SEPTEMBER 1st, 1996

Rosalie should be happy with her life.

She lived in a brand new manor that her father, and his werewolf boyfriend, had constructed after the first Wizarding World war. There were no tragic memories buried into these walls by past ancestors, or a stain left by sinister people. She guesses that Sirius's parents dying, along with his brother, and him becoming the sole heir to the Black family fortune had its benefits. But then again, it was stolen money; money from a family Sirius Black had been disowned from.

At the very least she reminded herself to be grateful for living a lifestyle few get without being stuck in a suffocating world of the elite.

But the issue is she's not happy, and she cannot remember the last time she felt any semblance of life within her bones.

No one knew, and they didn't need to. If there was one thing she has mastered, it is putting on a show.

"Look who is finally up," Harry Potter called from the dining table, which had been oddly placed within the kitchen.

Oh Harry, how she wished to stab him with the butcher knife only a few feet away.

Rosalie paid no mind to him as she continued filling up her coffee cup with excruciating slowness. Due to Dumbledore's orders, she never met him until attending Hogwarts. Harry and her had become close though, only after she finally was able to meet the boy her father had paid people to keep an eye on for many years.

Now, it would seem, he has taken the task upon himself to stay with them every night before returning to Hogwarts for a new school year.

She cared for him.

But just as well, she hated her father's obsession with him.

Sirius casted a glance over the top of his copy of the Prophet, his head shaking with a drawn out sigh. "Let me guess," he said. "Out all night again? Which bar was it this time?"

She dropped the coffee pot onto the stove, the sound echoing off the pristine walls. Her hands shook, only momentarily, before she picked the steaming mug up and turned around, leaning her hips back against the counter.

"I'm awake and dressed, are I not?" she asked, "Is that enough for you?"

"Uh oh," muttered Harry, stabbing his fork into the plate of eggs. Sirius and the scarred boy shared one look, and then the father began folding up the newspaper. "Shall I take cover?" Harry asked.

Rosalie scoffed, her eyes rolling at his mannerisms.

At the perfect moment, her other but non-biological father, Remus Lupin, walked into the kitchen with a soft smile. He stopped by her, placing a chaste kiss to the top of the witch's head before reaching for the coffee pot. "You look beautiful, dear," he said, between a yawn.

"She could do with a pop of color, yeah?" Sirius called out, a teasing grin on his face as he relaxed into his seat.

"Excuse you father, but I am wearing Pierre Garcon," she sassed, and pointed to her flowy, but long, dress. "This is cotton," Then, she gestured to the corset tied tight around her waist. "This is leather. Mixing patterns takes the place of adding colors, yes?"

Each of the men turn their eyes to one another, blinking and speaking silent words of horror.

"Dear," Remus began, "I think your father is just suggesting we add a bit of color to your clothes...the all white is a bit blinding, yeah?"

"Merlin forbid a woman care about fashion," she hissed, as if they were her mortal enemies, and walked over to the table, taking a seat across from Harry.

"The sass!" shouted Sirius, throwing up his hands. "Remus, I believe we spoiled her a little too much."

Remus pulled out the chair next to her and took a seat. He placed a plate in front of her and himself before declaring, "There is no such thing."

Almost too quickly for the witch to handle, Remnus filled her plate up full of different breakfast foods. She tried holding back a gag, and does so until he sets another load of eggs on her plate.

"Oh," She picked up the full plate, and placed it beside the half-eaten one Harry had been digging into. "I'm not hungry."

"What?!" Remus and Sirius spoke in sync.

Sirius held up his hand, sitting himself up straight. "That is the fourth morning you have not eaten breakfast...should we be worried? You can tell us."

"I'm fine." She smiled, and picked up her mug in the form of a cheers. "Just been eating big lunches, no need to send me off again."

Harry froze, with a mouth full of eggs, and stared at her.

"Well," Remus cleared his throat. "Are you two excited for sixth year?"

Ever so slowly, Rosalie stared at him as if he had truly lost his mind. "Oh yes dad, I cannot wait to be back at school while Voldemort runs rampant and builds his armies and prepares to kill dear Potter," she paused. "Let us not forget that Dumbldore is determined to take me into two lessons a week now...should be absolutely splendid to begin fighting with you all as soon as I graduate."

"Oi!" Harry lifts his fork up into the air. "Here's to becoming child soldiers!"

Sirius sighed. "Kids,"

"I'm not a kid." Rosalie spat out, so harshly that Sirius recoils. She shook her head, muttering, "Sorry."

Remus rubs a hand down her back with pure gentleness. "It's okay darling,"

"I'm telling you–"

Rosalie cut Harry off at once, "Draco Malfoy is not a Deatheater! For the last fucking time!"

Instantly, a fight breaks out.

"You sound like Hermione! I know what I saw!"

"Because she is right, you daft boy! What would Voldemort want with a spoiled cunt like Draco Malfoy?!"

"I don't know!" Harry shouted, "But I do know I'm right!"

Rosalie slammed down her hand on the table, causing the dishes to shake. She looked to her right, and instantly picks up Remus's kitchen knife, pointing the blade directly at Harry. "You mention it one more time and I will personally skin you alive with this butter knife!"

"Sirius!" Harry shouted, turning his body to the man.

Sirius raised a brow toward his daughter. "Rosalie," he began slowly, "Put the knife down."

"He is driving me mad! I was there, I saw nothing but I still have to hear his theories everyday!"

Before things can escalate into a full blown brawl, that will end up with her jumping the table, Remus forcibly takes the knife out of her hands and begins soothing the young witch in the form of a whisper.

"Whatever," muttered Rosalie, before standing up."I don't want to hear about it because I don't care about the Deatheaters, or that nasty man Draco Malfoy, or anything about the war. I just want everyone to shut up for five fucking minutes."

"Maybe if you weren't at a bar all night then you wouldn't need the silence." Harry said, and immediately regrets his words. "Sorry." He forced a smile. "Love me?"

"No." She deadpanned before gazing around. "I need to go find Hestia."

"I hate that bloody cat." grumbled Sirius, and she depsies him for it.

Frankly, she thinks he hates everything that involves her, his daughter, these days. In fact, she should be grateful, this is the most Sirius has said to her in weeks.

"Anyways," Remus cleared his throat again. "Did you tell your father about what you got the other day?"

*

Platform nine and three quarters was too full, too stuffy for her to breathe.

"And you have your medicine too?" Sirius asked, gripping onto his daughter's arms. "And you will, no matter what, go outside the gates?"

This was the fourth time he had asked. Once before they left the manor. The second time was in the front yard. The third was when they apparated onto the platform. Her patience was thinning, very quickly.

She tried to ignore the two Aurors less than five feet away, their eyes trained on her and Sirius.

"I have it, and I won't." she answered, a coldness laced inside her voice. What did he take her for? A fool? After what happened over summer, she cannot blame him for his worries, but it is aggravating at his lack of trust in her. "I need to go father," she said.

With the urgency of a maddened man, Sirius pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her body. She stood still at first, tensing up at his touch, but eventually she gave in and allowed her arms to wrap around him in return.

She was uncomfortable though, and she does not want to be hugged by anyone right now.

"Father," she muttered, tearing herself from his hold. Sirius tried to pull her back in, but was stopped by her taking another step back. Harry moved in front of her at that very second, the young boy happy to throw his arms Sirius in a warm embrace.

Remus rolled his eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder and spinning her toward himself. He casted a glance toward Sirius. "Your father's just worried about you, we both are," he said. "You'll write, won't you? Tell me anything and everything that's going on?"

"I'm worried about you," she corrected, and that was the truth. She hated leaving for school knowing he would only have Sirius on full moons, and the days following were always the worst. She wanted to be by his side. "I made you enough potions to last until Yule, but if you run out I can come home for a few days. I'm ahead in all my class so it wouldn't hurt anything."

Remus smiled, placing his scarred hands on her face. "My sweet girl," he said. "You don't have to mother me, you know that right? I'm the parent." He ended the sentence with a raised brow, a glint inside of those tired brown eyes.

Her body took over and before he could blink, she crashed into the warmth of his chest, an action that knocked the air out of his lungs. As her hands twisted into the soft knit of his cardigan, she breathed in the smell of burnt embers, coffee, and the pastry he had this morning—taking in this smell like lullaby to soothe her nerves.

"I'll miss you," whispered Remus, his hand soothing through her ebony curls.

Right then, the train horn went off, the whistle powerful and ear-ringing, and she flinched in his arms before pulling herself away. A frown laid on his lips, as if he could feel the ache that July had shoved in her lungs.

Sirius and Harry had come to stand with them, the Potter boy taking a step back to allow the family of three their time. "I love you," Sirius said. "You have the mirror?"

"Yes," she answered. "I, uh, I love you too."

Sirius gave a charming smile, adjusting his obnoxious fur coat, and then brought his tattooed hand to her chin. "Don't let Dumbledore force you into anything, I'll gladly come up to that school and shove that old man down."

She pushed his hand off, taking it into her own. "You don't let him force you two into anything. You're not allowed to die for some blasted war."

"Don't worry about us," Sirius said. "We will meet in Hogsmeade soon, like always?"

Rosalie nodded, and reaches for Harry's arm. "Yeah," She forced a smile, stepping away. "Bye!" she called before they could talk any further.

Harry yelped as she began dragging him with unmatched briskness to the opened train doors, muttering apologies to the innocent people she shoved them through.

Once inside the bustling train, with students roaming and loud voices, Harry pulled her to a stop. She whipped around, coming face to face with him. "Merlin woman," he breathed out. "Are you coming with me to my cart?"

People stared shamelessly, some even pressed their faces up against their comparent windows, all in search of getting a glimpse of Harry, who had been named the 'Chosen one' in the prophet after everything that happened at the ministry.

Harry had grown accustomed to the gawking over the years, but she could see it all over his face as he shifted on his feet in front of her that this was a new level of discomfort.

"I have to go see my girls," she said, grabbing onto his arm, "But I'll come see you guys soon...and if anyone says anything to you, deck them in the face. That's always makes them look away."

His eyes grew wide behind the glasses, and she cocked an eyebrow. "Great advice," he huffed.

"Sure thing." She smiled, turning around on her heel and heading down the corridor.

Once arriving at the back end of the train, where all the Slytherin took to, she began poking her head into cart after cart, in search of two women that would bring her unbridled joy.

After checking four different compartments, she finally found the exact one. Inside there was the blonde, with her long hair and soft smile, leaning into the laughing girl with a short, and blunt, black bob. In Rosalie's eyes, these two girls were goddesses, something meant to be seen by all.

She slid the door open and both heads turned to find her wavering there in the entryway, a smirk on her crimson lips. "Miss me?" Rosalie asked.

Daphne Greengrass, the blonde, jumped up, bringing the Black into a tight embrace. "I missed you so much," she said, rubbing a hand down Rosalie's back. "Pansy was scared you wouldn't make it on the train."

"Oh." Rosalie looked over her shoulder at the dark-haired girl. "That worried about me, Parkinson?"

In natural Pansy Parkinson fashion, she scoffed and stood up. "More so worried that your bitch of a father was going to end up making you stay home,"

"Nonsense!" Daphne said, pulling back to hold onto Rosalie's arms. She leaned close, whispering, "We would undoubtedly come to kidnap you."

Rosalie giggled, placing her hand on Daphne's cheek as she pulled herself away. Daphne smiled bright as the sun shining in the windows and shoved Pansy forward before sitting herself back down.

Abruptly, a random Slytherin boy came running past their cart, causing Rosalie to reach behind herself to shut the door with a grimace of disgust.

When she turned back around, Pansy was tackling her into a suffocating hug.

Things used to be so complicated between them. Or, in other words, her and Pansy had a whirlwind romance for six months after fourth year and into fifth year.

Despite becoming roommates first year and immediately turning into best friends, it was third year that they kissed for the first time in the haze of one too many glances. Fourth year came and Pansy outwardly announced herself as a lesbian. During that year, around October, the nights of laying on their sides with inches between their lips, with legs tangled and limbs sprawled over each other, Pansy pushed the hair from Rosalie's face. And Rosalie couldn't take another minute. She just kissed her. Without the alcohol, without the excuses, without a thought of repercussions. Pansy kissed her back, and those innocent nights turned into random spurs of finding themselves lip locked.

Then, by the end of that year, they found their own solace in ripping one another's clothes off. Rosalie loved boys, but she loved women too, and it wasn't too hard for her to openly come out as bisexual when she had been raised by two men that were madly in love and had ingrained into her brain that there would never be anything wrong with the freedom of sexuality.

It would not matter though, if she listened to the muggle-born boys at the school who tried to taunt others about such things. She would happily kneel at the altar of another woman, let her lips taste the 'sin' dripping off of another's mouth, and fall down to her knees in order to be sentenced to eternal damnation.

The lines of friendship blurred into more after this, that whole summer spent with her and Pansy coming to terms with everything between them.

The rest became history, for a while at least, they were together. But they had their issues. Rosalie and her were both intense people. The main one though, and the reason things ended, had been Rosalie's desire for more and more. Her and Pansy were comfortable together, but Rosalie didn't want that. She wanted forever burning passion, to be driven mad with love, to resemble the love she saw in books, to be pushed and pushed.

Pansy said that was not realistic.

Rosalie said she could not settle.

And then, the problem that always arose came. Rosalie got bored, she felt trapped, and she had to escape. Maybe it had been their history of being best friends, of seeing one another for who they were, but Pansy accepted it gracefully (and tearfully).

Immediately after, with some tension, they resumed being best friends.

This past summer, on a drunken trip to the south of France, Daphne came out to the other two girls as a lesbian with intoxicated tears running down her face. Rosalie and Pansy simply said 'We know'. And the drunk tears kept coming, but they were mixed in with laughter from the blonde.

It did not take long for Rosalie to see something between Daphne and Pansy, and oddly enough, she had been the one to encourage them to pursue a relationship. Now, her two best friends had been dating for a month, and there was no uncomfortability in it at all.

Each of them were inseparable, and they always would be.

Before Rosalie could gain a fresh breath after being suffocated by Pansy, the dark-haired girl yanked her down into between herself and Daphne. And giggles rung out as they squish into her sides.

"Soooo....." Daphne dragged out, nudging their shoulders. "Did you get us another tape?"

"Yes!" Rose exclaimed, settling her purse on her lap and popping the latch open. She paused, reaching inside the bag with an extension charm. "Are you two ready for this?"

"Yes! Now give it!" demanded Pansy.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and pulled out the walkman, an object that Pansy urgently ripped away with glimmering eyes despite how many Rosalie had already given her. Daphne leaned over Rosalie's legs and Pansy pushed on one of the gray buttons, expecting a tape to eject but the inside of the advice was empty. This caused her and Daphne to turn anxious, and demanding, eyes onto Rosalie.

"I have a surprise," Rosalie said, her smile stretching wide. "You know how I've been simply surprising you with a new muggle band each time? Just a singular tape?"

"Yes?" muttered Daphne, blinking repeatedly.

Inside of the purse Rosalie reached, grunting when her hand got stuck on some miscellaneous object, before pulling out a stack of seven cassette tapes that she sat in Pansy's lap. Then, she pulled out six more, placing them in Daphne's lap.

The witches, in perfect sync, sat up straight and picked up one of the cassettes each, their eyes narrowing as they inspected the writing.

"The...'The Cure'?" Pansy asked, holding the cassette as if it was the world's most fragile diamond.

"Mhm," Rose hummed, and stretched her legs out, touching her covered knees. "Those are every album they've released so far," she said, shaking her head at the girls still ogling the cassette in the sunlight. "My dad's forced me to learn every single one of their songs, they swear to this day they used it as a lullaby too."

"Is this the odd muggle-rock type?" Pansy asked, her eyebrows raised at the next tape she picked up.

"They have a gothic look but I would say it's alternative music," Rosalie said. "It's quite sad, you know? That your pureblood families gatekeep the muggle world from you, the music is to die for."

Pansy turned to Rosalie with disbelieving eyes. "You're a pureblood too," she deadpanned. "Incase you've forgotten."

"Yes, yes," Rosalie waved her off with an eye roll. "But I have two gay dads obsessed with the muggle world, and thankfully," she tapped Pansy's nose, "I have nothing to do with your weird pureblood culture."

A knock sounded out on the glass door, and Daphne shoved the tapes onto the seat before opening the door. She looked down at the nervous third year, her hand on the door frame and her eyebrows lifted in question.

"Are you lost?"

Rosalie and Pansy shared a humored look before laughing to themselves.

"No, I," the boy stammered, lifting up a wax sealed envelope. "I have an invitation for a...a Rosalie Black."

"Hm." Daphne ripped the parchment from his hand. She began turning around, waving off the child while doing so. "Go on then, scurry along."

The boy nodded fervently, all but taking off in a run down the opposite end of the corridor. Daphne paused, watching him leave in confusion, she didn't mean to scare the kid.

"Whatever," Daphne said, running her hand along the envelope. "You two don't think this might be spelled? Like a jinx?"

Rosalie stood up, ripping the envelope away and giggling when Daphne gasped. "Shut up," she snapped, continuing to giggle when Daphne wrapped an arm around her shoulders to peer at the 'letter'.

Pansy stood up, coming to a stand still right in front of the two. "Well? Open it."

Using her sharp nails, Rosalie tore the letter open. She smiled when Daphne was quick to take the envelope as trash, and then continued unfolding the letter.

'Rosalie Black,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.
    Sincerely, Professor H.E.F. Slughorn'

Pansy groaned. "How boring,"

"It is not," Daphne attested. "She needs to meet him! We need to know how old he is so we can figure out our plan of manipulation!"

"Why just me though?" Rose asked. "But you are right, I need to collect info so I can manipulate him into letting us be partners."

"Because you are top of the year, my beautiful maddenned genius." Daphne smiled and kept an arm around Rosalie as she brushed the witch's ebony hair back. "Be nice, and don't like...don't let him make you uncomfy with questions about the ministry incident."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and slipped away, blowing a mocking air kiss to the girl's from the doorway.

The corridors were packed with people who were looking for the lunch trolley, but they respectfully moved out of her way as she walked and stared down at the letter in her hands inquisitively. Was Slughorn who she thought he was? That weird professor Remus said liked to 'collect' students as if they are trophies?

She judged his handwriting, and traced her fingers along the cursive lettering. In her mind, you could tell alot about a person by their handwriting skills. Were they messy? That means they are impatient, or maybe never took a lettering class. Was it beautiful cursive? That means, in some way, the person has at least a singular care to make their invoices neat, or maybe they simply had perfected the skill over the years. And most importantly—

Rosalie knocked into a firm, unwavering body. She rolled her eyes, preparing to look up to whoever it was.

The man turned toward her. He had richly tan skin, a face so divinely chiseled that he could very well rival that of Ares, the God of War, the God who had tempted Aphrodite. Brunette curls laid atop his head, one singular and annoying curl wavering down by his black eyebrow. A beige trench coat was on his body, and left open to reveal a pristine white shirt tucked into slacks. And his eyes, dark as the ocean waves, trained down on her as he stood so high above that her neck craned up on instinct.

Theodore Nott.

Her face shone with pure disgust for the wizard. "Excuse you," she hissed.

He slid his hands into the pockets of the coat, head cocking menacingly to the side and that constant cold look on his face barely even registering her, or so it seemed. "You bumped into me," he bristled, voice deeper than she could remember, but then again, she never really heard him speak before. In fact, he never talked to anyone other than those few nasty friends of his.

She hated him. She hated how cold he was. She hated his family. She hated his friends. She hated his face. She hated everything about him. But she hated him even more now, because of what happened over summer. If they weren't on the train, she doesn't know if her dagger wouldn't end up in his throat.

"You were standing in my way." she snapped, her tone biting. Theodore showed no reaction, but took a step closer, blocking her path with his body frame, and she knew the urge to rip out her throat was eating him alive just as well. He might be quiet, and he might even appear unphased, but she could see the hatred burning his eyes—the locking of his jaw, the slight twitch of his lips that told her he had no plans of forgetting what she did.

He dipped his head down, and she takes a step back at the dark magic rolling off of him, an action that makes him scoff. "You should be more careful, Black," he spat. "You never know who you're running into."

On instinct, she slammed her heel down into his foot, and he recoiled back just barely. "That sounded like a threat," she spat back, careful to not touch him as she shoved by. "Tell your daddy I said hello next time you go to Azkaban," she called over her shoulder.

She didn't look back to see his reaction, she didn't need to. She knew his father wasn't in Azkaban, but he didn't need to know that she knew as well.

And she prayed up to the forsaken Gods that he felt sick at the mention.

When she reached the compartment, she realized it was not only her that had been invited, but multiple students. Slughorn was fawning over Harry, who seemed to let out a breath of relief at her sliding the large compartment door open. Slughorn followed his gaze and jumped up, patting at the velvet over his large belly.

"Ah," the Professor said. "You must be Miss Black! Good to see you." He gave her a toothy smile below his glimmering-gray mustache. "You have your grandmother's eyes!"

Rosalie hid her disgust well. "Thank you sir, and it is nice to meet you."

"Come in, come in." Slughorn stepped to the side, and the moment she stepped into the carriage, he placed a hand on her back, gesturing to the others. "Now you know Mister Potter of course, what of Blaise Zabini? He is in your year, of course-"

Zabini gave zero reaction or greeting, still somehow tall while sitting, and darted his empty eyes away from her. She did not show even an inkling of knowing him. They never spoke and avoided one another. He seemed to be aware of her hatred and did right by leaving her be.

"Oh, oh," Slughorn gestured to the scarred boy with a messy head of light brown hair. "Mister Rosier? He is in your year as well, Slytherin too. You two-"

Rosier was the same as Zabini, no recognition registering on his blank but sharp face that was littered in scars. But his sky-blue eyes did train on her, as if trying to decipher her, before they darted as quickly as Zabini's. Rosalie knew more about him than she should. After growing up with a werewolf, she could spot one at any given second. And the truth, the undeniable truth, was that Whitman Rosier is a werewolf.

Rosalie cut him off with a pat on the chest. "I know everyone else, Professor, thank you."

Slughorn clapped his hands together and strode back to his seat. Rosalie did in fact know everyone. Cormac Mclaggen, a boy she had attacked last year after he tried to hug Daphne. Marcus Belby, a Slytherin a year ahead of her that always chewed with his mouth open. And then, surprisingly, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom.

Harry and Neville slid apart, to the best of their ability, which did not leave much room, but she did not hesitate to sit between them, grinning at Neville's reddening face when she almost atop of his lap on accident.

Slughorn began going on and on to each student, and it became very clear that each student here was connected to someone known or important. Belby and his odd uncle. Zabini and his infamous mother who had been coined a 'fashion icon' for the decade. Rosier and his rich family history. Mclaggen and someone in his family that Rosalie didn't pay enough attention to hear about.

She was too busy twisting her rings around, and humming to herself, when her name was called so suddenly that her head snapped up.

"And you, Rosalie!" Slughorn said, a hopeful look in his eyes. "You are in the Prophet quite a lot for a young lady!"

"Oh yes," Rosalie said, fighting the urge to scream. "Rita's obsessed with our family, but I don't know why. We changed the Black legacy, I suppose. No more of that blood supremacy nonsense, or involvement with those rancid societies...but I promise you, I'm not as interesting as she tries to make me seem."

Zabini and Rosier seem to flinch.

"Nonsense!" laughed Slughorn, and pointed a wrinkled finger toward her. "Top of all your classes, won two awards last year for the new alchemy equations you made after being mentored by Nichloas Flamel! Those will surely change everything, dear! Oh," he paused. "And you've been very outspoken about werewolf rights! Even altered a wolfsbane potion and had the recipe published in the Prophet instead of selling it!"

"Thank you sir," she said, preparing to talk to him how he wanted. "But it is only that not many werewolves are doing very well for themselves, they can't find work and are practically shunned. Why make them pay for it when the regular potion is too expensive already?"

"Exactly!" Slughorn exclaimed, his smile growing at being entertained. "You did a piece in witches weekly, yes? That's very impressive for a young girl."

In her mental labyrinth, she pleaded for the sweet mercy of death.

"I did," she said, voice tight. "It was during their activism issue about the divide which pureblood societies cause between that culture and the muggleborns we have entering our world. Caused quite the uproar, didn't it?" She ended the words with a laugh that Slughorn mimicked.

"You've lived a full life!" said Slughorn. She would beg to differ. "And most importantly," he paused, and she prepares for the worst. "You were the one to testify in Harry's place and name each of those Deatheaters that attacked the ministry! Very brave, very brave indeed! Put them all away in Azkaban at only eighteen!"

Eerie silence fell over the carriage, and everyone there seemed to hold their breath, and more than a few glances were casted toward Zabini and Rosier. No one in their family had been caught, but both of their best friend's fathers had been sent away with the heaviest of sentences.

Rosalie forced a laugh out of her lungs. "Oh thank you, thank you," she said, clutching at her chest and standing up. "But I'm afraid I get a bit of motion sickness on the train...so, if you'll excuse me,"

"Oh no. Are you alright, dear?" Slughorn asked.

She waved him off as she tore the door open. "Oh yes, yes, but I," She did not finish her sentence, taking careful steps out of the cart and disappearing out of sight before rushing down the corridor.

The truth was she never got motion sickness, but the topic made her deathly ill, and she found herself inside the bathroom, unable to even lock the door before breakfast she did not eat was thrown up into the toilet.

Half an hour went by before she left to find Harry.

She peered through the glass, spotting Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sitting across from Harry. The sight made her lips turn up, she wouldn't mention it, but she knew how in love they were. Enemies at first, then friends, then enemies again, and now? She supposed Hermione and Ron were navigating the difficult path of being faced with their feelings.

Hermione refused to believe Ron could have feelings for her. Ron always said the same, but just as well swore he was terrified of ruining their friendship. They would work well together though, more than well. Hermione needed someone to push her out of her suffocating and tense day to day (along with her refusal of humor), and Hermione would push Ron mentally to strive forward.

When Rosalie slid open the door and dropped down beside Harry, Hermione looked up with a smile and said, "Hello!"

"Finally," Harry said, shaking his head as she sat down next to him. "We need to talk."

"Ron," Rosalie called, leaning herself into Harry's side while the boy leaned forward. "If he mentions what I think, you're going to have to restrain me—"

"This is serious," Harry interrupted. "What was Draco doing with that weird looking cabinet? And who were all those people?"

"Harry," groaned Rosalie, her eyes snapping shut. "Just don't."

"She's right," Hermione said. "You're mad if you're really considering that."

Ron leaned forward on his knees, and Rosalie peeked an eye open at the sound, raising her eyebrows at the realization of how bulky Ron had gotten, tall too, and she switched her eyes to find Hermione longingly staring at his face before realizing she was being watched.

Rosalie sent the flushing girl a smile instead of a laugh.

"Don't you see? It was an initiation, a ceremony." Harry said bitterly. "It happened. He's one of them."

"One of what?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed heavily, something of disbelief that Rosalie could relate to. "Harry is under the impression that Draco Malfoy is now a Deatheater."

"You're barking," laughed Ron. "What would you-know-who want with a sod like Malfoy?"

"Well..." Harry gestured wildly. "Then what's he doing in Borgin and Burkes? Browsing for furniture?"

Ron rolled his shoulders back. "It's a creepy shop, he's a creepy bloke."

"Look," Harry said. "His father is a Deatheater, it only makes sense. Besides, Hermione and Rosalie saw it with their own eyes!"

"I already told you Harry," Hermione said. "I don't know what I saw, but I do know that no school bully like Malfoy is a Deatheater..."

"And I was a bit too busy keeping you from falling to see anything other than him touching a wooden cabinet," Rosalie said. She put a hand to Harry's chest without bothering to lean up off of him. "Think about it like this, if he is a Deatheater, then I can legally kill him."

"Rosalie!" scolded Hermione, and the Black fell into a giggle.

*

The time came to exit the train as they arrived at Hogwarts, and Rose had returned to Daphne and Pansy at that point. But she did fall behind everyone else when exiting in her need to find Hestia, the black cat deciding to play games of hide and seek in the worst of times.

Only after every person, or so it seemed, left, did she finally step off and onto the platform. Ahead she could see the figures of students walking, their voices like a distant call from afar. The darkness of the night was a blanket of comfort though, forcing her to take peaceful steps instead of worrying herself with the need of company.

Her nails stroked the cat's thick head of fur, the early September breeze wrapping around her exposed skin. The train doors reopening sent her head spinning around, confused on who could possibly be getting off.

All she caught was a flash of snowy hair and a jet-black suit, and that turned her head right back to the passage ahead.

No.

She clutched the cat tighter to her chest with a twist in her gut, a lump of anger in her throat, and picked up the pace of her steps—leaving Draco Malfoy to stare at nothing but the long dark hair flowing behind her in the distance. She never spoke to the wizard other than to threaten him, and he never taunted her as he did others. But she also had never really been around him, and maybe his knowledge of their mutual loathing kept him away. He ran in a small circle with only his three friends. Her, Daphne, and Pansy ran in their own small circle.

But after what happened at the Ministry, and what happened over summer, she knows he would adore being able to drag her into the bushes on the left and shoot the killing curse into her chest. She knows, because she wants to do the same to him, in the most brutal of ways.

His time will come though, and she refuses to be caught anywhere near him and his disturbing aura.

Upon arriving at the castle, she met with Daphne and Pansy in their shared dorm. The witches quickly changed into their school robes, leaving their trunks askew, and found their usual spot at the Slytherin table. The Great hall had been flooded with laughter and the sound of silver scraping on plates, along with the constant hearty smell of the returning feast.

Pansy had been loading her and Daphne's plates, taking it one at a time before reaching for Rosalie's. The Black slammed her hand into the plate, garnering raised brows from both witches across the table.

"I had a huge meal before coming to the platform," Rosalie said, patting at her own chest. "Too many eggs, and then I ate a good two sandwiches with that new professor." Pansy opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by Rosalie. "Trust me, I am stuffed!"

"Well," muttered Pasny, sharing a brief look with Daphne. "I'll wrap you up some dessert still, for later. Just in case you get hungry."

Rosalie kept her head propped up with a hand, but reached over, tapping Pansy's chin with her finger. "What did I do to earn such a caring friend?"

Pansy swatted her away with an eyeroll.

"You made her into the experienced woman I needed," Daphne said, turning red as she tried holding in her laughter. "Consider it compensation, please?"

Rosalie snorted before covering her mouth with widened eyes.

"What was that?" Pansy asked, a smile taking root. "Are you choking again?"

"Fuck you both," laughed Rosalie.

Something must have caught Daphne's eye, because she turned her entire body to look at the opened doors of the entrance hall. Rosalie and Pansy followed suit, finding Harry walking in while dabbing a bloody nose.

"Oh Merlin!" laughed Pansy. "What a great start of the year!"

Daphne shook her head at her girlfriend. "Who would've done that to the poor boy?"

"Malfoy," muttered Rosalie. "Saw him getting off the train late, guess Harry was still on too."

"Hm..." Pansy dipped her head forward, peering down the table. "Yes, it would seem Draco is smirking to his friends as we speak." She focused on Rosalie. "Did Malfoy bother you? I will go—"

"No, I'm likely to kill him if he even breathes within a five-foot radius." Rosalie said bitterly. "That's embarrassing for Harry though, he should have cursed Malfoy back into he was a pile of goo on the train carpets. He's a man, no one should be fighting his battles for him."

Daphne cocked her head to the side. "You think Harry might have tried and failed?"

"I don't know, Daphne." hissed Rosalie. "I'm tired. I want to sleep, and there are way more important things than someone breaking another's nose."

Daphne and Pansy recoiled back, eyeing her oddly at the newfound attitude. Before they could interrogate her though, the hall fell into a ripple of silence, their attention drawing to the great gilded podium at the front of the hall, where Dumbledore now stood.

Professor Slughorn was introduced, followed by an uproar of applause.

Rosalie slipped away mentally, her eyes focusing up on the gray skies on the ceiling. It was representative, she thought, and fitting, for there to be a storm looming above their heads.

Applause began ringing out again, and that brought Rosalie back to the present, looking to her friends confused. "Why are you all clapping?"

"For Snape," Pansy said, "He's the new DADA professor."

Rosalie stuck her tongue out and pointed to the flesh, mocking a gag of disgust.

Daphne giggled and brought her hands down as the cheers died out. Dumebldore's face appeared fallen with dread, and his eyes found her own from even so far away.

The headmaster cleared his throat, jeweled hands clutching onto the podium. "Now, as you all know, each and every one of you were searched upon your arrival tonight. You have a right to know why," Dumbledore said. "Once there was a young man who, like you, sat in this very hall. Walked this castle's corridors. Slept beneath its roof. He seemed to all the world, a student like any other. His name? Tom Riddle." The entire hall was now silent, no one appeared to be breathing. "Today, of course, the world knows him by another name. Which is why, as I stand looking out upon you all tonight, I am reminded of a sobering fact. Each day, every hour, dark forces attempt to penetrate this castle. But in the end, their greatest weapon remains...you."

A heavy hand settled on Rosalie's shoulder, but she did not dare to tear her eyes from Dumbledore.

"Just something to keep in mind," Dumbledore said, his hands clapping together. "Now, be off to bed after eating. Pip pip!"

"Awfully cheerful," came a deep voice from behind her.

She dipped her head backwards, finding Adrian Pucey in all of his glory right behind herself. The smallest smile, one you would miss if not looking close enough, graced his lips.

"Hey there," Rosalie said, a full smile on her face.

Adrian dropped down next to her, his thighs straddling the wooden bench as he pulled her into him. Pansy groaned when his hand wrapped around Rosalie's throat, his lips going to the Black's in a matter of seconds.

Daphne cleared her throat. "I am eating dinner sir!"

Rosalie pulled back, a smirk replacing the smile that had been there before. "How are you, Adrian?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

"Better now," murmured Adrian, and he pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Parkinson, Greengrass," He acknowledged boredly, due to Rosalie nudging his side.

"Do you have any pot?" Pansy blurted out.

"Yes he does," Rosalie answered. "But, he'll be a bit busy tonight taking my mind off things."

"Really?" Daphne asked. "How so? Because let me tell you, this one has been snippy!"

"Well," Adrian began, "Your friend needs a distraction, as the kind man I am, she needs me to fu—"

"Stop!" shrieked Daphne. "I don't want to hear that from you, Pucey! Only she is allowed to reveal those details!"

"Shouldn't have asked," Adrian said, picking up Rosalie's drink and tipping the chalice toward the blonde.

Rosalie couldn't refrain herself from laughing.

_______________________________

A/N: omg first chapter done?!!!?!!

—so the characters will be a little diff since it is an AU (this is only for the people coming from my other fic) but i think it will be really interesting to see everyone's lives with her not growing up with the boys?? this will be written based off how i think they would be if things had been this way...if this feels a little similar, i promise you it's not lol things are about to get crazy...
^ literally don't pay attention to this if you haven't read the other fic, it doesn't matter <3

—me not revealing the reason she really really wants them dead :D i guess it's sort of hinted at why they want her dead? but just barely bc we are saving that for later

—im actually so excited for this fic, like yes the first chapter kinda dragged but i wanted to set the dynamics up a little (esp w her friends)

—Rosalie being bisexual was everything I needed in this life

—AHH!! literally so excited i can't shut up

—how are we feeling about everything? confused? good.

anyways, love u guys

xx bri