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── IN WHICH SERVER DUTIES ARE PASSED ON
. . .
Rosie had been living in Hogsmeade for all of two days when Rosmerta approached her to properly talk about the ins and outs of her stay there. Unbeknownst to the younger blonde, one of her mother's terms was that she was to become a barmaid-waitress hybrid in order to stay in the small room above the Three Broomsticks.
She had no choice to accept the position - after all she had taken the time to unpack and personalise the plain, practically matchbox-sized room. Posters of the Holyhead Harpies, the Fluff-Winged Hippogriffs and and The Hobgoblins now adorned the walls, the plain bedsheets had been swapped for a patchwork quilt that her grandma had made her, wardrobe filled with her various different clothes, shoes lined up by the door.
Her books had been stacked up on her desk and on the shelf above it, family pictures and a muggle alarm clock sat beside the lamp on her bedside table, and more plants joined the one on the windowsill and all around the room.
Small little knick-knacks of hers now joined every surface, her bag thrown above the wardrobe, her coats hung on the pegs on the back of the door, a patchwork cushion matching her quilt pillowing the wooden chair by the desk.
It was rather incredible how much she had managed to fit in the small bag, but with an extendable charm anything was possible, really. And now that she had unpacked, it would be a real pain for her to get it all back in there, charmed or not.
So, she had agreed to work as whatever Rosmerta wanted to call it, agreed to serve pints of butterbeer to people visiting the village, those who inhabitied it, to kids her age every Hogsmeade visit to only remind her further of what she could have had if Rhonda had just gotten over whatever problems she had and let her live a normal life.
But that second Saturday she was there hadn't been an allotted Hogsmeade visit - Rosmerta had a list of weekends on which they would be on pinned up in her office - yet Rosie was stood behind the bar, eye trained on a booth at the back of the inn.
A booth in which four boys, all of which she recognised from their school visit the previous Sunday, were sat in. Four boys who had most certainly snuck out of the castle that evening, for some odd reason.
"They do it all the time. I stopped asking questions." Aunt Rosmerta appeared behind her, palm flattened over Rosie's tapping fingers. "Two of them are as rich as anything, you could be in for a nice tip if they get drunk enough."
"I forgot how loose your morals were compared to mum." Rosie hummed, sliding her hand outside of her aunt's grasp, and instead using it to discreetly push away the glass half-full with amber coloured liquid, the settling it inches away. "How rich, would you say?"
"Did your mother eventually give up trying to tame her and your hair with some strange mixture of herbs?" Raisa began, waving away the strange look that Rosie gave her. "Just be patient, did she give up?"
"Yeah, now we use that Sleekeazy stuff when it gets unmanageable." Rosie shrugged, hand self conciously reaching up to the blonde curls. "Why?"
"The one in the middle - no not the one with the scars - the one with the glasses and dark hair. That's James Potter, son of Fleamont Potter, the-"
"Famous potioneer and creator of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion." Rosie cut off her aunt. "Without the distraction of going to school you tend to over obsess over things. When we got it for the first time I did everything I could to research it."
"Yes, well that's his father. And the one of the other side of the small blonde one is none other that Sirius Black." Raisa smiled, as Rosie's eyes flashed. "You know what happened with his family right?"
"Of course I do. Sirius Black being sorted into Gryffindor was the pureblood gossip for several years running. You talked about it with Grandpa last time you came for Christmas." Rosie's expression was placid, but Raisa new exactly what her neice was insinuating.
"I apologise for it being so long ago." Madam Rosmerta said gently, before her tone changed. "They're looking over - they want a refill, come on, now is your time to shine, Rosie!"
"Time to shine? What are you expecting me to convince one of them to let me marry into their fortune?" The girl's eyebrows were raised as she took the notepad and quill off of her aunt, who let out a tinkling laugh before turning her away and pushing her towards the exit of the bar. "I wasn't joking." Rosie shook her head, clearing her throat as she approached the table.
"Good evening, my name is Rosie and I believe my aunt has just made me your server for the night, what can I get you?"
