A/N: Sorry this took a while; I've been kind of busy and relatively uninspired. This chapter's kind of a filler, but here it is!
Chapter 21
"You have got to be kidding me."
I stared at myself in the mirror, a horrified expression on my face. The top I was wearing was incredibly immodest and revealing, and the skirt barely reached mid-thigh. I had never worn anything so skimpy.
With my hair up in a ponytail and an apron around my waist, I flooed to Madam Rosmerta's office from McGonagall's study.
"You're on time, Miss Flint. Punctual, I like it," she complimented me. "A good way to start off your first day. Now, let me see..."
She hurried over to me from her desk, eyes scanning me.
"Is something wr-." Before I could finish my sentence, she interrupted me.
"No, no, no. Your hair needs to be put down." Her bony hands pulled my black hair from its ponytail and she let it flow down my back and over my shoulders. "And ruffle it up a bit like this. Now, fix your top like... this."
If it was even possible, she made the outfit look more scandalous.
When I looked at her with confused eyes, she told me, "We want to attract customers, not send them flying to the hills."
I felt a little insulted by her comment, but I let it drop. I allowed her to drag me down the stairs and to the back of the pub, where the kitchen was.
"Rosalie, this is Crystal Jenner, a waitress here," Madam Rosmerta said, introducing me to a tall, dark-skinned girl in a pair of killer heels. Her caramel brown hair was puffy and very curly, and hanging from her ears was a pair of large silver hoops.
"What's up?" she said, chewing a wad of gum in her mouth.
"Nothing," I said, eyeing her carefully.
"Crystal is going to show you the ropes," Madam Rosmerta said to me. "Do what she says, yeah? She's one of our finest waitresses."
The young woman snorted lightly. "Up until this weekend, I was your only waitress."
Madam Rosmerta waved her hand and started back for her study. "See you later tonight, Rosalie." Then she was gone.
"Thank the gods," I said, pulling my top up a bit.
"Oh, no," Crystal said. "You don't want to do that."
"Why?" I asked, frustrated slightly.
"The more you reveal, the more tips you make," she said, bored, like it was obvious.
I considered for a short couple of seconds, before grudgingly putting it back to its revealing state. "Okay."
"Alright, so since there's only two of us, we'll be dividing the customers in half. See that table over there?" She pointed at a pair of new customers, two middle aged men, over at a table by the door. "Watch me go take their order."
She sauntered over confidently, a smile now on her lips as she eyed them, biting her tongue playfully. It was strange to see her change from her usual, unambitious self to a seductive facade in just a matter of seconds. Is that how she expected me to act?
I could hear Crystal ask them, "What can I get you two?"
The pair ordered some strong, alcoholic beverages and Crystal served two, ice cold mugs to them swiftly, winking and waving goodbye as she came back to my side. She chewed her bubble gum sloppily. "See how it's done, sugar?"
A man, around the age of 20, walked in, taking a seat at a table on the other side of the room. Crystal looked at me expectantly, and I sighed, taking a notepad from her and whipping out a pen as I shuffled over there. I plastered a big smile on my lips, ruffling my hair up a bit.
"What can I get for you, doll?"
"No, stop ringing! Stop it! I don't want to get up."
Despite my aggravated yells, the alarm clock continued to ring. (Funny how that worked.) I grumbled, sitting up and shoving the clock off of the nightstand beside my bed. It crashed onto the floor, breaking into a million pieces.
I winced, sitting up groggily and rubbing my eyes. I looked down and noticed that I was in my uniform still, but the top had ridden down and my entire bra was visible.
Cursing, I stripped out of my uniform in the dark, hiding it away under my bed. I stepped on a shard of alarm clock, gauging the bottom of my foot painfully. The cursing was freely flooding from my mouth now, as I tried to find my school clothes in a messy bundle in my trunk, realizing that I had forgotten to put them out for the house elves to wash.
Then, I remembered that today was Thursday.
The day we had early Quidditch practice.
I shoved my robes on as speedily as I could, throwing my hair up into a ponytail and rushing to clean up the bloody mess I had made. Literally. After healing my foot and restoring my alarm clock to it's original state, I hurried out of my dormitory and stopped downstairs, in the common room.
The members of my team were up, groaning about practice, decked out in their Quidditch attire. I came to a halt in front of them, and their full attention turned to me.
"Stop staring at me," I barked. "It's been a bad morning."
"You look like hell," Corrin Vandevort sneered.
"Shove it, or I'll kick your fucking ass. Is everyone here?"
"Roland's looking for his pants," Cadmus Galloway snickered.
The huge bloke stumbled down the stairs tiredly. "Present, captain."
"Good to know," I muttered, starting for the exit. "Come on then, you oafs, let's get to the pitch before Potter decides he wants to take advantage of the empty field."
We made our way to the Quidditch pitch hurriedly, and when we reached the locker rooms, everyone grabbed their brooms swiftly. Practice went by fairly breezily, with the exception of Guff falling off of his broom into a pile of muck. But I didn't really care too much about him.
"Alright, let's get something straight," I growled, after congregating everyone into the meeting room. "We're playing Gryffindor this weekend, which means we need more difficult strategies, faster reflexes, and determined mindsets. We're neck and neck with them, and losing isn't an option anymore. The tournament for the house cup is beginning in March. We can't afford any losses.
"With hard work and ambition, I'm sure we can win the house cup this year!"
My eyes felt like they were going to fall out and my brain, I was sure, was about to collapse.
I wanted to mutter terribly profanities and screech about my overbearing workload, but I didn't have the energy to keep my head lifted anymore, never mind work my lips.
The common room was barely lit by the dying fire as I stared at the book in front of me, not comprehending anything that I read. Beside me, acup of hot chocolate steamed. I had to keep heating it up every ten minutes because I wasn't drinking it fast enough.
It was 12:13 AM, which wasn't necessarily late, per say, but it felt like the end of the world to me. The day had gone by in an absolute blur, but it was all catching up to me now.
The morning Quidditch practice totally slowed me down. Then, I had to miss breakfast so I could finish up a History of Magic essay for Professor Binns. Following that, there was a series of awkward falls, spilling potions, bumping into people, and then work at 8pm. I was utterly drained, but I refused to complain to anyone. I had asked for this in the first place, anyway.
My stomach grumbled, and I let out a small moan. "I'm so hungry. Why can't food just magically appear? Everything else here is fucking magical."
They say that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. If I hadn't already known that I was crazy, I would be getting worried at this point. I must have looked positively insane, sitting there.
I let my head rest on the table. "I have to get myself together. This is never going to work if I keep this routine up. I need more sleep, more food, and less everything else. I have no space to think."
Reaching over for my mug, I lifted my head just barely so I could take a sip.
"It's not very fair, is it? Just because I'm standing up for what's right, I have to suffer while the wrong-doers go on majestically with no worries in life. I used to be like that."
It was strangely relieving, to hear this stuff being said out loud, even if it was just me talking to myself.
"Yeah, I was the queen of this place. And I had enough time to eat food."
The topic of food wasn't going to leave my mind.
"But now, I'm like a piece of chewing gum stuck to the underside of a table. The lowest of them all. Just nobody's had the gut to say it to my face. Well, I have guts. Or I used to. Having guts doesn't fit into my schedule anymore."
Something slammed onto the table next to me, and I lazily turned my attention to it. It was a chocolate skeleton and two licorice wands.
"What do you know? Food does appear magically!"
"Are you delusional?"
"No," I groaned, sitting up to find the bright eyes of Albus Potter staring at me.
He took a seat across from me at the table, a weird expression on his face. "Are you alright, Rosalie?"
I opened the chocolate skeleton and took a bite, already feeling satisfied. "No, not really. But I'm working on it."
"I could hear you talking to yourself from the boy's lavatory," he explained, almost amused. "You are a peculiar girl."
"Peculiar?" I said. "No, I prefer to think of myself as unique. But not peculiar."
He paused, before continuing casually, treading lightly. "I hate to agree with Corrin Vandevort, but I have to say, you do look like hell, Rosalie. What's happened to you? I rarely see you anymore."
"Been busy," I said with a mouthful of chocolate. "I still sort of am." I gestured at the books sitting in front of me.
"And you couldn't find time for this after dinner?"
"No," I answered simply, taking another sip of hot chocolate.
"Do you need some help?"
"Of course not," I scoffed.
"Maybe that's your problem."
I stopped everything for a second, looking back up at the gangly 14 year old. Albus watched me carefully, fixing his glasses awkwardly as he waited for me to respond to his statement.
"I don't have a problem. Gods, what is it with you and your brother? Why are you two so keen on pointing out that there's something wrong with me? I'm fine!" I said loudly.
"Because you do have a problem," he answered truthfully. "We don't know exactly what you're dealing with, but you definitely have problems. One of them is that you won't let anyone help you, even when you need help the most."
"Help... problems... you know what? If I wanted to have someone assess my life, I would go see Dr. Phil or whatever."
"Dr. Phil? Who's that?"
"Never mind," I mumbled.
"The point," he said gently. "Is that you are, to say it plainly, stressed and overworked. It's like you're having a mid-life crisis, except... you're no where near the middle of your life. And if you really hate having James try to help you, let me at least try."
"Do you two get together and have meetings about me or something? You know what? You're too kind for your own good," I told him truthfully. "I'll be fine, okay?"
"No, not okay. Isn't there anything I can do?"
"Not really."
"Look at me, Rosalie."
I looked at him hesitantly.
"You have no friends, no family, and, by the end of the school year, you'll have no place to live." The bluntness of his statement caught me off guard. "So, I can't imagine what's going through your mind right now. But, I've talked to my mum and dad, and they have agreed to, you know."
"No, I don't know," I replied stubbornly, sincerely confused.
Albus let out a sigh.
"To let you stay with us. This summer, come live with us."