(Some unsettling themes will be discussed in this chapter concerning graphic gore of adults and there will also be the death of a character who is a very young minor but no details of their death will be given at all or even a description. If this makes you uncomfortable, I beg you to simply skip over that part of the chapter. All you have to do is stop reading when Rose and Adrian arrive at the address given to them, and you can resume reading when you see the "*" and read Rose going to back to the manor. I will put a summary of what happens during that scene at the end of the chapter in my A/N for those of you. I know it is a heavy subject but it was discussed in the crimes of Grindelwald and seeing how lines of Rose's understanding of the Death Eaters have been blurred, this is meant to put things in focus for not only her but the readers as well. This book has an 18+ content warning so please keep that in mind and know that regardless of that, I will always warn you guys before anything triggering will happen.
On that note, enjoy the chapter<3)

third person pov

' you've got a 9-5,
so i'll take the night shift '

"Can't believe it," Draco grumbles, at half-past noon, as he sat in the back of the library, right across from Whitman. "I'm a lost cause at this point." He gestures wildly, one hand staying on his open book.

"Hm?" Whitman distractedly hums, his eyes scanning the pages of the Russian lit. book he had spent the last five months trying to get through. One-thousand pages, in a language he is just now learning, was no easy task.

"She's turning me into a bloody sap," He says, continuing on with his fingers now tapping the book. "Rosie claims me learning palmistry is so important. Eh, I tried telling her it's all a load of crap—course' she says I'm just being close-minded."

Whitman does not look up, but he does flex his fingers out for some stability. Draco is his best friend, and he loves that prat dearly, but at this very moment he has never had such a strong urge to take his book and bash Malfoy across the face with all one-thousand pages. Maybe he has anger issues, or maybe Draco should not be complaining to him of all people about Rose when it should be him complaining with Draco at them both being forced to do it.

Whitman would do anything to have her in his ear, demanding he learn about some wild subject he would never believe in.

In fact, as insane as it sounds, he would cross any line in existence to simply have her sitting across from him right now and rambling about how she can tell his life expectancy by a line on his hand, wearing one of those infamous smiles; the ones only witnessed on her lips when she got lost in the feeling of something; the ones that made his gut wrench and breathing stop.

"But I'll do it." Draco sighs, finally looking back down at the book, and flipping another page. "It's just—well it's, I—I can't believe anyone would think the lines on our palms mean a damn thing. It's been what? Two hours of reading this thing and I don't know if my mind can be changed, know what I mean?"

Whitman took a deep, shaky breath, and brought a hand up to hold his forehead.

All of the sudden, Draco slammed the book closed, looking between the watch on his wrist and Whitman. "Eh, I got to go meet her and Theo for a bloody picnic at the lake—do you hear me? A picnic? See, I'm becoming a full fledged sap for that woman—" He stops short, and Whitman drags his eyes up to meet with Draco's own full of concern. "You alright? You can come with us, you just can't come when all of us start setting up the common room...we've gotta lock you in the dorm while we do all that."

Whitman averts his eyes back onto the Russian text and shakes his head. "No," He forces out, the words brittle off his tongue. "I'm fine here."

He hears the shuffle of books, the opening of a leather bag, but not once does he let himself look up until a hand settles on his shoulder, fingers still holding his forehead as he meets Draco's eye.

"Love you Whit, you know that right?" Draco says, adjusting the leather strap on his shoulder.

Whitman knows he should be nice, he should not be angry at his best friend. Draco, unlike the others, was not one to often express his love with words; the idea foreign, and Malfoy tended to be a person to show through acts instead. Theo, Rose, Blaise; each of them never hesitated to remind everyone in their little group how much they cared. Draco was a different story, the words rare to his closest friends. It's hard though, especially with the knowledge that it is Rose who has encouraged Draco to be more spoken about such things. Either way, Whitman reminds himself, in the ten second span of him simply staring up at the blonde, that he should cherish these rare moments of Draco being honest.

So, Whitman puts on his best act.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," Whitman says, shoving Draco's hand off. "Go on now, go be one of those people we've always hated, yeah?"

"There he is," Draco smiles, ruffling Whitman's hair and backing up quick enough to avoid being smacked away. Although it is obvious that Draco knows Whitman is not okay, the boy can tell from how Malfoy hesitates leaving.

But he also knows Draco will not force him into anything.

Draco begins walking away, a real smile still on his face as he says, "We'll come get you after and lock you up in the dorm." He makes it a few feet before calling over his shoulder, "Don't be surprised if Rosie turns me into one of those people shooting heart-shaped arrows by the day's end! I must be saved, Whit—I'm hopeless!"

For a moment, Whitman's mind goes blank, and he stares at Draco with pinched brows, disturbed at his lack of knowledge. "Do you mean cupid?"

Draco laughs, waving him off, "Yeah, yeah, whatever!"

And then, the boy is gone, his cheerful laughter echoing.

Solemness, the weight of the world, unsteady breathing—it all comes back to Whitman as he focuses on reality.

He can do nothing other than run his hands through his hair, curse the universe, and then just leave his hands on his head, attempting to focus down on the words that now only seem like scribbles of something he cannot interpret.

As if the universe knew he was mentally cursing its being, the chair in front of him gets tugged out with a loud scratching noise.

He cannot bear to look up and find out who is sitting there, worried he might actually blow up at the person.

"Hi Whitman,"

The voice is soft and feminine.

"Maybe you should close the book," The girl says, "Are you excited for your birthday party tonight?"

The walls close in faster, and so does his throat.

He does not even glance to see who the girl is.

He closes his book and stands up, yanking his bag off the chair before rushing out of the library with new found anger. He ignores the voice of Madam Pince calling after him for letting the doors slam, a knot forming in his throat in place of the tightness.

Whitman does not understand why anyone thought they could approach him in the middle of the library when he had been clearly reading, even if he was not actually doing so. He guesses there is only himself to blame, after all he had found distractions in the sheets with people since he understood how. He hasn't been that way though, in months, or more. If anything, the only distraction Whitman wanted was to be left alone in solitude.

There is comfort in the dorm when he arrives, a heater burning in the center of it all, so many decorations already hung up that he has to push a streamer out of his way.

He goes to lay down, and Nyx is there, slithering into his arms for comfort.

Whitman holds onto her tight, pulls the covers up to his neck, and curses Orion Black for ever even existing.

*

Draco finds Rose and Theo by the edge of the lake on a blanket, the Nott laid on his side, gesturing wildly, while Rose, sitting up with legs crossed and shouting—the two going at it in a argument that from far away appeared as if they were on the verge of tearing one another's throats out.

He rushes over, hearing their voices carry, and throws his bag down before leaning down and over to press his lips against her cheek.

"Sorry I'm late," He says, silencing her ramble. Her chin turns towards him, a sickeningly sweet smile spreading before she presses their lips together.

"Is this you admitting defeat, Black?" Theo calls.

Ever so slowly she pulls her lips away, blinking at Draco to alert him that she is in fact about to lose her mind.

"What are you two arguing about?"

"Theodore thinks Lancestors poetry is better than Sabel's." She says to Draco, her tone biting.

"And Rosalie thinks that just because someone's poetry is more relatable than the others, that the one she finds relatable is better."

Her head snaps to Theo, finding the boy with an easy going smirk on his lips as he challenges her with a raised brow.

"Creative writing is meant to be interpreted differently! I will not hear your slander about one of the greatest witches to ever be published!" She snaps, leaning closer to Theo with a pointed finger. "I am going to ring your neck, Theodore Nott!"

"Are you, love?" He wonders, giving her no curt time to respond as he reaches out, yanking Rose down onto her side and pulling a yelp from the girl as she crashes into his chest. His hands make quick work of pushing in on her sides, garnering her into a fit of unwelcomed giggles, and forcing her to plead for help.

"Draco, please! Make him stop!"

"No can do, darling." He says, letting out a loud exhale as he sits down and moves the wooden basket to the side.

Finally Theo stops, pushing a breathless Rose onto her back and leaning over top of her as he props himself up on an elbow. "We will continue this argument another day, yes?"

She giggles with a smile, sliding her hand onto his face. "We will be cold in our graves and still arguing about this."

"No way," He says, his smirk turning into a smile, "I'll be sure to keep it going when we get to the afterlife."

"Ooo la la," She says, and then his smile grows even more, his lips coming down onto her own.

Her hand reaches over, giving Draco a rough tug as Theo keeps kissing her, and he grunts at the force.

"I am not laying down..."

At once, she pushes Theo's face up, turning her chin toward the blonde. He knows what's coming. Therefore, he accepts his fate as she gives him an even rougher tug until he is propping himself up and squished in against her side.

"A bit odd, isn't it?" Draco says, "A picnic at the end of November?"

"More than a bit." Theo says,

Her face falls. "Are you two embarrassed to be laid out by the lake when it's this cold outside?" She pauses, sass lacing her voice. "Don't answer that. No one is out here, not to mention the cold weather shouldn't keep us from having fun."

Theo grins down at her. "You plan on pulling us for another picnic when the snow falls?"

"Oh most definitely." She murmurs before focusing on Draco. "How did your study of palmistry go?"

Draco sighs heavily, eyeing the gray skies reflected in her gaze. "It's all a load of lies, love...can't believe I spent two hours in that library..."

She lets out a sudden gasp and gives his shoulder a shove, making Draco grunt as he lands on his back. Rose comes over top of him, pulling another grunt from Draco as she props herself up on his chest with narrowed eyes.

"But you admit there is some interesting stuff about it, right?"

Draco bites the inside of his cheek, feeling the pressure of her heated gaze.

"Don't worry," Theo laughs, "When you and Ro were acting like you hated each other, you missed out on the four hours she tugged me and Whit into the library during second year—four hours, Draco. Four hours of her using us so she could learn to read palms, and teaching us the 'importance' of the talent."

She glances at him, her lips twitching at his smile. "You loved it though. Both of you did, couldn't stop talking about how long your life line was."

"Mhm," Theo murmurs, clearly in a daze.

Draco raises his brows as her attention comes back onto him.

"Admit it," She dares, pressing a finger to his chin. "You might not be a believer, but you know some of it makes sense."

"Well," Draco sighs, adjusting his arm behind his head. "Some of it, yeah, could be true."

"Ah!" She cheers, finally smiling like that lovesick fool she appeared to be moments ago. Suddenly, she pauses, her voice quiet, "Did you really spend two hours reading the book?"

"Yeah, I," He tries to fight the twitch showing a smile, but with how cheerful she is, the task is impossible. He nods, reaching a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear as he says, "Well, you said it was important."

She smiles from ear-to-ear.

"Teddy," She says, glancing at the boy.

"Yes, love?"

"The food is going to have to wait a minute..."

"Really now?"

"Mhm..." She hums as her eyes drag right back onto Draco, and her hand slides onto his cheek. "I have to drown this one in love for the next—" She pauses, checking the watch on her wrist. "Five minutes, to be precise."

"What does that mean?" Draco asks.

Rose answers him by kissing his face.

Actually, she answers him by kissing every inch of his face, and Draco tries pushing her away at first, but he gives in, laughing and smiling bright as the sun does on a clear day as he allows her to smother him.

Draco Malfoy wants to be hopelessly in love forever.

*

Theodore Nott knew four things for certain:

1.) Whitman deciding to have his birthday party be Halloween themed as an apology to Rose was a good idea in theory, but not when every single Slytherin has now gone out of their way for the most insane costumes and all were packed together drunk out of their minds.
2.) The strobe lights are a little bit too much, but the fog machines combined with all the smoking from people's habits is causing him to cough in cornering doses.
3.) His very beloved girlfriend is now dancing on a table with his best friend, Blaise Zabini, both equally too drunk to properly function.
4.) His very drunk girlfriend is about to fall off the table if she doesnt stop letting herself get too distracted by screaming lyrics with said best friend.

At that very second, Rose wavers close to the edge, and Theo does not hesitate to pull her off that table, letting her fall down into his arms bridal style. Rose, of course, cheers as she is sweeped up into his arms.

Her eyes, hazy as ever, focus on him, and a loopy smile spreads on her face. "Teddy!" She slurs, looping her arms around his neck weakly. He smiles back at her. because regardless of her own grin being alcohol induced, it is contagious.

Theo carefully sets her to the ground, and keeps his arms around her body as she sways. His hands soon come up to her face, trying to keep the girl's focus on himself. She sighs dreamily and leans into his touch, all before her face falls.

"What is it?" He asks, glancing over as Draco steadies her back and comes to stand next to him.

"The teeth," She mutters. "Take them out!"

Draco lips quirk up, nodding toward Theo. "You hold her still." He says, reaching his arm in between Theo's and pulling on her chin so her mouth will open. The thing is Rose decided to be a vampire, and Theo along with Draco, people who only ever dressed up for the holiday because of her, accepted their fate as being covered in fake blood as her 'victims'. Whitman had been the only one who got a free pass of not dressing up, claiming since he decided to let the party be halloween-themed, she would have to allow him no costume.

They had told her she would regret the vampire teeth soon enough.

Draco has to hold back a laugh at how pitiful she stares at him as he begins pulling the fake teeth out, the process all too easy with her weakened state. At once the teeth are gone and he pockets them, not ready for the fit she would have if he littered in the common room—as if the place is not already being trashed.

"My saviors!" She cheers, jumping up and throwing an arm around each of their boys' necks. They both grunt at being tugged down, but are quick to wrap their arms around, a laugh escaping each boy. She sighs dramatically, pulling her head back but keeping her own arms around them. "Dance with me," She begs, "Now!"

"Let me get Whit first, okay?" Draco says, "It's about to be twelve."

"Ooooo," She giggles, slipping her arm off of him and placing it on Theo. "Give me a kiss first,"

Draco and Theo have another laugh bust out of them, making her frown.

"Are you guys laughing at me?"

"No, no, not at all love," Draco says, a smile on his face as he turns her chin toward himself, pressing his lips against her own. She hums in contentment, but he is pushed away all too quickly by Theo who claims it will be twelve in a few short minutes.

Draco casts a look over her his shoulder as he begins moving away in the crowd, finding Rose more than okay. Theo is craning his neck down to her level, a smile on his lips that move in what looks to be whispers, and Rose is happily leaning close to his face; a breathless smile on her own lips as he talks to her.

Draco smiles too.

He is happy with her being happy.

And if anything, that possessiveness has faded from wanting to keep her from Theo—the two forming an attitude in sync that consisted of simply wanting to keep her from everyone else.

Good enough, right?

He focuses ahead with a shake of his head and pushes through random Slytherin's without a care, but holds back a grimace each time one of them touches him.

*

Whitman spots the white head of hair coming straight toward him and he makes quick steps toward Draco, his arm getting gripped by the boy instantly on impact.

"Oi," Draco says, a cheerful look on his face as he moves to sling an arm around Whitman's shoulders. "Bout' to be your birthday."

"Yeah, yeah,"

Draco presses a hand into his chest, keeping him from forcing them to walk. "Sad day, isn't it?" He says, slightly shaking him, "You'll be old and gray before any of us."

"Are you taking the piss?" Whitman laughs. "You're the one with hair to match every grandfather I've ever met, yeah?"

"Oh," Draco laughs back, squeezing his shoulder, "Fuck you!"

All of the sudden, somebody crashed into the front of them. Grunting, and confused, they find Blaise Zabini throwing his hands onto both boys' shoulders, looking somewhat strange in the muggle priest costume.

"Birthday," He slurs, with a widespread smile, "It's your birthday, you slag!"

He smiles at the boy and feels Draco cast a look over his shoulder before Malfoy starts shaking him once again.

"Oi! It is!" Draco shouts, "Happy birthday!"

But Whitman's eyes can only focus on the sight a few feet behind Blaise. The music gets quiet in his ears, the smog clears, and there is only Rose lifted in the air, her mouth on Theo's in a mutually sickening passionate way.

The boys pull him forward, but it does not feel like he is moving.

Theo and Rose break their lips apart, but their foreheads come together as he spins her around with no care for anyone around them as always.

The music floods back into Whitman's ears all at once, his movements no longer feel like slow motion, and before he can blink Draco pulls them to a halt as Rose starts dragging Theo away into a mix of dancing bodies.

"Hold on," Draco mutters, "I'll go grab them."

And Draco is off, disappearing in their trail.

"Now that," Blaise slurs, "That is going to take a minute."

Whitman looks over at him suspiciously, quick to notice his half-lidded eyes. "Come on," He mutters, yanking the boy in the opposite direction. "You need some water."

Blaise begins to put up a fight, protesting the idea of water the whole way over to the drinks table, the process of dragging the boy becoming a hassle. When they reach there, Whitman fills up a cup and shoves it into the boy's hands, watching on and on as he makes Blaise drink another immediately after. In what feels like no time at all, just at the moment Whitman decides to look back at the raging party, he is mobbed by a mass of people.

"Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday, Whitman!"

"Happy birthday!"

Even one of the boys on the quidditch team, that he has no clue the name of, wraps an arm around him, yelling drunkenly, "We've got a drink for the birthday boy!"

The shouts keep coming, and so the people, and the sound makes his ears bleed.

He nods, with forced closed-lips smiles, and uses his tall height to look over the sea of bodies, trying to find anything to dull the words in his ears.

The universe is definitely tormenting him.

In the middle of everyone dancing to the ear-ringing loud music, the strobe lights cast the group of the three in bright enough glow for him to see every detail.

Rose is in between Theo and Draco, their bodies impossibly close to her own. Her fingers are running down Nott with a showcase of desire, and her head is thrown back against Malfoy's chest, a smile on her face as they dance so tight together it's as if they will never be able to again.

And then, if he hadn't seen enough, Draco's hand wraps around her throat, turning her chin sideways, and pressing their lips together in such a heated exchange that Whitman gains enough courage to look away.

Those three are timeless, inevitable, and they always have been.

Whitman pushes through the people rough as ever, shrugging the pats on his back off as he goes to the outer-edge of the room, rushing toward the stairwell that leads to his dorm.

He goes to swing open the door of the stairwell, but a ring clad hand shoves it back in place. His eyes follow the tanned arm up to Theo's tipsy, smirking face.

"Where do you think you're going?" Theo asks.

Whitman looks over, Draco is there too, his face covered in the same drunk half-smirk half-smile. And then Whitman looks down, finding Rose, fake blood dripped from the left-corner of her mouth and blood down her chest. She waver closer to him, a smile bright as the moon outside on her cheeks, and she presses a hand against his increasingly beating heart.

"There you are," She slurs, the words choppy, "Happy birthday, Whit."

The music goes quiet again, but for a different reason.

The ache in his heart is not simply painful anymore, it is beautifully painful, and he is stuck staring in her dark eyes, the flecks of silver around her irises so obvious to him after years of memorizing every detail..

Draco's face falls. "Did you lose Blaise?"

As if on cue, Blaise comes rushing over, straight into Draco; who grabs onto the boy's shoulders. "I lost Whit..." He mutters, "Draco, he was there and then—"

"He's right here," Theo interrupts with a laugh, and Blaise looks over, letting out a loud breath of relief.

Oblivious to the world around them, Rose leans closer to Whitman, bunching up the material of his sweater in her fingers. "Do you want to go see the animals costumes again?" She asks, putting her free hand over her own heart. "Our childrens costumes, I mean."

The most bittersweet smile takes over Whitman's lips as he nods and runs his hand down the back of her head.

"You don't have to Whit," Draco says, still clutching onto Blaise so the boy doesn't fall, a routine of theirs. "Bet you want to enjoy your party and all that stuff..."

"Actually no," Whitman says, glancing at the boys, "I'd much prefer going up to the dorm with you all and having our own little party." He pauses, "Does that sound good to you guys?"

A collective breath of relief is shared by every single one of them.

"Thought you'd never ask," Theo says,

"Been waiting to do that," Draco says,

"Should have had our own private party to begin with," Blaise says.

Whitman gives a small laugh, but freezes as Rose bows her forehead into his chest, his breath hitching all too obviously. Who knows how long it had been since she had done that?

Theo notices, about to pull her away, when she stands up straight and takes hold of Whitman's hand, tugging him to the door. Theo happily pulls it open, and she tugs Whitman the whole way up the staircase, no mind paid to his frozen state.

When they get inside the dorm though, she is gone, the touch of her hand lingering on his skin. Rose cheers loudly while going down onto her knees where the four creatures had all been playing together.

There is Jade, in a ladybug costume that had been tailored to fit the dog. There is Lyra in a little devil costume; red wings and pointy tail. And Nyx, big white angel wings half-way down the snake's body. Lastly, Bowie in his own little quidditch jersey that would fit on someone's pinky finger.

Rose covers her eyes, before taking her hands off, making a crying noise as she begins muttering each animal.

Draco goes over, kneeling down beside her and scooping Lyra into his arms. Rose gasps, as if she had not just been petting the cat, and leans her face closer to Lyra.

"She looks adorable!"

Draco smiled so freely at Rose that Whitman felt guilty for his anger earlier. "Hear that Lyra?" Draco says, scratching behind the cat's ear, "Your mum likes your costume."

Lyra purred, shooting an odd look at Nyx. The action makes Rose lean closer, whispering, "I know baby, your costumes should have switched, yeah?"

Nyx hisses, purely guessing what was said, and the snake slithers over to Draco, lifting her head until he laughs and picks her up as well. He struggles to settle both animals into his arms, and looks between them and Rose, "Hard stuff, being a father and all that..."

"I think it suits you," Rose giggles, leaning into his ear and whispering something that Whitman cannot hear.

He pulls himself back into reality as Theo stands before him with a full bottle of whiskey.

"Whiskey sound good?"

Whitman nods, he has never been one to protest whiskey in any form, with ice or not, with a glass or not. Theo's name is called from afar, "Teddy!" And Theo has a dazed look come over his eyes, one Whitman has noticed over the years appears every time Rose calls to him, his pupils turning into hearts, as if he is being called home and can relax, even drunk as he is now.

Whitman follows Theo with his eyes to where the big couch has always laid. There are floor pillows, ones they started buying in second year when Rose said it was necessary to bring back their fort building days—the boys had never been so quick to agree. Only now does he realize, as the heap of colorful pillows are thrown in front of the crouch, and Draco and Blaise come laughing over with a big white sheet to Rose, who pulls Theo into her chest, that that is exactly what they plan to do now.

"The Smiths!" Rose shouts, "Whit, grab a record!"

It takes more time than usual, and is much more messy, for them to finish the fort. By now they are all beneath the sheet hung by magic, all sitting and laying on the pillows as quiet light invades the thin cloth from the sconces around the dorm. Draco sits with his back against the bottom of the couch, an empty gap between him and Theo where Rose once was.

Whitman and Blaise are across from them, the latter barely managing to stay sitting up.

Rose comes barging back in, having to bend down, with a box and metal tray atop of each other. She puts the box in the center of them all, and then hands Blaise the tray with a wryly smile.

"I do not want to roll," Blaise groans, "Too drunk to even try."

"Hold it, you fool." She sasses back before flicking the lid off the box, her eyes sticking to Whitman as his own grow wide at the colorful cake inside with cursive atop. "Well," She giggles, sticking out her pointer finger with a tiny flame radiating from her skin and beginning to light each candle, "Since we won't get the chance to do your cake down there..."

"Hey," Theo calls, "We told the baker to make it red velvet,"

Draco joins in, "What we did not know was that he was going to make it rainbow icing..."

Whitman blinks down at the cake before meeting Rose's eye just as she finishes lighting each candle and sits back on her knees. "Please..." He begs, "No birthday song this year."

"Shut up." She says, a smile on her face as she lifts her hands as if preparing to direct a choir. "Ready?!"

"No, no, no," He tries to protest, but the voices already begin, a mix of slurs and atrocious tones all coming together to sing him Happy Birthday. He covers his face with one hand, head shaking, and Blaise reaches over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and forcing him to sway, and then Theo is reaching over, shaking him as the song continues on and on.

By the time they finish, everyone is laughing and smiling, and he finally looks up, being met with their awaiting eyes.

"Don't make me blow you the candles, Ro.." He pleads, "Please," She turns her chin away from him with a 'hmph.' Only making him plead more, "You know it's my least favorite part..."

But in the end, he does it, leaning over and blowing out each candle with a futile wish. Applause breaks out, each of them reaching over at some point to shove him around and mess with the boy.

Rose does not dare to touch him though.

She sits herself in between Theo and Draco, the latter smiling and still throwing jokes at Whitman as he tucks her under his arm, and within seconds she pulls Theo closer and he's laying down on his back, dropping his head into her lap. Whitman realizes how quickly things are changing, how they are rapidly learning how to comfortably exist as three.

"Bad news, Blaise." Rose says, sliding her hand into Theo's hair. "You have to roll now."

Blaise groans and groans, sitting himself in a better position to place the tray in his lap. The wooden cross on his neck swings as he leans over, a scowl on his face as he rips open the paper bag.

After a minute of sudden laughter from the others, he looks up.

"I am doing what you asked," He says, "Is there a reason you are all laughing at me?"

"Oh no, no," Rose waves him off sympathetically. "I just never thought I'd see the day a drunk priest is rolling a blunt..."

Blaise stares at her long and hard before smiling. "Yeah, well you know what the churches say about," He waves his finger at the three of them, "This little threesome?"

Theo yanks Rose's hand back into his hair and turns his head in her lap, "Why don't you tell us?"

"I will." Blaise attest, "They, uh...they," He lets out a long exhale, head shaking. "I actually have no clue."

Immediate laughter racks everyone.

Whitman reaches over and pats on his shoulder. "A sin, Blaise."

"Ah ha!" Blaise throws a hand up before pointing a finger at the three across from him, "Straight to hell with all the other sinners!"

Theo snorts, dragging his eyes back up to Rose as he says, "Yeah, tell the devil not to wait up for us."

"Don't worry, Blaise." Draco says, "We'll make sure to save you a seat." He pauses as Whitman laughs, and narrows his eyes, "You too Whit."

Whitman's smile falters."Oi!"

The next hour passes too fast.

By then, the boys are sloppily drunk, with the exception of Whitman and Rose, and laughter pours from everyone's lips as fluid as water—their eyes red as blood.

The dorm had become a madhouse of singing, people standing up to 'serenade' one another, and even Bowie had come in at some point, dancing to another song by the Smiths. Many things happened in the span of an hour, each as chaotic as the next.

From on his back, Blaise wonders aloud as the laughter from the last retelling of a story ends, "Okay, okay...where do you think we'll be in fifty years?"

There comes a long pause, each seeming to think long and hard.

Whitman sighs, staring up at the top of the fort. "We should just all move to a house in another country and tell no one."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco slurs, his head tipping back on the couch. "We already know we'll all live together, location doesn't matter."

Rose furrows her brows down at Theo's closed eyes, the boy too lost in her playing with his curls. "Now that I think about it...we haven't thought much further than that..."

"Are we going to sleep in separate rooms?" Blaise asks.

Rose grins. "Yeah...I would think so..."

"But," Blaise frowns at her from where he lays on his side. "We'll make sure they are close together, right?"

Theo, without opening his eyes, waves the boy off in a messy manner, "We'll make sure your door is next to ours, Blaise."

"Good." Blaise smiles happily before an epiphany hits him. "Wait...what if I get married? Are you guys going to let them live with us?"

"Obviously," Rose says, laying her head onto Draco's shoulder again.

"They'll have to pass a test first though," Draco says.

"A big test." Theo adds on.

"Why...?" Blaise asks.

"We have to make sure they are good enough for the star of our group," Rose says, "It's our job to protect that heart of yours."

"That should be our new motto," Draco mutters, "Protect Blaise Zabini at all costs."

Blaise puts his hand over his heart with a smile. "That's sweet guys," He drops down onto his back, "Real sweet."

Not even at three in the morning were Draco and Theo out cold, Blaise barely hanging on.

Rose did not say anything to Whitman as he sat up, the two only needed to share one look before getting up and pulling Theo up in perfect synchronization. With little effort on Rose's end, they managed to put his dead weight on his bed, making sure to take off his shoes and lay him on his side, before repeating the same process with Draco.

Last came Blaise, the boy muttering as his arms were thrown around their necks and they carried him to bed, making sure to take the priest's robe and cross off—him being no help other than slurring quiet words.

He caught Rose's wrist as she began to pull the covers over his body.
"Roooo,"

"Yes...?"

"Tell me goodnight like you used to," He slurs out, blindly patting his forehead.

She holds back a laugh. "Do you miss childhood that much?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Okay mister," She bends down, tucking the blanket tightly beneath his shoulder before pecking his forehead, her hand sliding over his eyes after in a routine manner. She takes a deep breath, eyes rolling as she prepares, "Goodnight, my king."

It is worth it though, for the smile on his face.

"Perfect," Blaise mutters, "Feels just the same."

A smile of her own takes root as she shakes her head.

"Whit?" He calls.

Rose looks behind her, finding Whitman gone.

"He's not here, Blaise." She says, "You know how he is when the drunkenness starts to wear off, has to get rid of the taste or he'll be sick in the morning."

"Hm." Blaise keeps his eyes closed. "Just like you."

"Shut up."

"Rose,"

She forces patience into her voice, "Yes?"

"Make up with him."

Rose sits down by his side with a sigh, "Whatever, you drunken fool."

Blaise blindly reaches his hand onto her lap, mumbling, "I'm scared."

"Of what?" She asks.

"All this...Deatheater stuff." The words come out choppy, "Scared, Ro."

"Well, don't be." She says, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead to check his temperature. "Nothing can hurt you if I'm here."

Even though he is half-asleep, he manages, "No, I–I'm scared for you." He says, "I can't make it without you."

In a way she did not even realize, her eyes glass over.

"I'm not going anywhere, Blaise." She forces strength into her voice, and leans down, kissing his forehead once again. "Get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

"And everyday after that? You'll be there?"

She nods. "Yeah," She says, "I'll be here."

Blaise mutters some more, and she stays by his side regardless, waiting until she hears the bathroom door close. Rose takes extra measures to not look in any direction Whitman might be as she leaves Blaise and goes to her trunk, retrieving a shirt before taking herself into the bathroom.

It is freeing to be out of the tight costume, but even as she washes the blood off her body, scrubs her arms raw, and then her face free of makeup, and even brushes her teeth twice—she feels no relief.

She scoffs and slips off her bra before pulling on the shirt.

After, she stares in the mirror, pleading with the two sides of her mind.

In a matter of seconds, her heart wins and she pulls open the bathroom door, stopping right in her tracks at all the candles blown out.

There is only Whitman, each curve and scar on his back highlighted in the soft shadows of the moon through the water against the windows as he pulls a shirt on. As if he senses her eyes, as he always has, he looks back at her and time stops.

Only for a moment, and then he shakes his head, stepping toward his bed to pull the curtains open.

"Whit!" She calls, the name sounding choked off her lips.

He halts, but does not look back at her.

She tries to steady her breathing as she crosses over, coming to a stop behind him.

The question comes out quiet, meek, almost scared, "Can I sleep with you?"

His eyes fall shut. "You're drunk."

"No I'm not." She says, "I barely took two sips of alcohol since we came back to the dorm, and believe me when I say the high is gone. I barely feel tipsy..."

She can see every deep inhale he takes.

Although Whitman does not say anything, he pulls one of the curtains to the side, a gesture to go through.

"Go on," She mutters, "I have to get something."

When she returns with a box in her hands, he leans back against the headboard, a discomforted look on her face as she sits by his side, but keeps her body facing him as she crosses her legs.

Neither call out her knee falling on top of his thigh.

"Here," She says, pushing the box into his chest. "I didn't want to give you this when everyone else does tomorrow morning."

"Didn't have to get me anything," He mutters.

"I know," She says," But I had to go into the muggle world and find a million different contacts to get it, so open the damn gift."

His fingers trail along the wrapped lid, and he pulls the top off. He reaches in blindly, his fingers wrapping around a heavy object.

The book, the one-thousand page book he had been reading for months, sat in his palms like a deadweight. The cover was that same crimson leather, but untarnish and unused like the one beneath his bed.

On the first page is a signature, beautiful and big in black ink.

A small smile crosses his lips as he runs his fingers across the name.

Afterwards, his eyes turned up to her.

"Don't say anything." She pleads, quickly looking down as she folds her hands together, hating how desperate she sounds. The lump in her throat, one that had been haunting her each time they were close together, comes back. She folds and unfolds her hands, anxious to say what she wants when suddenly, the words tumble out in a whisper, "I miss talking to you."

"I miss you." He says, because it is true. He misses every detail of her, silent or not, eyes staring into his own or not. Truthfully, there is an ache to just have her, every single part of her, light and dark, back by his side. He does not miss a singular detail, only her.

When she lifts her eyes to him, full of water, he feels her pain reflected in his chest, and his lips part at the sudden knife pushed into his heart.

The sight of her this way is why he took Orion's life away, and why he would do it again a million times over regardless of the cost.

If he could, Whitman is sure he would absorb every ounce of her pain to never witness her sadness so rawly.

His hands burn to touch her, as they always have, burn to wipe away the tears before any water can fall.

"But you have not even tried to fight for me."

Her name comes off his tongue, breathy and desperate, "Ro," He pleads, "I am terrified of hurting you...and everytime I look at you all I can see is your scared face when I–I attacked you."

"I thought you didn't remember the attack?"

He scoffs, as if mad at himself, and his jaw ticks for her to see. "It came back in flashes overtime." He says, looking anywhere but at her.

"But you were trying to protect me." She says.

He runs a hand over his face, and breathes out, "I could have killed you. What don't you get about that?"

She forces out, voice tight, "I am not scared of you, Whit."

"That's bullshit." He mutters, head shaking, "When you pulled away from me after that day you woke up I...I knew then that you were terrified of me—that you finally saw me how I see myself."

"Whit!" She pleads, "I react that way when anyone touches me and I'm not suspecting it, okay? You know that." She takes a deep breath, forcing oxygen into her lungs. "All you have ever done is protect me. You are the last person on earth I would ever be scared of."

When his eyes connect back onto her own, his are filled with tears too, and his jaw is tight, as if he is forcing himself to stay together. "You think I wouldn't fight for you if I–" He chokes up at the anger in his own voice, "If I knew that? I would do anything in this world for you, fight until my bones gave out and I could no longer breathe if it meant we would be—if we would be..."

Her tears break loose, the words, the epiphany, too much for her to handle.

"Do you really think that little of me?" He asks.

"I have never," She sniffles. "I have never, ever thought little of you. Even now. I think," She pauses, "No, I know that you are the person I always thought the most of, and that is why I am so betrayed."

Whitman rubs a hand over his jaw, head shaking again.

"I grew up in that house with you. I never actually told them everything, why would I? That is between us and it always will be. There's things that no one else will be able to understand but me and you, hiding things from your family, keeping our own secrets, wandering those cold halls together..." He says, "I'm going to look after you for the rest of my life, even if you don't want me to, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I hurt you, but I know one day you're going to understand and I," A tear runs down his cheek. "I will wait. For however long, I'll wait, and if I have to sit to the side until our next life—then so be it." He reaches over, taking her cheeks between his palms, and says, "I have no regrets about loving you."

Being in love with you, he wants to say.

Almost, she is always being haunted by their 'almost'.

What if? That was their statement, What if it was us?

No more of it.

Rose gathered up the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward, and instantly, just like that, she was kissing him.

And within seconds, he was kissing her back, his fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her closer and closer before laying the girl onto her back.

They're tipsy, and this isn't about ripping clothes off, nor is it the time.

It is about saying the words they have shoved down their own throats their whole lives to keep the confession from coming out. It is about showing the tortuous love they hold, the love they choose to willingly choke on.

So, she kisses him as slow, as deep, as meaningfully as the poets would say express love, hoping to tattoo the words on his lips, and to embed the confession into his skin every time her hands slip under his shirt and trace his scars.

Eventually their lips break apart, hours later, and they exist only in one anothers space, their limbs tangled together as they lay there, on their sides, only mere inches between their faces—all in a comfortable silence.

She believes it is worse to lose a person who is alive than one who is not.

He is something to her no one else is.

The tears still clouding Rose's eyes make him bring his hand up, allowing his fingers to gently graze over her cheek.

Whitman was right about growing up in that house though. In a way, no matter how much she didn't want to, Rose was beginning to understand, and maybe deep down she had understood from the moment she found out he killed Orion. The corridors were cold at Grimmauld and the seasonal manors, and they had wandered them together. Whether it be on a quiet night with a candle stuck into a chamberstick, or a night where Orion and Walburga had left and they'd find themselves moving through the grim house to the other's bedroom; a moment in time where there was no one around to catch them.

He had never been allowed to sleep in her room, a rule Walburga had set, a smart one at that, a rule meant to prevent the inevitable that had always been them.

Rose's voice comes out quiet, "Do you remember when we used to sneak into each other's rooms?"

"Yeah," He mutters, his hand grazing down onto the side of her neck. "We'd carry those candles around, sneak through the corridors since she would seal the door between our rooms." He pauses, "And when we would go to the other manors for summer, or Yule, she'd place us in different wings, always putting as much distance as possible between us."

"But you always came for me at night, or I'd come for you." Rose whispers, "She made us think the idea of being together was some mortal sin. "

"I tried to stay away, I tried our whole lives." He mutters, "I wanted more for you, I wanted you to have the things I couldn't give."

"I wanted you." She says, so honestly and boldly that it forces his lips apart with an unsteady inhale.

He does not know how to breathe.

"You tell them I'm dead to you everyday." He says, pain in his eyes. "Then what is this?"

"I miss home," She answers, "My home with you, I mean." Her fingers reach for the scar across his cheek. "Do you remember what I told you on your birthday? In third year?"

He cannot dare to speak again, his throat too tight.

"I always thought you were the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen. Then, now, on full moons..." Deja vu. "I could never see anything wrong about you, Whit." Unshed tears wobble in her eyes. "No matter how much I want to."

She does not await a reply, or even wish to see his reaction.

Rose simply buries her head into his chest and tightens her arms around his body. It takes only mere moments before he gathers her up in his arms with the knowledge that she is not his, but he holds her as if she is his own to have for eternity.

If Whitman could, he would rewind time, go back to the beginning when he had every part of her. Now, he is left with nothing, but at this moment it does not feel like it. Neither does it feel like he has her. Instead he is stuck in limbo, knowing tomorrow she will be gone and things will return to hatred, while tonight tells a different story.

She is in fact tattooed on his skin, cursed to be there forever, but she is also buried into his bones—doomed to haunt him at every corner of this world.

They will cry tonight, and neither of them will say a word about it as they allow the other to pretend this is simply an embrace until sleep comes.

*

Rose had been sitting across from Dumbldore's desk for a solid five minutes, a fur coat wrapped tightly around her body and dark, extremely dark, sunglasses over her eyes. She was blankly staring ahead until he popped back up in front of her, a glass of water in his hands she noticed, as he leaned himself against the desk.

"Have you taken a sober-up potion?" He asks.

"Dumbles," She groans, "You called me into your office at nine in the morning after a party—on sunday might I add."

"Here," he tries handing her the water, but she shakes her head, leaving him to sigh and place the glass behind himself on the desk.

"Unless it is important," She mumbles, "May I please go back to sleep with my boyfrie—I mean, my animals?"

Dumbledore cocks a grayed eyebrow before reaching forward to push the sunglasses into her hair. She winces, swatting at him, but eventually gives in and crashes into her seat, allowing the sun to soak into her vision from all of the arched windows.

"Sorry," She mutters, feeling as if caught by her father. "I took my potion, still waiting for it to fully kick in."

"That's alright dear," He assures with a soft smile. "I've missed you greatly. I am afraid we have not had as much time together this year...you see, Umbridge is forcing me to seclude myself in my office."

"We still practice once a week together," She says, "I always come for at least one extra visit a week too."

"I just never want you to believe I am abandoning you."

"Come off it," She sasses, to the best of her ability in this state. "You are the only father figure I have left, the only one I know is forever." She pauses, "Unless you're thinking about abandoning me?"

He chuckles. "No, Rose, I would never dare." He says, "I consider you my own child, this you know."

"I don't know..." She mutters up at him, "Bit hard to imagine having a father."

He gives her one look and she's rolling her eyes, waving him off.

"I know, I know, simply messing with you." She says, "Umbridge isn't giving you any more issues as of late, right?"

"No, but–" He stops, adjusting his glasses. "Did you do something?"

Rose has always been good at lying, her face a perfect mask. "No, I swear it." She says, "I do know a dirty little secret about her though, learned it last week."

A smile spreads over his face. "You must tell me."

"Well, you know how all of my friends' families have those old ties with the Dark Lord?" She continues on without awaiting his answer, "There's been whispers that she's been trying to find her way in. Ridiculous though, isn't it? Even when the Dark Lord had many supporters who fought for him, they weren't Deatheater's—that's supposed to be some high honor to an elite inner circle, everyone else are simply followers."

"That is not surprising with her beliefs of half-bloods and muggleborns, along with her hatred toward werewolves..."

"Tell me about it," Rose scoffs. "She is a half-blood herself, you know? Quite alarming that no one has thought to rip her head off yet."

A realization hits the headmaster all at once.

"Why are you calling him the Dark Lord?"

"Huh? Oh," She recovers so quickly that he will mistake this for a hangover slip up. "I'm used to hearing all the pureblood's talk about him—whatever, He who must not be named...bit ridiculous, yeah? People are so scared of saying Voldemort because they believe his name is even dangerous to speak? Was he really that bad?"

"Rose," Dumbeldore breathes out, "He killed thousands in the war. Mercilessly, might I add."

She hums to herself, reaching up and sliding the glasses over her eyes as if he had just told her that someone put an extra scoop of sugar into her coffee, not as if he had just talked about the lives lost in war.

"Has he reached out to you anymore?" Dumbledore asks, "And have there been any whispers of him getting his body back?"

"No, but I know he wants me to join real bad." She lies effortlessly. "And why does getting his body back matter? It is inevitable."

"The one Harry described was not his, a body composed of smoke and ash from a ritual." Dumbledore informs, "Listen closely to me Rose, we must know when he gets his body back because he will have his full power again. Do you understand? Full access to his power."

"Isn't Snape a Deatheater?" She wonders, "Wouldn't he know?"

"Severus said as far as now he still has not."

Okay then, Snape definitely lied.

"Well," She shrugs lightly, "I'm doing my best with the Order and school. I don't know anything else, but if I hear anything I'll be sure to let you know."

Dumebldore relaxes into the desk, sighing down at the girl before him. "I am sorry to put this all on you," He says, "But you are—you are not a child in my eyes. You've been trained for this since you were a kid, and now is the time. You are one of the few people I trust in this upcoming war."

That makes her shift uncomfortably in the chair, and mutter, "I know, but I don't have much more to give...I'd like to be a teenage girl for a little, seems impossible though." She sighs heavily, ignoring how her eyes become glassy with exhaustion. "I'm trying, okay? I'm trying really hard for you. In ways you can't even begin to understand."

"I do understand, and I love you for it."

"I am only one person." She meets his eye, roughly swiping a stray tear from her face. "I don't think you understand how hard it is to just exist, and with all of this added on...I don't get why I can't just be a girl for a little bit. It's like, it's hard to talk to other women my age, because of this stuff. You don't get that. They are worrying about class, and boys, and all those other things, and I want to be like them but I can't. You have never given me the chance to, I've been too busy worrying about a possible war and reaching my power for what? I never wanted any of this."

Dumebldore sighs. "You just have so much potential dear, I do not want to see it go to waste."

"It feels as if I've already wasted all of it."

"You have not." He says, "You are ahead of everyone."

"Maybe too far ahead," She mutters, "I'm tired, Dumbledore."

He reaches out, attempting to touch her cheek but she turns her chin away. "Rose," He says, "It's all in your head, I promise. Your mental traps you, but it is not real. You are going to be fine, and I am going to be here for you."

"It feels like you never hear me when I speak to you." She says.

Dumbldore takes a vow of silence, awaiting her to recover from words that he knows wrecks her heart. But in the meantime of her shifting around, he catches a glimpse of a locket around her neck.

"Where did you get that necklace?" He asks, brows furrowing. "I have never seen you wear such."

Rose pulls her jacket fully closed with a defeated sigh. "Borgin sent it to me, he claimed it would be a nice addition to help me with dark magic. Truthfully, I think the old bloke is missing me living so close to his shop...Zabini manor is a good distance from his shop."

She watches the headmaster closely beneath her glasses, seeing every detail of his discomfort at the energy he realizes the jewelry radiates. Her hands flex on her lap in waiting, and then his breath hitches so loud that the sound bounces off the stone walls.

"Are you unwell?" She asks.

His face fell incredibly stern, eyes aiming straight at her. "Rose, that ring....Dear Merlin...what have you done?"

"It is just another ring," She says, simply so, "Another piece from Borgins. Yes, it is full of dark magic, but you have always known that is what I enjoy."

"Do not play the fool with me." Dumbeldore speaks as a father now, "That is the Gaunt family ring...Tom had it on in the chamber, as you well remember."

"That is why I bought it." She stays unwavering, "It reminds me of the boy I once knew."

Dumbledore lets out an exasperated breath. "The hold that boy has on you." He says, "You must learn to let him go. Who knows how he cursed that ring with that much magic radiating off? And you simply put your own health at risk, for what? Your own yearning for someone who no longer exists?"

"I did simply miss him!" She shouts. "But don't you dare say he has some hold over me, he never did and he never has!"

"Why? Why would you miss him after knowing what he becomes?!" Dumbledore's voice raises, "And he does not?! Rose, he has had a hold over you since the day you met him! You must let go of all of that, do you understand me?! He is never, ever coming back."

Rose takes a deep breath and stands up. "Are you reminding me of that?" She wonders, her tone biting, "Or are you reminding yourself of that in terms of a certain man rotting inside a cell?"

Grindelwald.

Dumbledore purses his lips, unable to form another sentence at the mention.

She places her hand on his chest. "You feel that? Is it hard to breathe?" She asks. "That is how I feel every time you remind me that I do not get the option of being a child. That you remind me I must keep it together for a war that is not my business to fight," She scoffs, "Theo's been right all this time, hasn't he? You're not much different than Walburga."

He simply pushes her hand off, his lips staying tightly closed.

"We may all drink our own poison how we like," She says, turning on her heel, "You taught me that long ago—even if it was shoving your own poison down my throat."

*

The next morning she is gone, Whitman's hands are left to reach for an empty spot where her body should be. With a tired breath he sits himself up out of the bed, and when he peels the curtains back he finds the others awake.

Theo takes one look at him before coming over, barrelling the boy into a bone-crushing hug. Whitman grunts, and tries to shove Nott off, but in the end it is no use and he is left to hug the boy back as Theo tells him happy birthday.

"Look," Theo says, a tired smile on his face as he pulls away and reaches into his shirt pocket. Out comes Bowie with hands on his little green hips, and the smallest party hat Whitman had ever seen on his head with cut out holes for the two leaves that they all consider to be the bowtruckles hair.

Whitman squints down at the creature before one side of his lips turn up. "You look ridiculous, Bowie."

The Bowtruckle sticks out his tongue, blowing air out that makes Whitman's face fall.

And then, out of the blue, Bowie jumps, flying through the air and landing with his miniature green claws sticking to Whitman's shirt. "Salazar," Whitman grumbles as he pulls the creature into his own hands. "Awful attachment issues."

Blaise comes over, and shakes Whitman's shoulders with tired words of Happy Birthday. Draco comes last, pushing Blaise off to wrap his arm around the boy and give the regular birthday speech.

But when Draco finishes, Theo shakes him just as Blaise did, and announces they are going to grab him breakfast from the kitchen before the day can start.

This is a birthday routine.

Routines can be broken though.

For example, Rose is not here.

The boys slip out of the dorm, and Whitman trails into the bathroom, scrubbing his teeth clean and the other usual things, all to fill in blanks of time where he is alone.

Rose is there, walking into the dorm as he leaves the bathroom. They come to a standstill at the same time, staring at one another, and one would think they had just seen a ghost.

She recovers first, as she always does, and begins slipping off the insanely large fur coat while moving toward her bed. He watches as she folds the coat in her arms and lays the material down onto the mattress, suddenly halting after.

"Why do you think we seek things that will destroy us?" She asks, her head turning in his direction.

Whitman leans his shoulder into one of the pole's that makes up Draco's bed frame beside her own. "You're quoting Plath again, I find myself missing that now." He says, his arms crossing.

"Yes." She answers, reflecting his own position as she leans her shoulder into one of her bed poles. "But why do we? In your opinion, why are we as humans like a moth to a flame? Seeking out things we know we shouldnt, things we know have power to ruin us unlike anything else."

Whitman adjusts his arms over his chest, letting out a deep sigh. "Find what you love and let it kill you." He quotes Charles Bukowski as if it is a second language. "Addiction, desire, self-destruction—these are all inevitable things, Ro." He says, "Everything in life wants to kill us in some form. Is it not better to allow love to consume us and let it eat us alive, than settle for something meaningless? Settle for something that only poses as love and passion for a time? People are fooled into believing that love slows down, fades into a passionless feeling." He cocks an eyebrow at her. "I think they are all fools to settle for such."

Rose folds her hands together. "I couldn't imagine believing that." She says, "I do not think I could be in love if it did not consume me whole."

"I know." He says.

It physically hurts for her to look into his eyes.

"I would never wish you to settle for such." She says, and she means it. Despite hearing his claim of undying love for her in the greenhouse, she cannot seem to remember if it had all been a dream or not. She gave him a chance in Italy, on that balcony, where she begged him to tell her if it meant more. He said it did not. That, the moment where every inkling that told her he could love her too was flushed away, she can remember all too clearly.

Tragic it was, for two humans to be only feet apart, staring into one another's eyes with a terrible longing for what is not their own. Tragic it is, that two people are left to believe they stand on the side of unrequited love.

"You know me better than that." He says, throat tight. "I have a longing that will kill me, and I want it to."

She averts her eyes away, letting out a shaky exhale.

"I can't hate you, Whit." She says.

"And you know I could never hate you." He says, his voice reminding her of the changing of seasons, the comfort under their blankets, the sound of rain hitting the roof in France.

At that moment, the others come bustling in with trays full of food, enough to feed an army.

*

His birthday goes on full of surprises and mischief, and Rose found herself at eight-thirty pm, washing her face off, as the others slept soundly in the dorm after a day filled with the group being ridiculously insane. An odd thing they had all been doing was taking sleeping potion at eight every night, attempting to get the most sleep possible—Draco's idea, one he claimed would be good for their health, or in other words; a way for him to make everyone be silent and sleeping when he went to bed early. Last night they skipped this routine, obviously, but Whitman wanted things back to normal after doing every exhausting activity of the day.

Rose did not mean to fall thirty minutes behind, but she had been quite literally holding onto Theo and Draco, forgetting her own potion. It wasn't until the two boys were snoring against her that she went to the bathroom to cleanse all the makeup off.

After tossing the used rag into the laundry bin, she reaches for the potion vial hanging on the bronze rack atop the sinks. Before her finger could even brush the glass, a deep voice rumbled inside her mind.

"Come to the manor, Rosalie." Tom says, "We are having a meeting tonight."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," She curses to herself before grabbing ahold of the counter, eyes falling shut as she brings the Gaunt ring to her lips. "Deatheater Meeting?"

"No, Rosalie. A meeting about Merlin's fans." His voice came with annoyance and a brief pause. "Obviously a Deatheater meeting."

"I already have my nightgown on..." She mutters in Latin.

"At eight? You never sleep this early."

"Yes? You know, sleep is becoming important to me these days."

"Rosalie, come." He says, "I will not repeat myself."

"Fine, but don't be such a jerk." She says, "I'll cheer you up when I get there."

"Bring your wand." He demands, "Be quicker than usual as well, and use Severus's office."

She doesn't give a response, simply brings the ring down and rips open a drawer, pulling out a thick moisturizer to protect her skin from the chilling air outside. After, she takes one look in the mirror before grimacing at her plain features.

"Fuck sake," She mutters, grabbing crimson colored lipstick and slapping it on her lips before rushing out of the bathroom. Walburga taught her many awful things, but one of the few good ones was this; moisturizer and red lipstick were the only two things she needed to appear put together at any moment.

Considering each of the boys had been knocked out by the sleeping potion, she didn't attempt to be quiet as she kicked open her trunk and began pulling things out. She throws the gown off before slipping on some tights. Then she pulls on a leather skirt, and then a tight turtleneck, and lastly a black trench coat—surely she will blend into the night this way.

Her knees hit the floor, reaching beneath the bed for a pair of matching mary janes. Nyx is waiting atop of the trunk when she surfaces back up, and Rose gives a slight nod before allowing the snake to slither into her sleeve. Jade is by her side, sitting and waiting. Rose slips a collar onto the dog, presses a chaste kiss to her snout, and then she quietly slips of the dorm with Jade on her heels.

*

She did not follow instructions.

Rose went close to his home indeed, but walked the streets of the wizarding version of Wiltshire in search of another pack of cigarettes instead of heading straight to him. She thanked the young man behind the counter before pushing the wooden exit door open, thinking of Draco and how much he enjoyed the sound of bells above doors ringing.

Jade stays right beside her, keeping the same pace as she slips the pack into her pocket, distractedly smiling down at the dog as she turns into a dark, cold alley and prepares to apparate.

Heavy footsteps make her halt after only a few seconds of entering the alley and avoiding wet spots, watching as Jade snarls and the hair on the back of the dog's neck stands up. "Sit." Rose demands. The dog listens instantly, but does not stop growling.

As if Rose knows trouble is a few feet away, she takes her time lifting her head up—finding ten men with wands in their hands only nine feet away; all burly and angry.

She sighs, and slides her hands into her pockets, only giving them a bored look before saying, "You have angered my dog."

At once, shouting begins.

"You killed my brother!"

"You killed my father!"

"You killed my uncle!"

The words and titles of lost loved ones begin mixing together in her brain as she stays standing still, appearing even more bored as it continues on.

The men finish breathless, their faces covered in more anger than before as they await her response.

"Are you done?" She wonders, giving them no time to respond. "You see, I have no idea what you are all talking about."

"They were guards!"

"Ohhhh...." She drags out, smiling tightly. "Yeah, I have no regrets about that."

"We're going to kill you for what you did!"

Her head cocks to the side, unphased in every sense. "You do that, and you're going to make some very powerful people very angry." She states, "I am not one to boast, but I will warn you that none of you will be the ones walking away in this little ordeal."

The men raise their wands, muttering things to each other, as if planning to hit her with one gigantic spell. She believes she could handle this, take them head on, but before she can blink the men's faces go blank, arms go slack down by their sides, and each wand falls to the ground in puddles below.

Every detail around her goes silent and still. There is no wind, no drips of water falling off roofs, no sounds coming from people in the street behind her. The silence is so deafening that her ears begin to ring, because never has she experienced such literal quiet.

"Must you find issues at every corner, Rosalie?"

She turns around, finding Tom looming over her, his eyes void as he stares at the men he had spelled in a way she could not comprehend. The stillness of the night too, it almost freaked her out to think of what he was doing.

"Go to your homes," He demands, his voice carrying, "And forget anything you know about this woman."

In utter confusion, Rose looks back at the men, her brows furrowing when the group of ten simply pick up their wands, turn around, and go down the opposite way of the alleyway in perfect synchronization.

"What—are you imperio'ing them?" She turns to Tom again, racking her brain, "How are you doing that without lifting your hands? Without using a spell? I—"

"My Rosalie," He speaks over her, "How foolish of you to question me when I am the one to come after you." He holds out his hand, demanding, "Come with me."

It is not smart how relaxed she is as her hand slides into his own, but his eyes promise a twisted sense of safety.

Tom looks down at the dog, and inclines his chin up, drawing the animal to her side.

All at once, she is emerged into absolute darkness. All the more still than the night had been, but nowhere near calm or peace. Her bones felt the urge to yell for help, to plead for whatever this was to go away. But it felt wild, different from death's whispering shadows that usually hover at her back, freeing in a sense, almost as if the seasons were happening on her skin as she stood still in this empty space.

The darkness slips away, her eyes adjusting to the mass of trees surrounding herself, and she can barely breathe as she looks down at the leaves beneath her feet. Jade nudges at her right knee, the confusion only getting worse inside Rose's brain.

"Tom?" She mutters before looking up again. "Tom?"

Two firm hands slide onto her shoulders, and then his lips brush past her ear, "Did you bring your wand?"

She goes still, but decides not to question what she just experienced.

Her fingers work open the trench coat, pulling the wand out from an inner pocket, all while trying to calm down her running brain.

"Relax." He demands by her ear, his hands gliding down her arms before he stands up straight. He takes hold of her left hand, the one clutching the wand, pressing a finger against the wood. "Curious...this is a notoriously difficult pair."

"Us or the wand wood and core?"

"Both." He muses, bringing a smirk to her face. "The wand has stored up magic—a blockage, per say. You must begin using it."

She allows herself to sink into chest as a chilled breeze flows by, becoming pleased when he stays firm, unwavering. "Why though, my lord?" She wonders, a teasing tone laying beneath. "I have practically mastered wandless magic."

"Do I still use a wand, Rosalie?"

"Yes," She says, eyeing his fingers around her own. "When you are not doing whatever just happened or opening doors with your mind...still very confused by the events of tonight, by the way."

He ignores her blubbering, but his lips do twitch. "That is because even though I can seamlessly perform wandless magic, it should only be used when necessary." He pauses, "Do you feel a connection to the wand still?"

"I can feel the connection of our hands, my lord." She teases.

"Focus, Rosalie." He demands, "While you may not need your wand, it makes wordless spells much more powerful and simpler to harness."

"Well, I...I do feel the connection."

"Think of being in battle," He murmurs, "If you were sending off two spells, or using both hands as I taught you with the fire, having a wand in one of those hands is going to not only double the amount of power, but the force as well. While being powerful has meaning, even someone with very little could knock another out with a simple stunning spell if they put enough force behind it—sending it over so quickly the other would have no time to react."

"Why has no one emphasized that to me though?" She speaks, as if to herself, brows pinched together. "Surely they would have by now..."

"Why would people who fear you give you the keys to everything?" He wonders, his free hand splaying over her waist. "Dumbledore, the whole lot of them, he needs to know exactly what you do, needs to know every move you'll make. You're his puppet, he needs control over you."

She swallows the lump buried inside of her throat and looks at their conjoined hands. "Then what am I to you?"

A slow smirk spreads over his face.

He brings his lips back to her ear, and murmurs, "A partner."

Her eyes fall close on a heavy breath, "Not an equal?"

"If you want to be." He murmurs again, and she can feel that smirk on her skin. "I'll let you be whatever you want."

"Lies." She hisses, eyes flying open as his fingers dig into her waist. "You don't view anyone as your equal."

"Oh Rosalie," He laughs humorlessly. "I'm going to teach you a spell." He says, "You'll need it for tonight."

She thinks to question him on what he has exactly planned for her doing tonight, but the idea slips her mind as his hand around her own adjusts and he begins talking to her in a hushed tone.

"Repeat after me," He says, "Morsmordre."

"Morsmordre?" She mutters.

"Mhm." He hums, "Now point the wand to the sky, and say it."

She listens to him, almost automatically, turning her eyes up onto the starry sky and pointing her wand up as his hand slips away. The word comes out like water, fluid and natural, but the light that shoots out of her wand is bright green, and so powerful that she jumps back—stopped by his chest.

It was as if a new constellation had formed, made of emerald stars, with a monstrously huge skull, and a serpent protruding from its mouth, full of hazy green smoke. She had seen pictures, even seen it at the world cup, but never so close, or so bright. This was something to invoke terror, and here she was ogling at it as if it had been art.

"Good girl," He praises, his hands spinning her around to face him. "Now come," He says, "Let us go home."

Before she can even begin to protest, she is taken back into that black pit, her stomach hollowing out. But just as quickly as she entered, the darkness fell from her eyes, and she was bracing herself on the back of a chair.

Her head snaps up, eyes adjusting. It takes a moment, or more, for her to recognize herself being inside of his office. She looks around, searching for him, and finds Tom walking away from her to the bar cart.

"Gods," She breathes out, head shaking as she stands up straight and helps Nyx out of her sleeve. "What do you keep doing?"

He ignores her completely.

She narrows her eyes at his back while setting Nyx to the floor, almost gasping upon the realization that Jade is nowhere to be found, but the dog trots right over to her side. She bends down to the dogs level, petting Jade's head in a soothing manner with both hands.

Jade leans into her touch, more than happy and safe, but then the dog's eyes land on something behind Rose and a deep growl comes from the animal. Heaviness settles on Rose's left shoulder, the witch beginning to grin from ear-to-ear as she registers who it is.

She turns her chin, finding Nagini's head resting on her shoulder.

"Hello witchling," Nagini hisses, "We've missed you."

Tom's voice came from far off, "Do not lie to her, Nagini."

Rose did not even bother looking in his direction. "I missed you greatly. How has he been? Grouchy? Vindictive? Talking of world domination?"

"I am afraid that is his natural state." Nagini replies.

"How tragic for us all," Rose teases, craning her neck down to place a chaste kiss between the snake's eyes.

This time, Tom's voice came from much closer. "Nagini," He says, "Leave us."

Nagini slips off her shoulder, muttering something about taking Nyx. Rose watches the two leave out of the open door, rolling her eyes at the tiny white snake on top of Nagini.

It isn't until the door is slammed back in its place by the thick tail that Rose looks at Jade with a sigh, all before turning her eyes up and seeing Tom right there, holding out a glass of whiskey for her.

"Why thank you, my lord." She says while taking the glass, pushing herself up as he turns away. He is still rounding the desk when she takes a seat across from him. Her focus goes into fully untying her coat with legs crossed, whispering down at Jade to stay seated.

And when she looks up, he is across, already staring at her.

Her breath hitches against her will.

"Rosalie?"

She eases herself into relaxing in the chair, forcing a question, "Where is everyone?"

"You are the only one for now." He says, his eyes trailing over her face.

"Oh Tom," She fakes a gasp. "Did you miss me so much you used a meeting as a cover up for my company?"

He leans back into his chair, unamused. "Do not delude yourself with foolish ideas."

"Hm," She grinned around the rim of the glass, taking a sip before saying, "It seems pretty likely from you."

"Do you wish to be missed by me?" He asks. "That should be the real question."

"You know..." She begins, "Getting you to admit things is like attempting to break down a steel door with my bare hands."

His lips quirked. "I would believe you capable of such."

"Your faith in me is forever inspiring." She says, "I do need to bother you with something though."

He gestures her on with a hand, his gaze locking on her in what feels close to scrutiny.

"It is just about the ring," She says, "I mean, it's not a big deal, but..."

"Is it hurting you?" He asks.

"No, no," Rose sits up straightener, leaning forward slightly. "I–well, I've got these weird marks on my finger...they were only gray at first, but this morning they turned black..."

Tom places his glass down before leaning back in his chair and curling his finger at her. Rose grins at the action as she stands up and slips off her coat, immediately moving around his desk

Without a second thought, she steps over one of his legs, and then, amused by his raised brows, as if in challenge, she goes to extend her hand, but stops as he begins standing up.

In fact, she freezes, because he comes to tower over her, forcing the girl to press her hips into the desk for any sort of distance.

"Has the locket left a mark?"

She visibly swallows, craning her neck up to him with a nod.

He gives a tug on the sweater across her stomach, giving one demand, "Take this off for me."

"Okay." She says, alarmingly comfortable with the fact.

The sweater goes off her body fluidly, her hands placing the material to the side, and then she's forced to look up at him again, taking a deep breath as she uses her hands behind herself on the desk for a semblance of rest.

His eyes do not leave her face. "Can I touch you?"

She raises her eyebrows with an amused smirk, "With such proper manners? Yes sir."

Tom yanked on the chain, forcing her eyes wide as his own fell down onto the lace across her breasts, but focusing on the mark right above them; lines of what seemed like black ink invading her veins in the shape of a wonky spider web. With a hand still holding the chain, his fingers graze over the inky mark, pausing as she sucks in a sharp breath.

"Rosalie, Rosalie," his tongue clicks mockingly. "Must you always be so reactive to my touch?"

She shot him a glare. "You are foolish to think I am anywhere close to reactive."

A cruel smirk of his own form takes root, and suddenly his hand slides onto the side of her neck, yanking her forward. On instinct, her own hands reach for his sides.

"Do you remember it?" He suddenly asks, his voice low.

"Remember what?" She breathes out, venom in her tone.

"Even when I had—what should we call them? Phantom hands?" He wonders all too mockingly, "All it took was," His other hand came up, his knuckle beginning to slowly graze over her cheek, "A simple brush, and you were..." His smirk spreads. "Breathless? Just as you are now."

"Hard not to be when I had to feel the touch of a ghost." She spat.

"You humor me," He says, keeping their eyes together as he pushes her sweater into her chest. "I only needed to see the mark. Get dressed," He reaches behind her for the glass of whiskey before demanding, "And then, have a seat."

She watches him carefully as he sits back down, trapping her with his thighs as he leans back into the chair. Tom appears to only become more amused when she slips the sweater over her body and presses her palms back against the desk, her head tilting to the side.

His smirk falters as he raises the glass to his lips and drinks, eyes trailing over her.

"You are a very unpleasant person." She says.

He tips the glass at her. "Thank you for noticing."

She tries holding back her urge to hit him across the face, in ways Rose could not explain she hated the man before her, but she also did not want him to be gone again. It could be the ominous low lighting in the room, the flames dancing around them, that make her all too comfortable with speaking what begins to plague her mind.

"The Deatheaters..."

Tom rolls his eyes and places his hand on the side of her thigh. "Must we talk of them when I should be busy healing you?"

"They don't respect me, at all." She snaps, "None of them do, you are oblivious to how they look at me like some insolent woman invading their safe space."

He drags his fingers up, "It does not matter what they feel, only what I do." He pauses, tipping his chin up toward her. "I think you are extraordinary, beyond measure."

Rose shakes her head, compliments off his lips could do nothing for her when she has been worshiped daily by the ones who matter. Tom doesn't matter, at least that is what she tells herself at night.

At least, that is what she has been trying to tell herself for years.

Maybe one day she can trick her brain into believing such.

With a heavy sigh she casually sits herself on his left thigh and wraps an arm around his shoulders, his body and face turning tense in reaction.

"Have I told you what Dumbledore spoke to me about?" She asks.

"No, Rosalie."

"He saw the ring."

Unfazed, unamused, Tom simply shifts his arm around her back, a lover's embrace, as he brings her closer.

"He says you have a hold on me," She murmurs as her fingers trace his shoulder, "Asked me why I would miss you after knowing what you become."

Tom faced her with the slightest curiosity swimming behind his blue eyes, his voice like gravel, "And what did I become?"

She smirks, her gaze dropping down to his lips as she says, "A monster, in his eyes at least."

"I wonder," Tom brings his hand to her chin, tilting it up, "Do you find monsters appealing? Or have you, in our souls time apart, found yourself happy with the hero's of this world?"

She melts into his touch, and hates herself for it. "Too appealing, I'm afraid, for any sane person to understand."

"You ignored the last part of my question."

She laughs to herself as his fingers fall away, and his eyes focus down on her hand, the one where the ring has made her finger appear as if she had been struck by black lightning. "I am beyond happy with my two boyfriends, but believe me they are no heroes." She says, just as his hand wraps around her own.

There is a glimpse of the darkness beneath, of the monster she knows he keeps an inch beneath the surface of a human facade. It is shown by his eyes going a darker shade of blue, almost black, one to rival the depth of the oceans, and the magic he forces into her that makes her bones ache from sheer force.

He spoke disgusted, "A person who deserves you would not share you like some toy."

"Like you don't view me as some object?"

His thumb rubs over the ring on her finger, and she feels her heart skip at a piece of his soul connecting with his skin. "You mistake me, Rosalie." His eyes connect to her own fluidily. "I view you as someone deserving of having your soul completely consumed by another."

She gives a half-smile with a vow of silence, there is no point in arguing.

His hand leaves her own and falls down onto her thigh, trekking over the sheer tights across her skin. "There is a part of you that desires things that scare you," He says, the anger in his tone fading to understanding, "Many times you find yourself wondering why you still feel the need to hide pieces of yourself from them."

"That is because I find the darkest parts of myself reflected in you," She says, as if the words burn her tongue, "And I cannot figure out if that is a good or bad thing."

"My dear," He breathes, his hand tight around her thigh. "It is a bad thing," He says, "But we will drink our poison together."

She bows her forehead against his, and her fingers trail into the curls at the nape of his neck.

Now, her voice fades into a whisper, "I do not want you to go away again."

"I do not possess the strength to leave you behind." He says, a moment of truth.

"I helped kill you once," She whispers, "I could do it once more."

His lips hover over her own, his voice dropping to a promising whisper.

"And I know you do not possess the strength to do that again."

"I do not." She vows, "I could not, no matter how much I may wish to."

His hand glides onto the side of her neck, and when he lifts her head up there is hesitation on his face that she cannot translate.

"You are healed." He says, and he lifts her up so suddenly she grasps onto him, gathering his coat in her clutches.

And then, with careful ease, he sets her into his chair, and walks away.

This she can translate, as he moves to where there is water inside a glass bottle and takes the top off. After so much magic pushed into her bones, she would need water.

He comes back soon enough and hands her a glass full of the substance, and as she leans back into his chair, the real conversation begins.

"How many more, Tom?" She asks, "How many more do you have left to win to your side? You have always been smart, and you remind these families of the old days, but some of the most important people are sitting inside of Azkaban as we speak."

"And some of them have moved, stepped into the shadows after I disappeared." He says, "They are hungry, desperate to have their power and influence back."

"So give it to them." She says, crossing one leg over the other. "Money, power, glory—all of it is exactly what people like my family want. You can give it, so do it."

Tom presses his hands into the desk, leaning towards her with a new look in his eyes. "The Lestranges, the Carrows, the Rosier's, and even the Averys; your mother's family..." He admits, finally. "They are the ones that have moved, left because of the shame of having family in Azkaban, or sunk away to hidden places."

She does not even realize the smirk on her face, or how easy it is for her brain to connect the dots. "They are the only ones left, are they not? You have won over every other family."

"Precisely, Rosalie." He says, "But not just them, we need the families from all of Europe; France, Italy, Russia and so forth—"

"The whole world." She smiles, sitting up straight. "You could do it, Tom."

"I know."

"No, genuinely you can." She says, standing up from the chair and setting the glass down. "The societies are disconnected, you could bring them together. One by one, each one would fall into place after the other. Even in filthy America, those societies are lost without real guidance."

He smiles back at her with a perfect row of teeth, but this is sinister—their conversation is laced with evil intent.

Tom moves around the corner of the desk, taking her chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, and forcing her to look up at him.

"Maybe it is a chance to rebuild civilization from scratch." He says, a glint of dreams in his eyes.

"In your own image." She breathes out, "It is a chance, Tom."

His hand slips into the back of her hair, twisting and pulling her into him. She does not breathe as she looks up at him. "Be by my side." He says, "Forget all of the vows, be by me willingly."

"I would." She says, "What can you offer me though?"

"The world."

Her breath hitches all too loudly.

"Deal." She breathes out.

He smiles—different than before, this one is full of promises and secrets, vows and the untold future. His fingers cup at her cheek, and he pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead in a sealed vow.

Her eyes fall shut, her hands clutch at his sides, and she melts and melts.

And at some point, in what feels like hours after, he pulls away, takes his hand from her hair, and holds her face in his palms.

"There is one thing left." He says.

"My family." She acknowledges at once, "They are the most powerful dynasty, it would be of great use to you to have them whole."

"I do not want any of them back."

"But I do." She pleads, "I want them alive and here."

His touch falls from her skin, and he steps back, hands sliding into his slacks pockets.

She does not know how he does it, but it is clear he has called for Mulicber when the door creaks open seconds later.

"Yes, my lord?"

Rose rolls her eyes.

"Do it now." Tom demands, without his eyes leaving her.

The door closes again, and she waits and waits, growing angry with each moment that passes of his scrutinizing gaze on her.

She stared at him a moment further before the door creaked open once again.

The atmosphere grew tense in a way all too familiar to Rosalie Black.

"You did it." She whispers, the words sounding choked in her throat.

With how tight his jaw locked, she could see every sharp curve of his face displaying his anger.

Tom gestures to the door, his rage for the situation almost unfolding.

There, at the very entrance of the room, stands Walburga and Orion Black in the flesh.

Tom moves toward them and there is no longer the man she had been present with minutes before. There is no warmth or humanity in his eyes, or in the way he moves, or in the way he holds himself. He stops in front of the pair with barely any feet in between them and himself. For some reason, there appears to be a palpable tension so suffocating between the three that Rose wants to leave.

And when Tom spoke, his voice boomed in such a cold manner that even Rose flinched. "I will tell you again in front of Rosalie, so she will not give you any credit for...behaving." He spat the last word in one of the most demanding manners she had ever heard.

Never once, in her entire life, had she seen anyone hold more power over a room than her grandparents.

Now though, she was witnessing them be small, exist as lesser than.

But she is confused, so very lost at what he is speaking of, and she can barely manage to tell if this is all a dream or not.

"You touch her in any way I condemn wrong, you even breathe in a way I think out of line and I will know, because she cannot keep me out of her mind." He says, "And Rosalie," He calls her name, still keeping his eyes on the grandparents. "Not even you will be able to save them from punishment far worse than death."

And then he is gone, walking around the two, and not lifting a hand to make the door slam into place behind him.

It has been years without Walburga and Orion, and here they stand as young as they were the day she had been born.

Neither of their faces show fear, or even an inkling of being fazed from what they had just been told.

"Mon amour," Walburga calls, an eerily familiar term, one she had missed dearly. "How foolish of you to play games with the devil himself."

Orion smiles at her, that smile that had haunted her dreams of the man she thought left her behind. "Your grandmother is wrong," He says, a voice deep as she remembers, "How smart of you."

Rose is not aware of the tears streaming down her face, but she forces out a question, her voice cracking, "Are you really back?"

Orion steps forward, and that is enough to send her running across the room and into his arms. The elder picks the girl up, holding onto her in a tight embrace as if she is still a child.

He buries his face into her hair, and murmurs, "I am so sorry."

Afterwards, Orion sets her down, but their arms are still around one another as she looks up to him. "My little monster," He breathes out the old nickname, a sad smile on his lips. "You should have known I would never leave you in such a way. That is a weak man's out, and that is something I am not."

"Oh papá," She grabs hold of his face with her own saddened smile. "I have never thought you weak." Rose turns to Walburga, her voice shaking more than before, "I have missed you."

Walburga stands there with hands laced together, the picture of beauty and elegance. "I saw." She says, "You should have never let yourself go over the loss of a family member."

"Shut up," Rose breathes out, pulling out the woman into a bone-crushing hug. Walburga stays unwavering and still, but in mere moments, the grandmother fades her icy exterior and holds onto Rose as if she may never get to again.

As awful as it might sound, this feels like coming home.

Walburga bows her forehead against Rose's, whispering, "I have missed you dearly."

Their moment is interrupted by the door swinging open, forcing Walburga and Rose apart.

Regulus Black stands there, not stepping inside, his chest moving up and down quickly as his eyes stay trained on Rose.

Orion begins, "Reg—"

"The meeting has already started." Regulus snaps, "Come on, Rosie." He demanded, not asked, before turning on his heel out of the room.

Rose frowns and follows after him, not missing the sound of the grandparents following. "Reggie?" She whispers as she comes to walk beside him.

"We will talk about it later." He mutters, failing to keep the anger in his tone hidden.

Suddenly, Rose halts, letting him walk on as she comes face to face with her grandparents. "Are you coming with me?"

"Not tonight dear," Orion says, his hand going onto her shoulder. "We need rest, but we will be sure to write to you, plan a day together. The Dark Lord has already announced us being brought back to those who matter, so ignore any of the odd looks thrown your way."

"And tell Theodore's father we will be paying him a visit." Walburga says, a sadistic smirk on her lips. "Surely he did not believe he'd get away with such behavior."

"But–" Rose chokes up, "You've only just been brought back...I don't want to say goodbye already."

"It will only be for a day or so." Walburga says, "You have a duty to perform, go do it. We will not be going anywhere, I can promise you that."

Rose frowns, again, solemness sweeping through her at the thought of their faces disappearing from her vision. "Okay...then," She steps forward, pressing up on her toes and wrapping an arm around both of their necks, leaving her head stuck between their own. "I am sorry about the Dark Lord threatening you."

"It is no worry." Orion says as he pats at her back. "We do not wish you harm."

"Good." Rose says, her arms suddenly turning firm and her voice dropping to a whisper, "Because if you do anything to me, or my friends, I will kill you before he can even touch you."

She feels Walburga and Orion still in synchronization, and she pulls away, a genuine smile on her face. "I'm glad your both back, truly, it is time to fix our family." She says, turning on her heel down the corridor. "I will see you tomorrow or the next day, no later!"

Outside the room with the insanely long table filled with men in dark robes, Rose stopped, wavering in the doorway as her eyes roamed over the faces barely illuminated by the ominous but burning sconces. Tom's voice filled her ears, reminding her of how foolishly mesmerized she was the first time she saw him this way.

Terrifyingly powerful, and cold, and demanding—he held an allure, the wrong kind.

The kind you knew to stay away from.

She waited until his voice stopped, slipping the smile off of her face before walking inside, letting the darkness of the night engulf her as she tried to ignore her heart dropping at Adrian Pucey sitting there and blending in.

"Rosalie," Tom calls, giving a curt nod to the seat on his right.

She gave a quick bow of her head, forcing the words, "My lord." out of her mouth.

Regulus sat in the seat next to the one meant for her, his hands laced tightly together on the table as Rose came to sit down. She hated how well he blended in as well, hated that no one was questioning his or Adrian's presence, but they looked ready to tear into her.

Her eyes looked over to a deadly calm Adrian, getting a nod from the boy, one she knew was meant to reassure her.

Where was Narcissa? Miss Zabini?

Abraxas, on the other side of Tom and directly across from Rose, sent her a smile and a wink.

Augustus Rookwood waited in silence for what he seemed to believe long enough, beginning to speak again, "As I was saying, there are multiple Order members guarding it at all times. There has not been one time they have left it unchecked, my lord."

"Don't be daft, Augustus." Abraxas let out a pompous laugh. "They are obviously not going to leave anything they deem important unguarded. They may be uneducated, but even a beast with no prior knowledge knows how to protect what is theirs."

Corbin Yaxley's irritating voice comes next, "If I may, my lord...Although this is obvious, we could simply take out the one guarding the prophecy. The matter of dealing with the Aurors after is no big thing, they cannot cast unforgivables anymore and I know anyone here could withstand any spell."

Rose could not resist.

"Yaxley, where have your brain cells gone to?" She spat, "The ministry is in denial of his return. Why would we make it known and give the Order proof at this very moment? As is, even some guarding the prophecy are not sure if they fully believe Dumbledore about the Dark Lord's return."

Abraxas smiles again. "Right as always dear."

"Rosalie is in fact right, Corbin." Tom speaks with annoyance, "Although it would be simple, it would be the fuel they need to start a war now."

"And there is money to be made in war," Abraxas says, all too cheerfully, "Cannot let it begin until the right time if we want the most out of the pile of bodies."

Lucius shook his head at his own father. "My lord, there are plenty of us inside of the ministry." He says, "Since the boy is the one who has to retrieve it, we could very well trap him into doing so."

Snape's monotone voice rings out, "The question begs how though."

Tom stood up and began moving, seeming to be in thought as his hands slid into pockets.

Regardless of the anger Rose knew possessed Regulus, she felt his hand slide into her own beneath the table just as she opened her mouth. "We could have Nagini attack whoever the guard on a night shift is...send a message of sorts."

Yaxely scoffed instantly. "You just said we do not want to give proof of the Dark Lord's return. Why would we send a message?"

Rose deadpans, "I absolutely hate when you speak to me."

Tom stopped behind her chair, running his hand down the back of her hair, and Rose attempted to ignore Lucius's shared look with Abraxas at the action.

"Explain it how you told me before, Rosalie." Tom demands.

"Of course, my lord." She says, "If one guard is attacked, the Order will be forced to place two at all times."

The moment she had been dreading comes as Theodore Nott senior opens his mouth with furrowed brows, "And that does what? Put more guards in our path?"

She rolls her eyes for everyone to see. "If you had not interrupted me, I was going to say the Potter boy knows about the Order and he knows Sirius Black is part of it. The only thing he craves is family and he found it in my pathetic father." She pauses, easing as Regulus threads their fingers together. "If he just so happens to hear about the attack and hear whispers about a need for more guards of something, he will not know of what because he is kept in the dark by everyone above him, then the boy will begin to believe that Dumbledore is allowing Sirius to finally help in a big way."

The girl halts for a moment, assuring herself that they are listening before continuing on, "I will handle getting the boy to hear these whispers over Yule break, and this will lead to the Dark Lord being able to plant a fake vision of Sirius being attacked. He has a savior complex, there is no way he will be able to resist and I am in my Uni years with him, all he needs is a motivator and I can get him there."

Lucius gave her an impressed nod and leaned back into his chair. "I'll be damned, Rosalie. Sirius is the one person he'll come for, that is how we get him there."

"Finally," Rose smiles sarcastically, "Someone with a brain understands."

Her eyes followed Tom as he began moving back to his chair and speaking in a way that made everyone, including her, sit up a little bit straighter.

"We will attack a guard right before Yule," He says, "It will set the boy up to be around the Order when they begin to panic."

The rest of the meeting went by seamlessly, and when it had ended people broke off into groups for conversations as they always did. Not Rose though, she took Regulus by the wrist and dragged him into a corner of the room.

She studied every inch of his face caught in the flames, finally thankful for only candles lighting the dark room, because it gave her a sense of privacy with so many shadows to hide in for a talk.

"Why are you acting in such a way?" She asks.

Regulus yanks his wrist free, eyeing her in a cold manner.

"Reg..." She mutters, stepping closer, "What is it?"

"Do you love me?" He asks.

Her brows knit together as she pushes a chin length curl from his face. "Of course, I love you more than anyone."

He speaks through gritted teeth, "You wanted to bring them back? Orion and Walburga?"

Rose straightens her spine, face falling. "You don't understand. I knew you wouldn't understand if I asked for permission."

Regulus scoffs, stepping into her space so suddenly that she steps back. "And you're going to meet up with Sirius tonight?"

"How do you even know about that?!" She whisper-yelled, "I was not going to show up until I found out I was being forced out of the school and into this meeting."

"Maybe keep the walls inside your mind up." He spat.

"Regulus," She breathes out, and takes hold of his arms. "Just calm down, okay? He's my father, you cannot seriously expect me to refuse him pleading to be heard."

"No," He mutters, the anger fading into hurt as his eyes meet her own in a desperate plea, "Am I not enough for you?"

Regulus pulls himself away from her one final time, and turns away, exiting out of the open doors without so much as a look back.

Before Rose can even begin to reel, a hand slides onto her shoulder. She looks behind herself, finding the room empty and Adrian looking down at her.

"Come with me." He says, slipping his hand off and stepping to the side.

Tom stands at the end of the table, his attention not falling onto them until they reach him. He nods to the table, and reluctantly pulls out her chair from before for her to sit.

Adrian takes to standing behind her, his hands on her chair as she tries to ignore the blank stare being shot her way from Tom.

"Adrian will be taking you with him tonight." Tom says, as he sits down and tosses a piece of paper onto the table.

Rose furrows her brows and picks up the parchment, unfolding it before letting her eyes begin to roam. There is only an address, but it is an address that makes her stare at the lettering for more than two minutes in disbelief.

Tom does not rush her, and when she looks up, he is at ease from where he sits at the head of the table, just now finishing lighting a cigarette. He leans back into the seat and tosses the lighter down, eyeing her in an unimpressed manner.

"This place is infested with vampires!" Rose scoffed. "Is this a joke? Or, are you simply wishing for me to come back as one of them?"

"There is a family there planning to rally the vampires against me." Tom says, giving her no reaction. "I want them dead and I want it to be messy. I would not usually only send two people, but with Adrian having you, it should go smoothly."

"They are fast, strong, and unbelievably unpredictable." She says, "And what if they have children? Would you have me kill them too?"

"Rose," Adrian warns, his voice tenser than she had ever heard.

Tom takes a long drag, seeming to be amused.

Rose slams the paper down with her hand, "You would? A child?!"

"I would not think you'd have a problem, Rosalie." Tom says, a smirk playing on his lips. He turns his eyes up to Adrian, "I know you are excellent at keeping things clean, but as I said I want it to be messy, something to make people aware that cruel things took place."

Adrian nods, his voice returning to normal. "Of course, my lord."

Tom focuses back onto Rose, and leans his elbows onto the table. "If there is a child, simply use a curse to get rid of it." He gestures with the hand holding the cigarette as if it is obvious, "I am no monster who thinks you should torture it, but the whole family must die."

In the only way Walburga had taught her, Rose places the mask of security on, and lifts her chin, before lacing her hands together on the table. "Messy?" She wonders, her voice drained of warmth, "To send a message to the other vampires?"

"Yes, Rosalie." Tom says, "And to the Order who thinks they are one step ahead but cannot seem to acknowledge that vampires are dark creatures by nature...They will come to me on their own, especially if they see the cost of siding with the wrong people who cannot provide them with protection."

"They cannot be one step ahead with me by your side," She mutters, and stands up from her chair.

"That much you are correct about." Tom says, "No need to come back here after." He says, "Go on."

Adrian does the routine every soul has to do before leaving Tom's presence, but she does not. She finds Nyx in the corridor, and yells out for Jade—the dog comes running within seconds. And then she is out of the front doors, standing in the cold as Nyx nestles into her coat.

The doors opened seconds later, and Adrian spun her around, taking hold of her face in such a worried way that her eyebrows shot up.

"Anything you don't want to do, I can do it for you." He murmurs, "Okay?"

"Adrian, I am fine." She lets a wryly smile slip. "Ready to commit murder with me?"

His lips curve into a smirk. "I'll relish in it."

Rose pulls his hands down, slipping one of her own as her free hand reaches down and hooks her fingers underneath Jade's collar. "Ready?" She asks before managing to look back up at him, pausing at his furrowed brows. "What is it?"

"Does Jade....does she have a diamond collar?"

"Yeah?" Rose shrugs, "It came in yesterday, took months to have it made."

Adrian blinks at her, over and over.

"Oh shove off," Rose mutters as she yanks him closer, and instantly apparates them away.

*

"Your apparation is getting faster," Adrian breathed out, as they landed on a dark and gloomy street full of willow trees and houses painted in colors that resemble the night; a tactic of the vampires, one that kept it clear to passerby's that they had stumbled into vampire territory.

"Yeah..." Rose muttered, pulling away from him to glance down at Jade before allowing her eyes to roam the different homes. "Walburga never let me come here, said it was unsafe...Beautiful though, isn't it?"

Adrian hummed before using his wand to turn her chin toward himself. "The Dark Lord should've given you a mask..." He says, "I'll have to put mine on."

"I don't believe you can have one without the mark." She reaches over and pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. "I will be fine, but show me how you do it."

He pulled up the sleeve of the robe, enough to showcase the dark mark in full power burned into his forearm, and then he pressed the tip of his wand into the mark, muttering a phrase of Latin she could not hear from how quiet he spoke.

It was almost as if smoke had begun to spread over his face from beneath the hood, and Rose could no longer see until the dust began to settle, and she came to watch a mask spread over Adrian's face so suddenly that she stepped back.

The bottom portion of the mask looked as though it had been plastered onto the face. A suffocating ivory coffin that walked the line between barbaric and aristocratic art. The top part was finely wielded iron, intricate designs hiding the falsehoods of promised power only opening to their soulless eyes, perhaps that is why the mouth and nose were plastered shut—to cause freight, to make the victim feel fear before death came.

The Dark Lord would tell them this was to keep their identity secret, but the truth that Rose knows is these masks strip his closest followers of their identity and make them his own.

His to wield, his to use, his to have, and his to hold like property.

Either way, the only thing that made Adrian even slightly identifiable now was the green eyes looking down at her.

Tom's plan had worked though. This, combined with the robes, was unsettling in every way, something that would spread goosebumps over anyone's skin.

"Well then," She breathed out, stepping close to him again and placing her hands on the chillingly cold mask. "You know what this mask means, right? You are in his inner circle, but not the real one–they wear full silver-gray masks...a way for the others to know who's in charge." She trails off, a smirk on her lips. "And the Dark Lord...they say his is as dark as the grim reaper's face."

Adrians hands came up to hold her arms, his voice sounding muffled, "Do you have a thing for masks? Is that why you're smirking at me like some sort of psychopath?"

"Maybe I like the chills it makes me have," She murmurs, "But what I'd really like to know is how you earned your way into being in that inner circle."

"A story for another day." says Adrian, dragging her hands down.

"Fine." Rose pulls away from him with a smile, bumping their shoulders as she comes face to face with a tall black metal fence surrounding a home painted in midnight blue. "Jade, come." She absentmindedly calls as her fingers push the creaking gate door open. Jade trots over to her side, and she can feel Adrian behind her, hear his breathing as he looks down at the thick line of salt blocking their path.

Rose bends down and places her hand on Jade's head while pointing to the salt. Muttering, "You see that, baby?"

Jade, oddly so, blinks at Rose in a communication that makes Adrian confused.

Rose looks up at him over her shoulder. "It is just a simple protection spell, meant to ward witches, wizards, and vampires alike from using magic inside their homes." Her attention falls back to Jade right after, finger still pointing at the salt. "I need you to touch it."

"That dog cannot understand you." Adrian deadpans.

Rose simply smiles, nodding to Jade.

The dog takes a reluctant step toward the salt, her snout turning toward Rose for a nod that is instantly given.

In the most miraculous way, Jade puts a paw into the salt and kicks back, throwing grains all over the cement.

"Again." Rose demands.

Jade listens, breaking out into a rapid fire of what mimics dogs digging in the grass.

"Okay, okay," Rose laughs as she stands up, pulling a treat from the outer pocket of her coat. "Here," She says, taking Jade by the collar and pulling her back. The treat dangles in the air and the dog sits, happily taking the treat as it is fed to her.

As expected, Rose tells Adrian to follow her lead down the pavements and up onto the creaky steps of the front porch. He, of course, listens, even as she directs him away from the door, taking to leaning himself by the framing with Jade by his side.

He remains calm as she pulls out her dagger and slices open her palm, and he even willingly catches the blade after.

Although, he does flinch when she begins pounding on the door with no care.

Within seconds the door swung up, a man with hair as dark as his eyes, who appeared to be in his forties, which did not say much when considering vampires' slow aging rate. He could be two hundreds years old for all she knew.

Rose cradles her injured hand in her other, looking up at him innocently.

A smirk crosses over the man's lips. "Are you lost, witchling?"

"Yes actually," She muttered, "I lost my dog and ran after her into this village, but then I–" She gestures to her hand dripped in blood. "I fell, and I have no clue where we are...Not to mention, I think I dropped my wand."

The man's eyes fall down to her hand, and the night seems to still.

Only briefly, and then she is yanked into the home, her body thrown against the wall as every bit of oxygen is ripped from her lungs. He comes over top of her, squeezing her arms with painful strength.

Viens flash under his dark eyes molding into a crimson red, and his mouth opens, revealing fangs.

Before Rose can suck air back into her lungs, an animalistic growl echoes. The man lets out a howl of pain as he is ripped off of her, and Rose clutches at her chest, finding Jade tearing the man to the floor by having her teeth sunk into his arm.

Once the dog has him on the ground, she shakes his arm as if it is a chew toy, and at that very moment Adrian steps inside, hovering above. The man's eyes register the mask, and as he keeps trying to shove off Jade he goes to scream, but his mouth is covered by Adrian's foot stomping over his lips and staying there.

Rose grimaces as she hears skin rip from his arm area, but she does not stop Jade, only instead allows her eyes to wander over the foyer and burning fireplace. She finds exactly what she needed on the mantel, and walks over, picking up the axe from the holder in which it hangs from.

"Vampires," Rose shakes her head while spinning around, snapping her fingers to make Jade stop. She waits until the dog pulls away and sits on her hind legs before continuing, "They always have some bloody weapon above fires—they think it's a symbol of protection."

Adrian has a muffled sound come from behind the mask.

She comes to a stand across from him. "Remove your foot." The moment he does the man spits out blood and two teeth. "Merlin," She breathes out, "Took out some of the poor bastard's teeth."

The man attempts to speak, the words inaudible at first.

Eventually though, he manages a raspy whisper, "Deatheaters."

Rose takes the axe in both hands and lifts the handle up into the air. "Surprise!" She says, right before swinging the axe down with full force across the man's throat. The slicing echoes, and blood splatters everywhere as the head is fully severed off.

She rips the axe out with a grunt, swinging it into a resting position on her shoulder as if she had just finished a long day of chopping wood. Adrian silently reaches out, taking her bloodied face into his hands and uses his sleeves to begin wiping away the liquid.

"Such a sweet boy," She says, smiling wryly.

She cannot see it, but she knows there is a smirk beneath that mask.

When he has cleared her skin, they begin walking down the long and eerily lit hallway, Jade following behind Adrian as if nothing had happened.

"Shame," Rose says as they pass a portrait of what is clearly the man and his wife, "They look happy."

She comes to a halt by a winding staircase, steps directly across an open archway filled with light. By now, Rose has learned how to deal with unpredictable situations. She has been taught, by many, how to wield her power in a way that no bodily strength could beat.

There is safety in that.

And Rose takes one deep breath before walking into the spacious room, a place decorated with haunting tapestries and gas powered candles. A woman and two men sit by a window, the woman clearly more aged, and the two men resembling her so much Rose knew they must be her children. Even if they look a bit older than Rose herself, it was not unusual for families of vampires to live together as a unit for as long as possible.

The woman is the first to stand up with caution, her sons following, as she yells out, "Van?! Where are you?!"

At that moment, Adrian must've stepped in behind her, and the look of him had to have registered who the two random intruders were, because the woman prepares to speed over, but not in time.

Rose lifts her hand not holding onto the axe, stopping the family of only three in their tracks. Their eyes glass over momentarily, and then they fall to their knees, clutching at their heads.

She takes her time walking toward them, and grunts mixed with winces begin flowing from their mouths. As she comes to a standstill in front of their row of bodies, Rose adjusts the axe on her shoulder and bends down, scanning the mother before looking at the sons with heads of black hair.

She gives the slightest tilt of her raised hand, lifting the spell up enough for them to speak, but not anywhere close enough for them to stop clutching at their heads where the pain bubbles.

Adrian didn't know it, but she was slowly frying their brains.

The mother grits out, "What do you...you want?!"

"Well," Rose sighs, "I'm clearly not here for tea."

The son in the middle grunts, "We won't join you!"

Rose busted out into manic laughter. "Silly boy," She says, "I don't want you to join us."

The mother's voice shook, "Then what do you want?!"

"I'm glad you asked," Rose stands up and pulls the axe down, taking the wooden handle into both hands—pretending to play golf with practice swings. "I want you all dead. Nothing personal, it's just either you die, or we do."

"Wait!" screamed the boy on the far right. Her head snapped toward him. "We know you! You're Rosalie Black, the one always in the prophet!"

Rose gasps and looks back at Adrian with a toothy smile. "You hear that? Rita's made me famous!"

Adrian rolls his eyes.

"You," The mother grits out, "You bitch!"

Rose snapped her head back around, frowning down at the woman as she tilted her hand upright once again, unfazed by the winces coming back out their mouths as the spell kicked back into full gear. "Why am I always the bitch for doing my part in this world? It is not my fault you sided with the Order."

Her eyes narrow, and she awaits a response she will not get from the pain she is causing their bodies, all three are too busy trying to stop their brain from melting.

"Whatever, I'll be the bitch." Rose grumbles and steps to the side of the mother before rearing the axe back, and then she swings it forward—sending the head flying in the air.

Two guttural screams come from both sons.

Rose looks back at Adrian with a sigh. "You have my dagger? You can take those two."

Adrian nods as the blade appears beneath the sleeve and moves behind the boys, yanking back the one of the far right by the hair.

"Wait!" Rose pipes up, making Adrian freeze as he holds the convulsing boy. "Don't let their heads fly like their—" She glances where the woman's head tumbled into the wall across. "Like their mothers!"

From behind the mask he says, "Trust me, did not plan on it." And then he yanks on the boy's hair agaon, not a moment of hesitation in his movement as he rears the blade rear up.

It is obvious he did not understand his own arm strength, or how truly sharp the dagger was, as the head came clean off with one forceful swing, making him stumble back a step with the head in his hand.

Rose yawns, sick of keeping the spell up, and lets her hand fall, but only for a moment. The boy sucks in a rush of air, clearly preparing to try attacking them. Her hand lifts again in seconds though, and she speaks, "Avada Kedvra!" shooting a flash of green from her hand and straight into the boy's chest.

He slumps to the ground, falling right down onto his back.

"Better take off his head too," She says, between another yawn, while stepping closer. "Gods, I am tired."

For one final time, she rears the axe up and brings it back down, taking another head clean off.

She sighs at the body after, unaware of Adrian stepping beside her. "There's something poetic about watching a vampire bleed..." She says, "This is what happens when you choose people who cannot protect you."

"It is poetic," His voice comes muffled, "Full circle, if you will."

Rose looks over at him with a smile. "I do like the masks, but I miss seeing your face."

He presses his thumb to her chin, "I bet you do, Black."

She rolls her eyes. "That was quick...ready to get out of here?"

"Come on," He mutters, hooking his arm around her neck and guiding her toward the exit. Rose leans into him, wondering how odd they would look if an outsider were to see her hanging onto a Deatheater with a bloody axe swinging from her fingertips, and a shaggy dog following behind.

They are mere feet from the archway that leads to the corridor when Rose sees something coming down the steps across that stops her in her tracks and makes her move in front of Adrian.

In a frantic manner she grabs onto his robes, her voice breaking as she repeats his name over and over.

"Adrian, Adrian, Adrian,"

His name keeps coming out of her mouth and he grabs onto her arms to keep her still before he allows himself to look over her head.

"Rose." He forces out, voice tight, "Stay here."

"No," She shakes her head, "No, no, no!"

"Rose!" He shouts, so fiercely that she flinches. "Stay here!"

That is all he says before he pushes her to the side and walks out.

She covers her mouth, eyes trained down on the ground where Jade is.

It takes two seconds before she hears the sound of the killing curse shooting out of his wand, and it makes a choked sob come out of her mouth. She almost sinks to the floor, but two arms wrap around her and spin her into a hard chest, and then a hand pushes through her hair and forces her face tightly against said chest.

Adrian rests his chin on the top of her head, muttering, "Just don't look."

She does not formulate a response, but she does not move either. Adrian has to hold her head against himself and walk them out of that room, down the corridor, and out of the front door.

When they make it to the porch, Adrian pulls her head out of his chest, and swipes away her tears with chilling calmness. "Listen to me," He says, "Forget what happened here tonight, and forget thinking I had another option. Hate me if you need, but don't you dare act like leaving a survivor would have been better."

"I–" Her voice breaks, and she swallows the lump in her throat. "I could never hate you. It's not your fault. Lets just..."

He pulls her into him again, and he hugs onto her tightly for minutes.

And when she is the one to pull away, there are no longer tears on her face, only appearing to be a corpse of herself. She nods and takes his hand into her own, walking them down the steps, and when they reach the paved sidewalk, she raises her wand into the air.

"Morsmordre!"

With a green flash snapping out of the tip of her wand, the dark mark appears high in the sky above the home. Now, the emerald stars seem to mock her for even beginning to think of this as art.

"Rose," Adrian pulls her back, forcing their eyes together. His fingers touch at the bottom of the mask, and then it fades away, revealing his face beneath.

"Don't torture yourself about tonight," She says, laying a hand on his shoulder and leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before sinking back down. Her fingers graze over his jawin the only comforting manner she can provide. "I have to go meet my father, but go on back to school."

"I can," He stops, his eyes falling down her body. "I can take you."

"No." She says, "Go. The Aurors will be here within seconds."

"You first, Black."

She forces a tight smile and reaches down, grabbing Jade by the collar. "Thank you." She says, sincerely looking into his vibrant gaze.

"Figured I'd save your last bit of innocence." He says.

And then, she is gone.

*

When Rose made it onto the steps of the Dark Lord's manor, she did not await the door to be open, nor did she stop her furious steps when Mucliber appeared and asked if she needed something.

No.

Rosalie Black was on a mission to tear off a man's head.

She went up the left staircase, searching room after room until landing herself in one that she did not recognize at first.

But then it all clicked, and the deja vu came from the night she found out he had gotten his body back—the night he had gotten his memories back.

The sudden realization makes her come to a standstill in front of the oceanic painting. Regardless of only two candles lit, she can see the details of the paint her fingers had traced over.

"What's the matter, Rosalie?" came a deep voice from behind her. "Have you come to take your anger out on me again? You know I do not mind, I am always available for that beautiful task of being your target."

"A child!" She screamed, turning around to find him at the entrance of the room.

Tom sets the glass that had been in his hand down onto a table against the wall, his face barely visible to her in the shadows. "It is just a game, Rosalie." He says, "That is what you have always said."

"No!" She shakes her head reverently with tears, "This is madness! Anything else I would prefer, anything else I could endure!"

"You act as if I prefer violence," He says, "Violence is not the goal, but it is necessary to reach our means at times. And, would you wish me to open an orphanage? Or should I, with good intentions, allow a family to rest with their family?"

"You're an awful person!" She screams.

He casually leans his hips back against the table, "But you are the one to say we are not that different." He sighs. "If I am awful, what does that make you, my dear?"

Without a second thought, she picks up the glass vase that had been resting under the painting, and she throws it toward him manically.

Tom barely lifts his hand, flinging the vase to the left where it shatters on the cold floors.

Afterwards, he straightens his coat with a glare thrown her way, "Hopefully by the morning you will have recovered your reason."

She looks to him in disbelief at his words, with her chest shaking full of anger, and throws her hands up.

It is her disbelief that makes her rush out of the room, afraid of what she might do to him if she has to bare another minute seeing his face.

And when she reaches the foyer, she takes hold of Jade once more, before apparating away.

*

Her feet hit the ground on the busy sidewalk of muggle London, even this late at night the city stayed bustling.

Rose sighs as her eyes focus on all the stores, bars, and cafes. She had been careful to avoid muggle London, the place existing as a massive reminder of the past.

Either way, she pushes forward, careful to avoid letting anyone bump into her, and is quick to place her hands into her pockets for warmth as Jade weaves through people who jump away at the sight of such a large animal. The city truly is chaotic, surely overflowing more day by day, but she thought that was what made it feel peaceful. Walking alone somewhere in the midst of chaos where no one knew her name, no sneaky wizards waiting for her to slip up or gossip about her doings.

Here she did not exist, and Rose found herself enjoying that fact.

She comes to halt in front of an old coffee shop, small in size but appearing cozy with its dark green storefront—one of those places that feel like a time capsule.

There was no sign above it, but only odd patio furniture and wilting flowers in painted pots. How fitting of the flowers to her situation, she thought.

Rose pushes open the door and gestures Jade inside, relief flooding her at the smell of fresh coffee, along with the warm air inside. Her eyes searched for a head of black hair, finding exactly who she had been looking for in a small wooden booth towards the back.

When she made it a few feet away, a waitress passed by and called out, "Can I get you anything?"

Rose stopped by the booth and began shrugging off her jacket, responding over her shoulder, "Just a double espresso, please."

The waitress gave a nod before walking away, and disappearing behind the counter.

The sound of Rose's voice made Sirius Black look up from his copy of the daily prophet.

She folds her jacket in her arms before sitting across from with every muscle tensed up, and then dropping her jacket down beside her.

Sirius lets out a breath of relief and begins folding up the prophet. "Rosalie, I—I mean Rose."

Her face stays blank as she inspects him. His beard was trimmed down short, his black hair even shorter than the last Order meeting she had seen him at. It felt haunting in a way, how much every angular curve of their faces resembled one another.

Tearing out of her daze, she clears her throat. "You can call me what you please."

"Is that a dog?" He asks.

Rose glances at Jade, who sits at the far end of the table, on the floor, with perfect manners. "I wouldn't pet her," Rose's voice makes him freeze in his mission to reach over. "She's a rescue, does not do too good with men...think whoever abandoned her gave her some trauma with the sort."

"Well," Sirius says, " She is beautiful, looks a bit like my aniamagus—except bigger."

Rose says nothing.

Sirius gave a thoughtful nod and pushed his latte towards her, asking, "Do you want to try it?"

"I hate latte's." She mutters, "Only Theo likes those."

"Theo?" Sirius questions, a bit too eager. "Is that your boyfriend? I saw something in the prophet about two."

Just in time, the waitress is back, setting the coffee down in front of Rose with an odd little plate. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you though." Rose answers, giving the woman a stiff nod. When the waitress is fully gone, she cups her hands around the steaming mug for warmth, leaning her elbows on the table. "Why did you want me to come here?"

"I want to fix this," Sirius says, "Us, I mean."

Her head snaps up to him at once. "There is not a point, is there?" She wonders, "There is war brewing, many other things as well. I can't be the daughter you want."

"Rose, push the war to the side." His eyes watch her almost too solemnly for her to handle. "I will do whatever it takes to be with my daughter."

If only he knew what his daughter had done tonight.

"Don't." She says, eyes falling closed as the words jabs into her gut. "Do not...just don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it though. I swear to you." He says, "It was wrong of me to treat you how I did, and your mother would surely hate me for what I have done."

Rose hates the little girl inside of her, the one she has disappointed so much, the one screaming for her to believe him. No matter what she told herself, she knew deep down no man could replace the hole he left.

Sirius continues on, "Choosing Harry, treating him like my child instead of you...it was an awful decision and something I know is unforgivable."

Her voice came out cold, "I don't have long, Sirius."

"I have made a lot of mistakes in my life but you need to understand that you were not one of them...I mean, the first time I held you I knew I was going to give you the world." He says, emotion taking over his tone, "When your mother died, I wanted to die, but I had you–you who cried if anyone else dared to hold you."

"So what? Then you turn around and blame me for killing her eighteen years later?" She spat, "I was a baby—I did not ask to be born." She pauses, head shaking. "I am sorry that you lost her and if I could, I would switch my life for her own, okay? But I have spent my whole life blaming myself, thinking how cruel could a child be that she takes away her mother's life force and then you come blaming me."

"I did not mean it." He says, desperately, "Your mother and I both decided to take that risk. She knew it could happen, but she wanted you and I did too, okay? And I am sorry that I have overlooked you. I grew up in that same house with the same mother and the same blood-sucking society. It is wrong, so very wrong of me to not acknowledge your pain."

Rose focused down on the coffee, nodding her head.

"I was invested in Harry because he was the safe option." He says, "Knowing you and coming back into your life meant opening a wound of your mother.." He pauses, and she gains the courage to look up and find him staring off. "I do love Remus, so very much, but your mother she...she was my epic love story. Everything I went through, she went through. Everything I struggled with, she struggled with. Everything I saw, she saw. Everything that ate me to my core, it burned her alive too. We were mirrors of each other, someone who was beside me my whole life, and still—" A tear falls from his eye. "When I think of her too much, I cannot breathe. I talk to her, you know? I know she's not there, but I do it...it is the only way I can keep moving."

Rose thinks of the boys, everything he just said makes her think of them.

But she stops herself immediately, afraid a sob will break loose at the mere idea of any of them dying. Tonight she is weak, too emotional at the events of a singular day.

"I can forgive you." She says, the words making him focus on her. "But, you need to earn my forgiveness."

Sirius nods quickly, wiping away the fallen tear. "I will do whatever it takes."

"I hope you mean that." She says, before instantly deciding to flip the topic. "You got a haircut?"

He lets out a breathy laugh, wiping away another tear that had been held back. "Yeah, yeah I did...I see your hair is back to its natural state—I miss my curls, that's for sure."

She shrugs. "I think it is more luscious this way."

"I think it's beautiful." He says, a smile spreading over his face.

Her mouth opens with nothing to say, and all too quickly she focuses on the coffee again, squeezing the mug in her hands. Silence falls over them, as expected. Sirius waits and waits, hoping she will not break their meeting so soon.

But when she speaks, it is not what he expected, and her head stays down as if she is ashamed.

"It's not true what they say in the Prophet, you know?" She lets out a tired huff. "I'm not like—not sleeping around or hitting on older men or doing a bunch of drugs, so on and so forth. Those papers have been sexualizing me since I was fourteen, and Rita makes up the craziest of stuff, and," She forces her eyes up to him. "I swear, I'm not like Walburga and Orion."

Sirius leans himself on the table, sincerity in his eyes. "Rose, I never believed any of that stuff." He says, "But Remus kept all of them since you were taken by my mother. You should see it, there's clipping and every article you've been in—I got to see you grow up in those pictures when I got out, we spent hours reading them and looking over them after that night at Hogwarts."

Her eyes went wide, voice quiet, "He...he kept them?"

Sirius nods sadly, a bittersweet smile on his lips. "Yeah," He says, "And by the way, I don't think you're anything like my parents."

"I tried to be," She confesses, "I don't have it in me though...so much hate and prejudice...I don't believe in any of those social constructs."

"Hey," He calls, "That just means you're better than all of them fools, and that you have a good heart if you can feel that way after so much brainwashing."

It feels as if every ounce of oxygen is sucked out of her lungs and she knows it is obvious as worry consumes his face. After tonight, after everything, she doesn't know if she has any good left in her to give to this world.

Sirius is left waiting again.

Waiting for her to look up.

Waiting for her to explain what is going on inside of her mind.

But when she looks up at him, his own oxygen is taken away at the tears streaming down her face.

She forces out a broken whisper, "I'm so scared."

"Of what?" He asks, sitting up straighter

She shakes her head, lips pursed tightly together so no sound escapes.

The daunting realization visibly falls over Sirius; his lips parting, his breath hitching, his own head shaking.

"He's got to you?" He whispers, "He has, hasn't he?"

More tears stream down her face as she stays still, not moving an inch as she looks to her father in mourning.

In mourning of her last piece of innocence, of her one way to avoid becoming exactly what Walbruga and Orion wanted, of mourning for what will become of her friends, and in morning of the relationship her and Sirius will never get the chance to have because the Dark Lord has got to her, and he has forced her to become the very thing Sirius Black hates most in this world.

"That's okay," He breathes out, "I–I can get you out of it."

"You can't." She says, voice tight, "It is impossible."

She waits for him to shout at her.

But Sirius stands up, rounding the table, and drops down beside her in the booth seat. He wraps her up in his arms, cradling her head into his chest, and he takes deep shaky breath as she simply lets him—as if she is an immobilized human being crying in her father's arms.

He pulls her closer, his arms getting tighter around her body.

Sirius presses his lips to the top of her head, and murmurs, "I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

She wants that.

She does not want to sob in a cafe.

Sirius reaches over, hooking his hand beneath Jade's collar, and without thought, without care of the few muggles inside of the cafe, he apparates them away.

They land on a soft surface, in what feels like a couch, but she cannot see from her face buried against him.

"Sirius?" A distant voice calls.

And then, there are rapid footsteps, and a yell, "Sirius?!"

Remus Lupin hurries into his living room, halting at the sight of Sirius Black cradling his daughter in his arms.

At once, Remus rushes over, "What's happened?" He asks, coming down to kneel in front where they sit on his couch.

Sirius shakes his head, not answering, but instead pulls Rose's face into his own hands. "We can fix it." He promises, his voice shaking, "We can get you away from him."

"No, no, no," She cries, "The—the unbreakable vow, and,"

Remus has always been able to handle things quickly.

"Sirius," He demands, pressing up off the floor, "Go get one of your potions."

Sirius hesitates, shaking his head as he tries holding her still, but Remus shouts, "Go!" and he shakily lets Remus take her into his own arms and sit in his place.

Rose tries pulling away, another sob breaking out of her throat as she realizes what she had just done.

But Remus pulls her in close, forcing her to stay, and begins holding her face so she can see him speak. "Remember third year? It's just a panic attack, okay? You just have to breathe with—"

"Remus," She breathes out, desperately taking his sweater in her clutches, "Remus," Another sob racks her, "There was a child...." She covers her mouth, head furiously shaking as her limbs tremble.

And then she collapses into him, scaring him each time she repeats something about a child he cannot understand. He holds onto her though, holds on tight, and tries coaxing away her cries until Sirius rushes to them, a potion in his hands.

________________________________

A/N: woooo....that was a long one, 25k words to be exact (i cannot be stopped when I get behind a keyboard)

—missed you guys TONS <3

—sorry this one took a bit, but next chapter should be out within the next two days and it is an EXCITING one...!!!!

—i know you are all hating me right now for half of the stuff that goes down in this chapter but...i have plans and you will love them i swear

—Walburga and Orion......🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

—i feel like this chapter was such a double edged sword bc we get to see Theo and Draco so happy while Whit is DYING

—me just casually dropping the most insane chapter

anyways, i will see u guys in 2 days i NEED sleep but drink water and stan whitman rosier above all else<3

xx bri