CAMEOS:

fulk from wild & wicked, yllwjckts. in the hellfireverse (chaos universe), this is an AU where fulk and lux never went to Hogwarts, and instead, fulk, networks with slughorn and ends up going to his party.

tung mi from heart and mind, madxmaddie. in the hellfireverse (chaos universe), this is an AU where mi was never engaged to sirius, and therefore never engaged to regulus. she's still friends with evan, though, even if he's kinda bleh </3

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a/n a lot happens. be scared :)

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Acacia Abbott wants to hit something. The brunette wants her hands on a sleek Quidditch broom, or maybe a wine glass that she can smash over Evan Rosier's head. Merlin, her ex-boyfriend is being a dick again, always bringing her worst self to the surface — a girl who could only sit down, keep her head low, and drink in any scrap of attention he tossed her way.

As Rosalie quite often says, "What's new? Rosier is always a jerk. And he's always a bastard."

And while she rants about his truthfully idiotic presence, Drake would be staring at Acacia's light eyes, his expression almost arrogant — as if he could read every inch of her life through one glance.

"Acacia?" a spoiled voice asks, and she's brought back to the castle and her menace of a previous relationship. "What do you say? Will you go to Slughorn's party with me?"

An exhale escapes from the blue-eyed girl's lips. She'll never mistake him for someone non-threatening again. Evan Rosier likes being in power. He likes seeing the sweat drip, the blood gush, the eyes widen in horror. He likes being in control, tightening the noose, and stabbing the knife.

And when he can't be in control, when you're a rabid animal on the loose, he kills you. Just like he tried to kill her and every girl's spirit before her.

"No," Acacia says, trying to keep her voice calm. She has a tight grip on her wand, eyes hard. "I hope — I hope you find someone else."

She's trying to be nice, to be sweet, to act meek. It's her only hope. They're all teenagers, yes, but the Rosiers have insurmountable power, power that Acacia tossed away when she refused to be with him.

"No?" he asks, tilting his head, almost animalistic. "Did you just say no?"

"Would you like me to say it again?" Acacia's eyes glint. "I'm not in your control, anymore, Rosier. I'm not going anywhere with you."

He takes a step forward, and it takes all of the willpower in her to not move backwards, away, to run like she always used to. Evan Rosier likes the chase, but Acacia Abbott will not be chased anymore.

"I'll ask only one more time," he drawls, fists clenching.

Last year, his trick would work and she'd say yes. She wouldn't have insulted him at all, actually. She was a pushover, someone he didn't need to worry about. Some days, Acacia actually believed that Evan fancied her. She believed his honeyed tongue; she slowly drank his words. He spoonfed his lies, and she swallowed them until her stomach burst with rage she couldn't hold back anymore.

Acacia was only sixteen when they ended. She still is sixteen, but a summer at home with her beloved brother and the support from both Rosalie and Drake holds her up higher than she'd ever been in her whole life.

The blood on her hands still coats her, but nevertheless, she perseveres. She saved a life. That's all that matters. Even if the disgust in her father's face will never go away, Acacia knows she did the right thing.

Evan is nothing compared to what she faced.

"You can ask all you want," Acacia almost taunts, but her voice has no malice. "I'll still give you the same answer."

"Go out with me," he says, an order, ignoring her.

Acacia's eyes narrow. "No."

His eyes glint with fury, running a hand through his light hair. He's trying to contain his fuse, his anger, his rage — but Acacia knows he won't last. She's been on the receiving end for too long, even if everyone around her was against it.

Their relationship was one last favour to Acacia's parents before she left them.

She's not doing any favours for them anymore.

"Acacia." His voice trembles with rage as he stalks towards her. She flinches when he lifts his hand, almost trembling when they almost gently trace her cheekbones. She can tell it's his last resort. He reeks of desperation, of the desire to hold control over someone, anyone. "Are you sure? Remember us?"

She does remember. And Acacia hates every moment of it: every tumbled stomach, every cry of pain, every rant, every sob, every tear, every grimace, every kiss — because Evan had been soft once, when they were first matched by their parents. They were even childhood friends. They were intertwined, two vines growing up together since birth, meant to spring flowers together and wither in the same garden.

Then again, the same gardens she's referencing burned down two years ago, and Acacia takes it as a sign that Evan can never worm his way into her heart again.

All her old friends are people she left behind. Only one person left before her, but Acacia would rather not think about it. Her and Sirius Black grew apart ages ago, after he called her a coward for not leaving.

Not everyone is as brave as him.

"I wish I didn't remember," Acacia counters, her voice steadier than her shaking legs.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, his voice barely a murmur, his eyes memorising every inch of her face, like she's a painting, like he painted her, but he didn't and he doesn't have the right —

"Stay away from her," a voice snaps, and Evan removes his hand from her cheek.

"Ah, coming to the rescue, Wilkins?" Evan laughs. "What happened to loyalty amongst the Slytherins, Wilkins? You never cared about us or our House, do you?"

Acacia turns around, watching Drake roll his eyes.

"I just don't care about you," Drake drawls.

Evan immediately pushes Acacia aside, grabbing Drake's collar. "You need to leave us the fuck alone, Wilkins. This is none of your business."

Drake grabs Evan's arms, throwing them aside. "Take your scrawny arms off of me."

Stay strong, Ace, Acacia can hear Rosalie say. You know who you are and he doesn't, the ugly bastard. How dare he.

Immediately, Evan points his hand to Drake's neck. "I'm not afraid to use any curse I know, Wilkins."

Drake merely raises a brow, looking unbothered. "Over me asking you to stay away from your ex-girlfriend, that you hurt?"

You're beautiful, no matter what, Drake had said in Sirius's party when Acacia had drunkenly blabbered about her insecurities. You're resilient. And strong.

"Cruci —" Evan starts.

The imbecile is immediately blasted aside, Acacia's wand pointed towards him as her face is contorted with anger, with cold fury building in her bones.

"Screw you," Acacia snarls. She stalks towards him, her wand under his chin as he struggles to stand up. "How dare you? How dare you try to hurt him?"

Evan stares at her, laughing. "He's my replacement, isn't he?"

"Actually, I asked him to Slughorn's Party beforehand," Acacia snaps, her hands shaking with anger. "I don't understand why your ego is so inflated —"

He grits his teeth, before reaching out to grab her hair. Acacia cries out, hands reaching out to pull on his shorter locks. She sees him, his crazed eyes, his ability to torture, how he almost used that spell on her once, too.

He can hurt her all he wants. She'll be fine. But Drake? But any of her friends, the people she loves?

She knees him in the stomach. He doubles over in pain, and from behind her, Drake immediately says, "Incarcerous," and ropes bind Evan as he struggles on the floor.

Panting, Acacia swipes a bead of sweat from her forehead.

Dear Merlin, she did it. She stood up to him, and she's still standing.

But Drake? Acacia turns around, cheeks flushing when she realises that he stood up for her. He gives her an unrecognisable look, an intense expression filled with too many emotions that she wants to look away.

And yet, he can't. Her stomach is overloaded with butterflies, because maybe, maybe —

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"I think I fancy Acacia."

"Well," Rosalie says, sipping her hibiscus tea, "welcome to the club, Drake. You're the last person to realise that you're pining after her."

Drake scowls. The two friends are in the Kitchen, Drake refusing to touch Rosalie's delicious looking scones due to his hatred for sweets. Acacia, Drake, Rosalie, and the Marauders all decided to stay home for Christmas amidst the war raging outside the castle, hence them staying in the Kitchens to keep the House-elves company.

"The second-to-last person is Acacia, by the way," Rosalie inputs. "It's painfully obvious by the way she looks at you. It makes me feel single, you know. I interact with three boys in this school, and they're all either completely in love with a beautiful girl or just annoying."

"I don't want to fancy her," Drake says finally. "She —"

Rosalie cuts him off. "If you're going to say 'she deserves better than me', I'll kick you in the nuts, Draconius."

"My name is not Draconius, Rosalie." Drake reluctantly picks at his scone, glancing at her. "We've been friends for four years."

"Right," Rosalie drawls. "Well, you clearly fancy each other — so ask her out. Get her some flowers. Nice and simple."

Rosalie would say that she has purely unselfish intentions, but she would be lying. She wants her friends to be together and stop avoiding each other, obviously, but she also needs to win her bet with James; Rosalie says that Acacia and Drake will kiss in the next two weeks while the latter claims that they will kiss in the two weeks afterward.

Her money, dignity, and her friendship are on the line for this!

"This morning," Drake starts, diverting the topic, "we had an encounter with Rosier."

Rosalie's eyes widen, her face paling. "Why didn't you say so sooner? I'm sure she kicked his arse, but is she alright?"

Drake closes his eyes. "She's fine and he's in detention, thankfully."

"She never tells me anything," Rosalie whispers. "I just, I just want her to be happy, for God's sake! She can't carry her burdens alone all the time."

"Says you," Drake retorts.

"And you," Rosalie counters. "We're all carrying our burdens, but you and Acacia refuse to say anything to me. How am I supposed to help if —"

"You can't always help," Drake says, eyes narrowing. "You need to stop worrying."

"Easier said than done."

Drake glances at her, expression unreadable. "It's still a lesson you need to learn."

Rosalie blows out a breath. "Fair. That is one of my flaws."

"We all have them." Drake clenches his jaw. "And you're right about Abbott. She shouldn't be keeping that all inside. Rosier makes her react, so she even lied to him that she asked me to Slughorn's Party just to deal a blow. So we're going together, I suppose."

Rosalie claps her hands, thankful for the subject change. "Well, that works in your favour."

"It does, I suppose. Do you —" He clears his throat. "— have any advice on what to wear?"

Rosalie lets out a maniacal giggle. "Why, of course! We'll need you in a suit — Ace is going to wear green and you will get a matching green tie! James and I are coordinating outfits with red because he needs my help with Lily, obviously — but, tonight is the night, Drake Bartholowhatever Wilkins!"

"Bartholomew," he corrects.

Rosalie waves him off. "Same thing."

"I'm sure it is," Drake deadpans, standing up.

"Wait," Rosalie realises, snickering, "did you realise your feelings for her after she kicked Rosier's arse?"

Drake blinks at her. "I should probably get dressed for tonight."

"Strong women are hot," Rosalie muses. "I don't blame you."

Appearing to be almost flustered, Drake stands up. "I'll see you there, Rosalie."

Rosalie straightens her shoulders, losing the smile as she too stands up, brushing off her uniform. "You will. Let's do this."

As she walks to her dorm, Rosalie is almost in a trance. Tonight is the night, she thinks as she slips on her dress and has Acacia do her makeup, as she stuffs Galleons in her purse and stares at the mirror, her dark eyes staring back.

"I can't do this."

The seventeen-year-old is jittery, hands trying to not tug on her styled hair as she instead pulls her red dress up and down.

"I look like a troll!" Rosalie exclaims, pacing back and forth in her room as her gold necklace sits above her chest. "This dress is too good for me and I have to matchmake and keep you away from that annoying bastard and I just want to stay inside and keep bingeing crisps from your stash —"

"You look beautiful," Acacia promises, squeezing Rosalie's shoulder. "And I'll be fine. James will be fine. Even, erm, Drake will be fine. Just worry about yourself tonight, okay?"

Rosalie inhales. "But I'm a worrier, Acacia! Like this stupid necklace could get lost or James could make his relationship worse with Lily again or Black could bug me about — well, anything," she blabbers, "and maybe Rosier will show up, but I'd totally punch him in the face if he pulls anything. Or maybe I'll be too cowardly to do so because I can't do anything for my life —"

"It's okay," Acacia insists. "Rosie, you look stunning. Even Black would agree and we all know he hates your guts."

"Right," Rosalie mumbles. She tugs on her dress again, wanting to smear the makeup off her face. "Right. I look beautiful."

Rosalie knows she can potentially look good, but some days, her face looks different, more distorted, when she stares in the mirror — like she's having mini glow-ups and glow-downs every week.

"Exactly," Acacia says, looping her arm around Rosalie's. "Now, let's go. Time to knock them all out, hmm?"

The two girls head out of their dorm, Rosalie still antsy in her dress. It's tighter and shorter than she thought it would be when she first received it, revealing more of her shoulders and legs than she usually does.

Nevertheless, she has Acacia by her side, wearing an emerald green dress that flows to the ground, like Acacia is almost a princess — which she is. The two girls combined look like a Christmas tree, but a pretty Christmas tree.

It's fitting, actually, considering that this is a Christmas party.

In the Common Room, Drake stops adjusting his green tie, his lips parting at the sight of Acacia walking down the stairs. Her perfectly curled light-brown hair falls just past her shoulders, glittery eyeshadow accentuating her eyes. A smirk forms on Rosalie's face. That's her best friend and her hard work.

"You look ..." Drake trails off, staring at her face. "You look beautiful, Abbott. Oh, and you, too, Rosalie."

"Gee, thanks," Rosalie mutters, disgruntled. "Just because you two like each other doesn't mean —"

Acacia flushes furiously. "Rosa!"

Rosalie tries to hold in her cackles as her friends awkwardly stare at each other.

"James is probably waiting," she says, patting Drake on the shoulder. "I'm going to go join him. Have fun ogling at each other."

She walks out of the entrance, trying not to giggle as she faces James Potter, with his messy hair, askew glasses, and red tie. But still, she feels something squirming inside her stomach, her little pudge showcased with the dress. She tucks it in, trying not to rub it.

"Hello, Rosalie," James says, bowing dramatically. "Shall we?"

"We shall, my escort," Rosalie says, taking his hand, using her other one to fiddle with her dress. "And while we're at it, you should just give me my money already. Drake and Acacia will be official, and I know it."

"I've seen them trying to flirt and it's horrifying," James drones. "I don't think they'll be together anytime soon."

Rosalie bursts out laughing, almost stumbling into the floor as the two teenagers walk. "Right. As if your flirting with Lily is any better."

"I'm trying!" James sniffles. "Being me is just too hard."

"Uh huh," Rosalie says as James places his hand over his heart. "That's the problem, of course."

James pats his chest. "I'm glad you understand."

Rosalie snickers, tugging on her dress. "Yes, of course."

"Ah, does that mean we're best friends now?" James asks, swinging their hands. "We are now bonded by the forces of matchmaking!"

Rosalie pretends to think. "I might need to ask Acacia about that."

"Should I challenge her to a duel?"

"No, you'd lose," Rosalie says immediately. "Oh, look! Here we are."

"You're changing the subject," James insists as they enter Slughorn's office.

The inside of the Potion teachers office looks a lot more like a tent than a workplace, as elderly wizarding guests chat near the emerald and crimson drapes, music plays in another corner, and attendants hold trays of champagne and appetisers.

Rosalie stops a waiter and takes two glasses of champagne. The two students clink their glasses, sipping softly as they find a table to sit at — even if Rosalie thinks the champagne tastes gross.

"This is boring," James mutters. "Where is Sirius? And my beloved Lily-Flower?"

"I hope Black never arrives," Rosalie hums, sipping her champagne. "Also, that nickname is horrendous. Maybe just call her Lily."

"Lily it is," James amends, tapping his fingers on the table.

Rosalie heaves a sigh, spotting clusters of students weaving their way through crows of wizards; and then, finally, Acacia and Drake make their entrance. The former still looks flushed, but confident as she strides through the crowd, while Drake follows her, gaze sharp and eyes cool.

Acacia's lips break out into a grin once her eyes meet Rosalie. "There you are!"

"I should be saying that to you," Rosalie mutters, a soft smile on her face as Acacia and Drake take their seats. "What have you two been doing?"

"Probably being awkward," James mutters.

Drake raises a brow as Acacia turns red. "Aren't you underage?"

James sips his champagne. "So?"

"Like anyone cares about that," Acacia murmurs. "I'd like a glass, too, actually."

"Here," Rosalie offers, pushing her glass to her best friend. "You can finish mine."

Acacia's eyes light up as she grasps the champagne glass, downing the drink with one gulp. "Love you, Rosalie," she says as Rosalie and James gape at her. "I'm going to get another glass! Be right back."

"Yeah, see you," Rosalie says, still flabbergasted as her friend saunters to a waiter and strikes up a conversation with him. "I don't know how she does it."

"This is why I should be your best friend," James inputs, a wicked smile on his face. "Then we could sit at tables while Abbott parties. It's a win-win solution."

"Ask her yourself," Rosalie teases.

Drake cracks a smile next to her, only for it to fade as his eyes widen. Rosalie and James follow his gaze, the former paling.

"He's here, the bastard," Rosalie whispers. She starts to stand, hands gripping the table. "I should —"

"Sit down," Drake says, voice cool. Rosalie obeys hesitantly. "If Rosier starts anything, we'll intervene."

"Rosier?" James asks, his eyes spotting Evan Rosier with his older brother, Elijah Rosier and his apparent date, Seraphina Selwyn. They stand along with another girl that Rosalie remembers as Tung Mi, an Asian girl with gorgeous hair. "What about him?"

"What's not about him?" Rosalie mutters. How could someone as pretty and seemingly cool as Seraphina be his date? It's laughable, honestly. "He was Acacia's ex-boyfriend, and not a good one."

Trailing after Seraphina are Diana Kapoor and Ashley Love, holding hands and whispering to each other, their expressions concerned as Seraphina coolly strides across the room with ugly-Rosier.

(Here's the thing. Rosalie doesn't base ugliness of others on their appearance, but rather their personality. And Evan is a literal bastard that looks like his robes are swallowing him up.)

Decent-Rosier heads for a group of wizards, and eventually disappears as Ashley and Diana make their way to a redhead and a Filipina girl, boisterously laughing together.

"Ah," James says. "I can't relate. I've never been in a relationship before."

"I can't imagine why," Drake drawls.

James nods vigorously. "I know, right?"

"They're missing out," Rosalie adds, her eyes still on ugly-Rosier. Who even picked his robes, and why do they look so, so atrocious?

Her eyes trail to the door as Lily Evans arrives with her friends, with a green dress to match her practically glowing eyes. As Marlene Mckinnon heads to the punch table with the rest of Lily's friends, the redhead wanders to Rosalie's table, taking a seat. Acacia soon follows, Drake's eyes not leaving her face.

"You look wonderful, everyone," Lily gushes.

"So do you," Rosalie says. "The green matches with your eyes."

"Thanks, Rosalie!" Lily replies bashfully.

Rosalie nods, beaming as she kicks James from under the table.

"You're so beautiful, Lily," James immediately says.

Lily coughs, cheeks tinted red.

"Thank you, Potter." Lily tugs on a red strand of her hair. "Fancy a dance, then?"

James gapes, jaw practically on the table as Rosalie controls her snickers. Drake and Acacia share an amused smile.

God, Rosalie doesn't even have to do anything! And it's beautiful, because she gets compensation either way.

"Yes!" James says, smiling at her like she's the only one in this room. Lily's cheeks are tinted red. "I'd love to."

The two head to the dance floor, James glancing back at Rosalie, who shoots him a thumbs up. Don't screw it up, she mouths.

James rolls his eyes, his eyes wandering back to Lily. Rosalie watches amused, as James awkwardly places his hand on her waist, and they glide along, the floor like the ice-skating rink Delilah took Rosalie to years ago. She misses it, those times, times she could be having if she'd chosen to go home.

But home could lead to danger, to death —

No, this time is a happy time, Rosalie reminds herself. This party is supposed to be fun, and you're supposed to be looking after Acacia and James and Lily.

"Wow," Acacia says, watching James and Lily waltz. "I didn't think she'd initiate it."

"She's not a coward," Rosalie says, shooting a goading look at Drake, who glares. "She knows what she's doing — I think."

"Very reassuring, Rosa," Acacia teases.

"Yeah, yeah," Rosalie mutters.

"They're moving out of your line of sight," Drake drawls, "if you care about that."

"Hmm, so you should make sure that James doesn't screw it up." Rosalie eyes Drake meaningfully. "Right?"

Drake blinks at her, before sighing sharply. "Would you like to dance, Abbott?"

"Don't sound so put off by it." Nevertheless, Acacia gives him her hand. "Next time, maybe ask with a smile. It wouldn't kill you."

The two wander into the dance floor, Drake looking stilted and awkward, as Acacia laughs, her hand in his.

Rosalie watches the two couples, feeling single again. And with no champagne, too; even though she despises the taste of it, it'll drown out her sorrows of inexperience and stomach pudge. But as the designated stuff-watcher, Rosalie stays, observing James and Lily as Acacia and Drake make their way towards them.

She's always staying, always watching, always the third party staring, always —

"Spying, Edson?"

Rosalie coughs as Sirius Black takes a seat next to her, suit crisp and cleaned and well, handsome looking. Where the hell did he even come from? Annoying fucker. She despises him.

"I'm looking, Black," she corrects, rolling her eyes. "There's a difference."

"Of course," he says, still standing, a smirk on his stupid face. "I should've known. You would never spy, never check on James and Evans to see how they're doing."

"Never," she says, sharing a conspiratorial look with him as a lightbulb flashes in her mind. "I would just happen to be dancing right next to them, that's all."

"Hmm, I suppose sacrifices are required." He offers his arm, even though it's Rosalie who's making the sacrifice. "Just this once."

Rosalie eyes him, before snatching his warm hand. His grey eyes are alight with warmth, the candlelight making him look almost angelic, even if Rosalie knows he's a complete demon.

"Just this once," Rosalie repeats. "And never again."

He eyes her. "What, did you think this wasn't going to be a one-time thing?"

"You always insist that I'm in love with you," Rosalie grumbles, her waist tingling under his grip, "so maybe your obsession would lead you into asking me to dance. Again."

She moves her hands around his neck, staring into his light eyes.

"That would be harming myself, Edson," he drones.

Rosalie rolls her eyes, before her gaze wanders towards James and Lily, who are animatedly chatting. Acacia and Drake are staring into each other's eyes, forgetting their mission. What incompetent spies, but at least they're getting closer.

"Acacia and Drake have abandoned the mission," Rosalie says, sighing dramatically. "As expected. Hopefully they kiss tonight."

"So you can win your bet?" Sirius asks, gliding them close to James and Lily. "What a selfish reason, Edson."

"I've wanted those idiots together ever since my fourth year," Rosalie retorts, "but, yes. Selfish, Black. Totally."

Sirius glances at the two. "The snake hardly seems like an idiot."

"Drake," Rosalie corrects, still dancing, still gliding, feeling almost ... free. "And he's an idiot when it comes to romance."

"Like you?" Sirius asks.

Rosalie pinches the flesh of his neck. "Likewise."

"How rude, Edson," Sirius drawls. "I am hardly an idiot."

"Now, you're just lying."

Sirius gasps dramatically, acting like his better twin, James. "I would never lie. I'm always honest. In fact, I came here lawfully."

"So, you didn't crash the party?" Rosalie raises her eyebrow. "Which poor soul did you rope into bringing you here?"

He rolls his eyes. "Well —"

"Shush," Rosalie interrupts, her heart stuttering. "Look."

Sirius scowls. "Hey —"

Severus Snape, the greasy wanker, had somehow arrived while Rosalie and Sirius were talking, and now was trying to make conversation with Lily. She can only hear a few words ("I'm sorry" and "please forgive me" and "Lily!") as she and Sirius waltz towards them, Rosalie's face scrunched up in concern.

At the sight of the git, or because of his words, Lily takes off, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. James, looking distraught, is about to chase after her, but Rosalie grabs his elbow.

"Let her go," she insists. "She might lash out at you."

"I can't." James worms out of her grip. "Stay here, Rosalie. I'll be back."

He rushes after the girl he fancies, leaving Sirius and Rosalie behind, staring.

"Idiot," Rosalie mutters, massaging her eyebrows.

"Well," Sirius says, smirking. "This was fun. As annoying as you are, spying on James will never not be entertaining."

"Aren't you worried?"

Sirius waves her off. "Evans will be fine. She has James, and I'm sure her friends will notice that she's gone."

"I'm her friend, too," Rosalie says, almost pulling her hair out. "I should go after —"

"You'd just annoy her even more," Sirius drawls, and Rosalie has never wanted to punch him more. "It's better if you —"

"Screw you!"

Acacia's shout makes Rosalie stop in her tracks. Both her best friends are glaring at Evan Rosier, whose eyes are wide and feral, almost predatory as his eyes roam up and down, like her body is his, like —

"He will not touch her," Rosalie says hotly, clenching her fists as she storms towards them. "Not now, and not again!"

Wand in her hands, Rosalie surges forward, a crowd of wizards slowly forming around the three, who are standing near the punch table. She needs to get there, she needs to be there, she needs to help —

"You need to mind your own business," Drake is saying as Rosalie spots Evan's date, Seraphina, watching coolly. "What Acacia does is frankly none of your —"

Ugly-Rosier grabs a glass of champagne and dumps it on Drake's suit.

A loud gasp reverberates through the crowd. Acacia looks like she's about to curse him into oblivion, but Drake holds her back with a strong arm, his eyes dangerously narrowed.

"Rosier!" Rosalie shouts, wand in her hand, daring to push past the crowd to face the bastard that hurt her friend, both of them, really. "I swear to God, you troll —"

"I'm the troll?" he asks, sneering, "You're just a child playing dress-up, you repulsive bitch. I can see your fat stomach from a mile away."

Rosalie recoils. Normally, she doesn't care. She'll let it slide, because she's joked about others, and even herself, being ugly at times — but that pudge of her stomach is sticking out in her red dress. She feels like a clown trying to fit in with a crowd of teenagers, being laughed at, being judged, being —

Drake, grabbing the entire punch bowl, ruins Rosier's unsightly robes. Fight, fight, fight! The crowd chants, and God, do they give the crowd a fight.

"How dare you," Rosier screams shrilly, "you and your slag girlfriend—!"

"Evan, quit it," his friend, Mi from earlier, says.

Rosalie inhales, stowing her wand away. Now, it's Acacia's turn to hold Drake back, her eyes trained on Rosalie.

"Sure," the raven-haired girl says, charging towards him, voice dangerously calm as her heart feels like exploding and leaving her dead, "sure, I'm ugly and Acacia's a 'slag' for not going out with you."

She's face to face with Evan Rosier when he punches her in the face. She cries out, wiping blood from her nose, and then everything blurs when she knees him in the balls. He screams in pain, the crowd watching, jeering, laughing as he struggles to stand.

She tilts her head, smiling, blood smeared on her nose. "But at least I can have children. You, however, can't, not when I'm done with you —" She knees him again. "— because how dare you even say that to Acacia —" And again.

Evan lets out a high-pitched scream, eyes filled with unfiltered rage as a weak hand reaches to slap her. It makes contact with her cheek, leaving it a blistering red. But the slap is weak; Rosalie can only feel the side of her face tingling for a few seconds as both Acacia and Drake surge forward.

A couple people from the growing crowd back away, probably to fetch a drunk Professor Slughorn, but Rosalie is too angry to care. Gritting her teeth, Rosalie's eyes widen in surprise when a cupcake hits Rosier on the head. She whirls around, escaping the chaos of her friends beating the troll up, spotting Sirius, his eyes unreadable.

Evan struggles as Acacia throws a punch, and then Drake kicks, and then Ugly-Rosier's wand is tossed aside, sleeves are rolled up, and soon, other wizards join the fight, wands out. Acacia brushes a stray strand of her hair, her wand removed from her long boot, which was hidden underneath her long dress.

"You want a fight?" Acacia snarls, laughing. "Well, Evan, you have one!"

The crowd cheers, a man even snapping pictures as the teenagers go wild. Rosalie's about to join the fight, along with a surprisingly angry Sirius, when —

"What is this nonsense?" Slughorn booms.

Everyone pauses.

"It was those three!" a tattletale wizard sings, pointing to Acacia, Drake, and Evan. "They started it!"

"It was just Rosier!" Rosalie snaps, but Slughorn ignores her, choosing to quickly heal her face instead.

"You three," he slurs as Rosalie touches her healed nose, "out!"

Acacia and Drake exchange a glance.

"Sir," Acacia begins, but he shakes his head.

"Out, now!"

Sighing, Acacia's bruised hand takes Drake's. Rosalie watches, stomach churning as the two are about to leave. But Acacia stills, her breath hitching. She squares her shoulders, a determined expression on her face.

"Thank you," she breathes, cupping Drake's cheek with her palm, a pint of liquid courage in her bloodstream, "for everything."

And then she kisses him.

Rosalie covers her mouth, trying not to squeal as Drakes kisses her back with a fervent passion, his hand wrapped around her waist. Evan growls like a wolf, the weirdo, his friends practically restraining him.

Rosalie doesn't give a shit about that daft bastard, who already humiliatingly lost a fight. Her idiots did it. They did it!

The two break apart, foreheads against each other.

"We should leave," Acacia says, voice breathy.

"Definitely," Drake agrees. "Rosalie, we'll meet you in the Commons."

While Rosalie wants to protest and leave with them, instead, she'd rather not third-wheel her idiots. Maybe they'll snog on the way to the Commons, and she doesn't want to witness that.

"Sure, yeah," she says, grinning like an idiot. "Use protection!"

Scoffing, Acacia flips her friend off. Hand-in-hand, the two disappear, Evan also angrily stalking out the door, two of his friends following. Seraphina, his date, just smirks, turning away from the crowd.

With the crowd fully gone, Rosalie stays at the punch table, Sirius right next to her. Awkwardly, the teenagers fill their punch, with nothing but silence and two feet of space as a barrier. The rest of the party will be horrid, and Rosalie can tell.

She is, after all, a Seer.

(Not of the future, but it still counts for something.)

"This is the most eventful party of Slughorn's that I've ever been to," Rosalie grumbles, sipping her punch. "And the most painful."

"Painful because you're here?" Sirius asks.

This ignites a spark in her, and the two argue back and forth, Rosalie wanting to rip his vocal cords out (metaphorically) and then toss him off the Astronomy Tower (again, metaphorically).

"Ah, Rosalie," a pompous voice interrupts as Rosalie attempts to tell Sirius to turn himself into Azkaban for crimes against the best witch in the world (her). "How have you been?"

"Lockhart," Rosalie snaps, too tired to deal with his bullshit. "Shove off."

Gilderoy Lockhart's date, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, looks like she's about to shove him, too. Jennifer Fawley is way too gorgeous for him, in Rosalie's opinion. And apparently, according to Drake, she's a decent person, as well.

Unlike her date.

"Bad, then," he practically simpers, his face contorted into a sneering expression. Back when she was younger, Rosalie found him handsome, but she doesn't understand why fourteen-year-old Rosalie had such shit taste in men. "I understand. Rosier had spoken the truth in front of the whole —"

"Oh, shove your head up your arse, won't you?" Rosalie retorts as Jennifer gapes at her date. "You're so full of shit."

"That would be great," Sirius adds. "You're interrupting our conversation."

"No, I don't think I will." He smiles at Rosalie, far from sincere. "Poor Edson, so ugly that no one will —"

"That's enough, Gilderoy," Jennifer snaps, dragging him off.

Rosalie can hear Jennifer practically screaming at him as they walk away, but she's focuses on her stomach sticking from her dress, and her pimples, and her ugly smile, and —

"Bastard," Rosalie mutters. She will not cry. No, she will not —

"Indeed, chipmunk," Sirius says, snickering. "He's almost as ugly as you, really —"

"What?" Rosalie wants to scream. No. She cannot, will not — "I'm ugly?"

Sirius blinks at her. "That's what I've been saying for years."

"Well, Black," Rosalie says, something in her stomach building up, threatening to tear her down, wanting to make her hurt him, hit him when he's down, "I may be ugly, but at least my sibling actually cares about me."

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can process them, but as Sirius's face shifts from teasing to a scowl, she pauses, realising what she said. How could she? Not only is she ugly, but she's a monster, too. After all she saw in her visions, of all Regulus refused to do —

"Fuck off, Edson," Sirius snarls, stepping closer to her. "You don't know what you're talking about —"

"I'm s —" The world spins, and Rosalie almost falls. No.

No! She can't have a vision, not now!

She needs to apologise, needs to get away from Sirius, who'll find out and then she'll be in an even worse situation than mention her enemy's brother in a stupid argument —

"Where are you going?" Sirius exclaims as Rosalie leaves, running, taking off, getting away —

"Excuse me, excuse me," Rosalie mutters, the world blurring and spinning into a thread, trapping her, caging her — "I need —"

Quickly weaving her way through an enthusiastic group of wizards, Rosalie stumbles and almost trips on a man, his place skin unnaturally glittering in the candlelight. He reaches out, catching her, hauling her up.

He doesn't say anything, blue eyes studying her. Gelled brown hair, a self-important expression, and an ageless face — almost like a vampire — should make Rosalie feel almost judgmental of him, but she's either too drained or he's too fatherly.

"Thank you," Rosalie says, rubbing her head. For a second, the world is clear again. "I'm sorry for bumping into you, sir —"

He shakes his head, eyes glittering with mirth. "No problem. And call me Fulk, not sir. I feel old if you do."

"I'm Rosalie," the witch offers. "Do you know where the bathroom is, Fulk?"

"That way." Fulk points out the direction. "Two doors to the left."

"Thank you," Rosalie says gratefully.

"Of course, Rosalie." Fulk gives her a nod, almost hesitating, before saying, "You remind me of my daughter, actually."

"What's her name?" The headache pushes against her skull, again, but she persists. She knows where to go, now.

He smiles. "Lux."

The familiar name sends a jolt in Rosalie's spine. She sends him one last look, this strange man, before following his directions. The bathroom, the bathroom —

Sighing heavily, Rosalie locks herself in a stall, shutting her eyes so tight that she starts to feel pain.

The world disappears beneath her feet, and Rosalie is now beyond a person, almost like she's watching from the heavens.

A room all too familiar appears — her father's office. God, why is Rosalie so cursed to see her father appear in front of her and not the dad who raised and cherished and truly cared for her?

Instead, she sees a fraud, a murderer, an abuser. She sees the person her mother ran from, the person who Rosalie was once tied to, because she was once Rosalie Kim, named after Joon's mother, Jang-mi.

(Rosalie's paternal grandmother truly has her petals and thorns, like her name suggests; Jang-mi means Rose, like Rosalie, after all. It's even her Korean name, one that she doesn't acknowledge because it faded away, to time, to her new school.)

Joon is an adult, merely sitting. He is almost ageless, his face void of wrinkles and his skin too smooth-looking to be real. He is made of rotting, melting plastic. He burns every down in his path for coal to turn into diamond.

"Hana," he says, the name of Rosalie's mother on his wretched tongue, "how dare you do this to me?"

Yes, Father, Rosalie wishes to say. How dare she run away from an abusive bastard like you? Honestly.

"I will get you back," he vows, but based on his death without his ex-wife, he failed. He runs a finger across the edge of a rotting book's spine. Rosalie's heart almost drops when she notices it; it's much cleaner and neater, but it's her vision journal. The same one.

"And you and Rosalie will be with me, once again." He takes the journal in his hands, like it is the universe itself. "Just like you wanted, Hana."

"Enough."

Joon whirls around, and Rosalie can't believe that she didn't notice her own mother at the edge of the door. She'd been so focused on her shitty father that she — she failed to notice something so important, like she fails today, drifting from reality.

(Like she failed to keep her mouth shut, earlier. Like she failed to contain her own volatile emotions.)

"You have something that belongs to me." Unlike the warm mother that Rosalie knows, Hana appears both younger and colder. "The journal. Hand it to me."

To Rosalie, the first page of the journal now says, so all your nightmares will go away. In the vision, it is blank.

"You have something that belongs to me, as well," Joon continues, cold eyes flickering across Hana's body. "Our daughter. Where is she?"

"She is safe." Hana's voice is clipped as she strides forward. There is something different about her, something that Rosalie can't quite figure out. "The journal. Now."

Rosalie wants to scream for her mother, to tell her to leave, but she knows it ended well. The journal is with her, now. It's fine, it's okay —

No. The scar. A long, white scar that runs on the side of her mother's face, a scar that she claims she got as a child, but this Hana doesn't have it.

Mom! Rosalie wants to shout, but she has no rotting mouth, no ugly body, nothing.

And then the world bends beneath her feet, brittle and shattering. Rosalie falls, a quiet scream echoing from her lack of a mouth.

Joon is long dead, in a graveyard, but when Rosalie is thrust from her visions to the real world, a feeling of fright crawls its way into her mind. Her eyes slowly adjust to the light as she opens the door.

She stares at herself in the mirror. God, she's a mess. No wonder both Evan and Gilderoy claim that she's ugly; even she can point out at least five flaws in her face.

Resisting the urge to vomit at the thought of confronting both Sirius and the scar of her mother's, Rosalie washes her hands and heads out. She'll leave the disaster of a party and apologise to Sirius tomorrow, because goddamn she feels so tired and ugly and hopeless —

"How dare you, Edson?" Sirius's hands are wrapped around Rosalie's wrists as he pushes her to the wall, his face contorted with anger. Rosalie startles, but she's too exhausted to resist. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" she asks, voice softer than it should be. Sirius's grip softens when her eyes begin to water. "I get it, Black. I'm fucking ugly and no one wants me and I'm so tired — but do you have to rub it in my face every single time?"

"Edson," he begins, but Rosalie ignores the shift in his tone.

"How does it feel, Sirius?" she presses, not bothering to escape from his grip. Instead, Rosalie's dark eyes bore into his. "How does it feel to grow up looking like that, where everyone reassures you that you're handsome, where people aren't lying when they say you're beautiful, when —"

"I don't think you're ugly," he mutters. "I never thought that. I'm —"

"Stop lying to me." A burst of anger surges through her. Sirius is only a couple inches taller, and not much stronger, so she breaks free from his grip, pushing past him. "Just leave me alone. I'm sorry I said that about Regulus, and I shouldn't have just because you said the truth, Black. I get it. I'm learning to live with it to embrace myself. I'm not very insecure about my looks, actually — but right now, I feel blinded."

She glances back, a wry smile on her face when she says, "So don't come near me. Sometimes, even I need a little reassurance."

Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but Rosalie cuts him off.

"And, yeah, I lie when I say you're ugly. You're far from that — and I wish I could be, too."

She leaves Sirius, leaving the party behind. Uncaring that he might hear her, she bursts in tears as she stumbles through the corridor, her red dress feeling more like a cage than an adornment.

What a shitshow.