Lily and Roxy, who both waved when they saw Rose. She gazed along the table to where her gran was sitting at the head, her granddad mirroring her place on the other end. When Rose's gran saw that she was looking her way, she sent a wink to her granddaughter.

As Rose tucked into the meal, she readily admitted she had missed her grandmother's cooking. But looking around at the table, at the happy faces smiling and joking, she felt like an imposter. A year ago, she would have been one of them. A year ago, she'd been proud to be a Weasley, happy to be a part of this gigantic, crazy, loving family.

Now, she was an outsider.

Her eyes met Albus', and for a moment, she relaxed. Albus, at least, was an outsider too.

"So, Rose," her Aunt Audrey leaned across the table, smiling at her, "How's work been going for you?" Rose could see her mother a few seats down pretending not to listen to their conversation.

"It's fine," Rose mustered a smile back, diplomatic as anything. "It's very interesting work."

"Rose was picked out of many applicants for this role, and we have high hopes for her future in the Department of Magical Education," said her mother breezily, spearing a brussel sprout with a smile at Audrey, clearly haven given up pretending not to eavesdrop.

"I still haven't forgiven her for taking a job at the Ministry and not becoming a Chudley Cannon," her dad said, sending a wink at her. Though Rose knew it was meant to be a joke, she swallowed the disappointment in her father's voice like a bitter pill.

Her mother laughed airily. "Rose had nine Outstanding NEWTs," she told her father, as if he didn't already know.

"I'm just saying - we could have used a strong left-field chaser on the team-"

"Yes, well she was very qualified for her Ministry job," her mother said, raising an eyebrow at her father. "And we're all very proud of the good work she's doing there."

Albus snorted into his mashed potatoes, and Rose elbowed him quickly.

"Albus Severus," his mother scolded him.

"What?" Al said, looking up from his food. "Don't you all pretend that you're not coddling her. She shows up to work hungover every day, and she hates her job, Aunt Hermione. Everybody can see it."

Rose nearly choked on the bit of turkey she'd bit into.

"I don't - I don't hate-" she spluttered.

"You do." Albus said, looking at her with those deep green eyes. "Why don't you just tell them the truth instead of being miserable to please them all the time?" He shoved back his chair from the table, and left the room.

Rose stared at her plate, avoiding eye contact with her parents, her cousins. The room was rather quiet now.

"I'll go talk to Albus," Harry said, quickly rising from the table.

"Rose, is that true?" her mother said, staring at her with obvious concern. "Do you hate your job at the Ministry?"

"Excuse me," Rose said, and left the table as well.

She found Albus with her Uncle Harry in her father's childhood bedroom, and rounded on him, not caring that her uncle was present.

"What the fuck, Al," she yelled, forgetting in her anger to cast a silencing charm on the room. "Why the hell did you just throw me under the bus like that?"

He stood, bracing himself for a fight, "Because, Rose, you wander around like a zombie these days, and half the time nobody knows what to say to you! You've been avoiding your family, avoiding your friends, and I'm sick and tired of everybody walking on eggshells around you!"

"Oh, look who's talking! You spent the entirety of our school years being the Weasley family martyr, and when I spend a few weeks less than perfectly happy, all of a sudden I'm the drama queen?" She could see her own face turning a sort of reddish-purplish hue in the mirror opposite her, but neglected to care. Her Uncle Harry was backing out of the room, slowly.

"It's been months, Rose! And you've been far from happy!" He yelled, his hands waving wildly at her as if he were not sure what to do with them. Albus took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair angrily before letting them fall limply to his sides.

"Look," he said, calmer now, "I'm worried about you. I don't know what to do, so I figured your parents might."

Rose huffed at him angrily, her arms crossing in front of her chest defensively. "I'm fine, Albus," she said, though she was annoyed to hear her voice's lack of conviction.

"You're not." he said, staring at her.

There was a beat of silence where Rose felt alarmingly as if she may cry. "I need to go," she said, and fled the room.

She meant to slip out of the house unseen, and send her regrets to her family with an owl later, but when she made her way into the back garden, her nan was already there.

She was watering her plants silently, seemingly haven given up on the family dinner. Molly didn't glance up as her granddaughter approached, but her watering can had stilled. "We planted this rose bush the day you were born," she said, nodding to a flourishing plant, covered in the white flowers.

"Nana," Rose said, a lump forming in her throat, "I'm so sorry about what just happened back there, I didn't mean to ruin your Sunday roast."

Her grandmother waved her hand noncommittally and smiled, placing a hand on Rose's cheek. "There will be other Sundays," she said. And then, she wrapped the younger woman into a hug. No other words were spoken, because no other words were needed.

"I love you, Nana," Rose said, after a while.

"Love you too, Rosie," Molly replied, smoothing down her granddaughter's wild curls. "Now go home, and get some rest. I'll deal with the family."

"Thank you," said Rose, and left to disapparate with a crack.

That night, she dreamed she was lost in a maze of rose bushes, pricked a thousand times until the flowers turned red and she awoke in a cold sweat.