To Rosalie,

We've decided to move to Aunt Jia's house. You've won us over.

Delilah

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Where the hell is it?"

Rosalie goes through her slips of paper, scrounging through the wrinkled parchment. She remembers a vision about runaway vampire Lux Erzebet, but none of her notes have it. Why? Why? Why isn't this one piece of mundane information with her?

Rosalie wants to think she's being paranoid, but she's written down every single vision she's had. So, why, when she's about to pack her things to head home from Hogwarts, is that stupid note missing?

She lets out a small scream, her hands weaved into the roots of her hair. Groaning, Rosalie crouches to the floor, hoping that she doesn't start crying again. Her visions won't stop attacking her. Her family could die at any moment. And now, now her stupid note is gone?

(Lux Erzsebet, who continuously hunts for something — what, Rosalie will never know — is dangerous, according to the Ministry. Despite looking like she's Rosalie's age, Lux is much older, scarier, and definitely someone she does not want to encounter.)

"Ugh," Rosalie groans, almost collapsing on the floor. She already had to face Sirius and James raucously screaming about winning the house cup like a pair of preteens; it seems that the torture never ends. "Can this just be a horrible nightmare? Can't I just wake up already?"

She stays in her position for at least thirty seconds, processing the fact that her stuff is going missing. And she has no idea why.

"We should go, Rosalie." Drake strides into the room. "I'll help you finish packing."

"Why are you so nice?" Rosalie asks gently, standing up. "I love you very platonically, Draconius Wilkins."

He rolls his eyes. "It's Drake, Rosalie."

"Whatever you say." Rosalie takes Drake's hand, and pulls herself up from the floor. "Tell that to your cousin."

"Kingsley just wants to pester me —"

"Are you done, Rosa?" Acacia pops in, and then grins. "My two favourite people in one room. Can my day get any better?"

"What's got you in a good mood?" Drake asks, looking like he's about to keel over when Acacia plants a kiss on his cheek.

"She gets to spend the summer with her brother?" Rosalie questions, rolling her eyes at their display.

Rosalie's gotten used to it, though, and Acacia and Drake stopped their honeymoon phase and started acting like normal people again. In fact, they've become too coddling, because they hover over Rosalie, even insisting on walking her to her classes.

She thinks it's sweet, even if it can be overbearing.

"I'm assuming." Rosalie coughs. "Because that's what happened last year."

"Uh huh," Acacia says mirthfully, heading over to Rosalie to ruffle her hair. "And I get to babysit my niece. It's like having my own kid!"

Drake coughs. Rosalie snickers at him.

"Oh, she's adorable!" Acacia gushes as she, Drake, and Rosalie move on to finish packing Rosalie's last trunk. "I should convince Henry to let me buy a camera so I could take a picture of her."

"I bet Drake would combust," Rosalie mutters.

Drake scowls, ignoring Rosalie. "She's also named after you, right?"

"Acacia Abbott, like me," Acacia confirms, "but we call her Kaci. I don't know why Henry even decided on that — well, all finished!"

Rosalie nods, glancing at her desk again. She's not going insane, right?

"Is everything alright?" Acacia asks, placing her arm on Rosalie.

Swallowing, Rosalie nods. "Yes. It's all fine."

Pinching her friend's cheek, Acacia smiles, almost jumping from excitement. "Perfect! We're all set, so we should downstairs!"

"She's certainly happy," Rosalie notes as Acacia heads downstairs, probably to chatter with her Quidditch teammates about them winning the House Cup.

"And that's good," Drake adds, patting Rosalie on the shoulder.

"What?" Rosalie asks, confused, as Drake's expression grows solemn. "Is everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that," he says seriously, and Rosalie sighs. "Listen, Rosalie. It's unsafe for you. Stay inside, don't leave your house, and make sure you're safe."

Rosalie nods, playing with strands of her hair. "I'm not planning on risking my safety. Don't worry about me."

"You worry about us all the time." Drake raises an eyebrow when Rosalie begins to protest. "Just admit it. Amidst all your problems, you have to add ours to your growing list."

"I —" Rosalie sighs. "Fine. You have a point. But you do too, even if you don't show it like I do. I mean, you're worrying about me right now —"

"Because I have a reason to —"

"As do I," Rosalie interrupts. "Where are you even going this summer?"

Drake stiffens by the slightest. "Home."

"Drake," Rosalie whispers softly, "please don't lie to me."

"I'll be safe," he says vaguely, "and that's all you need to know."

Rosalie softens eventually, sighing. "Please visit us, okay? And when you're ready, both Acacia and I are here."

He nods. "I know."

Knowing is different, Rosalie wants to say, wants to scream. Why won't either of you let me help?

But she doesn't. She nods. She smiles like a silent outsider, bruising her hands only to be tossed aside. In reality, Rosalie's aware that her friends love her, cherish her, adore her — and yet she needs to help. It's an ache in her heart, egging, pleading that she should do something, anything to soothe their minds.

The pleading plays in her mind, dizziness wrapping around her warm body. Rosalie gasps, a soft sound that Drake's tuned to, immediately catching her wrist.

Rosalie stumbles as history itself slams into her brain.

Drake holds on, a gentle grip, a gentle friend. "Acacia! Rosalie fainted again!"

Rosalie can barely hear the sound of footsteps — her best friend, she notes to herself — as her world bends in on itself.

"I'm fine," she insists, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, those lies. "Don't worry —"

Her eyes roll behind her head, and the world is picked apart until she is left in a shift of darkness. The building blocks of the past, soft ink drilled into her now reddened skin, slowly is piled into a flurry of colours, into images that Rosalie wishes she'd never seen.

A gaping wound is slashed on her smooth face, her scar that Rosalie's gotten accustomed to seeing (not bleeding, never bleeding), her brown eyes brimming with tears.

And the pain. Rosalie feels it whenever she has a vision, but it is scorching, like the anger simmering in her mother's eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that," Hana chokes out, blood trickling from the gaping out on her face, flowing like a waterfall.

("Look, Rosalie," she'd exclaimed years ago, "this waterfall is so beautiful, isn't it?"

How twisted nature can be.)

"Hana," Joon starts, wielding a red-stained piece of glass in his hand, "you deserved it."

He doesn't maniacally grin, laugh, or smile. There is no haunted look in his eye, either. Just like his collection of statues in one of his many rooms, Joon is carved from stone-cold marble, face void of emotion.

Rosalie saw those statues in his house. They truly resemble each other: their voids of emotions, and their picture perfect-ness that can be cracked with a simple push, toppled with a touch.

Hana's face, however, flickers between pain and this coursing anger that sears through Rosalie's non-existent skin, sews the strings of rage into her body, knotting the strings of history gathered in her heart.

She's sort of used to this pain. The more Rosalie feels the anger, the more it feels natural, as if it belongs in her wild heart.

"No," Hana simply whispers, wiping blood off her gash, "none of us did. So if you hurt me, or any of my family again, I will return the pain you gave me. And it will hurt, Joon. You'll wish you were dead."

Joon raises an eyebrow in cold amusement. "You would go to jail over me?"

Hana laughs coldly, her warm blood coating her fingers. "For my family, I'd cover this whole room in your ashes."

Even though Hana is staring at Joon's nonchalant figure, her eyes burn into Rosalie, into this whole scenery. The world is doused in flames; the young girl lets out a silent scream before her eyes snap open, her body almost limp in Acacia's arms.

"I — I need to write something down," Rosalie insists frantically, scouring her packed trunk and ripping out pieces of parchment. "I'll be down in a second, just a second! —"

Acacia and Drake exchange looks.

"Rosalie," Acacia starts, "are you alright?"

"Alright?" Rosalie asks, quickly scribbling the details of her visions. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

Her hand is aching. Rosalie's head throbs, and the amount of history she's now witnessed is enough to coat her entirely in blackness.

Looking into their unconvinced eyes, Rosalie sighs, crumpling the parchment in her first. "I'll get some sleep over the summer, and the fainting will stop once I return from home, I promise."

"You don't know that," Acacia begins, but Drake shakes his head.

"If it doesn't, we'll go to Dumbledore."

Rosalie inhales. "There's no need for that —"

Even Acacia pales. "Drake!"

He blinks at her. "What's wrong with that?"

While Drake looks as composed as usual, Rosalie remembers the time she first met him, the day they became friends; unlike when she and Acacia met on the train, she and Drake truly befriended each other in different circumstances.

And, well, she'd seen his mask slip — something that she's not sure even Acacia witnessed. She'd witnessed his kindness, but his vulnerability? He definitely didn't want Rosalie to see anything back then, but she'd seen it anyway.

But Acacia? The girl he loves? Drake Wilkins, in Rosalie's opinion, would rather die than let her see that ugly side of him. Even if Rosalie insisted that it wasn't ugly.

"Nothing," Acacia concedes. "But Rosalie could end up being sent home, which is something she doesn't want for her or her family."

At Rosalie's panicked expression, Drake sighs. "This is all hypothetical, anyway."

Rosalie grips the ripped parchment in her hand, inked of her dangerous visions. Stuffing it in her bag, she hesitantly leaves the dorm with a stoic Drake, the two silent all the way down. Acacia, who'd insisted on hauling their suitcases down the day before (as Rosalie has done it the year before)

Still, Rosalie and Drake catch her hauling the trunks down the stairs, and immediately jump to help. The three of them have always been a unit, no matter how many people tell them that they won't work, that they'll split, that —

Well, Rosalie would rather not think about that.

As feelings of anxiety fill her in the Commons, she slowly shoves them into the deepest corners of her heart. This is the safest way possible.

(For herself, or for her heart?)

And as they board the carriages, and eventually the train to head home, she lets her feelings slip off her shoulders with her jumpers, replacing it with the buzzing excitement of returning to her family.

Even if they once fell apart, her family holds steady, and they are hers as much as she is theirs.

"You ready?" Acacia asks, light eyes boring into Rosalie's.

"Yeah," Rosalie says. She's told Acacia and Drake brief implications of Joon, but not the full story. And yet, somehow, they know. "I think I am."

"Good." She smiles, hugging her friend. "You deserve the world."

"You too," Rosalie murmurs.

"Am I third-wheeling?" Drake mutters.

The three of them dissolve into laughter as the bright colours of meadows fill Rosalie's view out the window. Rosalie covers her withered, history-covered heart with a blanket.

It's a temporary solution, but hopefully it'll last her in the years to come.

"Are we welcome?" James jests as he strolls in their compartment. The rest of his friends follow, Sirius still avoiding eye-contact with Rosalie. "Or will you kick us out?"

"Again," Drake adds, and Acacia hides her giggle behind her palm.

"Depends," Rosalie says, indulging in his banter, and masking the hurt of Sirius's avoidance. "What do you have for us?"

While her brain asks, isn't it a good thing that Sirius isn't speaking to you, though? The stupid idiot's finally not annoying — oh, who is she kidding? Since he helped her through one of her visions (unknowingly), and even listened to her in the Astronomy tower, she doesn't regard him as "the enemy" anymore. She doesn't feel like throwing childish insults at someone who helped, because that's just rude.

And frankly, he should be the rude one, which he is being, avoiding her like that. And for what? For Rosalie to banter with his friend?

It's not the same. It's like bantering with a monkey instead of a baboon. There's a certain quality that's gone, even if she does enjoy verbally sparring with James, instead.

"Exploding Snap," James offers.

"My presence," Sirius adds.

Rosalie wants to throw something at him, preferably a punch.

"And free food," Peter pipes up.

She brightens. "Hell, yes. I love you, Peter Pettigrew."

He flushes. "Do you like crisps?"

"Obviously!" Rosalie flashes him a grin. "You're the best."

"You really are," Acacia adds, warmly welcoming him in.

A beaming Peter takes a seat next to her, the rest of the Marauders squeezing themselves on the floor as James sets up a game of Exploding Snap.

"Get your arse off me!" Sirius is shrieking at James, who childishly sticks his tongue out.

"If you get your stinky smelling hair products out of the bathroom, then maybe I'll consider it —"

"You're all seventeen, for God's sake," Drake drones, choosing to stare out the window than to witness their antics.

"I'm sixteen, actually," Peter pipes up, him and Acacia sharing a can of biscuits.

Remus bites into his chocolate, eyes scanning the compartment, and then locking into Rosalie's. They both sigh simultaneously as Peter and Acacia watch, entertained.

"They're always like this," Remus says, taking another bite from his chocolate bar.

Rosalie grimaces. "I'm sorry."

"— and you always clog up the shower drain with your stupid hair —"

"Stupid?" Sirius is dramatically exclaiming. "My hair is not stupid —"

"How do you even sleep?" Rosalie eyes Remus curiously. "Do you place a pillow over your head?"

"They're asleep by eleven," Remus admits. "I'm the one who stays up late."

"Reading, I assume?" Rosalie asks. "I can understand that. Acacia reads a lot. I do sometimes, but I've been busy this year."

Remus sighs. "Tell me about it. Next year's going to be even worse."

Rosalie groans. "Don't remind me."

Between chats of their passed Apparition tests, Exploding Snap, their vague plans for the summer, continually switching seats, and multiple rounds of Uno, James and Sirius's argument eventually fizzles out to simple jabs at each other.

Rosalie is thankful for that. They're entertaining, but it's hard to laugh when Sirius refuses to look at her. Why does he have to make everything so awkward?

"Can you pass the crisps?" Sirius asks in Rosalie's general direction.

Rosalie deliberately hides the crisps behind Acacia. "We ran out."

"Oh," Sirius says, still avoiding her gaze. "I can get some more from the Trolley Lady. Be right back."

"I'll go with you," Rosalie offers. "I need to get some chocolate frogs for Acie."

Sirius flashes her a smirk, one which Rosalie immediately notices is fake. "Never thought you'd offer to go anywhere with me."

"Anything for Ace," Rosalie says, patting her best friend on the head as the rest of her friends snicker. "We'll be right back."

The two exit the compartment, heading for the Trolley Lady in silence, when Rosalie clears her throat.

"Stop avoiding me."

A flash of panic is quickly replaced with a smirk. "Missed me, Edson?"

"No, you baboon." Rosalie scowls. "It's painfully obvious that you don't want to speak to me. And it's annoying. I can't even insult you anymore."

He snickers. "Are those the only reasons? Or did you fall in love with me when I caught you? I don't blame you, really —"

Rosalie jabs him on the stomach. "I was too busy fainting to even notice, you arse —"

He jabs her back. "Don't be rude, love."

Rosalie grins victoriously. "That's all I needed."

Sirius blinks at her, dumfounded. "Huh?"

"You're avoiding me because I was vulnerable with you," Rosalie reasons, "and you hate that, because something between us has changed —"

He opens his mouth, probably to crack a joke, but she shuts him up with a glare.

"— and you're scared of that. We're no longer insulting and bickering with each other. If we're not enemies, acquaintances, frenemies, friends — then what are we?"

He doesn't answer her. She doesn't ask him to, despite her embarrassment of blurting whatever the heck that was. The two grab what they need, Sirius insisting on paying despite Rosalie's insistence that he shouldn't.

When they're back, the crisp packet Rosalie hid has been finished, a mere wrapper behind Acacia, who is wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

To think that the conversation Rosalie quickly orchestrated would've ended well, but it didn't. The air between them is only worse — not because Sirius refuses to look at her, but because he keeps looking at her.

Her stomach isn't helping.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Marauders left their compartment over an hour ago. After spending fifteen minutes in the bathroom with Acacia, who'd received her period at the last minute, the train comes to a harsh stop.

Drake, who'd been watching all their stuff, boredly watches the window as Acacia and Rosalie rush to their compartment.

"You're back," he notes.

"Period," Acacia explains, kissing him on the cheek.

"Ah," he says, and that's the end of that conversation.

And so, Rosalie exits the train with her friends, a bounce in every step.

Promising to write to Acacia, Drake, James, and Lily, Rosalie crushes them all in hugs, cheek full with redness before her eyes spot Sirius's. She doesn't know what they are, anymore, especially after he kept staring at her on the train with those stupid grey eyes.

Raising her hand delicately, Rosalie gives him a wave, the corners of her lip tugging upwards. Eyes trained on his grey ones, she watches as he stiffens, before waving back.

Ignoring the curious stares of her friends, Rosalie says her last goodbyes, before she heads through the wall, just to come face-to-face with her family.

"You're supposed to be home!" Rosalie exclaims, but the rest of her words are muffled when Delilah crushes her in a big hug. "Miss you too."

Laughing, Delilah lets go of her sister, only to ruffle Rosalie's hair. "Welcome back, loser."

Rosalie reaches out to swat her sister, but Delilah masterfully dodges.

"Your dad is waiting in the car," Hana tells her daughter, intertwining her fingers with Rosalie. "You are going to be hearing a lot of Elton John on the way home."

"That, I'm fine with," Rosalie says, "but not Dad's singing."

"Maybe he'll give you a gift of silence since it's your first day back," Delilah offers. "Or, maybe he'll think his singing is a gift."

Hana laughs. "Your father is more likely to believe in the second."

Rosalie groans. "Great."

"You're one to talk, Rosalie," Delilah adds, reaching out to poke Rosalie's cheek, "considering your own singing."

Rosalie sticks her tongue out. "Sod off, you arse."

"Language!" Delilah tuts. "What kind of daughter are you to say that in front of your mother?"

Hana raises an eyebrow. "Are you encouraging her to say it behind my back?"

Rosalie hides her snicker with a cough. "You know her, Mum. Of course she is. I'm the honest one, so I'll say it in front of you."

"True," Hana agrees.

"Wow." Delilah dramatically gasps. "Mum, you've betrayed me! Dad will understand, I know he will ..."

"Oh, he will," Rosalie says, grinning. "You can tell him while he's singing."

Groaning, Delilah tugs on her red hair. "I need earplugs."

Hana snorts. "We all do, but do not tell Thomas I said that."

"Oh, I'll tell him," Delilah mutters, "traitor."

"Do you want to be grounded?"

"I'm twenty-two —"

As mother and daughter bicker, the group of three head to the car, where Thomas is in the front seat, beaming.

"Ros! You made it!" he says, grinning as he gets out of the car to hug her. "Your favourite dessert is at home, waiting."

"Mmm, chocolate cake," Rosalie exclaims cheerily. "Brilliant."

"Basic," Delilah mutters.

"You're just mad that I get the dessert I want, and you don't —"

Delilah's blue eyes narrow. "Well —"

Hana clears her throat.

"Sorry, Mum," Rosalie mutters, elbowing Delilah.

"Right, sorry," Delilah says, blowing a raspberry at Rosalie when Hana isn't looking.

"Get in the car, girls," Thomas says, grinning, "it's time for Rosalie's second present."

"Oh, God," Rosalie mutters, leaning into her seat.

Delilah gapes at her sister dramatically. "This is all your fault."

"Why are you so immature, Delilah?" Rosalie grumbles in the backseat, all while Thomas turns on the engine and the goddamned radio.

Delilah, who's currently drumming on Rosalie's lap, grins. "It's a talent."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"Is not."

"Is too —"

"Don't go breaking my heart!" Thomas sings, even if he sounds like a frog.

"My ears are bleeding!" Delilah exclaims, even covering them.

"Don't be dramatic," Rosalie grumbles, but her ears are crying out for help, too.

"You take the weight off of —"

Hana sighs. "Thomas, if I hear one more song lyric —"

"I'll stop for you, honey," Thomas says, and Rosalie knows he's smirking when she and her sister gag. "Anything for you, dar —"

"How is your baking going?" Rosalie interrupts.

Thomas's demeanour immediately shifts. "Fantastic!"

"You're my saviour," Delilah mutters with relief as Thomas continues to talk about his dessert endeavours. Rosalie listens, of course.

She'll never leave her family again. And as they journey home, it's the only fact she's sure of.

As her family continues to chat, as her visions become tucked in the corner of her mind, she doesn't know how she's going to tell them.

It's my family, Rosalie reasons. I can trust them.

She knows logically that they'd accept her, visions or not. But her heart, her burnt heart, insists that they'd call her a freak, that they've secretly been thinking that for years.

After all, she's the one who took off on her family.

She won't blame them if they did the same thing.