(TW: rosie & whit being very toxic
also some TSH & TSIP references, and our favorite characters being so insufferable)

third person pov

' B-E aggressive '

Theodore Nott does not know why he agreed to meet up with his father.

But there he was, on a Sunday night, inside one of those ridiculously fancy bars his dad owned, stuck waiting in front of the host stand.

He ignored how crowded the bar actually was, contemplating walking right back out the front doors. The host appeared before him though, a big smile on her lips.

"Are you his son?" She asks.

Am I? Theo wants to say.

He does not know the answer to that question anymore.

Somehow, someway, he manages a nod.

Her face brightens up, and she leans over the stand, extending her hand, saying a name that falls deaf on his ears. He simply looks around, awaiting her to realize he is not going to introduce himself.

The pieces click soon enough, the woman's throat clearing as she straights up and turns on her heel toward the crimson velvet curtain behind her. "In the back room," She says, pulling the curtains open wide enough for a body. He walks through, entering a massive space that feels other worldly. Booths and tables were everywhere, all equally empty, and the lighting was much lower, dark red leather covering every seat.

He finds his father in a booth at the very back corner. The senior does not appear much different, face still full of eloquent scruff, but his hair is an inch longer, light brown curls pushed back. He holds onto a glass of whiskey, staring down into the glass, the far and few inbetween amount of rings in the same place. Theo does not know why he was expecting some major change, but when he sits across from him, his father looks up and tugs at the dark turtleneck he has on beneath his suit.

"Son," He greets.

Theo unbuttons the front of his coat, giving a curt nod. Only yesterday had he taken Rose to meet with Remus Lupin and ranted about how much of a stupid mistake it was. If only she could see him now, making the mistake of a lifetime.

His father pushes a second glass of whiskey, this one full, that Theo hadnt noticed across the table. "Got you a drink,"

"I'm fine without it." Theo says.

"You always loved whiskey."

"No," Theo stiffly corrects, "I wanted something to do with you, a way to bond with you. Stupid really, thought it make you love me. That's why I drank whiskey."

"Hm..." He hums. "How are you?"

"I'm well."

"And school? Heard your first quidditch game got moved back to the very end of November."

"Fath—" He stops himself with a stiff inhale. "Can we simply cut to the chase?"

"Theodore," His father breathily laughs. "I am still your father. You can call me that."

Theo places his forearms on the shiny table, speaking plainly, "What do you want?"

"Fine." He bristles, "I want you to come home."

"No." The refusal comes out too quickly, but he refuses. Theo is happy now, especially in that little house on the coast of France. He is safe there, he can breathe there, and he does not have to watch his every move. Everything he loves about this world, which is very few things, lives and breathes inside that home.

His father's eyes narrow, only momentarily, before he takes a long drink from his whiskey glass and joins his son in leaning on the table. "Look son," He says, "I know you're angry with me, but I have only ever wanted what was best for you."

"What is best for me?" Theo almost laughs, but instead he sounds angered. "You've done nothing except put obstacle after obstacle in my path. You would force me to sit down and—and you would tell me you were helping me by forcing me to be hit with that...whip. And,"

"I was helping you." His father interrupts, "It was to make you physically strong and it worked. To discipline you as well. My father did it to me and guess what? I knew I had to do the same to you. I will admit, I have been an angry man sometimes and let my temper take control, but still. Every single thing I have done is for your greater good. I never once hit you out of reprimand like Lucius does to that poor boy. Never once did my anger take control in that way."

Theo will not comment on how wrong he is, but only because he knows better. There is no excuse or reasoning for what his father has done to him, and he has made peace with that many years ago.

"Then what about everything else, hm?" He asks, "What you did to my mother? Telling me my whole life I couldn't be with Rose? Forbidding me from being with her? Threatening my life behind my back and making her live in fear when she had just lost Walburga? Knocking me out with a spell when I decided to give you company for an extra day in Italy? Taking me away into what was basically a prison and entrapping me there? Or what about the burning of letters? Or," He speaks the end through gritted teeth, "The things you said to a seventeen year old girl?!"

His face drains of color. "I will not talk about your mother." He says, "Must we also bring up that foolish child you're so obsessed with? It was all for the better."

"Yes." Theo snaps, "Let's talk about the girl who saved your son while you were too busy with your whores."

"Oh Theodore..." The senior shakes his head with a long, drawn out sigh. "I told you years ago that I was no fool. I have watched you your whole life, I have always known about you being recklessly in love with Rosalie. You were never allowed to be together, never supposed to be. Love weakens us and I would be fine with you choosing someone to love, but not when you feel so insanely deep for them as you have her...she is your blind spot, and you will die because of her. Both of you will, too blinded by the affliction in your heart to pay attention to the world burning around you."

"I am not like you." Theo spat, "Regardless of your beliefs, they do not affect me. Love is not weak, you're too much of a coward to understand that."

"Theodore!" He breathes out. After, he shakes his head again, wrapping his fingers around the glass, and there is a spark of the cold mask he wears fading. "I did not hate her, but I always knew I would have to be in my grave before I allow a world where you are with her. Why do you think I did not force an engagement on you? You are too headstrong for your own good. She is clinically insane, and it is not even her fault. That family, the torture, it has caused damage, and either way the madness runs deep in her veins from generations before. Why would I want you with such damaged goods? And her belief system? How she behaves?! She might as well be a muggle—she is the equivalent."

"What did you just call her?"

"Your heart," His tongue clicks as he runs a finger over the rim of the glass. "I raised you better than this. I blame your mother. She made you care too much, too kind, too weak. Maybe you never would have fallen for such a mess—"

"I have some news for you, father." He spits the word like a curse before using his hands on the table to stand up. "I am more of a man than you will ever be." He leans forward, and vows, "And I swear to you now that you will have to pry 'Rosalie' from my cold, dead hands."

A snarl forms on his father's lips, but Theo still steps out of the booth, not leaving though. Instead, he comes over to the man's side, gripping onto the back of the seat and leaning down, his eyes searching the depths of his elder. "I can see it in your eyes, I know what you want to do, and I'll tell you it won't ever work." He says, beginning to sound slightly manic, "If you touch a hair on her head, it will be your own inside of a casket. I will hand the Dark Lord a knife to drive into my heart with a smile on my face, and deep down you know I will if you even dare to come near her."

Deja Vu.

His mouth opens.

But he is silenced by his son's hand raising.

"I came here because I wondered if you had an apology, foolishly so. But I did not come because I had to. I don't have to do anything you say anymore." Theo laughs darkly, head tilting, "You don't have any power over me, and I don't think you ever really did."

And he turns around, walking away with his chest much lighter.

"Son, wait!" He yells, "I'm sorry, alright?! I don't know how to do this!"

"I am not your son!" Theo shouts, so loudly that the father freezes in place.

He arrives back at school quick enough. Filch had been at the gate to let him in before yelling to hurry his way to the castle.

Theo found himself stopping on one of the bridges, leaning down onto his forearms against the railing. He did not want to face everyone right now. He did not know how to explain that he had just met with his father.

The wind howls, and he hears soft footsteps on the wooden bridge.

He feels his tense shoulder relax at the presence tugging on his heart strings. And he sighs, looking out onto the water below.

"How'd you find me so quickly?"

"The spirits," Rose says, casually, and places her hands on the wooden railing, their arms brushing together. "They talk to me now, tell me things."

He does not question such a wild answer. He never does. In fact, this is one of the things he enjoys about her; the random illogical things that will spur out of her mouth, the ones she expects no one to question.

"I went to see my father." He says, believing it is better to let it out now.

"I know." She says, simply.

He glances over at her, and she simply puts two fingers to her temple, and tells him, "The spirits."

The corner of his mouth twitches before he focuses back ahead into the night.

He does not know how to formulate the words.

The wood suddenly creaks as she comes closer, her arm sliding between his own, and her fingers tangle with his own in a gentle manner. His eyes flick over, and finds her watching him with softened features.

That peace, that warmth—it comes back to him.

"I understand, you don't have to explain it." She says, pushing a curl from his forehead, "Sometimes, no matter how bad someone is, we find ourselves going back for more, just hoping that maybe things will be different and they'll have a heart this time around. You are not weak or foolish for thinking so about him, only human."

Theo could not have explained it better himself. He will never forgive his father, he had never once doubted that. But a part of him knows the only reason he went was for the last piece of hope he held, the one that thought maybe he could hold a sliver of love for his father from afar.

"You always put together the words I cannot," He mutters, head shaking. "Thank you," He says, "for letting me find solace in you."

"Thank you," She repeats, a hint of light in her eyes that he can feel without looking over. "for always allowing me the same."

"I think I'm," He stops, taking a deep breath and looking into her eyes for strength. "No, I know I'm ready to let go of him."

She smiles, so gently that it makes his chest ache, as her hand smooths over his cheek, and she leans closer, murmuring, "Then let him go, love. You are allowed to do that, regardless of what your mind tells you."

He can feel every beat of his heart.

"The world's not on fire, by the way." She says, her smile stretching too achingly kind for him to handle. "People like him just want us to think that, but it's not. It's actually really beautiful when we take off the blinders we were born to wear."

He presses himself off the railing, completely turning toward her, and she reaches up, pulling him into her. He goes to bring her into his chest, but Rose instead tugs on him in a way that makes him collapse into her; his head falling down onto her shoulder, and her hands soothing down his back and tangling in his hair.

'Give it to me,' He remembers her saying all those years ago, 'Give it to me and I'll carry it for you.'

It is exactly what he needs.

The world shrinks down until it is just them, only him drowning in her warmth and shining light. He could take on the universe this way, but it does not feel like earth anymore, a heaven instead; one he created with her. It is terrifying, he thinks right then, to be consumed by another, and he loves it more than anything.

*

"Before you go," Adrian says, "Are you coming with me to that rally of sorts?"

Rose leaned further back into the dorm door, suppressing a shudder at the chill looming inside the stairwell. "The one you said the Dark Lord is speaking at?" She asks, wiping some invisible dust from his shoulder. "Is it just Deatheaters? The Dark Lord never explained to me how those go."

"Not just Deatheaters, the crowds are crazy big." He says, "Some are just supporters, and other people who believe in what he wants."

"People are not supposed to know he's back though?"

"The ones who matter do." He says, pausing, "Well, most of them. It's a lot of people though, Rose. You'll be shocked at who you'll see there."

He has no clue what begins to swim inside her brain as she chews on the inside of her cheek and takes a deep breath, a long silence passing over them.

"Yeah," She finally says, "I'll go."

"Good," Adrian sighs. "You need to witness it first hand...it's crazy. I think he could convince anyone to do anything. The way he talks makes you think you are not only doing nothing bad, but that you are in the right."

Her eyebrows lift up. "Are you idolizing the Dark Lord? Is there something you need to tell me?"

"Have you lost it? He's terrifying." Adrian deadpans, "But, he is a fucking genius."

She smiles to herself and hates herself for it. "I'm just messing with you." She says, "I know he is, but don't let yourself get wrapped into those messed up ideologies, okay? The thrill of it all can make lines blurry."

Adrian looks at her for a moment, his hands sliding into his pockets so he does not touch her. "Is there something wrong?"

"Huh?"

"You seem off today." He says, "All day, actually."

She shakes her head, forcing a closed-lip smile. "I'm okay." She assures, "Just need some rest."

"Go lay down."

She nods. "Okay. Don't take any—" The corners of his lips lifting up makes her stop.

"I won't go do drugs in our time apart." He muses, "Tomorrow, yeah? I'll let you take me where you want for once."

A tired and small laugh leaves her before she presses off the door, sliding a hand onto his shoulder.

"Go," He tells her, "You're worrying me with how tired you look."

Inside the dorm, she can breathe a little bit better. She can see Jade chasing Nyx around, and hear the soft movement of the water outside the glass-paned windows. All of the beds are made and empty, except for her own; which has the curtains drawn shut and Blaise's, which holds his sleeping body. The setting sun shining through the lake casts the room in an orange glow and she only allows herself a second to take in how comfortable it makes her feel before slipping off her school uniform as if the material burns.

After changing into clothes for bed despite it being the afternoon, she slams her trunk lid back in place. As fast as her tired feet can carry her, she pushes her way through the curtains, finding Draco leaned against her headboard, a copy of the prophet in his hands.

He looks up at her, that permanent sneer on his face fading into a soft sort of smile; the one reserved for her.

"Been worried about you," He says.

Suddenly, looking at him, she can fully breathe.

"Miss me that bad, huh?" He teases.

"Unfathomably so." She answers, and his smile grows.

Rose uses what little amount of strength she has left to lift up the covers and slip underneath. He holds up his arm, allowing her mold into his side, and it isn't until she pulls the blankets up her neck and rests her head against his chest that he wraps his arm around her.

The Prophet makes an odd sound as he lays it down in his lap.

"One of those days?" He asks, a rhetorical question when he knows the answer.

"Yeah," She mutters, draping an arm around his waist. "Don't know where it came from, felt good until our last class—hit me out of nowhere."

"I know," He says, "I saw it happen."

"Better now though, with you here." She says, breathing in the familiar smell of his collange. "The medicine too," She jokes, "Guess that might be part of the reason it's not so bad."

"Could be it," He says, squeezing her tight, "Could be my mesmerizing presence."

She rolls her eyes before entangling their legs, and then adjusting herself so her chin is on his chest. He raises an eyebrow down at her, awaiting whatever thoughts that will spill out. "I think I've missed you everyday of my life," She says, "I know it, actually."

"Even when you hated me, hm?" He wonders, bringing a hand to her cheek and dragging the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. "Fickle little Rosie, you never hated me, did you?"

"Shut up," She scolds, but with a tired smile. "I still hate you."

"Good." He affirms, an irritatingly beautiful smirk on his face. "I still hate you too."

"Really now?"

"Mhm," He hums, using his arms to force her higher up on his chest until their noses almost brush. "Only because of how much I love you—it is sickening."

"Poor Malfoy," She sighs, bringing their lips together, and mumbling, "We're doomed to plague each other until the end of time."

He smiles against her lips, murmuring back, "Sounds like the most beautiful form of self-torture."

*

Whitman had been looking for Theo.

He went to the dorm, found Draco and Rose napping, and Blaise snuggled up in the bed with the couple. Thankfully, Blaise woke up to him entering, mumbling the answer of Theo's location before collapsing back down in the sheets.

That is how Whitman found himself walking through one of the greenhouses, dodging through the tall plants, until slowing down as he found who he had been searching for; surrounded by even more plants.

Theo was in the back corner, dirt on the sleeve edges of the beige trenchcoat he had worn, leaned forward and sat on a wooden stool with Neville Longbottom by his side. They were both intently focused on the array of plants in front of them, talking back and forth.

"Theo!" Whitman calls, still a few feet away. Theo's head turned his way, and Neville's only popped up a moment before focusing back down on the plants.

Theo gave him a nod of recognition before following Neville's gaze. And just when Whitman came close, Neville suddenly cheered.

"It worked!" He says, holding up a hand for a high-five.

Theo shook his head, laughing quietly as he begrudgingly high-fived Neville. "Good job, Neville."

"Thanks," Neville says, his head lifting when Whitman stops behind them. "Uh...Hi."

"Longbottom," Whitman mutters, "What are you two doing?"

"Theo can explain it to you," Nevile says, scooting himself off the stool and standing up. "Theo," He says, scooping his bag off the floor and brushing the fallen dirt off. "I'm going to head to dinner, but I can help you finish tomorrow if you want. Bring Rose with you?" He keeps talking while dipping around Whitman.

"That sounds good, Neville." Theo says, following the boy with his eyes. "Can't bring her though, I want it to be a surprise."

Neville smiled, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Oh, that's really nice of you. She'll love it." He pauses, waving towards Whitman. "Bye!"

Whitman gives him a nod of goodbye, waiting for the boy to disappear down the aisle of plants before dropping his bag to the floor and sitting on the once occupied stool. Theo resumes leaning forward, his fingers picking at a purple plant, wonky in shape and full of lilac blooms.

"You want to tell me what you're doing?"

"Well, I came in here and Neville was in here, offering to give me help." He says, slightly irritated, "Made me so mad that I could figure out how to adjust the aroma and color of the plant. I'm usually really good at this stuff."

"I'm asking you why you're working on the strongest calming plant."

"Oh," He says, "Ro's been wanting one since she read about it in witches weekly but she can't find any for sale. Thought I'd just grow her one, and she's been really into pale purple recently so Neville helped me change it to the shade."

"You are a woman in love sometimes."

Theo looked over at him, unimpressed in every way. "Or maybe I'm just not full of toxic masculine traits and love my girlfriend enough to do little things for her. You used to be that way, remember? And now you are what? Acting like Draco used to and being a dick to every important person in your life?"

"I was messing with you," Whitman scoffs, choosing to ignore the end of his words. "But you need to stop reading all of her feminist books—they are rotting your brain."

The way Theo looks at him is nothing if not full of disappointment, giving Whitman zero normal reaction or joking comment back, before he's turning his eyes out toward the setting sun outside the glass walls of the greenhouse. Whitman had tried, twice just now, for any sense of normalcy, and received none.

It makes him sigh and run a hand through his hair.

"Theo..." He mutters.

"We're all a family..." Theo shakes his head. "Us five have always been different, closer than normal friendships. Look, I know I'm with Ro now, but before any of that, she was my closest friend in this shit world and she still is. She was yours too. There was never one above the other in her eyes, we were all simply as close as anyone could be," He looks over at Whitman. "So, why are you acting like you have no clue who she is?"

Whitman feels nauseous at every memory in his head, but he forces out, "I don't know what you're trying to say."

"You know there is nothing you could do to make her hate you." Theo spat, "I'm not stupid, Whit. I know why you came to find me. You knew, deep down, that I would be honest and tell you stop being a fucking coward and go tell her you love her. Fix this mess."

Whitman leans his forehead into his hand, and says, "This is different. She hates me now."

"Get out of your fucking head!" Theo snapped, "You think I don't pay attention? Every fucking class you two are staring at each others like you've been stabbed, I don't know if either of you realize your doing it, but you do. Every day, and it's painful to watch." He keeps going, "You are many things, but you are not idiotic, and you know damn well she still loves you."

Whitman goes quiet, refusing to lift his head as he takes deep breaths in.

"You know what," Theo stood up, his voice getting angrier by the minute, "You are not a victim in this. I am glad you killed Orion, but you don't get to shut down and push everyone away. She has every right to never speak to you again. No, no, you don't get to shut down and sit idly by. You pull yourself together and earn her forgiveness."

Whitman slowly lifts his head up. "I never, ever said I was some victim in this. What are you trying to say right now?"

Theo rubbed a hand over his mouth, and after a minute he says, "I mean—" He pauses, draining the anger from his tone. "The manner in which you did it is what makes everything so much worse...Imagine if she knew how we took out Walburga, huh? She'd kill us."

Aggravated as ever, Whitman scoffs, "What do you mean?"

"You hung his fucking body and let her find it!" Theo hisses, "She was hospitalized because of it! She had to pull his body down and then she blamed herself for years! And you what? Shut down and don't even try to make her forgive you?! Think about Walburga! We did that the right way, made sure she wouldn't have to suffer!"

At once, Whitman is standing up and yelling, "How else should I have done it?! I'm sorry not everyone can be as perfect as you pretend to be—I wasn't thinking!"

Theo takes a deep breath, and then another, he knows speaking with anger will solve nothing and he did not mean to let his anger seem as if he was villainizing Whitman—because he's not. If anything, he understands every decision completely. "You should have thought about it more, planned it out." He says, "We talked about it weeks before you did it. I would have helped you, without a single doubt. I could've been there by your side in minutes."

"I was out of my mind in love and I had to sit in that house and watch her be hurt every single day!" He shouts, pointing at his chest. "He sat back and watched and I was sick of it! I know I—" His voice breaks, "I did something about it! No one else, I did!"

Theo straightens up, his jaw locking tightly as his eyes focus over Whitman's shoulder.

And Whitman shoves him back. "Fuck you!" He spat, "You know exactly what it's like! I was losing my mind and all I knew was that I was in love with her, that I loved her and I was going to make him suffer with someone watching just like he had done for years!"

Theo clears his throat, "Whit,"

"Out of all people, you should understand what it's like to love her!" Whitman keeps shouting, "It's made me go fucking crazy! I cannot breathe when she's not near, I have to sit and watch her obsess over you and Draco knowing that I have loved her my whole life and—" He stops, suddenly noticing Theo's panicked expression. "What?!" He snaps, "Why are you looking at me like that?!"

"You should, um, turn around." Theo mutters, his unbreakable face full of shock.

Whitman scoffs before listening to him, finding Draco and Rose side by side. The latter with her lips parted, her hand clutching tightly onto Draco's wrist; as if she had grabbed onto him in a state of shock, and her eyes; wide and glassy piercing directly in Whitman's.

He goes to open his mouth, but only a choked sound comes out. Rose holds up a hand, her head shaking. And Whitman takes a step toward her, but is stopped by her broken protest.

"No...no!"

With a slight shake of her head, she turns and leaves, rushing out of sight.

Whitman does not know how to breathe anymore.

He hears his name called over and over, but it sounds so far away, almost as a distant plea that is miles from where he stands. The heel of his palms find their way against his eyes, pressing in the tears that beg to escape.

It is only when Draco's hands take hold of his face that he drops his own down. The boy in front of him is blurry at first, and the voice is still so distant, but with time he can fully see Draco standing there, calling his name.

"Yeah, yeah," Draco says, "That's it, just breathe."

"I'm," Whitman takes a shaky breath, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you are." Draco reassures, his hands sliding down onto the boy's shoulders. "Just keep breathing for me."

"No, no, I'm," Whitman stutters over the words. Then brings his hands over his face, rubbing them down as he sucks in a rush of air.

"Go," Theo demands, "Go after her."

"Fuck," Draco mutters before making himself nod. "Yeah, yeah, go after her."

It takes one look from Whitman for both boys to know he won't be doing that.

"Both you...you should hate me," He says, breathlessly and glassy-eyed.

Theo scoffs and slides his hand onto Whitman's shoulder. "Not possible." He says, "There's nothing you could do to make us hate you. You're our brother."

"Not like a brother either, you are one to us." Draco reassures, "Everything is going to be fine in the end. Besides," He forces a ghost of a smile. "Us and Ro? Makes sense, doesn't it? We're not mad at you—luckily we've got some experience now."

"I can't go..." Whitman mutters.

After that, the boy merely lets the other two hug him, because he does not know what else to do.

It is not long before Whitman is taking his leave and excusing himself to the dorm. Theo and Draco go their own way, letting their limbs take control in the search for Rose.

They find her far away from the castle, down at the Quidditch Pitch, sitting at the very top of the high-standing stadium seats with Blaise by her side. Zabini takes one look at their nearing figures before whispering to the girl, and he stands up after, head shaking as he bristles down the steps and by the boys.

Rose gives them a small smile when they come to stand in front of her before she looks up at the sky, balancing her chin with her palm. "I think we'll have a pretty sunset tonight."

"Ro," Theo calls, while Draco begins shrugging off his own coat.

She does not dare to come back to earth until Draco drapes his coat over her shoulders and she pulls the material together around her collarbones. "Thank you," She says, another small smile. Draco nods, then runs his hand down the back of her hair. "I'm fine, I promise. It's nothing really..." She swears.

"Ro," Theo repeats, "We know."

"Know what?"

"Rosie," Draco breathes out. "We know how you feel about him."

"Oh," She mutters, looking down at her shoes. "Very natural for me to fall for three men I was not allowed to have." Afterwards, she lets out a sad laugh.

The wooden seats creak as Theo kneels down in front of her, and he lifts her chin with his thumb. "If you want to act on it, love, you can." He says, "It's Whit, we'll work it out."

"Thank you." She murmurs, before reaching for Draco's hand and placing her other on Theo's face, another small smile coming out. "But I'm quite happy where I am...If I find it in myself to forgive him, I'll let you know. Until then, can we wait for the sunset together?"

*

The dorm had never been so silent that night.

The next morning breakfast was shrouded in tension and awkwardness. Everyone talked, but it was almost too blatantly obvious that neither Rose nor Whitman would speak or look at one another. Some of them left for a smoke, but eventually all ended up in the crowded corridor together. Students' voices were loud, some walking toward classes, some lingering against walls in groups—like they were in that very moment.

Rose leaned against Theo's chest, staying oddly silent as she twisted Draco's, who was right in front of her, rings around. Despite her quietness, she was giddy, in a way, about being able to be out in the open with them both. It felt good to know their father's did not have control over the situation, and nothing had to be hidden. They still had to remind her though, make her remember that they did not have to hide their relationship any more.

She listened in as they all talked, but as Whitman fell quiet, she turned her eyes in his direction, finding a random Hufflepuff who had just tapped his shoulder. The boys barely paused before resuming their conversation, but she was now only focusing on him, and trying to decipher who this girl was.

"Glad your back," The girl greeted, smiling delightedly at him.

"Been back for two weeks," Whitman says, "But yeah, me too."

Suddenly, the others talking is not even background noise for Rose, her focus becoming all too concentrated.

The girl sweeps her hair over her shoulder, and slides her hand onto his own shoulder. They move in sync it seems like, him leaning down as she leans up to whisper in his ear.

Rose has never rolled her eyes so hard.

Whitman appears thoughtful after, taking the girl's hand off himself before finally nodding. "Yeah," He says, "That sounds good."

The girl smiles, bright and cheerful, murmuring something inaudible from where Rose stands. Whitman turns around after, and the conversation between friends dies out as Blaise speaks to him.

"Who was that?"

"Some Hufflepuff."

Rose laughs to herself, untangling her limbs from Theo and Draco to pick her bag up off the wall. "I bet all the girls of Hogwarts are so happy," She says, adjusting the leather strap over her shoulder. "They finally have their community sex-toy back."

Blaise laughs mercilessly, the others not far behind, but Rose simply keeps her fingers around the leather strap, her eyes rolling—Whitman knows that look; the anger bubbling beneath her skin.

He has never been good at holding back his own anger, unlike her who had to be pushed to extremes to snap.

"We are not together." Whitman says, voice lacking any emotion. At once, everyone looks at him in what feels close to warning. "We never were. I'm not your boyfriend. You understand that? So get the fuck over yourself."

"You're right, we never were nor will we ever be." Her words come out instantly, sharp as a knife. "So why don't you just go fuck little miss black-dyed hair and get it over with?"

"Who said I haven't fucked her already?" He spat.

Rose sucks in a rush of air, the words smacking the wind out of her. She does not explode on him like each of them expect. She simply stands up straighter, drains her face of any spec of emotion, and says, "Okay."

At once, she is turning around—gone in the mix of students walking through the corridor. Draco and Theo make a step to follow her, but are stopped by Blaise's voice.

"No." He says, before shoving at Whitman's shoulder and getting in his face. "Fuck you." He spat, all too quickly pushing through Draco and Theo to follow after her. Theo grabbed onto his shoulder, trying to halt him and join his mission of following her direction, but Blaise whipped around. "All of you leave her the fuck alone for one damn day." He demands, harsh enough for each of their eyes to snap open.

A day full of classes whirled by as quickly as they had begun, one of the only memorable ones being charms, where Theo took to flirting with her into the abyss. He was an extremely smart man, but he never cared much for academic validation from school or would ever want to compete with anyone academically—that sounded boring in his eyes. So, therefore, he simply kept making so many flirtatious comments that her eventual feisty persona faded into flushed cheeks and a lovesick smile. The same repeated itself in Potions, in a different way, where Draco decided on undermining her every move. Snape knew what was happening and did not bat an eye at the chaos that erupted. While Theo had stayed eerily calm in the midst of triggering her, Draco and Rose had gone at each other's throats until Snape called it quits.

But it had made her smile, and all the other worries faded. They knew she needed a distraction, and were more than willing to mess with her until she wished to pull out her hair. Potions was bemusing to all, for the most part, considering this year was flipped, and their classes were all with Ravenclaws who much like Rose gained their title of true genius from ditching books and sensibility—switching onto finding the more powerful truths that no one wanted them to know by using life experience and experimenting instead of believing a book found on a shelf.

It was an odd experience though, seeing her be so loud about her smarts when she was usually one to keep them hidden; quietly excelling through school and undermining everyone around.

But the day was nearing its end and she felt ill again. 'Distractions fade as quickly as the minute,' Walburga had once said, 'Everything you bury will come back to haunt you.'

Rose now found herself believing that wholeheartedly.

Rumors had been swirling around school and only today did the group of five catch wind of them due to their inability to acknowledge anyone else existing. There were not many interesting things ever happening at Hogwarts, but with how interested the Prophet were with the group of five lives, it is no surprise that the students of a small school had also always been intrigued.

It was no easy task for anyone to find out any singular thing occurring to them though. They moved like a flock of birds, always together, and at the very least one was never spotted without one other member. They were in a constant state of going quiet anytime someone came too close for their preference, and in sync too, as if they shared a mental connection and would be sick if another human dared to hear their conversations. From afar, they almost seemed normal; four boys and a girl simply living and breathing. Up close is where they became alarming, unapproachable in every sense, and almost too picture-perfect to be anything other than daunting.

They were truly the most insufferable people to grace these corridors, and each student seemed to hold their own version of hatred for the group because of their unruly air of superiority.

But still, regardless of the hatred they stirred up in others by existing, no one could seem to smooth their own intrigue of the five. It had not taken long for whispers to break out about the odd energy between a certain Black and a Rosier. The group stayed together as one, their patterns not breaking, but the divide was loud and clear.

Crazy ideas had been thrown around, each of them equally wrong, but only added onto the tensions between Rose and Whitman—knowing that they had been obvious just made things worse.

By the time they were in their last class of the day, Transfiguration, Rose had never wanted to scream so badly. Mcgonagall had been adamant that the seats chosen at the beginning of the year were permanent, a prevention from her being confused by students switching every day.

Of course Rose had chosen to sit next to Whitman then.

They were at the beginning of their third week back and Rose did not know if she could take another minute of being forced into this tiny two person desk with him by her side. As of now, as she tried focusing on writing her essay in the silent classroom, the past hour had been torture.

Their legs kept brushing together. His leather shoes kept accidentally knocking against her mary janes.

Over and over—never ending.

Not to mention, he had shrugged off his cloak, and every twenty minutes he would pull at his tie, as if he had been choking.

His messy state did nothing to ease her.

It takes one more brush of his leg against her own for Rose to throw her quill down and start quickly undoing her cloak. She tosses it around the back of the chair before attempting a deep breath and failing, resulting in her tugging emerald tie loose.

Whitman stays unwavering, calmly dipping his quill in ink and writing his essay as if he is not on the verge of making her lose it.

She sighs exasperatedly to herself, reaching for her quill, when suddenly Whitman leans over her legs, attempting to glance at her paper out of habit, and she recoils back in her seat—sucking in a sharp breath.

He freezes, his head slowly turning toward her as he places a rough hand above her knee for balance. His eyes flick over her face, jaw twitching at her panicked expression. "Can you make it a little less obvious how scared you are of me?" His voice is low enough for only her to hear.

On cue, anger flashes over her face. Leaving her to whisper-yell, "I'm not fucking scared of you!"

Whitman cocks an eyebrow, communicating with a single glance how much he doubts her. But then he senses eyes on them and looks over at the next desk over, and his hand tightens so much on her leg that she holds back a wince. "Can we help you?" He snaps at the innocent Ravenclaw boy that had dared to glance at them.

The boy averts his eyes instantaneously, while Rose sucks in another breath.

Theo and Blaise look behind themselves, wanting to ask what's going on, but Rose and Whitman's eyes are already trained on one another again.

Whitman gives one powerful tug on her leg, fully turning her towards himself, and leans closely, angrily murmuring, "Can we just talk?"

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, huh?" She hisses back.

Jaw tight, he says, "When did I ever say that?"

"Oh, I don't know..." She mocks through gritted teeth, "Maybe you avoiding me like the plague is telling enough."

The second his mouth opens to retort, her hand shoots up in the air along with her eyes focusing on the front of the room, and she yells, "Minnie! Can I be excused?!"

Mcgonagall looks up from behind her desk, seeming to adjust her glasses at the sight of Whitman being so close before nodding. "Yes Miss Black, but make it quick."

Rose rips herself out of the seat and away from Whitman. She forgets to pick up her bag, rushing between the desk and knocking over someone's ink on accident. That does not come close to stopping her though, she is out of the room in a matter of seconds.

Whitman does not bother doing anything other than standing up and making steps to follow after her.

Mcgonagall is quick to shout, "Mister Rosier! Don't you dare follow her!"

Everyone looks up now, trying to figure out what is going on, but Whitman does not care, nor does he bother to listen. He walks directly out of the class, and slams the door behind himself.

He sees her treating figure a few feet away, hears her shoes hitting the stone, and rushes after her. She turns down a corridor on the left up ahead, barely making it more than a few feet down her path before a hand catches her wrist and forces her to whip around.

Whitman does not recoil when she almost crashes into his chest, nor does he release her wrist when she shoves herself away.

But she yanks herself free, spitting out her words, "You stay the fuck away from me!"

He remains still.

"Who do you think you are, huh?!" She presses, "Getting angry at me in the middle of class?!"

He snaps.

"Like you don't have one of the worst tempers in the world, yeah?!"

She goes to turn around, but she cannot help herself, because he is right about her temper once being pushed. Like clockwork she's in his face as much as he is on her own, her hand pushing against his chest. "After everything I—!" She stops herself from mentioning yesterday, no matter how much the urge to remind him burns her tongue. "Right in front of me! Tell me this, are you going to force some contacts into those poor girl's eyes so you can pretend it's me?!"

"Oh," He laughs cruelly, with no humor in the tone. "So now we're talking about that?"

"Yeah, let's talk about that!" She snaps, "Right in front of me, right there you did it! I bet you cannot wait to go put your dick in something!"

"How do you know that was what she said to me, huh?!" He all but seethes. "The same could be said for you, couldn't it? You plan to run to Theo and Draco after this? Throw them down on a bed and get your frustrations out?!"

"At least I don't have to close my eyes and pretend it's a different body on top of me!" She hisses, before lowering her voice to a spiteful whisper, "But don't worry, I'll make sure to be loud enough for you to hear tonight."

A flash gold passes over his irises, and although she should be scared by that fact, she is not even close to fearful.

"I wonder if Theo and Draco knew that while crying about you, their innocent little 'Rosie' was in my bed begging me for 'more and more'..." His eyes rake her from head to toe, as she is a disease. "Should we go tell them? Right now?"

Her hand raises all too quickly, smacking him across the face with enough force to turn his head to the side. He stays that way for a minute, his tongue rolling against his stinging cheek, and when he looks back at her she breathes just as heavily as he does.

With his head bowed down, full of anger, he closes the distance between them, and she flinches away, not even noticing what she is doing before her body reacts. That stops him instantly, his arms going slack by his sides.

But it doesn't make her quit. "What?!" She shouts, "You going to hit me? Be what you sought out to destroy?!"

Every ounce of color drains from his face, and stands upright, his lips parting with a shaky exhale. "Ro..." He mutters, "I would never, ever put a hand on you. I would kill anyone who did, that is why you're angry with me."

Later on, she will feel guilty for what she dared to say, but right now she is only seeing red—ready to take a dagger and shove it into his heart as she tries to steady her breathing.

Loud footsteps sound out from far away, and Whitman knows that sound, he has memorized the echo of Filch's steps from years of helping his friends avoid trouble. His eyes search for any escape route before Filch can turn into their corridor, and finds a broom closet right next to them.

He does not think twice before grabbing ahold of Rose's wrist and tugging the door open, shoving both of their bodies inside—encasing them in complete darkness. His plan was not seamless though, because the tiny space provided no room at all.

Not only could they see nothing, but their chests were forced together, and a shelf to Rose's left dug deep into her side. She tried pushing him away, preparing to scream until he moved so she could leave and escape the trap of having her spine pressed against a chillingly cold wall, but his hand clamped down over her mouth, and she could feel his forearm settling on the stones by her head.

"Be quiet." He whispers, too harsh for her liking.

It is the jingle of a hundred keys that forces Rose still, or maybe it is the closeness. Or even the warmth of his hand on her skin, the feeling she had missed in a sickening way. She lies to herself as Flich gets closer and closer to pass the door, swearing that it is not his body pressed against her own that she stays unwavering for, tells herself that she is not affected by every heavy breath Whitman takes forcing his chest harsher and harsher against her own.

It is a good thing that neither of them can see anything other than the pitch black because she fears her eyes would reveal too much, and his would say too many things for her to handle.

They stay that way, in a labyrinth of torture, until the footsteps are right outside the door. It seems that Filch doesn't even come close to thinking of looking within the broom closet, and who could blame him? Rose is not sure how they fit in here, nor why anyone would choose this as an escape route.

But the footsteps are retreating away at once, and when the sound is nothing but a distant melody. His hand slides off her mouth, but he does not move an inch, his cool breath fanning over her face. She hates that she can taste the mints he had been eating all day. She hates that she has the same mints in her bag.

"You plan to let me leave now?" She taunts, staying quiet for some idiotic reason, and finds herself somehow even more ready to go at blows with him. "Or do you plan to kill me too? Take another Black off your hit list?"

"You think I want to be this close to you?" His words are venom, full of spite. "You think I want to torture myself? Be this close and not be able to touch you, or..."

She stops breathing—completely.

"No," He mutters, losing his internal battle as he slides his hand, the one that had once been over her mouth, onto the side of her neck, and she may not be able to see but she can feel every burning touch as his fingers sprawl across the nape of her neck, his palm pressing into the side of her throat.

Whitman doesn't care what she wants, he places his forehead against her own without a second thought. His hand on the stones treks down over her chest, and she tries pressing up off the wall; a bodily reaction that forces their lips to brush together, but he keeps her in place, and his fingers spread over her waist—digging in deep, painful enough to make it clear he has no intention to be gentle.

"I hate you." She hisses against his lips.

"I love you so much it's turned into hatred," He murmurs, his hands getting tighter, "I do want to kill you, I want to rip your fucking head off right now."

Her eyes fall closed on a heavy breath, and her teeth skim over his bottom lip, as she breathes out, "Do it then."

He yanks on her neck, forcing their mouths fully together. He expected her to slap him, rear her leg up and kick at him. But her fingers reach up, tangling in his hair, and her lips move against his own with just as much ferocity. There is nothing gentle about this. It is all painful, his nails digging into her skin, her hands tugging on his hair, their bodies pressed together so forcefully that she can barely breathe.

Her teeth sink into his bottom lip, enough to draw blood, and she gasps as he yanks her head back, forcing her neck up in a painful position.

She feels his breath fanning over her lips, feels the buzz on her lips that his own hover centimeters from.

She gives the slightest of tugs on his hair, bringing their lips together, but not kissing him. No, she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking the blood off. And he does not give her one second before he's kissing her again, before his tongue is pressing into her mouth and making her groan.

His hands run down her body, curling around her thighs, and picking her up with unmatched ease, and it feels refreshing to breathe, but as soon as her legs are wrapped around him, he turns them toward the shelf.

A crash sounds out, and then he's sitting her on the shelf, both of them acting as if they'd never be able to kiss again as his hands lock around the midway point of her thighs, pulling her legs further apart.

"This won't fix us," She says, still kissing him.

"I don't care." He breathes out, sliding his hands up and up, disappearing beneath the skirt. His lips tear away from her own, and latch onto her neck, and her head falls backwards, the idea of breathing becoming harder by the minute.

His right hand begins moving slowly inward, her hips bucking up in reaction. That urges him on, leaving bruising kisses on her throat, and his fingers gently graze over the lace covering her center.

Her hands latch onto his shoulders, her lips pursing together so no sound escapes as he begins pushing the lace to the side, exposing her to himself as if he is the one in dire need.

His lips press against her ear, and with no warning he drags two fingers over her cunt. "You get this wet for somebody you hate?"

"I do hate you." She hisses, weakly so, but her nails dig into his shoulders with the force of an angry woman.

She feels his lips brush over her own, the ghost of a taunting smirk on his face. His fingers move down, and uses his thumb to brush over her clit, enjoying the way she chokes on a held back moan.

"It doesn't feel like it." He taunts, the words stinging against her lips.

"Whit," She warns.

"Hm?" He hums with their lips together.

"Whit," She warns again, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"Use your words, princess..." He demands, taking his time touching her with painful slowness.

"Fuck you." She spat, even more weak than before.

She could feel his smirk come back as he says, "You couldn't handle it."

"I hate you, I hate you so much." She took hold of his wrist, taking her pleasure into her hands and pushing his fingers inside of her. Her head falls back with a breathy moan, and her legs lock around his waist.

Instantly his hand comes around her throat. "You're a fucking liar," He groaned against her lips, his voice dropping dangerously low, "You don't hate me."

As soon as the words came out he took control, driving his fingers in and out of her expertly, so much so it became overwhelming, and she was doing nothing other than moaning—basking in the pleasure he was giving her.

Her hips began rocking in sync with his movement, reaching closer to that edge of ecstasy. "I do, I do," She repeated, the desperation in her voice lacking any weight.

"If you hate me," He breathed out, taking her bottom lip in between his teeth, "Then why are you falling apart on my fingers?"

At the same time those words fall out of this mouth, his fingers hit the perfect spot, and she gasps out his name.

"Whit...!"

He groans, "Say my name again,"

"No," She says breathlessly, even if her body wants to scream it.

His grip tightened painfully so around her throat, and against her lips he demands, "Fucking say it. Say it loud enough for your boyfriends to hear how I make you feel."

She tries pursing her lips to restrain herself, but he keeps pressing up against that spot and she feels the buzz in her limbs grow, feels her head go light as her senses overwhelm her.

Within seconds of his demands, she's whimpering, "Whit, please!"

At once, he forces their lips back together, his hand tangling in her hair as she moans into his mouth. Every movement is too perfect, done with too much knowledge, and in mere moments he can feel her about to come undone.

"Cum for me, Ro." He rasps as her hips keep moving in sync with him, "Give me exactly what's mine."

His filthy mouth and his skilled fingers drive her over the edge, and he has to cover her lips with his own to keep the sounds of her orgasm from reaching every student's ears. He keeps going, working her through the entire blinding way, refusing to stop until she collapses back into the wall, her head is tipped against the stone—sucking in rushes of air to breathe properly again, despite the idea seeming impossible.

He retracts his fingers, going to take a step back, but her hands weakly latch onto his waist, preventing him from moving.

And he breathes as heavily as her, his breath fanning over lips as he leans closer, and murmurs, "You can go back to hating me now."

Just like that, he opens the door, walking out and she swears, almost just, that she can see his fingers going toward his mouth right before the door closes again and she is left in darkness.

Rose stays in a state of shock as she slowly jumps off the shelf, wobbling from her lightheadedness still when the door flings open, and a hand latches onto her wrist to provide balance.

She screams from being scared so quickly, her eyes snapping over to find Luna standing there with a pleased smile.

The scream instantly dies in her throat.

"For fucks sake, Luna!" Rose chides breathlessly before yanking her wrist away and rushing to fix her skirt. "Could you have given me a little warning?"

"Don't be coy," Luna says, "Mcgonagall sent me to find you two, she refused any of the others coming." She pauses, lips lifting as Rose continues fixing her clothes. "Guess we should be glad it was me?"

Rose shoots Luna a glare while retucking her shirt.

"You really should make use of silencing charms," Luna sighs, and Rose freezes in place.

"You...you could hear us?!"

"Oh yes," Luna smiles. "I waited outside until you were finished though, didn't want to force you two to stop."

"Oh my," Rose gasps, "Oh," She backs up into the shelf, covering her mouth and clutching at her chest before sinking to the floor with her head shaking. Luna giggles at the dramatics. Rose simply keeps shaking her head, hands coming up to cover her face. "I am," She starts out slowly, muffled, "so, so embarrassed."

"Rose, you shouldn't be." Luna bends down to her level, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "When Theo was missing, me and Blaise had sex while you were in the bed with us...you just kindly stayed rolled over on your side."

The Black's head snaps up, jaw completely dropped. "You had sex with me sleeping next to you two?!"

Luna's eyes open wide, muttering, "You weren't awake?"

"No, I was not awake!" She yells, gawking at her best friend. "Gods, oh Gods," She mumbles, covering her face again. "I am still embarrassed—this is..."

"Well if it makes you feel any better," Luna begins, "The sounds you made were delightful."

"No!" Rose shouts, "No it does not make me feel any better!"

*

Blaise usually held all of the cards, something no one in his group ever wanted to truly admit to themselves, but he did—he always has.

Right now though, he has never been more confused.

The sun was sinking, and ever since classes ended, no one had really been speaking in their madhouse of a dorm. Draco sat on the trunk at the end of Rose's bed, his hand slowly stroking over Jade's head. Theo was on his own trunk, next to Blaise's, not paying attention to the snake beside him that had been eating chopped up carrots—no, Theo was simply leaned on his knees, his hands clamped together in thought.

The issue is that neither of the boys eyes had left Whitman in the past twenty minutes of silence since the Rosier had entered. While Whitman had simply gone on about the dorm, and just now decided to sit on his own trunk, running his hands through his hair.

"Sooo...." Blaise dragged out. "Where is Rose?"

"She went to do some stuff." Draco mutters.

"Hm," Blaise hums lowly, eyes switching between the two glaring boys and the one, Whitman, who seemed to not notice or simply had chosen to ignore what was happening. Either way, Blaise has had enough. "Okay," He breathes out, "Someone tell me what the fuck is going on with you three."

Whitman slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks around. He finally stares back at the two pissed off boys, and deadpans, "You gave me the green-light."

"We gave you the fucking greenlight to make up with her," Theo snaps out, "We told you, and her, that if you wanted to be together then fine, we would all make it work. Whatever that entailed, fine."

And then, Draco is snapping. "We didn't give you permission to spit hateful words at her then get under skirt in a broom closet without making up first." He hisses, "It's Rosie. Not one of those girls you use and dispose of at this school. You should know better, and you most definitely should treat her better."

"So she told you? Suspected that much." Whitman scoffs, before sitting up and reaching into his slacks pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and hitting the bottom. Everything stays quiet as he brings out a lighter and takes a long drag to get the tobacco burning, and then he leans on his knees, clutching at his forehead. "It isn't my fault," He mutters, "She won't forgive me."

In the perfect time, a sealed envelope appears from thin air by each of their sides. It is a distraction, a good one at that, and Theo opens his first, confusedly reading aloud, "You've been formally invited to the Room of Requirement for..." He trails off, head tilting a smirk spreads over his face. "Gods, it's been so long."

Blaise picks up his own envelope, inspecting the wax seal. "Is she making invitations again?" He pauses, "I forgot how normal this used to be."

"Let's go," Whitman mutters, already standing up with the cigarette between his teeth, "Shouldn't be late."

"Desperate to see her, huh?" Blasie mocks, the joke not landing as Whitman bristles by him.

*

Inside the dreary Room of Requirement, Rose laid flat on the cobblestone floor, a wide ring of candles providing little light to the space shrouded in darkness, but enough to illuminate inside of the circle. Nothing was particularly wrong, in fact she was pretty happy. But sometimes the air would randomly get heavy, and it would be hard to breathe.

She had picked at her nails, tried sinking into the feeling of the cold stones beneath her, and even attempted random spells for distraction.

But in the end, she found herself bringing the Gaunt ring to her lips, muttering Latin, "I can't see the Leo constellation."

Minutes, multiple minutes, passed before she heard Tom's familiar voice float into her mind; cold and haunting as ever.

"You know Rosalie, you call on me too much for a woman who is supposed to hold hatred in her heart at me."

"I do hate you," She says, staring up into the black void above, "But I cannot see the Leo constellation."

"It has only been four days since your irritating voice plagued my head about random things," He says, "That does not seem like hate to me."

Without a care, she smiles, waiting a moment before speaking into the ring once more. "I'll pretend better next time, I swear it."

"Good." He says, finally with a hint of amusement. "I'd hate for you to lose your edge."

Somewhere, far away, he can hear her soft laughter in response.

"Me? Losing my edge?" She says, "In your wildest dreams, my lord."

"Quite the opposite actually," He says, "While you are the knife in my side, I do not believe things would be as interesting without our eternal torment of one another."

"Don't be angry when I quote you on that next time you try sending me to an early grave,"

"Oh Rosalie, I surely will not be able to contain my sudden rage..."

Again, he can hear the laughter bubbling out of her.

But all too soon she falls quiet, sighing to herself, and muttering, "Tom?"

He does not need instructions to the inner workings of her brain.

"Are you outside, Rosalie?"

"No. I'm laying on the floor again."

"Of course you are." He says, "Close your eyes for me."

"Okay." She mutters.

"What do you see?"

"Nothing. I can usually visualize the whole sky but for some—" She stops, a smile so wide spreading over her lips that it makes her eyes squeeze shut tighter. "I can see the moon."

A chill wafts through the room, wrapping around her limbs. Tom stays silent for what felt like hours, but she could feel him there, mentally, still lingering inside her mind.

At some point, his voice came back, much quieter.

"Did you find it?" He asks.

"Yeah. I can see Regulus's star."

She can feel him leave her mind, but she is content this way. He has left her with much more peace than she held before their short-lived conversation.

The heavy stone doors begins creaking open and she snaps out of her trance, sitting herself upright. Given she can only see inside the circle, she can't see them moving through the darkness, but she can hear their steps, until finally all four boys are standing outside of the candles.

"Come on," She says, scooting back some so her body is no longer in the center. One by one they step inside, each taking a seat on the cold floor until they are forming their own circle. The flames surrounding them flick light onto everyone's face, illuminating them in an eerie and intimidating manner, one that is oddly reminiscent of the messed up rituals they used to perform together.

Theo reaches for her dagger that had been thrown down, bringing it up to his face as he inspects the blood along the blade. "Are we about to start doing rituals all together, again?"

"We need to," She says, "but the blood is not from that. I was simply trying to kill time while I waited for my invitations to send through. Dumbledore has not been practicing with me as much as usual, I fear my magic will overwhelm me if I do not release it enough times a week."

"What we need to do is," Blaise pauses, smiling like the devil himself. "Bacchanalia? Is that what it is called?"

Theo's lips form a smirk at once.

"They don't believe in the Gods, Blaise." She says, "Wouldn't feel right."

"But we do, I blame my mother for making me believe."

Draco rolls his eyes. "It is basically a drunken orgy with a ton of hallucinating drugs."

"It is not." Rose scolds, "That is mere rumors, I've already told you that. It's losing inhibitions completely, drinking and taking copious amounts of drugs until we see things our minds are never supposed to...there are many other intricacies, Draco. And, it is all in secrecy—a vow between us and only us."

"Let us not forget the sacrificial magic," Whitman adds on, "Not too sure if your all up for sacrificing animals or a human life for our own wants."

"It would solidify us being a cult," Draco mutters, "We want that?"

"Who wouldn't?" Blaise says, showing a demented side of himself that stays hidden daily. "Power? Glory? Rituals like this just drive us further toward that, and closer together. We should always want to be closer, we're the only people each of us can trust in this world."

Rose smiles from Blaise's words, slow and steady. "It is freedom, Draco. A way to experience completely taking off the chains for once."

Theo wonders aloud, "But could we pull off an ancient Dionysus ritual?"

"Theo," Whitman scoffs. "We could do anything."

Everyone looks at Draco, waiting and waiting, watching for the moment when a sudden smirk spreads over his face. "Yeah," He says, "I think we could do it."

Whitman claps him on the shoulder as deep laughter rings out from the others around. But Draco's attention is on Rose, a glint in her eyes that promises something.

"What is it, Rosie?" He asks.

"You are all going to hate me for bringing up a fictional character right now...." She trails off, "But, Henry Winter would be so proud of me."

His face falls. "You are supposed to hate him, all of them actually." Draco says, "It is a satirical criticism of classism and privilege. They are supposed to be insufferable."

"We're insufferable, Draco." She deadpans, "If you hadn't noticed, terribly so."

"And Draco just so happens to be the most insufferable." Theo sighs mockingly, putting an arm over her shoulders. "What a coincidence..."

"Yeah, he is." Rose keeps smiling, even more so. "But that's what I love about him. Drives me mad, yeah?"

Draco stares at Theo as if he is a plague. "Says the Henry Winter wannabe," He scoffs. "Writing your journal in Latin? Thinking none of us can read it?"

"Fuck you," Theo spat, taking full offense. "I've been writing my journal that way long before I read about that cunt."

Rose exhales heavily, patting at his chest. "Yes you have, love. Don't listen to Draco."

"What are we here for?" Whitman interrupts, not enjoying the dynamics playing out in front of him. "You made us invitations?"

"Oh," Rose says, refusing to meet his eye, "I thought it would feel like when we were kids and made contracts or invitations to invite each other to our tea parties and such."

"We did not have tea parties." Draco protests.

Rose gave him a knowing look before glancing at Theo. "We had tea parties."

"If I remember correctly Draco helped you plan them." Theo says, "Well...I guess we all were forced into it, actually."

"He sure did," She says, shooting a wink to the blonde before reaching behind herself and pulling out a thick journal from what seemed like thin air. "Anyways...I finished my research on becoming an animagus."

"Already?" Blaise asks, lips parted.

"Why are you all becoming animagus?"

Whitman's voice makes them all fall silent in perfect synchronization.

Rose does not know how to explain that this decision was made behind his back, that she has spent everyday since the attack researching every detail and compliging every right direction into a journal for him.

Their eyes meet in a fiery exchange, and her lungs constrict. She can still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin. She can still feel his lips marking up her neck—his lips moving against her own.

Her eyes dart away instantly.

"We're still a family..." Rose mutters, "Regardless of everything, we are not going to let what's happening between me and you ruin things. Blaise was right when he said us five are the only people any of us can or should truly trust. It's important that we do this."

Whitman feels his throat close up, and he has to push out the words, "It is dangerous though."

"We're doing it for you, Whit." Theo says, "All of us would do anything for you."

Draco slings an arm around the boy's neck. "Absolutely anything—even risking getting stuck as a half-animal."

Whitman stares at Rose, her face seeming to be the only one existing in the dancing flames. "Was this your idea?" He murmurs.

Yes.

She clears her throat to compose herself, and flips open the journal. "As I was saying, this process is not going to be easy and we'll have to stay on each other to make sure we don't mess up, but we're never apart so...should be easy enough."

"Did you get the mandrake leaves?" Blaise asks.

Rose ignored him as she continued on, pointing at some of the writing in the book before leaning back into Theo's arm, and reaching into her coat pocket. "For a month we have to carry a mandrake leaf in our mouth. Swallow it or take it out and you'll have to start the process all over again."

Draco pinched his brows together. "Are you serious?"

"Obviously, love," She sasses, pulling out a handful of leaves. One by one she begins handing everyone, with the exception of Whitman, a leaf. "There's a lot more to it but we don't have to worry about that until the month is up."

Draco grimaced as he smelt the leaf. "This is going to taste terrible..."

Rose whacked his hand down with ease. "Oh shut up–put it in your mouth."

She wastes no time in putting the leaf on her tongue, internally disgusted with the taste, but remaining reactionless. The boys, on the other hand, slowly followed suit, gagging when the leaf touched their mouths.

Whitman had watched in amusement, unable to understand how awful the taste truly was as the others coughed and coughed.

When they begin to calm down, Draco looks at her with watery eyes. "How are you not gagging?"

Rose shrugs. "I was a teenage bulimic, Draco." She says, "This is nothing."

"I..." Blaise covers his mouth. "I dont think I've ever experienced such an awful taste."

"Excellent!" She claps, "The worse the taste the better for the magic!"

Theo spoke hoarsely, skunking his head down on top of her own. "What now?"

"Nothing until the month is up. It's going to be hard to eat and drink and sleep and kiss, but everyone will just have to suck it up." She says, her eyes looming on all of them before she picks her dagger from the floor, holding it up with a blank expression. "Now...who wants to do a blood ritual with me?"

"You just forced poison into us, and now..." Theo pauses, "You want us to do a blood ritual for fun?"

She nods thoughtfully.

Theo coughs. "Thats," He coughs, again. "my girl."

Laughter pours out of her immediately.

________________________________

A/N: okay i was real scared to post this chapter

—MISSED U GUYS OMG

—whit & rosie being toxic gives me life idc

—TOMMY BOY COME HOME I MISS U

—Draco and Theo growing? proud mother moment for me🤞🏼🤞🏼

—literally listened to jealous girl by lana on repeat during whit & rosie's moment

—i love how insufferable everyone is😍😍😍💕💕😍😍🥰💕💕😍 (this is not a joke i am in love with all of them)

MEMES BECAUSE YES:

Theo's father realizing his son is never coming home and cannot be controlled:

me when theo & rosie have any soft moment (they are so hozier coded i want to sob) :

realizing rosie heard whit saying how much he loves her and she def acted fine to the boys but since we don't get her internal monologue we have no idea how much she was dying inside or what she told Blaise and I will definitely make you all live the rest of your lives without knowing:

All of us when "Who said I haven't fucked her already?":

rosie when whit said that:

Rosie after calling whit "the community sex-toy":

us when they started going at it in the broom closet:

"you can go back to hating me now.":

rosie hating whit but spending all her time researching animagus for him:

me after every chapter of angst:

xx bri