third person pov

' i was thinking about who you are,
your delicate point of view '

        Theodore Nott stood in the foyer leading out to the arched, almost arcane, doors of Nott manor. He glanced up at the twinkling chandelier above his head, the stupid thing had to be at least five-feet wide, and the way it was shaking slightly-along with the hollow, but heavy, footsteps-told of his father nearing.

"Off so soon?"

His father stopped with a few feet between them, something between a pompous smirk on his face and ridicule mixed in his sharp eyes. The senior had on a dark blue vest, the sleeves of his white button down rolled up as he crossed his muscled arms-he caught a glance of the faint dark mark on his father's left forearm, a shade of bright-red.

INACTIVE DEATHEATER, the red-shaded design seemed to scream.

He looked down at his own white button down, the collar loose and unbuttoned slightly, tucked lazily in his pants-a dark, but tan trench coat over his limbs.

Theo hated how much they looked alike in this lighting.

From the preposterous broadness of his father's shoulders that Theo was slowly garnering more and more with age, the matching shade of deep brown hair on their heads, eyes that equally appeared so blue they could've been a swarm of waves from the deepest parts of the ocean on both of their faces, height that looked as if belonged to a long lost greek statue of a god-worst of all, the manner in which both of their temper's burned hot enough to melt steel.

The similarities were too much to bear.

But that is where they ended.

Where his fathers eyebrows were brown as his hair, Theo's were almost black. Where his father seemed consistently pale for a man who lived in the English countryside, Theo's skin was tan and golden year round-an omage to his mother's heritage. Where his father often stood with a scowl of pride, Theo seemed to have shadows flanking his face into a mask of boredom.

"They are having dinner at Grimmauld."

His father snorted. "Such a dreadful place," he muttered. "I swear the dead haunt it."

Theo's jaw ticked.

He hated small talk.

"I do not doubt it." Theo checked the leather-banded watch on his wrist. "I am already running late. Are you coming?"

"Surely not anytime soon, I'm working on a time-turner as of now," His father said, almost spitefully. "Frankly, I do not see why you are in such a rush. You stayed at their manor last night. You've only just got home."

"The head of their family just died."

His father waved a hand around, eyes rolling. "Yes, well, I will be sure to send a hefty donation to the charity they will name after him."

Theo turned away and lazily yanked open one of the doors-they felt like they weighed a million pounds-before leaning against the frame. He checked his watch again, the car was late. Maybe he should just ride a broom, but that would require more energy than he felt like spending, and he would have to make himself invisible to fly into muggle London. Floo'ing was always an option, but Grimmauld's floo-system was bound to be rusty with them being away so much recently.

And a cab ride sounded peaceful as of now.

Across the sprawling estate filled with trees and a brass gate, the evening sun sunk further and further, casting the sky into a mix of orange and dusty pink. The august breeze swept through his hair and up his nose, filling his lungs with something akin to yearning-the seasons would change soon, leaving as quickly as a lover scorned.

His eyes had closed in desperation.

He did not want to stare at the fading sky and think of how its warmth reminded him of a certain ebony-haired witch and her thumb swiping over his wrist in forbidden moments.

It does not give him relief though. He sees her in every corner of this world; from the moon to the sun, the winter ice and the summer rain, the thickest array of trees forming a forest and a grassy hillside leading up to the stars. Even, he sees her when he closes his eyes, as if her face is burned into his eyelids.

She is the voice of reason in his mind, and the reason madness scratches at the back of his head.

Perhaps, regardless of his disbelief in fate and Gods, he often thinks he was born knowing her-born with her own blood mixed with his own. Not because of DNA, or anything of the sort. But because of some ancient curse, where they are doomed to tortment one another until end times-where a map to one another lies etched into their bones.

A thousand years ago, he is sure, there was a moment where they had locked eyes and let the world burn all around them.

The most sickening part, the part which makes him nauseated, is for her to be the one thing he can never have, no matter how desperately his greedy hands claw at her soul to be his own.

And he knows, all too well, his father would prefer anyone else. A squib would be better in Thedore Nott senior's eyes, even a muggleborn-even a plain, old muggle.

Anything, and he means it in the most literal sense, would be better than his one and only son being something far beyond 'in love' with Rosalie Black.

Although he had drifted away then, he did not fail to feel his father settle next to him minutes ago, inhaling the warm air as deeply as he himself did.

His father's ability to be silent is his only redeeming quality.

When Theo reopened his eyes and settled his gaze onto the sunset in forfeit, his father was already looking at him.

The words tumble out of Theo harshly, "Say what you want to say."

"You need to be careful-" His father started, settling himself deeper into the doorway next to Theo. "You just, you...cannot fein to forget she is going to die one day. Who knows when. But it will happen, son. I do not wish to see that affect you when it comes."

Now the nausea was truly knocking on the doors of Theo's body, begging to let him spill his guts onto the marble steps below. He lifted his eyes up to the vacant sky and almost fell down, ready to beg Gods he did not believe in to change fate until the skin of his knees ripped open from being down for so long.

He is so afraid that he sealed his fate, her fate.

Theo stood up straight and shoved his hands into his pockets in fear they would go around his father's throat if not. He could not look over, could not show anyone how deeply this pain vibrated up his spine. If showed how valuable she truly was to him, then she could be taken away.

"I made that many years ago." He did not recognize his own voice; so ragged and venomous, so desperate and angered. "It will not be true."

His father crossed his arms once more, sighing aggravatedly. "Your ability to actually see into the future is something beyond rare, something you refuse to indulge in fear of how powerful you might actually be. People play with their tarot cards and divination tools, but you are the one true thing."

It is a curse to see the future, never a blessing. It is a curse to be able to tell no one, to live alone with voices and visions of the world ahead. He does not know how any single being could think his gift could be a present handed from a God.

He remembers being eight when he saw Rosalie's Black death, each vivid detail engraved into his brain-tormenting his every nightmare, his every moment of silence. His mother had found him screaming in a corner, red marks and blood all over his forearms from where he had scratched his skin raw, believing maybe he could scrub the vision clean off his body.

It had taken one too many potions to tame an eight year old boy.

When his mother, Eleanor, had finally gotten her potion-making magic to work, she had held him in her arms, crouched down in the same corner with him as if they were equals. He remembers looking up at her water lined dark-brown eyes, her fingers soothing down his hair as he stayed immobilized from the liquid now swarming his veins.

"My sweet boy," she had murmured, her Italian accent still thick. "You will understand, one day, how the most beautiful things leave early-they are not meant to stay. We are given moments, glimpses of time with the best of things, before they are taken away. It is a gift, some never get, to experience these things. There will be people who are otherworldly, burning up like stars, who grace us with feelings that are a blessing from above, before they are called home, into the soil of the earth. We must let them go when it is time, for they are not ours to keep. They belong to something much bigger than ourselves."

He wonders now, many of years later, if she had been talking about herself as well.

He wonders now, too, if his mother had seen her own death coming.

But he can as well recall the firmness in which her voice switched to, the way she dropped her tone into a whisper, in fear of someone hearing, and said, "But no matter what anyone tells you, fate can be outran, destinies can be destroyed with a mighty enough fist."

Just then, a blacked-out town car pulled up to the estate gates, and the sound of old brass creaking open brought Theo back to the present-where his father still stood, staring at him intently.

He had to inhale sharply to keep himself collected.

He went to take a step forward, but his father seized him by the arm, fingers tight and unrelenting.

It made his skin crawl.

"The prophecy will not change."

Theo yanks himself free, fighting off the snarl that wants to rip itself out of his lungs. He looks his father dead in the eye, and mutters, "It does not matter to me."

Because he knows, regardless of what the world spins, no goddess up above is spinning the thread of his life-he does not believe in that stuff anymore. His fate is for him to decide, the world be damned. And his destiny is his to forge and his alone, Gods be damned.

Something like pride and appraisal spreads on his father's face, for he must be confusing Theo's words with something else-just as his son wanted.

Theodore Nott had many secrets; including the future, where his mind laid, what went on within the walls of his house-the list went on and on, but his most devout secret, the one he would never let touch the light of day nor would he ever let the world take out of him, was this: Rosalie Black.

She was his to keep until his bones rotted, and never for the world to know how deeply their entanglement of love burned.

*

   
        The inside of 12 Grimmauld Place always smelled of dust, burnt wood, and honey. Though, walking inside of it felt like visiting an ancient graveyard where spirits roamed freely. Sometimes Theodore Nott swears he can feel a whisper off the walls, energy from hundreds of dark magic-abusing ghosts lurking and tucked away in secret corners. Purple wine-colored carpet sunk beneath his every step, a line of family portraits from every generation hung against the black walls.

Each of their faces seemed as fearsome as any cruel God, almost all staring soullessly into the camera-now staring into Theo. Different members of their family within the portraits turn to themselves and whisper as he passes. He can only imagine what they have to say about him, of all people.

He thinks of their deaths, all of which he has researched in his obsession due to Rose, and he thinks about how insane each one is.

When Theo was ten, he asked his father why people had always tended to cower away from the Black's, why others looked at them as if they might explode faster than a launched bomb into a battlefield full of enemies. He then learned of what had been dubbed 'the Black Family madness', a title Rita Skeeter often claimed to create-but witches whispered Merlin himself had come up with after witnessing the family's histories.

He thinks Rose might be the maddest of them all, and it is why he loves her so.

People like Professor Mcgongall, and young women like Hermione Granger, might be considered to be the smartest of their kind to most, but Rosalie Black would be brightest to women like his mother, to young girls like Luna Lovegood.

She saw a world beyond, understood things others could not perceive with a mere eye of magic. While the crowd will scurry with textbooks in hand and the facts the world has given them, Rose will listen to the quiet no one else dares to-she will claw, scratch, and fight for the unseen, until knowledge is bursting out of her and into the hands of those who must hear it.

He thinks she will change this world, all of the ideas in it.

What is knowledge, Rose had said once, if not a weapon to be withheld and given at will?

The truth is there, Teddy, she had told him, if only we truly try to seek it.

Faint chatter and the quiet melody of jazz hit his ears as he laid a hand against the swinging door leading into the den. There was Narcissa and Lucius standing, their bodies draped in the finest of grandeur clothing, with Walburga by the roaring hearth in the center of the room. Draco, in a classical sort of black suit, his hands tucked in his pockets as he talked quietly by the bookshelf wall, his back turned-as if he could not bear to gaze across the room. Then there was Whitman, his hair a usual mess as he leaned his hips against the window seat that gave a view of the street lights outside, clothed in slacks and a button down so casual it looked as if it were meant for the beach-unbuttoned so carelessly that Theo could see the sharp lines of the recent tattoos on his chest peaking out.

Whitman Rosier never gave much of shit about his body.

He was nodding along at Draco, with his eyes darting every few seconds to the lone figure sitting on one of the two couches facing each other, directly by the fire.

Theo dragged his attention to the raven-haired witch who sat all by herself, clothed in a silk gown as black as her hair, with sleeves covering every inch of her arms. Her abnormally long nails were clutching angrily at a red glass of wine, the usually pristine colored hands now covered in chipped away polish. And her hair, he realized, which was almost as abnormally long as her nails, was not down as usual, but pinned back tightly-showing every curve and edge of her face to him.

Her gaze was focused on the fire visible between the three adults standing-bodies, Theo had the thought she'd not even realized his presence yet. She is as stiff as a board, no sign of air leaving her lungs, her shoulders drawn tightly back in place, maroon lips pursed together-even now, Theo cannot seem to recognize her in these moments when her family is near. It is as if every ounce of light and warmth runs from her body, hiding in a place that cannot be found.

It makes him more sickened than thinking of the prophecy, to see her like this.

He moves forward, and when he is finally about to take a place next to her, he stops.

Her gaze snaps onto him, pinning him with a stare so unnerving, and off-putting, that he cannot move-it is the same stare she gave to the outside world, the kind that lasted more than a few seconds than would be comfortable.

The corner of his mouth twitches before he sits down next to her, careful to place their bodies close enough to brush, but nothing to raise questions-something so meticulously done to ensure this moment of touching, of connection, would be theirs and theirs only.

He leaned forward, fingers linking together, one of the elbows on his knees pressing into her leg, head tilted toward the witch as she eyed him curiously. He could be unbelievably threatening without meaning to. Rose often said he could intimidate any being, perhaps even a Dementor, into his bidding if he so wished.

Others would find the silence uncomfy, Theo knew that-which was why he was so good at it. But for them, and the unit they were, silence was a gift of understanding.

They did not need words to speak their own language.

Her eyes were piercing, even in such an exhausted manner, and he urged the Gods he did not believe in to make her look away in fear he would get lost behind the sea of gray.

Not gray in the way Draco carried, but gray in the literal sense of the colour. There was no way for her to pass as a muggle, this much he was sure of. No natural born human could manage that colour, and there was a glint of magic around her irises that would always sell her out-speak truth of the ancient blood that crafted her this way.

"Teddy," she murmured.

Her voice sent a shiver down his spine, a chill he could feel in every inch of himself.

"Baby," he murmured back, eyes darting all over her face.

Had time gone by that fast?

How quick were the years moving?

He could map out her face with a blindfold on and a quill in hand, yet she seemed to be growing each day.

She was not the kind of beauty people stood before many million years later in a museum, aw'ing at with tenderness. No, never. She was the kind of beautiful that one would choke on if they tried to swallow, something to cause bile to rise, knowing you would never witness such a thing again-not in this lifetime nor any one after.

The sight of her, the kind of beauty she was, made his chest ache.

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

Whoever crafted her, he thought, must have had to compress a million stars and solar systems into one being-he often believed they were trying to escape; the universe's materials that some forsaken God used to create her.

He knows she cannot be real, she cannot be a human, yet here she is-staring at him as if he is the only one she would allow to exist in this plane with her.

She is often drifting to places Theo cannot get to, where he cannot grasp desperately for her to come back.

Wherever she goes, Theo wants to go with her-no matter how dark some of those sites might be.

"Where is Blaise?" The question is so ragged and sudden out of Rose that it reels Theo back into this moment. "Where," she breathes out quietly, "is he?"

He presses his elbow deeper into her thigh. "Blaise is still in France..."

She blinks at him, as if not understanding, before muttering beneath her breath and bringing the glass of wine up to her lips.

"He wants to be here," Theo tries to reason quietly.

"Then he would be here."

He knows that she too knows better than that, but he does not voice it.

"Have you responded to his letters?"

"Do not quite feel like writing. My words fail me these days."

"Baby," Theo murmurs, waiting until she meets his eye again before shaking his head. "Don't be like that. You know his mother, the woman refuses to attend funerals so close to home."

Her face tries to stay hard beneath Theo's gaze, but fails miserably with a few seconds of eye contact. She sighs, leaning into him and placing both her hands around the wine glass.

"I just-" She breaks off. "I just miss him."

What she really means to say is her desperation to have had him at the hospital, at the funeral, at this moment here. Theo knew this all too well, he could read her mind like he could hear his own thoughts. She is angry too, it seems, that Blaise has missed all of this. He was not an afterthought to their friend group, but the center of it all. Theo is sure she loves Blaise more than herself most days, and perhaps he is the one she would have crawled to first in this mess.

"He will be home soon."

Rose made a noise of approval before slotting her eyes across the room, where Whitman and Draco stood. "I believe Whitman may lose his vision if he keeps glancing over here." She placed the rim of the glass to her lips, mumbling, "One wonders if Draco will manage to keep his mind uncluttered tonight."

"One wonders," Theo echoed back.

A smile, the genuine kind that felt as astonishing to witness as a shooting star, spread across her mouth, every ounce of attention falling onto Theo. She messily placed the glass onto a side table and laid her arm over his bent back, her fingers pushing into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I feel like I can breathe now, with you here."

Theo smiled up at her, a rare sight, his limbs buzzing at their proximity. "Oh, how the hours of the day suffocate me when you are not near." He winked as her eyes rolled. "Tell me, is there news? Narcissa seems particularly pissed."

"Crows too sing."

That was all she said.

Another riddle he, nor anyone, was supposed to understand.

But then she presses her lips to his ear, mumbling, "You look astonishing."

Her love has never made him feel small-it is as if he is a God himself when by her side.

She pulls away as fluid as the ocean, her nails scraping at his scalp for only a moment before she completely untangles herself from him and picks back up the wine glass, taking a long gulp as her eyes focus back onto the fire.

Before he can react, before he can tell her how much he wished to be able to capture how beautiful she is into words and beg her to not disappear once more, Walburga turns toward them, along with Narcissa and Lucius.

"Rosalie?"

Rose's eyes darted up to the adults. "Yes, grandmother?"

Whitman was there in an instant, standing next to where Theo sat, Draco right on his heels.

"Glad to see you join us, mate," Whitman said, aimed at Theo, and earning a glare from Walburga at the interruption. "Only half an hour late, of course."

Theo leans back into the couch with a grunt. "My father was holding me up."

"That bastard," Whitman muttered, tipping his glass down in consideration.

"Whitman!" Walburga scolded.

"Indeed," Theo replied, the corners of his mouth tugging up in sync with Whitman's.

"What?" Whitman scoffed. "The man's a bastard. Right, Ro?"

Theo glanced at Rose, she was still motionless, saying absolutely nothing-normally she would be happily boasting her hateful opinions about Theodore Nott Senior.

"Enough of you, crazed child. You've drank too much," Walburga muttered before shaking her head and extending a hand down to Rose. "Come here, darling, show Narcissa that gown she got you."

"Oh," Narcissa laughed softly. "She needs not-"

"Nonsense," Rose said with a too calm voice, and grasped her grandmother's hand-allowing the woman to pull her up. "I love it, Cissa. Thank you."

A smile brighter than the sun spread across Draco's mothers face as she reached for Rose and grasped the young witch's face in between her hands. "Oh, my gorgeous girl...You are growing up too fast on me..."

Theo watched how Rose's shoulders relaxed, the corner's of her eyes turning soft as she murmured a 'thank you'.

"She is perfect," Walburga said, and Theo could hear that glimpse of pride the woman never showed casted into the room. "The gown will fit much better when she begins eating a bit more, I told Rosalie no one wants to be as skinny as a thirteen-year old boy."

And just like that, all of the air had been sucked out of the space.

There seemed to not be a single person breathing.

Even Lucius looks away.

Rose was the only one who dared to suck in a breath, carefully peeling herself away from Narcissa. "I do see what you mean," she said politely, but entirely too strained, running a hand down her stomach.

But Theo did not care, he did not care at all about what any of the powerful people in this room could do to him. "I think it fits her perfectly," he spat, refusing to hide the hate in his voice.

Walburga's piercing gaze, more terrifying than anything, went straight onto him. "I am sure you do, Theodore."

"Mhm." Theo hummed, staring right back into the eyes that he is sure hundreds have cowered from, as he laid an arm on the back of the couch. "What an honour to be perceived so correctly by you, Walburga."

Rose bowed her head to Narcissa before turning away, using the full strength of her voice to say calmly, "I will go check on the dinner."

And then there she was, once again, breezing past Theo, and shoving through Whitman and Draco, with her shoulder's drawn tightly together, her head held high with no colour in her face-all of her light gone, sucked out by her family.

The swinging door slammed with her exit, making Draco flinch.

Whitman slung an arm over Draco, one Theo knew was for comfort, and perhaps his own stability considering he looked to be stumbling, before kicking at Theo's foot.

Draco was frozen, unable to move, or collect himself, for seconds. It wasn't until Lucius cleared his throat that his son's eyes seemed to come back into focus, throat bobbing all too obviously.

He tried to shrug Whitman off, but gave up after a mere second.

"You were never this touchy before living with Rosalie," Draco said with an evenness which took years to perfect, but Theo could see the way his mouth strained to even open.

Narcissa smiled gently as Whitman shoved Draco away. "I find it endearing."

"I find it pathetic," Lucius said with arrogance.

Whitman tipped his glass up to Lucius as if preparing a speech, and said, "Much how I find many things about you, Lucius." He turned away after, heading straight for the same door Rose had disappeared out of, bringing that same glass to his lips and chugging until it was empty.

Just as he pushed the door open with a bang, he tossed his glass messily down onto the antique table by the exit.

"He is most certainly drunk," Narcissa muttered, sliding her hand into Lucius's own. "Don't hold it against him, dear."

Walburga shook her head. "I do not know what has gotten into him recently..."

Theo did not know either. Whitman was acting like Theo normally did after a simple thing such as a bee annoyed Draco. He assumed Whitman felt the need to be more in line than others due to his standing. The boy had no money of his own, nor did he have a family-not even a horrible one of his own. He was a disowned child turned into a man, thinking he had to compensate and make his life with his own two hands. Theo thought, that maybe, Whitman believed he had to be different in order to survive, to make everyone okay with the 'monster' he saw himself to be.

He couldn't disagree though, Whitman was clearly beyond drunk tonight-something tormenting his mind that Theo couldn't put his finger on.

Regardless, Theo shot up, knocking his shoulder into Draco's as he passed. The white-haired boy went to follow, as if he might walk fast enough to pass Theo.

But Theo turned around, slamming a hand into Draco's chest, and muttering, "Don't you dare." Just as the adults returned to a hushed conversation facing the fire.

Draco shoved him off, practically snarling out, "What? So you can go play white knight?"

Theo looked him up and down with disgust and shame, he hated the person Draco could turn into. Sometimes Draco favoured Rose in ways that were unnerving, the manner of how there seemed to be two versions of Draco Malfoy. The first version he loved, and he truly did. It was the Draco that he had grown up with, the little boy who had been his brother in everything but blood.

And Draco is, regardless of the parents they have, his sibling. Just as Whitman and Blaise are, despite coming from different men and different wombs. It is so odd, so very hard to have someone as your own brother. Sometimes Theo hates every molecule that is Draco Malfoy. Sometimes Theo loves him more than he loves himself. He wants to drive a knife into him most days. But he cannot stand to see him harmed. He needs the comfort of his brother's arms. Although Draco knows exactly where to drive the knife more than his own father does. Why is this boy his responsibility? Then again, he would be damned before he let harm come to him. Draco is his gravest enemy at times, but his most loyal comrade.

How could he live with him? How could he live without him?

That is the true complexity of having siblings.

Then there was the other version of Draco Malfoy, the one Theo despised on the best of days. He doesn't know when it started, or if it had been there all along. Where Draco is cold, callous, and beyond crueler than anyone in this damned world. Theo sees him turning into Lucius, although he refuses to speak it out loud-not in fear of how much damage it would cause, but terrified it would then become true. He wants to tell Draco, when his eyes glaze over and he becomes this distorted version of a person who doesn't exist, that there is no need for such bullshit. It is me, Theo wants to scream, you can put your strength down. I am your brother. They had all made promises; to not be their families, to escape it all, to be people worthy of living. Sometimes he is terrified, like a little child again, that Draco will never make it out.

Sometimes he is terrified, that the years will pass and the seasons will change, and one day he won't recognize the man looking back at him.

"Boys!" Narcissa calls sharply, while Lucius and Walburga barely spare a glance at the commotion before resuming their conversation.

Draco hesitates, and before Theo can see what he will do-he turns away.

Coward, Theo wants to shout, but he only exits out of the same door Rose and Whitman did instead.

In the corridor, the jazz music is muffled once more, and in the dim light Theo can make out Rose making a sharp left turn into another corridor-Whitman sloppily following after her.

Theo trails along.

Just as he turns the corner, he sees Whitman reaching for Rose's shoulder. She whipped around, pushing him off and grasping onto her own arms as if she were freezing cold.

Theo stops in his tracks at a distance, neither of them notice him.

"What?!" Rose hisses at Whitman. Her mask of calmness was gone, and her teeth seemed to be chattering slightly, but barely noticeable.

Whitman stumbled as he reached for her again, his hands grasping at her arms. She didn't shrug him off this time. Instead, she stayed in the same position, her back seeming to straighten.

"I hate her," Whitman breathed out.

"You're drunk," she muttered.

"No. No, I am-" Whitman cut himself off with a deep breath, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He pressed hard enough, and inhaled so sharply, that Rose reached for him with a sudden look of worry. "I, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Whit..." Rose shook her head, attempting to pull his hands down. "What do you ever have to be sorry for?"

When he finally caved, letting her guide his hands down and into her own, his eyes were bloodshot, his back pushing up and down between heavy breath's. His mouth opened, then closed, without a sound-only he yanked her closer to him.

Rose shook her head once more with a question written all over her face. But she didn't push him to explain. That was one of the great things about her. She knew when to let things be. Theo was sure he could show up at her bedroom door with his hands covered in blood, and she would only guide him gently to the bathroom sink and wash the sticky substance from his body.

"You are beautiful," Whitman blurts out, and a part of Theo jerks at the words. He has heard Whitman tell her this a million times, but never in such a ragged way-never in a way that felt so desperate and full of wanting.

Rose clearly feels the difference too, because her eyes grow wide up at him, and she releases him long enough to press her hands into his chest, as if she can feel his desperation and push it back into him.

Theo's feet began moving before he knew what he was doing.

"Don't do that," Rose bit out, though her voice was breathy. "Don't talk to me like that. You are drunk. Drunk enough you are acting like...Just, just go sober up."

Whitman grasped her chin in a hand, his fingers splaying across her cheek. Theo had half the mind to break his brother's wrist. Then Whitman said, "Just tell me. Say that you know how beautiful you are. That you're-" He cut himself off before tightening his grip. "Say you're my beautiful girl. Say her words mean nothing."

Rose pushed away from him with a quick wind, and before anything else could happen, Theo reached them. Her eyes found Theo's just as he came to stand by her side.

"He's just drunk," she muttered beneath her breath.

Theo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She didn't fight him. If anything, he felt the tightness in her body slowly uncoil as she let her body weight be his to hold up.

Her eyes dragged up to Theo, all of her attention back where it belonged-on him and him only.

He met Whitman's gaze, and he saw a spark of anger written on his face. Theo didn't understand why he was being like this, but it made his own temper flare up. Drunk or not, there was no reason for Whitman to be looking at Rose, his Rose, as if she were some girl he was going to snog and take up to his room.

Maybe it was the full moon coming up.

But either way, Theo only looked Whitman up and down smugly as Rose wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed her hand against his stomach. He didn't want to be dick, but he couldn't help it. He felt he could not see Whitman as Whitman right then, as if some random being was attempting to kneel at his altar, to pray to his God.

"We'll go check on the food and send Kreacher to grab you some water," Theo said, before tucking Rose deeper into his side and turning them both away.

When they were a few feet away, Rose opened her mouth and murmured, "I don't know why he's acting like this. It's like he's grieving."

"He hated Orion. He's not grieving. It must be the moon, might just be a bad one."

"I know."

Nothing else needed to be said. Theo used a hand to pull the top of her head into him and kissed her forehead. 

He felt her sigh of relief fill his lungs with warmth.

"A moment alone first?"

"Yes." Theo had said then, with haste. "Yes, please."

*

       Theodore Nott Senior had arrived for dinner.

They all sat at a round table, a cluster of wax candles pushed together in the very center as the only source of light-except the few wall sconces at the very edges of the dining room. They had only just been served the second course when Theo's hand found Rose's beneath the table. The chairs were quite close together, and he had barely been thinking properly when he realized he was reaching for her.

Her fingers intertwined with his own as she pushed her food around with a fork, a bland expression on her face as the parents all around talked. She was as cold as a winter night, but he could feel her skin warming beneath his palm.

Everyone was so distracted by each other, and he couldn't help the smile pulling at his lips as her nail scraped at a callous on his hand. He glanced down, just for a moment, and saw their combined limbs.

But then the sound of his father's laughter filled his ears, bringing him into reality, and making the smile fall from his face. His eyes darted around at the people sat with them, and he yanked his hand away with a quick breath.

Rose's fork clattered on her plate, the sound ringing in his ears.

He just wanted to protect her; from the people with them, from the brunt of his father, from the agony of it all. Now, he wasn't sure if the sound of metal was causing the ringing in his ears. He needed to get up, to run away. Suddenly, the room was too small, and the ceiling was falling on top of him.

Was this his destiny? To love her silently? To be forced to run from her? It made no sense, that such an innocent thing, an act of love, could be so wrong. Certainly, his feelings were punishable. If not with torture, then disownment. And it wasn't that he really cared about either happening to him. If only, his true concern was for her-for what would happen to her. Who was he to ask her to give this life up for him?

It was if every time he tried to reach for her, the word FORBIDDEN, FORBIDDEN, FORBIDDEN! was being shouted down at him by some damning God. He hated when his mind began reeling and he questioned every single thing, but he could not help it. When it was him and Rose alone, in the quietness of their solitude, in stolen moments, his head was silent-he felt euphoria meant only for angels. Certainly not made for men with ancient evil in their DNA. But right now a million questions were running through his mind, the main one asking how he could ever be wrong for loving her. Maybe he wasn't meant to question such things as destiny, but he had to-he had to for her.

He felt a flame spread across his limbs, his skin was beginning to burn alive and spread up to his chest. Even his eyes were stinging with some all too familiar pain and agony.

He only stared at where her hand once been, and Gods,-his skin had to be red with how hot he felt.

"Theodore?"

He couldn't bring himself back.

"Theodore!"

It was his father's voice who shouted that time.

Theo snapped his eyes up to his father, a man wearing a look of scrutiny-one that felt as though every inch of him was being read like a book. He inhaled sharply and went to reach for his fork, before realizing his hands were shaking. This couldn't be right, his hands were as steady as Rose's. He could be lifting Whitman up after a full moon, seeing a broken bone jutting from his friend's skin, and still not tremble. Why now? Why must his own flesh betray him here? In this moment?

He settled himself back into the chair, lazily letting his head fall back into the wooden seat. He could pretend, he could act as if everything was normal in his mind.

But apparently not to everyone, because despite Rose looking as if she might crawl out of her skin, she casually placed her hand over his thigh and squeezed two times.

I'm here.

With that, he regained his composure, and said, "Apologizes, I was thinking about something."

"Aren't you always?" His father laughed pompously, eyes swiping over to Rose momentarily. "Lucius was asking if you all were ready for Hogwarts to resume."

Theo nodded slightly.

His father sighed at the lack of response before setting his cutlery down onto the plate. Conversations resumed, and Theo tried to force some food into his mouth, but he couldn't stop glancing at Rose; watching how she was mashing her food and pushing it in different corners, as to make it look like she had eaten.

Not again, he thought, Please, no more.

"I was wondering, Walburga," His father said suddenly. "If we may broach how you are going to handle this...loss. I know you do not wish to be cornered so quickly after losing him, but I feel since our families are all so close, perhaps we could help. The paperwork is bound to be hefty, if not only the social dynamics that must now fall in place too."

Now Theo was really listening, and so was everyone else.

At least Whitman looked to be sobering up with the food given.

Walburga sighed and picked up her fifth glass of wine. Yes, Theo had been counting. He paid attention to everything, most of the time. The woman took a patient sip, then balanced the glass up with both of her hands grasping at it.

"Paperwork is paperwork," she said flatly. "But I do know many things are going to be questioned. I'm sure the whole lot of the public, along with the savagely members of our society, are preparing to see how it will all crumble."

Lucius held his glass to the side, letting Kreacher appear from thin air and refill it. "Your house is fragile now." He always had a way of stating the things no one wanted to. "Despite your name being as powerful as it is, the last living male heir is gone."

Rose scoffed, a sliver of her true self poking through as she set down her fork and prepared to join the conversation. "Ah yes," she said. "Crows coming to feast on my grandfather's body before he can even turn cold in his grave. Delightful, truly."

Walburga winked at her granddaughter.

"All of our families have ties beyond comprehension," Theo's father said. "We want to assure your house will be unbreakable. You must see that if something were to happen to you two, it would greatly affect us."

They were all in business together, in trades, in pacts stronger than a blood-sealed deal-Theo's father handled the media and worked on changing magical tools into something to be bent to the will of a wizard. Lucius took the mass loads of corporations and finance. Miss Zabini handled fashion and secret trading industries. The Black's had intel and the dark-artifact underground.

An empire all intertwined.

But just as well, they had under the table deals, secret businesses Theo wanted to know nothing of. Something he had learned at a young age was people with money, and not the new kind, but the old kind, had terrifying ways of making sure they were ten times richer than the richest person you could name. And those with the old money, they did awful things to make sure it would never be lost.

"I assure you the House of Black remains as unbreakable as always," Walburga chided, annoyed.

"Theodore talked to my father and got his opinion," Lucius began, with the knowing look of how much weight that name held at this table, "He would like me to remind you that while you may not actually be vulnerable, you will appear so if there is not some sort of promise. If you will, no image that there is a future for your name."

Walburga made a 'hmph' noise. "What is then, Lucius? That Abraxas is suggesting?"

Kreacher appeared beside Rose with a bottle in hand, only for her to yank it from him. She began filling her glass full of the red substance, until it was almost touching the rim and she settled the bottle down loudly on the table.

That was certainly one way to fill a wine glass.

Narcissa gave her a knowing look that the girl paid no mind to.

"Well, it was Theodore's idea. An arranged marriage. Abraxas is on...the fence, you could say, about such."

As soon as the words left Lucius Malfoy's mouth, the room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. There was not even a whisper of wind, and perhaps it had been because of Walburga-her magic was certainly strong enough to make the world and seasons go still. Even the candle flames stopped moving, as if stuck in time.

"For who?!" Rose blurted out. "My grandmother?!"

A smile spread from Theo's fathers mouth as he said one simple word: "You."

Walburga's hands turned ghostly white around her wine glass before she set it down. "I must ask, is it that you truly believe a home will fall to pieces if a man is not in it? Because I can assure you, it does not."

Her voice was deadly calm.

"My grandmother is worth a thousand men."

Rose's voice, on the other hand, was slowly beginning to rise.

"Walburga..." Lucius breathed out, both of the men pretending the youngest Black was not there. "Think about the benefits. We could find a foreign family, one with an unbeatable foothold in another country, and expand everything we all own. She is a Black, she could have anyone in this world."

Walburga shook her head. "You speak like a maddened man."

"It would be the perfect way to show the world your house's fate is sealed," Theo's father added casually. "Although there may be no male heir, if your last heir were to be promised in marriage, there is a future which tells the public your bloodline will live on."

This time Walburga stayed silent, which was no sign of good coming, if only hellfire preparing instead. The woman glanced at her granddaughter, finding her staring at the table into nothingness, her body rigid.

Theo's father folded up his satin napkin and leaned an arm on the table. "You were arranged to Orion at a very, very young age. He was an older, much distant relative. We do not wish to condemn Rosalie to that fate. But it worked in your favour. The House of Black lived on, and you went with it as you were told."

Walburga opened her mouth with that same deathly calm, "Then it is a good thing, I am no longer a young girl, allowing men to take voice over my life. We have no living relatives, surely barely even distant. Mind you, what me and Orion did is no longer acceptable in our world."

"Exactly," Theo's father said. "So we find a powerful family, either here or somewhere outside of Britain. Surely, a foreign marriage would reap the most benefits for our businesses, but there are plenty of families here as well. Some even as close as Ireland."

"I will not watch the Black name disappear on account of a marriage," Walburga snapped. "You tell me to get her married for strengthening reasons, but she will take his name."

Lucius smiled politely. "So we urge whichever family we choose to let their son take her last name in the future, when the time comes. It would be an honour for them to save such."

Rose was still staring into nothingness, and Theo reached over, attempting to grab her hand.

She did not even flinch.

"Where are your children's marriages?" Walburga wondered aloud. "I do not see them being promised to young women in order to keep your family line secured."

"They are sons." Lucius said the word with importance. "They are automatic heirs. Far more important," He broke off with a quick glance to his wife, guilt in his eyes for what he was about to say, "Far more important than a daughter."

A laugh, one more sinister and crueler than most days, came from Theo's father, and his son knew whatever came out of his mouth next would be damning.

"There is always Alphard."

Something dark flashed across Walburga's face. "My disowned brother?! Are you seriously suggesting I marry her to-"

"Perhaps he is finally running out of money and is ready to crawl back home on hands and feet." Theo's father was certainly crossing a line, but he didn't seem to care. Not yet, at least. "He could have a redemption, and part of that could be marrying dear Rosalie and purifying this bloodline in the old ways of your house."

"That is preposterous!" Narcissa spoke fiercely. "Those ways are finished. For good. This conversation must stop, I beg all of you." The woman's hand went onto Draco's forearm as she spat, "Marriage is not necessary for Rosalie."

Walburga slammed her hands down, and even Theo's father and Lucius had the sense to flinch-as did every single person sitting at that table. "It would be worse than a muggle to send her up with a disowned man! How dare you mention Alphard to me?! How dare you ask me to subject my own blood to such torture?!"

Theo's father sat back, finally losing all his humor and seeming to be preparing for a strike he knew was coming.

"You know what your problem is?!" Walburga pointed a finger directly at Theo's father, a spark of uncontrollable magic crackling off her skin like a firework. "Men like you, men everywhere-you all like to believe you tamed the world with your cocks and false confidence and money. But magic...Oh, it has no master. No loyalty. Not to any sex."

"I crossed a line," Theo's father said evenly. His face held fake remorse as he gazed at the elderly witch, but real fear. "Perhaps I have had too much to drink, and I was only poking at Alphard, but I do apologize. It is no time for jokes."

The words seemed enough to coax Walburga back into her chair, but her spine remained as straight as ever. "It would serve you well to remember our fate was long ago written in the stars, before you, before your family existed. Even if we each die out, we will exist in every corner of this world, even in the wind. You will look up at that night sky and see us until the end of time."

Theo's father nodded, but it looked as if it took every molecule of strength to do so. "I only wish to see your house succeed. It is the only reason I brought the idea up to Abraxas and Lucius."

"As do I," Lucius added.

Walburga looked like a snake preparing to strike, ready to rip out their throats, as she took another sip of wine, and said, "So...you believe some idiotic marriage will save face? Garner more money?"

"More than that. We find a wealthy family, branch out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and use it to send a message." Lucius lips quirked at the idea. "My father has plenty of connections with the families in Spain."

Walburga laughed sadistically. "I do not wish to see her married."

"Just think of how much good this could do," Theo's father said.

"And what of your sons?" Walburga wondered aloud, and more tension instantly filled the room. "Do you think they are too good for my daughter? It would be a great honour for one of your sons to marry someone from the House of Black."

Matching looks of bewilderment crossed both Theo's father and Lucius's faces, as if the idea was the worst to ever be said.

It wasn't as if Walburga would allow such either.

She just wanted to torment them with the thought.

That much was sure.

"She'd need a muzzle before I allow her to marry my son," Theo's father snapped.

Walburga's eyes went wide. "I beg your pardon?!"

Finally, a sign of life came from Rose as she lifted her eyes up and gripped the edges of the table. Her voice came out hoarse and battered, "I am not a mule to be bred and dragged along for your games."

"That's not what this is," Lucius said. "You will have your pick. It will be something suitable to you and your choices, an option many women do not get in our world. You will not marry any time soon, it will be years from now. Only a betrothal will be solidified, a promise made, until you are done with school."

Theo's father reached from beside himself and pulled out a thick folder. "This here is a compiled list, Walburga." He laid it in front of the woman, with a smug look on his face directed to Rose as the grandmother grabbed it without second thought. "I took the time to get information on many families who would be a grand choice. Just have a look, that's all I'm asking."

Walburga bowed her head into a hand on the table with a sigh.

"Walburga!" Whitman shouted, so out of the blue Theo realized how frozen he himself had been. "This," he still sounded drunk beyond repair, but his hands were directed all around to the people with them. "This is insanity! You all want more money?! Get it from somewhere else! She's not a piece of property!"

"Oh quiet," Theo's father snapped. "You have no room to speak here. You are disowned, boy. Remind yourself of the line you tow to be able to sit with us."

"You do not speak to him like that!" Walburga snapped right back, if only to prevent Rose from losing it. "He is under my care! He is a part of my house now!"

Rose looked as though a bomb about to implode on itself in seconds at that comment.

Lucius cleared his throat over the chaos. "It is only a suggestion."

"We can arrange some meetings before Hogwarts resumes next week," Theo's father said, paying no mind to her words. "It isn't some suggestion, as Lucius is pretending. It is something that must happen if you wish to keep your family collected."

Rose's chair toppled over with a resounding bang as she shot up, her hands still gripping the table's edge as she leaned directly toward Theodore Nott Senior. "You will do no such thing!" she shouted, a snarl vicious enough for a beast on her lips. "You are not my family! You are not in charge of my life, of my future! And the nerve you have, to think you can talk to Whitman in this house! You should lose your damned tongue! Speak of the old ways? Give me a fucking knife so I can cut out your tongue for talking down to him!"

"No, I am surely not your family," His father said. "But if your grandmother decides to go with this, then you will go and do it." He smiled, all teeth. "You will have no choice. Hilarious, you think you can decide anything. You are a woman, and it is time you start acting like it."

Before anyone could even comprehend what was happening, Rose grabbed the wine bottle and threw it down directly in front of Theodore Nott Senior. Shattered glass flew everywhere, and all of the adults shielded their faces in reaction. Even Theo's fathers plate had shattered at the impact.

Walburga shouted in genuine shock, "Rosalie!" 

And when Theo's father lowered his arms of protection, he was breathing raggedly and fast, eyes blown wide-a single small cut on his cheekbone.

And Rose was practically half way over the table, her hands pressing into pieces of broken glass. Blood was already pooling onto the white cloth beneath her palms, and she paid no mind to it as every ounce of energy was directed onto Theo's father with a look wild enough to kill.

"I dare you!" she screamed, and it was the most visceral sound Theo had ever heard come out of a woman's mouth. "Give me a husband! Give me a fucking husband!"

"Walburga," Theo's father warned without his wary eyes ever leaving Rose, hands gripping his chair tightly. "You better get her!"

"I will claw his eyes out!" Rose screamed again, pressing a bloodied hand to her chest manically and unknowingly smearing blood across her skin. "Give me another after! I will feed him to a damned dragon and serve his burnt flesh to you on a plate! See how you like the taste of something forced into you!"

"Rosalie Aries Black!" Walburga hissed. "Sit down this instant!"

Rose made no move at the command, and everyone could feel the actual air leaving the room-as if she might suffocate all of them accidentally. Her magic was losing its control, preparing to spin out.

Narcissa tried to open her mouth, no sound coming out.

Her magic had actually made it impossible to speak now.

But it was Whitman who shot up, knocking his chair over with force just as she had earlier. He took a deep breath, all of his attention on her alone. "Rose..." he calmly murmured, his mouth tight and straining against her magic. He had strength others did not, he was not fully human. "Come to me. Let us two leave these fools."

Rose's eyes darted over to Whitman for a brief moment before her head dropped and she peeled herself off the table. She glanced down at her bloodied hands with a shaky breath, as if she hadn't realized what she had done to herself.

Then, as quick as a wink, she lifted her head up with the coldest look on her face-one that only Walburga Black could teach someone, and pressed her ruined hands into her gown as she stared directly at each of the adults at that table.

"You want to see me married? You won't be able to take me alive." The words were as stern as a commandment. "I will kill myself before I allow such."

Rose turned away, charging out of the dining room with her chin held high.

Whitman was already rushing after her.

It was then her magic began slowly fading away from the room.

Narcissa did not hesitate, as soon as the magic allowed it, to stand and follow after the girl.

Walburga simply settled herself comfortably in the chair with a raise of her glass and a heavy sigh of exhaustion, "Well...she is a Black afterall. I could have very well told you how that would go."

It was then, that Theo felt his mouth regaining the ability to open, his ability to move his limbs. The conversation had made him zone out as bad as Rose, too busy focused on trying to get into her mind and speak there-too overcome with shock.

He pressed his hands into the table and stood, refusing a glance at anyone there before he followed in suit.

It was the most shocking though, as he saw out of the corner of his eye, Draco standing with the utmost perfect posture and speaking with hatred: "You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

Draco went to follow in Theo's footsteps.

Theo didn't stop him this time.

Although, when they found Whitman on the second floor, he was exiting the tea room, his hand gripping the handle.

There was only a glimpse of Rose sitting on a velvety couch, her face buried into Narcissa's shoulder, as the woman held onto her tightly. They could see her shaking, and could hear her crying-all before Whitman closed the door and shook his head.

Draco stepped forward with more energy and urgency than either of his best friends had seen in years. Whitman tried blocking the door with a look of surprise on his face, but that didn't stop Draco. He only shoved him out of the way, and hard enough to knock him into the opposite wall.

Theo reached to pull Draco back, but he had no time to.

Draco was already yanking the door open and slipping inside-the sound of a lock turning as soon as he disappeared.