third person pov

' and i've never felt more alone
it feels so scary getting old '

As the time came for each and every student to leave for Hogwarts, Rose recalled how she used to look forward to this day with so much glee. She would be out of her home, away from Walburga and the memories that came within the walls of the Black Manor or Grimmauld Place.

Her greatest talent, the one she grasped onto tightly most, was putting on a brave face, and forcing her head to be held high, regardless of the storm happening all around her body—but today she felt the world sitting on her chest.

Was she doomed to be like Atlas? A God cursed to carry the universe until the end of time?

And what could ever mentally prepare her for the whirlwind awaiting her within Hogwarts? Being the daughter of such a notorious, deranged murderer was already difficult with whispers following her every move. She felt like a show pony, one that people claimed to be the product made from one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. Add in being the only heir of a powerful and merciless family, everyone was bound to fear her as if she was some myth created as a warning to young children, with or without the knowledge of her father's name.

It didn't help that she did, in fact, often act as deranged as the rumors made her sound.

With Sirius Black out, she assumed he was running around somewhere plotting her murder or kidnapping. And Merlin knows, people are going to attempt to treat her as if she helped the man escape with her bare hands.

I am not my fathers daughter! she wanted to scream, until her lungs gave out.

Now, with the passing of her high-profile grandfather, along with the inability to grieve, the stacks of stress only grew.

That is how she found herself on the verge of crumbling as she stood in front of her mirror once again, straightening out her leather jacket and reaching down for the wine-colored bag—triple checking she had placed a pack of cigarettes inside.

Today she let her black curls free, refusing to deal with Walburga pestering over her hair like a madman.

Glancing over to the left of the mirror, where a white snake curled itself into a circle, she spoke in parseltongue, "Nyx, come on. We have to hurry if we want to beat the crowd."

The snake lifted its head, eyeing her up and down before replying, "It feels sinful to see you carrying snakeskin..."

"Excuse you? It is not real and you know it!" Rose rolled her eyes. "Monet has managed to make high-fashion cruelty free!"

"So you are paying tons of galleons from something that should be cheap?"

The witch bent down, stretching her hand out with a smirk. "I could get a cheap one, but I fear Miss Zabini would freak if she saw me..."

Nyx began slipping beneath Rose's leather sleeve as she replied, "What a true classist."

Rose could hear the mocking tone in the snake's voice, although it would have simply sounded like a low hiss to anyone else, as she heads out of her room and slams the door shut.

The next sound to echo through the Black Manor was Rose's loud voice screaming, "Whit! Get your shit together and come on! You know how much I hate the crowd at Kings Cross!"

*

"Slow down this instant, young lady!" Whitman snapped, with Walburga trailing behind him calmly.

Rose huffed, and began slowing down right in front of the bricked wall of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, looking over her shoulder—giggling at Whitman charging past all the muggles with strange looks directed at him and Vega, her owl he stole in first year, sitting on his trunk.

All the while, she must resist the urge to admire the cold face Walburga wore.

The woman was so unaffected by everything and everyone.

Sometimes Rose wished to be capable of such.

Often she wished her ability to crumble so violently and openly could be disguised as something other than blatant chaos.

When Whitman finally reaches Rose, she flashes him a smile of innocence, only to be flicked on the forehead.

She gasped at him dramatically. "For that I should've left you to fend for yourself amongst the muggles!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Rosalie Aries Black."

She pointed an accusatory finger up at him. "You did not just use my birth given name!"

"Tut, tut, tut..." Whitman smirked down at her and wrapped his calloused hand around her own, like she is nothing but some miniscule human to him. "Looks like I did."

In the bright light of the muggle train station, they appeared so vastly different.

While she wore a black dress with silver pins lining the front, tights beneath that made it look as though vines were twisting up her thighs, along with the chunky boots that always made Walburga mutter 'muggle-like' beneath her breath—Rose still looked posh beyond him. Rubies, which seemed as if they were forged with blood, laid in stacks on her left wrist and another stack of emeralds sat on the right, while the thin dark-ribbon around her throat held a pendant of the dead—far too telling of her ancestors.

Whitman simply wore a slouchy black jumper, pants to match, and a dainty silver chain holding a small raven on a loop. His brown hair was a mess that not even Walburga Black could make him get rid of, and his body was much stronger than any of their friends. He had the type of bulky build that one shouldn't have at their age, and the look of someone who ate constantly and played sports every damned day—which he most certainly did not, Quidditch was never much of interest to him.

"You know what they say about soft hands?" Whitman asked, curling his hand that was grasping her pointed finger around until her palm opened to him.

She hummed.

"Only jobless people have them. Fitting, huh?"

She scoffed, before laughing, her eyes floating down to where his fingers traced the lines of her palm.

"Are you doing a palm-reading on her, Whitman?" The chilly voice of Walburga Black snapped. "If not, I do not see why you are being so touchy."

Rose flinched away from him, her eyes drawing down as he bit into the side of his cheek and rolled his shoulders back.

Walburga only made a noise of disapproval before graciously walking through the bricked wall.

Rose's eyes locked onto where she disappeared while muttering to herself until Whitman wrapped his arm around her shoulders—as if to keep her steady.

"Old hag," Rose hissed.

Whitman looked down at her with a wink.

"Together?" he asks.

She looked up at him, grabbing onto her trunk. "Together."

This single word will come back to haunt her many years from now.

After they ran through the wall, his arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, and the pair let out a sigh in unison before eyeing each other with goofy, matching smiles.

"Let go of her, Whitman. She needs to look presentable, and so do you."

Whitman's eyes rolled as he unhooked himself from the young witch, with Walburga letting out a sigh of approval before walking them to the edge of the crimson-train to store away the owl and trunks. As Walburga shoves their necessities into the hands of an attendee, Rose feels the eyes of many on them. She keeps her chin lifted with a blank expression, letting the mask fall over her features and mute the voice of Walburga ranting about the muggles she passed.

Suddenly, a pair of arms comes up from behind, lifting her from the ground and spinning her in a circle. Theodore Nott's melodic voice fills her with a buzzing feeling as he speaks, "And how is my most favorite lady today?"

Something buried deep inside of her comes to life inside at his warmth, his presence, his touch—his hands so careless when it comes to wrapping around her waist.

She cannot begin to recall being separated from him for this long.

"Put me down, Teddy!" she laughed out the words.

"No can do, darling."

"Put the girl down this instant, you are making a scene!"

The new voice causes them to freeze.

Theo sets her down, both of them turning to face Theodore Nott Senior next to Walburga.

If Rose had never met Tom Riddle in the chamber, who consequently turned out to be Voldemort, she would consider this man to be the most cruel of them all.

Rose says nothing, only forces her hands together tightly—far away from Theodore's body, as his own hands flex by his side, as if he is reaching for her subconsciously—Whitman merely nods in greeting.

Theo grimaces, an expression caused by the fake peace portrayed by his friends. "Sorry father, we just haven't seen one another."

His fathers gaze treks over each and every one of them before his words tumble out sharply, "You see eachother everyday. Feed your bullshit to someone else, Theodore."

Rose latches onto Theo's hand without her own permission as he flinches.

The man held a point.

With Rose's abandonment issues, Theodore being a boy who could not bear more than two seconds without her being by his side—and Whitman, well, he was just as much a part of both issues.

She watches how Theo's shoulders draw together, his chest moving with a deep inhale. He was much broader and larger in a sense than most, and unnerving, almost in an unsettling way, with the type of presenting image that said he did not care what the world thought of him, but he was very capable of inflicting harm without magic. Right now, he seems even more capable of said harm—as if he might just light a match and drop it to the ground without an afterthought. She hates when his father is near, despises how all colour leaves his face, and a flat, bored expression takes root all over his features.

His father's eyes draw to where Rose touches his son, something like a scowl twitching at his lips—begging to take form.

He never had much care for her.

She was the equivalent of a muggle lusting after his son in his eyes.

Some otherworldly kind of serpent, one that wanted to sink her poisonous fangs into Theodore and never let him go.

"You would be valid," Rose said, failing to hide the spite in her voice, "If you had not forced him to stay away this past week."

Ever since the dinner, where she decided to throw a wine bottle at his father, Theodore Nott Senior had banned Theo from leaving the manor to see her, or anyone. Though, Theo was never one for listening to his father's commands—not when it came to her. Every night since, as soon as the clock struck eleven, Theo would appear in the hearth within her room with a look of desperation, and she would sit up from her bed, or look up from a book as she sat on the couch in front of the burning wood, and gesture him into her arms until he tiredly collapsed against her and grasped at her limbs as if she would slip away from him.

"I could be far worse..." His father smiled viciously. "He could always transfer to that program in Russia, make my life a whole lot easier."

"Oh?" Rose smiled right back. "I don't think you would dare. Too much of a risk."

Before anyone could interject, the Senior spoke again, "Lovely funeral, Orion would have been delighted. So many great families came together for a spectacular man...I meant to say that the other night. It's a shame, Rosalie, that you could not speak."

Orion hated you, Rose almost snaps.

"Thank you," she settles for instead. The attitude she wished to give will not be worth what it will cost Theo. Rose is sure she has done enough with the damage she did a few days ago. "He deserved a respectful day in his name. I, well, I am just lucky Theo was there to deliver my speech for me."

Theo squeezes her hand, a way to say she played it off perfectly.

He wouldn't let go. No matter what vile looks his elder threw at them.

His father nods once more. "I would say you were lucky too. Theodore did an excellent job. You all are more than welcome to join us for the holidays."

"We'll have to consider," Walburga hummed, her eyes taking in the passerby's with hatred. "We were hoping to stay in the French manor for Yule."

"Very justified." Theodore's father gives a tight-lipped smile. "On for a drink, Walburga?"

"Yes, but go on—I need a minute with Rosalie."
The man turned on his heel, exiting without a word of goodbye to his son as the three let out a breath of relief.

Although the relief is broken as Walburga grasps Rose's chin softly, uncaring about the two boys watching, or how quickly Rose detaches herself Theo.

"Do not let something as foolish as death affect your score, and report to me about your training with Dumbledore."

"Of course, grandmother."

Her grip turns painfully tight. "And remember who you are, not some random girl. Every move you make is being watched, even more so now than ever. Understood?"

Rose nodded and swallowed the lump buried within her throat as Walburga eyes drop to her feet, before she brushes the young witches hair back with a lowered voice.

"The rumors will fly but you are not his daughter...you are mine, you are Orion's, and that makes you the most important woman to exist—so, behave yourself. Act like a Black, not some crying teenage girl. The pain and fear will go away with time."

The way Rose's heart swells is sickening, she should not love this woman so much, but she does.

And in the most twisted manner, Rose knows Walburga loves her too.

With one last glance to Rose and a sharp look aimed at Whitman, Walburga begins to follow the same path as Theo's father—leaving Rose to stiffly watch her go.

Whitman slinging his arm over her shoulders forces Rose to relax, as he starts guiding them to the train. Meanwhile, she tugs Theo by his hand.

"You are a master of lying, Ro," Theo said.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "How else does one survive the House of Black?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" Whitman shouted suddenly, making Rose wince at the volume so close to her ear.

Across the platform, in a midst of colorful people with bright clothing and sweater-covered bodies, the Malfoy family stuck out in their dark silky clothing and blinding-white hair—with the exception of Narcissa. Abraxas Malfoy in particular stood tall and mighty with his cane almost identical to the one Lucius's gloved hand gripped tightly.

Rose, Theo, and Whitman all shot smiles at the family, only receiving one back from Narcissa. Abraxas would have, if only he was not too preoccupied studying the Weasley family pushing through the crowd with distaste.

Draco hugged his mother, and curtly nodded at his father, before making his way over to the trio. Upon arrival, he spoke immediately, "You should have heard father, rambling about how disgustingly close you are with Rosie."

"Since you are incapable of remembering," Theo retorts, "You used to be the same."

Before the Malfoy can respond with some sassy remarks, Theo and Whitman pull each of them into a group hug, one that sends Rose and Draco into a fit of yelping.

"I did not sign up for this!"

"This is terrible, release me!"

When Theo and Whitman let go of Draco, he scowls as if they murdered his entire bloodline.
Dramatic as ever.

Whitman removed his arm from Rose, only to throw it over Draco's—which only resulted in him being shoved off and the arm getting placed again over the blonde as they walked ahead.

Draco didn't fight him off a second time.

Malfoy never dared to look at her.

Theo simply pulled Rose into himself as they made their way to the open train doors and the loud sound of chattering.

"Sorry about my father, Ro."

He sounded defeated.

She hated it more than anything.

"Don't be, Teddy. One day I will hire a hitman for him."

Theo laughed, that breathy laugh that always shook his chest, as they watched Draco and Whitman slide into a compartment.

"Tell me you're skipping on the hello's with those cunts, please?"

Rose rolled her eyes, slipping an arm around his waist. "I'm done with that lot, mostly."

She was referring to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Theo sighed happily and curled his arm tighter around her shoulders, pulling her head in and placing a kiss atop her hair. Then, he guided her into the same compartment Draco and Whitman disappeared into.

Blaise is already there, sitting in the middle of the bench across from Draco and Whitman. Theo doesn't hesitate to give her a gentle shove forward and sit down by the window as Blaise hops up—throwing his arms around Rose.

She stumbles at the impact before forcing herself to loosely hug him back.

It does not suffice for him, because he pulls back enough to look at her face.

"Why are you acting all odd?"

Rose feels her anger choking her like a noose as she stares back into his amber eyes, but refuses to make him feel small. This Blaise, the Blaise she loves dearly, is the one she would die for, if it meant he could be happy all the time.

"Just not been sleeping," she murmurs, to cover up the truth.

Blaise eyes her as if he can see through every layer of bullshit, until nodding regardless. He was much like her in the sense that he would not push. And Blaise never, ever, has let her anger bother him. She is sure she could scream and throw things at him until she was blue in the face and he would simply walk over and hug her after.
"Well, sit with me," he says, yanking her down onto the bench with him as he settles next to Theo. "I missed you."

"Missed you too."

Rose folds her hands in her lap and stares down at her crossed legs.

Blaise looks to the others, finally seeming to understand just how truly annoyed by him she is.
Whitman begins talking to Blaise, asking random questions about these past weeks they've been apart from him and his mother. He was always trying to make everything peaceful. And Theo joins the conversation at some point, while Rose is still stuck staring down into nothingness. She hates to be like this, to be so silent when aggravation takes hold, but she cannot help it.

Their voices are muffled by the quietness within her mind.

She tries to pull herself out as Theo cracks the sliding window, loud wind whipping into their compartment as the train zooms toward Scotland. He lights a cigarette, and the smell makes her begin to slowly lift her eyes up.

In Front of her, Draco is leaned forward on his knees, the silver rings on his fingers catching the afternoon sunlight in such a blinding manner. The skin over his hands is too pale to be anything but a marble statue, she is sure of it.

Her eyes snag onto the Malfoy signet ring, and the small scar, barely noticeable, above the silver.
One of his fingers run over it, as if he can feel where her attention is.

The scar had been her fault a lifetime ago.

She hates how his hands flex, how large they appear, how strong, how steady—she hates how her body can recall the warmth buried within those very palms.

She hates how her own hand flexes, as if it might reach for him.

The conversation and the wind keeps continuing around them as she fully lifts her eyes, finding him staring directly at her.

Rose sits up straight, letting her head fall back against the wooden compartment walls as the lingering heat of August brushes her skin. She allows her eyes to pierce back into his own, knowing he would look away.

He could never hold her stare for long these days.
But he only keeps her gaze steadily, his hands weaving together tighter.

They stare at each other for so long her eyes begin to burn.

But still, she does not look away.

Something akin to yearning makes the burn in her eyes turn into a painful sting.

And she thinks about the risks here. What's stopping her from throwing her body across the small space and into his own? What's stopping her from reaching over and grabbing his hands? What's stopping her from grabbing hold of his sharp face and pressing her lips into his own? What's stopping her from letting everything go and choosing to love him proudly?

Everything, the voices in her mind whisper, and she thinks she can hear the dead giggling at her preposterous ideas. Everything in the entire world is stopping you.

But it doesn't seem to matter right here, right now. She can only tug her bottom lip into her mouth, gwaning at the flesh in concentration as her eyes trek over every off-putting, knife sharp feature across his face.

Her mind swoops back into the past, to where they are hidden in the garden, where his body—that had changed and grown and contorted in something far stronger and larger than ever before—is holding her tightly to him. Where she had felt weightless, for the first time in years, as he buried her into him. Where time did not exist, where he is Draco, no Malfoy, and she is Rosie, his Rosie, not Rosalie, without a thing to prevent them from ever being such.

Her hands began to turn numb with the aching urge to push through his snowy hair, to feel him fall into her and not flinch away from such sinful behavior.

I love you, she thinks, and I hate you so very much.

She almost slaps herself for these thoughts: How could she think such?! It was cruel, and unfair to her mind and body and soul. He is a traitor, a liar, and a bad man. The boy she knew, the boy she loved, no longer exists.

Draco Malfoy is just a ghost of the love of her life.
But here he is, daring her to ever look away from him.

She won't do it.

She never gets to look at him for so long these days, and she will savour this moment.

In these past times, they are always darting their eyes away from one another, always spitting hateful words with their faces turned as if eye contact in the midst of betrayal would be too much to bear.

Sometimes, though she will never admit it, she thinks in her refusal to actually look at him, she is missing out on how much he is growing. He is slowly losing his boyishness, and it makes her nauseated. It is unfair that he is growing up without her to witness it all.

But for now, she thinks they can just stay like this, let the warm air wrap around them and keep each other's stare until one of their friends gains enough sense to make them stop. He seems to have the same idea, because he takes a relaxing inhale of air, as if they have all the time in the world, and looks at her with the usual sharpness in his gaze gone.

She quite enjoys the sight of him like this, and knows many never get to see such. The way his hair moves with the breeze, falling out of place and leaving white strands to brush across his dark brow—the way his shoulders relax with each breath, his eyes turning from narrow to doe-like.
The door of the compartment slams open, all of the wind forcing it to make a loud bang.

Rose jumps at the commotion, but she keeps her attention on Draco.

He pushes up off his knees, turning his head toward the exit without a care in the world. Then, as quick as a snap, his body is firm once more, taut and straight, shoulders pushing back tensely, and the colour in his face is gone. All of the carefree light she saw in him sucked away, turning him into the man he is to the world on a daily basis.

It feels as if how she had just seen him is only a daydream, one she had been foolish enough to let herself have.

And perhaps she had dreamed it up.

She barely trusted her own mind anymore.

"Hello, Draco," a soft feminine voice calls.

Rose's brows furrow together before she looks up, finding Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the glass framing. It makes her gut drop. She hates how beautiful Pansy Parkinson is, with every fiber of her being.

The girl's hair was still cut in the same short black bob, bangs straight across her face—eyes a vibrant shade of the foothills. Her lips tug up as Draco mutters a greeting back. She looks so much older than Rose, like a real woman, although they are the same age. Rose hates it, Rose hates how small she suddenly feels. And it felt so wasted, for such beauty, to be gifted to someone so vile.

"How was your holiday?" Pansy asks.

Rose dropped her head onto Blaise's shoulder, muttering, "What the fuck is she doing here?"
Blaise blows out a breath of relief at the attention, patting Rose's cheek with a grin.

Pany's eyes snap onto Rose, disgust curling her lips. "Something to say, Black?"

"Yes actually," Rose said between a yawn, and Blaise's smile grew as she kept her head against him. This was his form of entertainment. "I asked what the fuck you're doing here."

"I'm speaking," Pansy snapped back.

"To whom? I cannot think of anyone who would want that."

"Draco. Not you."

"Then go on in the corridor, will you?" Rose waved her off boredly. "I'm getting nauseated with you being so close."

Draco sighed. "I'll talk to you later, Parkinson. Black's in a mood."

Pansy laughed, before casting a soft smile down at Draco. "When is she not? I pity you all, truly. I cannot imagine spending time with her dreadful presence."

Something yanked at Rose's stomach so fast she thought she would fall through her seat.
"Get your little pet out of here." Rose's attention was directly on Draco, eyes burning with some newfound feeling. "I fucking mean it, Malfoy!" she shouted.

"Crazy bitch," Pansy muttered, before quickly stepping away and slamming the door closed.
Blaise wrapped his arm around Rose with a scowl. "I'm going to show her what a crazy bitch is one of these days..."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Rose hissed at Draco, her eyes stinging enough she was sure tears were lining her eyes.

Draco wasn't looking at her, running a hand through his hair with true avoidance to meet her gaze again. Perhaps it had been real for him too, maybe he thought he would get trapped in the same staring contest again. "It's just Parkinson, you know how she is."

"Are you going to date her?" Rose blurted out, the question bizarre enough to force him to stare directly into her eyes. "Shag her?"

"Are you truly losing your mind?" Draco scoffed. "That's insanity to even suggest."

"You're pathetic," Rose spat.

"Ro," Whitman muttered, worriedly glancing between everyone there. "Not today. You want to go off on Parkinson? Go do it, but not on Draco."

Just like that, it was only Draco and Rose again—except in a much different manner. This was the part their friends always dreaded, when Rose and Draco shared this look, the kind that promised they would be tearing each other's throats out by the end of the hour. It was a specific look they gave each and every time this happened, where Rose's eyes were blown wide and her hands twitchy, while Draco clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply through his nose.

Draco leaned forward once more, albastar hands clutching at his own knees hard enough to bruise.
Through his teeth, he spat back, "Since when do you give a shit about what I do with my life? Last time I checked, you stopped a long time ago, that is if you even cared at all."

"I don't!" Her words were angered and spiteful. "I only care if you're going to force us all to be around some girl who's made my life a living hell for years!"

"Oh," he laughed in the most pompous manner possible, no humor left in the sound. "So any other girl is alright, huh?"

She had half the mind to slap him across the face.
The urge made her want to sit on her hands to prevent herself from doing such.

"So there's another girl?!"

"What?..." Draco shook his head frustratedly before gesturing to her. "What are you so pissed for?! I don't want anything to do with Pansy Parkinson."

"Oh, my mistake, I must have been confused about what the meaning of 'we'll talk later' means!" Rose could feel her teeth grinding together. But she forced herself to lower her voice before spitting out, "I bet your father would be real proud. Good job, finding a woman he can actually approve of."

Draco looked as though she had just shot him.
It was the first time he had been so speechless in years.

"Too far, the both of you," Whitman snapped, but neither of them paid him any mind.

All Draco did was mutter, quietly, and almost pained, "Don't you dare bring my father and that shit into this. Never, and definitely not in front of them."

'That shit', meaning the things they would never, could never, speak of.

"I believe I will." Rose felt the angry tears, or confused tears, or whatever the hell they could have possibly been caused from, go down her face. But she didn't care, nor did she care about the horror on the friend's faces as she gestured wildly to Theo too. "I'm sure Theo's father would even pat you on the damn back for picking such an excellent choice."

Theo looked down at the cigarette in his hands, as if ashamed.

Rose stood up on shaky limbs and leaned down toward Draco, seething out, "All you do is hurt the people around you at every given chance."

He sat up at his full height, but did not waver away from her disastrous state. "And what are you doing to me right now?"

The words were an arrow to her heart.

"I hate you, Draco. I truly do," she spat, before rushing out of the compartment.

She scrubbed her face furiously to clear the tears and made her way down the corridor as if only allergies had gotten the best of her reddened eyes.
By some speed of time, and enough wandering, she had an idea.

She would find the next best thing.

It took some time, perhaps even peering into ten different compartment's, catching worrisome glares when she accidentally peered into the wrong space.

But then, by some streak of luck that certainly did not belong to her, she found just who she had been looking for.

There was Luna Lovegood laying across a bench seat all by herself, pink and obnoxiously large glasses on her face as she stared at the ceiling. Neville Longbottom was across from her, his mouth moving with words Rose could not hear, as he ran his hand over a stringy, but tall, green plant on his lap.

Without another thought, Rose slid into the compartment.

She would be content here.

"Rose!" Luna cheered, without ever lifting her body up.

Neville smiled down at the blonde-headed girl before shooting a soft grin at Rose. "We've been wondering when you'd show..."

Luna scrambled up out of her seat, throwing her arms around Rose.

It had been so long since she had seen that blinding head of white hair, and those big-beautiful eyes staring up at her.

Rose grabs onto the girl so fast Luna stumbles back, before settling herself in the Black's embrace. As much as Rose used to love her other new friends like Hermione and Harry, and even Ron—when Luna is hugging her, she does not feel the need to push down her discomfort of being held so tightly. In fact, she relishes in the feeling of breathing in the scent of fruits covering Luna.

"My baby," Rose murmured, and let go enough to kiss the top of Luna's head.

"My baby," Luna repeated, giggling loud enough for Neville to become concerned.

When they pull apart, Luna simply smiles, whispering, "I missed you gravely."

"Me as well."

Rose gives the girl a slight shove before watching Luna take to sitting next to Neville. She was happy to see it, having a full seat to herself sounded nice after everything that happened—some space felt necessary.

"How have you beautiful people been?"

"I am as wonderful as the skies." Luna laid her head casually on Neville's shoulder with a sigh. "Although Neville is quite troubled, the nargles have been messing with him it seems."

Neville twitched slightly. He is always twitching, in a very subtle manner. She guessed it was because of his anxiousness. "It's just been, well...We've just been worried, you know? Your father—"

"Don't say such offensive things, Neville," Rose cut in with a groan. "He's no father of mine. I had a father, and it certainly was not him."

Luna patted his arm without lifting her head, or removing those same large glasses. "He means to say his worry for you has been festering all summer."

"Of course it has!" Neville declared loudly. "You stopped writing back these past few weeks! Then your grandfather, excuse me, your other father passed, and I—"

"I thought you both stopped writing." Rose tipped her head back, and looked out at the passing trees. "Walburga must've snagged the post. She usually does that if I don't get there in time."

"I don't...I don't think I like her very much." Neville was nervous to say it, but he did so with confidence. "Your grandmother seems like a dread."

"I don't think we like her very much either. Ay, Georgie?"

"No thinking about it, Freddie. Can't bear the damned woman."

She didn't even need to glance over. She knew exactly who was there. She could only tip her eyes up and groan, as if they were a curse bound to follow her.

Fred Weasley settled himself on her left, while George Weasley took to her other side—the two large presences seeming to swallow her whole and away from the daylight.

"Oh please, little miss sunshine," Fred said happily. "No need to act as if you weren't dying without us."

"We've only come to ask why you've decided you were too good to see us," George added on.

"Or write us back."

"Or appreciate those wonderful flowers mum helped us send."

"Or even pop in for a visit."

Rose muttered multiple curses to the ceiling.
George reached over, tipping her face toward him with two fingers. He narrowed his eyes at her as she kept her head laid back against the wood. "Has Malfoy finally convinced you to leave us poor blokes alone and settle yourself in that golden cage with him?"

"Has your brother finally convinced you I'm a psychotic headcase?"

"Oh, I don't need convincing," George grinned. "But that doesn't scare me."

Rose's lips twitched before she shoved his face away. He laughed, and so did Fred, before she replied, "To answer your question, Georgie, Malfoy is far from getting anywhere near me these days. I think he sees me as much of a disease as I see him as one."

"Well, isn't that delightful news?" Fred nudged her shoulder with his own. "Now, onto the post..."

"Her grandmother has been snagging it!" Neville interjected protectively.

"Makes sense," George clicked his tongue. "That old hag. Mum said she's never been much of a delight, even compared her to a Dementor."

Rose laughed quietly.

Theo always made the same comparison.

"How's Zabini these days?" Fred wondered aloud.

Suddenly, Rose eyed him like he was a hitman out to get her best friend from the random comment. "Why are you asking? Where did that come from?"

"Just wondering how that miserable man is feeling." Fred crossed his arms and looked out the window with a sigh. "Curious to know how many more years he's going to spend throwing vile looks my way for breathing near him."

"Ah, you've just got yourself a fan, Freddie," George said.

"Leave him alone." Rose spoke the words harshly, making Neville flinch. "No messing with him. Blaise is off limits."

"When have I ever?" Fred muttered. "Not even one prank on that boy, I tell you."

"And yet you're still dreadful in his pompous eyes," George laughed. "Perhaps he'll let his little demented group of weirdos kill ya' one day."

"Oi!" Rose glared at George, whose smile only widened in return. "That's my people you're talking about!"

"You're the most demented of them all, Miss Black!" George ruffled her hair. "It's why we adore you so."

Fred wasn't acting like his usual self, he was only looking away into the distance with an expression Rose couldn't place.

And apparently neither could his brother, because George shot the girl a confused glance as they both stared at Fred.

A knock at the doors pulled everyone's, excluding Fred's, attention.

Harry Potter stood there, waving awkwardly to the people within the compartment.

The Black stood, lazily saluting George, and getting a wink in return, as she slid the doors open and stepped out into the corridor of the train.

Harry took a step back and crossed his arms, "Can you spare me a hug before you continue giving your attention to all these new friends of yours?"

It's in a span of seconds that Rose shoots him a goofy grin, grabs his hands, and yanks him in, wrapping her arms around him.

He often felt like a brother and a confidant to her, but not in a way the ones he grew up with were. No, Harry understood what it was like to have barrels of power shoved into your hands from Dumbledore himself.

And she had felt sympathy for Harry since watching him tumble into the Great Hall confused by all the wide-eyes casted at a boy who had no idea of his reputation of being a saving grace.

He squeezed her until she choked before whispering, "Glad you're okay."

Rose grinned once more and held him by his upper arms while her gaze floated over his body. "Let me make sure you look healthy right quick so I know if I have a Dursley, or three, to kill..." She squinted playfully and spun Harry around, making him laugh.

"Not again, I beg."

"Yeah..." She sighs, crossing her arms in scrutiny. "I have to kill them."

"What? Why?!"

"Because they clearly haven't been feeding you well!"

Harry eyes her with fake shock, but the look on his face tells everything. Right before she prepares to dive head first into a long rant, he interrupts, "Stop acting like my mum and listen...We need to talk."

She appreciates how normal he is being, despite her barely replying to him and his friends' letters this summer—and the events of last year.

"What is it?" Rose muttered, her eyes catching down the corridor in curiosity on why she felt something pinching her gut. The dead, their voices, which were often a whisper in her mind, began to giggle from all around. "Has something happened?"

Harry opens his mouth, but the words fall deaf on her ears.

And her stomach hallows out.

There Draco Malfoy is, his fast-paced steps coming to a complete halt down the corridor as his gaze snagged onto Harry standing in front of her. She watches how his jaw clenched, his chest moving with a deep breath, all before his eyes snapped onto her own—it felt like such a violent act, as if he was throwing a sword directly into her chest with a simple look.

Her lips part, like she might just shout down the distance.

But what could she possibly say?

Draco's jaw ticks just as he turns around, heading right back down the way he had came, with a hand flexing out straight by his side.

Foolish thoughts, from the little girl who still lived in her, entered her mind.

Had he come for her? To apologize? To fix whatever just happened between them?

But they were stupid thoughts, and so very untrue.

"Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose..." Her name comes off Harry's tongue multiple times, but she cannot hear him until he shakes her shoulders. "Pay attention," Harry begs, letting her go as she stiffens. "I need to tell you what Arthur told me. You're the only one who...who will not look at me like I'm insane."

Rose cleared her throat. "Sorry. I...my mind is a mess."

"It's...you're fine," Harry breathed out, eyeing her like he might just run in the other direction. "It's just that Mr. Weasley believes your dad isn't only after you, but that he's after me too...Maybe this conversation could actually wait...I don't want to overwhelm you."

"What?! I—huh?" she sputtered the words out, shaking her head. "For one, don't you dare call him my father...And, onto number two, I—I...why would my sperm-donor want anything to do with you?"

"He was a loyal servant to the Dark Lord, Rose." Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Of course he is after me."

Rose sighed, looking back at Harry, who seemed unshaken and only awkward. "Well," she begins slowly, "He will have to kill me before I let him touch a hair on your little head."

Harry gives her the best grin he could muster. "I knew you'd say that, we all have your back too."

The word 'we' didn't seem so likely anymore.
Rose swung an arm over his shoulders and ruffled his hair, letting fake cheerfulness cover up everything within her. "Of course I know that, Potter. You Gryffindor's cannot resist being self-sacrificing little shits. Now, onto the next grand thing..." She began guiding them down the corridor, opposite the way of where Draco had once been. "I have a sneaky suspicion about some stuff going on."

"Like what? Our impending doom?"

"Ha, ha," Rose said flatly and mockingly. "More so why you have yet to get a haircut. They say you invite madness in when you allow your hair to grow so long."

"Must be why your hair is so very long!" Harry sassed. "And excuse you. I like to believe my hair looks quite nice like this, thank you very much."

"You look homeless with hair like this."

"Much like you yourself."

"Me? No, I'm perfect."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are relentless, that's what you are."

She was going to retort, but suddenly they were being thrown forward so unsuspectingly that she had to grab onto the door of some strangers' compartment to keep herself from tumbling onto her face.

Meanwhile, Harry had, in fact, taken a tumble flat onto his face.

Commotion sounded out from all over as the train began to slow with screeching sound.

Rose shivered at the metal clanking and the oncoming shouting as she steadied herself and reached down, offering a hand to Harry. "Get off the floor, you buffoon!"

Harry took her hand and stood with a scowl, "My sincerest apologies for not having anything to grab on!"

She rolled her eyes, reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a watch connected to a golden, rusted chain.

Harry laughed to himself. "How pretentious do you have to be to own a pocket watch?!"

"Theo made it a very long time ago." Rose snapped before staring at the watch's face. "Hm," she hummed. "We still have three hours left until our arrival. Can't be right, eh?"

People began poking their heads out of their compartment, making Harry mutter, "No one else seems to know either."

The train jerks harshly out of nowhere, swaying moments after as all the lights flick at once—then simultaneously go out.

"Maybe we've broken down."

"Thank you, Harry," Rose hissed, as she eyed the ice spreading over the compartment windows, shielding out any light and the ability to see anyone sitting inside their separate spaces. "What an astute observation."

Just as she lifted her head up, a cloak of black towered behind Harry.

She did not think twice before yanking him behind herself and throwing her body infront of his own as if she could shield him from the horror she knew was coming.

Clearly, her body planned on being a self-sacrificing idiot like Harry.

"Dementors," was all Rose could say before ringing filled her ears.

An ear curdling scream rang in her skull with the follow up of a woman shouting, before the sounds transitioned into a random blur of a man begging to have a girl back—over and over. The worst of all though, is the flashes of Walburga's punishments that began to play.

None of the chaos in her mind stopped until the lights were back, and she was left clutching to her chest to take steady breaths as Harry lay sprawled on the floor once more.

A man, one she had never seen before, knelt beside Harry and attempted to wake him with urgency. She could not seem to hear his voice, nor could she move. Rose was too busy trying to recover from what she just heard and wrapping her head around what it exactly was.

But she focuses on the stranger as he helps Harry stand and faces her. She takes in his sandy, messy hair. His scarred face. His raggedy knitted sweater. The bags under his eyes telling of restlessness. Far and few lines speaking of age, no older than mid-thirties. He is as foreign to her as any stranger walking down the street, maybe even more so.

And most importantly, he feels foreign.

There comes a twinge to her gut though, something that makes her want to continue looking at him.

"Are you alright, Rosalie?" asked the man.

Rose doesn't question how he knows her name.

"Rose," Harry began, "You in there?"

She stays frozen.

"Harry," the stranger said, his voice too calm for her to bear. "What did you see?"

"It was so odd....I heard screaming, and I could've sworn I heard my parents yelling out too."

"Well, no need to worry." The man assured. "No screaming here."

Rose found her voice finally, "No, no. I heard screaming too. Lots of it. That's just...that's just what happens with Dementors. They are supposed to terrify you." She did not move, but still, "You're not losing it, Harry. It's...normal. I promise."

"Here." Two pieces of untouched chocolate lay in the stranger's palm. "Eat. Chocolate always helps."

Rose nodded before placing a piece into her mouth and muttered, "Who are you?"

"I'm—" He cut himself off with a deep inhale, and averted his eyes away as he forced a raspy reply, "Professor Lupin."

Rose turned away, ready to run to her own saving grace.

Harry reached for her, but failed. "Where are you going?!"

She glanced at him and gulped, trying to force her voice to stop sounding so small as she whispered the only name in her mind.

"Theo."

In a moment's time, Rose was gone—disappearing toward the front of the train and refusing to slow down until she peered into a compartment with four heads all appearing vastly different.

Who cared if she would have to face Draco so soon after a fight?

All she needed right now was Theo.

By the window Theo still sat, his head in a mess of soft curls leaned against the glass as he sat with arms crossed—Slytherin robes now on with the tie barely done. His stare was far off, in another world; a place she could not reach him. Blaise too still sat next to the boy, clad in that same fitted black suit.

Across from him sat Whitman, a book opened in his lap—with Draco still next to him.

Rose slid the door open harshly, scanning it with calculated eyes.

She must have zoned out, because it took Blaise's arm wrapping around her shoulders and guiding her between himself and Theo for her to feel present.

"Are you okay, little Ro?" Blaise murmured, a half-joking, half-worried tone laced in his voice. "We've put Draco in time out. It's officially safe to be here."

Rose nodded before looking between Whitman and Theo, both who shot her worried glances. Perhaps if she paid more attention, or even dared to look in Draco's direction, she would take in the stiffness of his spine, the way his eyes were trained on her with signs of concern he could never dare voice.

She allows herself to sink further into Blaise, and kicks up her feet onto Whitman's lap.

It was okay if she didn't bundle up into Theo.
She could feel his leg pressing against her thigh, his arm brushing her own.

It said more than enough in their own language.
"I forgot to ask how Miss Zabini's new boy-toy is?" Rose blurts out, aware of how obvious the subject change and need to have the attention of herself appears. She didn't care. They would all see through her anyway. "Didn't see him at the funeral."

It was a slight dig.

"Well, the summer in Paris was nice when you were all there, but she seems to have found her new 'soulmate' despite him speaking zero english." Blaise rolled his eyes, laying his head atop Rose's. "She even brought the lad back with us, which might I say is absolutely ridiculous."

Rose couldn't help but laugh mercilessly. "Don't be too hard on the woman, she can't help that she's a hopeless romantic. Not to mention, he seemed like quite the catch when we all met him."

Draco scoffed, but did not dare to speak a word. Usually he would be spitting out something on the lines of, 'More like she hopelessly loves growing her bank account'. But there was no movement on his lips, and no look of life in his eyes as he stared past Whitman and into the passing lands as if she were not truly there with him.

Please, she internally begged, Do not be so cold again.

"It's fine, Rose," Blaise said. "I presume Draco has always been right. The woman is money obsessed, not love obsessed. I enjoy that about my mother."

Theo leaned forward on his knees, head turned toward Rose. "Did Blaise Zabini just say the phrase 'Draco's right'?" He lowers his voice to a whisper, "Should we have his head checked?"

Blaise wacked Theo's head ironically, making her giggle and respond sheepishly as she grabs Blaise's chin and turns his head to inspect him, "I think so, Teddy....seems serious..."

Theo responded quickly with wittiness only found inside of himself, "Could be the work of polyjuice potion, love."

"Oi! Enough of you two, you are terrible together!" Blaise laughed, amusement clear in his voice.

Whitman peaked up from his book. "You have no idea, Blaise, no idea..."

She gasped in shock. "Did he just pause his reading to insult us then immediately return?!"

"Looks like it. Seems Whit can't learn a lesson, can he?"

She fake sighed and shook her head. "Guess we will have to teach him again, Teddy. I mean, what else can we do?"

Whitman's head snapped up, and he gave them an uneasy glance.

Rose smiled from ear to ear, pushing Theo's hair back with endearment written all over her face.
There comes a silence, a long one no one dares to break.

Draco never says a word, or even seems to be breathing.

Minutes, maybe thirty, pass as Rose sinks back into Blaise and everyone resumes a peaceful quiet—something none had the chance of having over break.

Theo's finger draws circles on her wrist, the motion so small and hidden no one seems to notice it's happening.

Then Rose becomes serious, speaking up, because she must—she must. Secrets burn her from the inside out when kept from these people here. "I need to tell you all something."

"Something?" Theo questioned. "Another crow singing?"

"No, I believe not." Rose shrugged. "Something much more odd."

At the words, everyone looks at her—even Whitman takes his book and closes it.

"Remember when all the lights went out and it became very cold?"

"Of course," Whitman said.

"Well, it was dementors. I'm sure you would've heard my spill by now if I wouldn't have busted into your compartment completely mute."

Theo goes to open his mouth, but Rose put a hand up to signal she has not yet finished.

"A Dementor came down the corridor when I was with—" She broke off, none of them were fond of the boy. They had been telling her to stay far from him. Usually, they never questioned her odd acquaintances made at Hogwarts, but Harry Potter was a different story.

She looked away from their gazes as she said, "With Harry. It started to feed off of him, and he passed out, but all I could hear was screaming and had flashes of terrible memories before the new professor sent it out."

Again, normally Draco would be eyeing her like she had started a forest fire and spitting out, 'Of course the Dementor came to Potter. He's a walking death trap, Rosie. You need to stay away from that imbecile before he gets you killed'. But here he was, once more, saying nothing at all, not even daring to break his stare out into the woods to acknowledge her telling a story.

"Are you okay?" Whitman interrupted.

"Of course, I am, of course," she whispered. "I came here looking for Theo. As soon as it ended I ran away and left to find you lot, but I think I needed a minute before diving into what happened."

"I, for one, am offended you only came to look for Theo." Whitman scoffed loudly, and she can genuinely see real anger on his face.

Her eyebrows pinch together, confused. "I didn't want to worry you with everything you have on your plate."

Whitman scoffed again, even more loudly, and opens his book back up.

"And I, for one, won't tell Whitman that I trump him as number one," Theo said, actual pridefulness laced in his voice.

Whitman kicked at Theo's shin, his voice making everyone's eyes go wide, "We fucking get it, eh? So just shut up for once."

Theo grunted at his kick before sending one back. "Oi—no one is being serious."

Blaise was the one to change the subject this time, with a smirk working onto his face, "Well, at least Draco has something new to harass Potter with."

Draco did not even begin to acknowledge Blaise, and it made the boy frown, his shoulders rolling back as he stared down the blonde.

"Dementor trauma, Malfoy," Blaise forced a grin. "Be great, won't it?"

Draco gave a slight nod.

"You are ridiculous." Rose sighed. "If any of you were getting fed on by a Dementor, I am sure it would be the same."

Blaise tuts at her and begins to ruffle her hair while she swats him away, "Wrong again little Rose, wrong again!"

When everyone is laughing again, Rose finds the sound dying in her throat.

Draco is unmoving, still.

________________________________

A/N: hello my loves, too long without you all. i cannot express how happy i am to be back. this is so much more than a fanfic to me and you all have been the best community in the world to me AND SO MUCH MORE THAN MY READERS. i always said i would never disappear for so long, but when the best thing in my life passed away, i lost myself a little. i didn't know if anyone would care if i came back and finished this story, but with all of your messages and heartfelt thoughts about how these characters have stuck with you I realized a lot of you found a home here too. this book is my forever home and you are all 100000% my people. i could blab on forever, but i'll save that for tomorrows update when it's not so late at night and im not sleep deprived. for now, i leave you with this, I love you all, I'm so excited to go back on this journey with you all, and i can never thank you enough for the support you've all given me.

— i know it seems silly, but your comments on each chapter (even about the small stuff) give me so much motivation.

— on draco malfoy's birthday ???? coincidence ???? i think not.

HERE IS TO BEING BACK FOR GOOD.

welcome back home angels

with love,

xx bri