To Rosalie,

Mum and Dad couldn't write a letter so you get me, your wonderful older sister, writing for them, instead.

I hope you're feeling better! I know nightmares are hard. Remember to breathe.

A little update from home: Mum wants to let you know that she's busy with the firm — and to get all Os this year. We've been ordering takeout lately. You didn't hear this from me, but I think she's going to quit her job. She loves that place, but she's looking more and more sad every day. Dad's doing alright, though, cooking all of our grandma's famed recipes.

Now, let's talk about your pest, your annoyance: Sirius Black.

God, he sounds like a jerk, and I haven't even met him. All I can say is to take deep breaths, be civil, and if you want, you can totally insult him. Isn't he a Quidditch player? Aren't you the commentator? A few digs here and there won't hurt.

Mum and Dad's answer to you telling them (and us) to hide is the same. We're fine, we're safe, and we're not going to.

Love from your sister,
Delilah

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Rosalie is tired. Granted, that's how she feels everyday, with her visions amping up this year. She usually has visions once every week or so, but with the war getting worse, her visions are intruding on her daydreams, and are always turning her sleep into nightmares. She can barely get four hours without waking up in a cold sweat after cycles of images that she can barely recall.

What she does remember, though, is what she writes down in her visions journal. It's filled with chicken scratch that she can only read, notes about her loved ones and random people dead in front of their houses, in the streets, and Dark Marks.

It's a horrible time to be alive, she guesses.

The letter she received from her older sister, Delilah, only increases her anxiety. Delilah isn't her sister by blood, as Rosalie's mother and Delilah's father wed when Rosalie was five and Delilah was ten. Then Hana and Thomas both adopted each other's kids, and now they're a family on paper — and in their hearts, too.

Rosalie's the only one who isn't as reckless as the rest of her family. Delilah, Hana, and Thomas care more about making pies, eating food, and money than being safe, while Rosalie cares about her goddamn life. And their goddamn lives. And food, but the first two come first.

Yes, her family isn't defenceless. Rosalie's mother is getting her fifth black belt in taekwondo, Delilah's on her way to her third, and her father's a talented boxer. Even Rosalie received her black belt when she was younger, but due to Hogwarts education, she didn't go further, instead occasionally practising during breaks or on the weekends.

Either way, she's going to have to plead with her family, again, to make them go into hiding. Muggle families are being killed left and right, and they could be next. Rosalie will not end her story with a tragedy.

"We should get some beer soon, Rosa," Acacia starts, and Rosalie sighs. "Regular beer. Not butterbeer. I want to be piss drunk."

"It's Thursday, Ace," Rosalie reminds her, one of Acacia's many breath mints in her mouth. "You're not getting drunk on a school night. The last time that happened, Drake and I had to carry you to Madam Pomfrey."

Acacia sighs dreamily. "Those were the days."

"Not good ones, certainly," Rosalie mutters, and Drake snorts from beside her. "I'm never getting drunk again."

Acacia grins. "That's what they all say."

"Oh, shut up," Rosalie says, scowling. "I swear I face-planted myself in the mud like, three times while trying to carry you. So Drake did it, instead."

"I slung you on my back like a potato sack," Drake inputs, smirking when Acacia sends him a glare. "It was fun."

"I wish I vomited on you," Acacia grumbles. "That would've been nice."

"You did," Drake drawls, and Acacia flushes. "Rosalie spent hours trying to clean it up."

"Really?" Acacia asks, turning to Rosalie. "Rosie, I'm so —"

"I lied," Drake says blandly. "You're just gullible."

Acacia huffs. "No, I'm just a nice person, unlike you."

"I happen to be a very kind person —"

"Drake, please don't lie," Rosalie cuts in. "And both of you, please stop. You're giving me a headache."

"Oh, sorry," Acacia immediately says, grasping Rosalie's arm. "Should I get you a hot towel? We can go back to our dorm —"

"Stop coddling her," Drake snaps. "Rosalie's fine. She's probably just tired from her lack of sleep."

Acacia whirls around. "You haven't been sleeping again?"

"Uh," Rosalie starts.

"Hello, ladies and a snake!" Sirius Black greets, walking up to them. Drake scowls, crossing his arms. "How are all your fine days —"

"Horrible, thanks to your presence," Rosalie snaps. "Go away, Black."

"Hmm, can't do that, Edson, I'm afraid," he says, sighing dramatically. "You're needed for a mission. I suppose your friends can come along —"

Drake is still scowling. "Go away, Black."

"Oh, cut the crap, Wilkins," Acacia mutters. "I'll go with Ros, even though Black is a twit —"

"Ouch," Sirius says, pressing his hand to his heart. "You wound me, Abbott."

Acacia rolls her eyes. "I'm going to wound you more in Quidditch. Or maybe you'll wound yourself, considering your beater skills."

Sirius smirks at her. "I think you're just jealous that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup last year, again —"

"Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch," Rosalie mutters. "All you guys ever do is talk about Quidditch."

"You're literally the commentator," Drake points out.

"That," Rosalie says, "is completely irrelevant."

"Speaking of Quidditch," Acacia says, grinning, "what was up with Love?"

Rosalie coughs. "Beats me."

"She fancies you," Drake says bluntly. "I wonder why —"

Acacia elbows him, and he stops talking.

"She has bad taste, then," Sirius says, grinning until Rosalie punches him on the shoulder. "Ouch, Edson!"

"You don't even know what we're talking about, Black," Rosalie snaps. "And I think I look wonderful, thank you very much."

"Debatable," Sirius grumbles, but doesn't continue at Drake's glare. "Anyway, the mission? Pron — James is waiting."

Rosalie blinks. "Right, the butterbeer!"

"The what-now?" Acacia asks as Rosalie drags her across the hallway. "Bye, Wilkins! See you tomorrow! Or preferably, never."

"The feeling's mutual," he says, giving her a short wave, a smile playing on his lips before he leaves.

Rosalie opens her mouth, but Acacia cuts her off.

"I'll throw another mint at you, Ros."

Rosalie giggles. "Of course, Ace."

"As much as I am enjoying this lovely conversation," Sirius cuts in dramatically, "I'd like to help James with his problem, please and thank you."

"Oh, sod off, Black," Rosalie grumbles. "Your impatient arse can wait."

"This is about Evans, isn't it?" Acacia asks, her eyes wide with realisation. "Can't you idiots leave that poor girl alone? It's enough that Potter reads out his horrible poems to her during Potions —"

Rosalie snickers. "I agree, but they're funny as hell."

"It's always about Evans when it comes to him," Sirius says, with a wave of his hands. "Oh, look, here's the Common Room entrance."

"A portrait?" Rosalie wonders, staring at the moving picture of a large lady. "How interesting."

"This is the Fat Lady," Sirius says lazily. "How are you doing, darl —"

"Password?" the portrait interrupts impatiently. "I'm late for wine with Diane."

"I want wine," Acacia mutters. "Or anything with alcohol."

"Of course, darling," Sirius says, ignoring Rosalie's eye roll. "Bravus."

"Creative," Rosalie mutters sarcastically.

The portrait swings open, and Rosalie can't help but gape as Sirius steps through, followed by Acacia. She hesitantly copies them, entering a Common Room with red and gold, a blazing fireplace, and comfortable-looking red couches.

She'll admit that their Commons are pretty cool. Obviously, Hufflepuff's Common Room is superior. But still.

James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew are seated on the carpet, playing a boardgame. Well, James and Peter are. Remus is reading a book, occasionally glancing at the game.

"You're late!" James exclaims dramatically, immediately getting up and throwing his arms around Sirius as Rosalie takes a step away. "I missed you, Pads!"

"I certainly haven't missed my pads," Rosalie mutters.

She hears a snort, and turns to see Remus, innocently reading a book as James dramatically wipes non-existent tears from his eyes.

"And our lovely Rosalie Edson!" James exclaims, slinging an arm around her as Sirius crosses his arms. "Doesn't the weather feel beautiful today?"

Rosalie blinks. "Uh, I think so?"

"How would you know, Potter?" Acacia asks, seating herself on the couch. "We're inside."

"I can feel it," James insists.

"Delusional," Peter mutters.

"As usual," Remus adds, his face still behind his book.

"That should be in one of your poems, Potter," Rosalie says. "It's a perfect rhyme."

"It would actually be better than what James came up with in his last poem," Peter says with a snort. "One of the lines was: My dearest Lily, I know you want me —"

Rosalie scrunches up her nose. "Oh, hell no. Please tell me that you didn't —"

"Serenade her with it?" Sirius asks. "He did. And she loved it."

"She threw a pillow at him, called him a toe-rag, and told him to go screw himself," Remus mutters. "But sure. She loved it."

Rosalie cracks up, especially at Sirius's glare. James removes his arm around her as Rosalie settles on the couch next to Acacia.

"Anyways," Acacia cuts in, leaning on Rosalie, "isn't Rosa supposed to be helping you with Evans?"

"For butterbeer," Rosalie mutters. "Don't forget about that. Free butterbeer for the rest of my long, long life."

Acacia nods. "That's understandable."

"So," Rosalie says, clapping her hands, "how do we —"

"We already have a plan," James cuts in. "Sirius — the parchment."

Sirius nods, slowly pulling a piece of parchment out of his bookbag. James takes it, grinning, and even Remus amusedly glances at them as James hands it to Rosalie.

PRONGS, PADFOOT, MOONY, AND WORMTAIL PRESENT:
A guide on how to get the girl of your dreams.
For Prongs, because he can't flirt to save his life.

"Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail?" Rosalie asks.

Panic flares in James's eyes, before he snatches the parchment and rips the top off.

Rosalie gapes at him. "Okay ..."

"Are you alright?" Acacia asks, genuine concern on her face.

"Prongs, mate," Sirius begins, looking almost sympathetic.

"I think he has a brain tumour," Remus drones.

"Or no brain at all," Peter offers.

"Here," James says to Rosalie, who's still dumbfounded, but also —

"Prongs? Like the ends of a fork?" Acacia asks.

Sirius pales. "Er —"

"First pads, now forks," Rosalie mutters. "What was the other one? Apples?"

"Worms, actually," Peter mutters.

"What?"

"Never mind that," James says hastily. "Just read the parchment."

"Right," Rosalie manages, taking the now ripped parchment. "Totally normal behaviour here."

Step One, written by the wonderful and gorgeous Sirius: Have the weirdo Edson talk to Lily and find out her interests and hobbies. Maybe she can put in a word for James.

"Besides 'the weirdo' part that you crossed out," Rosalie says, "this is reasonable."

"So, you agree that I'm gorgeous, Edson?" Sirius asks, smirking.

Rosalie blinks at him. "I thought it was a given that you're a liar."

Sirius rolls his eyes, huffing.

Step Two: Have James get into said hobbies and interests. Then he talks to Lily about it.

"Not bad," Acacia hums. "Bare minimum, though."

Step Three: Lily becomes enamoured with the amazing James, they fall in love and have seven kids because Quidditch, duh, and they die in their hundreds.

"Oh-kay," Rosalie says, handing the parchment back to James. "Real talk. You need to ask her about her hobbies, not me. That way, she'll know that you're not just interested in her body or the chase, but her. Then you can try those hobbies and get back to her."

"Remind me to go to you for relationship advice, Ros," Acacia murmurs, eyes wide in wonder.

"Why, Ace? Do you need it?" Rosalie asks, smirking as Acacia glares at her. "And this is basic stuff. Everyone should know this."

James winces. "Right. Everyone."

"Again," Sirius mutters, "she has no experience."

"You're awfully set on that," Rosalie says coolly. "Would you like me to have experience, then? Who do you suggest?"

Sirius blinks, gaping like a fish.

"And, besides," Rosalie adds, "as a single person, I notice things that people in relationships don't. So don't stress about it. Just talk to her like a normal person, Potter. And if she doesn't like you for who you are, then you're not right for each other."

"Although, you all should probably grow up," Acacia mutters, and James gapes at her dramatically.

"Fair point," Rosalie agrees.

"That hurts, Edson," Sirius says mockingly. "Do you not like us?"

"I just don't like you." Rosalie smiles. "Everyone else is tolerable."

James cackles. "Oh, you really are my new best friend, Edson."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There is a smile. It is soft, almost unnoticeable. Half moon glasses on tired blue eyes which always hold a sparkle despite the fact that he's hurt people. It's for the greater good, he insists, and he's right — it is.

Hurting people, well, Dumbledore doesn't want to do it. He needs to.

Children don't belong to war. These children belong to decorated homes, smiling parents, and the magic that they honed in school.

But these children aren't just any children.

They're children of a new age.

And he knows what's going on in her head. His legilimency allows him to see anyone's darkest thoughts and deepest secrets.

(But he also has something else to verify his suspicions.)

She has plenty of them, those secrets. Rosalie Edson will be useful to him, with her blinding visions. And yet, she is not a key to ending the war.

Rosalie is merely a pawn.

A weapon.

A girl.