Authors Note: I've been thinking about this for a 'few' days, and I've got some time, so here we are. I'm writing this against my better judgment by the way. Oh yeah, and uh in the books Rosmerta has an accent (I believe it's a slight one, but it might not be) and well, I just remembered that the one in this ficcie doesn't have one! But anyway. Onwards.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

POV: Rosmerta waitress in Three Broomsticks


Rosmerta had an interesting life. And interesting, most of the time was the equivalent of 'difficult.'

They always assumed silly things about the fact that she was a waitress. Many a time she heard the customers say nasty things and as she stood there in her white blouse and black skirt with pockets she felt like crying. Crying for all the times that she had wanted something, and hadn't got it, and kept wanting.

'Maybe,' she mused, 'she'd always keep wanting.'

It wasn't as though she had the easiest life or anything, and it wasn't like she didn't have aspirations. She did.

"Daddy," the 'then' four-year-old girl with bouncy black curls addressed her Father, "when I get older, I'm going to be a princess."

"Are you?" The young man inquired looking up from the evening paper.

"Yes," the girl replied, "with a castle."

"That sounds-" and he chose his words very carefully "-lovely, Rose, absolutely lovely."

And he meant it, no matter how farfetched it was. For they lived in poverty, the worst of the worst, near Knockturn Alley, and sometimes the little girl would be up all night in her faded purple nightgown just listening to all the strange noises.

And she was so scared.

But Daddy needed his sleep, and Mummy had been up all night drinking coffee at an ancient café with her friends. In other words, people that she needed, in some way, for something. And the little girl knew this, for her Daddy was always honest with her.

And it was tough, and it hurt sometimes. But it was not awful. And she was so young then.

Sometimes she wondered what life was like, beyond the cottage with broken windows and behind the lemon colored lacey curtains. But she never wondered too much she knew, partly.

For Daddy was a Death Eater, and even Mummy knew. She was one as well. It wasn't a last resort, either, they wanted to do it, and so they did. It was their dream, their one true passion. And little Rosmerta silently knew that Mummy and Daddy didn't marry for love or money, they married because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted it as such. She wasn't sure how she knew, maybe it was the glances they gave each other in the crowded halls, or how Mummy was never home enough. But it didn't matter how she knew it, it mattered that she did.

But it didn't matter about her childhood, for all she had was now. At the age of nineteen she had married Henry Trey and how she justified that at the time, even she didn't know. It was a paradise based on longing and yearning, and wanting. She'd met him her first year at Hogwarts and the moment she laid eyes on him, she knew. What she knew, she had no clue, but she knew 'something' and 'something' was enough to tie her over for some time.

Rosmerta had the very clever strength of knowing what she wanted.

Henry Trey was a silly little boy who had this odd little thing about him. This thing of picking up the lonely people, and Rosmerta, who had never played with children of her own age, definitely qualified as 'the lonely.' The first time he saw her she was crying into the crook of her elbow muttering words of 'my Daddy' and 'sending me away' and 'miss him for always'

And how he fell in love with the little girl with the crimson cheeks and big cinnamon colored eyes, even he didn't know.

First it was a friendship, and then in her fifth year, his seventh they started dating. And then, it was just plain misery. But misery often disguises itself in wonderfulness and so it was. And it was nothing terribly special, at the time; they were both two silly teenagers with nothing but 'tomorrow' to look forward to. She loved him though, and that was all that mattered.

She married Henry as soon as she got out of Hogwarts and nothing was ever perfect but it was "good enough." He worked as a Healer in St. Mungos and worked lengthy hours. They lived in a quiet cottage very near Hogsmeade and they had the lacey strawberry jam colored curtains, and the big bed with flannel sheets and oak headboard. And they had it all, in some way of speaking.

Her Mother and Father were not so very happy about the whole ordeal and as her Mother put it "rubbish" but she loved him, and she was in love with him, and goodness gracious they were 'happy.'

"He treats me like a Princess, Daddy," she told him.

"That's good," he said as he took a bite of buttered crumpet.

"And what about the castle?" He asked.

"We don't have the castle," she said signaling to the cottage, "but it's okay, isn't it?"

"It's okay, Rose," he said, "it's okay."

But secretly, he'd always wanted more for his little girl.


La Fin