(p.s. this is more of a filler chapter, not much happening and pretty short! it is a set up for the next one <3 also side note, you'll be following a few diff peoples pov's in this so sometimes you won't get to hear Rosie's internal monologue)

third person pov

' can't turn back
now i'm haunted '

12 GRIMMAULD PLACE

After years of knowing Rosalie Black, one learns that when she doesn't want to be found, there is no way to track the girl. Fred Weasley never quite understood her, or really tried to; it seemed like a complicated mission beyond his abilities.

He first saw Rose at the sorting, a polarizing last name being called and snatching his attention to the front of the dinning hall. There, on that stool, Fred found the most off-putting child he had ever seen. Even then, her hair flew down in long tendrils of black, darker than the night itself. But it was her unblinking eyes that startled him, how she held herself with much more maturity than any child should be capable of, how she seemed to think someone was testing her, ridiculing her every move.

And then, the sorting hat called Gryffindor with a roar.

He remembers it still to this day, how the hall went silent, how every ounce of color drained from her face. The whispers when she slid off that stool, and how even though she smiled at Hermione, Fred saw Rose slide shaking hands under the table.

Ron complained to him within the first week about Rose, claiming she slapped him and now his brothers had to pull a prank, or something, as revenge.

Fred almost snorts at the memory.

Nevertheless, Fred snatched Goerge up during the first week, and then they split off, trying to locate the girl.

Of course, with Fred's luck, he was the one to find her.

She was lingering on the fourth floor corridor, an ear pressed against a cobblestone wall. Rose did not jump when he neared, simply said, "Hello, Weasley." without ever turning around.

"What're you doing?" He asked.

"Listening to the walls," Rose said, as if it wasn't the most preposterous thing he ever heard. "Neville and I were supposed to go to the lake so his toad could swim, but Draco got jealous and decided to put him in one of the broom closets. The spirits are supposed to be helping me, but they keep playing games..."

"You think...there are spirits in the walls?" Fred almost cackled, and was half tempted to make fun of the girl. All too quickly though, Rose demanded he crouched down to her level, and for some reason, he listened.

Before Fred knew what was happening, she guided her brightly jeweled wrists to his ears, and pushed the left side of his face into the wall. At first, Fred went to protest with a goofy grin, but the young girl only smiled and held a finger up to her lips.

Surely enough, the moment he decided to play into her game and went quiet, Fred heard an overwhelming amount of whispering coming from within the stone walls.

He practically roared to life, leaping and grasping onto her shoulders, shaking the girl almost too roughly. "I had no idea!"

She had beamed at his joy, surprisingly not bothered by him. "That's because you can't find it in books, Weasley. Every wall on this earth has spirits who linger, we just have to listen and have open minds."

He laughed, and laughed, when suddenly she gently pushed his hands off—effectively turning away without a word.

"Wait!" He had called, stopping her only feet away. "Where are you going?!"

She frowned at him, the sassiest voice coming out, "To get Neville and then..." A pause, "I believe I'll make Teddy and Whit help me prank Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe as revenge." A smile as bright as the sun spread across his face, and Rose went to walk away again but stopped short once more, fully turning around. "Would you like to help? You'll have to join me and Neville at the lake first, and meet my friends but—"

"Yes!" He all but screamed, running and looping his arm around the girl.

The rest was history.

But right now, standing in the grimly lit hallway of Grimmauld place, staring at the front door as his siblings, along with Harry and Hermione, Fred feels an uncomfortable pang. Wondering if he really should be worried after receiving a letter from Blaise only an hour ago. Just because he couldn't understand Rose didn't mean he does not feel awful for her never-ending loop of lows.

Blaise, in true fashion, made sure to keep his response brief, but explained that they'd returned happily from spending weeks in Italy while Dumbldore, Sirius, and countless others tried getting a response from Rose. It was very confusing for everyone when the order moved in and no one was living there. Not even a speck of dust or burned embers to show someone had stepped foot into the home, and most importantly, no house elf in sight.

It was the ending of the letter which worried Fred. Learning that after getting home from Italy last week, where Theo's father proclaimed to need his son for a short trip, no one had heard from Theodore Nott since. This wouldn't be alarming to most, but Blaise explained how usually Theo couldn't manage to go a day without sending a letter to his friends, much less Rose.

By the second day, they tried locating him, only to turn around and find out his location was being hidden. This blew Rose, most of all, into a frenzy. She apparently knew something was off, and began trying everything. From dark, dark spells to buying ministry dockets.

Nothing worked.

Theo had been erased from the face of the earth.

Today, of all days, Rose emerged from her room, muttering about going to see Dumbledore and her father before disappearing. Therefore, full of worry, Blaise begged Fred to simply keep an eye on her.

As promised, Fred didn't tell anyone a single detail of the letter besides the fact Rose was on her way.

The front door finally slams open, and all of the teenagers stop whispering as Rose walks inside the house. She doesn't look well, frankly, smelling of a bar, but it's her red puffy eyes that make Hermione jump forward to grab the girl.

Within one hoarse voice, full of venom, "Don't touch me." Rose shoves the girl off so harshly that she hits the wall.

"Hey!" Harry shouts, lurching to help Hermione who slumps to the ground.

Rose doesn't say anything else, or look at anyone, simply brushes past Fred with hands buried inside her thin leather jacket, and pushes open the door at the end of the corridor.

She lands herself in the dining room, halting an Order of the Phoenix meeting instantly.

Moody, Kingsley, the Weasley's, Remus Lupin, Dumbledore, Mcgongall, and even Sirius–they all go slack-jawed when they see her. There's other members there, ones she doesn't recognize.

"My goodness!" shrieks Mrs Weasley, "We were worried for weeks! Finding out only an hour ago you've been in Italy! Did Fred lie to us?! Are you in trouble?!"

The overwhelming voice, and loudness, sends a sharp pain through Rose's skull. Sirius awkwardly rises up to his feet at the sight of his daughter clutching her forehead, and says, "Do you want to sit here? I can get you some hot water."

Rose scoffs, circling the table at a begrudgingly slow pace.

Dumbldore and Mcgonagll pull out the chair between them in sync, a seat the young Black takes without hesitation. "Are you well, dear?" asks Dumbldore, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"I don't want to talk about it, and I sure don't need this table gawking at me." Rose spits, which takes all of her energy. She presses her shaky palms flat to the wood, eyes appearing even more red in the light from the chandelier above. "What am I needed for?"

Mcgongall shakes her head at Dumbledore in warning to not put this on Rose right now, but he doesn't listen.

"Well, we wanted to know where you were. You've clearly moved out, and then it was time to get you inducted to the order—"

"Come on," Rose cuts in, "I know you all need something. Just ask. I didn't come for bonding."

Moody clears his throat. "Listen kid, I get life's tough, but a war is brewing and we need your help. Merlin didn't give you all that power to waste away over champagne problems."

She stares at him unblinking. "Are you fucking dumb? I asked what you all need less than ten seconds ago. Tell me, and I'll do it, or I can walk out of here and leave you all to your own devices."

The meeting goes on, Dumbledore introduces her to everyone, they speak about nonsense that she knows would be useless to Voldemort–this is nothing if not torture. Sirius tries listening, tries focusing on the meeting, but he can't keep his eyes from his daughter. Her gaze is so hollow, so very empty, and she looks to be on the verge of fainting while staring at the table.

At some point, Dumbldore smiles at Rose, placing his hand on her arm. "Are you fine going with Moody to protect the prophecy this coming week? It'll give you some experience before you must go back to school."

Her head lifts in confusion, and Dumbeldore repeats the question. She gives a small nod of recognition before focusing back onto the wooden table, furthering Sirius's worry.

When the meeting ends, everyone gathers in groups for conversation, but Sirius slips through the kitchen, and into the tapestry room. Not even two minutes later, as he peaks out into the corridor, does he realize Rose seemed to have the same idea of slipping away.

"Rosalie," Sirius calls, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets like a mirror of her own actions.

Her head lifts to him, and she holds eye contact until stopping right in front of the man that feels like a ghost.

In a hushed tone, he asks, "Are you well?" She nods as answer. "I've written to you many times, and I had no clue you've moved out."

"I didn't open your letters." She says, "I didn't feel like listening to you rant about Harry, or telling me what I've done wrong in life. I moved to Zabini Manor, by the way. At the beginning of summer Blaise asked me and Whit if we would, so we did."

His heart aches at her bland voice. "My letters were not about Harry, I wanted to apologize for how I've acted." Rose blinks, and then her eyes are drawn to the top of the doorframe he stands in. "Rosalie, you must know how aware I am of my actions. I was being wrongful, and never should have treated you as unimportant. You're my daughter, one of the only things that should matter..."

She shows no sign of hearing him, still staring above.

"Will you say something, please?"

Her eyes snap down onto his own. She speaks with no emotion, "You're standing where Orion killed himself."

Sirius almost jumps out of his skin, colliding into Rose as he rushes forward. Her hands, cold as ice, grasp his own, keeping him from falling into her. He shivers at the feeling before she stuffs her ring clad fingers back into the leather pockets.

"He," Sirius's eyes switch between the doorframe and her face. "He...killed himself? The papers, they...they said he had a heart attack."

She tilts her head, and at that moment she looks exactly like Walburga. The ebony curls, empty but bright eyes, cheekbones like knives, expression void of warmth, the dark silky clothing – even the way she holds herself – it's as if he is staring at his mother in her younger years. "Don't tell me you've been gone for so long that you have forgotten how things work in the house of Black," Rose leans in mockingly, "Welcome home, Sirius."

He goes slack-jawed, head recoiling away, muscles tensing up.

She sounds like Walburga.

With one last demeaning look, Rose turns on her heel, down the hall, and goes through the front door.

Just as she's about to try breathing again, the door doesn't close, and she swivels on her feet to see Hermione holding it open.

"Are you okay?"

Rose rolls her eyes in sheer aggravation. "We aren't friends, Hermione."

"Maybe we should be," whispers Hermione, worry laced through her tone. "You look awful..."

"I was actually very happy without you in my life, but you don't get to know what's going on anymore." After, Rose takes one step down, her gaze flips behind her shoulder to scan the entire house with a lump in her throat. "Go home to your parents, and get out of this house before it eats you alive, Hermione. I don't want you here, and it's still my property. The ministry will be here tomorrow to make sure everyone gets out, let them all know this is my only warning."

Nothing in her thinks about staying, or pretending to have any care left for Hermione. She only crosses down the steps, beginning her journey on the muggle street that once carried so many memories of childhood.

A chill runs down her spine as she glances into the windows of her old neighbors home, a family bunched around one of those wretched televisions used for entertainment. Once, in the days of her visiting Tom inside the chamber, she told him of a movie she went to see at one of the wizarding cinemas. He began to ridicule her, claiming this form of entertainment would be the dwindle of intelligence. Tom made sure to let her know, and embed into her brain, that there were much more interesting things roaming the world to grab her attention.

This is wrong to think about, but it is better than imagining what despair Theo could be experiencing.

So, as she walks, Rose goes slow, and a twinge of discomfort strikes her beneath the street lamps. It used to be so easy to see the storm of Tom's eyes, to remember the depths that were once so vivid. But as time goes on, and life keeps moving, Rose realizes right then, at that very moment, she can no longer conjure the clear image–the one where he's staring back at her. His laugh even, although sinister and cruel, it still lingers, but feels so faint.

In times like these, when she feels a hollow hole of him, Rose usually distracts herself with the next thing. Reminds herself that no power will bring Tom back to her, and that despite Voldemort being very much alive–he is not Tom. He does not have the memories, and even if he gets his body back and carries full strength, the dark lord will not know of what once was.

He will still be a god amongst men, and she will still be a girl, alone in her grief.

It feels as though these days, these past few years, Rose is in a constant state of grieving over someone. As of now, she will take to the end of this sidewalk, dip around the corner of townhomes to apparate, and when she does, Rose will no longer let herself mourn for the night.

Because if there is one soul she should not be allowed to miss, it is his.

A wizard darker and crueler than any before him, a man that carries the blood of thousands, with each step on the cobblestone sidewalk, Rose must remind herself of this, to force herself into believing it is for the better.

Dumbledore, she must think of the great man who has been a father, the one that will be in grave trouble if Voldemort gains his body; ultimately gaining full power and who would officially be proclaimed as the strongest to exist. James Potter, who had been nothing but an innocent man, and still paid with his life. There are too many to name, and Rose feels sick at the thought. How selfish is she to wish for a world where Tom breathes?

A voice, one sharp and cold, enters her mind.

"Rosalie,"

The sickness grows stronger as she slows her pace even more, taking in a rush of air before bringing the ring to her lips. Speaking in Latin like it is her natural tongue, "Yes, my lord?"

"I need your blood. And, how did the order meeting go?" Voldemort says.

"It was rather boring and only about the prophecy, but why do you need my blood?"

"Must you ask questions about everything?" He snaps inside her mind, "Rookwood will meet you at Brims park, just fill a vial for me."

"Okay." She mutters back.

*

Brims Park, in the heart of Wizarding London, is so beautiful during this time of year. When August begins to slip close to September, the soft chill gracing everyone's skin as the sun gives away to the moon.

Rose did not mean to stay seated on a park bench after Augustus Rookwood finished cutting open her finger and stealing her blood, but she did. Being in her new home sounds comforting, but it is also stained with Theo, and Rose does not believe herself capable to look into the eyes of the worried boys and say everything will be alright.

Nothing will be alright, especially not Theo's father wiping their location from the face of the earth after finding out Theo planned to move in with Rose when returning home. She knew then, and begged Theo to listen, that this would not end well, the timing all too convenient.

The stars are nice here though, and the half-moon above smiles at her, but for some reason it feels mocking. At least here she can watch the passing witches or see wizards scurrying into their clubs beyond the park's end, and that makes her feel smaller, better even.

When a breeze rolls through, she decides to bounce her crossed legs, but the minute she does, a childish yelp rings out right before Rose's face. Her eyes flick down to see a young girl with long brown hair, around the age of eight, standing directly in front of her. Rose, completely terrified of children, and having no idea where this one came from, jerks into the back of the bench, clutching her chest in horror.

"Um, Ow!" The child sasses, "You kicked me!"

Rose blinks, and blinks, and then blinks again. Her mouth opens for a long while, until she manages to straighten up. "And you're standing in front of me!"

The child surveys her before flashing a wide grin, outstretching a rainbow painted hand. "I'm Cassepoia, but I prefer Cassie!"

She only stares at the hand, completely and utterly confused on what is happening.

"Black?" A deep, gruff voice rings from her right. Rose's eyes snap onto the owner, finding Adrian Pucey standing tall as ever, confusion written all over his usually stoic face.

Cassie seems to brighten in his presence, "Adrian! You know my new friend?!"

Adrian walks in that way he always has, commanding attention, and stops next to this random child, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Cassie, why are you bothering her?"

"She looked sad! I–I was going to give her a new sticker!"

Rose scoffs without thinking. "I am not sad!"

Cassie looks at Adrian pleadingly, and he then looks to Rose, his lips forming the faintest twitch downwards before his face falls back into its unreadable state. He takes a seat next to the Black, seeming to be useless in telling this child no.

Although Cassie smiles once again at Rose, "You never said your name."

"Uh...Rose," She says, shifting uncomfortably. "You know, you're named after a pretty cool constellation."

"I know!" Cassie chirps, "I can never find it though!"

This statement takes Rose out of her awkward state, frowning at the idea of the child unable to read the stars. She leans forward, putting her hand on Cassie's shoulder as her head turns up the sky, and the girl follows suit. It takes a moment, but then, "There," Rose says, pointing up at the sky. "You see those stars forming the shape of a man? That's Perseus."

"Yeah...I think so," mutters Cassie, squinting as she follows Rose's finger that slowly drifts to the five stars above. "But my constellation isn't called Perseus or in the snape of man..."

"You're right, it's these five. They look like mountains, yeah?" She says, "When you can't find your own, just look for that big man in the sky, and then look above it. Yours will always be right there."

"Goodness..." Cassie breathes out in awe. Rose sits back up with a laugh, finding joy, and a piece of herself in how happy this kid is looking at the stars above. Before she knows what is happening, or can stop it from happening, Cassie throws herself into Rose's arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Oh," Rose chuckles, lightly patting her back. "No need to thank me."

"Come on!" Cassie tries pulling her up to no avail, "You can help me catch fireflies!"

"Cassie," Adrian finally says, and his hollow voice sends a chill through Rose's spine. "Why don't you go catch them? I need to talk to her."

"But I don't have anything to catch them with!"

"I have something you can use," Rose reaches in between herself and Adrian, digging a hand into the leather bag, pulling out an empty jar. "Here," She extends the glass out encouragingly. "This will be good, won't it?"

Cassie snatches the jar way, her eyes going round. "You catch them too?!"

Defensively, Rose says, "No."

"I don't believe you!"

"I don't do that!"

Cassie narrows her eyes, wagging a finger. "Liar! Liar!"

"Fine," snaps Rose, turning her head away. "Sometimes."

The child giggles, leans up to whisper something to Adrian, and then she's running a good ten feet away with the jar in hand.

Everything pieces together in Rose's head, when Adrian's mother was pregnant, how his mother gave birth eight years ago, and Rose realizes she just met his little sister.

His arm settles behind her on the bench, and Rose leans back with a sigh, but as her gaze turns onto him, he's already looking at her. She doesn't realize this at first, distracted by the dark fringe hanging by his green eyes. He has one of those faces, and is one of those people that is beautiful in an unsettling, terrifying way. Nothing if not completely, and utterly overwhelming.

Casually, too casually for him to handle, she reaches out, brushing a strand from his face. "Your little sister is sweet," She says.

He catches her wrist as it begins to fall, and Rose raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to scold her, but Adrian simply lays her hand onto her lap. "You're being oddly nice,"

"I have never been mean to you, Adrian." She says, "You are the one who has been dedicated to avoiding me like the plague."

"I have my reasons." The only explanation he offers, and as Rose realizes he will not go further, she faces ahead while tightening the jacket around her body, watching Cassie happily run around. "What's wrong, Black?" He asks, breaking the brief quiet.

Without looking at him, she mutters, "Tell me about your night, and I'll tell you about mine."

"Well," Him actually speaking more than a few words shocks her to the core. "My mother, she decided to forgive my aunt for some stuff. Tried forcing me to go, but I just couldn't do it. Couldn't let her take Cassie there either."

She breathes out, "Family drama," Before turning toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever your aunt did, fuck her. I'll blindly hate her with you."

A twitch, the faintest twitch, slips across his lips. "Tell me about your night,"

"Mourning," Rose rolls her eyes, "Everything, and everyone. Constant type of thing."

He cocks his head, and reaches up, pushing her hair behind her ear. "You'll be okay, Black."

Oddly enough, it is comforting.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you always are."

Her brows knit together as his hand falls away, and when she stands, Rose holds out her own hand. "Come on," She demands.

He gives her a look, one of question.

"We'll help Cassie." She says, scooping his hand up, and tugging him off the bench.

"I don't know about that," He mutters, making Rose crane her neck as he rises. "Cassie...she'll get obsessive. I'll be lucky if she ever shuts up about you as of now,"

"What?" Rose teases, "Scared I'll worm my way into your life?"

"Yes actually," Adrian looks her up and down. "Terrified."

And for the first time in a week, Rose smiles.

*

SOUTH OF FRANCE

The home, cottage as Draco likes to call it, is sleeping. Every aspect is as still as the night, no burning candles, or bulbs aflame, neither any movement. There is only Whitman sleeping on the couch, a book covered in russian half opened on his chest. Rose quietly crosses into the living space, and pulls a throw blanket over his body, setting the book closed with the ribbon marker on the coffee table. Blaise, slumped a few feet away, his legs stretched across a footstool.

She does not need to peek inside her bedroom to know Draco sleeps there, and she does not plan on waking him, or anyone for that matter. Although none would admit it, this has slowly become the one place in which everyone can breathe. Where they can close their eyes and feel the comforting warmth of a real home.

Rose simply goes into the corridor, walks through the door on the right, and into the art room. A chill, laced with heat beneath, floats through every opened french door, and the field beyond along with the ocean, every piece of art supplies or painting strewn around, does not matter at this moment. Nor does the idea of turning on any light, the moon, the stars, that will be enough.

For her blood forming an ancient elemental pentagram in the center of the room that Tom taught her, the candles lined in a circle around the symbol, and a ring engraved with the initials of R. A. B. stuck in the middle, that is what matters tonight.

She goes, kneels in the center of the burning candles, as she has kneeled before every powerful thing. This ritual started hours ago, and now it is time. Rose waits, waits, and waits, her fingers running across the ring the dark lord gave her, the one holding the resurrection stone.

And when Death comes, she does not shake, or tremble, not even as she feels the weight of the souls he carries bellowing in. The shutters outside slam back and forth, only briefly, and then it falls quiet.

Her eyes open, and lift, to the shadowy figure crouching to be fit beneath her roof. Death's eyes glow, and their presence feels like the sound of millions screaming.

Smoke, fog, that is all this beings cloak, face, and fingers are made of.

A voice, one as deep as the ocean and hollow as the night sky, says, "Rosalie, Rosalie..."

"I want him back," She breathes out.

Fickle things, Gods moods. "You want many things back," They reach a shadowy hand to her cheek, and although it makes her lungs constrict, Rose does not waver. "How do I know it is your uncle's soul you crave most?"

"It is all I am asking for," She says.

Death stares at her, long and hard, blistering almost. But then their hand falls, and a distant shadow, not hand, tips her chin up. "I wonder, what will you give me in return?"

Another thing about Gods or whatever one wishes to call beings like Death, there is always a bargain.

"I do not have a life to give," She says, "By simply making a deal with you, you will own my soul. Is that not enough?"

"Don't be a fool, that is not what I want." Death hisses in her ears, a sharp rusted knife, but they are no longer before her. She feels them though, behind her back, and sees their cloak of smoke floating by her sides.

But as steadfast as the ocean waves ahead, Death speaks again, "I will give you what you want," She feels the chill of their voice by her ears, feels the weight of their hands on her shoulders. "But remember Rosalie, I always come to collect, and our barigan is just beginning."

She goes to question everything, but Death whips around, fading into the cracks not reached by the night sky, the shadows, untouched by stars. The weight of the room is gone, she can breathe, and the candles blow out in perfected synchronicity.

A cough, rugged breathing, the two mix together behind her back.

Then, a hand, warm as the rays of the sun, lays on her shoulder.

"Rosie,"

Ever so slowly, her head turns around, gaze landing on a facial structure similar to her own, but with deep brown eyes, and trimmed black curls.

His lips curve into a smile.

The corners of his eyes soften.

Regulus, Regulus Black.

She jumps into his arms, crashing into his chest as a whirlwind would.

He's here.

He's real.

He's breathing.

And most importantly, she can hear his heartbeat.

Regulus laughs, in such a way it's like a symphony. "I can finally hold you,"

Her voice cracks, "I thought you hated hugs."

"I believe you to be the exception." Regulus says in a light-hearted tone.

But as she smiles into his chest, he brings her closer, holding onto her for all the times he could not.

____________________________________

A/N: hi loves !! reggie is back baby! i missed him so so much but i am also not ready for rosie to slip back into chaos?? But this is her badass chaos era so slay i guess?

–GUYS NEXT CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ( i am literally giggling about this )

–adrian moment seems unimportant but it will make sense !!

–sirius is....being weird

–thinking about what could've been going on in Rosie's mind when sirius was trying to talk to her and stood in the doorway :(

–like how i gave you joy and straight up cut to anguish this chap? i'm so nice :)
( everyone pray for theo i miss him )

xx bri