third person pov

Rosalie Black,

I spared your life, now a debt must be paid.
Take the port key and come to me without telling a soul of it.

She had received the letter early in the morning, woken up by an odd crack and finding the parchment on her bed. In some ways more than others, Rose knew it was coming from the moment everyone decided running away wasn't an option.

Although the talks and dreams of getting far away where Voldemort or any of his lackeys couldn't find them seemed amazing, deep down, Rose never believed for a second the plan would ever work.

There were too many things the boys would have to leave behind, and could be used against them. From their families, to cousins, and so forth.

And now, only two days ago, Draco had come crawling into her bed with shaky hands, telling of the ball his family would host for the Dark Lord.

Right then, as Draco laid against her chest, Rose knew Voldemort would be coming for her.

And there'd be no stopping him.

When the letter arrived, and she tiredly sat up next to a peacefully sleeping Theo, Rose wanted to break down into tears, wake the Nott up and force him to save her.

But that wasn't a reality.

And she wasn't the type of girl people were able to save.

She had to save herself. Every time.

Despite how much her hands shook, Rose slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe, and grabbed some slippers. Then, as if she had no other choice, Rose took out the coin within the letter, and let herself blindly be taken away.

In all actuality there wasn't another option, Voldemort had too much access to everyone she loved.

Now, the young Black heir of only seventeen, stands in a dark room with no windows. The only light being orange tinted lanterns above, providing a semblance of luminance.

Her fingers dance across a squared table, mind running in a thousand different directions.

It's a funny thing, fate, how we always think we can escape it.

The door creaks open, but she is too far gone to notice.

A voice, one of disgust and venom, floats through.

"You couldn't bother to be properly dressed?"

Every inch of her stills, head lifting as a chill dances down her spine. There was something to be said of Voldemort's presence, the way your body knew he was near, and every instinct screamed to run.

As Rose has done her whole life, she swallows the lump inside her throat, and prepares to put on the performance of a lifetime.

She turns around, finding the dark wizard standing at the opposite end of the table. "You do realize how early you've called me here? It is, what? Nine in the morning?" Her tone comes out strong, "I don't understand why I've been summoned against my will."

Voldemort scans her outfit in scrutiny. For a moment he stares, but then he moves forward, and Rose takes a shape inhale as she realizes he's heading straight toward her.

With two feet between them he stops, and asks, "Have you ever been told of how much dark magic radiates from you?"

"I'm well aware." She says, "I think it's best we get this out of the way, I'm not joining you. Truthfully, group activities were never my strong suit."

All at once his freezing hand wraps around her throat, and he slams her back into the wall so forcefully she instinctively goes to claw at his fingers.

But the grip is too tight, and his face moves close enough for her to give up a fight of looking helpless. Instead, staring straight into the eyes of evil, despite her windpipes feeling as if they were made of sand.

Voldemort digs his sharp-tipped nails into the skin over her throat, and with his voice full of anger he grits out, "Foolish girl, you have been coaxed into a false sense of security. You have no one, nothing to keep you safe..." His eyes suddenly brighten. "You are joining me, Rosalie. Now, take your pick. Which of your beloved little boys will I kill first as a lesson?"

It brings the dark wizard a form of sadistic joy to see how much her features instantaneously change, every inch of the girl shining with a fiery expression that would send a man crawling away.

She's angry.

Just like he wanted.

"I'd be careful," Rose breathes out hoarsely, struggling to speak with how tightly he holds onto her. "You take away the only thing that makes me a good person, and you'll have way bigger problems than Albus Dumbledore."

His hold loosens, but only enough for her to take a proper breath. "Don't you understand, Rosalie?" asks Voldemort, his head tilting. "You will never stir fear in someone as long as you're under the control of that man..."

"Let me guess," She spat, "Working for you will change that?"

A sick grin graced his lips. "I'll do more than change that fact," He says, "I'll turn you into the most powerful witch to ever exist."

There's moments in life when two clear paths lay before you, when the only option is to go forward and pick which path you're willing to walk down. One is usually scarier than the other, but sometimes the two paths are so similar that the ever-emerging epiphany rains down; telling you destiny will always catch up.

Rose doesn't want this life.

She doesn't want to be cursed as her family was. She doesn't want to be a prisoner in a lifestyle she only just started to see an escape from. She doesn't want power or to be feared, those were always Walburga's dreams for her; not her own.

And never ever, did Rosalie Black want to be a Deatheater.

But as she stares into Voldemort's eyes, the only reminder that the Tom she knew ever existed, and his hold completely loosens–Rose is suddenly remembering everything about this life she holds dear.

The left dimple on Theo's cheek that only ever really revealed itself when he was talking to her, his voice in the mornings sounding like smoke and ash, and the smell of cinnamon that always alerted Rose to Theo being near. The wrinkles that painted Draco's forehead everytime his eyebrows raised, whether it be from lingering in deep thought or questioning what was wrong with those around him. Draco, and the way his fingers always instinctively stretched to touch Rose's own when they stood close or passed by each other. Blaise, with his boisterous persona fading the moment Rose or Theo reminded him it was okay to break down sometimes. Blaise Zabini, whose eyes turned from a shade of the abyss to one rivaling the burning sun when light hit his face, and the feel of his firm grip each time Rose wavered.

Then comes the image of Whitman, surprisingly the person who makes Rose choke up. She cannot manage to muster a clear image of his face, or the way his eyes almost shut when he smiles, because him–that would be her breaking point.

Either way, these odd details flash by in seconds, and leave Rose breathlessly stuck staring at Voldemort.

Maybe their families wouldn't protect them, or maybe none of them would ever really have a choice in the future, but Rose could protect them.

Draco once said, if anyone ever wanted to lull Rose into doing anything, all the person would have to do is hang one of the boys over her head.

He was right.

"Fine." She finally mutters, reaching up and grasping onto Voldemort's wrist before pulling it down.

Almost apprehensively, Voldemort takes a step back. He continues staring at her, with more of a questioning gaze than ever.

Rose rubs her throat, throwing him a glare during the process. "I'll join you, but you have to offer me something in exchange."

"Very well." Voldemort nods. "Tell me what you wish for, and then I'll decide if I'm fine with agreeing to such."

"I join, and you make the unbreakable vow to never lay a hand or order a hand to be laid on any of those boys, including Blaise Zabini."

Voldemort hums in agreement, and then slips by her to take a seat at the head of the table. "Come sit." He says, gesturing to the chair next to himself.

The wood scraps as she loudly pulls out the seat, and sits down. Making sure to turn to him with plain distaste, her nose screwed upward. In the most twisted flip of events a staring contest starts, Voldemort blandly watching while Rose eyes him as if he is satan reincarnate.

"You should know," She begins, "I don't agree with your values, nor do I care for blood purity. But I also don't care about anyone other than those boys and–" Her words run off, afraid to endanger the name she almost spoke aloud.

"And?" Voldemort quizzes, eyes flicking downard when Rose propped her head up and appears to relax right next to him.

"Luna Lovegood, I want her safe too. You don't know who she is, but she means a lot to me. If you can swear to not do any harm to them, I'll do anything for you."

"Fine, but no more." He reaches into a pocket of his dark cloak right after, pulling out a gold-banded ring with a onyx stone placed in the center. For a second Voldemort watches as Rose pales at the sight, and then he says, "This is important, Rosalie, but I believe you should have it. All you have to do is speak Latin into the stone, and I will be able to communicate with you."

Her eyes switch between the ring and his face, a sinking pit lingering at the deepest part of her stomach. "You–" She whispers, "That's the Gaunt family ring."

Shock covers his features like a perfected mask. "How exactly do you know that?"

"Well, I–" She takes a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "You don't...remember?"

"What game are you playing, Rosalie?"

Rose stutters, "I'm not playing a, well, game..." She clears her throat. "Your horcrux, the one in the diary, I spent a year with some sixteen year old version of you and you always had that ring on."

Voldemort tilts his head while grabbing her hand with the coldest touch she had ever felt, and slides the ring onto her middle finger. "There, I do not need to know more."

"Okay." Rose murmurs. Her breath catches at the shiver that spreads across her skin, the ring carrying more dark magic than she had ever felt before.

Randomly, Voldemort blurts out, "Did I teach you magic? Is that why you spent a year with my horcrux?"

It takes a long pause before she manages a small, "Yes." Her eyes slowly lift to him, shaking off the inevitable dread that comes from being the only one who will ever know the full story. Her voice comes out stronger this time, "I assume this isn't the only thing you needed from me today."

He nods, and finally lets her hand go free. "I'm going to give you a task for your upcoming year. You will get me a list of everyone in the order, and you will communicate with me through the ring about Harry and Dumbledore's movements throughout the year."

"Is that all?"

Something sinister flicks through his eyes as he leans on the table. "Not quite. There will be a ball at Malfoy Manor tomorrow with a meeting taking place, so I suspect you will participate."

Intrigued by the idea and already accepting her situation, Rose offers a nod. "Okay."

"Now, give me your arm. You will make the unbreakable vow to join me the minute I ask."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "It seems like I already have joined you."

Voldemort, unfazed by her attitude, forcefully yanks her arm up, and slides his hand down her forearm. "Dumbledore will try to sway you, only a fool would let that happen."

Rose smirks, carefully wrapping her own fingers around his arm. "Are you complimenting me?"

"Do not let it fuel that head of yours." He scoffs, pulling out his wand. Voldemort carefully casts a pearly, but luminescent, rope around their wrist that burns like a hot skillet.

There would be no escaping now.

"Will you, Rosalie Black, stay true to your promises of joining me when asked?"

She could feel the rope imbedding into her skin with each passing second. "I will"

"And will you, Rosalie Black, refuse to give any information regarding me to anyone who does not fight for our side?"

"I will."

"Lastly, Will you, Rosalie Black, keep the truth of where you got the Gaunt ring a secret under any circumstances?"

"I will."

"Now, I vow to never harm the ones you listed but only them. I will not let you add anyone."

A weight lifted off her chest at the fear that had been festering for years, the one where she could not protect the others from Voldemort, went away.

All at once the heavy weight and glowing light of the ropes disappeared, and then Voldemort gave her a nod which reassembled pride.

She goes to rub her wrist marked with bruises when he says, "You won't have to get the mark until your sixth year."

"Wait, what?!"

Voldemort, once again, smirks wickedly. "Your little friends. The Nott, Malfoy, and even that disowned Rosier boy...they didn't tell you about the deal they struck with me to keep you from getting the mark?"

*

Inside the cottage, sat at the rounded dining table in the enclosed gazebo which connected to the home, were three particular boys. Two, Nott and Rosier, still in their pajamas from the night before. Malfoy on the other hand, sat across from them and ready for the day, arriving about an hour ago for breakfast.

"Muggles." Theo huffs, folding back up the village's newspaper he had been reading. He lazily reaches for another piece of toast, "Ridiculous, are they not? Why do they not have gossip columns?"

Whitman, peering to the left at Theo through his hands, grumbles. "Do you have to talk so fucking loud?"

Theo rolls his eyes. "I quite literally never speak loud."

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asks, nodding toward a sleep-deprived Whitman.

Theo shrugs, taking a bite of toast. "Full moon in a few days,"

"You want to know what's wrong with me?!" Whitman snaps, eyes narrowing at Draco. "I had to listen to him and Ro all night long. All. Night. Long."

A sick feeling encompasses Draco's gut, and he suddenly looks to Theo with the pure urge to knock him flat out onto the floor.

Theo smirks while leaning back into his seat, ready to purposely antagonize Draco in the early hours of the morning. "What? We were just doing some experimenting," He goes to rub his chin, faking being in deep thought. "Say...you two ever cross into fear territory? She likes being scared—"

"Real classy," Draco interrupts, his jaw ticking. "Tell Whit all about it."

"What do you mean? Whit already heard it, as he said." Theo laughs, "All. Night. Long."

Whitman shares a blink with Draco, and then turns toward Theo. "I don't want to hear anything about either of you with her, ever again."

Before Theo or Draco can muster a reaction at how harsh he spoke, sudden yelling breaks out from the kitchen area, sounding loud but distant.

One by one they hear their names screamed, and the words make each of them go stiff.

Draco leans forward to whisper, "She can sense that I'm here...."

Whitman signals Draco out of his chair, the blonde fastly standing up and moving to stand between the two awaiting whatever chaos Rose was about to rain down on them.

The repeating of names doesn't stop until she appears in the doorway, eyes blown wide as she comes to halt and starts tightening the belt of her robe.

In all actuality, none of the boys knew where she went, but the longer she stared at them, the more of a hint they got.

Theo nervously smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey baby–"

"Don't hey baby me, you blithering fool!" Rose instantly yells, rushing to the opposite end of the table where Draco once sat. Theo straightens up, holding his hands in an apologetic way. "How could you?! All three of you?! Going behind my back, hiding the fact you met with Voldemort?! Making deals to protect me?!" She continues on, "You're all idiotic men at the end of the day!"

Something Rose couldn't place took over Draco's features, "You went to see Voldemort alone?"

"What? I'm some weak little girl that can't handle being alone in a room with him but you three can?!" Rose spat, "New flash Draco, I'm stronger than all three of you combined, and I clearly have more of a brain in my pinky than any of you have together!"

It's clear Theo's rare case of anger has been triggered. "Why didn't you wake me up?! I would've made sure you didn't go! He doesn't know where you live, he couldn't have forced your hand!"

"I am not some damsel in distress!" She shouts, mid-way through spotting a knife by Draco's empty plate. She grabs onto the blade, pointing it straight across the table. As if Rose's wrath wasn't scary enough, her actions send all three boys scrambling out of the chairs and back a few steps. "Which one?!" She asks, tipping the blade toward each of their bodies. "Which one of you am I going to have to force the story out of?!"

Theo hesitantly begins speaking, "Do you remember how a few days ago we all had to go move in Draco's new bed because he was determined to do it himself after you said he couldn't? But you ended up not being able to go because you forgot you made an appointment with one of the wizarding veterinarians in France?"

Whitman raises a hand. "Might I add that I still don't get why you picked a vet all the way in France..."

"Don't you dare try to change the subject!"

Theo pushes Whitman behind himself, patting the wide-eyed boy in understanding. "Listen love," He says, "We were moving his bed when my father came in, telling us to come into the office with him and Lucius. Voldemort was there, and we couldn't do anything at that point. He asked our fathers to leave and then begged the question; what would it take for us to join him? Guess he knew we wouldn't come easy—"

"Theodore!" She yells, "Talk quicker!"

"Come on baby," He innocently shrugs. "I've never been good at that like you are..."

Her eye twitches, and Theo nods, knowing he should probably follow her instructions for the sake of the girl he loves sanity.

"Well, we told him your safety...no, no, listen!" He stops her opening mouth from moving, "Voldemort told us he was planning to meet with you soon, but could swear to not making you get the mark until sixth year and wouldn't harm you! We thought if we could put off you getting the mark then we could get you away, and hidden before then! You don't understand, once that mark is on your arm, he can find you anywhere!"

Rose throws the knife down, letting it clatter against the wood. "Did you tell him about your ability?! Theodore Tiberius Nott, you better run straight into that ocean because if I get my hands on you—"

"I didn't tell him! I swear!"

It seems Draco and Theo have switched bodies, because the blonde speaks up ever so calmly, "We just wanted to protect you, Rosie. Regardless of your power, Theo's, or anyones—it's stupid to believe there's another way. If we have to join him, then so be it."

She frowns deeply, pathetically, and everything in between. "I just made an unbreakable vow with him, for you! How could you sit there and keep this from me for days on end?! What? Deciding when to let me know your plan?!" Her voice cracks, "If either of you wanted some girl to play white knight for and protect, then you should've picked differently. I'm not a victim in this situation and I will never, ever, be the girl who sits back and lets you fight this alone. Being partners means we're in everything together, even the worst of the worst!" Rose's focus snaps onto Whitman, "And you, I don't even have words for you."

They need to say something, anything, but the shock of knowing she just signed her life away is too much.

So, they watch her storm away.

Silently, all three rush to follow.

*

The next day was filled with nothing but locked doors and silence from Rose, until eventually Draco had to leave around lunch to help his mother get ready for the ball. Theo went home hours after him, relentlessly speaking to Rose's door but never getting an inkling of reply. In all actuality, none of them even knew if she had been awake from the lack of sound coming from inside the bedroom.

When all rays of light had slipped from the sky and Whitman finished slipping on his suit jacket, he pushed open her door–surprisingly finding it unlocked. For a second he thought this would be the moment she let him apologize, fix things, but the only person inside was Kreacher, who sat atop her bed.

An all out argument quickly bloomed between the two until eventually the elf gave in, telling Whitman exactly where to find Rose.

The Black family tomb in Wiltshire.

Now, Whitman walks through an eerily lit corridor made of marble, the lofty ceilings and names of dead Black's plastered on golden plaques doing everything in their power to cause him discomfort.

Just as he nears the end of the corridor that splits into two different directions, reminding Whitman how truly massive and maze-like this tomb truly was, a voice catches his attention. He stops at the end of the wall, not revealing himself, but halting to listen to Rose's voice floating from the left side.

"Everybody's already moved on," Rose says in the distance, and she huffs out a laugh Whitman can only interpret as one filled with sadness. "I know how awful you were, and I hate that I still love you, that I have to live with this by myself."

Whitman almost steps into the corridor, feeling as if he's intruding on something he definitely shouldn't and refusing to listen to her speak of how much she loves that crazed old woman, but then Rose starts speaking again.

"It's just–" She stutters, taking a deep breath between words. "This is one of those times I could really use your advice. And the first ball without you—the people, grandmother. You know how awful they'll be without you there, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be an adult when," Rose suddenly stops speaking, and in that moment Whitman knows he's been caught.

With a devout amount of hesitation Whitman steps out, lifts his head to left, losing every plan to speak when he sees her at the far end of the corridor.

But still, even as he manages to move forward to her, Rose doesn't dare to spare him a glance.

Even when Whtiman pauses with a foot between their bodies, she continues staring at Walburga's name etched in gold.

Without looking toward him Rose opens her mouth, voice dripped in spite, and says, "I heard you talking earlier. You invited Lily to Italy."

He straightens up, gliding both hands into the pockets of his slacks. "You were listening in on us?"

"I was wide awake all day. Between Theo's never ending apologies outside my door and you two eventually stupidly sitting in front of my room around dinner in case I decided to give in, I couldn't help but listen in when the subject changed."

If anything, her consistent refusal to look at him combined with the full moon in four days, Whitman feels nothing short of anger. "Okay." He cocks an eyebrow. "Is her coming going to be a problem?"

Rose scoffs. "I don't care what you do, Whitman. In fact, I hope you run off into the sun with her, and maybe I'll never have to speak to such a traitorous man again. Just please, keep your revolting PDA away from me. I'm forced to watch you stick your tongue down every breathing thing at school, and I'd rather not witness it on holiday."

"It's not like that." He shakes his head, and then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "She's just visiting for a day while her family is in Rome and–"

"I don't care, what about that did you not hear?" Rose spat, sharply turning toward Whitman. Her eyes pierce directly into his own. "I don't want to talk to you, and I'd much rather be alone than hear another word come from your mouth."

He doesn't mean to say it, or scoff, but he does.

"What a way to sound just like Walburga."

Before Whitman can manage to realize what he's just said, Rose lifts her hand, smacking him across the face so forcefully that his head whips to the side.

"Fuck," He mutters at the stinging sensation, bringing a hand up to rub his cheek. When he lifts his head back up, and meets her eyes, Rose is staring at him with a mixture of hatred and shock.

Her chest quickly raised, and shoulders rolled back. "Don't you ever," She warns, "Ever, speak to me like that again."

That immediate sense of guilt climbs up from a bottomless pit inside Whitman's stomach, and he wants to fix things, pull her into him and never stop apologizing.

But before he can, Rose shoots him a look of malice, and turns on her heel, apparating out of sight.

*

Malfoy Manor always appeared so beautiful at night, especially when all the lights had been turned on in every room, providing a true picture of the vastness from outside the home. Rose stood on the steps, families from all over the globe passing by with thick accents and the finest silks the world had to offer, each of their faces covered by a different mask in honor of the masquerade. Contrary to popular belief, Malfoy Manor was not a dark home, at least not in color or decor.

But tonight it felt as if a cloud hung over every inch of the property.

She stayed in a state of uncomfortable confusion at the families walking into the opened double doors. Rose had been to a million balls in her lifetime, usually ones where only the sacred twenty-eight were present, but even the ones which other pureblood societies were invited to, tonight there were so many unrecognizable faces. Her eyes were drawn to the two men guarding the doors as she lifted up the hem of her dress and moved forward, taking note of how the men forced at least one member of each family to push their sleeve covering their right arm up a quarter inch before entering, flashing their wrist to the guards.

That couldn't be right. The dark mark was always on the left forearm, and definitely not small enough to fit on one's wrist.

She catches a glimpse of what was being shown upon nearing the last of the top steps, a symbol burned into their skin, a shape she couldn't quite make out.

"Miss Black," The guard to the left says, snapping Rose's head toward himself and making her realize she had stopped right in front of the doors. He exchanges a nod with the other guard before stepping away from his post, looking down toward Rose. "Follow me."

Rose takes a deep breath before letting herself be guided straight down the corridor on the left, where Peter Pettigrew stands in the distance. The guards halts right in front of a sealed door, one she cannot quite remember.

Peter keeps his head down as he waits for the guard to leave, immediately turning around and pushing open the door after. "My lord," Peter mutters, "Rosalie is here."

The young Black prepares to put on another show as she steps inside, making sure to push her sharp tipped heel into Peter's foot on the way.

Eight men sat at a round, black table with Voldemort in the middle. She instantly recognized each of them except one, although only four stood out to her.

Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy, Theodore Nott Senior, and Yaxley; the man who had been taking care of Mattheo Riddle.

But one face brings her comfort, Abraxas.

Voldemort gestures to the chair between himself and Abraxas. "Rosalie, join us."

As she neared the table, Rose couldn't refrain from noticing the ten divots inside the wood, creating straight lines from each chair and leading to the emblem in the center of the table.

The minute she sits down, Abraxas wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing a brief kiss to her head with a praise of, "You look beautiful, dear."

"Thank you, Brax." Rose nods, refusing to show any sign of a smile that would be considered weakness in front of this pompous group.

Abraxas lets go, but leans close to whisper, "It'll be okay, I'm here with you."

Vincet Crabbe clears his throat, garnering all heads in his direction. "Forgive me, my lord, but I cannot help my mind from questioning what a child is doing here in the inner circle."

Gregory Goyle quickly joined in, raking Rose over as if she was miniscule. "Surely you do not trust her. She's as young as my own son."

Yaxley speaks up from across the table, "This–woman, has threatened my life, my lord. She's a flight risk, and always has been since childhood."

Rose rolls her eyes. "It was once, and inside a letter." She scoffs. "Get over it, you pathetic man-child."

The insult makes Yaxley lean forward onto the table. "I will not be called names by you of all people!"

"Silence!" Voldemort hisses, slamming his hand down. His eyes train on Yaxley before continuing, "If anyone has an issue with her presence, you will handle that issue with me and me only. Not with her." He looks around the now silenced room. "So, anything else you would all like to complain about?"

A chorus of 'No, my lord.' rings out, all from except Abraxas who chuckles; his closeness to the dark wizard giving him a level of comfort with Voldemort the others would never have.

Rose shares a sarcastic smile with the others, placing a hand over her heart while looking over at Voldemort. "Why thank you, my Lord. I'm truly touched."

Voldemort lets out a breath of annoyance at her attitude. "Now," He gestures to the table. "Let's start this meeting."

One by one she watches as the men, including Voldemort, lay their hands along the edge of the table; atop the divots. Something sharp comes out of the wood, in the form of a spike, and slices their palms open.

A sickening knot forms in her stomach as Abraxas reaches over and grabs onto her wrist.

"A blood pact, so nothing leaves this room." He informs, guiding her hand flat atop the wood.

Rose doesn't flinch as the spike presses into her palm, skin ripping open. She keeps her hand down, waiting to see what will happen when she suddenly realizes her blood, and the others, are all traveling in a straight line and toward the center.

The young Black had seen many dark things, and done plenty since her childhood, but she never even thought about doing something like this; mixing sacred blood with people she hated.

But right before her eyes she watches as their blood swirls into a large orb, and floats above the centerpiece with a glow around the edges.

When she lifts her hand, there is no scar.

"The parchment, Lucius." commands Voldemort. Lucius reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a piece of parchment and laying it face-down on the table, an expression of almost pity being shot to Rose.

The man, one she never saw before, hones his eyes onto Rose. For the first time he speaks, and his voice comes out in a thick french accent. "We need you to sign something."

Rose scoffs, looking him up and down as if he carries a disease. "I don't even know you. I'm not signing anything under your command."

"Rosalie, it's the dark lord's command. Not his." warns Abraxas.

The man appears unfazed by her disgust, simply raising a brow as he takes the parchment from Lucius. "You're joining a secret society, whether you like it or not. You will sign this paper, or you can be tied down and forced. How this goes is up to you."

"This isn't how we joined! There's a tradition we follow, and it was never as simple as signing a paper!" Yaxley shouts in shock, but one look from Voldemort sends him cowering down.

Once again, the man speaks, but this time toward Yaxley. "Things must be handled differently with her." His lips curve when looking at Rose. "Isn't that right, Miss Black?"

"I'm going to need someone to explain what's happening—right now." Rose unknowingly scraps her nails into the wood as she leans forward. "I've already made an unbreakable vow to loyally become a Deatheater, made some fucked up bloodpact with you lot that I know nothing about, and I am currently sitting in a room with men double my age." Her focus goes directly onto the unrecognizable man. "I've done enough in the past twenty-four hours, and I'll be damned if some man I don't know tells me to either unknowingly sign a binding contract or be tied down."

"Well, you don't have to do it." The man smugly smiles before glancing over at Lucius and Theodore Nott Sr. "She's quite fond of your sons, isn't she? I'm sure their lives would be a good motivator."

Voldemort sees her expression consumed with fire, and smoothly places his cold hand on her wrist as she prepares to get up. "That's enough." He says, "Rosalie, this society has been around for hundreds of years, long before I started gaining a following. It's not an english based society, but holds people from all over the place. This is your birthright, and one of the best kept secrets in our world. You should be honored. You'll find out more when it's time to be inducted."

Rose yanks her arm away. "But what does this have to do with you?"

The man nods toward her. "During the first war our society recognized that the dark lord shared our views, therefore we aligned ourselves with him, but not every Deatheater will ever be presented with this opportunity." He flips the parchment upright while pulling out a feather-tipped quill. "So, what is it going to be?"

Reaching up the slit of her gown, Rose yanks her dagger out of the garter before turning toward Voldemort. "If I sign this, can I go?"

"Yes, you don't have to be here for the full meeting but be mindful that tonight I announce my return."

She nods while standing, circling around the table until reaching the man she has yet to know the name of.

He pushes the parchment in front of her proudly, and Rose takes the dagger; cutting a small incision on the side of her palm. The parchment is covered in Latin that she doesn't bother to read, letting a drop of blood fall onto the straight line across the bottom.

As soon as she takes the quill in between her fingers and leans down to sign her name, the man places his hand on the small of her back. "You're doing the right thing, Miss Black." He says, unknowingly giving Rose an awful sense of deja vu.

"Take your hand off of her." demands Abraxas, his voice holding weight.

The man chuckles, but does as he's told.

"So, are you in charge of this so-called society?" asks Rose, midway through signing her name, sparing a glance toward the man.

"No, just the messenger."

"Hm." She finishes almost instantly, and slides the parchment away. Her stance changes when picking the dagger back up, turning fully toward the man and tilting her head as if in deep thought as she stares at his hands laying across the table.

Before anyone can manage to take another breath, the most unexpected thing happens.

Rose raises the blade up, and slams it down.

Slicing his hand clean off.

The sudden scream that rings out is ear curdling, and almost every one of the men turn away or cover their mouth while the injured man brings his arm into his chest.

Eventually, the scream turns into a pant as he tries stopping the flowing blood, his chest heaving and breath shaking. Meanwhile, Rose finished cleaning her dagger, and now picks up the chopped hand.

She chunks the severed limb into his lap, grasping onto the back of his chair with a crazed look. "Take that to your boss as a message, that I don't do well with ultimatums. While you're at it, learn to keep your hands to yourself."

Everyone stares at Voldemort, waiting for his rage to be set loose on the girl for her preposterous behavior that has left one of their own whimpering, but the dark lord only shoots Rose a sadistic kind of smile as she begins exiting.

Upon leaving, Rose leans against the door, her eyes closing at the relief the corridor gives.

But then she hears breathing directly in front of herself, and every muscle stiffens with preparation to deal with whatever human is about to make her night more of a nightmare.

When her gaze flies back open though, she's met with the two most comforting faces in the world.

Draco and Theo stand there, appearing damningly beautiful as ever despite the pure tense and angered nature of their expressions. They look at her, really look at her, and await the rage to be casted onto themselves.

Except Rose stays still, staring at them, with a black silk gown that fitted her just enough to not fall off. It's one of those moments, when their eyes travel over her slicked back hair tied into a knot, and down to the heels across her feet–that they're reminded they are no longer kids–that it is her who continues to knock the wind out of their lungs.

She tries to formulate words, or any sort of consolation, but cannot. Instead, she moves forward, presses up on her toes, and wraps her arms around both their necks; bringing them into herself.

A matching chorus of relieved breaths are released, and the boys own arms wrap around her waist, squeezing so tight it's as if they think she'll slip away.

"We're really fucking sorry,—" Theo begins, letting Rose pull back but still keeping an arm around her.

"—Like really, really sorry." Draco finishes, taking another deep breath with a pained look across his face. He brings his thumb to her cheek, and swipes downward as she stays closed in by their arms. "I thought after years of practice I could handle you being mad at me, but I must admit I cannot. I couldn't sleep, or eat..." He grimaces. "I'm turning into Theo."

She lets out a small laugh, looking at Theo when he responds with a shaky smirk.

"He'd be lucky to turn into me."

Her heart does a flip at how much intent hides behind their gazes. It feels sacred to know what it looks like when someone's eyes show their belief that she crafted every inch of this world with her bare hands, seeming so sacred to even possess such passionate love in a lifetime. And suddenly in that corridor, in between their arms, Rose feels safe in a way she never has in her entire life. They'd all seen the worst in each other, and maybe there was no escape for any of them, but there was peace in knowing there would never be any judgment for doing what they must–that they would all cross any line necessary.

"I'm not angry with either of you." She blurts out. "I understand why you did it, I really do."

Theo cocks an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Yes." says Rose, "You guys were trying to protect me, and I honestly would've done the same–I am doing the same." She manages a soft smile while going to adjust their collars. "Listen, I'm not perfect, and I'm going to be ignorantly mad sometimes, but I am sorry for not just talking to you yesterday when I found out. We just can't keep secrets, okay? Your idea of getting me away before Voldemort could force me into getting the mark won't happen although it was smart, and we can't escape this, but we can face it all together. We'll do whatever we have to, you just can't let your instincts make you blinded in thinking you can protect me. We all need to do that, and–" Her speech comes to a sudden halt, confusing both boys until they look down the hall where she now stares; finding Peter Pettigrew heading their way.

Rose gently grazes both boys wrists before meeting their eyes. "Let's go." She murmurs, turning down the path in which she entered. They moved down the corridor, past the double doors letting guests in, and pause when reaching the marble winding steps that led to the second floor.

"What were going to say back there?" asks Draco.

She looks between them hopefully. "Do you guys trust me?"

"With my life," Theo answers, a devilish smirk crossing his lips. "Idiotically, of course."

"Very idiotically," Draco smiles, smiles in such a natural way that Rose is reminded that doing such is rapidly becoming a daily thing for him. "But we really do."

She glides her hands down their arms in a calming way. "Well then, it might take a year or two, but I promise I have a plan." Rose steps onto the staircase with a dramatic sigh, lifting up the sides of her gown. "Might just have to lose my morals along the way..."

Theo shares a hesitant shrug with Draco, and by the time they look back at Rose she's already moving up the staircase, calling their names so sassily that both boys rush to walk behind her.

The closer they get to the top of the stairs, the more light flows from the grand opened doors that lead to the top of the ballroom. A soft sound of melancholy music drifts out, and soft chatter from each person in attendance.

She steps onto the balcony view, feeling Theo settle at her side and Draco at her back, eyes raking over the crowd in scrutiny. It's much darker than usual, every light turned down low, different masks covering each face. "I left my mask in the meeting room." Rose murmurs, planning to use this as an excuse to not face the whole of the sacred twenty-eight witches and wizards, the people she had not spoken to or seen since Walburga's death. Her lips twist into a frown upon realizing Draco and Theo seemed to have ditched their masks as well–meaning her excuse would be invalid.

"You are beautiful," Draco slips his fingers onto her hip. "You don't need to participate in this disastrous theme."

Once again, Theo takes to flashing her that heart-racing smirk. "Dance with us." He demands, extending a hand.

She glides her fingers into his own, being enveloped in a casing of warmth. "Us?" Her eyebrows raise. "I'm pretty sure that goes against ballroom rules. Two people only, not three."

Draco presses his lips down onto her exposed shoulder, delighting in the sharp inhale she does at the contact. He murmurs against her skin, "Since when did you start caring about rules?"

A full grin, made of mischief and happiness, forms on her face. She pulls Draco's hand into her free one, yanking him forward with a glint buried inside her gaze. "Sure you want to do this with such a scandalizing woman?"

"Ah," Theo tilts her chin upward. "We'll be damned before doing it with another."

For the first time in weeks, all three of them are synced up, sharing looks of communication and laughing with their entire chests. Undeterred by walking into a death trap, the world's worst man looming on the floor below, and the pressure of the world looming over their shoulders–there they are.

Happy.
Together.
At peace.

_________________________________

A/N: hello loves! happy ending to a chapter?? what is happening in the house of commons??

-my uploading schedule should fix itself soon, i've been doing an outline for the book i'm writing while also writing these new chapters so it takes a lil (seriously, why did no one warn me how much planning goes into creating a fantasy book from the ground up?)

-next chapter is going to be super fluffy, and probably one of the last ones with the whole group together for a while so enjoy it while you can! it's all chaos from here on out (iykyk)

-on the other hand, whit? them arguing is soooo very odd

-rose growing? realizing communication is important? apologizing? girlboss.

anyways, missed you all <3

xx bri