*Edited*

Aunt Marge below.

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Rosalie was sleeping peacefully in the closet, which was where her bedroom was. A single mattress with a flat pillow, and a thin blanket, it wasn't much. But, it did have a few shelves and such, and she owned a few odds and ends, which she kept stacked on the shelves.

Pounding erupted on the door, and her eyes slowly opened. "Wake up!" Aunt Marge called out, in between poundings.

She sat up. "I'm up," she called out, her voice thick with sleep, wishing that she was still asleep. However, Aunt Marge clearly had other plans, as she proceeded to give the door another good knocking on to ensure that she was awake, before the pounding faded, and footsteps faded away.

She pulled off her frilly pink nightgown, which was a hand-me-down from Aunt Marge when she was Rosalie's age. She pulled on a yellow shirt, and a long pink skirt. Both were slightly too big, and Aunt Marge had had to take the waist of the skirt in, to keep it from falling down. She despised the hand-me-downs she received, but didn't object as it was after all clothing, no matter what it looked like.

Rosalie brushed out her hair, which was a bright red. It did not match her aunt, whom had blonde hair that was quickly greying. They were often questioned if they were related. Whenever they went out together, they often gathered strange looks. Whenever someone asked about it, Aunt Marge simply said that she was adopted. So, she often received pity looks.

However, Rosalie supposed that it was true, in a way, since her parents had died in a riot. She had been there, which supposedly explained the scar on her right temple, beneath her hair. The only part that she did not understand was what caused the scar, or what caused the bright green flash of light. She thought she remembered wailing too, a bone-chilling wail that stuck with you forever.

She opened the door to the closet, closing it behind her as she exited. She walked to the kitchen, where she knew that she would have to cook breakfast. She had to every morning, even if she burned it, which occurred much more often than Aunt Marge would've preferred. It was amazing how long a child could cook and still manage to burn at least half of the meal, no matter what it was.

Sure enough, breakfast was sitting on the stove, waiting to be cooked. Bacon, eggs and toast, the normal breakfast in the household. The easiest to burn was the bacon, as she almost always forgot to flip them since she was usually focused on the eggs and toast for the majority of her time.

She was stirring the eggs and flipping the bacon, when Aunt Marge waddled in, followed by five of her twelve Bulldogs. They followed the woman around like ducklings do a mother duck, other than ducks were much cuter than Aunt Marge or her bulldogs.

She sat down at the table, scooting herself up a bit, before lifting a dog into her lap. She always are with at least one dog in her lap, which disgusted Rosalie, especially when drool splattered onto the table and plates, which the woman normally turned a blind eye towards.

Rosalie served Aunt Marge, before serving herself. She sat down in the only unoccupied chair, preparing to eat a breakfast she wasn't hungry for. Although she'd lived with Aunt Marge for as long as she could remember, she didn't like it any more than she did on day one. Sure, she'd grown used to the near constant routine, but that didn't mean that she liked it.

Aunt Marge fed bits of bacon to her dogs, which Rosalie thought wasn't helping their weight. They were already overweight, and Aunt Marge had been told by the dog's vet to watch their weight and what she fed them, but Aunt Marge always insisted that a bit on extra food here and there couldn't hurt them.

Rosalie kept her head low, quickly eating her toast. She stayed quiet, not offering any advice. The last time that had happened, Aunt Marge had locked the closet, not letting her out for several days. That seemed to be Rosalie's most common punishment, was being locked in the closet. Of course, she was fed regularly and often let out before Aunt Marge claimed she would be, since the woman hated to clean yet wanted everything in the house spotless.

"We're going to go pick up a birthday present for my nephew," Aunt Marge addressed her stiffly. Rosalie only nodded, seeing no reason to use her voice.

In town, Rosalie wasn't allowed to interact with anyone, in any way. The last time she did, when she handed a man his wallet after he dropped it, when she was eight, she was locked in the closet until the end of summer. Granted, the incident occurred with only a few weeks left until the end, but that wasn't exactly the point.

After breakfast, Rosalie cleaned up the kitchen while Aunt Marge wrestled with the fact she could only bring two dogs along. She'd often been contacted by different stores or stopped by managers and told she couldn't have so many dogs within their store, resulting in a good bit of complaining on her part while Rosalie remained silent, despising the stares they received from strangers.

Once she decided on which dogs to bring, Aunt Marge sat the two dogs in the seat next to her. Rosalie rode alone in the back, receiving sharp glance from Aunt Marge. She would receive warning looks for no reason other than simply existing, something Rosalie didn't understand at all. If she wasn't doing anything troublesome, then surely punishments weren't required.

Rosalie stared out of the window while idly fiddling with the hem of her outfit, bored out of her mind.

After about ten minutes of driving and yelling from Aunt Marge to other drivers, they finally pulled up to the store. Rosalie assisted Aunt Marge in hauling the dogs to the ground and putting them on their leash, which mostly consisted of her doing it herself, with Aunt Marge barking orders at her. Come to think of it, Rosalie wasn't too sure about the last time she'd seen the woman bend over while standing up, or at the very least crouch down.

They led the dogs into the store, where they promptly began barking at every animal in sight. Aunt Marge simply chuckled while the store associates shot them dirty looks. Rosalie wondered if the manager was going to be called again. He'd already been called once before when Aunt Marge brought five dogs with her, and then put up a fight against the employees when they confronted her about it.

Rosalie wrestled hers down down the food isle as Aunt Marge led hers to the toys.

"You're too fat; you need a diet," Rosalie grumbled as she held the leash firmly as the dog strained to follow Aunt Marge and the other dog. She finally lugged her way to their food, and she stared as she wondered how she was supposed to carry the food and the dog at the same time.

She finally wrapped the leash around both hands, gripping it tightly, and cradled the bag in her arms. Then, she allowed the dog to lead her to Aunt Marge.

"What in the world are you doing?" Aunt Marge exclaimed when she saw Rosalie. She deposited the bag into the cart Aunt Marge was pushing, and lifted the now calm dog into the seat.

"He wanted to follow you, so I had to do that," She explained.

Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes. "Hmph, I'm sure. Well, come along now."

"Don't we have grocery shopping? Rosalie questioned. Aunt Marge nodded. You'll go in; I'll stay with my babies."

Once they arrived at the store, Aunt Marge counted out the appropriate amount of money, and handed it to Rosalie. "Don't take too long," she warned her. "After this, we're going to go buy Dudley some presents."

All the better for Rosalie. She had never met Dudley, nor Aunt Marge's brother, Vernon and his family. She'd heard plenty of them, quite often hearing Aunt Marge on the phone with usually Vernon's wife but occasionally Vernon, usually gushing about Dudley. Personally, she didn't see the big deal about him. Perhaps he was a looker.

She bought everything rather quickly. She knew the routine, and was in and out in less than ten minutes. Aunt Marge nodded, satisfied, when she exited the store, weighed down by bags, just barely refraining from dragging them on the ground but the thought of being locked up stopped her.

After driving all over town, and entering over twenty stores, Aunt Marge finally settled on a VCR, a video camera, and three different computer games. Rosalie stared after her, wondering what made Dudley so special as to get five different presents from Aunt Marge. She wasn't completely sure, but she thought the normal amounted gifts was one, maybe two items.

She typically received the same gift every year; a can of dog treats. It was incredibly infuriating, as she had no use for them. She often was told to feed them to the dogs for no particular reason at all, which also clearly wasn't helping their weight.

When they arrived home, Aunt Marge led the two dogs back inside, while Rosalie struggled to balance everything in her arms as she walked inside. She just made it to the counter before plunking everything down, her arms feeling like noodles, unable to every lift anything again.

"Clean up the kitchen, it's a mess," Aunt Marge ordered her, maillot referring to the mess the dogs created while they were away. It was no shocker, either, as they often created messes for Rosalie to clean up.

She rolled her eyes. "No wonder, you own twelve dogs that aren't trained," she muttered, just out of Aunt Marge's hearing range. That was usually the highlight of her day, muttering smart comments just out of the woman's hearing range.

She scrubbed the floors down with vinegar, under Aunt Marge's orders. She didn't know why she couldn't use regular soap and water. It was a lot faster and much more convenient, and didn't leave the house smelling absolutely disgusting.

After she finished cleaning, Aunt Marge went to send the packages off. Rosalie stared at the few dogs in the kitchen, wondering what pushed Aunt Marge to adopt twelve dogs. She'd heard of the "crazy cat lady" everyone had in their lives, but perhaps Aunt Marge was the "crazy dog lady" in her life.

"Seems like an awful lot," she muttered to herself, turning away from the dogs. Her stomach rumbled, and she turned to the refrigerator, opening it. She'd just removed an apple and was closing the door when Aunt Marge's voice sliced through the air.

"Did I tell you that you could eat, you greedy child?"

R turned around slowly, finally facing Aunt Marge. She shook her head, and Aunt Marge reached for the apple. "No supper for you. Clearly you need to learn patience."

Rosalie felt anger bubble up in her stomach, and she questioned sharply, "Well, why not? I'm hungry; why can't I eat?"

Aunt Marge froze, turning to look at her, the apple clenched tightly in her grip. "Because I said so, that's why. You're only ten, about to be eleven in a few weeks. You're too young to know what you want."

"Five and a half weeks, thanks," Rosalie snapped furiously. "It's July thirty-first. Also, I think I know whether I'm hungry or not."

Aunt Marge grabbed her shirt lapel. "Who in the world do you think you are to talk to me in this way?" She barked.

Rosalie gritted her teeth. "I'm Rosalie, thanks for asking," she snarled. Just for once she wanted Aunt Marge to see how much Rosalie despised her.

Aunt Marge raised her hand to pop her cheek. Rosalie let out a noise somewhere between a cry and a yell, and a bulb burst behind them. They both froze as broken glass spilled onto them. She stared up at it in wonder, while Aunt Marge stood frozen. Incidents like this had happened before, but neither of them ever seemed to know the cause, although of course Rosalie was to blame every time. 

Finally, she gritted out, "Closet—go—stay."

Rosalie slipped from her grasp, darting away. A few of the dogs ran after her, but fell behind.

She slipped into the closet, pulling the door closet behind her. She sat down on her mattress just before she heard heavy steps. They paused outside of her door, and she heard the lock close. The footsteps faded away, and she lay back. She wondered why the bulb chose then to burst. It was an odd coincidence, considering her anger and her yell just as it burst.

There had been a few, only a few, occasions like that.

Once, she had been combing Aunt Marge's hair. She had grabbed a mirror to show her the hair, and when Aunt Marge remarked that it wasn't good at all, that she would need to start over, Rosalie clenched the brush so tightly it broke, and then Aunt Marge's hair caught on fire.

She didn't notice it at first, but when she did, she shrieked, leaping to her feet. Rosalie remained frozen in place, completely shocked. In the end, there had been no permanent damage, but Aunt Marge had not been quick to forget the accident.

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Rosalie stayed in her closet for a week. She was allowed out early because Aunt Marge was selling one of the bulldogs at the pet shop, and she needed someone to watch the dogs she owned. Their neighbor, Fubster, couldn't help her watch the dogs because he was on a vacation with his parents.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Don't do anything stupid, and watch my dogs. " Aunt Marge snapped.

Rosalie had nothing to do for the three hours that Aunt Marge was gone for. She simply watched television, but when she heard the car rumble up the driveway, she quickly turned it off. She was never supposed to watch television. Aunt Marge claimed it rotted your brain, but yet she watched it nearly round the clock.

It was dark outside when Aunt Marge walked in. "Go to your closet. Don't come out until morning."

Rosalie supposed that the adoption hadn't gone well, according to Aunt Marge's mood. She retreated to her closet, changing into her nightgown and curling up on the mattress, tugging the blanket up around her body. It was cold inside the closet, and the small blanket did little to warm her.

Finally, sleep overcame the cold, and she fell asleep.

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Aunt Marge ordered Rosalie to clean the house for the next couple of days. She obliged, taking soap and a sponge and water around the house. She started with the downstairs bathroom. Before long, the entire floor was coated in soapy water. Rosalie had no choice but to get soapy along with the bathroom. Aunt Marge was not happy about that.

"You're ruining the clothes that I gave you. Did it ever occur to you that I may have wanted those back?" Aunt Marge snapped. There was no point to the argument, though, because the clothes were way too small for Aunt Marge to ever try to wear them again.

"I'm sorry. I'll fix them." She continued to scrub the bathroom, while Aunt Marge finally left.

There was nothing left to do but clean, and that is what she did for the next couple of weeks, aside from some other small Aunt Marge came up with for her.