(p.s. this chapter will be very character driven and will focus a lot on rose and the boys having conversations they should have had a long time ago. might be a little boring for some to see them all get really open and emotional but it is high past time, side note: it might be a good time to go read over the boggarts chapter so you can understand the parallels...oh & Targaryen ref?
lastly: i cannot be the only one who imagines the werewolves from twilight
TW: Theodore Nott being obsessed, like badly.
anyways, enjoy straight chaos xx)

third person pov

' find myself at your door,
just like all those times before '

It is a beautiful night.

Adrian Pucey arrives in the grass near the driveway of the Dark Lord's manor. The air is oddly warm for the end of october, and he breathes out a pleased sigh when he finds Rose a few feet away. The girl is staring up at the sky, her hands on her hips, black hair whipping with the heavy breeze.

"Am I interrupting something?" He calls from behind.

"Yes actually, I am trying to find the big—" She freezes and spins around, a full smile blooming across her face. "Adrian," She breathes out before forcing herself to stay still. "Hmm..." She playfully hums. "Not too bad of an escort, I guess."

He looks off to the side, hands buried in the pockets of his black coat. "I can always get someone else to grab you, I guess."

She had lasted a whole ten seconds of resisting—that should be good enough.

"Shut up," She mutters, already rushing over. Her arms go around his neck fluidly, and he picks her up in a tight hold.

"Missed you, Black." He breathes out into her hair, taking his time to set her down after. She grabs onto his upper arms, staying close and inspecting him for any sort of injury.

She suddenly whispers, "Let me see it."

His jaw locks at the thought. "You know it's there. You don't need to see it."

"Why would you get it? There's no way out once you do." She says, head shaking.

"I have a little sister and a mother to protect." He says, "Why did you join, hm? For those boys, I assume, as you do everything for them."

Her lips twist into a frown. It is selfish of her to question his motives. Everyone had their own, and she couldn't blame him.

"It's just too soon," She says, hands reaching for his face. "You are far too young for it all."

His eyes roll and he pulls her hands down, reprimand inside of his gaze. "Rose, I just turned twenty." He says, "I'm older than you."

She looks down at the ground, a slight twitch to her lips as she weaves their fingers together. "I feel forty though. Twice your age."

"Yeah," He says, tilting her chin up. His thumb brushes against her cheek. "I know." He does know. Adrian has spent his whole life playing adult, and now he just feels like an overly grown child in a man's clothing.

"What age do you feel like?"

He holds back a laugh at how round her eyes get, as if she is a scientist who wavers on the edge of unlocking all the secrets of the universe.

"Eighty, sometimes ninety." He says, head cocking to the side. "Luckily though, I've got you around now, feel about a good seventeen with you close by."

A smile bright as the moon shines on her face.

"Come on," She says, beginning to walk backwards, pulling him by their intertwined fingers. "Nyx is sleeping in my coat and Regulus came to get my bags earlier."

"We're not going to school, are we?"

She shakes her head.

Confusion sets in, although he doesn't show it—only raising an eyebrow. "So...where are we off to then, Black?"

"France." She says, happiness flooding her. "South of France, to be precise."

*

When they arrived on the front lawn of Rose's house, Adrian had been surprised by the size and location of the isolated home—the brightness too. Although he wasn't a good judge, despite his differences when compared to boys, he too had grown up in such conditions of grandeur that even something as beautiful and spacious as this home seemed small and cheap.

This was the last place he would have ever imagined Rosalie Black to be. He had understood why her family spent seasons in Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home being important. But he had seen the different manors they spent summers at, all ridiculously large and immensely gothic.

Inside they were greeted by a happy Jade, who had fully tackled Rose to the ground. The Black held back tears to finally have her dog back, all too emotional from their month apart. Kreacher had practically cheered until seeing Adrian, scowling at the boy as if he was a reincarnation of Satan for being anywhere near Rose, and then taking to following their every movement.

She took Adrian through the full tour upon being asked, to the oddly decorated kitchen and living room, to the art room and so on. She showed him her room, but never even dared to look at Whitman's door or Theos'; which now was across from the library and a door down from her own bedroom.

The airy library was odd, in his opinion. A small space decorated with bookshelves, but too many windows and too many books thrown about. A group of chairs sat in a circle at the very back, overlooking a pool area he could not see and a field ahead that dropped off into a cliff with oceans beyond.

He noticed Rose making sure to not look down at the cardigan in one of the chairs.

She had taken him outside to the terrace of sorts, and that is where the wind knocked from his lungs. Such beautiful views of the calm sea. She pointed at the stairs that led down, but told him she could not take him there right now without being unable to walk back up.

So, she went back in to change into a pair of night shorts and a top too before guiding him outside again, over the small but unsafe staircase into the pool area that held steps back down on the other side.

There they sat, on a sunlounger by the pool; as big as a bed, with him in front of her crossed legs, and Jade nestled next to her. Nyx laid curled up by the pool's edge, giving Rose the cold shoulder after their conversation this morning; the one where Rose told the snake to stay away from the boys. Kreacher had given her wine and left, unable to bear being in the strange man's presence.

The minute she filled her glass the words started spilling out beneath the light of the moon and the soft rum of the pool running. She told him the truth of Orion's death. She told him how betrayed she felt. She told him how much anger had burned in her bones.

It would have seemed odd for her, Rosalie Black, of all people to speak so freely about these issues. But Adrian had seen through her weeks after Orion's 'suicide' when they sat atop the Owlery together. He spoke so few words that day, but unknowingly changed her life with those few short sentences. He was there, despite his own addiction, to warn her not to take that step. He was there, the one catching her arm as she stumbled into Walburga Black's funeral, where she had snapped and refused his help. He had been there her whole life, in the background. A distant, passing figure. There were always those few moments, where he was there in big ways. Like the night she almost died in the stairwell during fourth year.

And despite him being the one she had gotten high with during Theo's absence, he had unknowingly saved her life again in a twisted way.

Afterwards, they talked of random things. Random things that made them both happy, and filled the night air with a sense of youth.

Now though, after he had slipped his coat off because of the heat and was left in a white tee, she finally saw the dark mark on his forearm. The ink was jet black, an intricate design that looked like something out of a horror novel.

She catches his wrist with her free hand, and Adrian sighs as she pulls his arm over her crossed legs.

"Did it hurt?" She wonders.

"Anything being etched into your skin is going to hurt, especially being blasted with the Dark Lord's magic." He says, "You don't have to worry about every little thing for every single person though, okay? That's a lesson you need to learn. I'm fine."

She runs her chipped nails down the mark in the form of a graze, mind taken completely with the smoky nature of the ink. "Well..." She looks at him. "It adds to your mysterious factor, I guess."

He rolls his eyes, pushing her head away. "You are a fool, Black."

Her heart dips to the deepest parts of her gut, chest hollowing out. Those four words had come out of Draco's mouth one too many times, and it made her sick to think about.

Regardless though, she smiled at him, funnily enough, and placed her glass to the ground before scooting closer. He had given the girl a blank, but heavy look when she reached up, brushing the strand of dark hair away from his green eyes.

In the weeks of becoming oddly close with him, which had really been slowing burning over years, Rose had found him as an escape from her life, not because of the drugs, but because he did not know everything that laid in her past nor did he care to. He just wanted to know her now. While Adrian, he found her comfortingly in way he hadn't anyone else.

They clicked, somehow, simple as that. 

Her fingers linger by his face and he catches her wrist.

"What is it?" He asks.

Her smile never falters as she presses her palm against him. "You know..." She begins, "Everyone at all school is scared of you. Millicent told me I better stay away—claimed you to be mean, mean. I never told you what happened that day, when I was late coming to your dorm."

He almost laughs.

"Don't know why." He mutters, "I don't talk to anyone."

"Yeah..." She drags out, "That might be why. Or," She holds back her own laugh. "Could be your incredible ability to predict the future."

"Only when I'm high," He corrects, "Please—don't forget that major detail."

"How could I forget you predicated Riley Dean tripping into the Great Hall after one too many blunts?"

Adrian grinned, a twisted sort, something she enjoyed seeing. And then, he leans closer, whispering as if there is a secret to be shared, "Don't be so mind blown by my powers..."

She rolls her eyes, giving his face a shove away this time. The truth was she had been the one to make Riley Dean trip, discreetly with her magic. She had just wished to see him gloat without knowing what she did.

Adrian cocks an eyebrow and she laughs, bowing her forehead against his chest. The night feels peaceful, calm, steady. And he finds himself soothing down her hair, and eventually pulling her up, his face slightly struck with apprehension.

"What's wrong?" She mutters, afraid to break the quiet.

He decided to just say it, to just push his hand onto the side of her neck, make sure she understands that he really is apologetic.

"I'm sorry, that I gave you such a hard time for a while." He says, "I shouldn't have, but I did. For a long time."

She purses her lips, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. "It's okay, I swear."

"No, it's not." He says, "I was tough on you, for no good reason."

"What was the reason though?" She asks, "Just curious, of course."

"Rosalie Black!" A deep voice yelled, "Get your arse over here!"

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, finding Blaise Zabini at the bottom of the steps with no shoes on.

If her heart could've dropped any further—it would have.

Adrian tells her, "Go."

She stands up so quickly that her vision becomes decorated with spots. That doesn't stop her though, she rushes off, crashing into his open arms and strong chest with all the might of the world. He wraps her up, afraid she'll run away, and lifts her from the ground, spinning their bodies in a circle.

Happiness fills her up in a way she had not felt for a full month. He is warm and smells like the bourbon on the kitchen counter, but most importantly—he feels like home in the truest of ways.

When Blaise sets her down, he keeps her caged in his arms, right up against his chest. Uncalled for tears bloom in her eyes and he grabs ahold of her face, soothing the reddening skin.

"I don't think I have ever missed anyone more," He says, before settling his forehead against her own. He releases a shaky breath, and she feels safe again–here with him. "You're not allowed to leave." He says, wiping away more tears without looking. "Ever again." He demands this time.

Her voice wobbles, "I'm sorry."

He breathes out another shaky breath and she smells the bourbon again. He lifts up, brings his lips to her forehead, and mutters, "Been sick to death without you here."

"I know." She says, wrapping her arms around his waist once more. "Heard you've been pissed at everyone but Jade."

They stay intertwined for a little while longer, and when his head comes to rest atop her own he finds Adrian in the distance, seeming to be disturbed by the dog trying to lay on him. She dries her eyes before pulling Blaise over, returning to her seat in the sunlounger as Blaise stands and tries talking to Adrian—to no avail.

They only get a few minutes of Blaise speaking, and Adrian giving short responses, when voices, three voices in particular, float from somewhere outside of the house.

"Blaise!" one yells, and the rest join in, seeming to be on a search and rescue mission. Every muscle within Rose's body stiffens up. She looks down at the half-empty glass in her hands and it shakes. She places the bottom of it where her ankles cross, hiding how badly her hands tremble around the rim.

"Back here!" shouts Blaise.

Sluggish footsteps sound out against the flagstones making up the steps. She hears Whitman shout, "We almost fucking died! Should've seen where Reg took us!"

But then, the three boys reach the top of the wall surrounding the pool and everything falls quiet. Even from so far away she can hear their collective breathing stop. Even without looking she can feel the tug in her chest—the ache in her bones.

They move like a pack of dogs; in sync and hurried.

Theo can't help himself when they are only a still far away, nor can he sedate the anger that takes root in his chest.

His voice shows every sign of that spite, "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Suddenly, Rose is not weak, but she still doesn't look at him, over at the pool instead. "You're in no place to ask such questions."

Blaise takes quick steps in front of the boys before they can reach her, serving as a barricade while laughing to fill the air. "Adrian," Blaise calls, glaring at the three halted in front of him. "Why don't we go walk for a minute?"

Adrian reaches for Rose's wrist. "I need to get back to school and give Snape some excuse for you." He says, "Will you be okay?"

Her lips purse into a tight smile. "I'll be fine. See you in a few days, yeah?"

He nods and tries to communicate with his eyes that everything will be okay. Then he stands up and bends toward her ear, whispering for only her to hear, "Send an owl, and I'll come. At any time, I'll come." She cracks a small but real smile. And he leans back up, letting her talk to him in a hushed voice, pissing the watchers off in every way.

Meanwhile, Blaise is whispering demands at the three boys. Telling them if they make one wrong move then they'll be lucky if she doesn't take off their heads. He tries and tries and by the time Adrian is passing by, Blaise straightens up.

"I'll walk you!" He shouts, shooting one last glare to the boys before rushing after Adrian.

The three boys sit down next to each other on the sun lounger by her own. They stare at the side of her face. She stares down into the wine glass. No one breathes. No one talks. The world seems to go deathly still. There is only background sounds boiling into an haunting orchestra that reminds them all that the silence is real, and it is deafening.

This is what dinner with a ghost from your past feels like.

She is the first to break the silence. Her voice quiet, "You are all supposed to be at school."

Whitman looks over at the unsteady nature of Theo and Draco, witnessing their throats visibly bob. They won't be able to talk until she looks at them, shows them she's okay—that she is real.

He carries the weight for them, and opens his mouth, "Draco and Blaise came here the day you left, we sent them a letter that morning." He mutters the words, "None of us have been back yet. Just been staying here. Getting Theo moved in, filling our days with pointless shit and being kept in check by Reg. Pretty sure even if we wanted to go back, he wouldn't have let us—afraid we'd try finding out where the Dark Lord lived and try breaking you out of there."

She lifts the glass to her lips with shaking fingers. Theo and Draco stop breathing. None of this is easy.

Whitman can't keep himself from rambling. "He told us it wasn't a hostage situation, or anything like that. Said you were fine and he seemed calm, helped us relax a little, but still—we kept trying to come up with ways to get you back here and,"

Rose's voice overlaps his own, "Okay."

He takes it as a sign to shut up.

Cicadas all around fill the silence with a deafening sound.

Theo's voice shakes when he dares to speak, "Look at me." He pleads. She doesn't listen. "Look at me." He repeats, begging.

Rose sighs, staring at the water of the pool.

"Look at me!" He shouts, drowning in desperation and clenched teeth.

The second she does, he wishes he hadn't asked for such. She looks at him as a stranger, or as if he is someone who had stabbed her months before and now, she was watching him be put on trial for his crimes.

Her stomach curls into a painful knot at how unhealthy he looks, and to just even be staring into his eyes—it is a rusted blade in the heart. Her gaze flicks away in an attempt to avoid this ache, but her eyes accidentally land on Draco and a small gasp leaves her lips. He appears like a man defeated; bags beneath his eyes, cheeks hollow, hair ruffed in waves. Somehow, Draco looks to be in the worst condition, but it is hard to tell.

They all look ill.

She shifts around to face them, her legs hanging off the edge. Her hand keeps trembling as she sets the wine glass to the ground and resist the urge to grab onto his face. "You...you should've stayed at school," She whispers, eyes raking over him in a state of her own uncomfortable pain, "You would have been forced to take care of yourself there, Dr—." She doesn't say his name, refusing the idea.

Draco doesn't mean to, but he snaps like a limb that has reached its max of flexibility. "I'm not going back there without you!" He spat, voice rising with each word, "I'm not staring at your empty bed again! I did that all of last year, I did that when Theo was missing! I couldn't fucking breathe because every night I was waiting for Snape to come wake me up and tell me you've landed yourself in the hospital wing!" He runs a frustrated hand through his unruly hair. "I'm not going to pretend everything is fine when it's not!"

She recoils away.

"You want to know what everyones been doing while you were gone?" He says, slightly manic, "Theo does nothing but drink sleeping potion–I mean, we're lucky if he's up for more than two hours a day, okay? Blaise does nothing but talk to Jade because hes so angry at us, and I, I," He stutters up, "I can't do anything other than drown myself in drinks and I can't fucking sleep because I dont know if your getting tortured inside that home and I think, even on the best of days where I deluded myself into belving your safe, that I have to suffer too, that I can't let you be trapped with no where to go all by yourself!" He shouts at the end, voice shaking. He brings a finger to his chest, capturing her eyes so heavily that she cannot look away. "You could've at least written and said you were okay! Given me anything to know you weren't somewhere hurting and I couldn't help you! I mean, you wouldn't even let my mum come see you! Or Miss Zabini! You gave us no fucking peace of mind!"

She cringes at the knowledge, and tucks her bottom lip between her teeth; hiding how badly the flesh trembles. Her eyes blink away tears as she reluctantly looks toward Theo. "Why?" She whispers, "Why did—"

"What do you mean?!" Theo cuts in, disbelieving, "I was gone from you for a month! I get you back for two days and then you're gone again! For another month you're gone! What did you think would happen?! That we'd all just fill our days with happy moments?!"

"I don't know what you want me to say!" She instantly shouts back.

"I just want you to say something real!" He shouts, "Stop avoiding what is actually happening!"

She almost stands up and screams in his face, but she forces herself to stay seated. "You don't get to make demands!" She shouts, again, "You're lucky I'm able to even look at your face without throwing up, you literal liar!"

Shock masks his face and he finds his throat closing up as he breathes heavily. She's staring at him like she hates him more than anything.

And it makes him sick.

"I–we needed you!" He says, the words sliding like moss between his teeth.

"And I needed you!" She shoots back, gesturing between the three boys. "I was alone in that room for a month and all I could think about was you three sharing laughs over my dead family member! You are all fucking bastards—the whole lot of you!"

"Can we stop?!" Whitman speaks up, staying firm when her eyes snap over toward him. "Hate us if you must but I did what was necessary of me, and they kept my secret because it was the right thing to do. Look how angry you are." He pauses, and everyone seems to take a collective deep breath. Rose shoots venom in her watery gaze. He doesn't stop. "You were doing so much better without Orion and Walburga." His voice shows remorse as she looks down, "You got clean after Walburga, you were gaining weight, your anxiety was not so bad, and you finally let go of Grimmauld—which was symbolistic in itself. "

She tucks a leg under herself. Then folds her hands together. She stares at her chipped nails, and mumbles, "Until Theo went missing."

Draco's hands shake as he forces himself to not reach out, lift her chin and make her understand that everything can be okay again. "I know what's really making you so angry, Rosie. And it's not the fact that Whit killed Orion." He says, calmly, "You think you can't trust us anymore and that feels like the biggest betrayal but that's not true, and deep down you know that. We have never, ever lied to you about anything. I can speak for all of us when I say we would rather face any wrath than go behind your back about anything, even the smallest of things, but this is different. We kept this from you because we knew you would feel guilt if you had to carry the truth. Walburga and Orion were killing you, and I'm glad they're gone. I'm not going to lie about that. If I even stole a piece of gum and you asked me if I did and I said no, I would end up telling you because I can't handle lying to you...but he needed to be gone. You needed to be okay. You know damn well we are never going to hurt you or lie except for something like this."

Draco stops himself to flex his shaky fingers and sounds nothing short of serious when he speaks again, "But if we had to lie to you to save your life? Rosie...I would let a million lies eat me up just to see you be able to breathe without someone's metaphorical hands around your neck."

"He's right, you know?" mutters Theo, his voice like gravel, "Our families are bad, but if you had to watch them do to us what we watched Walburga and Orion do to you—Ro, you would have killed them ages ago." He rubs a hand over his mouth, and looks to Whitman for permission, getting a nod in return. "You think there were those few times that Whit didn't tell anyone what happened when you spoke too loudly, or maybe spilled a drink on the wrong day, but he told me. Probably not everything, I highly doubt that, but still."

Rose takes in a sharp wave of air, head lifting toward Whitman. He slowly nods again, telling her everything she needed to know.

"Orion didn't hurt me." She states. "He loved me."

"But he sat by and watched, like a fucking coward." Theo spat, not angry at her, but infuriated at the thought. "If you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn't have wanted to take out my whole family if they did to me what they did to you—then fine." He presses on his knees, sitting up straight. "Hate all of us forever."

She purses her lips when the tears bloom again. It takes all off her strength to push her ego to the side, and murmur, "I have always wanted to get rid of your families..."

"You'd do anything for us, and we'd do anything for you." says Draco, "There isn't such things as boundaries and moral obligation when it comes to you. None, Rosie. None. Do you understand what that means?"

She does understand, and she does believe there isn't a single line they wouldn't cross for her.

That knowledge does not make anything feel better.

She picks at her nails in another silenced moment, contemplating speaking aloud the words she wants to say. Her head lifts toward the sky for a split second, and then she's looking back down, brain ticking at the polish cracked off her fingernails.

They all wait for her, there is no rush. It is enough to just be near.

"You guys could've left me a long time ago," She mutters, "I've made you deal with enough shit."

All at once, Theo stands up, and crouches in front of her.

She feels Theo's hand slide across her bare knees, burning with warmth, and every part of her aches again—to feel him touching her is overwhelming. She doesn't flinch away or look up when he rubs a small circle into the skin over her knee, wanting this more than anything.

Rose will not admit how much she doesn't want him to stop though.

Stay close, she mentally chants, Don't fade away.

"We've all made each other deal with a lot of shit, but taking care of you isn't a task or a labor." He says, merit behind every word. "We love you and I know we'd do it again a million times over to just have you still here." He says, "You're the backbone for all of us. If anything, we make you do too much, and for that I'm sorry. Look at us, we all fall apart when you're gone."

The cushion of the sunlounger dips as Draco sits on her right side. And then it dips again, and she knows Whitman is on the left.

Draco pushes away the cowardly voices in his head. He places his hand on her shoulder, and his fingers are suddenly no longer shaking from the gentle brush of skin.

That is all it takes for his anxiety to slip into nothingness.

His fingers graze up, beginning to push a strand of hair behind her ears as he says, "You're not our burden, but we've always been yours to carry. We do make you do too much."

When she lifts her head in his direction, there are tears in her eyes. "That's not true." She says, refusing to think of any time she's helped them as some burden or job she didn't ask for.

"It is." says Whitman. She glances over to find him leaned on his knees. It's as if he's afraid to look at her, afraid to touch her—fearing the image of seeing her flinch away. It would be too much for him to handle. "Us three, Blaise too, we've had dark lives. Since we were kids though, no matter what you were going through, you've been our light. We've all clung to you like water for every little thing, but with that knowledge you cannot expect any of us to let you go." He halts, keeping his stare ahead. "You, being you, is why I did what I did. I shouldn't have enjoyed it but I don't think I have ever enjoyed anything more. That's the truth."

Whitman shakes his head with another deep breath before finally dragging his head toward her. "I enjoyed it because I wasn't going to sit back and watch some piece of shit stomp out the only good thing in this world. None of us wanted to see you hurt from what happened, but I knew you'd heal and we'd be there every step of the way."

"You've never left us to handle anything on our own, even if we wanted to sometimes. You made sure we were not alone." Draco says, "Call Theo the sun or whatever the fuck you want to say, but thats you for us." The end sounds angry, and Theo lets out a sad laugh. "Yeah," Draco says, "The past few years have been unusually hectic for us all, but that's okay. Your life has been completely turned upside down and no one fucking blames you—I need you to get that through your head. Grief makes us unrecognizable and we're all going to handle things in messed up ways."

They had seen right through her when she was a little girl, and she knew they could see through her now too. They had been there her whole life; in front row seats, in the background, right by her side. The only constant in the midst of instability. Maybe there were times of wavering, where one would be gone, or one would be the object of her anger.

The string was always there though, connecting them.

"I'm sorry for how I handled things, Losing Orion, Walburga..." She avoids their eyes. "I know they were bad. Real bad. But I had so much love for them—have so much love for them. I don't know how to get rid of it, or where to go to escape it. And I don't feel justified being a victim so I try so hard to not act like one, or talk like one but truthfully," She looks up to the sky for some god, or higher being. "I'm an eighteen year old girl who doesn't have a clue how to do life. The Dark Lord he," Her breath hitches. "He wants me to be his right hand, and told the other Deatheaters about it." Theo brushes the tears out from under her eyes. "I'm so scared that this war is going to ruin us all, that I'm going to wake up one day and you'll all be gone."

"Hey," Draco slides his fingers onto the back of her neck, drawing her closer. "You fall, I pick you up. I fall, you pick me up. Remember?" He says before stopping as Theo brushes away another tear. "We'll get through this, I promise. And if we don't, well,"

"Then we'll make sure to tell the Dark Lord to bury all of us side by side." Theo adds on. "Get our own little tomb."

Rose sniffles, a sad laugh escaping.

At the sound he had been aching for, Theo has to hold back tears, and it makes him feel pathetic. He has to lean his forehead on her knees that he holds, like a sinner coming to god for forgiveness. Air fills his lungs, and he's able to breathe again. He wants to crawl inside of her body, hide away there. He knows she is the only person that will ever be able to give him the type of rest every soul searches for.

And he finds that rest when her hand glides through his hair.

"This house is haunted without you." He says, "No, not even this house. Every detail of this fucking world."

"He's not lying." Whitman mutters, returning to his refusal to look at her face, eyes zoned in on the night. "From every stupid cosmic thing in that sky, to the small flecks of dust in the Baker's shop within the village, and even the damn breeze—you are completely inescapable."

Her breathing slows as she stares at the side of his face. Her eyes say the words she cannot.

You're losing me.

His hand running through his hair says the reply he cannot bring himself to speak into existence.

I know.

Using the cold cage around her heart, the one that had been forged by her family line, Rose stands up, pushing Theo and Draco'a hands away. She steps over them limbs, next to the pool.

"Everyone take a sleeping potion." She says, eyeing the glistening pool water as she reaches for the snake. "We will talk tomorrow."

Nyx viciously snaps her jaws at Rose, who flinches away, and the snake does not glide toward Theo or Draco—she goes straight by them—right up to Whitman.

Rose does not know why it makes her eyes sting, or a sob bubble up that she pushes down, hidden away. Maybe it is because Nyx has always been unwavering, blindly loyal. It wrecks her gut, and feels like the worst betrayal. Makes her feel invalidated, makes her feel drained.

Or maybe it just the singular idea that Nyx does not love her as much as she thinks.

Or maybe it is the thought that in the end, Nyx would not chose her.

Or maybe, she is just spiraling.

She is scared to look back and call for Jade, afraid the dog will not come, or worse, the others will see the tears in her eyes.

But Jade hops off the sun lounger, coming to stand right at Rose's hip, and when Draco tries to stand up, the dog snarls in such a sudden way that Draco recoils back.

Either way, she is gone in a matter of seconds, rushing fast enough to never be caught, until she finds herself in her own bedroom, laying down next to Blaise's welcoming arms.

All she wants is to feel validated in her anger.

No matter what Orion did, it was never in the hands of another to take his life.

She will stand by that.

And Blaise gives her that validation, right then.

*

Rose is asleep down the hall.

She is under the same roof as him.

Draco should be happy.

He isn't.

Because he should be beside her. He should be holding her. He should be seeing the soft rise of her eyebrows when her eyes first flutter open.

The sun is blinding into the living room, but it is one of the first night's he has actually slept. He listened to Rose and took a sleeping potion right after their conversation. He did not trust himself to be awake and not force himself into her bedroom, beg her at three in the morning to take him back.

Draco Malfoy had plenty of control embedded into his skin, but it flew away with her nearby.

The one thing he can be grateful for is the comfort of these couches he has grown to love. He sits up with eyes still half-shut, and blindly reaching for white tee hanging off the coffee table, and slips the soft material over his head.

With an exhausted string of air he leans into the cushions, head tipping backwards. He has always woke up so early, and with the sun, he assumed it to be six in the morning. The couch dips close to him all too soon, and he cracks one eye open; finding Whitman in the same condition.

Except the Rosier looks to be dying.

"Full moon tomorrow." states Draco.

Whitman grumbles before slumping onto the blonde's shoulder. "No shit."

Draco doesn't scold his attitude. He never does when the full moon is close.

He simply closes his eyes again and crosses his arms. "You know what time it is?"

Whitman mumbles some incoherent answer while trying to get up, but fails completely—his head staying against Draco.

"I'll help you."

Both boys open their eyes, squinting in sync up at the tall figure that spoke.

Theo rubs his face tiredly, pushing back his unruly curly hair. Then he looks around confused for a moment. "Ro's room is empty," He mutters, "Tried going in all night but she had it spelled and just now, the door is suddenly wide open."

Footsteps sound out, everyone's attention flowing toward the entryway, to the gazebo-turned-dining room where Blaise exits. He throws his hands up widely, "What are you all in here for?" He asks, turning right back around toward the dining room. "Kreacher made us breakfast!" He shouts over his shoulder.

Theo leans over the couch, grabbing onto Whitman's arms, and pulls the boy up. It takes a minute for Theo to get him steady, and when he does, he helps Whitman over to the bar area; where a cane rests against the counter for days like these.

Draco sighs, watching Whitman yank the cane away and drag himself head toward the dining area. Truly, there is not much more saddening than watching your best friend deteriorate once a month.

Theo follows behind Whitman, and Draco goes slowly after them—confused when they're still stuck in the entryway by the time he gets over there.

Whitman holds the top of the cane in both hands, leaning his head over on the top. "Hold on," He mutters, "I–I just need a second."

Theo places his hand on Whitman's back. "You want us to take you upstairs?"

"No—" Whitman interrupts himself with a cough. "I'll be okay."

But then Whitman feels two cold hands glide around his forearms, and a soft voice calling his name.

"Whit,"

With the energy of a walking corpse, he lifts his head up, coming face to face with Rose; who wears that same gentleness in her eyes that she wore at age nine. She doesn't say anything else, but she pulls him straight up, and slips arm around his waist.

Whitman cannot enjoy the fact she's helping him because there is only one reason she is being this way. His curse. He thinks it's out of pity and duty, and there's nothing he hates more than that. Even as she helps him down into a wooden chair at the table, Whitman feels self-hatred at the idea of her taking care of him because she has to.

She moves into the chair next to him, Blaise on her other side, but she does not sit down. Instead, she grabs a plate and starts filling it up with different foods laid out in the center.

Draco and Theo sit across from them, but neither make one move for any type of meal.

Rose sets the full plate in front of Whitman before reaching for a coffee cup and the dark glass jug, her wrist getting caught in a weak grip by him.

"It'll have to be cold brew today."

"Stop," He says, jaw tight, "I don't need you doing all of this."

She yanks her wrist free, rolling her eyes as she fills up the cup. When she sits down, he placed his hand over his face, eyeing her as she forcefully reopens the folder she had been working on earlier.

The folder is huge, and very confusing to everyone.

Rose brings a leg up, resting her chin on top, and picks up the quick notes quill, beginning to write on the parchment, casual as ever, ignoring the silence all around. There is only Blaise, biting into his eggs.

A full minute goes by of no one speaking and when she looks up, they are all staring at her. "What are you all doing?" She looks at them as if they are stupid. "Eat." She demands.

Whitman begrudgingly takes a sip of his coffee as the other two boys stand up and begin making plates. It stays silent even as they sit back down. Rosier, in particular, cannot refrain from watching how every so often she will look up at Draco or Theo, and there will be such a painful longing on her face that is reflected on their own. It is one of those shared glances that he's read of in books, the ones so equally reflected between lovers that no one can doubt how deep the pair has fallen.

It makes his already thinned appetite disappear.

Maybe it's the full moon, they've always made him unreasonably angry during the days leading up, but Whitman wants to scream at her until she looks at him in such a way.

Theo gets her last look after Draco almost opens his mouth, the one right before she shakes her head down at the parchment, and Theo seems desperate to have her attention for even a second more. "Ro," He calls, "You're dressed up. Where'd you go?"

"Order meeting," She says, stopping her writings to explain for them all. "Dumbledore thinks I just got out of a rehab down in Nice and sent an owl saying he needed me at a meeting since I have missed a few."

The grip around Theo's cup turns firm. "I hate that man." He spits out, "It's wrong how he treats you."

Draco sees her head tiling, about to return to writing, and he has to stop her. "Did you have to see Sirius?"

"Yeah." She says, her voice flipping between warm and cold, as if she can't decide how to treat them. "We didn't talk. He tried to catch me on my way out, but I didn't want to hear it." She pauses. "Where's Reg?"

"He took us on a mission last night, said we needed to learn how to handle them." Draco answers, "Dropped us off here after, then claimed he was going into the muggle village to get drunk."

Her eyes grow wide as saucers, and under her breath she mutters, "I'm going to kill him." Before addressing everyone, "Do not go on any more unless the Dark Lord makes you, okay? This is not some game."

Usually this would turn into a debate. They would act like all men would and say they are not afraid, and she would act like a concerned woman begging them to not be so blind.

But everyone goes quiet once more.

She returns to writing and this time her hand moves so quick that it becomes apparent there are a million ideas in her head. At some point, when everyones finally eating, her head snaps up with an expression conveying deep thought.

"Do you think using my father as bait would draw Harry in for something?"

"Probably," Theo answers before looking to the others for conformation. They give confused nods in return. He leans his elbows on the table after, "What're you doing in that folder?"

She snaps the folder closed at once, not meaning to lean on the table like he does. "Some Deatheater business."

"Why?" Whitman stiffens. He does not want her to be a part of this. He would cry out to false gods if it meant she didn't have to be. "You don't have the mark yet."

"I told you last night, the Dark Lord wants me to be his right hand." She says, "I need to be ten times smarter than anyone in those meetings for those men to accept me. When you join or go sit at your first meeting, they will all shake your hands and look at you with respect."

Theo's jaw flexes. "Did one of those guys say something to you?"

Draco nods along, placing his fork down. "You can tell us."

Rose gives them a sharp look, well aware of what they are thinking. "No, but you should see how they look at me. And no," She raises a finger. "You are not allowed to go torture them with that fucked up stuff Theo learned while he was away, which I am sure he's taught you, Draco."

Both boys share a collective scoff as they lean back into their chairs, looking away in perfected synchronization.

"How was staying at the Dark Lord's manor?" Whitman's aching voice rings out, "Probably didn't see him much, yeah?"

Draco scoffs again. "I'm assuming he had elves and those random Deatheaters waiting on you." He says, "Ridiculous, you should've had someone there."

Rose clears her throat loud enough that Blaise feels the need to pat her back.

"Oh," She says, pushing Blaise's hand away, "I saw him one or twice and then at the meeting."

"Did he hurt you?" asks Theo.

Rose purses her lips together and suddenly—a giggle leaves her lips. And then another, until she has to cover her mouth to stop the sound and everyone is left wondering if maybe her last shred of sanity has slipped.

She keeps the hand over her mouth, but says, "I'm sorry." Another quieted giggle escaping before she straightens up and places her hands on the table. "No, no, he did not hurt me."

They all let out a collective breath that had been held in for a month straight.

Regulus comes stumbling in, turning each of their attention onto the usually perfectly styled man wearing his shirt half undone and shoes in his hand. Whitman cringes at the reek of alcohol radiating off Regulus when the Black stumbles sloppily into the chair next to him.

"Kreacher," groans Regulus, his head tipping back in a pure weakened state.

The elf appears in a quick clap of apparition, but his eyes go wide at how messed up Regulus is.

"Yes?" asks Kreacher, taking a deliberate step away.

Regulus stays leaned back, words jumbling together, "Get me a bottle of whiskey."

"No. Go back to sleep, Kreacher." Rose demands, rising out of her seat. Kreacher gives a mortified nod in return before hurrying his way out of the dinning area. She follows the elf with her eyes, not letting them snap onto Regulus until he is gone. "You know Kreacher takes morning naps now." She spits out, reaching over the table for a jug of water and a glass.

Regulus peaks one eye open, his head bobbing, when he feels her come to stand by his side. Suddenly, she is forcing a glass to his lips, and at first he tries pushing her away, but the second a drop of water rolls down his throat he takes hold of the glass and chugs.

Rose rubs her eyes while waiting for him to finish, and when he does slide the empty glass onto the table with a sigh, she lays the harshest smack possible to the back of his head—making Blaise grin and Regulus almost fall out of his chair.

That's one way to sober up.

"What the fuck was that for?!" shouts Regulus, clutching his head.

"For taking them on a mission, you idiot!"

"They," He splutters on a cough, "They need to learn how to handle these things, psychopath!"

She laughs humorlessly, laying another smack to his head, so hard that his hands fling up.

"For fuck sake!" Regulus gawks, scooting towards Whitman, "What was that one for, huh?!"

Rose grabs the back of his chair, leaning down. "You ever do that again and I'll drag you back to England just so I can feed you to the crows." After, she reaches for a croissant, pushing the food straight into his chest. "Now eat."

Regulus clutches his forehead on the table, watching her with narrowed eyes until she is sitting back down. He looks over at Draco and Theo. "You sure you want to be with that, uh...evil thing?"

"Are you pissed?! At ten in the morning?!" Rose speaks before anyone else can dare to do so. "Where were you all night?" She asks, worried like a troubled mother.

"He's definitely drunk..." mutters Blaise.

Regulus rubs his forehead for another second, and then leans back, arms crossing together as he kicks at the table. "Fucking James, told me he couldnt be with a Deatheater." He pulls a flask out from beneath the table, making each of them confused and share looks of disbelief. He takes a long swig before yelling, "Well you know what? I cant be with a fucking ghost!"

"James?" Draco mutters, even more confused by the look of shock on Rose's face.

Regulus makes a noise in the back of his throat, taking another swig.

"I forgot you don't all know," says Rose, taking a deep breath in preparation to give them a lifetime of history within a ten second time span. "James Potter, yeah—yeah, I know, Draco. Reg and him had something during school. They stayed together when Reg became a Deatheater. Reg goes on suicide mission and dies. James marries Lily Evans...blah blah blah, you know the rest. Point blank, they got back together in the 'afterlife' and Lily went back to her girlfriend who died around the same time as Reg." She is breathless by the time she finishes. "Reg?" She calls, "Did I cover everything?"

Regulus hums around the tip of the flask, needing another drink after hearing it all but the moment is ruined when Whitman reaches over and yanks the flask away.

"That's enough, Regulus." Whitman says, head shaking as he screws the cap back on.

"Where were you though?" asks Rose.

"Needed to get my mind off things and headed into the muggle village," Regulus tears off a piece of the croissant, shoving the pastry into his mouth. He leans on the table shortly after, his finger lazily pointing toward Rose. "Took a page out of your book. Found me a nice french couple and went back to their place. Me and the bloke gave his girlfriend a good trip on—"

"That's enough!" shouts Rose, shivering in disgust. "I do not need to know about that!"

"Well, well, well," Blaise grins, sitting back in his chair with arms crossed proudly. "That's how you do it when it comes to couples, Reg. Always be the guest star because—"

Rose shoots out of her chair. "I am leaving, right now!"

Regulus throws his hands up, smiling wide as ever. "Oh come on!"

"You will be mortified when you sober up, Regulus Black!" She scolds fiercely, and shoves her chair under the table. "Now," She straightens out her pleated skirt. "I am off and won't be back until tonight. Oh, and I'm taking Jade with me, but Nyx can stay with guys."

"We were supposed to talk today," Theo says, his voice failing to hide the desperation.

"If I get done in time we will. If not, then we always have tomorrow." She bristles, pushing her sleeve back enough to check the dainty silver watch while blindly picking the folder off the table.

Blaise leans over, eyeing her wrist in curiosity. "Did you get a new watch?"

She freezes.

Her throat clears.

"Yes." She says, looking at the table as she tucks the folder into her arm. "The Dark Lord got it for me when he came to Paris last week for a meeting with some French based societies." She turns on her heel to avoid their confused faces. "Oh," She halts in the entryway, not looking at Whitman but directing her voice toward him, "I almost forgot. In the Order meeting this morning I found out that Hagrid was sent to the giants to convince them to fight for the Order. I talked to the Dark Lord and he's sending me and Abraxas soon to make sure they come onto our side instead. He asked for me to bring one of you along, I picked you, Whitman. Figured you could be useful since you enjoy watching people die by your hand. Anyways—" She smiles spitefully as Whitman chokes on his coffee. "Have a great day guys!"

She does not give them time to react. Leaving in brisk fashion with black curls following behind. They can hear her apparation out of the home once she arrives in the living room, the sound loud and disheartening. It had felt as if they made positive steps last night.

Just now, she treated them like it would be impossible to meet their eyes, or speak more than a few words.

*

Theodore Nott sits on the bench at the foot of his bed. The hoodie on his body provides almost too much warmth. Truthfully, his skin is burning up. Whether it be rage, want, need, desperation—they all blended into the same thing.

The clock strikes two in the morning when Theo pulls down the black hood and quietly walks out of his bedroom. He doesn't have to go far, they share a wall, and he had waited long enough—having heard her in the house.

Her door is only two feet down the hall.

He doesn't care if she throws every spell in the world at him. Once he gets inside, he will refuse to leave.

She is there, at the foot of the bed with her back to him, in a white slip that proves she was about to go to sleep. The warm air wafts through all the open windows, and he sees her head lift and shoulders roll back.

She knows he is the one standing at the doorway.

Without taking his eyes off her, something he refuses to do, Theo shuts the door one handedly. When he turns the lock into place, the sound echoes. Rose stiffens. She knows every deep corner of his mind, even the darkest parts. She can feel that he has had enough, that he will not allow things to go any longer this way.

She barely begins to turn around when Theo throws himself at her feet, no control over his own body. His hands are pleading, desperately reaching for her legs as she looks down at him with a cool mask hiding any emotion.

"I'm so sorry," he pleads, pressing his lips to the skin beneath her hem. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, digging his fingers in, pressing his lips to the other leg. She allows him to do so, remaining motionless above. "Baby please, please," he drags out, mumbling against the skin.

Rose says nothing, but a crack in her exterior shows; sucking in shallow breaths.

He tries to hold back the tears pricking his eyes as he cranes his neck up, knees digging against the wooden floor. His fingers dig in deeper, and he shakes her body slightly. "Ro," He begs, "I'm so sorry!" He gasps, choking on the urge to sob. "Please, please, please," he repeats, kissing her legs as if he won't ever be able to do so again.

A rough hand yanks his head back, forcing him to look up at her with tears wobbling within his waterline as they threaten to spill. His mouth hangs open. His hold keeps her close enough for his heavy breath's to fan across her skin.

"You look pathetic," she says, "Utterly pathetic, Theodore."

"I am. I am pathetic. I need you," The tears fall down his cheek in streams. "I need you. I need you so much that it's controlling my entire being," he grits out the last part, yanking her legs closer before he takes hold of her hands. "I need you, I need you," He repeats, brushing her knuckles with his lips.

He startles her, and her eyes go wide. "Theodore," She mutters, "Get up for me."

He sobs, but never does he stop his descent up her body, his lips gliding along her thigh as he slowly begins rising. She gasps as he presses his lips against her center, her fingers reaching to grasp behind onto the bed frame while he just keeps going up and up her stomach.

"Theodore," She warns.

He doesn't stop, his tears soaking her silky gown. He is not doing this for her clothing to come off. He needs his lips tattooed onto her body, to steal their love in a permanent way that no amount of magic can wipe away.

His hands clamp roughly over her own, on the railing, when he reaches his full height, but he has to bend to continue kissing her chest, where the gown cuts into a scoop. "I'm going to lose you, aren't I?" He gasps against her skin, "You had Adrian here, too. You're trying to forget me." He pulls all her hair back in his hand, the other grabbing her waist as he comes flush against her.

"You're.. You're scaring me." She breathes.

His lips move onto her neck, and her head tips backward in his hold against her better judgment, her hand reaching to hold the back of his head for steadiness. "What if it's all in my head?" He mumbles, "What if you could love someone else?" His voice shakes, lips stopping by her ear.

She tries pushing away. She tries shoving him away, again. He is a brick wall, unmoving. Instead, he lets out an unsteady breath, pressing another wet kiss below her ear.

"Theo," she shouts, helpless, "You're being insane!"

"What if someone tries taking what I think is mine?" He murmurs, the words angry inside his throat. He draws her impossibly closer by her hair, nails scraping her scalp. "I can't let anyone take you away." He says, the words like moss sliding between his teeth, and his chest pushes against her own in heavy increments, his sanity slipping at the thought.

He is hers. And she is his. He cannot imagine a world where that is different, and if there is—he would use every source of power to rewrite fate.

Her hands slip onto his shoulders and she hates it; how breathless she is, hates how despite how much she tries, the slightest brush of her fingers reveal her touch to be just as desperate as his hands, his kisses, his body. But most importantly, she hates how much she needs him as well.

"This is want," Her voice wobbles, lacking truth, "Not need. So get out, just get out, and walk away."

He lifts up, tears still running down his face, but that is the only thing that looks weak about him. For the first time in years, Rose is scared of the man before her. She cannot predict his next move, but if he's anything like her, he will not stop until he holds her forgiveness.

That scares her most.

He keeps her close by the hold on her waist, but his fingers pull one of her hands off his shoulders. He breathes shallowly, guiding her hand downwards, and then presses her palm flat against the hard length of him. She gasps in shock. "This is want." He hisses. She goes completely still, disturbed by the knot that forms in her stomach. He drags her hand up his chest, stopping once she reaches his heart that beats so fast she can feel every movement of the organ. "This is need." he says, heart picking up even quicker; making her own race. "And this," he rasps, forcing her fingers to wipe away his tears. "This is desperation." He breathes out, collapsing his forehead onto her own, and gathering her body in his arms—molding them together. "Don't you dare confuse want with need."

"Theo, I—" she mumbles, unable to say the words as he drags his thumb up against her chin.

"I need you." He breathes, separating her lips with the pad of his thumb, "I love you more than anything in this world," His forehead moves against her own, "Please, I'm begging you to forgive me." He says, unable to keep himself from lifting her chin and brushing their lips together.

Her skin burned in heightened ways, and her lips buzzed from the gentleness of brushes. She was a strong woman, but not when it came to how tightly her heart and body had been tethered to him.

But, she musters up enough strength to push his face away, and he comes to stand at full height, keeping her in his arms. She hopes he will be the one to let go, because she cannot, she does not have it in her to make him let go.

The ache they equally feel is reflected in the others' eyes.

"You can't just kiss me and think that'll fix it!" She says, "Or make it all go away! It doesn't work like that!"

"Ro,"

"No!" She shouts, finally gaining the courage to push him away, sending Theo stumbling back two feet. "Can you just listen to me?! What you did was not okay! You broke my trust!"

Theo gains on her, grasping her shoulders and roughly pushing her right back into the railing of the bed frame. "You can trust me," He breathes out. Her head shakes in return, not stopping. He takes her cheeks into his palms, and has to do so roughly to make her stop. His voice is loud, angry, because it is the only way she will listen, "I love you and I did not keep that from you to hurt you! You can trust me more than you can anyone in this forsaken world!"

She breathes heavily. "This is the last time, Theo." Her response is meek, "I—I cannot keep repeating this cycle of loving you, then losing you."

"Last time?" He repeats, falling into a daze of relief. "No." He murmurs, his left thumb circling down her cheek until reaching her lips. "There is no last time for us. We'll always find our way back. It's always us, in every life, every day. Tell me," He begs, "Tell me it's always us."

"I know it's always going to be us, Theo." She mutters, averting her eyes, "I keep trying to lie to myself and say it isn't. You know I don't believe otherwise."

"Then tell me you forgive me," He pleads, desperately, "Tell me you can forgive me. Forgive me. Know that I have only tried to do right by you."

Much to his surprise, her hands slide beneath his hoodie, onto the bare skin over his waist. She blinks, letting the held back tears fall, and meets his eye, breathing out, "I can forgive you."

Light fills his gaze, his hands pulling her face closer, and closer, "You forgive me?"

"Yes, but—" His lips are on her own in seconds, pulling a gasp from her lungs at the ferocity, and she tries to reach backwards to hold onto the framing but he brings her body closer and closer, holding her in his arms so tightly she can hardly breathe.

But she doesn't care, she missed his lips, his warmth, and the smell of cinnamon engulfing her senses. He keeps one hand in her hair, relishing in her moan as his tongue pushes past her lips, and his other hand goes down, locking around her thigh.

Her arms glide around his neck, their bodies working as one, and he lifts her up, her legs locking around his waist.

"What do you want?" He asks, still devouring her lips, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

"This." She answers, fingers clawing to get his shirt off, and choking between a moan as he yanks on her hair.

He carries her around the bed and lays her down on the mattress, his chest heavy against her own. She pulls the shirt over his head, breaking the kiss for only a second before their arms are around each other, and his fingers are tangling in her hair, deepening the kiss.

His hips ground into her center, and her lips are pulled away as her back arches, head tipping backwards on the mattress. His lips latch onto her throat, his hand wrapping around as the other begins tugging the silk up her body.

He yanks her up, tearing the dress off her body, before pushing her right back into the mattress. And then, he's coming down on her hard and fast. Kissing, biting, and tugging on her breasts until she is fisting the sheets tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

She squirms under him each time his lips fall further down, not really sure if it is all too much to handle or if she's trying to get to his mouth where she really wants it. He's too busy murmuring praises, nipping at her skin, letting his hands roam in a greedy notion.

And suddenly, in a desperate way, he's tightening his hands around the lace across her hips, ripping the underwear away. The fabric tears and falls to the floor, and he's sinking down to his knees, taking her cunt into his mouth.

"Theo," she whimpers, reaching and weaving her fingers into his hair. He groans at the taste and wraps his arms around her thighs, yanking her to the edge of the bed and right up against his lips.

"Gods," He groaned, again, "Just can't...help myself..." He could barely get the words out, refusing to pause even briefly, acting as a man starved.

After a second he loses every sense of control, nipping, licking, sucking, on every part of her until there is nothing but her cries of coming undone; blinded by pleasure and ecstasy, pulling on his hair so hard it should hurt, but as he keeps going after her first high, and going, moving his tongue against her over and over, until she is coming undone again, she needs him to be her tether, because it no longer feels as if she is on this earth.

All Rose knows is him.

Theo.

And as he forces her higher up on the bed, his lips trailing up her body in a way that will never fade, all she hears are his different chants that ring out like a sacred prayer, "Mine," And, "My love," And then, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful..."

And when he is over top of her and her tongue is moving against his own, she does not even recognize herself with how furiously she is taking off his pants.

And as his dick comes to glide against her center, he hisses, taking her cheek into his hand with a vice grip. Theo needs to look into her eyes, see those stormy depths promise him that it is Rosalie Black in his arms, and that she will never fade away. He is rapsing against her lips, "Tell me you love me. Tell me." Demanding, "Tell me,"

"I love you." She breathes and he shudders, pushing only the tip in. His hand grips her waist, and at once, he's pulling her hips up at the same moment he enters her, making her feel as if she is being sliced in two as his dick slides deep inside.

Her cries are mute from shaking so hard, head dipping back as he moans against her neck. But then, he is forcing their lips together, providing her with no time to recover, as he pulls out to the tip, and then enters her over and over again until there is truly no other people in the world but them, as one.

"I love you," He says, so many times she loses count.

"I love you," She repeats, so many times he loses himself in ecstasy.

And even when she is on top of him, grinding her hips against his own, his hands roam everywhere, in a greedy way, in a prideful way, and he cannot stop himself from reminding her, over and over, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful..."

And even when she pulls him over her again, there are sacred vows of, "My love, love," regardless of how he can barely breathe, too far gone in how it feels to be with her; with how his heart feels as well, how his chest clenches at the mere thought of her loving him forever. "Mine," in between each moment of his lips marking her skin, his mouth claiming her own, his eyes marveling in her glory.

And when his hips stutter, and he covers her chants of his name with his lips over her own, and it all ends—they land breathlessly on their backs and against the pillows, too tired to even move.

But that will not stop Theo for long. Only seconds have passed and he is reaching for her, in more ways than one, as he has his whole life, and bringing her body into his arms, pressing his lips, softly, against every inch of her face.

"I believe," She breathes out, "I believe I will need twenty years to recover from that..." She can barely catch her breath and neither can he, but her arms tiredly loop around his neck as the kisses keep coming, "Do you think it will always be like that?"

He completely halts, coming a hairs away from her lips, offense all over his flushed face. "Everytime we have had sex, it has been that way. Given," His lips twitch. "I have improved."

"Yes, I know, you fool." She smiles, dazed and in love. "But what about when we are old and rotten? How will you do this hard enough for us to forget our names? I will be wrinkled, like an old crone."

"I need you to understand I am being so serious when I say what I am about to say..."

"Oh Gods...what is it?" She mutters.

"My dick can only get hard for you." He states, and she instantly chokes on a sudden laugh so hard that her head tips back. He takes hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him as she keeps laughing, on the verge of wheezing. "I'm being completely serious." He says, unblinking. "I see kneesocks everyday at school. No reaction. I see them on you? Suddenly I need to go to the bathroom. Ro, stop laughing!" She instantly purses her lips together, face bright red as she tries keeping the sound tucked in, chest shaking the whole time. "I've been to those weird strip joints that my father made me go to. Nothing, I feel nothing. I've seen, met, a million people, at school, at balls, everywhere, in every country. You know what I feel? Nothing, quite literally nothing at all. Not attraction. Not delight. Not even a singular emotion."

Her laugh slips out in the form of a giggle this time.

"But when I see you, in any condition, even when I'm distraught that you are red-faced and ready to rip out my throat—Gods," He bows his forehead against her own, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, "Every time, no matter how many times a day, when I see you I feel like I'm seeing fucking god for the first time and I, I feel the world spinning and—I could go on for hours explaining this but I'll never shut up if I do so, just know, it doesn't matter how many years pass, or what happens, that feeling never changes, and it never will."

If only the world could see him now, the quiet, daunting enigma, and unbreakable man, being someone else completely, renewed with life and turned soft in her presence. Her giggles die out because even though it is hilarious to witness him enraptured by love and the beginning of his speech had been humorous to Rose, her voice is only quiet as the wind knocks away her oxygen, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to know how obsessed I am with you, and how in love I am." He says, "Time will never change that. Not even another universe can change that."

Her eyes soften, as if they could even more, and her heart, and the little girl inside of her feels completely safe here with him, and overfilled by love. She brings a hand around, dragging the pad of her thumb beneath his bottom lip.

She cannot formulate the words she wants to say, but smiles so passionately that his own heart stutters, and she murmurs, "You are a lovesick fool, Theodore Nott."

"Only for you, Rosalie Black." He vows, smirking, with his own inner child filled full of powerful love that is deserved, meaning it with his whole being. He closes the distance between their mouths, swearing against her lips, "You are it for me. Every life. Every timeline."

And this time, when their lips mold together, and he flips them over, entering her once more, there is no mixture of fast-paced, wild, and loving movements. Instead, it is slow, desperate in a different way, and full of careful vows that swear them until the end.

*

Rose lays there after the comedown, her fingers tracing the lines on his far and few freckles on his chest, and suddenly shoots out of the bed, tearing the duvet off of him and stumbling away. Theo blinks in shock, quick to pull the sheet over his waist.

"What...just happened? Are you having an intrusive thought again?" He asks, pushing himself up off his back.

"No, no, I need to go talk with Draco." She says, clutching at her chest, "I–I can forgive him. I want to forgive him. I–" She whirls around, looking at the room in confusion, "I have to go."

"Yeah?" He states, "Thinking about him while naked in the bed with me?"

"I think about both of you constantly!" She attests, "I love him too, fool!"

"Trust me, I know."

She narrows her eyes, and he shoots her an apologetic grin.

"Sorry baby," He laughs, trying to force her to forget how annoyed he had sounded, shifting up the bed and leaning his back on the headboard. "Go talk to him, and then get back in this damn bed. Bring him if you must."

"Gods," She begins rushing around the end of the bed, gasping loudly as ever when she gets to the side opposite of Theo. He raises his eyebrows, awaiting to hear what has caused such animated effects on her. "Theodore Tiberius Nott!" She shouts, head snapping up at him.

"Yes, love?"

"You tore up another pair of my underwear!" She scolds, "Do you know how expensive those are? Do you and Draco have zero understanding?! Why do you both insist on doing this?!"

A deep laugh leaves his chest. "Don't get all worked up, Princess." He says, "I'll buy you as many as you like."

Ignoring him, she bends to the floor, rising back up with a torn nightgown, almost shrieking. "Theodore!"

His eyes dart between the dress and her face multiple times, and then his laughter grows so much so that he has to clutch at his chest, head tipped back.

"This is one of my favorites! I could've taken care of the Weasley's for the rest of their lives with this! Never again would they pay a bill!"

"Oh baby please," He chuckles, covering his face, "I can't handle laughing any harder,"

She makes an offended noise in the back of her throat, tossing the torn fabric toward him, but it only flies a few feet, landing on the edge of the bed, and that is when Theo completely loses it; rolling onto his side and laughing loud enough for the whole house to hear.

Rose's eye twitches as she picks up a pillow, hitting him with the fluffy object, not like it does anything except make him laugh more, and she rushes off before she can end up losing her mind, disappearing into the closet that he had forgotten connected to the bathroom.

He hears the shower turn on for barely five minutes, and then she is out, standing between the opened doors of the closet, the light behind her. A towel in her hands, still drying her hair off.

Theo gives her a dazed smile from his place against the pillows. "I wonder...how did you have time to wash your hair that quickly?"

"I am in a rush." She says, walking toward him. "But I did not want to face Draco while smelling of sex."

He eyes the gown across her body, lips curling up. "Mhm, would you like me to rip that one off of you as well?"

"I will stab you!" She says, stopping on the opposite side of the bed.

"Lovingly though, right?"

She blinks down at him and his stupid little smirking mouth, and finally allows her own smile to show, allowing him to win. "Shut up," She laughs, her eyes rolling as she tosses the towel on top of his head. "I'm off to get back my favorite boyfriend."

Theo has never sat up so fast in his entire life.

"Did you just say favorite boyfriend?!"

With her back to him, and her hand around the doorknob, she laughs. "I'm messing with you," She casts a glance backwards, "I don't have a favorite—equality, yeah?"

Theo collapses onto the pillows, his voice tight, "I think I just almost died."

"Draco's dramaticness is rubbing off on you..." Her tongue clicks as she yanks the door open, "I'd seek help soon."

*

Draco, who had been lost in thought, sitting on the couch, stared at the thick smoke floating out of the golden incense chamber. He feels a blanket being draped over his shoulders, and feels the couch cushions dip close by himself. He is hit with the scent of floral shampoo, alerting him that it is Rose beside him and she has come straight from a shower. He knows the details of her routine, has them engraved into his mind, but he did not need that knowledge to know it was her; the tingle in his back the moment that blanket had been laid on his shoulders was enough.

Rose turns slightly, pressing her knees against his thigh, internally begging him to lean up off his own knees and look at her face.

She will not fight with him, or raise her voice. After everything he has been through, and how he has lived with his father, she will not turn to such tactics with a clear head. Although, in a way, she wishes she would. The tension feels thicker in the silence and soon to be quiet spoken words, yelling would be much easier.

"I'm sorry," She finds herself saying, proving the talent Narcissa always claimed Rose and Draco to share. They did not need to speak words, reading one another's minds without magic or anything else, knowing things from small touches and the slightest of tilts of their heads.

He turns his head toward her. "Why are you sorry? You're the one mad at me."

"No, I'm not mad anymore. Truthfully," She slides her hand onto his forearm, the contrasting temperatures of their bodies burning where they touch. He shudders, barely so, but still. "I think I needed to be yelled at, forced to understand. You and Theo were just trying to protect me and Whitman from hating each other. Neither of you took Orion away, it's not your fault."

He releases a deep sigh. "Theo come yell at you? I didn't even hear you arrive home, tried watching for you."

"I apparated onto my balcony once getting past the wards, have this a silencing charm on my room so no one would know, but I accidentally crashed into the closet wall when I came in, and you know, that's also the wall that connects to his room." She stops her ramble of an explanation. "But yes, he did yell at me, only after I tried physically kicking him out. Needed it though, to be forced to face the truth instead of grasping at straws so I have a reason to keep pushing you both away."

Draco takes one disbelieving look at her face before he is letting out a shaky breath, and leaning his head onto her shoulder, all but collapsing into her. His unsteady hands find their way onto her waist, while her legs drape over his lap, and her own arms circle around his broad back. Her fingers find their way into his hair, coaxing away all of the worry in a silent exchange.

"Deep down, even when we hated each other, I always knew I'd be in love with you, and you'd find your way back to me," He mutters these words, "But Rosie, I—I hate being apart. Feeling as if I am losing you. I don't think I can hate anything more in this forsaken world."

"I'm genuinely sorry." She repeats.

He lifts his head, bracing a hand on the side of his neck as he stays close. "Why are you saying that again?"

Her lips form into a smile laced with sadness, no teeth. "You know why." She says, and his face falls flat, hating to be seen through so clearly. "I'm ready, Draco. Talk to me."

"Rosie, I—" He tries pulling away, his fingers loosening on her neck, but her hands keep him in place. "We should wait." He says, "Let me enjoy having you tonight. Rehash all the petty stuff another day."

"No." She says, "Let's fix everything now. I want to be me again, and me wouldn't let you sweep this under the rug."

"It's just—"

"Tell me."

"You pushed everyone away last year, and it's fine, I understand why you did, but..." He stops, the words hard to get out, but the gentle graze of her thumb over his cheek forces him to continue. "You told me you loved me, and then you said you couldn't be with me. I put my ego aside, for once in my fucking life, and understood that you couldn't move forward without Theo. I don't blame you for any of it, okay?" He takes hold of her face, his desperation painstakingly obvious. "I need you to understand that. But I also need you to know I meant everything I said. I'd fight any elemental force, become someone worthy of you, do anything in your name. I'm not me without you, and I will never not be in love with you. Even when you hated me, and I was so damn angry at you for years, I was just a stupid egomaniac who didn't know how to handle feeling that much for one person."

She remembers all too clearly the talk they had before the second task of the Triwizard tournament. What he said, how it made her feel, and what it was like to hear all of those words that she knew would not waver with time.

"But when Theo went missing, and I refused to be near you..." She mutters, "That's what hurts, isn't it? We were all happy, and then...yeah."

"I just can't understand that part." He says, "Out of everyone you could push away, the others I get, but me? I know we all had a promise, but you could've let me be your safe place, like I always have been. I just, I just—" He trails off, looking away as if ashamed.

"Hey," She says. Reaching for his face when he refuses to meet her eyes, forcing him to do so. "Draco," She says his name, causing his chest to tighten in that explosive way that it always has. "Listen to me, I knew you were breathing and safe, and there every night. I didn't know that about him. I couldn't rest and I knew if I were to let myself be close to you, I would. But I swear, that if it had been you who went missing, I would have reacted the same way towards him. Deep down, you know that is true. I love you both in different ways, but I truly do love you, Draco, whole heartedly, foolishly."

Draco smiles, the one that lights up the room, and becomes engulfed by an overwhelming feeling deep at his core. He does not know how quickly he had done it, but his hands pulled her overtop of him, and his lips were molding against her own perfectly. Her fingers are weaving through his snowy hair, he's pulling her closer and closer.

And when he stands up, his hands are under her thighs, carrying her out of the living room with him. She breaks their kiss in the corridor, giggling, "Theo is in my bedroom still, just so you know."

"Don't care." He says, grabbing onto the back of her head, forcing their lips back together.

Theo is speaking as soon as the door opens up, his eyes focused on the ceiling, "Draco, I just remembered Ro had a boyfriend before us, and I think I might be physically ill because of this." He says, spitefully as the door is kicked back shut. "A short guy too, you ever think about that? Short men, they're like—they're like little traffic cones, eh?" His head turns as the bed bounces from Rose being tossed down, and he rolls onto his side, eyes narrowing at her breathless face.

"Theodore," She breathes out, still staring up at Draco, "What the fuck are you on about?"

He props himself up with a hand, leaning a little ways over her. "You see, I was left alone with my thoughts for far too long. Your fault baby, not mine."

She turns to look at him, but barely gets a second as her legs are pushed apart, forcing a yelp out of her as Draco settles himself in between her thighs. For a brief moment, her eyes close, but then they snap open, being met with two surprisingly angry looks casted down at her.

"What?!" She asks.

Draco scoffs as his lips meet her knee, trailing his way down in sync with his body coming over top of her, "Why did you date that fool?"

"Yes love," Theo says, angry again, "Do tell us."

Shakily exhaling as Draco's lips mark her collarbones, she yanks him up, tugging the thin shirt off his body, and saying, "You both act like jealous women."

"Uh oh..." Theo sighs so heavily that it must be fake. "That was very sexist."

Draco sits up enough to toss the shirt aside, coming back down with his head cocking off to the side as his fingers smooth over her neck, "Are you feeling alright?" He asks, "You must be a little off to say such things."

"I hate you both!" She says, but her hands reach for his hips, pulling the length of him right up against her—eyes falling shut.

Draco laughs humorlessly as a soft moan escapes her. He props himself up with an elbow, getting closer, and slips a hand between through bodies while Theo hikes the nightgown further up her hips. "Do you though? Hate us?" Draco asks, just as his fingers skim over the lace covering her, and he finds complete evidence to state otherwise. He groans against her lips, "Liar."

"Draco," She pleads, for what, she does not know, but his lips cut her off, slow and strong, and his fingers begin pushing aside the lace, his hand pushing her chin up, his lips attaching to her jaw.

But then his fingers are actually touching her, and she whimpers, reaching for his shoulders and for Theo's arm, her nails digging in.

"Poor thing," Theo remarks, tracing over every curve of her face, "She's pretty sensitive right now, are you not, baby?"

Draco laughs breathily against her neck, pushing two fingers inside of her.

She moans a choked reprimand, "Theo, stop,"

"How are you going to make me, huh?" He wonders.

"She can't," Draco marks up her collarbones, pulling down the strap of her gown, and pushing right against that exact spot, reveling in the sounds she makes, "She's far too helpless..."

Her fingers tangle in Draco's hair, heavy eyes staring up at Theo's cocky face, because she is indeed—helpless. She tries tugging him enough to close the two inches between their lips, but he stays unwavering.

"No touching me, love." Theo reprimands in a low voice, "I'm only going to watch."

Her eyes blow wide. "You'll kill him if you watch," She breathes out, and Draco smiles against her skin at that, before dragging his tongue around her breast, forcing Theo to grab her face as her back arches, demanding her attention.

"I'll want to," He murmurs, still holding her face as he presses his thumb against her lips, pleading for entrance. "But then, I'll make him watch, over and over again."

Draco makes a displeased noise, and then he is up, pulling the lace down her legs as Theo presses his thumb into her mouth, biting down on his lips to contain the sinful words.

And although they both look to be cruelly enjoying this as Draco drags his tip over her cunt while his hips stutter, her becoming a full fledged mess—there is soft adoration in both of their eyes.

But then Theo feels it, his chest being split open, the unbridled rage, as Draco slides inside of her, as she claws at his back, as she cries out his name, as they speak praises to each other, as it is his eyes she stares into.

But suddenly, between a moan of his own, Draco grips her thigh, forcing her to meet his thrusts, and takes his lips to her ear, whispering something Theo cannot hear, and Rose looks up at Theo, her moans increasing at the sight of him, and of him angry, her fingers sliding onto the side of his neck and yanking him in, daring him to kiss her.

He does, painfully hard, painfully deep, painfully territorial, but he will not let himself touch her further, no matter how much his hands shake with the urge to. She will go back and forth between his lips and Draco's, finding blinding pleasure, and when it is all said and done, Theo will feel physically ill.

But then he will put her head in Draco's lap, and fuck her like it is the last time he will ever do so, forcing her to only think of him, and forcing the blonde to watch, to feel the pain he felt.

*

Draco awoke to the feel of cold fingertips tracing his chest, the weight of Rose's upper body with it. His eyes blink open, finding her elbow by his head keeping her own propped up as she stares at the little dots she connects together.

This was all he ever wanted.

He tiredly tightens the arm he has around her back, content to have her legs intertwined with his own. His vision is still half-blurry, but it comes into focus as she lifts her head up, cocking to the side, and the frown that had been etched onto her face falls away.

His lips lift in a sweeping motion, fingers trailing up her spine.

Her eyes go round. "Don't do that,"

"What did I do now?" He asks, voice thick with sleep.

She huffs, eyes narrowing. "Be all beautiful and sleepy."

He tries holding back a smile, but fails, and one of her own spreads before she groans in aggravation. "You think I'm beautiful?" He wonders, shifting his head on the pillow to get a better look at her face.

"Annoyingly so," She says, eyes raking over his features like a sculpture she needed to marvel at inside a museum.

His smile grows wider and his eyes roll. "I find you infuriatingly so."

Her fingers trail up onto the side of his neck, and she murmurs, "To be infuriatingly beautiful sounds nice."

Draco wants to pull her even closer, take away the few inches separating their lips, kiss her until the sun goes back down and the moon comes up, and even then—that will not be long enough. But his hand cannot go any further up her spine, because his arm is stuck between Rose's body and a hard chest pressed up against her back.

He bites down on the tiny voice in the back of his head, the one that screams jealousy. He made a promise to himself that when she came back, he would no longer be this way, and Theo promised he wouldn't either. Draco needs her. She needs Draco. Theo needs her. She needs Theo. He loves her too much to care, and if anything, he can acknowledge that he and Theo both need each other to always stay best friends, not enemies. And if either of them make her choose, they are only going to ruin the other, create a wound that can never be healed.

Because Draco knows if there is anyone who can understand how truly powerful it is to love Rose, it is Theo. They have both finally acknowledged how much the other loves her, and the childish games were over. Draco felt safe knowing it was Theo who held the other side of her heart. And Theo felt safe knowing it was Draco who held the other side of her heart.

Peace, happiness—it was all possible.

Therefore, instead of making a comment, Draco just grumbles a sleepy comment, "Theo's body is damn near burning."

"So is yours." She hums, a smile fighting onto her cheeks. "Are you excited for him to be in bed with us for the rest of your life?"

His face falls, voice deadpan, "Please love, do not remind me."

She giggles and bows her head into his chest. He wants to grumble, play along as the grumpy counterpart, but her happiness makes it an impossible challenge. Instead, he uses his untrapped arm, smoothing down her hair and pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I have one request though," He says, tucking his chin atop her head.

"What?" she mumbles, the question muffle against his skin.

Although she cannot see it, she knows there's a cocky grin on his face. "You'll have to take my last name, of course." He says, "Nott is just—well, it's an awfully boring name."

Her head shoots up, eyes wide, her hand finding his cheek in urgency, and his eyebrows rise up in amusement at the look on her face.

"I've got it, Draco!" She says, "Are you ready for it?!"

His lips twitch. "I'm just slightly confused about what you got? But I am enjoying your excitement..."

"Drumroll please," She ignores him, using the hand that once held up her head to drum on his chest, forcing him to grunt at the force. "Nalfoy! There!" She says, as if it had been the greatest idea. "A perfect combination!"

Draco blinks, blinks, and blinks again—in complete and utter disbelief.

"Nal–foy?" He repeats, blinking, "Did you just say Nalfoy?"

She sighs dreamily, beginning to stroke his cheek. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

A deep, sleepy voice comes from beside Rose, "It's awful."

Theo, with eyes still half-closed, drops his head onto the pillows next to Draco's, his body still tightly pressed up against her own. He almost smiles, but then there is a whack on his forehead.

He groans, blinking afterward to find Rose scowling down at him.

"Are you judging my name mixing abilities?" She asks.

A sleepy grin takes over his lips. "Morning baby,"

Her eyes narrowed into slits aimed at him before she lifted her attention toward the window behind the bed, staring out into the field. "Fine," she says, sassily, "I'll just never marry either of you."

A deep laugh shakes Draco's chest, "Oh come on,"

"Don't be like that," Theo teases, adjusting himself impossibly closer, "Ro..."

She looks down between them. Then, she starts smiling again.

"Oh no..." mutters Draco, "Theo, you see that look in her eyes?"

"I do." Theo plays along, lifting a finger to her lips, "Something troublesome is about to leave those lips..."

"What about Mott?!" She blurts out.

Theo and Draco share one look before they are bursting out into laughter.

She groans and flops down onto her back between them, rubbing her face with both hands as the laughs continue on. Theo's arm slips around her neck, drawing her shoulder into his chest, and she keeps her face covered.

"Get out of my room!" she says, trying to break her legs free from the mess of limbs they are all in, "Both of you!"

Draco's laughter begins dying out as he pulls her hands down and leans up on one elbow, snorting at the glare she shoots up at him. "Stop pouting, you fool." He murmurs before pulling their lips together. She sighs into the kiss, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, when he suddenly pulls back a few inches.

"What is it?" She wonders.

"I cannot have a kid with the last name Nott." He grimaces, "That's the truly awful name."

All of the color drains from her face at once. Her eyes go up to the ceiling, and she feels Theo press a soft kiss to her shoulder.

Draco's brows furrow in confusion. He tries pulling on her chin to force her to look at him but fails, and then tries again. "What is it?" He asks, "What's wrong?"

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, blurting out, "I can't have kids." She pauses, reopening her eyes. "Anyways," She says, "On to the next thing. What should we have for breakfast? Or should we go get breakfast from the village? There's also—"

"Rosie," Draco cuts in, using her chin to guide her eyes in his direction. "What do you mean?"

To the best of her ability with them squishing her, she shrugs. "It's not big deal. Not at all, actually. Walburga took me to the Mediwitches to get my fertility tested because of what happened to my mother," Her voice sounds unbothered, but a shake lays beneath, "Told me it was time to figure out all of that, and then I found out I couldn't...whatever, I guess. I'll get over it."

For a moment, Draco's lips part, he appears crestfallen. But in mere seconds, he is smoothing back her hair and smiling more gentle than ever. "You can adopt," He says, "What do you want?" He asks, pressing his lips to her forehead. "One? Two? Three?"

Theo joins in, murmuring, "Four?"

She giggles and tries pushing away Draco as he keeps kissing her forehead, and feels Theo smile against her shoulder blade.

Finally, at some point, Draco leans up, looking down at her with a serious expression. "What's it going to be, Rosie?" He asks. "Give me the number."

She giggles again, trying to turn her face away, but Theo stops her with a strong grip, and says, "Tell him, Ro."

She hums, "Eight."

Draco falls down beside her with a sigh, ignoring the grunt that leaves her lungs from his arm falling across her stomach. He breathes out, "I'm going to age so quickly."

Theo gives her waist a rough tug, effectively forcing her onto her side; face to face with his exhausted grin. "You know what..." He says, "I believe we can start our own school with that many."

"Oo la la," Rose drags out, bringing a finger to his lips, "Are you and Draco going to be the professors?"

Theo nods, closing the inches between them, mumbling against her lips, "You'll be the headmaster."

"Mmm," She hums, eyes fluttering close as she begins to kiss him softly. Theo, clearly not having enough, yanks on her neck, deepening the kiss and opening her mouth to him. She feels his hand trail, and feels Draco's lips against her back.

And just when she thinks last night will repeat itself, the door opens and closes within a matter of seconds. She almost shoots out of bed, terrified of it being Regulus who has walked in, but two hands, from both boys, yank her flat down on the pillows before she can see who it is.

"She's busy!" shouts Theo, already coming over top of her when another voice speaks from beside Draco.

"What the fuck are you two doing in her bed?"

Both boys crash against the pillows, and Rose is still breathless from the force in which they yanked her down when each of them look up to find Blaise standing there with a scowl on his face.

Rose scoots herself up the pillows, bringing her back to lean against the headboard. "It's okay, Blaise." She says, "We made up."

A relieved smile spreads across his face. "Thank Merlin," he says, lifting up the duvet, but getting stopped by Draco yanking the material back down.

"Rosie doesn't have pants on. Not a good time."

Blaise cannot hold back his scoff before yanking the duvet up again. "I slept with your girlfriend half-naked two nights ago." He deadpans, "Get over yourself."

"With the way you two talk to each other, that's questionable behavior." Draco states. Blaise steps into the bed, and makes Draco grunt as his leg is stepped on. "Excuse you!"

Blaise drops down in front of Rose, ultimately pulling the blanket off everyone as he settles it over his shoulders before yanking her legs over top of his own.

Theo shoots him a look of reprimand. "Are you trying to rip off her legs?!"

"Tell both your boyfriends to grow a pair." He says.

Draco groans and rolls onto her chest, mumbling, "We are never getting one morning of peace with this many friends."

"Please tell me what other friends your speaking of," says Rose, soothing the hair on the back of his head down. "Pretty sure we are the only friends any of us have. Except Luna, she's our group adoptee."

"We have a ton of friends," Draco attests, lifting his head to be met with three pairs of knowing and unblinking eyes. "Fine!" He groans, dropping his head right back against her. Voice muffled, "But I think thats more than enough."

Rose snorts and turns her eyes toward Theo. "You want a smoke?"

"No," he says, sitting up, "But I'll get you one."

She grins happily, eyes closing as he stands and leans over to press another kiss to her head.

Blaise grumbles with the utmost loudness. "I forgot how sickening you all are." He says, "Draco, could you not hang onto her like a monkey? Isn't that Theo's usual morning thing?"

Draco gives a muffled reply, making his stance clear when he stays in the same position. Blaise almost loses it when Rose giggles and whispers something inaudible to the blonde. And then Theo is back, dropping down beside her and sliding his arm around her neck, pulling her tightly against him, leaning against the headboard as one.

"I'm going to die alone, aren't I?" Blaise mutters, watching Theo hold out a lighter and singular cigarette to the girl.

"No," Theo corrects, "You're going to live with us forever."

Blaise goes wide-eyed at that.

"Not in this house..." he says.

Rose makes an noise in the back of her throat while lighting the cigarette, and tosses the lighter at his chest after.

"It's small!" Blaise attests, "And there's no ballroom, or anything!"

She takes a long inhale, blowing out a stream of smoke before glaring at him. "Now it's time for you to get over yourself."

Draco coughs against her chest, garnering everyones attention and her concerned eyes focusing on him. "You got to quit smoking so much, Rosie." He mumbles, "You and Whit both, your lungs are going to shrivel."

She forces his head back down, body tensing at the name mentioned. "Anyways," She stiffly speaks, "Where'd you sleep last night, Blaise?"

"Reg let me sleep with him." Blaise says, "I thought Theo was in his room and Draco stopped sleeping in Whit's room because of how bad his condition is right now so I wasn't going to go there either. Came to your door and it was locked, I figured you wanted some time alone."

"Oh," She shrugs, and the door creaks open. No one pays attention to the intruder, assuming it to be Whitman.

But a deep voice cuts through the air like a steel blade.

"I'm going to give you boys five seconds to put some clothes on before I lose my mind and feed you to the sharks. I saw two last week, would you like that? To be eaten and dragged down to the bottom of the ocean?"

Despite everyone around tensing, Blaise smiles up at the ceiling. "Uh oh...you're going to be in trouble with papa Reg."

Rose places a hand over her eyes, sighing as she plugs the cigarettes back into her lips with both boys scrambling away from her to put on pants and shirts. Regulus turns toward the hallway, holding the doorknob, and begins a countdown.

"One, two, three, four..."

"We're done!" Theo shouts accidentally and exasperated before staring at Rose in shock.

She rolls her eyes. "No way are you all scared of him."

"They should be." Regulus says, slamming the door and making his way over, purposely bumping into Theo. "Here," he says, extending a glass of water towards her and plucking the cigarette away. He completely ignores her yelp of protest. "Drink, and no smoking at ten in the morning."

"Are you insane?!" She yells, trying to reach him for the cigarette. "I have to smoke!"

"Yes, I am. And you're unhealthy." Regulus deadpans before turning on his heel and pulling at his collar. "You three boys, follow me. I'm on a tight schedule."

"I didn't do anything!" Blaise protests.

Theo takes a deep breath before nodding at Draco, who pulls Blaise right off the bed. Each of them follow Regulus into the corridor. They stand there, a little lost, until Regulus slams the door shut.

His voice lowers to a whisper, "Are you three coming with me?"

Theo raises an eyebrow. "Where exactly? I'm going to need you to be a little bit more specific..."

"I can't exactly say with her so close, can I?" says Regulus, "We won't be back until late tonight. Coming or not?"

"I can't," says Theo. They all look at him, and he rubs the back of his neck. "What? Ro is mad at Whit and I can't leave her to help him through a full moon when they are fighting like this."

"She will not let their dispute get in the way of tonight and it might be good for them." Draco mutters, "You've missed plenty of full moons."

"No, I've missed some." Theo rebukes, "Either way, I don't want to leave her or Whit on a day like this. Have you seen how bad he's been? It's gonna be a rough moon. And I just—I have a bad feeling."

Blaise deadpans, "You always have a bad feeling."

Regulus grabs onto his shoulder tight as ever, lowering his voice even more, "Listen, you can stay here if you want or you can come help me."

"Can you give me a little more to go on? Help with what?" asks Theo.

"You think I'm going to let the Dark Lord put Rosie under a million different unbreakable vows and just smile? I will be cold in my grave once more before I look the other way." His words are a wake up call for them all. "I can tell by the look on your faces she hasn't had time to tell you about the other vow she made with him." He says, chin lifting. "Now...you can either look forward to spending the rest of your lives as frontmen for a psychopathic wizard or you can come with me, and do something about it."

Theo holds zero hesitation. "I'll come with you."

"Good, I need you." Regulus pats on his shoulder before looking at Draco and Blaise. "And you two?"

"A thousand percent." Draco answers.

"Of course." Blaise nods.

"Good, good," Regulus says, "Go tell her I'm taking you to train and get changed, we leave in ten. I'll tell her about why I took you three when we get back, because I don't need her stopping us but I'm not going to make you lie to her either."

"Wait," Blaise interrupts, "We're going to train?"

"You think I'd send you all into the lions den without any preparation?" Regulus shakes his head. "I wish Whitman could come with us, but another time then. You boys need someone older to step for you guys and tell you the truth. You cannot beat dark with light, regardless of what the myths preach. You have to become worse than your enemies to win. I believe you are all grown enough now to handle learning some twisted magic and motivated enough for personal reasons." His eyes hone in Theo and Draco in particular. "Unless those personal reasons are not enough motivation to cross any line, then I suggest you go ahead and start backing off my niece."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I think you know well we are more than willing."

"Unless you actually have not been watching us our whole lives," Theo says, slinging an arm around Regulus's neck. "But if you have, I'd say you know damn well."

A full smile breaks onto Regulus's face. "I do know." He says, "Made me laugh on the inside to even question it."

*

Rose does not go to see Whitman all day.

Only when the sun sets below the cliffs does she dare to walk into his room and force the wolfsbane potion into his mouth. He protests and protests, weakly claiming that he does not need her help. And she does not listen, hoisting him up out of bed with every bit of strength she has, and grateful that he has the cane to hold some of his weight because there is no way she could have helped him down the staircase otherwise.

When they get out through the back door and onto the grass, Kreacher is already there. Opening up the dungeon disguised as a storm cellar with big doors that fly open. Kreacher awkwardly stammers on his feet as a completely silent Rose and Whitman walk by him before heading down the steps.

"I don't need you doing this." Whitman snaps, his voice weak, as they land in the dark corridor. She ignores him completely, leading him past all the different doors and spaces, and stops right in front of the very last door, made of steel, at the end of the hall.

Inside the bricked room there are no windows, nothing at all except a brand new bed in the corner. Rose kicks the door shut with her heel, nails digging into his waist. "We need to make this place less dreary..." She mutters.

He grunts in reply, against his will being forced to let her help him over to the bed. It's sloppy, how she puts him down, but it is the best she can do. His cane clatters against the stone flooring, and he leans his back, and head, against the wall in which the bed is placed against.

She tries pulling away, standing up to her full height, but he catches both of her wrist. His head moves on the wall, in weak movements, until their eyes are clashing.

"Don't come in." He mutters, "I know you usually do since the potion keeps my subconscious, and it's safe, But I don't want you here."

The words are a blade in her chest. "Why don't you want me here?"

"I don't want you here out of sympathy."

She resists the urge to smack him, but he can barely breathe or talk—that stops her. Her wrists yank themselves free, and she grabs ahold of his face.

"Who's going to keep you from hurting yourself?!" She doesn't mean to sound so angry, but she does.

His eyes fall shut. "I can handle a few more scars."

She wants to wrap him up in her arms, tell him how much she loves him, hold him until all of his bones are done breaking and he's fully transformed. After, she would sit with him, let him curl up and she would lay against the huge creature until it all passed.

That is not possible though.

She stands up straight, muttering, "I'll be outside the door until I can come in." And then she is gone, walking right out of the room. She pulls the steel door shut just as she hears a snap inside the room, using her shaky hands to snap lock after lock into place as an extra measure.

Her forehead falls against the cool seel after, hand pressing in as screams of agony fill her ears over and over again like a chant of agony.

It is in these moments she prays to false gods, begs for them to have mercy on Whitman that the world did not give him.

But eventually the sounds die out, and she does not dare to move away until they do, a routine she always kept. Forcing herself to hear every ounce of his pain, as if she could somehow share a sliver of his hurt, make him not stand alone.

The tears in her eyes feel suffocating though, so for once, she walks away, down the corridor, promising to simply get herself a moment of fresh air and then come back.

She trudges up the steps, rising above the opened doors, and stops when her feet hit grass, making sure to stay inches from that top step, refusing to go any further from him. She inhales the warm air and salty air, trying to refill her lungs with nonexistent oxygen.

The loudest bang she had ever heard goes off, making her stumble forward in shock, clutching at her chest. It sounded like a bomb, and filled her gut with unwelcomed dread.

Kreacher comes running outside, leaving the house door wide open as he stands there in the doorway and shouts, "Rose?!"

The hair on the back of her neck stands as she carefully looks toward the elf. "Kreacher," she calls, "Go back inside the house."

The elf stammers, caution in his gaze as he disobeys her commands and takes a step away from the door.

"Go back inside!" She shouts, making Kreacher flinch. "I mean it, Kreacher! Go! That's an order!"

Kreacher shifts on his feet, rushing back into the house. For a moment Rose feels relief, but then she remembers the goosebumps across her skin.

Looking up at the sky, she mumbles, "Please, Hecate, anyone, don't let me die." Before flinching at the low growl echoing within the corridor below.

She feels labored breathing behind her, and the moment she begins turning around, her back is colluding with the grass from a rough shove. The wind knocks from her lungs, head instantly throbbing from the impact.

At that moment, Rose knows Whitman had missed a potion this week, in the midst of everything happening, meaning he had no consciousness, and was about to rip her face off.

A large shadow casts across her body, and there is the sound of rustling grass as heavy footsteps trail over her. She looks for the moon, but instead finds the largest wolf she had ever seen appearing even bigger from this angle. His blue eyes that she had looked into many times while he had been in this state were no longer soft, or pained, or holding depth, simply hollow as ever.

Her entire body shakes, because for once she is genuinely terrified in a way she never has been. Whitman could not remember her. He would kill her, and not even remember the next day. He would live with this forever, and no magic she had could stop him unless she was willing to take away his life.

Which she isn't.

No matter what he has done.

The wolf above her lets out a low growl and in return she squeezes her eyes closed, hands balling into fists by her side. She tells herself to take a deep breath, tells herself to not fight fate.

But then the wolf snaps its jaws and on instinct her fingers grasp onto two handfuls of fur, eyes flying open as a scream dies inside of her throat.

"Please!" She gasps, hand trembling as she holds on tighter and tighter.

The wolf cocks its head down at her, as if confused on why she is so scared. He brings his nose to her cheek, and her head snaps to the side in fear, eyes squeezing shut once more, freezing completely when his nose drags down to her collarbone.

She awaits Death, ready for him to take her in his arms like an old friend.

Somewhere though, in the middle of France, Theodore Nott is clutching at his forehead. Arguing with Regulus and the others that he sees something awful, and despite how much they tell him he is wrong—he takes hold of his port key.

Rose hears a loud crack, and the wolf stalks off her body almost immediately. She is not sure she has ever moved as fast as she did right then, stumbling up to her feet and whirling around, finding Theo in Deatheater robes ten-feet behind her. She doesn't think logically and tell him to apparate away like she should, not after believing she was about to die.

No, Rose takes off in a run straight to the boy with an outstretched hand.

Just as their fingers brush together, a massive body knocks their hands apart, sending Rose stumbling back a few steps. The wolf comes between them, pushing against Rose's body over and over again, forcing her further and further away.

She wants to scream for Theo to leave, but her throat closes up all too quickly. The wolf pushing her away fades, and there is only them. Staring at each other with an understanding. She is begging him to leave, and his tense gaze is promising to go down with her—together. They came into this world only hours apart, and he would be damned before not leaving this world in the same fashion.

But when there are a few feet between them, the wolf stops, coming around to stand in front of Rose, almost protectively.

Time stops.

Theo pulls out his wand from beneath the robes.

The wolf's eyes connect to the wand, and then—it rears up to pounce.

Rose doesn't think, she doesn't even hesitate before throwing her body infront of Theo.

The claws begin slashing into her face, and she screams at the top of her lungs. It all happens too fast. Theo screams. Kreacher, who they did not know had been witnessing it all from beneath the terrace, screams. And when her body falls to the ground and the claws drag over her torso, Theo raises his wand without another beat passing, yelling the only type of curse that will work against a werewolf.

"Crucio!"

The wolf goes tumbling off her body, letting out an ear curdling scream of his own. The wand clatters to the ground as Theo falls to his knees, unknowingly keeping the curse going, power he didn't have being brought on by emotion. There is Kreacher, using elf magic to float the convulsing and screaming body, throwing the wolf into the storm cellar, and then slamming the enchanted doors into place.

By the time the elf looks back, he finds Theo clutching Rose's bloody body to his chest, screaming the elf's name over and over like a broken chant for god.

"Do not try healing her!" Kreacher yells, "Kreacher will fix this! Kreacher will be right back!"

*

The Dark Lord is standing in a triangle of sorts, with Augustus Rookwood and Mulciber, by the staircase on the left. Mulciber was speaking when they all stopped at the sound of an elf screaming in the foyer. In mere moments, Kreacher, of all people, comes running into the grand room.

Augustus lifts his wand, ready to throw a binding curse at the elf, but is stopped by Tom's hand pushing the wand down and stepping forward.

Kreacher throws himself at the Dark Lord's feet, all but wailing out incoherent words. Tom does not react at first, sliding his hands into the slack pockets and tilting his head down in confusion.

But Kreacher keeps going, and Tom is sure his brain will explode if he has to hear the raspy sounds for another second.

"Kreacher." He snaps, his sharp words cutting through the air and making the elf freeze. Kreacher drags his teary eyes up, body shaking as he stares into the wizard's eyes. "Up on your feet." He demands, moving back a step to create distance between them. Kreacher wobbles up to his full height. "Now," Tom begins, "What has happened?"

"Werewolves..." The elf mutters, head shaking, "Oh and Rose—she just...Oh, oh you must help her!"

Tom blinks once, not twice, and the pieces click in his brain. "Take me to her body." He demands, holding out his hand. Kreacher steps away on instinct, head shaking once again at the thought of touching the wizard. "Now, Kreacher!"

The elf, along with the two men behind Tom, all flinch.

Kreacher moves in a rush, slipping his hand into the wizard's, pulling them into an instant apparition so fast and powerful that it feels sickening.

They land right by her body, on the grass, and become blanketed in darkness of the night. Kreacher slips away as quickly as possible, and Tom, for once, freezes, as he looks down.

He watches the Nott heir lift his head up, tears streaming down his face, blood all over him and his hands, clutching onto the girl as if she will crumble into dust at any minute. Theo pulls her closer, out of reaction to the Dark Lord being near. But Tom witnesses realization down on Theo, the boy's voice cracking as he opens his mouth.

"I—I can't heal these wounds," He says, "I—I can't! She's breathing though, I swear she's breathing!"

Tom pushes past the lump buried inside his throat and forces himself to really look at her. He cannot find the skin on her face, covered in too much blood and open wounds. His eyes sweep down her torn collarbones, and lastly—onto the gaping gashes across her torso. There is so much blood that he does not know where to start.

He takes a singular breath before kneeling across from Theo, and the boy starts manically speaking through tears, "She's breathing, she's breathing, she's breathing," continues to roll off Theo's tongue until Tom lays a rough hand on his shoulder.

There is no warmth in his voice, but it is the best he can do, "Theodore, you have to calm down if you want me to help her. Right now."

Theo tenses up when he feels magic flowing into his body. At first, his chest tingles, and then his heart rate slows down, and suddenly, he can breathe properly.

Tom gives him a small nod, asking without words if it worked.

Theo sucks in a rush of air, eyes slightly wide as he gives the tiniest incline of his head to say 'yes.' before his attention is on Rose again. The tears blossom back at once, and he uses a now steady hand to push the matted hair out of her face.

"These wounds are too big for her to be moved." Tom says, "I need you to hold her still, and once the wounds are closed, we can take her inside and finish."

Without letting his eyes leave her tattered face, Theo mutters, "Please." His fear had become too real as he watched her bleed out in his arms.

Tom takes ahold of her hand, and his own free one finds the top of her head. His jaw locks as he takes his eyes over her face one last time. "Theodore," He calls, his eyes lifting, "Her body might convulse because it is very, very dark magic, look away if you must, but do not let go of her."

"I won't."

"It is going to be hard for you to watch." He says, and then he is closing his eyes, fingers flexing as they weave through her own with loose Latin coming out in the form of a whisper.

Her chest convulses up almost instantly and Theo flinches at the sight, hating the images that pop in his mind. The ones of her spent in hospital beds and hooked up to machines.

That does not stop Tom from beginning to push every ounce of healing into her body.

It took minutes before he was able to reopen his eyes and find the skin pulled back together.

Although, it is hard to tell under the mass amount of blood. Tom begins standing up, averting his eyes away when Theo brings her fully into his own chest, pressing his lips to her bloodied forehead without a care.

"Theodore, you need to go wash the blood off of her so I can make sure all of the wounds closed before fully healing them." He says, "And get her into some clean clothes while you're at it."

Theo rises up on his feet, holding onto the girl in the gentlest way Tom had ever witnessed, cradling onto her head as if she might break. Nott does not say thank you. But he does not appeared scared either. He blinks away the tears, and gives the slightest nod of his head before walking toward the back door of the home.

Tom waits until they disappear into the house to cast his eyes over the cliff, where the ocean lay still. It takes one look at the sky for him to realize he is in the muggle world. The stars were never as bright here.

He mutters to himself, "Where in the world did she move to?"

"South of France, my-my lord."

His eyes snap down into Kreacher, making the elf flinch back a step.

The elf bows its head, voice shaking, "Kreacher, Kreacher will show where to wash the blood off."

Inside the kitchen, when Kreacher had left the dark wizard to his own devices, he watched the crimson substance flow down into the silver drain, contaminating the once clear water.

He switched the faucet off, and grabbed an oddly pink rag to dry his skin. Afterwards, he braces his hands on the sink, letting his eyes roam the kitchen. The recently washed dishes on a wooden rack to his left. The plants hanging from the ceiling, placed in painted pots on the floor. Tiny lights strung across the windows, twinkling.

On the fridge, pictures he takes a moment to look at. A pile of bodies on a sun lounger, Rose's dark head peaked out in between them all. A massively dark dog beside the tiniest black cat. A boy, one he had deciphered to be Whitman Rosier, forcing a cigarette into Rose's mouth, her eyes wide as if she is screaming for help while he wears a smile so big that his eyes are closed. There is Draco Malfoy with Nyx around his neck, Rose's lips pressed against his cheek. The Whitman boy again, in school uniform, with Theodore Nott's arm around his neck, Rosier's middle finger aimed at whoever decided to put a camera in front of him.

The pictures don't stop, and Tom doesn't stop taking his eyes over them either. Another boy, he had figured to be Blaise Zabini, leaning on Draco Malfoy with matching grins and red eyes. Blaise Zabini again, except he is on a boat, and Theodore Nott is beside him in a wackily made captain's hat. And then there is Theodore Nott, now in bed, with Rose across his chest, her with the brightest smile, and him; with the sleepiest smile and flushed cheeks. Theodore and Rose, kissing so vulgarly that Tom grimaces. Again, Rose and Theo, smiling at each other from across a table like lovesick fools.

He decides to skip over the pictures of them.

But then, Tom finds multiple of a blonde girl he cannot recognize; her holding hands with Blaise Zabini, her showing off weird earrings, her standing next to Draco Malfoy with uncanny resemblance. He doesn't know it then, that the girl there is Luna Lovegood, the one Rose had made him vow to keep safe.

He is not even halfway through when his eyes land on a picture of Rose and Draco, seeming to make snow angels, with a boy flying overtop of them, appearing to be close to crashing onto both of their unknowing bodies.

A ring clad finger lands on that exact picture, drawing his eyes to the face of Theodore Nott who sighs heavily.

"Gave Ro a bruised rib and Draco a sprained wrist that day..." Nott shakes his head before looking at the Dark Lord casually. "Not my brightest idea to go jump on-top of them two. Whit just about pummeled me down the hill—actually, I'm pretty sure he did."

Tom shows no sign of registering the words on his face, but instead asks, "Did you get the blood off?"

Theo clears his throat, realizing who he is speaking to. "Yes, yes," He says, "Her breathing is starting to stabilize and I think—"

"She will be fine." Tom cuts in, seeing every bit of worry that had begun to consume the boy's face.

Theo's throat visibly bobs, and he looks away, arms crossing together as he leans on the fridge. "Can't seem to keep this world from trying to kill her every five seconds..." He says, spitefully, "Her room is upstairs, first door on the left—propped it open for you."

Tom is gone within a matter of seconds. Through the living room, down the corridor, and up the winding staircase. He believes most would be baffled at the idea of her living here, but he is not. Regardless of how she presents herself to the world, he believes this place describes her core the best. He wonders if she knows how easily it is to see through her, a girl desperately trying to escape the life that put her in a glass cage.

She is more like her father than she will ever accept.

And she will learn, just like her father, that there never really is an escape.

These thoughts fade away when he steps into her warmly lit bedroom, getting hit with an unbelievably strong breeze from all of the opened windows. He shrugs off his coat, tosses it over the chair by her desk, and then finds her on the bed, tucked under the covers, clean and motionless on her back.

Her hand is still outstretched, fingers slightly curled from where Theo had been holding it.

He begins rolling up his sleeves as he moves forward and finds the room smells exactly like her; peppermint she swore calmed her nerves, broken vanilla, and that expensive French perfume he had smelt the first time they met. There is a whiff of cigarettes from the filled ashtray by her bedside, the salty ocean, and the flower field out her windows.

She has made this place home, that much he knows, and realizes how depressive she must've felt in his manor; a place as dark as Grimmauld.

The mattress dips as he sits next to her body, his fingers instinctively moving to push a lock of hair behind her ear. There is still a brutal amount of scars across her chest, across her face, and presumably underneath the white nightgown Theo had put on her. He will heal them though, he will make them all go away.

But while he does so, he will push into her mind, giving her a semblance of company and explanation.

His cold hand slides onto her cheek fluidly, and the other weaves their fingers together, eyes falling shut. He is met with one too many blockages, which he had expected, and decided to push through anyways.

How bad could it be in there, really?

In a flash, he is raking through her worst memories. Images of Walburga Black with a wand raised, of Rose screaming, ones of Orion Black with a raised hand. They keep getting worse the further he goes in, and more disturbing each time the scene changes. Tom wants to stop, becoming angered every time he has to see her crumpled up body and hear repeating screams of agony, and he almost gets lost in these blockages she has surely placed for no one to ever get past, but he remembers he is there to break through so he they can speak together.

And eventually, he does get through.

Rose looks around at her surroundings, finding herself in her favorite garden at Malfoy Manor. Confusion washes over her like a tidal wave. She had been almost a thousand percent sure that she died. Her eyes widen as she gazes around the all white rose garden, and then finds her arms untouched.

Her eyes snap up to the sunny sky. "Am I dead?" She pauses, yelling up, "Dammit! If the muggles were right, I swear!"

A gravelly voice spoke from a few feet behind, "If they were right Rosalie, I believe you would be in the fiery pits of what they call 'hell'."

Tearing her eyes off the blinding sky, she whips around, half-gasping at Tom. "What the..." She stutters, looking back down at her arms, "How am I alive?! Werewolf wounds cannot be healed and trust me—I felt it—my body should be mangled!"

"You think so low of me that you believe I would let you die?"

A hint of a smile came over her lips. "You need me alive for the war, yeah?"

"Precisely." He replies, "Do not let it inflate that head of yours. I'll be sure to throw you to the Grindylows once you've helped me win."

Her smile came to fruition. "Care to tell me how I got here now? I am a bit...confused?"

"As I have said before Rosalie, magic can be bent to your will. I simply pushed into your mind and brought you to the place you are most fond of. And before you think it, because I see your smile falling, Theodore is perfectly fine. He was not physically harmed, thanks to your idiotic behavior, but I can assure he will suffer with nightmares from your actions until the end of time."

She hums in response, and begins to close the distance between them, but stops short right in front of him. Looking up at his pale face, tightened jaw, and notices his tense hands slid into his pockets.

"You look paler than usual..."

"I have always been pale."

"But why do you look as if you have just seen a ghost?" She asks, before smirking. "Seeing my bloody body mess with you that much?"

"No." He snaps, taking a deep breath when she freezes. "No," He now speaks calmly, drowning away the images he had just gotten a glimpse of. "I had been worried for you, that is all."

How is he supposed to tell her his entire image of her had just been flipped upside down? He had figured her life to have complications, but never any close to what he witnessed in her mind.

Surprisingly though, she tips her head back with a chest shaking laugh. "Oh goodness, I almost believe you." She says, still chuckling as she steps beside him, looping their arms together almost forcefully. "Walk with me, my lord? We have time to kill."

She pulls him forward, and he looks down at their arms in slight disturbance, saying, "I despise this way of walking. You know that, Rosalie."

She sends up a smirk his way. "No complaining when I was on the verge of death not too long ago,"

Tom should yank his arm away, but he does not do such. Instead focusing on the garden around them, rose-bushes so tall they stood above him, and so thick that he did not know where the exit could be. "Out of all the places you've been to in this world," He pauses, "This is your favorite. Why is that?"

She ran her hand over the bushes as they passed, smiling when she was able to pluck a petal, amused by how real this all felt. "So many memories here is all, real good ones." She says, "Details I know you dont care to hear about. Cissa, Narcissa, sorry, she had this made for me when Walburga took me in at the age of one. Walburga named Narcissa my godmother then, and when Narcissa held me for the first time, she said to have fallen in love...decided to have me build a garden built. Don't ask why, us women are an odd species, much better than you men."

Rose stops herself for a second, planning to shut up, but Tom gestures her on.

"Well," She guides him left, into another part of what he did not know was a maze. "I remember how it felt then, I used to get lost at every turn as a kid. Guess it just reminds my brain of a simpler time. That's all, and," She gasps, pointing ahead to what appears to be an opening that seems to expand, still surrounded by bushes, but the path is larger, full of stone benches with rose-bushes in the center.

He allows her to drag him over, and when she sits with her back to the plethora of roses, he sits on the bench across, placing her knees between his own.

He leans forward, his hands splaying over her knees, and once again, she is amazed by how real it feels to be touched—the magic far beyond her own understanding of bounds. "There are many things I wish to know about you, Rosalie." He says, brushing over the jagged scar, two inches long, across her left knee. "I find myself thinking about that often."

"Really now?"

"But what I wish to know most..." He trails off, flicking his eyes up to her own. She sucks in a rush of air, because his face has fallen, and there is nothing but hatred in his eyes, leaving her to be reminded of how he looked when he had almost killed her, or when he was addressing the Deatheaters at the meeting she attended. "Why?" He asks, "Why would you throw yourself in front of that Nott boy?"

Her answer comes quickly, "I wanted to save him. I love him, that is something you cannot comprehend."

"You cannot save everyone in every situation." He says, choosing to ignore the second half of her sentence. "You must learn this, and learn how to stop being so irritatingly self-sacrificing. It is not a good quality to have, and I'm sure even Theodore would agree."

Her head swivels around, looking for someone nonexistent before focusing on him. "Are you talking to me? I can save anyone I want."

His jaw ticks. "Rosalie," he scolds.

She sighs. "I have something I need to talk to you about," she says, "Please." He sits up a little bit straighter, no sign of anger fading, but he does not protest. She sucks in a rush of air after, blurting out, "I want to bring Orion and Walburga back. At the very least Orion. Do you think I could do it?"

His hands across her knees still, along with his entire body.

"What?" She asks, brows pinching together.

"Why would you want them back?" He spat, not meaning to.

Her eyebrows raised instead, "Is there a reason I should not?"

"No." He recovers, not wanting her to know what he has learned. "Are you sure you want that though? You seem to have escaped Grimmauld and left them all behind."

"I want my family back."

He stares at her so intensely that she sighs for relief.

"Fine," She says, "Listen, I do not know what you have heard but Walburga loved me. She was not a good woman, but she knew nothing other than what she had been raised with, and I know, in my heart, that she loved me. And Orion," Her head shakes. "When he was drunk, he had accidental moments of stupid little things, but he never did anything wrong to me. He stayed silent, that is where he went wrong and why Whitman killed him. But Tom, I adored my grandfather. I want him back, at the very least, I want him back."

"I do not know anything." Tom says, his fingers smoothing over her skin, "But from what you are saying, I do not believe them deserving of another chance at life if they have treated you wrongly."

"I will decide on my own if they do and you know nothing, I was taken care of well." She snaps, "You're acting as if I am going to live with them. I'm not. But then again, you are not a Black. You don't get it. You, nor anyone, will ever quite understand how much I want them by my side with this upcoming war."

"You know what you Black's are truly infamous for?" He says, and gets an eyebrow raise in return. "Treating everyone around you, even the highest of families, as outsiders. Even the ones who I have seen married in, they are treated just like that—an outsider. Because the core belief you all hold is that you must be born a Black. You agree with these beliefs?"

"Yes, I do." She says, no hesitation. "Walburga and Orion raised me, you'd do well to remember that when you try to decipher who I am."

"It is now I'm reminded of the insane whispers, the ones comparing you all to gods." Tom rolls his eyes. "It is curious though, isn't it? How one family, consumed by madness, could manage to be held above the rest? Evoking fear without doing anything? There is a saying, old as time, about gods flipping coins. How does that feel? To be held so highly for simply having a certain name? You may hate it, but you are nothing if not a spitting image of a Black down to your core. You want them back? You want to be forced to be the Black heir? Because I can promise, you have not been acting like one. And they will, undoubtedly, make you."

She does not waver, remaining unfazed. "Is this speech supposed to change my mind? Because it isn't."

Tom cannot force her hand without revealing what he knows. So he will handle this the only way he knows how. "If you do decide to bring them back, I want them brought to my manor right after—without you present."

"Uh...why?"

"That is none of your business."

"Okay, whatever." She shrugs casually, and starts to smile once more. Her hands sliding overtop of his own, voice lowering to an excited whisper, "I did miss you, Tom."

He cocked an eyebrow. "It has been very few days, Rosalie."

She nods along, well aware. "Does that mean I am not allowed to miss you?"

His lips lifted cruelly, his thumb coming up to press against her chin. "Of course not, I admit I have thought of your presence once or twice."

She catches his wrist, eyes rolling. "You forget I know you better than that."

His face falls stern at the accusation. "Whatever you wish to believe are your own delusions, Rosalie."

Rose hums and brings his hand down, slowly lacing their fingers together, comfortable herself with the sudden silence.

He, of course, breaks it.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Simply touching you."

"Do you do this with everyone you meet?" he wonders, "Or am I just a victim of your odd habits?"

She snorts before covering her mouth to hold back a laugh, still clutching onto his hand, and Tom raises his eyebrows, his eyes rolling after, as his own smile comes out with a breathy laugh.

"Rosalie, Rosalie," His head shakes. "How very unladylike..."

"I know!" She says, falling into a loud laugh, bowing her head down.

He watches, in his own version of amusement, before furrowing his brows. "You should really stop lotioning your hands so much."

Her head snaps up, speaking through a smile, "Excuse me?"

"Really," He says, blinking at their conjoined hands, "I am afraid your skin will fall off if it becomes any softer."

More laughter bubbles in her shaking chest as she replies, "Oh how your compliments are so very meaningful, my lord..."

"I do rather well with flattery, do I not?" he asks, a smirk on his lips.

"A master," She chokes on her own laughter, "A master at it, is what you are, Tom."

His amusement grows, and he laughs again, grabbing onto her left arm to keep her steady as she continues on finding humor in every detail.

Eventually though, she stops, very suddenly, and looks at him with flushed cheeks from laughing so much.

Her breathing stutters.

He leans a little ways closer, stroking her skin in a calming manner.

"What is it, Rosalie?" He asks, voice quiet.

"You came."

"I would've come sooner, if you had only called." He tells her, another sacred vow. "I am surprised though, to find the home you have chosen."

"Not suspecting me to be in France, huh?" She says, smiling in a way that does not show her teeth.

"No." He says, "I have known you moved to France since I gave you that ring. I always know where you are."

Her eyes grow wide. "That's, uh...that's not scary at all." She breathes out, "Merlin, Tom. A little obsessive, wouldn't you say?"

"I do not see the problem." He deadpans, "But I do wish to ward the home for you, Kreacher was able to apparate us right inside the wards you set."

"But all elves have powerful magic, it's not surprising. They apparate in and out of Hogwarts all the time."

"They should not be able to get through yours, you are too strong for that. Kreacher, luckily so, was only able to get through mine because of you giving him a portkey when staying at my manor." He stops, "Either way, I will feel better if I am the one to do it. The ward will be much stronger, and I will be the one alerted if someone breaks through them. I figure, with the war coming, it is better that you are far away when resting as you are now."

"Are you going to play guard for me if someone does break through?"

He rolls his eyes, and stands up, forcing her to crane her neck. "You will be asleep for a day or two, but the scars will be gone."

"Oh, um," She shoots up to her feet, almost tumbling into him. He steadies her with a strong grip, amusement appearing on his face once more. "I just," She says, "Thank you, all the teasing aside, thank you for coming."

"I am not letting you die, Rosalie." He says, lifting her chin. "I am not allowing it to happen."

This time, her smile is stricken with sadness. "Because of the war, yeah?"

"Do not ask silly questions, especially when you know the real answer."

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A/N: missed you loves!!! this chapter is super unedited because I hated the way I wrote it and refuse to read over it, and has way too much chaos, and TOO long but....anyways

—im tired so not rlly any authors note tonight but omg!! whit angst!!

—i feel like this chapter is going to brew a lot of conspiracy theories...

—Theo and rosie's conversation had me wheezing like boy...😭😭

—theo crucio'ing whit was </3

xx bri <3