(ps. i don't know why I never changed this but mentally I've been seeing Jade as black German Shepard and couldn't bring myself to imagine a Doberman so...also this chapter will be annoyingly descriptive of the house, but it's important<3)

third person pov

flashback

Grimmauld is a haunted house, a place full of ghosts and clouded memories.

From the trail of family portraits in the hall, one's of generations before, and one's of a young girl with raven braids, stuck in between two aging grandparents. Two people who held themselves high and mighty, their jeweled hands seeming to kindly grasp the stormy-eyed child, unless you looked hard enough and saw the nails digging in. It didn't make the portraits any less intimidating though, crude and obvious fearsome faces staring into the soul of the camera, Walburga and Orion Black's daunting presence radiating through the framing.

The entry way has always had creaky wooden floors, a reminder of the promise for every Black family to live here until another generation came along, sullen overtime by the footsteps running through. It never quite made sense to outsiders, why a family so wealthy and holding so many extravagant properties chose to live in their townhome, but there is a reason.

A stupid one.

Tradition.

Even now, in the darkened hallway, as Rosalie Black runs her fingers down the black painted walls, she feels the ghosts ridiculing her. Passing generation after generation of families, none appearing happier than the other, if anything getting worse each time. Dying tortuous deaths, losing their minds, being betrayed by loved ones—a tragic history behind every Black's eyes.

Even people in the pureblood societies, and daily prophet, dubbed a name for it all overtime; the Black family madness. Or, the Black family curse.

Rose almost scoffs at the idea, but there's a sinking feeling, the one you get when you stand to close to a cliff and feel the dirt giving away. After all, she is nothing but if not her last name, and a girl can only outrun fate for so long.

There's no light in the home, no crackling fire in distant rooms, or footsteps above.

Only Rose, stopping in front of where the family portraits run off and her singular portraits begin, the ones that Walburga had taken from the age of one and so on. Just her standing incredibly still, and the lingering feeling that someone is behind her.

She turns her eyes to the ground and shoves froward through the hall. Unable to bare it, to watch herself in film grow up over the years. The only pictures Walburga and Orion let her smile for, now existing as an awful reminder that even they had some good left in them.

That they had loved her, in some form.

Or maybe they didn't, and it was all some twisted game.

Rose's therapist once said people picked up a habit of blocking parts of their childhood out, trying to mull the ache of what really happened that only walls will ever truly know about.

She disagrees.

Able to remember everything. From the dining room table her fingers glide across to rid of dust, to the carpet under feet as she enters the lounge, parts her hidden into the cracks of the couches. No matter how desperately she wished to not remember by avoiding the pictures, it's impossible. The smell of burnt wood and honey, the feel of her boots smushing the carpet, every centimeter of this place brings a million memories at once.

For a second Rose swears she smells Whitman's pancakes, and hears the soft chatter of their friends except much years younger, even her rumbling footsteps rushing down to greet guests.

But then it's the smell of Walburga's perfume as she raises her wand to Rose's face for the first time at the age of six. It comes in a wave, washing over her limbs and Rose has to grasp the doorway to keep herself upright—the beating of her heart kicking into high gear after smelling something she hasn't in so long.

As if the universe knows she cannot handle such, everything shifts. And instead of smelling the perfume, Rose feels the warm touch of Walburga's fingers threading her hair into braids with stories of greatness, and then feels the embrace of Walburga's arms as she cries over something as silly as a boy.

In an mocking turn of events, she is reminded of the truth, of how fucked up this house truly is.

Either way, it's all too overwhelming, and Rose forces herself to trudge up the staircase. Making sure to avoid looking at her old room or Whitman's, knowing she would never have enough strength for that.

She doesn't bother wiping her eyes when walking into the library, now half-empty from the books taken to the new home, just continues heading toward the back shelves despite the fact her legs wish to give out.

At the very back, the last shelf on the right, Rose finds exactly what she had come looking for. There's lines, in thick but colorful ink, marking the wooden panel, tracking the groups heights from the age of five to fifteen. Theo, in the shade of blue, who grew faster than anyone. She sniffles upon touching the hateful note next to his line at eleven, when Whitman and Draco were angry that he had surpassed them. A knife, a dull knife, slices into her gut as Rose realizes she had drawn hearts to each of Theo's lines.

Whitman, in shades of black and gray, who surprisingly kept up with Theo after the age of twelve. Blaise, with the color purple, who seemed to lag behind for a few years before hitting a major growth spurt at the same time as Draco.

Oh, Draco...

She blows out a long breath when it comes time to trace his green lines, one's that had been marked with hearts after he got jealous of what Rose did for Theo. Of course, the symbols stop after the age of thirteen for him, another reminder of their time playing enemies.

In refusal to check her own lines, Rose sinks to the floor, spine pressing against the wood holding a million more memories. Only now does she realize how badly her body shakes, the shell she needs to become to escape this awfully dreadful feeling.

Maybe it's because she never had more than a few days in this house before returning to Hogwarts after Walburga passed, or maybe it's the image of Orion hanging in the tapestry room finally hitting her—but everything keeps coming and coming.

In all actuality, Rose hates this place.

Hates it so much her teeth grind together.

Because this panel behind her is one of the only good things, and those stupid memories of Walburga being wholesome downstairs are a lie. A short second in the span of years full of tortuous pain. A fairytale she tried to focus on, and convince herself none of the bad was real.

More than anything, Rose hates Orion and Walburga for making her despise a place that was supposed to be home. For making her unable to breath or sleep at night in her own room anymore, for abandoning her in the midst of chaos.

It rushes by her vision in different flashes, almost like a movie playing out on a led screen.

Orion standing motionless in the corner as Walburga raises her wand and leaves Rose screaming. Orion's hand going across her face after he had too much to drink and he suddenly remembered she did something wrong weeks ago. There's Walburga and Orion screaming, glass shattering on the floor below as they fight and Rose cradles her pillow over her ears at seven. Now she's ten, and trying to run out of the house, scream for help as Walburga chases her down and forces her right back into the tapestry room for another punishment. Twelve, and wondering why her grandmother is forcing to continue losing weight. Eight, and laying in a hospital bed after Walburga got too angry. Thirteen, and being forced to duel into her limbs give out. Fourteen, being reminded she has to become a weapon. Fifteen, with an oxygen mask keeping her alive and a tube down her throat—

"Ro?" whispers Whitman, a shake to his voice as he kneels in front of the girl, hands grabbing onto her knees. He didn't know it, but his words snapped her out of the never ending thoughts.

She lifts her head. Looks him straight in the eye with trembling lips, "I can't leave." She whispers hoarsely, "I—I can't do it."

Whitman presses forward, his chest pushing into her knees, cradling her wet cheeks in between his fingers. It's hard to know what to say, because now he realizes what's happening, and what she's thinking. "Yes you can." He finally manages, "You have nothing to be sorry for, especially not for leaving this place behind."

There's something bittersweet about leaving your childhood home, even more so when you don't experience love there. It's almost like you have to hold on, that you aren't granted the blissful permission of letting go as others would. Like there's unfinished business, as if you still have to figure out a way to find love in between the molding of the house.

Rose leans into his touch, whether it be weakness, or how comforting that he out of all people were in front of her. She turns her gaze up to the ceiling, and exhales. "This house is so fucked up." She mumbles, "I hate it here, and I hate them for making me hate this entire city."

"You know..." Whitman begins, "It wasn't me, or any of the others. You did it all on your own, and you can do this too." She drags her teary gaze back to him, relaxing against the wood as his fingers move to tuck her hair behind both ears. "Nothing has to be suddenly perfect, but you can leave it all behind, and you don't have to explain a single thing to anyone, including to me. It's time to say goodbye to this chapter, okay?"

"What if I can't do it?" She asks.

"Then I'll hold your hand, and walk through it with you." He answers, so simply put but with so much weight behind every syllable.

present day, summer of 1995

London.

How Draco Malfoy loathes it.

He didn't always feel this way. He can easily remember being young and finding solace in between the isles of bookshops, museums laid together, painting shops that made his eyes twinkle at artwork he could never quite make; so many beautiful things. There used to be very few Wizarding cars then.

Now there are a million.

All zooming down the streets never meant for so many. Wizarding London was much different than that of the muggle's, cobblestone and narrow; full of lively witches in colorful robing. Chattering flowing from pubs with skull heads that granted you entrance, kids running down the paved sidewalk to catch up to their parents.

But these cars ruin it all, the ones traveling from all the globe for holiday, intruding on the once familiar chaotic city. Draco doesn't understand why anyone would want to visit for holiday in England. There's places like Rome, Italy, France, Spain, and so forth. England is amazing in his eyes, but not when it comes to experiencing sand beneath your feet or a salty breeze.

To Draco, there's really no excuse for such idiotic choices. Wizards and witches were not fully constricted by money and travel like the muggles, able to take a pencil and turn the object into a tent. Camp out by the sea, experience all of the world's different cultures.

Of course, they aren't doing that though.

They are here, in his beautiful little city, with their loud cars and annoyingly tuned horns honking. Disturbing families, the stray animals, and clogging up traffic.

But there isn't anything Draco can do. So, he simply flicks his pointer finger to rid the cigarette he's been smoking of heavy ash. Making a split decision to stay leaning on the sharp edge of a bricked building he has no interest in looking up to see the name of.

He watches on with annoyance at the commotion, noticing the sun still high up in the sky; wavering close to the crest of tall bell tower.

Traffic halts, and people start crossing the street in a massive flood, but it's impossible for him to miss Blaise Zabini in all of his tall glory. Appearing as the poster child of old money and nepotism, his classic summer go-to; a white button down that the boy could never be bothered to fully button, along with beige pants which the shirt stayed loosely tucked into.

Draco doesn't like how similar they have dressed, eerily almost matching down to a T. The only difference is Malfoy's choice of all black clothing, and while Blaise's fingers and wrists stay draped in gold, Draco's were covered in silver.

Either way, they both look like cunts.

But something's off, Blaise isn't crossing the street with an easygoing smirk. And when he manages to make it over to Draco, there is no smile of greeting.

Almost instantly the Malfoy decides he does not like this, not Blaise of all people being a shell of himself. Contrary to what the world might believe, Draco wanted to shake Blaise until he smiled again, until his eyes filled with life.

The world would be too bleak without his joy.

Not that Draco would ever tell him such though.

The blonde pulls his cigarette out. "What awful event has wrecked you today? Is it your mother or her upcoming wedding?"

"I'm fine." says Blaise, joining him on leaning against the brick. He takes a short inhale before switching his eyes to the left. "Why do you smell of a floral shop? Been rolling in a garden recently?"

Draco grumbles at that, crudely inspecting the half-smoked tobacco. "Rosie wasn't able to go have our usual lunch with the elves at her floral shops, had to go eat with them alone." He sighs. "She's got me eating with elves and paying them for a service, bloody ridiculous the man I've become, eh?"

Finally, Blaise huffs out a laugh. "How the mighty fall," He nudges their shoulders together. "Hand me that."

"Might as well have fallen into the soil of the earth," Draco exclaims, before shoving the cigarette into Blaise's awaiting hand.

Zabini hums in reply, and takes a long drag. Blowing out a cloud of smoke that immediately whips away. His lips turning up to the blonde, "Say...you sit in those tiny chairs she got made for the elves as well when you eat? Or, is it a throne you sit on to keep your semblance of superiority?"

Draco looks to him, really looks to him, and now no longer wishes to see him smile. Only wants to witness Blaise falling face first into the concrete. "I should shove you in front of one of the blasted cars."

Blaise's groans, eyes lifting to the clear blue sky. "For Merlin's sake, don't get started on the fucking cars!"

"They're everywhere!" Draco suddenly shouts, dramatically gesturing ahead. "I mean—how can anyone bare such madness?!"

"You're like a grumpy old man," Blaise decides while pointing the smoking paper in front of Draco's face. "You need to go sit in a garden where you won't be bothered, or able to complain."

"Sounds perfect actually." Draco huffs, "Where the fuck is Theo at? You know, he could try to be on time considering he has the port key and—"

"He's right there, don't know why he's all dressed up though." Blaise interrupts, confusedly looking where he had just crossed the street. Theo is in fact coming their way, but he's walking with such ease it's as if he has all the time in the world.

Now, it's the choice of clothing that makes both boys share a confused glance.

He's in a pristine black suit except there's no button down, only a white tee tucked into the slacks, and brown paper bag swinging from his finger tips.

Theo scoffs upon arrival in front of the two. "Should I punch the both of you? Would it make you stop looking at me like that?"

Blaise and Draco share a look before the blonde speaks, "Where have you been?"

"The ministry, and then had to go get Ro some lighter fluid. Wait—why am I being questioned?"

"Didn't know why you were wearing a suit on a summers day," says Blaise, almost lifelessly.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Couldn't be bothered to put on a proper shirt for the ministry?"

Theo's lips curve into a smirk. "For the people who imprisoned me, an innocent man? By the way, I look rather fit."

"You sure do." Blaise coughs out between a puff, reaching to pat the boy's shoulder in support. "The minister giving you trouble again?"

"Not at all, think Ro ruined the man's mental health. My father wanted me to go with to pick up a new artifact, obviously had to get dressed for it and I didn't have time to go home after."

Draco blinked, and then blinked. "Your father? Took you with him?"

Theo waves Draco off. "Ah, he's been surprisingly nice since me and Ro tortured him—think I scared him pretty bad that night. Ro had to make me stop or I would've killed him, you know? She's been teaching me this thing too, and it freaks him out, where I can use my seer abilities to predict someone's next move in dueling and—"

"Slow down!" Draco cuts in confusedly, "You guys tortured him?!"

"Old news." Theo shrugs, reaching into his inner suit pocket. "Happened at the beginning of summer. You guys ready to go?"

Blaise looks to Draco, neither noticing the clothed object Theo pulled out. "Is he going to act like he didn't just say that?"

In an instant, Theo's snapping. "It was neither of your business how I handled my father. He ruined months of Ro's life and mine, said awful things to her and I just—it felt good to make him hurt."

"Okay, you cunt." says Draco, "What did that loon say about Rosie? Should we go for round two?"

Theo shakes his head. "Now that, that isn't my place to tell" He pulls the cloth down the golden coin, still holding on where his fingers don't dare touch the gold. "So....considering how happy she was when buying the place, I'm thinking Victorian mansion? Gothic castle?"

Blaise pushes off the wall. "She really hasn't given you two any hints that you've been hiding from me?"

Draco eyes the coin. "None, refusing to tell us anything. You know her and Whit have spent a month going back and forth to the new place, moving in and all that." He says, "You know as much as us. I'm assuming it's somewhere on the coast of England, she's been wanting to be near water for some time now."

"Well then," says Blaise, "Let's get going, yeah? We haven't had a sleepover in weeks because them fools moving."

Theo pulls the coin back. "I don't know about you, but I've had plenty with Ro over the past few weeks."

Draco adds on, "Me too."

"Separately though, yeah?" Blaise raises an eyebrow. "Don't look so surprised, Rose tells me everything. How you two have been have been acting? Refusing to see her kiss the other? Pulling her back and forth? Get over yourselves and whatever pathetic egotistical need you have to be possessive."

Silence falls upon them, uncomfortably shifting at the spiteful words. Neither really knew if how they'd acted had hurt her in the process, too happy to have her for themselves. There is growing pains in every relationship, even the most mundane of situations, and especially in a rare one they held. There was no instruction manual or other examples of their relationship to look at, or a way to really make the possessiveness just disappear into thin air.

It would be a long, long process.

"Let's go." Theo mutters, holding out the coin, and finally pressing his thumb to the shiny surface. No one speaks another word as the two others press a finger next to his own. All of the sudden being zapped through time and space, twisting, and getting more of a headache than ever came normally when using a port key.

Their feet land on plush ground within seconds, and before any can manage to open their eyes they are met with such a drastic change of heat from London. The warmth smacking against their cheeks and each limb like a fresh wake up call. Theo's view is obstructed by two bodies infront of him, their brows pinched together as they stared behind his shoulders.

Draco stared at the grassy hill, seeing nothing behind the top besides a blaring sun which is increasingly closer to setting behind the hill than it was in England. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Get out of my way," Theo pushes the two boys without giving them a chance to move. His eyes blowing wide instantaneously, the reaction making the others halt their scan of the hills.

"What—" Blaise's words run off as he turns around with Draco, being welcomed with the most confusing sight in the world.

Equally being struck by the quaintness of the home in front of themselves. A fresh green lawn leads straight to the age-old stones that stack together in shades of beige and white, creating a classical siding that screams France. The asymmetrical French windows catch their eyes, with two on the bottom and four up top, each open for the summer breeze to flow inside. To an average human being this house is beautiful, enough space to be cozy, and definitely expensive. But of course, under the gaze of three men who live in manors with thirty bedrooms, it's a cottage, or a Hubble.

The longer they take in the scene, their eyes are being drawn to the right side of the home, where a field of wildflowers grows at towering heights, in all different hues of the rainbow.

Then, as if in sync, the three men turn their heads to the left side of the home, where cypress and fig trees cling to the walls, the same field of wildflowers spreading out behind each tree trunk. The scent of cypress and fig wafts over, and none can't help but feel a sense of peace as they take it all in.

But the detail that stands out the most is the Mediterranean sea directly behind the property. The sinking sun casts a warm glow on everything it touches, and the group knows in that moment that they are no longer in England.

Blaise snaps out of it first, latching onto Theo's arm. "Where the fuck are we?!"

"Well," Theo shrugs. "The sun is way closer to setting than in England...that ocean is the Mediterranean Sea and, um, the architecture is French?" His head turns to Blaise. "South of France, I guess?"

"France?!" Draco gawks. "No, no way." He points a finger toward the home. "You see that? It's a Hubble! Tiny, tiny! Rosie would never!"

Theo goes to scratch the back of his neck. "Well...it is too tiny. But Ro wouldn't mess up a port key, and she did always say she wanted to leave the country, yeah?"

"She messed it up alright," Blaise mutters, "You think the girl who just single-handedly inherited a fortune moved....here?"

They are undoubtedly, in every possible way, being dramatic. The house is beautiful, and definitely expensive.

After deliberating for five minutes, the boys decided to use a portkey that Draco had always kept for his own house. As their overlapping voices died down, the top-rounded front door swung open, but they didn't take note of it until they heard a powerful dog bark.

Their sentences instantly stop as they turn around to see Jade running full speed toward them, her fluffy black coat shining in the daylight. It was then that they realized, in a moment more shocking than when they first arrived, that this house was not owned by strangers. But, was in fact the home Rose had bought.

Jade jumps onto Theo's chest and begins licking his chin, and when their eyes lift from the dog to Whitman standing in the doorway calling her back, the realization hits them like a ton of bricks.

In a flash Jade whirls around, darting straight back into the open door that Whitman instantly goes to close after, stepping onto the cement stairs. As if too stunned to speak, the three boys wordless walk toward him.

"What the...fuck?" says Theo, on the second they arrive in front of Whitman.

"I know, I know," Whitman huffs out a laugh at their expression. Then, brings his voice down, "She had to wait about thirty minutes for my shock to subside when I first came weeks ago, but let me show you guys everything before you attack Ro about her decision."

The three boys share hesitant nods before Whitman pushes open the front door, all three following into a warm and inviting kitchen. To the left, they see two farmhouse sinks, adorned with an array of pots hanging from a dish rack that flows toward the stove. Across from the sinks, they notice a fridge that has to be muggle from the white color adorning it and buttons for ice.

Next to the fridge, they see a cabinet with no doors, full of wine glasses and oddly painted mugs, which flows right into the connecting bar with paintings covering the bottom. On the other side of the bar, they spot a living room but do not get to truly see it as their eyes are drawn to the left of the kitchen, where they notice a tiny round table pressed against a window with tiny fairy lights hang with plants above, soaking up the evening sun.

None get any true time to process how even more shocking the situation has become as Whitman keeps moving, and points to the opened French doors adjacent from the end of the bar. Inside of what seems to be a connected but enclosed gazebo, painted sage green, is a rounded dining table with a cloth throw over the top. Wooden chairs that reminded the boys of wizards in poverty, too much of a light colored wood to be expensive. Jade seems happy though, laid out on her side against the bohemian rug by the table, clearly escaping the heat by staying where a ceiling fan is running.

"Won't be able to eat in there tonight," says Whitman, gesturing to the litter of plants scattered across the table. "Have to go give those away at the market, Ro bought too many." As soon as he finishes speaking, Whitman steps forward into the living room.

The question arises from Draco's lips, how many windows this house could possibly have, as there are multiple propped open and providing a view of the ocean beyond the cliff. It isn't like anything they've known, there are no patterned couches; stiff enough to make ones back hurt. Instead the couches are pearly white, appearing as soft and full as a bed. Then, a coffee table littered with crystals, and burning incenses that smell so much like Rose the boys cannot refrain from being eased.

Whitman has to grab onto Theo's arm when the boy spots two hammock chairs on the left side, already knowing Nott's curiosity would lead him to rushing over to test out the odd furniture. Theo grumbles in clear annoyance, but nevertheless lets Whitman drag him into the hallway.

Halfway down, Whitman points to a door on the left. "That'll be a spare room and," His finger switches to the door directly across. "That one's the art room."

Without hesitation Theo pushes into the art space, the two new arrivals trickling in behind silently as Whitman lingers by the framing. Now this, this exact room, would be impossible for them to ridicule. So perfect it's breathtaking, from the sage green wallpaper, to the array of French doors lining the side for a perfect view of the flower field and backside of the home for the sapphire sea; the shutters opened but glass closed. Greek sculptures of heads laid around, canvases leaned against the glass, and the floor is strewn with scraps of paper, paintbrushes, and other art supplies.

To their left are counters covered in sketchbooks and notepads, black cabinets above for storage but one thing sticks out amongst the rest.

An easel standing tall with a canvas full of lines drawn from the tip of a pencil, a swiveling stool in front of it, and a randomly placed pattered chair to the side. A obvious indication she had been sitting in here with Whitman.

Theo runs his fingers down the precise lines creating a wave. "She..." He swallows, then lifts his eyes to the door where Whitman stands. "She's painting again?"

"Not painting, but been drawing for two weeks now," Whitman murmurs. After, straightens himself up to focus. "Come on, I have to hurry this up or dinner will be burnt to a crisp."

Draco and Blaise hesitantly begin exiting, but Theo sticks behind for a moment. Revealing in finally being able to touch something her fingers have started to create after witnessing Rose lose the ability for so long.

When Theo does leave, he finds the others halfway down the hall, only now noticing the staircase at the end, along with a door that leads outside. By the time he catches up, Whitman is pushing open the door and speaking, "I'll show you guys outside before we go upstairs."

They walk straight out onto a cement patio that instead of a roof, the area was shaded by an abundance of leaves held up by thick branches. The style was akin to that of terrace, with a long dining table surround by metal padded chairs. Still beneath the shade, Whitman guided them by the side, toward the left side of the home.

Meanwhile, Blaise went to reach across so he could touch the planets hanging from the roof's edge; getting stopped by Draco smacking his hands down and shoving him forward.

The cement stretches further on this side, and the reasoning becomes clear as Whitman turns left onto a staircase pressed against the siding of the house. Despite the lack of safety measures, with no handrail in sight, the others follow after until Whitman halts halfway down the other side, just enough for them to reach the top. Getting a clear view of what the fig and cypress trees were hiding.

A pool that frankly looked like it belonged in Greece, from the twin columns by the waters edge to the heap of sunloungers spread around and—

"Turn around," Whitman interrupts any coherent thought they were forming while their eyes searched the place. He begins rushing back up the stairs, and shoving between them.

Draco huffs, grasping onto Blaise for support. "Why are you rushing?!"

Whitman doesn't give a reply, simply steps off the staircase and walks straight onto the grass, leaving them all to follow as he heads toward the edge of the cliff.

Theo takes long strides behind, but at an easy going pace. "You'd be an awful tour guide!" He shouts, halfway across the grounds.

In a state of rare impatience Whitman leaned onto the fence sticking out from the ground by cliffs edge, blankly watching as the three tried figuring out what a metal railing was sticking out of the grass for.

Their expressions show everything clicking all at once upon nearing him, eyes turning down the steep stone staircase that gives a glimpse of a cobblestone dock and the crystal blue waters it sat atop of.

"Now that," Theo bends down, staring at the sea where the steps lead. "That makes living in a Hubble worth it. I was beginning to worry you had no access to the ocean..."

Whitman snorts, before dragging him up and tossing an arm his neck. "Come on, I'm making your favorite tonight."

Once again they are being lead, guided through the back door, but this time up the staircase and into a matching hall like the one below. Before they can manage to ask a question Whitman explains the bedroom converted into a small library at the front of the home, and a spare room as well. He halts long before that though, just a few steps down the hallway.

"That's my room," says Whitman, pointing out a door on the right. His finger turns to the left. "And that—" His words run off as Theo slips away, shoving open the entrance to Rose's room.

If anyone had thought the view and mass of French doors inside the art room directly below were breathtaking, nothing could have prepared them for this. In fact, the layout was the same, a row of French doors across from the entryway, another row facing the ocean. Except, it felt so different somehow, a view that made you feel as if you were sitting above the flowers, a view that showed none of the grass in the back; only the sea ahead with a thin wrapping around balcony to walk onto.

Theo doesn't realizes he's being shoved inside, too focused on taking in the most surprising room of the home. His eyes trail around the gold trimmed walls painted with sage green, onto golden mirrors hanging around, and eventually land on Rose herself. She's sat with her back facing him on a opulently golden-framed bed surrounded by plants, perpendicular to one of the opened doors, surprisingly blanketed in a simple shade of white.

There's a round table pressed right up against the halfway point of the mattress, covered in what appears to be an ashtray, bottle of half drunk wine, and candlesticks. Next to it is a chair that ties in every accent of the room, where Kreacher naps with closed eyes.

Whitman clears his throat, and Rose jerks at the sound before rushing to crush something in the ashtray. She turns around atop the bed, her bloodshot eyes staying sharp as ever until she sees whose there.

"Oh," says Rose, her lips quirking up. "You all seem shocked, yeah?"

No one bothers to speak up, staring at her as if they've seen a ghost.

Everything is so...light.

Whitman rolls his eyes. "None of them have said anything yet"

Remnants of a tense silence linger across the room for an estranged amount of time, and Rose for once in her life is not annoyed; too high to care about being stared at.

Draco reluctantly looks up to the ceiling, spotting a small but aged chandelier that makes him rethink everything. Because there are no candlewicks, only bulbs.

"Is this a muggle house?!" He blurts out.

"No, it belonged to a French witch. Did you not realize your in the south of France but no one is around?" She says, "It's hidden from the muggle eye, but nevertheless I put so many wards up it's become an impenetrable fortress to even wizards."

Afterwards, she slips off the bed, revealing something so scandalizing Blaise has to cover his mouth and grasp onto Theo's shoulder.

Jeans.

The National enemy of Blaise Zabini.

"Are you..." Blaise whispers, "Are those...jeans?!"

Rose glances down at the baggy material. "Oh yeah," She grins, "Got them at the market a week ago."

"The market?" asks Theo, scrunching his brows together. He doesn't want to seem disturbed, but he is.

"Mhm, just over the hill. The witch before made a path to the muggle village."

Blaise's voice only grows louder, "You bought clothes from a market?! A muggle market?!"

She huffs. "Yes Blaise, would it bother you to know we are actually in the muggle world as well, not the Wizarding world? That this house is simple hidden in their world?"

Each boy except Whitman speaks all together.

"We're not in the Wizarding World?!"

A glint of light shines from her eyes as she nods along.

"I—," Draco begins, almost baffled, "Rosie, I cannot let you live in such a...place! There are only, what? Six bedrooms? You had to convert a bedroom into a library? Where are the marble floors you love? Your—"

"Draco!" She cuts in, worried he would have a heart attack if he kept going. "I don't need all of that, okay?" Rose lowers her voice, "And when all of you get sick of wondering around your vast but hallow manors, haunted by your cultist ancestors, you'll be running here. Won't take long for you to realize how this feels like an actual home too, a place where you can breathe."

Everyone seems to take a step back at those words, features lessening from a state of tense nature. Still, it feels like a knife to the gut with how she said such, jabbing at their own lives.

"But Rosie," Draco mutters, "You're in the deepest part of France, that's so far away, and you love England."

"I had you all port keys made, and I'll give each of you the password to floo here anytime." Rose circles her bed, going to lean against the framing at the foot. She carefully drags her gaze away. "I hate England, and I don't want to live there anymore."

Blaise frowns. "But we're in England. Our whole lives and memories are there. It's fine if you live this far, we're wizards and getting here is no different than getting to Grimmauld, but you can't possibly hate the place we all spent our lives adoring. It's unjust."

The way her face shifts shows how the words wound. "I can't breathe there," She mutters, "I'm about to be eighteen, all of my family is dead, and I can't live that way anymore. I wanted to be somewhere I could breathe, and I feel alive here."

Oh.

Oh.

Blaise shakes his head. "You can run, but it's all going to follow you." He says, "You don't hate England, you hate what happened there."

Whitman shoves his shoulder. "Leave it alone, okay?"

"No, you're right, Blaise." She finally brings her eyes back onto the group. "But we're still going to have summers at Malfoy manor, sleepovers in your room, and so on. Nothing is going to change except where my house is, and that's fine. You do all realize that our whole lives where I lived has been where we spend most of time? Where each of you run to for solitude? You should be happy because no one else except for you lot are going to know where this house is or where I've moved to. It'll be safer, and not haunted by my dreadful family."

Draco takes a deep breath, reaching to rub the back of his neck. "You've got a point."

Blaise keeps his eyes directly on her. "No one is going to know?"

"No one."

"Not even our parents?"

"Nope."

"None of your other friends?"

"I cut them off long ago, and still—no. I just want somewhere we can all escape to, and be safe."

"You swear, it'll be our thing, Rose?"

"I swear, Blaise."

"Okay." He says before turning toward Whitman, "Show us your room, yeah? I want to go back and see the ocean after."

Rose snorts. "Look, you're already loving it."

Blaise scowls, but regardless grasps onto Draco and Whitman, pulling the two toward the open door.

Theo calls after them as they trickle out, "I'll be there in a minute!"

The door shuts.

He tosses the paper bag onto the vanity, getting an unamused look from Rose as he almost knocks over a candle, but Theo only begins closing the distance between them.

Something deep inside his chest aches as their eyes fully meet, and somehow the simple switch of pure happiness taking over her features makes him come to a halt. There were times he wished to have a mirror on stand by, hold it in front of her face and force Rose to see how much warmth rolled from her every limb when she was experiencing real joy; not the kind plastered for a show. As he is often reminded, it didn't matter how much poetry and words he wrote about her, nothing would ever compare to the real thing.

A flush creeps up her neck as every edge of him melts, eyes round, and the mole above his left cheekbone lifts upon a gentle smile forming. There was something to be said about a man who she knew would paint the world red for her, but existed as the symbol of peace in her eyes at the same time.

Rose clears her throat, playfully holding up a hand. "No coming closer until you give me the supplies."

Theo snaps out of it with a quick eye roll, reminding Rose of just how much attitude he carried, and turning right back around to the vanity. He sticks a hand into the bag, and feels Rose nearing from behind.

"Here," He says, focus still fixated on the items inside as he pulls out a skinny bottle of liquid. "Lighter fluid."

Rose happily takes it, shoving the bottle into her arms.

His lips quirk at her joy, pulling out two bottles tinted with brown liquid. "And two bottles of whiskey, ma'am." He adds on the name at the end with a teasing tone, patiently waiting until she fits the other two items into her arms before reaching back in. "I got you something else."

"Oh?" She says mid-distraction, trying to adjust everything in her arms.

"Oh." Theo mocks, and when Rose looks back up he's suddenly shoving a heap of tied together flowers in the open space of her arms. "Now that," He gestures to all random assortment of items, "That is my type of woman."

She cannot bring herself to offer a usual witty remark, or keep their banter. Her eyes blown too wide, and way too focused on staring at the flowers.

"You got me...." Rose slowly lifts her head up, finding him shrugging off his coat and leaning against the vanity. That stupid white shirt does nothing to help her unfreeze. The situation only worsens when he throws her a lazy smirk, and then crosses his arms.

It all pieces together, how much amusement he's garnering from her state. Rose flicks her gaze up to his once again. "You got me flowers?!"

Theo cocks an eyebrow. "Yes? I have been giving them to you since we were kids, you do remember that, correct?"

"But you weren't my....you know!"

"No actually," He teases, "I don't seem to know."

"Theodore Tiberius Nott!" She yells.

"Goodness," He clicks his tongue, "If only the half of Britain could see how easily flustered the girl they fear is when given a simple gesture. Might we solve your need for violence by letting them all gift you flowers?"

Her lips twitch.

"Shut up." Rose finally mutters. She begins turning away to place the things on stop bed, but Theo sees her full smile return as her head shakes and she runs a hand across the flowers.

"You know," He says, "Just because Walburga told you enjoying the old, and soft ways of love are wrong doesn't mean it's wrong to like such simple things."

Rose faces him with a smile, and twinge of sadness in her eyes he cannot miss. "You've always been wiser than that woman, Teddy." She says, arms crossing together as she leans on the bed frame.

"I understand why you moved here." He murmurs, "You never have to hide how you feel around me."

Her smile slowly slips. "I don't believe I ever could, even if I wished to. I'm afraid my walls do not exist when you're near."

Theo nods along, his eyes seeming to study every inch of her in that moment.

"But you forget the same exists on your end." says Rose, "You're tired, and I know it, we discussed that last week."

His jaw ticks, and then he looks off to the side. "You're the only one I could ever admit such." Theo stiffly inhales, "I don't want to be around him anymore."

"You could come stay here."

The offer snaps his eyes onto her. "What?"

"I should've mentioned this a while ago." She speaks softly, "No matter what we did, your father is always going to be an angry man. You'd have your own room, and you're an adult now so he can't make you stay. You could be living with me and Whit, although it won't magically fix everything, there is no rules here or reasons to be afraid or people to tip-toe around. I can't protect us from the war that's coming, or what the future may hold, but I can promise you no one will lay a hand on you in this house."

"Ro, you—"

"You don't have to make any rash decisions." Rose interrupts with a raised hand. "The offer will always be there though...seems right, doesn't it? Me, you, and Whit? You can't heal in the place you were hurt." She smiles, genuinely smiles, and he feels it deep in his chest. "So yeah, I think you should come live with me."

An unplaceable look—one Rose had seen many times when he could not formulate words. He crosses over, and pulls her into him. His fingers trail up into her hair, and when he presses their lips together the world is no longer spinning, the weight of the universe is gone. The kiss deepens, relentless pressure building in the back of her skull as his fingers pull, and his teeth skim her bottom lip.

"I am selfishly in love with you." He whispers against her lips, "For that I cannot apologize."

Rose knows what he's referring to all too well, the glint of a conversation she refused the bring up, the elephant that invaded their growing relationship. Although he felt the need to apologize for his territorial actions as of late, he could not manage such. For Theo, his possessiveness never came from a place of masculine ego, or desperation to hold a woman as a trophy. It was such a simple answer really, and one he had just stated, Theodore Nott was a man selfishly in love.

There were too many questions when it came to Draco's presence in her life. Theo could verify himself willing to cross any line in existence, for he would even let the ones closest to him perish if it meant her survival, and no boundaries existed when she became the topic of conversation. Although he had witnessed how far Draco would go the night they took Cedric's life, Theo could not know if Draco would be willing to push aside moral and family obligation above all else. If Theo were to go missing, would Draco be there for her? Or would he abandon her once again? If there were to be a fight, would Draco's enormous ego make him walk away? Leave her heartbroken, leave Theo to pick up the pieces?

Maybe Theo was holding onto past resentments, ones he knew Rose let go of, but he couldn't manage to do follow in her steps. Maybe she wanted to forget and forgive, but Theo remembers the years of tears and sadness that crumpled her entire being.

The door begins creaking open, and he savors the feel of her between his hands, her tongue against his, one last moment before pulling away. Just in time to see the reason of his aggravation walking inside, the blonde's eyes transfixed on the flustered girl.

Theo steps away almost hesitantly, grimacing as Rose rushes over to Draco, her arms rounding over his neck excitedly. Theo has to leave the room, get out before being forced to witness something beyond the world of a lovers embrace.

Therefore, he silently exits, goes down the hall, and takes quick steps down the staircase. Finding himself pushing open the back door, somehow already feeling the affects of the salty breeze providing calamity.

Whitman looks over from his own place at the metal table, and the moment of peace by staring at the ocean is disrupted. He coughs out cigarette smoke, "Are you unwell?"

Theo glances down, and then pulls out a chair next to him. "Where's Blaise?"

"Ah," Whitman nods. "He went down to the ocean, I think something happened."

For a second there Theo doesn't say anything, simply leans back into the chair and runs a hand through his hair.

But then Whitman nudges him. "You can tell me what's going on, it's just me out here."

Theo looks over, before tipping his head back with a huff. "I don't want her with Draco, I can't know what he would do."

Whitman sits up straight, dropping an arm around Theo's chair. "You love her, yeah? So stop being a coward." He says sharply, "Just because Draco handled things differently in the past, doesn't mean he's a bad person or isn't amazing for her."

"Why couldn't it have been you?"

The question makes Whitman fumble, his lips parting, and shoulders roll back. His voice comes out shaky, "What?"

Theo scrunches his brows together. "I mean ideally there wouldn't be anyone else, but if there had to be, I wish it was you." He mutters, "I could trust you with her heart, not him. Frankly, you're the only other person in this world I believe to be worthy of her love. I sound stupid, I know, but when we got together I thought I'd finally be able to protect her. What if I can't because it's him who fucks something up?"

A lump forms inside Whitman's throat, and he shifts away slightly. Forcing his eyes straight ahead, trying to find some semblance of strength.

It takes a while until Whitman finally manages to respond with one simple sentence,

"Sometimes, things don't work out how we want them to."

"Guess so." Theo instantly says, and this time he's the one tossing an arm around Whitman. "Now tell me, did you make carbonara for dinner or are you pulling my leg?"

Whitman cracks a smile. "Of course I did, you idiot." He watches as Theo brightens up, and decides to ruin it all at once. "But Ro helped me make it..."

Theo's face drops, and eyes go snap wide open. "What...? No, just no..."

A laugh erupts from Whitman's chest. "Of course she didn't, bloody house would be burned down."

"Oh thank Merlin," Theo breathes out. He pulls Whitman closer, "See? This is another reason it should've been you, we can actually cook a meal."

"Oi!" Whitman protests jokingly, "Give Draco a break, he can make tea. That requires real talent."

Theo snorts, and then falls forward with laughter; a sound Whitman joins in on within seconds. "Gods," Theo pushes out, "We're awful people."

_________________________________

A/N: hey my loves!! i know i went MIA for a week but i kinda just needed a lil mental health break from my phone but anyways, i want to thank you guys for all checking on me, it was super sweet <3 literally love u all so so much

—i know this chapter was a little boring but i wanted to introduce the house bc it'll be important for the story as time goes on, either way this was just a filler. it's deatheater time next chap!!

—Matilda came on while I was writing the beginning and I quite literally cried

—also Theo and Whitman make me giggle

—DID ANY OF YOU WATCH QUEEN CHARLOTTE?? I NEED TO DISCUSS

—ANYWAYS, guess who started writing a real book?? i need to talk abt it with someone SO badly

okay okay, I REALLY MISSED U ALL <33

xx bri