(TW: rose struggling with multiple issues?
side note: since the ages are different for the years, and this is stated at the beginning of the book, you will see the group referring to fifth, sixth, and seventh year as uni years!!)

third person pov

' and I was so young
when I behaved
twenty five '

Draco watches, as he has most of life, Rose from afar. He stands in one of the opened french doors, inside the art room, not facing the ocean but the flower field. She might be depressed, but by the name of Merlin he swears she looks too free to feel such. From the white gown straight out of a painting, to her bare feet pressed into the earth; something that reminds him of her youth. 

His arms cross because this is relaxing to witness, and he leans further into the framing as a warm breeze hits his cheeks.

In the distance, Blaise sits on the edge of the flowers. Rose picks a flower like one would a weed, and then she bends down to Blaise's level–placing it behind his ear. He gives her a smile as bright as the stars, and he says something to her that Draco cannot make out from this far away.

But then Rose stands up again, offers her hand to Blaise, and suddenly the two are walking through the field together.

Not out of sight though.

Truthfully, the pair moves very slow, heads turning every so often in conversation.

Regulus settles next to Draco. "Any lucky?" He asks, joining in on the watching.

"She's still only speaking to Blaise," mutters Draco, "I mean...she can't even look me in the eye."

"You are a reminder of him."

Him, Theo.

Regulus seems to be against using the name.

Draco scoffs, and glances over. "And Blaise is not?"

"Their bond is different, one you will never understand." Regulus says, "The promise made in Italy," He goes on, "Rosie told me. She swore, to give you both security, that if things ended with one of you, then it ended with the other. These promises, Draco, they create vows. Either way, Rosie will stay true to her word–even more so with Theo unwilling going missing. She will not go on with you if she does not have him," He reclines his back on the framing, completely focusing on Draco. "Disregarding all of that, all of you, Blaise included, are a reminder of the gaping hole now in your group. The reason, I believe, she will be by Blaise is because he will not encourage her to feel better."

Draco's brows pinch together. "That is what she needs though,"

"But it is not what she wants," Regulus answers cooly. "Blaise is not blinded by his love for her as you so deeply are. She will suffer, and it will be hard for him, but he can push through. You and Whitman cannot."

"I'm scared," Draco confesses, "That Theo will never come back. Whit, he thinks it too. His father is bad, Regulus, in ways you don't understand."

"He will be back," promises Regulus, "I'm going to find him."

For a split second, Draco looks over his shoulder, staring at the papers scattered around the floor. So many maps, spells more ancient than time itself, all these things failing to help Rose find Theo. "She's manic." He says, meeting Regulus's eyes. "The medicine doesn't make it go away, just less intense. She's not sleeping, eating, or even taking five seconds to breathe."

He places his hand on Draco's arm, and before the blonde can think, Regulus is hugging him.

For some reason, Draco lets him.

*

School rolls in like an unwelcomed storm cloud.

Rose begs Regulus to let her stay with him, but he does not agree despite his wish for the same. She must go back to Hogwarts, put on a show, and pretend the world is not collapsing beneath her.

The train cart rumbles as it takes off from the station, students in isles speak of the new year with excitement, but there is none amongst the friends.

Their cart, usually full of life, is drained of light. Whitman and Draco sit together, and Rose curls into Blaise's side, opens a book, and drags her finger across the pages, reading with him. It is silent, no one speaks, and they barely breathe.

Every option has been exhausted, every single one, only a haunting sense of dread hangs over each of their heads. It is the beginning of their university years, a time that should be happy, but is instead depressing.

Every so often though, Rose's eyes will meet Draco's, and there lays a heavy weight of longing, but each time she would swallow the lump in her throat, and look away. Remind herself she cannot seek comfort in him, which would break her promise to Theo, or look him in the eye, it makes her too weak.

Upon arriving at the school, Rose lingers a step behind Draco and Whitman, along with Crabbe and Goyle who have appeared out of thin air. She still keeps her closeness to Blaise, and it isn't until she hears Draco's cocky voice that she looks up.

"Surprised the ministry' is still letting you walk around free, Potter." He slows his pace next to Harry, giving the boy one of the most demeaning glances. "Better enjoy it while you can, I expect there's a cell in Azkaban with your name on it."

Harry jumps forward into action, and Draco does not waver, only grimaces at the thought of who he would consider a lowlife almost touching him.

But it is Whitman's hand pressing against Harry's chest that stops the boy from getting anywhere near Draco. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," He warns, meanwhile Blaise is grinning from ear to ear, always enjoying the moments of ruining Harry Potter's day.

Draco scoffs, adjusting the lapels on his suit as if Harry flicked a disease in his direction. "Complete nutter,"

Harry goes to jump at Draco again, but Whitman does not give him the opportunity, sending Potter crashing backwards into Ron Weasley's chest.

When Ron has to wrap his hands around Harry's wrist, Whitman calls,  "Keep your trophy under lock and key, Weasley."

"He better," Draco cruelly smirks, "Wouldn't want to lose his one claim to fame."

Whitman laughs in a rare pompous way, nodding backwards before him and Draco continue forward.

Harry shouts, "Just stay away from me!"

The anger behind them makes Rose tug on Draco's sleeve, where there should be a smile on her face lays only a slight twitch. "You know why Harry's bugging out?"

"Why?" Draco asks, putting all of his attention onto her from the relief of finally talking to one another.

"Voldemort is in his head," She whispers, and stirs a twinkle in Draco's eyes at the thought. But, as his fingers pull her hand down, and try grabbing on, she stiffens, yanking away all at once.

Dinner goes by in a slow drag, Rose listens to the boys talk as she picks at her plate with her head down, and students shoot them odd looks for two reasons. One, being that a person is missing from the infamous group. Two, an abnormally large dog sits by Rose's hip.

None of them notice, all too accustomed with the feeling of eyes lingering.

That night, when everyone is settled into bed, Rose throws her cloak on and goes to leave the dorm with Jade by her side. She is stopped though, by Draco's hand catching her wrist on the doorknob.

"Just come talk to me, Rosie." He says, "Or don't say a word. But do not be alone." His gaze is pleading, and her heart aches at the metaphorical distance she has placed between them. Rose does not want to do this. She loves him, she is in love with him, and frankly, Draco is the only one who could help her through this. But it is wrong, very wrong, to let herself experience even a sliver of comfort when Theo is probably suffering with none. "Theo would not want you to be alone," Draco says, the adams apple of his throat bobbing.

Her voice cracks like shattered glass, "Well he is not here to claim that, is he?"

After the words, she yanks her wrist free, and slips out of the room.

She goes to the top of the owlery, not bothering to wrap her coat tighter as the cold air whips around.

Adrian Pucey is there waiting for her, as he promised to be, and she buys drugs from him once again. Not because she wants to be an addict, but because she needs an escape. As bad as it is, and as much as Rose knows there are other options, she does not want to do anything else. For now, she only wants to stop feeling everything, and she remembers how these drugs helped her before.

But something happens.

Adrian sits down on the top step as they did so many years ago, and he tells Rose to join him. She listens, they talk more than ever, but this time about any and everything in the universe. It isn't until the sun starts to break through the hills that they walk down and Adrian drops her off at the shared dorm.

The next morning she is right back by Adrian's side, finding herself in an all too familiar position, crouching down to a slate of marble, taking a white powdery line.

A day turns into a week, and a week turns into two, and before Rose knows it, she is in a constant state of drugs flowing through her system from morning until night.

It is not that the boys do not notice.

It is that she does not give them the chance to do so.

Rose would have breakfast by them, or swing into the dinning hall by their sides and take her food to Snape's classroom. In class, she would keep her head down, focusing on an assignment, and when class would end; she would disappear before anyone could catch her. Then, whether it be the weekend or not, she leave to help Snape grade papers until the quiet hours of the night. The boys would stay up, of course, but when she came back to the dorm, Rose would instantly slip into bed and close her curtains.

Blaise was her only exception, and even that was becoming rare, sometimes leaving him, Draco, and Whitman to spend every waking moment together.

Most nights though, Blaise would throw an apologetic look to Draco before slipping by Rose's curtains and laying with her. If it wasn't that, then Blaise would follow her around the library, walk around the lake with her, go spend time with Luna when Rose wished, or even simply sit next to her on the astronomy tower.

He didn't come with her when she hung out around Adrian though, something Rose explained would be awkward considering the older Slytherin did not fare well with conversing new people.

Now, on the mark of two weeks, a gloomy Friday evening, Rose stands deep within the Forbidden Forest. A black cloak stays draped over her head as she awaits Regulus's presence. She knows she should've covered the darkening circles around her eyes, but there is no point.

She swears to hear the whistle of the trees shading her body, and grabs onto the nearest tree trunk for a semblance of balance. A clap like thunder rings out at the same time, drawing her attention straight ahead where Regulus Black now stands.

He dusts off the expensive cloak, seeming to compulsively believe a spec of dust lays on his shoulder, and then he smiles gently in a way reserved for his niece. 

Rose does not give him the chance to speak, "Why have you forced me so far out in these woods?"

"Sorry princess," Regulus throws up a silencing hand. "Would you have liked me to choose a specific spot in the forest?"

She smiles sarcastically. "Yes actually, would've been much better than you telling me to walk for thirty minutes past the wards."

With the utmost attitude, he extends his hand. "Come on then, I'll apparate us a few feet away just for you." Her eyes roll but she says nothing back. "Walk with me." He demands, pulling her off the tree. She wobbles, and loops their arms together so he will not notice.

But as they continue through the leaf-covered ground, Regulus catches her head tilt to the side every so often, whispering words he cannot hear.

"Who are you speaking to?" He asks, wondering if maybe she can now see into the afterlife as he can.

She looks at him as if he is the crazy one, as if he is the one losing his mind. "Um...Theo? Isn't that obvious?"

Regulus pulls them to a stop. "Theo?!" He peers around the trees, searching for the boy, when suddenly it dawns on him what is happening. Imaginary Theo, the one she would use to cope in the past. Something Regulus had witnessed on one too many occasions from both parties, and that fact somehow makes this all the more sad. "Oh," He mutters, slowly patting her shoulder while trying to mask his worry. His throat clears, "The dark lord found out where Theo is, by the way. He found out a few days ago."

Rose cringes, flinching away from Regulus as if hurt by the thought. "I know," She mutters, "He won't tell me where to go. Cut off my ability to contact him as well, I can't even beg for him to say where Theo is."

He sighs, "It's complicated, Rosie."

His casual claim makes her blood boil beyond belief. She yells, "It's not that fucking complicated!"

There is not a moment for Regulus to pay attention to her anger, too suddenly consumed by staring at her dilated pupils, her blood shot eyes. His gut fills with dread, knowing exactly what floats inside her veins. "Rosie," He begins softly, "You promised to not touch drugs again."

She shoots back, "I'll stop when he comes home to me!"

"You will kill yourself," Regulus shakes his head. "You will very well kill yourself if you continue this route."

"Like you did at eighteen?" She is not thinking, only wishing him to hurt as much as she is, and knowing that she must find a way to push him out. "Must be genetic, huh?"

Regulus takes a deep breath. "You cannot harm me when you are under the influence. Drugs make us say and do crazy things."

"Not so crazy if it's the truth!"

"You watched my mother deal with this," He calmly says, "You took care of her, were forced to hide her medication constantly, worry about what she was doing when you were not there to watch over her...why would you put yourself in the same position?"

She cringes the moment the claim flows out, recoiling back two steps. Regulus shakes his head, trying to say he is sorry.

But Rose is gone. Disappeared before he could.

She goes to the door of Ravenclaw tower, shakily slips another pill into her mouth, and walks through the common room covered by a roof of the night sky. Luna was lucky enough to get a private dorm this year, and now Jade, along with Nyx, wait there for her return.

The door opens, Blaise notices first, his eyes dragging from Luna's legs laying in his lap and over to Rose.

Luna brightens the second she does realize. "Oh good! That was quicker than I thought,"

"Me too," Rose drags herself over to the bed, slumps next to Luna, and lays her head on the girl's shoulder. "Do you want to make bracelets?" She randomly asks, wondering if it might distract her mind.

"Yes!" Luna cheers, bringing her hand around to pat Rose's cheek in excitement.

Blaise grimaces, "Eh...I usually leave that stuff to Rose...I think I'll just go–"

"Blaise Zabini!" scolds Luna.

He tenses up like a soldier standing at attention. "Yes...?"

"You will help us!"

Jade barks in agreement with Luna, the dog revealing herself and jumping onto Rose's lap–making the girl groan.

A staring match brews, one Rose has to crane her neck for, letting her eyes ping back and forth between Blaise and Luna.

Blaise, of course, is the one to crack. "As you wish, love." He grumbles, eyes snapping shut, hands extending in front of himself. "Give me the beads before I change my mind."

"Men," Luna huffs, peering down at Rose. "They're as easy as you say."

A tender smile graces Rose's cheeks. She loops her arm into blonde's, "Make him get the beads," Her head resumes resting normally on Luna's shoulder. "I'm too comfortable like this."

Luna raises an eyebrow toward Blaise, who peaks one eye open. "You heard Rose, they're under my bed." She says, grinning innocently as her head comes to rest atop Rose's.

Blaise scowls, frustratedly tossing Luna's legs off his lap to stand. "I'm doomed to be bossed around by the women in my life,"

"You're mother would be proud of that fact," Rose teases, but her voice is drained of humor.

*

The next day, Rose sleeps until the evening, and then showers until her skin has been scrubbed raw. She throws on the most form fitting but bland black, long sleeve shirt. A skirt to match of course, tights too. She presumably feel like death and her clothing might be drained of any character, but Rose would rather be buried beneath the soil before dressing in those odd pajamas students wore on Saturdays.

Before exiting the bathroom, she clips her hair back as tightly as possible.

The boys look up from where they sit together at the sound of heels, but no one says a word to each other. Draco has to look away, unable to admire Rose when her collarbones shove out in an all too reminiscent way.

He goes to follow as she slips out of the dorm with Jade at her hip, knowing he cannot just sit and wait, but Whitman shoves him back down.

"Leave her alone,"

Draco scoffs. "I'm supposed to just sit and watch?"

"Yes. She'll come to us when she's ready." Whitman says, "You know how she works, if we try forcing her to talk, then she'll just create greater distance."

Lucky, it must be, that Snape's classroom is empty. Rose carefully closes the heavy door behind herself, walking through the low light room full of herb jars and creature parts.

She settles herself behind his desk, grabs the towering stack of parchment, picks up a quill, twists open a jar of ink, and begins. Grading paper after paper, making corrections, doing anything and everything as she hums a tune Walburga taught her to focus.

Two hours pass before she hears a throat clear from across the desk, and lifts her head to see Snape there with a covered bowl in one hand.

Jade growls in a low, taunting tone, but silences upon Rose caressing her chin.

"It is Saturday, Miss Black."

She places the quill on a stand. "I've already finished all of my own assignments, and you let me do the stuff I'm helping you with last weekend."

Snape nods, dropping the metal bowl atop the desk, carefully to avoid touching her separate stacks of parchment. "Eat," He demands. "You can't move too quick or you won't have anything to help me with during the upcoming week."

"I'm not hungry," She lies, watching as he sits across from her. "I ate earlier."

"It is just cherries, Rose."

Her face lifts, and she reaches out, grabbing onto the bowl with lightning speed. "You remembered?"

Snape's eyes roll as a response. She goes to open her mouth, ask the burning question, but he holds up his hand. Annoyedly, he confirms, "Yes, they are the big ones."

"Thank you," She breathes out before beginning to pull the lid off. Rose picks up one cherry, and then holds it next to her fingers. "Look," She says, "They match my nails."

Snape blinks. "How delightful," He deadpans.

Rose hums in response, and plops the fruit into her mouth, slightly amused by his persona.

The professor knows, also sees, her become more distracted with each cherry she picks up. He fears, after two school years of working with her, that he knows this look across her face. The one she would get when her mind started running, and Snape does not need the girl to end up sliding the bowl away.

So, he distracts her.

"You look as if you're about to do, what is the name?" Snape gestures to her hair and shirt. "Ballet, I believe it is called?"

Rose huffs a laugh, doing exactly what Snape wanted, leaning back into her chair and bringing the bowl to her chest. "I was awful at the sport,"

Amusement takes over his face. "You did ballet?"

She nods while chewing, making sure to finish first. "I didn't have the patience for it, and genuinely was awful—drove Walburga mad that I couldn't excel in something." She shrugs, and nothing prepares Snape for the casualness of her next sentence. "So, Walburga decided to put me in assassin and stealth classes."

His mouth opens with no words to say.

Meanwhile, she glances up at the cobblestone ceiling. "Oh, and painting classes as well."

Snape leans up from his seat, placing a hand on the desk. "Did you just say...assassin classes?"

She rolls her eyes, but focuses on him. "They weren't actually called that, you fool. But it is what they were. I could take down a grown man without using magic, that is if I get my strength back. Learned all about the pressure points, how to wield a knife, carve out an eye—"

"Enough!" Snape interrupts with mortification. Rose cocks an eyebrow at his features, waiting until he collects himself to snort. "That is awful parenting." He claims.

"Listen," Rose begins, "Walburga was evil, pure evil. But she taught me how to survive, and made sure I'd be able to handle anything. Say what you will about the woman, but I would do anything to have her by my side in these times."

Snape waves his hand in dismal, unwilling to fully breach the subject of Walburga Black. She was indeed evil, but her plan had fallen into place. Regulus and Sirius were disappoints to the Black name in different forms, and Rose, although deeply troubled, became one of the most idealistic, perfected beings. Her wit, unmatched. Her studies, excelled. Her power, beyond the measure of any woman before. These were all things Walburga craved for her granddaughter, and now Rose stands on the wrong side of a future war–the one Walburga knew she would end up falling on.

He did not know the young Black's plan, but she never told Dumbeldore of her joining, only that Voldemort wanted her power, and Snape surely would not confess. One would believe, and Rose acted, as if it would be obvious whose side she would fight for.

The more time goes on though, the less he is sure.

Deceit is a powerful tool to those who know how to wield such, an act Snape had learned, but Rose had been bred with in her veins. This is a daunting game, one he believes Dumbledore and Voldemort will equally be fooled by, and Snape is sure that he, nor anyone, will learn of her true plans unless she wishes for them to.

He thinks, at that very moment, that this is exactly what Walburga wanted. For her granddaughter to hold all of the cards, to exist as an unbreakable enigma.

"I forgot," Snape clears his throat, shattering the thoughts. "The dark lord demands you come to his manor tonight."

The witch does a double take, baffled—but intrigued by this proclamation.

"You'll take a portkey," He rises up from his seat, "The new manor he has moved into has complicated wards that one cannot pass, therefore no apparation."

"For what though? Why does he need me?" quizzes the witch.

"I received word this morning," Snape begins disappearing into the office, but over his shoulder calls, "Do not bring Jade, I fear she will be eaten by his snake! And take a sober-up potion!"

As if Jade understood the words, the dog looks up to Rose with ears pulled down.

*

Night settles over Rose as she lands on the doorstep, her back facing the home. She almost whips around in confusion, but the tall stone fencing in the distance makes her stop and stare. Trying to decipher her location with no avail, only seeing the stretching grasslands and trees beyond. Wiltshire, maybe? She could not tell.

An icy chill casts around her skin, and a soft sound of water rippling far off to the left lets her know a lake is nearby. Enough of that, she thinks, there will be time to figure out such details later. It is too cold for her to stay standing there, and she is already getting filled with relief at the idea of leaving when turning around for entry.

The home halts her though, much bigger than one would think a man alone needs. Victorian in every aspect, daunting in a sense gained from aristocratic horror films. She almost forgets Nyx lays in her arms as she checks for the talisman across her wrist. She doesn't want to think about the demons that cling to the dark lord, the ones he carries with him, and how much space those cruel spirits have for lingering in every corner of this vast home.

Her fingers twist around the closest of the two doorknobs, and her face flushes at the instant heat wrapping around her limbs as she settles into a marbled foyer. Her attention, taken by the two staircases on either side of the room, misses the ominously large snake sliding across the shined floors.

A hiss, a singular hiss, snaps her eyes downward.

The snakes head, almost as big as her own, is raised a few feet off the ground, and the tail so long that Rose cannot see the end.

But she does not shake. She does not waver.

Instead, holds Nyx close to her chest, and crouches down, coming face to face with this creature.

In parseltongue, she says, "You are a beautiful snake,"

The snake tilts their head, and her voice is that of a woman, "You speak my language?"

Nyx replies in Rose's place, "She never shuts up about it,"

"I believe it is something to be proud of," Rose says, a smile gracing her features.

"Wise words," The snake hisses, inching closer. "Are you not afraid?"

Rose shakes her head, lifting one hand off Nyx to graze the underside of this other snakes mouth. She waits, waits patiently until the snake sinks into the comfort of her touch. "Are the most beautiful things, not the most terrifying?"

"I believe I may like you, witchling."

Nyx twists around Rose's chest, "As if her head needed to get any bigger,"

The snake looks down to Nyx before signaling the much smaller being around her neck.

Nyx goes, with Rose's help, wrapping around the creature like a climbing rock. Then, the large snake says, "Try having the dark lord as your keeper....talk about big heads,"

Rose chokes on a laugh. "Goodness," She says, "What is your name?"

"Nagini," answers the snake.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," Rose assures with a never-withering smile, then pushes up off her knees, surveying the space lit by wall sconces. "Where is the dark lord?"

"Meeting with some people," Nagini tells, "He will be back soon."

"So he's off murdering, you mean?" Rose shakes her head, "I'll be exploring while waiting."

She moves to leave the two snakes to their own volition, and the sound of her heels echo amongst the empty home.

Decidedly, Rose takes the staircase on her right, gliding a hand along the railing. The journey up to the second floor is enough walking for her, but a room, one on her left, at the very top, grabs her attention.

Inside, it feels similar to the cigar rooms Lucius would keep placing in his own manors. Except this one is darker, the only light being the multiple sconces casting the space into a warm ray of orange. A table, in the center, empty. Four chairs by the curtain-covered windows. But it is the singular painting she goes toward, a grand form of imagery showcasing the ocean.

Her fingers reach to graze the shades of blue and the ring, the one laying on the center of her hand, takes Rose back in time.

Suddenly, she is remembering words exchanged between herself and Tom when it lay on his hand instead.

"Yeah," She had told him once, "I'll always find you, Tom."

Then, a year later, she is finding the ghost of him. That day she begged, pleaded with him to let her bring him back. He told her no, explained multiple times how that would not work.

But he made a promise that day. "You'll find me again," Tom had said, "That is what you always used to say, is it not?"

"It is," She recalls spluttering back, "But what if you're an ugly old man?"

Even then, as a ghost, his lips quirked. "Then in the next life,"

She remembers all too clearly her response of, "Too long."

"Not for us." He said, the last words Rose ever heard from his mouth.

How foolish, she thinks, to miss someone in such a grave way.

Someone who did not exist.

To shake the memories, to shake the thoughts, she uses her other hand to trace the lines of the painting. It is beautiful, one must admit, and she knows the art had to have been here before.

The floor creaks near the doorway, a sound of footsteps, something she pays no mind to. Believing it to be Nagini and Nyx passing by, and refusing to give up her mission of studying this painting as originally planned.

But then, the smell of summer rain, mahogany, notes of vanilla—they all invade her senses.

Something pulls at her gut, like a tethered string, and then at her heart, chest aching for no apparent reason. She has never felt this before, forced to take a ragged breath, press a hand to her collarbones for steadiness.

A voice, refined, older, and deep, comes from the doorway.

"Did you miss me, Rosalie?"

She whips around, and what leans on on the doorway makes every ounce of oxygen leave her lungs.

A man, an older man, curls of dark brown hair pushed back, eyes from her dreams settled below haunting brows, words that came from perfect lips—creating a face she remembers all too well and none at all.

Tom.

Her Tom.

But he is not how she met him.

He is older, appearing at the age he fully achieved immortality.

Forever stuck, which is not a bad thing. If she thought he was beautiful before, he is breathtaking now.

"It would seem I have found you again," Tom smirks in an all too daming way. "Or perhaps you have found me, either way. Here I am."

Her eyes glass over, the tethered tug at her heart pulls, and she rushes forward.

But then stops short, minimal feet between them, voice trembling, "What do you remember?" She asks.

"I remember everything." He says, a sacred vow.

"How?" Her guard must stay up, this cannot be real. "How could you possibly...?"

"We both well know I had no choice in getting my body back, I would never have access to my full power without it, and what I had before was made from smoke and ash." He says, "Your blood, I planned to use it for deciphering what I taught you in that chamber after I saw into your mind, but it would seem I unlocked a million memories."

"Oh god," She breathes, covering her mouth, and the tears somehow stay at bay.

"Me?" Tom cocks an eyebrow, a cruel mirth to his teasing.

And she laughs, genuinely, but quietly.

He moves as the shadows, air, and ocean would, not like a man. Taking one step, and filling her vision full.

She places a hand against his chest, one that makes him tense, and his own fingers grasp her chin, forcing her to crane up for him, stare directly into his piercing gaze.

His touch, it feels the same as an autumn breeze.

"I did," She whispers, "Miss you. I didn't believe you would ever be back."

A grim smile plays across his lips. "Are you really so foolish to have ever thought death could keep me from you?"

Her throat runs dry. "I had hoped it wouldn't,"

His hand curls onto her cheek, thumb glides beneath her eye, wiping away a tear that refuses to break through its barrier. His face falls flat at her tiresome features. "My Rosalie," He says, edged as a knife. "You need rest."

She cannot speak, only shakes her head to say it is impossible to find such.

"I have something for you," Tom reaches into his coat pocket, hand still on her cheek. A folded paper he pulls out, slips it into the waistband of her skirt. "You'll find Theodore there, but you must not kill his father yet."

Her heart sinks. "You're telling me...where he is?!" A pause of disbelief, "But you refused..."

"Do not mistake it as an act of care for you," He warns, like a cautionary tale. "Go," He says, "Go and get him."

_______________________________

A/N: hello loves!! tommy boy is back in business!!  if you thought things were rough the first time around....prepare yourself (im actually screaming)

—everyone take a moment of silence for the new readers who have no idea what's coming 🤝🏻🤝🏻

—on another note, i want to hug rosie

—warning, this is where the plot becomes more heavy and gets dark themes so just know! you have been warned!

—Theo my love, I MISS HIM! place ur bets on where he is!

—i would love to write a grand authors note for you guys but i am incredibly tired and need to nap immediately like my eyes are barely open right now lol

therefore, xx bri <3