The new DADA professor is annoying, to say the least. Between pages of essays already assigned, people flocking to Rosalie with her apologies about her family's deaths, and jeers from certain students, Rosalie finds herself drained within the first few weeks of class — and the constant yelling from her new teacher certainly doesn't help.

Charms is the only class Rosalie can handle at the moment, since Professor Flitwick is the kindest man she'll ever meet. Herbology isn't the worst, she has to admit, especially with the kind Head of her own house leading the sessions.

But based on Drake's praise of Divination, she regrets dropping it two years ago, instead of putting more focus on Potions. Despite many attempts to excel in the class when she was younger, she failed to be recruited to Professor Slughorn's Slug Club (with a Muggle-born count of one) and then gave up.

She's better at Potions now, thanks to Samira's surprisingly effective teachings (and subsequent explosions). Even Professor Slughorn looks surprised at Rosalie's lasting creations, but does nothing about it.

Like always.

Really, Rosalie doesn't mind. The meetings, according to her friends, are insufferable, and it's not like she's missing out on the larger parties that either Acacia or Drake promise to drag her into this year.

As if last year wasn't disastrous enough.

Transfigurations, despite Professor McGonagall's stellar teaching, leaves Rosalie incredibly mind-boggled. She's not alone; even Lily states that she needs help from a tutor, and that leaves Rosalie wondering why the difficulty of everyone's classes increased tenfold.

"It's the year of our NEWTs," Lily tells Rosalie with finality when the raven-haired girl brings up the question. "You know, the exams that decide our whole careers."

Rosalie bites her lip. Frankly, she'd forgotten with all the chaos in her life. "Right. I do remember that."

"Sure," Lily murmurs, an amused smile curling on her lips. "Don't worry. I've been forgetting things, too."

Her friend grins, suddenly reminded of Lily's situation. "Like how you used to hate your now-boyfriend? You forgot real quick."

"Shut up," the redhead retorts.

There is, in fact, no shutting up. Rosalie's snickers only increase when she's reminded of the moment James announced he had a girlfriend after his picnic date that Rosalie was tempted to spy on — but she learned her lesson from last time.

Either way, it went well. James gave Rosalie the best hug she'd ever received in her life, and everyone celebrated with mugs of butterbeer that James heartily paid for.

"To Rosalie," James crowed, "for helping me with the love of my life!"

Lily had turned spectacularly red, Rosalie let out a whoop, and James's wallet probably had a butterbeer-sized dent in it after the amount of times he insisted on paying.

Ah, the benefits of wealth that Rosalie definitely plans to exploit in the future.

"Miss Edson," McGonagall calls, and the entire world seems to freeze. "May I speak with you after class?"

Rosalie nods, all traces of laughter gone as Lily shoots her a concerned look. The last few days were a repeat of early August, of the "sorry for your loss", of those dull, meaningless words in her head, again and again — and she's sure McGonagall's sudden interest in her has to do either with Amala Selwyn's interview or her dead family. Well, part of her family. Hana's still alive, even if she's not allowed to write to her.

"Good luck," Lily mutters, and Rosalie gives her a grateful smile.

It's the end of class, thankfully, so no one's really paying attention, except for Sirius. He's chatting with James near McGonagall's desk, loud chuckles making her heart skip a beat.

When she walks past him, Sirius smiles at her, his fingertips brushing with hers as a reassurance.

"Yes, Professor?" Rosalie asks.

As the class files out, McGonagall gestures to a seat. "Sit."

Rosalie slowly relaxes into the surprisingly comfortable chair, and then straightens at her professor's searching stare. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Frankly, Miss Edson," McGonagall starts, "we've had a conversation about your work before. I would like to inform you ahead of time that I'm providing you with extra time to turn in your work — an additional week or so."

Floored, Rosalie blinks. "Why?"

"Typically, when the family of a student passes away, they're given accommodations to help adjust." At Rosalie's expression, she pauses, before continuing. "It's to make up for the lack of counselling we offer. Not all teachers will be generous with work, but I'd like to help lighten it."

"You probably gave out a lot of accommodations recently, then," Rosalie points out, and at McGonagall's stiff expression, winces. "Sorry. But I'm thankful for this, really. I'll try to only take the extra week if I need it."

"I see," McGonagall says, eyeing her, before sighing. "How is your sleep?"

"It's slowly getting better," Rosalie murmurs. She went from terrifying visions to nightmares, and she's not sure which is worse to deal with. "It's not a very fast process."

"Reasonably." McGonagall clears her throat. "You may be dismissed, Miss Edson. Good day to you."

"Uh, you too," she says, before fleeing the office as quickly as possible.

Waiting outside, Sirius bumps shoulders with her. "Troublemaker."

"Arse," Rosalie grumbles half-heartedly, her eye-roll making Sirius laugh. "Do you have nothing better to do?"

His stupid grin widens. "I was waiting for you."

"You didn't have to," Rosalie tells him, and at his unconvinced stare, sighs. "Seriously — wait. Don't you dare —"

He raises his palms in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"You liar," Rosalie accuses, shoving him. As his laughter grows louder, the difficulty of smothering her smile increases. "You were definitely going to —"

"Was not!" he protests, placing a hand over his heart. Like a character in a dramatised play, he begins his defence: "I swear to you, I am telling the truth, and nothing but the truth —"

She breaks, and the laughter piles out of her. "You — idiot —"

Sirius just stares, eyes soft as she cackles like a witch, clutching her stomach. Noticing his expression once her laughter fades, Rosalie wipes the one tear that escapes her eye, and tries not to return his stare.

He likes her laugh, her stupid witch laugh that her mother used to tease her about for years, the one thing Rosalie apparently inherited from her stupid Uncle Jae.

Wow, she's going to die.

"You okay?" he teases. "I think you cackled all your organs out."

Her mouth morphs into a scowl. "You're hilarious."

"I know," he tells her, and at her eye roll, boldly throws an arm around her shoulder, and declares, "I made you laugh, after all."

Rosalie swears her blush reaches her toes.

And when Acacia finds them, her amused eyes fully trained on Rosalie, she takes her best friend from Sirius's grip, gives him a half-hearted reassurance that his lover would return (he blushes at that, and Rosalie finds herself floating), and takes her to the Kitchens.

House Elves move to greet them. After friendly exchanges, hugs, and quick kisses on the cheek, they settle down. The two girls make their own snacks, Acacia gives them a quick, thirty minute English lesson with Rosalie as the teaching assistant, and then they disperse to do some cooking.

"I think they're ready," Acacia says with finality once the two girls settle down. She sips her hot cocoa, piled with marshmallows, a milk-moustache, rimming her upper lip. "They're really receptive to my lessons. Even Sara talks about exploring."

"I remember," Rosalie hums, handing Acacia a napkin. "She wants to see the world."

"I do, too," Acacia says wistfully, wiping her upper lip. "It would be nice to explore outside of, you know, here."

"Yeah," Rosalie murmurs. "Imagine travelling. All of us. Together."

Acacia snorts. "He'd be a menace, that boy-toy of yours."

"He is not —" Rosalie begins heatedly, before she sighs. "This whole intervention was because of the plan, was it?"

"Correct," she says without a hint of shame. "The day before Halloween, you're going to drag your arse out of your self-pity cove —"

"My bed," Rosalie corrects.

"Same thing." At Rosalie's dramatic gasp, Acacia laughs, throwing a carrot at her. "Anyway — ow, fuck you —"

"Go on." Rosalie's shit-eating grin and one less carrot in her plate makes Acacia scowl and flip her off. "You know I've won."

"Ha. Ha." Acacia clears her throat, pulls the vegetable out of her hair, and glares at Rosalie's amused expression. "Anyway. You're going to order the flowers, come back, and the next day, drag Sirius out to Hogsmeade. You know, set things up."

"And then finally ask him out." Rosalie groans, but doesn't disagree. "This will be so humiliating."

Acacia's frowning expression causes Rosalie's stomach to jolt. "He clearly likes you, Rosa. There are worse things."

"Yeah, there are," a voice begins, and the two girls jolt at the sight of James Potter. "It's a good plan. I encourage it."

"You're early," Acacia says, irritated.

"You told him?" Rosalie asks, betrayed.

She crosses her arms. "No, he guessed, the monkey."

James grins. "I'm more of a stag, really —"

"Doesn't stag mean single, you know, in American slang?" Rosalie points out. "How would Lily feel about that?"

James gulps, paling. "I'll do anything for you not to tell her."

Rosalie's smile returns. "Five Galleons worth of sweets in Zonkos for my silence."

"Two," James barters.

"Four," Rosalie settles.

Acacia watches Rosalie scam the poor boy for something Lily would be in tears about, and not out of sadness or anger.

"Would've settled for one, you know," Rosalie tells James, grinning at his dismayed expression.

"Damn it," he curses. "I'm surrounded by manipulators."

Snickering, Rosalie pokes his arm. "Guilty."

"Did you both forget why you're here?" Acacia asks, but she's smiling.

Rosalie frowns. "You just dragged me here."

"I was told I'd get hot cocoa," James says, "and my two best friends together."

"Your best friends?" Acacia asks dangerously.

"Oh, quit it," Rosalie grumbles after over a minute of loud bickering (with Acacia as the clear winner, poor James). "James, just make sure Sirius is free on Halloween."

He salutes her. "Got it. On Halloween, Sirius will be very free and very, very ready."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I'm busy that day," Sirius tells a crestfallen James, who falls to the floor in despair. "Besides, I have more important things to do."

"Than to sneak into Hogsmeade with me?" James complains, still on the ground.

"Yes," Sirius says, and James begins to fake-cry. "Relax, Prongs. You'll like this."

James narrows his eyes. "I will?"

"Yeah." Sirius grins. "I'll finally stop beating around the bush and ask Edson out."

"Huh?" the bespectacled boy says dumbly, as Sirius continues to blabber about how he's been holding back despite the round of spin the bottle that had both of them looking like marinara sauce. "Why Halloween? Why not later?"

"Later?" Sirius asks, looking befuddled. "James, I can't do it later. Halloween is the perfect time. I can convince Rosalie to sneak to Hogsmeade with me."

"But —" James starts.

"And there's nothing you can do to change my mind," Sirius says firmly. "Prongs, I love you, but if I don't do this then, I'll be a coward —" He shudders. "— and I'm never being a coward."

"Earlier?" James tries, making plans to tell Rosalie so she can at least relax.

"Halloween, Prongs." Sirius gives him a look. "You're being weird about this. Please don't tell Edson; I'd never hear the end of it."

"Of course not!" James says, even though that was exactly what he was going to do.

The grey-eyed boy narrows his eyes. "Will you swear by the Marauder's Map?"

James pales. "Er —"

After a raised eyebrow, Sirius walks away with a sworn oath. James lets out a string of curses, tempted to tear the mesh off the window and say goodbye to the world.

Well, shit. He can't tell Rosalie, now. And if he tells Sirius about Rosalie, Acacia would murder him in cold blood!

Still on the floor, James stares at the spot Sirius stood in five seconds ago.

He's so screwed.

This is going to be a disaster.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Halloween is quick to arrive, and Rosalie is a bundle of nerves. Strangely, James is worse. The poor boy keeps asking Rosalie to ask Sirius out earlier (no way), or later (she can't do that either, or she'd back out forever). When she tells James this, he looks heartbroken.

"Rosalie," he tries.

"I'll raise my price to six Galleons," she tells him, and he shuts up.

The rest of the day speeds up quickly. There's a costume contest where some sixth year with a familiar name (Venus? Velia?) wins. Rosalie isn't even bitter, considering her own uncreative costume as a muggle witch. Her shorter hair, which she cut a few days ago, can't even redeem her purple costume.

Afterwards, James takes out his wizarding camera, Sirius grabs some poor first year, and the whole group takes a picture together. Acacia has her arms around both Rosalie and Drake, Sirius and James are sitting and cackling about something stupid, while Remus and Peter are also sitting, looking at the other boys as if they're idiots. Which they are, so fair. And Diana, who joins them at the last moment, stands next to Rosalie, holding up two fingers.

The first year snaps eight photos, one for each person to keep. Rosalie immediately stores hers in her dorm, changes out of her costume, quickly journals, and then is ushered out by Acacia when she's almost late to grabbing Sirius.

"Breath mint," Acacia reminds her.

Seconds later, Rosalie's exhaling cool air when she grabs Sirius.

"You know pathways," Rosalie tells him, "and I want to buy something from a bookstore."

Sirius surprisingly doesn't ask questions, and after a quick goodbye, the two of them part from their group and head through some secret tunnel that Rosalie can't remember because of her nerves.

"You alright?" he asks, and even when she nods, he looks unconvinced.

Hogsmeade at night is pretty, Rosalie has to admit. Strewn out lights decorate the pretty streets, and fallen leaves crunch under her shoes. The lack of people and the moonlight make Rosalie wish that she'd borrowed James's camera.

"We're here," Rosalie announces when she sees the practically-crumbling bookstore.

She opens the door, and the two walk in.

The next ten minutes are spent combing through books together, until Sirius pulls one about curses. Rosalie briefly flips through it, sees the word "Seer", and goes to purchase it — but Sirius slides his Galleons, the two bicker for five minutes about paying, and Rosalie walks out the door with the book and without some of Sirius's money.

"You shouldn't have," she murmurs. "This book is for me. Now that I don't have visions, maybe I can figure them out with this."

It's a good excuse, she has to admit, using the visions to drag him out. But it's also the truth, and even if she's taking it slow, Rosalie has all the time in the world to figure out the curse she no longer has.

"Wait, why have you never bothered to look into this before?" Sirius asks gently.

Rosalie swallows. "It's never been a bother. When I was younger, it was a nightmare every few months. It slowly progressed to a vision every couple of days, and then it sped up too quickly, Sirius. I was already freaking out about it, and I didn't want to bother with the origins."

"Which would've made things worse," he realises.

"Yeah," Rosalie says. In a bold move, she intertwines their fingers, squeezing his hand. "But we're doing this together, so perhaps it's not all that bad."

"Without me, you'd be lost," he replies teasingly, and she glares at him. "It's true, you incompetent squirrel."

"Excuse me —" she begins, her face heating up.

"Rosalie," he interrupts softly, and she stops talking.

"Yes?" she asks, hands shaking at the slightest. He squeezes their interlocked fingers once, and she finds herself calming. "What is it?"

"Wait here," he says quickly, before dashing into an alley.

She stares at his disappearing back, flabbergasted. "What the —"

"Rosalie Edson," a voice says, before Rosalie spots Sirius emerging from the alley, holding out a bouquet of flowers, "I fancy you. Will you go out with me?"

She stares, shocked. "I was gonna ask you."

He blinks. "What?"

"I had the flowers ordered, you dolt!" Rosalie takes the bouquet and lightly smacks Sirius on the shoulder with them. "I was going to do it so you could reject me and I could move on, because I can't stop thinking about you, and it's all your fault!"

"You can't stop thinking about me?" he asks, a soft smile playing on his face.

"I never said that," Rosalie threatens. He laughs. "You didn't hear anything."

"Of course not," he says.

"Anyway," she continues, waving the bouquet. "Yes! Yes, I'll go out with you, you incorrigible baboon!"

His smile widens, before he sweeps her into a hug. "This is one of the best days of my life."

Rosalie flushes against him, the bouquet awkwardly hanging at her side. "Mine, too. I haven't been this happy in a while."

Sirius's laugh vibrates between them. "Glad to hear it, love."

"Hmm," she hums, handing him the bouquet. "Now, we're going to pick up the flowers I bought for you, and do this all over again."

"Of course," he says, and Rosalie's grinning at the pure joy on his face. "But you won't beat my proposal."

"Oh, that was nothing," Rosalie teases. "I could do loads better than you."

"Prove it," he says, voice low and challenging.

And that does it; every single impulsive she's been holding back is released. She tiptoes, places warm hands on his trembling shoulders, watches his widened eyes, and places a kiss on his cheek.

"You asked for it, Sirius," she tells him softly.

He inhales sharply. "You can't — just —"

"What?" she asks innocently, tilting her head. "Can't just what, sweetheart?"

"You're on, Edson!"

Rosalie laughs, throwing her head back, before catching the pure challenge in his expression. She runs, then, hiding her laughs for stamina, having him chase her down a dark alley. Taking a shortcut Acacia showed her the other day, she loses his trail, finds her hiding spot, and dusts off the flowers she was saving.

Now, to find Sirius.

She spots him easily, really. He's lazily walking, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the buildings with a surprising interest. For a second, Rosalie studies him: the confident walk, the joyous grin, and those eyes she wishes to stare into forever.

And so she jumps out, tackles him to the floor, and holds the flowers in front of them, a winning glint in her dark eyes.

"I fancy you, too," she says breathlessly, now straddling him. Strands of dark, wispy hair dangle above his face. "Be my boyfriend?"

His look of surprise is something Rosalie wants photographed. "Er — of course, love."

A few seconds pass, and she's still on him, bouquet lying on his body. Rosalie breathes slowly, resting her palms over his heart, glad for the night sky and lack of people. The quick heartbeat mimics her own; flushed cheeks and slow breaths are the only thing occupying the next few seconds before Rosalie realises exactly what their position is.

If he'd toss the bouquet, use his arms, and pull her down to him, Rosalie would not mind. Her lips already tingle at the thought, body heating at the thought of his hands —

God. She quickly gets off him, not wanting to make it awkward. They've probably alerted the shopkeepers, but they're also probably used to the rambunctiousness of the Marauders every weekend, and it's not like anyone's watching, as the only shop open is the bookstore that they've passed by ages ago.

"Need help?" she asks, offering him a hand.

He grins, grasping it, before pulling her down. She lets out a gasp of surprise, crashing back down onto him.

"Couldn't resist," he admits, but Rosalie can tell that he's gasping for air.

"Hmm," she says, eyes narrowing. He's quite warm. She doesn't mind.

"So, you clearly fell —"

"Do not finish that sentence," she threatens, detangling herself from him, despite wanting everything, and anything, and — "And you can help yourself, now."

"How rude," he says, but one look at his stupid puppy eyes has her offering her hand, which he thankfully uses to lift himself up, this time. "Thanks, love."

She grins at him, and then ruffles his hair. "You're welcome — wait, wait, wait."

He blinks. "What is it?"

Rosalie's still reeling from shock. "James knew that I was planning on asking you out, and I'm guessing he knew about you too —"

"That's why he asked me to change the date!" Sirius exclaims.

The two look at each other and then burst out cackling.

"Poor — James —" Rosalie chokes out, and then holds onto Sirius for dear life.

"He tried so hard," Sirius agrees.

"He did," Rosalie agrees, and as the laughter fades, a question bubbles up. "When should we tell the others?"

"When they ask," Sirius decides, "if that's alright."

Rosalie pinches his cheek, glad that he doesn't want to be secretive. They're each other's now, to touch and hold hands and yes, even show off. "That's fine with me."

She's trying to remain composed, but every inch of her body is tingling.

He pinches her cheek in return. "Glad we're in agreement."

"Idiot." She flicks him, half-laughing, cheeks rosy-red. His breath tingles her face, and every inch between them feels like a barrier she so desperately wants to overcome, to cross. "You're so —"

"What?" he challenges, leaning in closer. "I'm what?"

"So dumb," Rosalie tuts, breathless.

He hums, trailing a finger on the edge of her face. "Do couples kiss on the first date?"

"I —" she starts, and then recognizes the challenge in his face. "That's too soon, don't you think? Maybe on the third date —"

His hands curl into her hair, and Rosalie leans into his touch, trailing off.

"You were saying?" he asks softly, but the smug look on his face has her sending him a scathing look. "Don't look at me like that, love —"

"Shut up," she tells him, still scowling. "I'm thinking the fifth date, now —"

Laughing, he continues to knead his hand in her hair; really, she wouldn't mind if it weren't for this arrogant jerk's idiotic smirk. "I think you'll kiss me before that."

"Never," Rosalie tells him.

"If I win," he starts, and she immediately scoffs. "You have to join me on one of our pranks. With slime."

"Like hell," she starts, but at Sirius's growing smile, she sighs. "Fine. And if I win, you have to go on a double-date with me, Acacia, and Drake."

He makes a face, and she laughs.

"That's what you get for the slime," she tells him, nose scrunched.

Sirius's eyes slide towards her lips. "Maybe we can —"

Rosalie pushes him away, laughing. "You twat!"

He, instead, quickly kisses her cheek, she smacks him ("That does not count as a kiss, by the way," she insists), they hug, and she skips all the way back to the castle, giggling behind her hand.

Giddy from the evening, Rosalie returns to her dorm, desk decorated with various photo frames of the past seventeen years. She smiles, bittersweetly, at the one with her and Delilah, the former covered in mud and the latter holding various flowers.

Delilah was spring herself, Rosalie realises, and one of the seasons of her life fading away leaves her desolate and hopeless. Without the flowers of joy and Delilah's bright, enigmatic smile, what is there in life to look forward to? And without Thomas's summer patience, forgiveness, and the blue in his eyes filled with so much life that it probably took hours for it to drain away — happiness feels far away. Or, well, it did.

She's making memories without them now. Rosalie has her first boyfriend, and she can't even tell her family.

"I miss you," she whispers out, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Various emotions splay through her; the euphoria of Sirius's flowers pressed to her chest still makes her heart vibrate with joy, but each happy memory is tainted with the bitterness of not being able to share it. "Why did you have to go?"

Her journal lies on her desk, right next to a family portrait of Rosalie, Hana, Thomas, and Delilah. Its sleek brown cover is perfectly pressed down, fountain pen lying beside it.

Rosalie frowns. Before she left for Hogsmeade, the pen was inside the journal, marking the page she last wrote in. It's what she decided on doing every single night.

"It slipped," she murmurs to herself, "that's all."

Still, emboldened by curiosity, she opens the journal to the last page she wrote in, a short entry about her family, and nothing seems to be changed. Tempted to leave it alone, Rosalie's about to close the journal when a feeling takes root in her heart, and the seeds of doubt planted sow a need to sift through the other pages.

The first entry has a small portion ripped.

Dear Diary, the undamaged part reads, this is my first time writing in a journal, so I'll be short about it. I lost my family in July, and it was the worst experience of my life.

(I killed them. I killed my father, because he told me to. And everyday, I can see the fire building in the back of my skull, waiting to explode once again.)

The pain felt like someone dragging a knife right across my heart. And I was watching it bleed without the chance to put pressure on the wound, because my hands were tied behind my back.

Specific, I know. And terrifying. Even in the hospital or in the safehouse, the pain was there. Dulled or not dulled, every single memory was stained with the fact that nothing would ever be the same again.

But I'm feeling happier now, and it's because of the wonderful people around me. I'm not sure how good my life will get from here on out, but I'm grateful for every single person supporting me, even if they don't know the true circumstances.

See, my good friend James gifted you to me. I'd lost the last journal I had, and he assumed it was a diary. But it was not an ordinary diary. I wrote visions of the past I regularly received through painful dreams, each one documented in what I thought was a safe place.

I hope no one thinks much of it. Frankly, it's a disaster, especially now that

The entry stops there, the remaining part ripped, and Rosalie's heart freezes. It's as if the world's slow again, and every single bit of icy grief is coming back to haunt her.

The last part of the entry is something she remembers very well.

My visions are gone. That's what it said.

"Oh, Lord," Rosalie breathes out, the end of the last sentence embedded in her brain, but now gone from her journal. "Does that mean —"

Every single time she thought she was insane, or hated herself for losing a family heirloom, was she wrong?

What if she didn't lose her old journal? What if someone took it, and now they figured out that she can't see the past anymore?

I AM SO SORRY GUYS PLEASE FORGIVE ME

"more frequent updates" and then i pull stuff like THIS. holy shit im so so sorry, i went into a downwards spiral and didn't write for like a long period of time. but we are back now!

signed,
a very sorry anisa 😭🙏