Chapter 14 - Family Dearest
"You put Molly up to that, didn't you?" I quipped.
"What do you mean?" he asked me.
"McGonagall didn't really call me to her office, did she? You were just hoping I'd end up there," I reasoned.
"So, are you going to go to her, or do I have to carry you?" he wondered, trying to wiggle his eyebrows at me in hopes of decreasing the awkward tension building up around us.
I wanted to laugh, but the severity of the situation was hurting my head. "I can't. Not now, not today. James, I will do it. I'll tell McGonagall everything. But not now. When I get back from Christmas holiday, alright?"
His eyes blazed. "So that's it? You're just going to let him batter you around for the rest of the year? A lot can happen in that time, Rosalie."
"I know!" I shouted.
His eyes widened in alarm at the rising of my voice.
"Believe me, Potter. I know better than anyone else, including you! I know what can happen in only a short amount of time, but I'm not going back to that hell I call 'home', directly after I turn in Matthias for sexual assault. My parents would chew me up and tear me apart." I cast my eyes away from him. "I can't let that happen."
"You're being a coward," he said poisonously. "Grow a spine and stick up for yourself."
"You'll never get it!" I told him. "You''ll never understand."
"No, no. I understand it perfectly," he spat. The moment we had shared, only moments ago, had dissolved. Now, he was angry with me. Irate. Frustrated. Just like everybody else. "You're afraid, Rosalie. And you always will be, until you do something about it."
And he stormed away, leaving me alone in the dark hallway, clasping my red gown shamefully. Everything I did ended on a bad note. Was I really that terrible to everyone?
I pushed the white door open gently, cautiously, peering behind it into the room I had once called my bedroom.
The room didn't hold the comfort and warmth I found in my Hogwarts dormitory, despite the endless riches surrounding me and the always-burning fireplace by the windows on the other side.
It was a large room, completed with luxurious carpets, blankets, and curtains. My book shelf stood out, extremely large, every nook and cranny stuffed with book after book and tons of small figurines I had collected over the years. The walls were painted a faded green shade, and the bed spread covering my mattress was a deep, emerald green. But, unlike all of the previous years I had come home from school, I could only relate the blanket to one thing:
It was the same color as Albus Potter's eyes.
My heart clenched as I fell onto my bed, everything from the past four months collapsing around me. I felt absolutely drained, as if I was incapable of ever moving again. Every drop of energy was burned, like I had been squeezed and squished until every ounce had been beaten out of me.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a swift knock on my door echoed through out my room.
I shuffled over to the door, to reveal one of our house elves, Lish, peeking at me with wide eyes. "Miss Flint, Mistress Flint has asked me to inform you that dinner will be ready in half an hour," she squeaked.
Nodding, I told her, "Thank you Lish."
She disappeared after that dismissal, shutting the door with a creak or two, large ears disappearing behind the frame.
Dinner with Mother and Father was expected to be treated as very important. It was usually lavish, with imported foods and fancy dresses and brilliant candles. With a slight frown, I walked over to my closet where elegant gowns hung and endless rows of shoes lined up. Because everything currently in my life was material; not one shred of love or passion.
Was I really living?
I reached up and pulled out a silver dress, placing it over the head of an arm chair in my room with small interest in it at all. I slipped out of my current clothes and pulled my bathrobe over my chilled, bare figure, tying it around my waist tightly. I sat down in front of my mirror and vanity table, staring at the girl in the mirror with curious, hazel eyes.
She looked tired and exhausted, as if she were holding the world on her back like Atlas. She looked like she suffered endless, sleepless nights. There was a bruise underneath the hollow of her throat, resembling the imprint of a thumb. On the crook between her neck and her shoulder returned the dreaded bite mark - the mark of Matthias.
Hands flying everywhere, I quickly covered my face with make-up as the clock's hands ticked dangerously close to 7:00. By supper time, I was ready and already descending the staircase.
"Rosalie. Welcome home," Mother said briskly from her seat at the dining room table. The room was dimly lit, the scent of burning candles filling the room with sweet aromas, mixed with the smell of delicious food.
"Hello, Mother," I said politely, taking my proper seat beside Mariette. Her light hair was curled and draped over her shoulders. Father was sitting at the head of the table, with Marcus to his right and Mother at the other end of the table. Mariette was in between me and Father. This is what all of our dinners looked like.
"How was the train ride?" Father inquired, looking at Mariette and then me.
"It was fine," Mariette told him. "Not one problem."
"That's nice to hear," he said.
A couple of house elves placed dinner on the table, filing in and out of the kitchen dutifully.
"How have your Prefect duties come along?" he asked me, dark eyes watching.
"Perfectly fine," I said to him.
"Wonderful," he concluded, digging into his food.
"How about your Quidditch team?" Marcus said, speaking to me for the first time that night.
I smiled at him. "It's been great! We're neck and neck with Gryffindor, but I know we can take them. Though they haven't been working as hard as my team, they are respectable opponents-"
"Don't brag, Rosalie, it's not an attractive quality," Mother interrupted.
Swallowing my swelling pride, I nodded. "Of course, Mother."
Dinner continued in silence. We talked about small things, like school activities, friends, Marcus' job promotion and Mother's sickly aunt Belinda. Our conversations were quiet, if not totally awkward. I felt uncomfortable, confined to a room with just my family. My head was starting to hurt again and my palms started sweating.
"So, Rosalie," Mother began, not looking up from her supper. "How is Matthias?"
I gripped my fork as I said tightly, "He's fine."
"What a handsome bloke he is," Mother continued. "He's so polite. You two really are a great match."
I wanted to scoff at her statement, to label it ridiculous, to shout at how she knew nothing. But, of course, I didn't. I bit my tongue and only nodded again, praying to the gods Mariette wouldn't say anything about the rumors around school.
Mariette, though, probably didn't want to get caught in the middle of my dangerous affairs, so she didn't utter a word. Finally, after staring at my dessert for the longest time, I excused myself from the table. The house elves started to take my empty dishes as I hobbled, tiredly, up the grand stair case and back to my bedroom, where I confined myself for the rest of the night.
I slipped out of the dreaded and scratchy silver dress, hanging it back up in my neat closet. My feet hurt terribly, but I felt a great relief as I slid my feet out of the painful shoes I had worn to dinner with my family. It was strange, dressing up so impressively, just for my own flesh and blood. What did I need to prove to them, anyway?
I decided to take a shower, stripping out of my under garments and strutting into the bathroom, turning the shower knob and smiling as the head began shooting water.
After the comforting, hot shower, I climbed into the lush bed, burying myself in the thick, warm blankets. In my hand was a thick, old copy of Digging Into Greek Mythology, my guilty pleasure book. I didn't know what was so fascinating to me about Grecian arts and culture, but it had always remained a beloved topic to me.
The rest of Christmas holiday would probably remain uneventful, like this very evening, except for maybe a party or two, and Christmas dinner. Father and Mother still had to work, but it wasn't like I cared. I would probably spend the rest of my time in my room, reading or playing around with my cello, and other singular activities-
There was a startling scratching sound on my windows and I shot up, reaching for my wand on my dresser, but realizing it wasn't there but possibly still in my uniform pocket.
"Blast!" I hissed in the dark.
It took my long enough to process that the scratching noise was actually an owl, perched on a tree by my window, waiting for me. I reached for the letter in it's talons and squinted, trying to recognize the hand writing.
When I had no luck, I swiftly ripped open the envelope and began reading.
Dear Rosalie,
If you haven't figured it out already, it's me. Albus.
My eyes widened. Why would Albus Potter write to me? At this late at night? I turned to look at my clock, and at the same moment, it hit 11:36.
I wanted to properly apologize to you about calling you a bitch. It was rash of me to do so, impolite, and totally out of place. I regretted it as soon as I realized it had come out of my mouth, but I was too proud to take it back. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to actually apologize.
I hope your winter holiday is going well.
Yours, Albus Severus Potter
I stared at the letter dumbfounded, my mind boggled. Nobody had ever sincerely apologized to me about something.
Almost instantly, I jumped up, wanting to reply to his letter as soon as possible, but I was startled by a noise coming from the hall outside of my door. Our house was very large, so I was probably the only one who heard it, which frightened me even more. It had been an unnatural thump, so I struggled between just letting it slip or going out to investigate.
Deciding on the latter, I shuffled over to my bedroom door and peeked out, before opening the door all of the way. The hallway was dark and eerily silent, and at first I thought I had just imagined the noise. But then, I heard a whispered laugh from the foyer downstairs and some sort of ruffling. Clenching my jaw, I tiptoed down the stairs. I shivered when my bare feet touched the icy tiles of the foyer.
The noises continued to leak from the dimly lit sitting room, connected to our foyer. I hid behind the wall, my back pressed against the chilling surface. I continued to listen.
"Shh, be quiet! We're going to get caught," one voice said in a hushed tone. I immediately recognized the owner.
"Come on, Mariette," said the other. "We're not going to get caught. We've sneaked out plenty of times before. Nobody can hear us."
"I know, I know," my sister whispered. Her voice was different; she didn't speak to the stranger like she spoke to me. She was gentle, considerate, and kind.
There was a giggle. "Then what's the problem?"
"I'm just scared."
"Well, don't be."
Then was a scuffling sound, like the two were embracing now.
"Don't be scared."
And lastly, a sound I didn't want to hear.
Swiftly, I walked out from the shadows, appearing in front of the two. But all I could see was Mariette's blond hair as she faced the other person and kissed her on the lips.
"Um, I'd hate to break up the love fest, but can I ask what's going on here?"
Mariette wore an expression of surprise, shock, and then finally something that resembled fear. Beside her stood someone I hadn't expected to ever see in our household.
Sophie Golding. A well-known Muggle-born at Hogwarts. She was a seventh year, like Mariette, only she was in Hufflepuff.
"Rosalie? What are you doing up so late?" Mariette whispered, eyes wide.
"So, you're the famous Rosalie Flint, huh?" Sophie Golding asked, blue eyes watching me with a certain twinkle. She flipped her short, brown hair over her shoulder and smiled. "I'm Sophie Golding."
"You know who I am," I hissed. "And I know who you are. And like I said before, What the hell is going on here?"