A/N: Sorry this has taken aggessss. I've been slipping back into my social-recluse tendencies, which isn't as great as it sounds, actually. But anyways, as I said before, this is my first time ever writing nextgen and it's a bit harder than I previously imagined. I'm coping however. So please enjoy and thank you all for your lovely comments and fantastic pm's. They definitely keep me going!

Fyi, I have the habit of switching between American spellings and British, please bear with me. I don't mean to, it just happens!

Special thanks to ThePaperBagPrincess, a.k.a the Beccanator, or just Becca. She's awesome and is helping me a lot with this!

Another special thanks goes out to SKINNYxLOVE, a.k.a Hannie. Her words meant/mean a lot too!

Everyone else, as I said before, thanks!

The lyrics are part of my inspiration for this chapter! And yes I realise that they say man and roxanne clearly isn't a man! I'm thinking man however in terms of mankind, which to use man to refer to the whole of humanity is a rant for another day! ;) Also, I may change the name of this story. Simplify it.

Six Months Later. . .

Weep for yourself, my man,

You'll never be what is in your heart

Weep, little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start

"Little Lion Man" - Mumford and Sons

Roxanne sucked gingerly on the fag hanging between her lips, the smoke flooded her senses, and she breathed a slight sigh of relief. Today was the day for boarding the Hogwarts express to return home for summer holidays, which Roxanne was not looking forward to.

It had been six months, almost to the exact date, since that fateful January day when everything in the Weasley household had imploded. Three months since she'd seen her father, and almost a full two since she'd even sent her mum an owl. As much as she tried to prepare herself for her return home, the only thing that seemed to take the edge off of walking through a lifeless house was the fag in hand. It took a lot to make Roxanne strike a match to light the disgusting stick of poison that hung limply between her lips. She was not proud of herself in the slightest for the habit she'd so woefully adopted; but smoking – smoking cleared her thoughts, even if only for a few moments. So much weighed down the young Gryffindor's mind constantly that she barely ever had time to breath.

Prior to those six months, Roxanne had never considered exactly how much she relied on the lively, energetic, and chaotic humdrum of the everyday Weasley-way to survive. Usually semi-organised chaos and confusion were the bane of her existence; she was more the quiet, observant type. Now, however, as she hurriedly stomped her cigarette out (making sure to slice her hand through the air to insure that the smoke dissipated) she couldn't help but to view them as old welcomed friends.

Chaos meant that her dad was working on something for his shop that would no doubt end in an explosion, and then laughs. Energetic meant that not a moment of Roxanne's time would be spent sitting; her time would be split between running quidditch drills with Fred, helping her mum with odds and ends, and experimenting with her dad's product. Lively meant that there'd be arguments with her brother, eye rolls at her father, and sneaky double-teaming, boys against the girls, with her mum.

But now, as the shrill screech of brakes halting, followed by puffs of white smoke, rolled into Hogsmeade, Roxanne dreaded returning home. There would be no chaos, no energy, and no life, just Roxanne, and Angelina.

Truth be told, Roxanne wasn't certain what to expect when she walked through the door to her house.

Since she'd returned to Hogwarts, she'd tried, unsuccessfully, to put everything behind her. All she had wanted was to forget about her parents marriage disintegrating; forget the night that she'd crawled into bed next to her crying mother; forget the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach that was accompanied by a physical ache in her chest any time she tried to fathom just exactly what she'd witnessed. George had never outright admitted to cheating, but then again neither Roxanne nor Angelina had given him much of a chance to explain.

But instead of returning to Hogwarts and being able to for a small moment forget that her family was unraveling at the seams, Roxanne, instead, had been dealt a cruel hand of cards. Life at the castle wasn't the safe haven she'd imagined it to be.

Things had happened, bad things.

"ALL ABOARD!" the conductor of the Hogwarts express shouted, his voice breaking the monotonous scenarios of 'what if' that had taken slumber in Roxanne's head. She blinked a few times and sighed, her petite frame felt like solid stone as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder, grabbed the handle of her rolling trunk, and headed toward the train.

Once inside her eyes fell on an empty compartment, right off to her left, but before she had the chance to siege the space she found herself, along with her luggage, being shoved to her right. She turned her head, her long dark waves crowding her eyes, to hiss at whomever decided to shove her, and was met with the sight of a bouncy blonde, followed by a smiling red head.

"Roxie, where have you been?" the voice of Dominique Weasley, a buxom blonde with bright blue eyes, who happened to be one of Roxanne's many cousin, chimed.

Roxanne angled her neck upward and bit down on her bottom lip, then shrugged; talking – to anyone – wasn't something she really wanted to do right now.

"And why do you smell like smoke?" Rose Weasley, a bright red-head, with deep brown eyes who was another one of Roxanne's many cousins, added, coming to stand next to Dominique. She placed a hand on her hip, and waited expectantly for an answer. While she wasn't as tall as Dominique, Rose was still just a smidge taller than Roxanne, who now stood between both her cousins, not a sound slipping from her pink, naturally pouty lips. She didn't feel much like talking; hadn't really in months.

"You're not smoking, are you, Rox? You wouldn't be stupid enough to light one of those nasty things. Mum says that they rot your insides. I'm still trying to stop Al from lighting them up. Don't tell me I have to add you to the list, too?" Rose chirped on.

Roxanne parted her lips, looking for something to say, anything to say if it meant she'd no longer have to hear Rose's voice. At times, though Roxanne loved her cousin to death, the red head had the annoyingly persistent habit of being a know-it-all.

"No, Rosie, I'm not . . . promise," Roxanne lied, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't feel like talking, speaking, gossiping –doing whatever Dominique and Rose had dragged her away from the empty compartment to do. All she truly wanted was to be left alone.

"Better not be, it's a truly disgusting habit to obtain, Roxanne. Highly addictive, too. Not to mention plain out revolting. It would be simpler to swallow ashes from the fire . . ."

Not one to ever be bothered with trivial things, Dominique pushed a piece of blonde hair out of her face and shrugged, then playfully rolled her eyes at Rose's words, dismissing them before speaking again. Of course she changed topics (not many things garnered Dominique's attention unless some way, some how they involved her) – and for once, Roxanne was grateful that her cousin was a bit of an airhead; it meant that conversation topics changed frequently.

"Can you believe it? We're sixth years now! Me, you, Rosie, Al, two more years, and then we're done!"

Roxanne nodded, a forced smile stretched across her lips as Dominique slung an arm around her shoulders on her right side, and then Rose linked arms with her on her left. The 5'1 brunette with dark eyes, tan skin, and brown waves of hair began to feel like a rag doll as her cousins led her into a different compartment, away from the one she knew that she would have found solace in.

Longingly Roxanne stared at the compartment door that sat between solitude and her cousins. Rose unhooked their arms and entered first; Roxanne followed, not having many options of escape considering Dominique still had an arm around her shoulders. Finally Dominique let her go, and with a small shove ushered her toward a seat. With a thud, Roxanne slammed her foot into her luggage cart she still dragged along side her, a sharp pain shot through her foot, and she groaned. Grace had never been Roxanne's strength.

Thanks, Dom . . . she growled inaudibly.

"Sixth year, then seventh year, and then I am off to Pair-reeeeee!" Dominique spoke, not even registering Roxanne's groan and clear displeasure. Her tone was bright, and gleeful as she turned around, stepped around Roxanne's trunk, and took the seat opposite the side where Roxanne stood, next to Rose.

Roxanne sat, slapping her bag down next to her, and aside from the pain in her foot, she felt numb, as if saying anything would do more harm than good, even in idle chitchat.

"Papa isn't too opened to the idea of me going off to be a model. Maman is proud, though slightly worried. She thinks I can't take care of myself, hmmmph. I can take care of myself – I'm not Louis. He can barely tie his own shoes . . ."

"At least Louis is somewhat self-sufficent, Dom," Rose's voice sounded from the corner. Not even twenty minutes into the train ride and she already had a book open and on her lap.

"Poor Hu, he's fourteen years old. I don't think he's ever going to grow out of asking Mum for help. Such a baby. But I can't wait. I know I scored all O's on my O.W.L.S; next year I'll prepare for my N.E.W.T.S, then after that I'm auror training. . . "

The conversation continued to bounce back and forth between the bubbly blonde and bright redhead all the while Roxanne sat in silence. Every now and then her mind would wander to her own brother. Next time she saw Fred she was going to sock him, right in the stomach – or perhaps lower – for leaving her to pick up the pieces of a broken life.

"What about you, Rox, what are you going to do?" Rose's voice shook her from her thought, and Roxanne shrugged; she said the first thing that came to mind having barely been cognizant of the conversation at hand.

"Haven't thought about it, guess dad's joke shop isn't really an option at the moment," she painfully joked, her words straining slightly as she glazed by the word dad.

The news of George and Angelina's demise had spread like a wildfire through the Weasley ranks and Roxanne knew that her family did not want to take sides in the matter, though some clearly had. Usually Roxanne staved off mentioning her dad and mum whenever it was possible. The pitying glances, and apologies weren't the highlight of her day.

Rose's brown eyes went wide and a look split between a grimace and an awkward apologetic smile stretched across her face.

And this, witches and wizards, is why human contact and myself don't go hand and hand right now. Roxanne mentally berated herself, her own brown eyes meeting Rose's in hopes of signaling to her cousin that she was okay - even if she wasn't.

Rose parted her lips to speak, no doubt in some form of attempted comfort, but stopped short; she had no idea what to say.

Sorry my parents' crumbling marriage is affecting you, Rose?

A rough silence fell between the two and quickly Roxanne averted her gaze to the glass window. She watched as the landscape shifted and the train pushed on.

Thirty minutes into holiday and things weren't going too well.

"Do you really want to work in the shop?" Dominique started, oblivious to the tension currently hanging in air; she'd pulled out a compact mirror and was currently applying mascara to her eyelashes.

"I mean, Papa says that Uncle George didn't do what Aunt Ang is saying, but really – isn't it awkward being around him? I know I couldn't look my Papa in the eye if he ever slept with another woman. Not that I'd have to look him in the eye. Maman would probably cut his eyes out – she threatened to cut out Louis's if she ever caught him watching Victoire's friends dress. . ." Dominique added; she never was one for subtly.

Though she'd been starring at the glass pane while the blonde spoke, Dominique's words still hit Roxanne like a tone of bricks. It was like a cold hand against her beating heart, hearing out-loud what had been in her head for months. How would she interact with her father for the next three months, knowing what she knew? Hollow tears pooled in Roxanne's eyes and she took a deep breath, her face still turned toward the glass.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she whispered, her voice wavered ever so slightly. Suddenly her vision was clouded with images of shattered class, a pleading George Weasley, and a crying Angelina. Abruptly she stood, nicking her foot once more on the trunk on the ground in front of her. She almost fell, but caught herself last minute, then headed to the compartment door.

"Want me to go with you, Roxie?" Rose called out as Roxanne took off, but Roxanne was already pulling the sliding door shut from the other side.

-tbc-