THE NOBLE & MOST ANCIENT
HOUSE OF BLACK

'hey dorothea
do you ever stop and think about me?
when we were younger
down in the park '

       
    Each time a babe is born into the House of Black, the world says even Merlin himself whispers a prayer. Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin, and as each Black is born, the Gods up above toss one and wizards alike hold their breath to see how it will land.

And that is why as Rosalie found Orion Black, hanging from the ceiling of Grimmauld Place, in their ancestral home, no one batted an eye.

For the eldest member of the House of Black had finally gone mad, and as Rose stared up at the night sky above her, she said a solemn prayer that the madness coursing in her blood would not come knocking on the doors of her mind next.

Protect me, she murmured to anyone who might listen, Keep me pure, keep me clean.

Do not let this world taint me.

Today was the day she buried her beloved grandfather. She was meant to speak, tell the whole of the Wizarding World what a great man he was and how heartbroken she is that he was now gone.

But as the time came for Orion to be put in the ground and for her to stand on that hideous podium made of marble, she felt speechless.

Although her mouth opened, no words dared to fall out.

Her throat tightened as she looked upon the sea of faces and saw every member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight looking back at her, each of their bodies dripped in gold and silver, coated in gems and luxury with matching faces of cold prosperity—expecting a meaningful speech for the grand man who lived so long and raised her so properly.

Rose made eye-contact with the three people who would've made it an easier task—Theodore Nott, Whitman Rosier, and Narcissa Malfoy. Hoping, more so praying, looking at them would somehow make her gain the ability to speak and come up with meaningful things to say about the one who spent almost sixteen years raising her.

Of course, nothing came.

Her eyes became stuck onto one being in particular.

Theodore Nott gave her a small nod and slowly began rising, re-buttoning his suit coat as he stood.

That was her cue.

Therefore, exhaling a shaky breath, she simply tipped her head down and walked off—never turning back. She felt her grandmother attempt to slam into her mental shields and fail miserably, presumably wishing to speak into her mind and demand her to come back; to be brave and fierce.

Perhaps the Gods were crueler than anyone had ever warned her, because in a sick twist of fate those actions are what lead her here...sat within the very center of the white-rose garden Narcissa planted for her; after their first meeting. The woman held no relation to Rose, yet it took one visit after Sirius Black was taken to Azkaban, and Rose was passed to Walburga and Orion, for Narcissa to decide she deserved a garden of her own on Malfoy grounds.

So pure, Narcissa had murmured all those years ago, gently bouncing the one year old on her hip by a window as the others gathered by the fire far away. James and Lily Potter had died the night before, no one had been asleep since. The early morning sun streamed in, trickling across the young girl's ebony head of far and few curls, her eyes brighter than the passing October sky. Miss Zabini would be there soon, and she would surely steal the girl away.

You are too calm for a mere babe, Narcissa murmured again, her fingers splaying across the child's back.

Even then, Rosalie's hands reached for the woman's face with wide eyes, weakly holding Narcissa's cheeks.

A smile brighter than the sun itself spread over Narcissa's lips. You, she whispered then, You shall be a girl of my own.

Narcissa's eyes were red with grief then, her sister was now on the run. Bellatrix Lestrange was the most wanted woman in England. She would be found soon, Narcissa knew this.

But somehow, the little girl on her hip made it all seem okay.

Narcissa Malfoy would forever be a good woman, tending to the garden with as much care as anyone could dream of. She often claimed those who could make flowers and plants grow gracefully held the gentlest hands and the kindest hearts.

It is a testament, Narcissa told her once, their hands latched together as they walked through the garden, that patience with prickly things can make anything beautiful.

The white roses standing taller than any man surrounding Rose were proof of that.

White, untainted, unmarred, beautiful flowers as a sign for purity—unrelenting their glistening colors against the darkness all around.

Narcissa said Rose would one day understand the poetic meaning of it all.

Regardless of the beauty, and the reminder of the purest hearts in the darkest places, Rosalie Black was utterly alone—still bitter at her own inability to explain to the world why the powerful man that raised her as his own child could not get a single kind word on the day he was being put back into the soil of the earth.

The truth is not something people yearn for.

They will proclaim to want it, even say it is wrong to hide such.

She has no faith in such a stupid belief.

If they knew how destroyed the granddaughter of Orion Black is to know she will never look him in the face again, the world would say it is understandable. But not if they knew how terrified she is to be left alone with his wife, Walburga Black.

That is when they would stray away from her, claiming it is preposterous to think anyone could feel that way about their own blood. Family is everything to the world, to the people within it. Abuse is excused because of it, emotions are thrown aside for it, and loyalty goes unearned in the name of it all.

Family, Rose dared to often think, is not the people who share DNA with you. Bonds come in all forms: ranging from acquaintances to soul-binding contracts. Friends are disposable, often the ones twisting a knife in your back, and come and go like the summer wind. But family, real family, is not made of blood—no, true family is something so deeply forged in ties beyond cosmic understanding that there seems to be their names engraved on your bones until the end of time. Family would die for eachother, family would kill for each other, family would never allow harm, family would never turn away—no matter the misshapen monster one might turn into.

She wished, as anyone would, to be able to think of her grandmother with adoration. Though after years of mental and physical abuse, she could never dare. The only good memories they shared were Walburga brushing her hair, and perhaps, teaching her the constellations.

Orion never participated in these acts, most times. 

He was a quiet man, with high-intellect, and an outstanding ability to never flinch at everything happening around him.

The sound of urgent footsteps brought Rose back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder, looking down the darkened exit from her center haven. The archway of roses showed no figure, but neither could she see much past the third row of arches made of twisting vine and flowers.

Perhaps it was Narcissa, coming with a million questions.

She certainly could not answer any.

Perhaps there was a man, one who haunted her in her sleep, coming back to grace her skin with phantom hands and beg her to join him in his eternal rest.

No. No, that man was long gone, and had a name she refused to speak.

And the others, they would all be busy cleaning up her mess.

So no presence could make a difference.

In an act of desperate need for relief, Rose reached into the pocket of her trench coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes—beginning to light one.

But then the footsteps came to a sudden halt, in what sounded as though a few feet behind her.

"Those things will kill you one day."

The cold and pinched voice was uncaring, but it made her eyes roll to the back of her head—before she came to fully understand who was there. Every muscle in her body locked up, chills ghosting over her skin.

He was here.

It was him.

A coat and tie land on the bench next to her before Draco Malfoy, of all people in this damned world, settles himself beside her as if they are not disgusted by one another at the best of times. For a split moment, she allows herself to take him in. The black draped across legs and torso, his pale ring-clad fingers pulling at the unbuttoned collar around his neck, the jarringly white hair remaining undistressed despite the purple bags beneath his eyes.

His focus is up above, and she quickly follows his sight to the starry sky, muttering, "Let us hope they kill you first."

An unamused laugh leaves his lungs as he reaches into his pocket and grabs his own cigarette out of a metal case. "Give me a light," he demands.

She attempted to hand him the silver lighter, carved with a large 'N' for his mother. It was simple memorabilia from the younger years, when Rose forced Draco to steal it from Narcissa for her.

But he waves it away, leaning toward her with the cigarette between his teeth.

She huffs in annoyance, but stills leans into him with her own cigarette in her mouth, taking a long drag and lighting the end of his with her own.

After his is lit, she hastily turns away, careful to not meet his eyes—both of them focusing onto the night above them.

"I thought you'd be pleased to know Theo handled it perfectly for you, claimed you rehearsed your speech and he would be making it in your absence," Draco said.

"I never had a speech."

"You think I didn't know that?" Draco scoffed, as if offended.

Rose laughs, and the sound is humorless, as she stretches her legs out in front of herself and crosses her ankles. "I bet you're having the time of your life seeing how pathetic I truly am."

"No, you are not pathetic. The only pathetic thing about you right now is you ever daring to speak such things," Draco said stiffly. "Sometimes there is nothing to be said. The world always expects you to put your thoughts into words, but that task often feels impossible to those with more than a simple mind."

Rose says nothing.

"Do you hear me? Stop being so damn hard on yourself all the time."

She glances at him with a shaky breath, and their eyes lock—delivering a message few would ever understand, yet he always seemed to comprehend. There is an uneasiness in his gaze, something that screams he can see through every morsel of her soul, and he feels sick at the thought.

Draco nodded and gestured her over mindlessly.

If it had been any other day, any other universe—if Orion had not been permanently removed from her life, she would have never dared to do what she did next.

But Rose did not think twice about closing the distance between them and resting her head on his shoulder. Gods, how desperate had she been for this. It was almost as if she jumped at the opportunity, like a starving soldier finding solace in the only home they had ever known. She curses herself internally, but she does not dare move.

Instead, she looks up at him, muttering, "If you tell anyone about this, I will murder your future bloodline and the next."

He gave her a face she had never seen on him before.

At least not one she remembered.

It was terribly confusing.

She thought she knew every Draco Malfoy expression, and their meanings.

He forced himself to look away and cleared his throat, mumbling back, "I'd have your head for telling someone, you sodding little blood-traitor."

Rose cracks the faintest smile with thankfulness for their banter bringing some normalcy to her day.

Shortly after, she focuses her gaze back on the night sky and grabs both of them another cigarette while keeping her head on his shoulder, handing him one before lighting her own with the silver lighter marked with Narcissa's initials.

This time she hands him the lighter too, instead of daring to repeat their earlier actions.

"My life is going to be a hellscape now that he's gone." Rose didn't know why she chose him to be the one she spoke about the day to. Maybe it was their solitude in the memory filled garden, maybe it was their past, or maybe he just happened to be the only one there.

Or perhaps the night provided her with the comfort of secrecy the daytime could never.

Draco sighed. "Maybe Walburga will be so stricken with grief she'll be incapable of tormenting you."

There's a ghost of a smile on his lips from the sarcasm, and it makes one come across her own mouth too.

"Impossible."

"Potentially possible."

"Who knows if I'll make it to eighteen?" Rose took another puff, the words falling out spitefully. "Walburga's too temperamental to keep it together and she always has been. Don't think losing Orion is going to do anything but make her worse off. As sick and disgusting as their love was, she really did love him. I think he was the only person capable of comprehending her mind. A monster left alone in this world is a truly awful thing, and that's exactly what she is. She has buried almost her entire family."

"You're stronger than her, and you have resilience that hag will never have," he said it so firmly, pausing to take a drag. "She just wants to make you as miserable as herself."

Rose watched him as he flicked his ash off onto the ground, deciding she could no longer handle the forced niceness he radiated. Still though, her voice came out raspy, uneven, "Did Draco Lucius Malfoy just call me strong?"

Draco scoffs while refusing to look down, grasping her chin and refocusing her attention the night above. "Don't get used to it, Rosie."

Her lips twitch momentarily and she leans even more into him, enjoying the warmth it brought her, the familiarity of him engulfing her like a daydream she could never confess to having. Even if he is the one human she genuinely despises, they grew up together—as a unit. They witnessed one anothers families up close, they understood things others could never be capable of grasping.

It didn't help that she had been hopelessly in love with him since she was nothing but a child. She had been reaching for him for as long as she could remember.

She would never admit that though.

Not before any God, or the face of death.

Never.

It wasn't like she wanted to be in love with him. She has tried to escape the feeling, the anguish for many years.

And most days she convinces herself she is not in love with him anymore, screams at her brain for attempting to trick her into thinking she could ever still love who he has become. But then he will finally give her a split second of eye contact, which is beyond rare these days, and she will feel it right then. She can run all she wants, but at the end of the day, all it takes is one momentary glance, and can feel the love for him coursing in her veins like a curse she was born with.

A long silence overtakes them, and she wonders if his shoulder feels exhausted from the weight of her head—because she felt weightless.

When she followed his gaze once more, spotting the Sirius star shining brightly as ever, and scoffs.

Draco looked down, expecting an explanation for her breaking their peaceful quiet.

Rose only carelessly pointed up to the star.

He began laughing breathily, and she pulled away with an expression of betrayal.

"What is so funny to you, sir?"

"It's just the fact we buried your grandfather today, your absentee father is on the loose, your favorite thing this world has to offer you is the stars, and you cannot even begin to peacefully enjoy them because that imbecile who helped create you has his star staring into your big-bug eyes..."

She swats at his chest a few times and he laughs even harder.

Then, Draco pulls her into him, almost roughly, with his arm encircling her shoulders.

Rose gives in, almost too instantly, with the knowledge of the moment they leave here she will not be allowed to wallow as she is now.

She was almost relaxed again when he started shaking his head with another slight laugh. 'What now?' her face says as she glares up at him, still trapped in his embrace.

"You will, just as well, have to always deal with the fact one of your favorite stars is named after the boy you so passionately hate." A cheeky smile plays across his lips, one most people will never get a glimpse of.

It makes her stomach turn.

"I will always despise you for turning my favorite star into the one that belongs to a prat like yourself." Rose shakes her head, before whispering beneath her breath, "Little bastard."

This is good, she tells herself. This takes away every thought of anything else.

The edge to his voice returns, "I heard that, you nutter."

As the night continued, silence wrapped around them once more.

It was comfortable, and it shouldn't have been.

Her head stayed on his shoulder, and his arm that had trapped her there did not move, but wrapped around her so tightly she could see his hand dangling carelessly in front of her chest, as his other hand held a cigarette.

At one point, she was sure she had already mapped a million constellations before feeling his stare on her.

She hadn't noticed yet another cigarette in his hand until now.

He was staring at her in a way she didn't understand, once more.

She snapped, "Stop giving me that face."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you going on about now?"

She sat straight up, waving her hand around his head. "What do you mean?! You keep giving me this stupid, unreadable expression and I cannot understand it! It is going to drive me to the brink of insanity!"

"Yeah? And why is it going to drive you mad, might I ask?"

"I know every expression that your small mind is capable of making and this new one is undetectable!"

In a mere second, a surprised smirk takes over his lips. "Do you keep track of all my facial expressions, Rosie?"

Oh, he has done it now, she thinks before speaking again, "I will have you know I would not be forced to keep track if you weren't constantly trying to bicker all hours of the day with me!"

His smirk remains as he takes another drag.

"Or, you just happen to enjoy my face so much you can't keep it out of your head, hm?" He finished the sentence with a slow raise to his voice, pointing the cigarette at her all too closely.

"Stop pointing your cigarette at me like a crazy person before I throw you into those thorns!"

Draco raises his eyebrows as he stomps the cigarette into the ground. "Now, now, Rosie. You wouldn't dare."

He shakes his head, laughter brewing in him once more.

"And why would I not 'dare' to do such a thing?"

He leans into her with a grin even more devilishly than before, if possible. "Because who else would be capable of riling up that tough little exterior you put up?" An all too gleeful sigh leaves him. "You, Miss Rosalie Black, would remain boringly unfazed for the rest of your days without me. You're welcome, by the way. I cannot begin to imagine how unamusing your life would be without me."

A bewildered look consumes her face, unable to find the words to keep up their battle of wits, and he notices instantly—his head shaking with melodic laughter.

She grips the stone beneath them, glaring into his skull, while contemplating raising her wand to her temple and saying the curse to end it all with the thought of needing Draco Malfoy to rile her up.

Unable to accept this possibility, she spat, "I am sure someone would eventually be so inherently annoying as you. Plenty of blonde bastards in this world, yes?"

He opens his mouth, but no words fall out.

Shortly after, his eyebrows pinch together.

She stares at him. Waiting, waiting, and waiting.

"What are you looking at?" Rose asked before whipping around, finding a massive, dirty black dog standing on the outer edges of the clearing. She blinks, and then stands up. "Did you adopt a dog?"

"Does it look like I adopted that dirty thing?" Draco follows suit, coming to a height way above her—which said something, she was most certainly not the shortest woman. "Must be a stray, I'll have my father get him removed."

The dog simply stares at them, unrelenting from his spot.

"On that note, I better get going." Rose checks the leather-banded watch on her wrist, and shakes her head. "How we managed four hours in each other's presence is beyond me, Malfoy. I give credit to my avoidance of Walburga for the impeccable fet we've made today."

"Best not to tell anyone, they might think we've both hit our heads."

She cracks a faint smile up at him, before quickly shoving the expression down.

"I have to go before grandmother loses it. Theo and Whitman are probably at the Manor too...Full moons coming up, you know it's hard for Whit."

Draco nods stiffly.

Rose fumbles with her sleeves, a sinking pit forming in her stomach.

"I will stop by in the next few days with his potion. You don't need to keep going to Knockturn Alley alone."

She rolls her eyes.

"I didn't mind having to make it again last month." They usually took turns doing the task. "I'll be in Knockturn Alley regardless. Nothing will ever keep me from Borgin and Burkes, not even if Voldemort comes back and is flaunting the streets."

Draco rolls his eyes right back. "I should know by now. Your obsession with Borgin and his store is an oddity."

"I feel a connection to it, as if something in there is calling for me." She shakes her head slightly. "Everytime I go though, it feels as if I'm missing something."

"Maybe you worked there in your past life."

If only Rosalie Black understood the real reason she was drawn there.

This time Rose takes a step back and shoves her hands into the coat pockets, resuming a cold exterior she would present to any stranger.

"Well," she clears her throat. "I'll be off then."

Just as she glances over her shoulder, eyes set on the archways leading her away, Draco's firm voice stops her.

"Don't go. Not yet, at least."

Rose stares up at him with no emotion on her face. "The concern is unnecessary."

Reality resumed then.

He does nothing but stare back until she turns away, taking only one step away from him.

"What you're going through—" He stops himself short before beginning again, "—I want to be there for you."

She blows out a long, exhausted breath.

"No you don't, Draco." Rose meets his gaze over her shoulder. "We both know you don't. So let us not play pretend, it only causes more damage in the end."

His expression hardens, and his shoulders roll back as his hands slide into his pants pockets—spine straightening to perfect posture.

"You're right," he says. "I don't."

And with that Rose walks on, disappearing into the night beneath the archways until fading from his sight.

She never dares to look back, even though her mind screams at her to.

And he never looks away, not for a moment, even when she is completely gone.

________________________________

A/N: SAME MEMES BECAUSE THEY ARE STILL ME

me after deciding to rewrite my book because I simply can:

me after rereading and realizing there is much I want to change:

all of you realizing you have to go through all the pain again before getting back to where we were:

xoxo I LOVE U GUYS SO MUCH