third person pov

' super rich kids
with nothing but loose ends '

The Black Manor, one of many, in the deep parts of Wizarding England, stood taller than any gothic castle. The tops of the fortress pointed, towers built off on the sides that looked as if they could reach the skies, and forited walls surrounding the property. Three centuries, this home had been in their family.

The blacked-out town car pulled up to the wrought-iron gate with welded pickets across the top, statues of dragons on either side peering down. In a mere moment, the locks unlatched and the gate opened for the driver to pull through. Down the straight driveway they went, around the fountain, before halting.

Rose pushed open the door first, stepping out into the chilly night. Then, she reached into the back seat, pulling gently at the black dog to follow. He did, with what seemed to be discomfort.

She had found him following her down the Malfoy's driveway, and thought of what reason she could possibly have to not take this dog home and give him a good life. Walburga would not hurt this dog, she was sure of it.

After twenty marble stairs, with the dog right on her heels, they were greeted with Kreacher at the arched doors. The house-elf made a noise between a growl and a groan before quickly disappearing into the home. When Walbruga stepped out, she was clothed in a silky black gown, much like the one beneath Rose's coat, except the grandmother was covered in her statement lace. It is a testament to Walburga's power that she manages to still look no older than she did in the seventies.

"Are you bringing that filthy thing to my home?"

The woman's voice was as piercing as ever.

"Just for the night."

Walburga muttered beneath her breath before walking after Kreacher.

Rose waited, and waited, until the dog nudged at her palm and made her flinch. The animal looked up at her with worried eyes, something no dog should be doing, but she paid it no mind.

A low growl seemed to shake the ground they stood on, making Rose soothe the dog's head comfortingly.

"Let us get you inside," Rose says, "before Hera has you for dinner."

Above the arched doors, Latin laid embedded into the stone in bold lettering.

'ODERINT DUM METUANT'

Let them hate, so long as they fear.

The inside of the home was no less daunting. Painted frames showcased their families journey from France, the smaller wars of the wizarding realm they have fought in over the centuries, and so forth. Elevated ceilings held crystal chandeliers for a mere corridor, and the sharp left turn into their dining hall reveals the dragon skull Regulus used to climb inside of with Sirius chasing after him.

Rose had seen pictures, buried beneath her father's untouched bedroom.

Although the light may be low, the wall scones filling up a seating area with a fireplace-taller than Hagrid-illuminated the space she found after walking through the dining hall. There Walburga was adjusting herself into an armchair, and Theo and Whitman sat impatiently on a plush red-velvet couch.

"Your Queen is here, and she brought company!" Rose chirped in the form of a shout, walking in front of the fire and into each of their views.

Both boys startled at the volume of her voice, as her grandmother just sighed heavily.

Theo shot her a lazy smirk while Whitman simply gave an exhausted grin, one Rose returned before her eyes trailed over to Walburga letting down her long black curls-out of the usual high-fashion bun.

She was painfully beautiful, the type of beauty that made your chest ache.

Otherworldly almost, something so dark and sharp she could've been a metaphor for a sword made into a human.

Each of them seemed to notice the large black dog by her feet at once, Walburga speaking with distaste at the animal glaring in her direction.

"And why have you brought that thing here?"

"That thing?" Rose's lips lifted as she bent down in front of the dog's face. "It's a puppy, grandmother. Isn't he precious? I must hurry to think of a name for him."

"He's horrid looking, Rosalie." Walburga's face scrunched at the smell it was radiating, sitting up straight with urgency as Rose squished the dog's cheeks together. "Stop touching that filthy thing!"

Rose turned on her heels with a grin, running her hand down the spine of the fluffy animal. "Oh come on! Go say hi, boy! Give her some kisses!"

"No!" Walburga scolded, pointing an accusatory finger down at the animal that made Theo and Whitman laugh under their breath. "Stay away!"

"Go on," Rose urged, "Show my grandmother how sweet you are."

"I will kill it, Rosalie!"

'It' growled, and Rose threw her head back with laughter as she tugged the dog back towards herself. "He must not like you."

"Then he must have awful taste!" Walburga said firmly, a faint smirk coming onto her face as Rose smiles up at her. "Now, get it out of my sight."

Rose immediately frowned, feeling the comfort only an animal can give as she hugged her arms around the dog's neck. "Please, let me keep him!"

Walburga clearly had an idea as she relaxed back in her chair. Rose could see it written all over her face. She always could. "That dog will eat Kreacher...Do you wish for that, dear? Your little elf will be gone."

Rose gasped dramatically, enticing an eye roll from Whitman. "Oh no..." She pulled away from the dog, patting his head. "You find me at Hogwarts then, hm? Dumbledore won't be able to say no to this little face."

All three occupants assumed as anyone would that the dog could not comprehend her, but they wouldn't dare break her delusional beliefs about animals.

Except the dog did understand, and he would find her.

The dog nudged Rose's chin before licking her cheek, making Walburga grimace. Then, he trotted away, snapping his jaws fiercely at Walburga before continuing his trot towards the exit of their space.

Rose blinked rapidly as the sound of his heavy footsteps in the hall began disappearing. "Does he....know his way around?"

"Hm...maybe it has a few more brain cells than the average beast," Walburga stated, kicking up her heeled feet onto the ottoman. "Took you a while to get home after your discomforting disappearance. Thankfully, Theodore handled your speech."

Those words brought Rose back to reality, Theo and Whitman stiffening with the unknown of how Walburga would react.

"Couldn't do it. I miss him too much already." Rose pushed herself up off her knees while nearing Walburga, "Are you alright?"

Walburga waved her off aggravatedly. "Yes, yes, I am perfectly fine...I'm sure Orion will be haunting me from the grave as promised."

An odd love was what they shared, and an awfully complicated one.

"But, the question begs, where could you have possibly gone?"

She felt her blood run cold.

Her mouth opened, ready to lie and spill whatever she needed, but all her mind could conjure was Draco's face. His hands on her body like she had not been a scorn on his name. His eyes darting away from her own in what seemed like regret instead of hatred. His word's no longer cruel and callous, but soft and gentle, like she might just be something worth protecting.

Or someone worth forgiving, someone worth changing for.

"Ro," Whitman muttered, attempting to drag her into the present.

She blinked, then took a deep breath.

"I decided to roam around mindlessly, until I felt going to Malfoy Manor and hiding in one of their random gardens seemed a better fit."

It was a lie, almost every word of it.

She never roamed. Her feet had betrayed her and took her straight to Malfoy Manor. She did not hide in a random garden. She hid in her own garden-what had once turned into their secret garden.

"It is a good thing you were able to find solace," Walburga said, and there was so much spite behind the words, "Some of us were stuck through the whole dreadful performance."

Rose frowned again, touching her grandmother's shoulder softly. "I'll miss him greatly with you, as I said."

"Don't frown dear, you'll give yourself lines." Walburga placed her own hand over top of Rose's with zero emotion slipping past her mask, "Now, go on and do what I know you've been dying to do."

Rose smiled widely while turning to find Theo and Whitman both grinning, and waiting, for the inevitable as Walburga lifted a hand up and made a book fly off the shelf into her palms.

The young Black suddenly rushed to the couch, flinging her body in between them before pulling both into the most bone-crushing hug, resulting in their heads clinking together with groans of pain.

She pulled away at the sound, holding a hand behind each of their heads while she studied them carefully like a worried mother would.

"Why are you groaning like a pair of babies?" Rose wondered aloud, frowning at them.

Whitman gave her a dumbfounded look as Theo only smiled at her as if she could do no wrong.

Meanwhile, Walburga made a noise of amusement as she opened up her book.

Whitman groaned. "You banged our heads together like a couple of pinballs and you're calling us babies?"

"Felt like a boulder crash," Theo murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist to bring her closer.

"It'll give you both some extra brain cells," Rose retorted with a shrug.

Whitman laughs slightly, because of how ludicrous it sounded, as he reached down and pulled Rose's legs onto his lap, forcing her to lean over Theo's lap with her head on the arm rest.

After a few moments of settling in and sighing happily, her eyes began to shut as Whitman took off her heels.

"I could die happy with you two right now and I wouldn't regret a single thing."

Both boys shared a look, knowing she was meant to be joking.

But each knew better.

They meant more to one another than anything.
With twisted fates and families, all they had was each other.

Now, she didn't even have a singular father figure.

But she did have them.

Whitman Rosier, who had moved in with her when she was only thirteen because his family was full of stiff humans; each one responsible for his transformation, but once realizing how hard the condition would be began treating him as a creature instead of a child.

As some burden rather than a gem.

Walburga knew what happened and took him in regardless, because she wanted to give him a chance at keeping his pureblood life. In these trying times, those with sacred blood were rare. Rose still isn't sure of her true motivations for doing such a thing, and Walburga Black was a complex enough woman that no one would ever know.

The Rosier's never seemed to put up a fight about him being taken away, but it did not matter to them. He was disowned now. That title was a scorn on his name forever in their world. It turned him into nothing-no one.

Sometimes she wished to know what Walburga did to make them so calm about him being kept in their society though, but she would never figure it out either-whatever it was had to be done seamlessly, as all things Walburga Black did were.

Given, the Rosier's were no longer in the tight circle the Black's kept, but they were very much still around. Every ball, every event, all over the Daily Prophet. They had never told anyone their reasoning for getting rid of their son's child, but they did happily boast about disowning him. Rose assumed they would never speak the truth, in fear of what disgust would be cast unto them for having a werewolf in their bloodline.

And of course, all the nosy high-society members whispered, asking to know the reason, but they would never know the truth.

Surely it had put a bit of a scandal on the Black family for taking in a disowned child, but their family name had been through much more than a few curious whispers and judgemental stares. Perhaps the controversy of the Black's is how her family thrived despite everything that has happened.

Let them talk, Walburga told her once, it gives you power to be a thought in their minds.

Even more power, Walburga had added, to be a mystery none can solve.

Ever since then, Whitman Rosier had been the boy whose room was a few steps away.

And there was the matter of Theodore Nott, a boy with the most sinister man as his father that Rose had ever met, making Lucius Malfoy look like child's play. His mother, Eleanor Nott, passed away when he was merely twelve. She was one of the only innocent, and good, parts of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. There were many thoughts about Theodore tucked away, hidden, in Rose's mind, but she couldn't bear to let herself think further of them.

Surely Rose would come to realize that the dog was not only uncomfortable in the presence of Walburga Black, but seeing the sons from two of the worst men he knew smiling and grown.

"Please, take your time," Theo began as Rose's eyes stayed closed, as if avoiding the subject. "We aren't expecting to hear why you found a massive dog and brought him here."

"It's...complicated," Rose yawned out, her eyebrows furrowing together as she recalled the night with Draco.

Her facial expression made them smile softly as Whitman ran his fingers down her leg soothingly and Theo lifted her head off the armrest to put his arm under her.

Rose had looked up at the boys and sighed, knowing she had to give in. Only somewhat.
"He was at Malfoy Manor."

Both boys eyed her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. But she only gazed up at the ceiling, refusing to meet their gazes.

"Whit, I think Ro is hiding something from us...don't you?"

"I think she is, Theo, and I'm quite baffled she would hide anything from us..."

"Fine!" snapped Rose, louder than intended, making both boys flinch and garnering an eye roll from Walburga; who had been lost in the pages of a book.

Whitman ceased his movements on her leg and leaned towards Theo to whisper, "Are you as appalled as me?"

Rose smacked at Whitman's chest to push him away from Theo. "First off, Whitman, if you don't resume your movement immediately I will chop off your fingers. Second of all, I was simply hiding from you all in the garden's with Cissa when we found him wandering around."

"Oh." Theo nods, and Whitman follows suit.

Rose allows her head to turn toward the fire as moments pass and Theodore's hand finds his way into her hair. She tries to not think of Draco asking her to stay, of him telling her he wanted to be there.

She tries to wash away her dismissal of him, of his admittance of uncaringness.

Regardless if she stayed and they played pretend for a little while longer, if only an extra minute, it would not change a thing.

This was always their fate, to be as they are now.
She is sure of it.

*

An hour passed of Rose staying sprawled out on both boys comfortably as if they were the couch themselves, almost dozing off from Theo's slow breathing as he read the book Walburga tossed him and Whitman quietly existing with them both.

Walburga exited not long ago, claiming exhaustion and the need for rest.

When Rose's body jerked, she realized sleep was almost taking her over, it startled Whitman-who was half asleep, the bags under his eyes showing through in a hue of gray.

The full moon nearing was starting to truly take its toll on him.

She sighed, looking over at Whitman before glancing at Theo and nudging her head at him.
Theo tiredly peaked up from the book. "I can take him upstairs, I know he's exhausted."

"No, no let me take him," Rose interjected. "I need to make sure the fan is working in there too or he will burn up...Not to mention, he's clingy when the full moon nears."

Theo simply nodded in understanding and returned back to his book. Rose sat up off his lap, pecking his jaw before gently shaking Whitman awake.

Whitman looks up at her with a sleepy grin on his face, making one spread out on her own.

"Let's go upstairs, love. You need your rest, rest in a real bed."

She knew he would resist walking if not forced.
Whitman gave a slight nod and reached his arms out to her as she stood in front of him.

Pulling him off the crouch was a task in itself, but Rose proved successful. After, she flung his left arm around her shoulders while putting a tight arm around his waist.

After a long and tiring journey up the stairs, she slung his door open while slightly tumbling into the darkness before kicking it shut with her foot.

The black dog was sitting in the middle of the room, staring at them.

Rose blinked, as if to clear the sight away.

"What're you doing here, boy?" she called quietly, before tugging Whitman deeper into the space.

Whitman kept his head hung as she smiled slightly at the dog.

As she sat the boy on the bed, she began slipping off his shoes, ignoring the solemness on his face.

Rose drifted away, for a mere second, to rummage through his drawers until finding thin pants and a Metallica shirt that always gave Walburga a fit.

Before she walked back over to the bed, she gave the sitting dog a quick head rub. When she reached Whitman, they locked eyes and a silent question was exchanged.

He nodded, and she began their nightly routine they fell into every time it got close to the full moon.

Rose pulled off his dress slacks with a familiar ease and put them on the floor with his shoes before gently slipping the black pants onto him until they were fully in place.

She stopped her hands at his hips, and lifted one to his hanging head-grasping the side of his face and forcing him to meet her eyes. Pain, more so guilt and embarrassment, clouded his gaze, heavy-lidded and appearing more dull than anything in the dim room.

Her thumb ran across the miniscule scar along his jaw, barely noticeable. Something tugged at her chest, "My beautiful boy," she mumbled. "I-"
His hand wrapped around her wrist, bringing her hand down weakly.

She cleared her throat.

Then, she nodded at him again, with the signal that it was time for the part he never enjoyed, before sliding closer to put her hands under his back and count.

"One, two...three."

He slightly lifted and she pulled him all the way into the bed, sliding some extra pillows under his back to keep him sitting up instead of letting him lean against the rough wooden headboard.

"I can't believe you wanted me to let you fall asleep in that horrid funeral outfit," Rose said groggily, shaking her head as she sat by his side on the bed. She doesn't want to think about his refusal of her gesture, of her words.

Whitman simply stared at her as if she crafted the whole sky with her bare hands.

Regardless of his parental role to their group, it was her who always took care of him. And it was her, who never looked at him differently when he became a werewolf. If anything, he was almost sure she had never shown a singular human so much love.

This often confused him.

He was a monster, well aware of that fact.

After his suit jacket and dress shirt was gone, he waited, as he always did, for her to flinch away from the hundred of scars lining his chest-of course she didn't, she never did.

The scars on his face always eventually faded after a full moon, although the ones on his body lingered-always reopening with every transformation.

Instead her forehead leaned into his own, and she whispered, "We'll be okay, right?"

She sounded like a kid for once, as though a small child begging an elder for words of reassurance.
"We will," he murmured, "We always are."

Whatever the storm may be, they will weather it together.

She nods with their foreheads still together before pulling away and turning on each and every fan set up in his room. It looked ridiculous, but very necessary. He burned like a fire when the moon reared it's ugly head.

Just as she's about to slip away, to kiss his head and disappear, his hand weakly wraps around her wrist.

"Don't leave me." Shame lines his voice, weakness he knows better than to let escape. "Please. Not tonight, not with the moon, and the funeral...and-"

"I won't leave," Rose interrupts, hastily sitting down on the bed. In all truth, she needed this too-someone to beg so fiercely for her to stay. Draco hadn't, and he probably never would. "I'll be here all night."

"Please," he breathes, the singular word so quiet it is barely a whisper.

The black dog hops onto the bed, sitting next to Whitman with his head tilted at the boy-as if concerned.

Rose reaches over, soothing the dog's head. "He's alright," she tells the animal. "Whit is just a little bit tired."

The dog makes a whining noise before laying down next to the boy.

She pulls the blanket over the animal too, tucking him in.

Whitman stared at her quietly.

And Rose reaches for his cheek again, his refusal be damned.

"I love you," she tells him, because it is the truth, because he needs to know it.

"I know," he says, and that is all that comes out of his mouth.

He does not return the words.

He only looks out to the distant curtains across his room.