A/N: This is the last chapter before the epilogue :) Thanks for all of the reviews! Inspired by All Alright by Fun.

Chapter 33 - All Alright

"Are you sure you want to go?" James questioned, giving me a look.

I straightened my dress. It was black, and hung off of my thin frame. My expression was somber, my hair and jewelry simple and respectable. I turned my head, replying, "I have to be there. I don't owe my family a lot of things, but I owe Marcus this."

Headmistress McGonagall stood by her hearth, a pouch of floo powder in her grasp. "Return to my study by 2 o'clock this afternoon. If you do not, you will be expelled from Hogwarts. The rules are very strict, Rosalie Flint, do you understand them?"

Nodding my head, I said, "I understand."

"Take some floo powder."

Cupping my hand, I gripped some of the sandy substance, and stepped into the fireplace. With a heavy, tight voice, I said clearly, "Vablatsky Funeral Home."

Having flooed before, I was prepared for the sickening, twisting sensation. I was ready for the blurred vision, the sudden nauseous. But as soon as it had started, it stopped, and I was in an unfamiliar room, full of unfamiliar people.

It was gravely silent. Everyone was cloaked in black robes and black attire, to represent the presence of Death. A line had formed, everyone waiting to view the body of my dead flesh and blood.

Why was I here? After being disowned, I had always convinced myself that I no longer cared about the Flint family. I had told myself that if something were to happen to them, I would never show my face.

But, I supposed, suicide was different. The saddest thing someone could do was take their own life, to decide that they no longer deserved to live, to breathe. Marcus wasn't a horrible person; he was only raised in a horrible family.

Now that he was dead, I could remember things about him that I hadn't remembered before. His enthusiasm about Quidditch during school, the mischievous gleam he used to get in his eyes as a boy, the one time he took the blame for breaking Mother's favorite vase, and received a slap to the cheek that I had deserved.

My eyes were trained on my hands, my lips white. I took a few steps forward, along with the line.

Why had he killed himself? The question floated around inside of my head the entirety of my trip. As I shuffled closer to his casket, I couldn't help myself as I envisioned his last moments alive. How had he killed himself? What had he looked like? Had he been afraid? Or numb?

And then, I stood before his open coffin, and peered at him.

Marcus laid so still. His skin was white, his black hair combed finely. He wore a suit, and even had a watch clasped around his wrist. But he was so still.

He could have been sleeping, if it weren't for the fact that I knew he was dead.

Forcing myself to look away, I moved on. There, beside his casket, stood my mother and father. Marcus and Calliope Flint. They saw me, both at the same time, and I witnessed their eyes grow steely, their postures ridged. They looked tired but just as cold as ever. As I passed them, keeping eye contact with my mother as I walked, I said not one word to them. I had nothing to say.

Beside them was Mariette.

She was dressed in black, as everyone was. Her crystalline eyes were wet with tears, but whether they were real or not, I couldn't tell. Her blonde hair had been curled, cascading past her acute shoulders.

"Rosalie," she gasped delicately. She had always been the delicate sister. "You're here."

"Of course I am," I said reservedly. "He might have no longer been my brother, but he was still my flesh and blood."

She leaned away from me, setting her chin. I watched her for a moment, briefly thinking about Lily Luna Potter. Sweet Lily was more of a sister to me in one weekend than Mariette had ever been to me. I tried to step away from her, but she suddenly grabbed my hand. She brought me close to her, and kissed my cheek. I was confused, but then I realized that she had transferred a wad of paper into my hand. She looked away, refusing to meet my eyes again.

Tearing myself out of line, I found my way to the bathroom and shut myself in, opening the crumpled paper. It had a simple, brief statement scrawled onto it. Marcus' handwriting.

To my remaining sister, Mariette,

Despite what Mother and Father will say, this was a suicide. I chose this. I killed myself. They'll say it was an accident. They'll blame someone. They won't let anyone know that their son ended his own life. But that's what happened, and you deserve the truth.

Our parents are liars. Rosalie had it right when she left. Do not get caught in their webs. Our parents are liars.

Marcus Flint II

The words tugged at my heart. Hurriedly, I stashed the paper away in her bag, and ran my hands over my face tiredly. Abandoning the restroom, I barely had time to recuperate before I ran into the last person I wanted to have a conversation with.

"Why are you here?" my mother asked coldly, towering over me with her willowy frame and high heels.

"To pay my respects," I snapped, gathering my wits.

"You were not invited," she berated.

"I don't recall it being an 'invite only' event."

"You're father is furious," she stated.

I said, "You two have made it very clear that he is no longer my father. And I don't have to do this. I was leaving anyways."

"You do not have the right to speak to me like that."

"I can do whatever the hell I want, Calliope," I bit, crossing my arms across my chest.

She pointed a thin, bony finger accusingly at me, icy eyes piercing me like daggers. "How dare you come to my son's funeral and talk in such a manner to me? It's your fault he's dead. Your father told you not to testify against Dolohov. He said it would create unwanted enemies. Look what you've done!"

"You're going to blame me? Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a lunatic! Crazy as an old bat!" I spat. I pulled the crumbled paper from my purse and shoved it at her. "Here, take a look! No one murdered Marcus. He killed himself."

My mother's eyes read the words. Once. Twice. Then, she dropped it on the ground. "You're a lot of things, Rosalie Flint, but a liar? How despicable."

"I'm not a liar. Marcus killed himself to get away from you and the life you forced onto him!"

She lifted her hand and clapped it against my cheek. The contact stung, and I took a step back, holding my face. My mother straightened her posture, looking down at me like I was a dog.

"Hitting me won't change the monsters you and Father are," I said venomously. "I'm glad you disowned me, you know. Our family fell apart a long time ago, if you could even call it a family. It turned to ash and dust. It became corrupt."

"Our family is in tact and stronger without you."

"Obviously not." I gestured to the funeral home. "I'm glad you disowned me, because I found a better family."

"Oh, really?" she snapped. "Who could replace your own flesh and blood?"

"My new family," I began my voice strangely strong, contradicting how I truly felt in the shadow of my mother: scared and weak. "It's made up of the people you told me were disgusting. A waste of oxygen. Blood traitors, a handicap, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors... they love me more than you ever did. And if you hadn't disowned me, I would have never met them. Felt their affection. I might have never loved. They are my real family."

"You are an abhorrence. A stain on our family tree. You revolt me."

"Good," I challenged. "Let it be so. I will never be as repugnant as you and Father. I have no more to say to you."

There was something peaceful about still water. It was calming to watch it, see the reflection of the sky and the trees, watch the little fish and tadpoles create ripples. I sat on the banks of the Black Lake with a curious expression, my lips slightly parted, legs crossed ladylike.

"What are you doing out here?"

I patted the earth next to me, willing James to sit beside me. "Listen."

He sat obediently, quirking his head, trying to listen like I'd told him to. "I don't hear anything," he said, confused.

"I know. Isn't it beautiful?" I gently laid on my back, letting my black hair fan out around the crown of my head. I beckoned James to do the same, our shoulders touching. I watched the clouds blow across the sky, swirling and fading. It was like a canvas, as if an artist had just painted the sky into existence, the paint still wet. I felt like I could reach out, and the wet blue paint would stain my fingertips.

James held my hand. I had come to discover that he rather liked to touch me. He always had his hand on me, one way or another. On my arm, against my side. When we walked, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. When we talked, he let his fingers dance on my bare skin. Like he wanted to reassure himself I was still there. It was endearing, and after years of remaining untouched, I was always aware. I reveled in it.

"You're weird," he said to me.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes." He glanced at me. "You still haven't told me about what happened at the funeral."

"I saw my brother," I said, after a moment. "He was cold. He was gone. It made me feel sad, even though he hadn't talked to me once since my parents had disowned me. I bickered with my mother, but for some reason, it gave me a sense of closure."

"How so?"

"Because the argument made me realize something." I shut my eyes. I liked to shut them. I was tired of being tired.

"And what was that?"

"That I don't need them. Because I have a new family."

For a minute, I listened to him breathe. It was relaxing.

At last, I felt like I was at peace. Before, I had never been at peace. I was always angry, always upset. But finally, I wasn't. I was content, and even though it was an unknown feeling, it was wonderful.

"Are you okay?"

Opening my eyes, I leaned over and planted a firm kiss on his lips. I liked being able to steal kisses whenever I wanted to. "Yeah, I am. I'm more than okay."

The third of May, two thousand and twenty one

Miss Rosalie Flint,

You are cordially invited to the Slug Club's final party of the semester, to celebrate the end of the term and to commence the beginning of summer holidays. There will be dancing, and refreshments will be served. Dress formally.

Yours expectantly, Professor Slughorn

"Next," Professor Slughorn said pleasantly. "We will dance a centuries old waltz. Please, find a partner. It would be rude not to dance, you know." He chuckled at himself.

James offered me his hand dramatically. "May I have this dance, m'lady?"

I wrinkled my nose, accepting his hand, letting his lead me to the dance floor. Holding them out, he put his free hand on my waist, and I placed my other hand on his shoulder gently.

"Just a forewarning: I'm rubbish at dancing," he said, before the music began to slowly play.

The hum of the cello echoed within the room. I arched my neck to get a look at the musicians, but I couldn't see their faces from my point of view. "I expected as much. Just follow me."

Guiding him, the skirt of my dress brushed against the floor as we stepped back and forth to the beat of the music. "I didn't know you knew how to dance," he said contemplatively.

"It's traditional for the children of purebloods to be accustomed with such things," I said to him. "Growing up, I went to countless balls. The girl who could dance the most gracefully was the one everyone kept their eyes on."

"Huh."

"Twirl me."

At the climax of the waltz, he spun me gingerly, along with all of the other couples. Returning back to his arms, my eyes met his again. They were light, full of mirth and quiet laughter. They were deep and immense, like an ocean; there was always something else to explore. I leaned in closer to him, the familiar scent of spearmint providing me with a sense of comfort.

"Avery's watching you," James muttered as we swayed. "Should I go kick his ass?"

I peered over his shoulder. There was Matthias, his icy stare every now and then flickering over to us. "As much as I'd enjoy watching that, there's no need. And I don't want to talk about him right now. He's not worth it."

"Fair enough." Another spin. "Did Madame Rosmerta give you your old job back?"

After giving my boss an explanation, she hadn't been reluctant to give me back my position as a barmaid. While I wasn't exactly excited about my job, it was, indeed, a job. I was blessed enough that McGonagall had let me continue working. With all of the trouble I'd caused in the past few months, I was worried she wouldn't let me continue working outside of school.

"Yes," I replied. "So it's back to cleaning tables and serving stingy men ale." I shrugged. "But I am thankful for the work."

"It's only until school ends, right?" he asked. "Are you still thinking of getting into Quidditch?"

Sighing, I shook my head. "I don't know. As much as I'd enjoy that, working with potions wouldn't be terrible. I think I'm going to have to wait until next year to figure anything out."

"Good idea." James' eyes flickered over the length of my body. Gently, his finger trailed down the scar that ran from my hairline to the corner of my right eye. A scar that would always mar me, there to remind me of the night I could have died. I almost died. "You look beautiful tonight, you know that?"

The song ended, but we still stood there, staring at one another for what was a brief moment, but felt like an eternity. My hands clasped around his neck, and his wrapped around my waist. His dipped his head and kissed the scar on my forehead. Lifting my own lips, I quickly caught his, leaning into him. My fingers slipped up, ruffling his hair, holding him to me.

"Get a room," Molly, James' cousin, taunted, coming up behind him and shoving his shoulder. He fell away from me, a boyish grin lighting up his face.

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea, eh?" James laughed.

"This party was starting to get boring, anyways," I added helpfully, the taste of his lips still on mine.

My hand curled around his, and with a playful smirk, I towed him out of the room. Leaving the light of the party, we stumbled into the dark corridor, barely able to see each others faces. He lumbered behind me, my shoes clicking against the stone floor, my heart beat growing erratic.

We were unable to contain ourselves any longer.

James spun me around, crashing his lips against mine. I kneaded my fingers in his hair as he pushed me against the wall, his large hands around my shoulders. Our lips molded together, working against each other, him and I both fighting for dominance. I arched my hips, grinding them into his, fitting against him like his other half.

Trailing kisses from his mouth to the nape of his neck, I breathed, "We should go somewhere more private." The idea of being caught by the other Prefects wasn't exactly tantalizing.

He nodded mindlessly, breaking away and stringing me along. Blindly, I followed, allowing myself to enter a frenzied stupor. There was a click as he unlocked a classroom, pushing me into it, locking it behind us to ensure privacy.

Fumbling, I cleared a desk, pushing the objects that lingered on its surface to the floor. As they clattered, I pushed him against it, kissing his chin and then finding my way back to his lips. The straps of my dress loosely slipped from my shoulders, the neckline scooping lower than it should. My hair fell from its updo, disheveled.

The feeling of wandering hands, the ecstasy of his lips on me, the low groan emitting from the back of his throat; everything was befuddling my thoughts. My hands slithered up his shirt, undoing the buttons and pushing it from his torso. They roamed his bare chest and shoulders wildly.

Roughly, he lifted me onto the table, my skirt riding up mid-thigh. Pulling him into the space between my legs, I wrapped them around his waist, and we snogged ourselves into oblivion.

One Year Later

My face was different. The structure was more elegant, more mature. I had lost any childlike qualities over the past two years; they had vanished, leaving me with a sophisticated look.

I looked like I was finally ready to go out into the world and establish a reputation of my own.

Not one associated with the Flints, with Marcus and Calliope. My days with them were far behind me. I refused to let anyone make a connection with them and me. I was my own person; I was no longer their disowned daughter, a traitor, cut off. I was stronger than them, fiercer.

In the end, they had lost. I had won.

Graduation ceremonies were incredibly tedious. I sat with my house, opposite of the Gryffindors. Every now and then, my eyes would flicker to James, to find him either making faces at McGonagall or staring back at me.

James had also grown. He had aged, both mentally and physically. He was still a boy at heart, but there was something else in his eyes now. It was knowledge, it was experience.

Managing through the ceremony, I was anxious to leave, ready to be free from Hogwarts. I felt like a bird, trapped inside of a cage. McGonagall was about to open the cage door, and I was about to burst free.

I was ready to fly.

Dressed in graduation robes, I mounted the stage when the headmistress called my name. It reminded me of my first day at Hogwarts, during the Sorting Ceremony. Sternly, she handed me my graduation scroll. It was funny how much of my future that piece of paper determined. She shook my hand tersely, and I climbed down.

But there something different about me, now that I held that scroll.

I was done at Hogwarts. My time there was over.

After she had finished handing out graduation scrolls, she led us outside. To the edge of the Black Lake. And, in a symbolic manner, she sent us off in rowboats. Just as we had arrived as first years.

It was the end, but it was also the beginning.

I shared a boat with James and Fred. Holding James' hand, I smiled at him. "Can you believe it?"

"We did it!" he cheered. "We're done."

Nodding, I leaned into him.

"Don't be mad, Rose."

"About what?"

"Out boat is going to flip."

Just then, the rowboat began to rock back and forth. I stared at him, eyes widening. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Too late."

And all of the graduated students were dumped into the waters of the Black Lake. Splashing against the surface, it encased me, the cool water caressing my bare skin and soaking through my robes. Waving my arms, I pushed myself back up to the surface, James and Fred laughing hysterically.

"One last prank was called for," James said to me with a huge grin on his face.

I dunked his head, pushing his face underneath the water. "You twats!"

Gasping, he popped back up, splashing me playfully. "Sorry, love."

"You're not allowed to call me that anymore," I yelled, kicking water at him. "Potter!"