Gravity

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/1473172.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Character: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Remus
Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, The Weasleys
Additional Tags: Harry is a girl, girl!Harry, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes,
Violence, Explicit Sexual Content
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2014-04-16 Updated: 2020-01-27 Chapters: 36/? Words:
239781

Gravity
by SlytherinsQuill

Summary

What if Harry Potter was born a girl and known as Rosalie Potter? How might it change the
dynamics of life as the most famous teenager in the Wizarding World? At the end of
Rosalie Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, war has broken out in the Wizarding World as a
result the attack on Hogwarts. Forced to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place for her own
safety, Rosalie learns more about herself and the people around her than she ever thought
possible. Relationships form, friendships change and she learns just how much the people
in your life influence who you are and who you have the potential to become.

Notes

A/N: Hi all! This is my first HP-verse fanfiction! This is a repost from other sites as I have
posted elsewhere. It's a WIP currently that I am just returning to after an enforced break due
to real life dramas, but I am back writing again now which is very exciting. I hope you all
enjoy it. Just something for you to consider while reading, while I've read over this for
spelling and grammar, etc myself, I currently don't have a beta reader, so I apologise if I've
missed anything.

In this story Harry was born a girl. He will stay a girl throughout, but most of what
happened in all the books up the end of the sixth book stay true to the plot. I'm not going to
give you a background to the plot because you should be able to pick most of it up from the
story line.

Please let me know what you think :)

~Quill
*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************
 Prologue

Prologue

Rosalie Potter shivered as she stared down at the body lying motionless before her. Dead. Lifeless.
His blood slowly leaking out from the fatal would in his neck to form a pool beneath him on her
bedroom floor. Every time she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, something happened to
prove her wrong. She didn’t know who the man was—he was a Death Eater, yes, but not one she
recognised—but he didn’t think she’d ever forget his face after tonight; still caught in an
expression twisted halfway between a cruel smirk and stunned surprise. She thought, perhaps, he
hadn’t expected the knife she’d pulled on him, or her willingness to use it. She thought, perhaps,
he’d never had a chance. He’d never seen it coming.

She’d awoken from a dead sleep in a state of full-fledged panic to hear the muted sounds of a fight
being waged in her Aunt and Uncle’s backyard and flashes of light—reds, yellows, greens—
illuminating her room. Her eyes darted to her door as her fingers scrabbled for the wand she always
kept beside her bed, but he was already in her room, her wand in his hands, smiling menacingly at
her from out of the shadows. She made to bolt, but he was on top of her before she’d fully
comprehended the fact that Death Eaters were in her house, had somehow breached the wards that
were meant to keep her safe and protected.

His hands had closed around her throat with a disturbing effortlessness, one big hand spaning
practically the width of her neck as he pushed her back into the bed. His eyes were crazed as he
reached for the clasp of his pants rather than his wand and she had to bite back a sob of terror as
she struggled to free herself. Why did they always try to degrade her before they tried killed her?
Would it have been the same if she’d been the Boy-Who-Lived rather than the Girl? She
remembered Lucius Malfoy on top of her in much the same manner in the Department of Mysteries
after he’d succeeded in separating her from her friends. She’d been lucky then, he’d been
interrupted as the Order had arrived and Malfoy had been distracted enough for her to wriggle free
of him before he’d managed to get his pants all the way undone. But the look in the man’s eyes
above her told her nothing was going to distract him from his goal and stop him from taking
exactly what he wanted from her tonight.

Small bursts of light were starting to appear before her eyes as the pressure on her throat slowly but
surely cut off her air supply. She heard the metallic rasp of a zipper, a rustle of robes and a hot
breath waft across her face as she desperately fought to maintain a hold on her consciousness and
fight him off at the same time. His free hand was on her thigh, yanking up the material of her short
nightgown as her hand slipped under her pillow and closed around the knife she’d told herself she
was paranoid for keeping there.

She almost sobbed with relief as she curled her fist around the handle and tried to ignore the putrid
rasp of the man’s tongue as he swiped it across her lips and up the side of her face. Oblivion called
to her as fumbling fingers fondled her through her underwear before rising to commence a rapid
descent down her stomach to the waistband of her underpants, but she fought its clutches, desperate
to hang on for the right moment.

Rosalie plunged the knife into his neck the same moment he’d torn her underpants free from her
body. His body jerked on top of hers in surprise, his hold on her throat instantly loosening as his
hands flew to his neck and she gasped in air greedily tears as streamed from her eyes. He was
making a horrible choking noise and a nauseating gurgling sound was bubbling up from his mouth
as blood began to dribble from suddenly lax lips. She whimpered as it flowed from his chin thickly,
landing on her chest and soaking through the thin material of her nightgown.

She felt her stomach roll in protest.

Rosalie cringed as she felt his body go limp, a dead weight on top of her, crushing the air out of her
lungs once more. Summoning up a strength she hadn’t known she possessed she got her hands
underneath him and pushed. He rolled off of her and felt to the floor with a dull wet thud. Dead.
Lifeless. Gone, even though blood still pumped from his neck.

Skittering off of her bed she fled across the room to where her wand had fallen, pressing her back
into the doors of her cupboard defensively as she stared at the dead man on her floor. A pool of
blood was forming underneath him, fanning out to halo around his head. Aunt Petunia would be
furious! Her aunt’s pristine floors would never be the same again.

She tried not to gag as she spied her wand lying on the floor not far from the body and bent to
scoop it up. Her hand was slippery with blood, but she clutched at it tightly, unwilling to relinquish
it even for a moment. She knew she should move, get out of there before anyone else came looking
for her, but she couldn’t seem to stop looking at the dead man on her floor.

‘Move,’ she told herself mentally, ‘Get out of here, Rose, while you still can.’

She shrieked—a hoarse, grating noise—as the door to her room was flung open loudly and a dark
figure filled the doorway imposingly. She raised her wand and pointed it at the figure.

“Expell—”

“Potter?” Dark silky tones called to her, his tone unusually strained—anxious.

Snape.

He tore the white Death Eater mask from his face as he stepped over the threshold to her room, no
doubt taking in the scene before him. Dead man on the floor with her kitchen knife still imbedded
in his neck, blood on the sheets, blood on the floor, blood soaking the front of her nightgown and
hands, her white underpants torn and lying tellingly on the floor beside the body, his fingers still
clutching them in death. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Who knew so much blood could come from one person? It was everywhere…

“Potter?” He questioned again, tearing his eyes away from the scene.

She swallowed, her throat protesting at the movement. She could feel the ring of bruises already
forming on her neck. Slowly she lowered her wand.

“Professor?” She croaked.

His eyes seemed to pierce her, dark and fathomless, “We must go.”

She nodded vaguely even as her eyes were drawn back to the dead Death Eater lying on her
bedroom floor.

“Potter!”

She jumped about a foot in the air, staring up at Snape as he loomed over her suddenly.

“He’s dead and it’s nothing more than he deserved. Now move,” He told her, hand firmly on her
shoulder propelling her forward and out of the room.
“My things,” She protested her voice little more than a strained whisper.

Snape kept the steady pressure on her shoulder, preventing her from turning back, “They’re not
important, we need to get you Grimmauld Place. Someone will come back for them.”

Snape led her through the house without pause. They passed another body on the stairs and Rosalie
couldn’t help but stare at it with wide eyes. She barely remembered making their way through the
rest of the house, and suddenly they were standing in the backyard of Number 4 Privet Drive.

“Where is Albus?” Snape asked abruptly, and it took Rosalie a moment to realise he wasn’t
speaking to her.

Alastor Moody was standing before them surveying the damage and carnage around them. Rosalie
didn’t want to think about who the bodies around her might belong to, or whether any of them were
Order members, or ex-Hogwarts students who’d defected at the end of the previous year when
Draco had let Death Eater’s into the school. She didn’t want to think about the blood that was
slowly drying on her skin sticking her nightgown to her chest uncomfortably. This all had to be
some nightmare, some horrible nightmare which she would wake up from any minute sweating and
panting into the still night air of her bedroom, her uncle banging on the wall for her to ‘shut up’
because she’d unconsciously been screaming.

Except it wasn’t, and she could never be so lucky.

Rosalie shivered. She felt cold inside despite the summer heat that still lingered in the night air and
realized suddenly that her hands were trembling noticeably.

She startled as a heavy weight suddenly settled itself around her shoulders engulfing her in
comforting warmth and the scent sandalwood. She looked up at Snape as her professor tucked the
copious folds of his robes around her shoulders dispassionately, his attention still seemingly
focused on the ex-Auror before them.

Surprised Rosalie drew the material of his robes in tighter, allowing herself to practically burrow
down into the warmth and sense of wellbeing they exuded.

“He followed the others to the Burrow, with any luck they’ll have got there in time. Said he’d meet
you back at Headquarters,” The battle scarred ex-Auror told Snape plainly before turning his gaze
on her, “Poppy’s there on standby.”

Snape nodded and accepted the portkey that was pressed into his hand. Rosalie looked up at him
again as he took her hand in his, clasping them together tightly. She stared at him in confusion for a
moment before she registered the feel of something digging into her palm, then she felt the telltale
pull behind her bellybutton and the backyard fell away.
 Chapter One
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter One

They landed with a jolt in the front entrance of Grimmauld Place. Rosalie stumbled as her knees
threatened to give out from beneath her, yet she couldn’t seem to muster the will to care. A strong
hand appeared under her arm just as she thought she might collapse and she looked up to see Snape
eyeing her as he might an obscure potions ingredient. She wondered if he thought she was crazy?
Or perhaps just stupid? But she just felt numb—fuzzy—like all her senses were wrapped up in
cottonwool keeping the rest of the world at bay. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.
It was as if she were watching the events that were going on around her rather than living them,
somehow disconnected from everything. She thought it was possible that she might be in shock.

Rosalie flinched as she looked down and saw the blood that was beginning to dry and grow sticky
on her clothing—her skin.

“Come along,” Snape prompted, giving her a gentle nudge forward with the arm he had looped
under hers, holding her upright. His grip was strong and sure and for once in her life she didn’t
question his help, instead she accepted the support he offered and allowed herself to lean into his
strength.

Rosalie nodded absently and made her feet move forward. She focused her energies on putting one
foot in front of the other, watching the thin moth-eaten carpet disappear under her feet as she made
her way through the dark halls of the house. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of Madame
Pomfrey as the mediwitch checked her over that the fog began to lift and she began to absorb the
world around her a little bit again. She pushed at the mediwitch’s hands as the woman ran a barrage
of scans and charms over her.

“I’m fine,” Rosalie mumbled.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a sceptical look.

Oddly enough, however, she was fine despite what she’d been through. She wasn’t hurt—not
really, anyway—her throat hurt and it was difficult to talk or swallow, but on the whole she’d once
again managed to escape relatively unscathed. Maybe Snape was right, maybe it was sheer luck
that keep seeing her through all these ‘situations’ she kept finding herself in. Maybe it was luck
that allowed her to escape unharmed, unlike the man who’d attacked her...
Rosalie felt something in her stomach tighten uncomfortably.

Merlin, she’d killed a man. She’d killed someone. He’d been trying to rape her and he’d probably
have tried to kill her too, but still...

All of a sudden she felt sick and mumbled something to that effect before she was doubled over
purging herself of what felt like every meal she’d ever eaten. Madame Pomfrey barely managed to
take a step back in time as vomit began to redecorate the floor and Rosalie felt bad for not giving
her better warning. The mediwitch rubbed her back soothingly and held her hair back until she was
finished, though, before vanishing the vomit without a second glance.

Rosalie felt cold and shivery and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Perhaps it was the
fact that she was standing around in nothing but one of Dudley’s old oversized t-shirts, now used as
a nightgown, that was soft from years of use and more than likely threadbare in parts. She felt her
cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, acutely aware of the fact that not only was she now wearing
no knickers, but the t-shirt only hung to mid-thigh. Suddenly she missed the comfort and modesty
of Snape’s cloak with an astounding intensity, wishing she hadn’t handed it back to him quite so
soon. Squirming in embarrassment she tried to tug the t-shirt down to cover more of her legs.

“Do you think I could shower now, Madame Pomfrey? I’d like to change and wash some of
this...blood off of me,” She croaked out awkwardly.

“Of course, but first drink this potion, it will help reduce some of the swelling around your throat
and ease the pain a little. When you’re done, come back and I’ll apply some bruise salve.”

Rosalie swallowed the potion dutifully, sighing with almost immediate relief, “Thank you.”

The mediwitch nodded, eyeing her shrewdly.

“Before you go, Professor Snape mentioned—” Madame Pomfrey cut herself off, seeming to
rethink her choice of wording before beginning again, “Rose, I’m going to ask you something
difficult and I need for you answer me truthfully.”

Rosalie nodded warily.

“Did that Death Eater rape you?” Madame Pomfrey asked plainly, not one to mince her words,
“My scans show no evidence of it, but...”

Rosalie felt mortification flood her cheeks, “What?”

“You’ve blood on your thighs, dear, and considering the circumstances and state in which
Professor Snape found you, we were concerned—”

“No.” Rosalie interrupted, “No! He didn’t—He didn’t touch me.”

Madame Pomfrey held her gaze for long moments, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” She whispered out, her voice desperate and strained, “Yes, I’m sure.”

The older witch nodded and Rosalie fled from the room like a Hungarian Horntail was on her
heels.

She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her as she barrel into the room and pressed her back
up against the wood. Her breath was coming in heaving pants and she couldn’t seem to bring it
back under control. It was too much, it was all too much. No, he hadn’t touched her, not in any way
that it counted, but it had come close—too close—and then she’d killed him.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob that was threatening to tear free only to
reel back again in disgust when she realised that her hands were still covered in dried blood. His
blood. Merlin, it was all over her!

Suddenly she was desperate to be clean again.

Tearing the t-shirt she wore from her body, wincing as she felt it peel away from her skin, Rosalie
threw herself into the shower stall. The water was ice cold, but she gritted her teeth and turned it on
full blast, ignoring the fact that she was shivering violently under the steady pounding stream. She
scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin felt raw and tender and the water no longer ran
pink. She barely registered the fact that she was sobbing loudly, tears pouring down her cheeks
mingling with the steady flow of water from the shower.

Rosalie felt her knees give out from underneath her and she let herself sink down the wall slowly,
pulling her knees into her chest and letting her head fall onto her arms where she stayed as the icy
sheets of water rained down atop of her.

“Rose?”

Someone was pounding on the door, calling her name loudly. Rosalie blinked and lifted her head.
She was still in the shower, the water still pounding down around her in icy sheets. Her teeth were
chattering loudly and her body quaking under fine tremors. How long had she been in there?

“Rosalie! I’m coming in, alright?”

She barely looked up as the door flew open and Hermione rushed in.

“Rosalie!” she heard her friend gasp loudly, “Ginny go get Madame Pomfrey!”

Suddenly the stream of water stopped and Rosalie looked up to see her friend hovering over her,
her face creased with worry, tears shimmering in her eyes. Tears for her? Tears because of her? She
probably looked horrible. She was cold and pale, the bruises that ringed her neck standing out
against the pallor of her skin in stark relief.

“Come on, let’s get you out of there,” The other witch whispered in a wobbly voice.

Rosalie allowed herself to be pulled up off of the floor and out of the shower. A large fluffy towel
was wrapped around her, its rough texture irritating on her tender skin. It felt oddly warm against
her frigid body though, and she wondered if someone had cast a warming charm over it.

“It’s okay,” Hermione was whispering over and over as she stood behind her trying to towel dry her
long hair, “Oh, Rose.”

“Miss Potter!” Madame Pomfrey gasped as she entered the tiny bathroom; Mrs. Weasley and
Ginny close on her heels. “Dear Merlin, child. You’re like an iceblock.”

“Rosalie, sweetie, are you okay?” Mrs. Weasley whispered as she wrapped her in a surprising
gentle hug, “You’ve scrubbed yourself raw!”
“Miss Weasley, if you could run downstairs and retrieve the Burn Salve, Bruise Slave, a Calming
Draught and some Dreamless Sleep from my supplies please and then bring them back here, we’ll
see about getting Miss Potter into bed.” Madame Pomfrey requested gently.

“I’m okay,” Rosalie whispered suddenly as Ginny dashed from the room once more.

“Yes, that is overwhelmingly apparent,” Madame Pomfrey chided gently.

Rosalie let herself be herded across the hall and into the bedroom she shared with Hermione the
previous summer by the three remaining women and found herself tucked under magically warmed
covers in short order.

“Now, Miss Potter, when Miss Weasley returns with the potions I’ve requested we will apply the
necessary salves and then you will rest. You are in shock, which is understandable, but clearly I
should have kept a closer eye on you. Trying to freeze yourself to death in the shower is not
healthy behaviour, which you might have realised had you been in your right mind. A good night
sleep will do the world of good.”

Rosalie didn’t feel the need to protest, nodding her head sedately. She so rarely slept and slept well
that potion-induced sleep sounded wonderful; to be able to close her eyes and drift away from the
rest of the world, forget that anything that night had ever happened sounded wonderful, though she
doubted it would fix anything—when she woke up again, she’d still have killed a man. Nothing
could erase that.

Ginny returned with the potions and Madame Pomfrey quickly and effectively booted the others
out of the room and started work applying the salves, talking to her all the while about that she was
doing.

“Burn Salve repairs damaged skin tissue, which is why it will help sooth all this raw skin,” she
explained as she smeared the greasy concoction across her tender skin, “You’ll be right as rain
come morning. Things seem horrible and overwhelming now, but I promise you, Rose, once the
shock wears off and you’ve had a goodnight sleep it will all be easier to deal with.”

She doubted it, but the mediwitch got points for trying at least.

Rosalie swallowed the Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep as they were handed to her and was
asleep before she remembered Madame Pomfrey leaving the room.

It was another eighteen hours before she awoke.

She was sitting on an old moth-eaten chair that was tucked away in the back corner of the Black
Family Library when Severus finally tracked her down. The library—of course—was the last place
he’d expected to find her given what he knew of her studying habits and therefore the last place
he’d thought to look. Yet there she was, apparently soaking up the atmosphere and Severus felt his
expression settle into a familiar glare of annoyance as he stared at her. So typical of Potter to make
him search for her, rather than simply being where she ought to be.

She sat half turned away from him, so that he was looking at her profile. Her knees were drawn up
to her chest defensively, her oversized jumper practically swallowing her slight frame whole and
her bare feet sticking out from underneath too-long muggle jeans. Her long, dark hair was hanging
in messy tangles halfway down her back as though she hadn’t brushed it since rolling out of bed
that morning and her gaze was glazed and distant as she stared out the window at the decrepit little
backyard, her eyes, it would seem, taking in little of the rotting flowerbeds and dying bushes that
stood there.

Severus frowned.

He wondered how many people could actually say they knew Rosalie Potter. She was such a study
of contradictions, of strength and fragility. She was stubborn, argumentative and outspoken, and
yet to anyone who cared to look, she was still so insecure in herself and her own self worth. He
doubted many saw past the carefree persona she’d purposefully cultivated, most probably wouldn’t
think to look.

In that moment, however, Severus understood her perfectly. He knew exactly how she felt. He was
all too familiar with the crushing feeling of guilt one experienced after killing another human being
—especially that first time. It was a feeling he didn’t let himself reminisce over when he could at
all help it. Yet, after witnessing the scene he’d walked in on when he’d found her just the previous
night—blood all over her bed sheets, all over her, the ring of bruises around her neck, the tortured
look in her eyes and that bastard lying on the floor with his pants open, her undergarments still
clutched in his hands—it was obvious what had happened, or what had at least almost happened,
and Severus knew he would have gladly done more than shove a knife in the bastard’s neck if he’d
walked in a moment or two earlier.

“Miss Potter,” He called evenly, his tone neutral, giving nothing of his inner musings away.

She flinched in her chair and turned to face him, a startled look on her face, “I didn’t hear you
come in, Sir.”

Severus took a couple of steps forward, detaching himself from the shadows of the room as he
moved to stand at her side. He could see the sun setting through the window before them, sending
out bursts of rich colour across the sky and lighting up the dreary library with a bright orange glow
that made the room look like it was somehow on fire.

“You’ve spoken with the Headmaster?” He asked, his tone making the question sound more like a
statement then in really was.

“I have. He told me my Aunt and Uncle are both dead, and that Dudley’s somehow survived and is
with Madame Pomfrey. He said you were able send word to the Order last night warning them of
the attacks before they occurred. I think... I might not have been so lucky if you hadn’t done that,
sir; or that the Weasley’s might not have been able to save their home.”

Severus gave no indication that he was pleased by her acknowledgement, “Yes, that is the purpose
of having a spy in the enemy’s camp, is it not? What I mean to talk to you about, however, is the
Headmaster’s wish that I recommence training you.”

“Sir?” She asked in confusion, “I’ve been able to successfully shield my mind from Voldemort for
months…”

“It is not Occlumency that the Headmaster wishes you to learn,” Severus replied, “We are satisfied
with your progress in that arena. However, the Headmaster believes that learning Legilimency
might prove beneficial to you in the near future. It is an invaluable skill to be able to claim and is
necessary if one wishes to become a superior duellist.”

Rosalie swallowed uncomfortably, “You’re going to teach me Legilimency?”

Immediately her mind was awash with images of the events of her fifth year and her gross invasion
of his privacy. They’d come to something of truce over the incident since then, which simply
meant they didn’t speak of it to one another or in anyway acknowledge that it ever happened.
Regardless of that fact though, she’d not once let herself forget what had happened and had always
been mindful to never ever allow herself anywhere near his thoughts or memories again since. The
few times she’d accidentally followed the connection back into his mind during her Occulmency
sessions she was always quickly shut out before she saw anything and only if she hadn’t already
withdrawn her mind first. It was the only way they’d been able to move past things and build a
tentative trust between them, a trust that had grown into a genuine link between them over the past
year. She trusted Severus Snape with her life and thought he’d never admit it, the fact that he was
even offering to teach her Legilimency told her he at least trusted her with his memories and
thoughts, something she doubted many others could claim.

Severus nodded, “Legilimency, as opposed to Occlumency, is in fact easier to learn. The difficulty
does not lie so much in learning the skill, as in refining it. For Legilimency to be of any benefit to
you, you will need to learn how to gain access to someone’s mind with a subtlety and delicacy that
few have the patience to learn.”

Rosalie nodded, already dreading the lessons ahead. Subtlety and delicacy were neither of them
traits she considered strong points in her personality and she had a feeling that things would
progress slowly because of it.

“The Headmaster also mentioned his wish for you to commence training in advanced defensive and
offensive magic which I believe Lupin, and no doubt one or two other members of the Order, will
assist with instructing you in,” he continued, “I understand your birthday is rapidly approaching
and the underage magic ban will soon be lifted. Until then, we are to use the sunroom at the rear of
the house for our lessons. The Headmaster will ward the room to prevent the underage magic trace
sensing your magic until that time.”

“Yes, sir. When do we start?”

“As soon as the training room can be arranged,” Severus told her.

Rosalie nodded, holding in her sigh until he’d turned and left the room.

There was nothing Snape valued more than his privacy and embarking on lessons in Legilimency
with him felt like they were playing with fire, Snape’s skills as an Occlumens aside. She didn’t
want to do anything to jeopardize this tentative working relationship they seemed to have
developed during her Occlumency lessons over the past year. Snape had only just started treating
her like she was an individual with half a brain and this had the potential to ruin everything they’d
built together.

Almost as soon as Snape had left her side she was joined by Ron and Hermione. The bushy
brunette looked strained and worried and wrapped her up in tight hug the moment she stood to
greet them. Rosalie hugged her back just as fiercely for a moment before stepping back to offer
them both a small smile.

“Hey,” she greeted softly.

“Hey yourself,” Ron returned, “You alright? I heard you were really shaken up about things last
night.”
Rosalie nodded, “I’m fine. How are you? I heard Death Eater’s attacked your house.”

“They tried,” Ron agreed, “Luckily most of the Order showed up before they were able to do much
damage. Dumbledore helped Mum and Dad strengthen the wards surrounding the property so the
house is still pretty much intact, the backroom just got a new doorway blasted into it.”

Hermione nodded her agreement, “The Order sent someone out to our house too, just in case. I’m
going to be staying at the Burrow for the summer since Mum and Dad decided to get out of the
country for a while.”

“It’s all happening, isn’t it?” Ron said quietly after a moment, his voice sounding a bit
overwhelmed by everything.

Rosalie nodded, “Seems like it.”

Malfoy letting Death Eaters into the school at the end of the previous year seemed like the catalyst
to all out war. Since then there had been a number of attacks. Voldemort wasn’t hiding his tracks
anymore and the Wizarding world was in an uproar over his return. People were scared and they
were angry and they were doing stupid things in desperation.

“I’m sorry about your home, Ron,” Rosalie offered after a moment, “and that you can’t spend the
summer with your family, Hermione.”

Ron frowned, “It’s not your fault, Rose!”

Rosalie shook her head, “I was the focus of the attacks though. They were looking for me.
Dumbledore thinks that now Voldemort is out in the open he’s eager to get me out of the way so he
can concentrate on his ‘real’ plans.”

Ron scoffed, “Just shows he’s a raging lunatic, if you ask me. At least you’ll be safe at the Burrow.
The wards Dumbledore helped Mum and Dad put up are super strong. The house is unplottable.”

Hermione shook her head, “Only for those who don’t already know where it is.”

“Meaning?” Ron prompted, looking at Hermione for an explanation.

“That the Death Eater’s who attacked you house could come back if they wanted to,” Hermione
informed him.

“Yeah, but even if they did, they can’t get in,” Ron assured her.

“Maybe...I’m still not allowed to come, though,” Rosalie offered, derailing the brewing argument
between her two best friends.

Ron’s head snapped around to stare at her, “What!?”

“I didn’t think you would be,” Hermione agreed.

“Why not?” Ron demanded, his cheeks turning red with anger, “You’ve always been safe at the
Burrow!”

Rosalie shrugged uncomfortably, “Grimmauld Place is the safest place for me, since it’s under
fidelius and Dumbledore’s secret keeper. No one can attack a place they can’t see. Not to mention
no one even knows where it is to begin with.”

“So?”
“I’ve already been the cause of one attack on your home, Ron,” Rosalie told him plainly, “I don’t
want to be the cause of another. I trust Dumbledore when he tells me this is the safest place he
knows for me. Plus he wants me to start taking lessons in offensive and defensive magic.”

At that Ron deflated somewhat, although he still looked pissed that Rosalie would have to stay at
Grimmauld Place by herself, “I heard dad say you’re starting training with Snape.”

Rosalie fought the urge to sigh at the venom that laced her best friend’s voice when he said
Snape’s name.

“And Remus,” Rosalie agreed with a nod, “I don’t know who else yet.”

“I can’t believe Dumbledore is making Snape teach you. You can bet he’ll use it as an excuse to
flay you alive,” Ron groused.

Rosalie shrugged, “I don’t mind. Really. For the most part, Snape and I get along nowadays.”

“Really, Ron, Professor Snape has worked with Rose practically all year!” Hermione chided,
“You’d think you’d be used to the idea by now.”

“But he hates, Rose,” Ron pushed.

“He does not,” Hermione argued.

Rosalie sighed, “It doesn’t matter what he feels. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“But Snape?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“I’d imagine he’d be the best man for the job, actually,” Hermione told him matter-of-factly, “Who
better to teach Rose exactly what to expect from Death Eaters or You-Know-Who?”

“Yeah, great idea! Who better to teach you about Death Eaters than a Death Eater?” Ron grumbled
sarcastically, “maybe we should ask to take lessons too?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Rosalie agreed, “I’m sure Remus would be more than happy to teach you
too.”

Ron frowned at her, “It’s not Remus I want to keep an eye on.”

Rosalie frowned, “Well, I’m not sure Snape would let you join his lessons. Dumbledore wants him
to teach me Legilimency. It’s supposed to improve your skill as a duellist, or something.”

Hermione nodded, “I can see that. Being able to read your opponents mind would help you
anticipate their moves.”

Rosalie nodded.

“So? He can’t teach us too?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head, “You can’t learn Legilimency without first learning the art of
Occlumency. It’s all quiet complicated really, but in order to be able to penetrate someone’s mind,
you have to be able to maintain a tight control on your own first so that you do not end up
projecting your own thoughts, or so I understand from one of the books I found in the library.”

“At school?” Rosalie asked curiously.

“No actually, here,” Hermione smiled indicating to the library of books behind her, “I went
looking for information in the summer after our fifth year. Most of the books here are about Dark
magic and rituals, but there is one or two that are actually quite informative.”

“Can you show me?” Rosalie asked, “I wouldn’t mind walking into this a little more prepared that
I was last time around.”

Hermione grinned at her, “Of course.”

Ron sighed, “I just don’t like the idea of you having to spend all that time alone with Snape of all
people. He’s a right bastard to you most of the time.”

Rosalie smiled and gave her friend a quick hug. His arms wrapped around her easily and he
squeezed her back. It was true, Snape had been a bastard to her the majority of the time they had
worked together, but things had improved over the last couple of months and spending time with
him now wasn’t nearly as painful as it had once been. In fact at times she’d even come to
appreciate his humour, subtle though it was, though she’d never admit it to Ron while she valued
her hearing.

“It’s not like where not going to be visiting every single day,” Hermione told their friend, “You’ll
be able to keep an eye on Professor Snape if you’re really that worried, Ron. Perhaps I can even
research that spell to link two mirrors so we can communicate with one another without sending
owls?”

Rosalie smiled encouragingly, though her heart ached at the reminder of Sirius.

Ron visibly brightened at the prospect, “It’ll just suck not having you around all summer.”

Rosalie sighed, “I know.”

 Chapter Two
Chapter Notes

A/N: Ok, so here is the second chapter! Thanks to everyone who’s been reading and
those of you left kudos. As I mentioned in my first posting this us un-beta’d so I
apologise for any mistakes I may have over looked. I hope you all continue to enjoy
the story as it progresses, let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,
Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being
made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Two

Rosalie looked around the room that someone had thoughtfully set up for her at some point
throughout the day. It was still mostly empty despite the fact that her things had been retrieved
from the Privet Drive at some point and kindly put away. In fact, there was little to show that the
room belonged to anyone, save her firebolt leaning up against the wall in one corner and Hedwig’s
cage resting on the desk. It was impersonal and lifeless; a perfect mirror of her own disjointed
emotions. There, but hollow. A shell.

Rosalie sighed and sunk down onto the edge of her bed. It was well past dark out and the house
was filled with long shadows and a silence that rang in her ears. She couldn’t believe a whole day
had passed already. It had seemed to both crawl by and fly far too quickly. An odd mixture of long
periods of idleness broken up by quick burst of activity and a constant stream of people in an out of
her peripheries: Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Snape, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs Weasley. Her
two best friends seemed to be at odds with her apathy and she wondered why no one had told them
what she’d done.

Standing up abruptly, she interrupted her own stream of thought by moving across the room to
Hedwig’s cage, pulling out some owl treats in an effort to distract herself. She didn’t want to think
anymore. She didn’t want to remember or feel, but even the silence seemed accusatory.

When it wasn’t bustling with Order members coming and going as they pleased, Grimmauld Place
was almost unnaturally quiet. Of course, she suspected the only reason that wasn’t the case was
because Dumbledore wasn’t currently in residence, but it felt like she was the only one around with
Ron, Hermione and the Weasley’s having left for the day. She wasn’t though. She knew for a fact
that Madame Pomfrey was still working down in her makeshift infirmary; Dudley Dursley still
reluctantly stuck under her dutiful care, no doubt.

The thought made her shudder.

The idea of a Dursley—any Dursley—in her world felt wrong and vaguely threatening and she felt
the urge to ejected him from it with all haste.
‘You’re the reason he’s here in the first place, though, aren’t you,’ a nasty voice whispered in her
mind, ‘you’re the reason his parent’s are dead. You might as well let yourself choke on that too
while you’re drowning yourself in guilt over the other man you killed.’

Rosalie swallowed heavily and looked down at her hands. She could still feel the heat of the man’s
blood as it slid over her skin and half expected to see it there still, staining her hands red as though
it had seeped in through her pores to settle itself just beneath the surface. They were clean and dry,
however, their colour a natural looking pink.

She balled up her hands into fists and shoved them behind her back. She should go check on
Dudley, she thought. Make sure that he’s okay, that’s he’s not too badly injured and that he was
coping. It was the least she could do. He was family after all, and now neither of them had all that
much in the way of family left, even if they did hate one another.

Rosalie looked up in surprise as she realized suddenly that she was standing in front of Madame
Pomfrey’s door, that her feet had carried her there subconsciously while she’d been lost in thought.

Rosalie swallowed heavily and for a moment she could do no more than stare at it uncertainly,
unsure suddenly if she truly wanted to go through with it. She was probably the last person Dudley
wanted to see, despite the fact she was his cousin and the only familiar face to him here at
Grimmauld Place. She was the reason his parents were dead, after all. He was probably scared out
of his mind, though he’d never admit it, and she felt she owed him at least enough to check on him.
She knew most of Dudley’s hatred of the wizarding world was due to the fear of it his parents had
instilled in him since birth and being in an unfamiliar—and decidedly creepy—magical
environment was probably more than he could take right at that moment.

Taking a deep breath, she reached haltingly for the handle and slipped inside.

Where there had once been a reasonably sized sitting room, there was now a room set up to act as a
makeshift hospital wing in a pinch. There were a couple of beds spaced evenly along the walls and
a desk in one corner where Madame Pomfrey could work and keep an eye on her patients at the
same time. There was a bookshelf set up against one wall stacked full of potions, creams and
remedies, and a large fireplace against the other wall big enough to keep the whole room warm at
night. It was nothing like the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, but it was functional and stocked well
enough for Madame Pomfrey to make do in emergencies; at least until something more permanent
could be arranged.

The mediwitch was nowhere in sight though, as Rosalie slipped into the room. The curtains were
drawn tightly across the windows, the only light in the room coming from a softly burning oil
lantern on the mediwitch’s desk due to the fact that it was summer and warm enough out not to
warrant having the fire burning overnight. Yet even in the dim lighting the boy lying in the bed in
the far corner of the room was hard to miss. His rotund shape bludged up out of the bedding like a
strange looking growth in the shadows of the night, his snores ripping through the peaceful silence
of the room like Uncle Vernon’s old chainsaw.

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder if his sleep was natural or potion-induced. How had he reacted
when he’d learnt of his parents’ deaths? It was hard to think of Dudley as anything other than the
self-absorbed, misbehaved brat his parents had raised him to be. Did he mourn their deaths as the
tragedy they were? For the life which they’d been robbed of or for the impact it would have on his
life? Not yet eighteen, in the muggle world he was still a minor and legally he couldn’t take control
of his family’s assets. Perhaps he’d have to go live with Aunt Marge, his only other living relative
that Rosalie had ever seen or heard of.

Rosalie shuddered at the thought.

As much as she’d always despised Dudley, she was sorry for what had happened, more so because
it was irrefutably her fault that his parents were now dead. Death Eaters had been in their house in
search of her, her relatives had just been in the way, worth less to Voldemort’s minions than the
dirt beneath their feet—muggles. Perhaps if they’d never known her, or if she’d never gone to live
with them, they might still be alive? Perhaps they would have ended up dying anyway?

She could picture what might have happened when Dudley had been told his parents had been
killed. His face always turned red and blotchy like Uncle Vernon’s when he was angry and he’d
learnt to imitate many of the man’s characteristics and gestures at a young age. She could picture
his fear of the wizards surrounding him bleeding away as anger gripped him. She could imagine
the furious diatribe falling from his lips in a steady stream of inelegant speech as he tried to force
them to take back their words—as he attempted to bend the world to his whims until everything
was right once more.

“Rosalie?”

Madame Pomfrey’s voice startled her out of her thoughts, and it was only then that she realised
Dudley was no longer asleep. His beady blue eyes were staring up at her silently, cold fury blazing
through their depths from where he lay.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, barely loud enough for the apology to reach the boy’s ears.

His eyes darkened and a snarl tore across his face twisting the baby-faced features into an ugly
visage of rage. He moved quicker than she could have anticipated, leaping from the bed with
unexpected agility to swing his fist at her face.

His knuckles made contact with her cheekbone solidly. The blow knocking her nearly senseless as
pain exploded up through one side of her face. She felt herself topple to the floor and landed on her
hands and knees, facing away from him.

“Y-you murdering bitch! You FREAK!” He snarled furiously, spittle flying as he forced the words
out through clenched teeth, “This is all your fault!”

“Mr. Dursley!” Madame Pomfrey snapped in horror, shock colouring her tone and her features.

Rosalie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her gaze and gingerly touched a hand to her face. Her cheek
throbbed angrily under her fingers, but she couldn’t blame anyone but herself for the injury. In a
way she welcomed it, as punishment for her guilt. She deserved this. Didn’t she?

“The world would be a better place if you had never been born! I hate you! I’ve always hated you,
and so did my parents! I wish they’d just killed you and been done with it—”

“Immobulus!”

Rosalie didn’t move as Dudley suddenly froze, his foot bent back in mid swing with a kick that
was no doubt aimed at her abdomen. She blinked up at Madame Pomfrey, however, as the
mediwitch rushed over to her side quickly, turning her face this way and that with gentle hands she
took in the bruise that was already forming on her face. Her cheek and jaw felt hot and puffy as it
began to swell, and she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire face.

“He’s grieving,” the mediwitch explained as she examined her face, “People say and do horrible
things when the heart has been hurt. Not that I’m making excuses for him, mind you, he should
never have hit you; he’ll feel rotten for it in the morning, no doubt.”

Rosalie nodded her head in half-hearted agreement, not the mood to go into the particulars of her
relationship with the Dursley’s. If anything, Dudley’s resolve to do her bodily harm would have
only strengthened come morning; regret would have no part in it.

“With the rate you’re going through my bruise salve, Miss Potter, I’ll have to ask Professor Snape
to brew up another batch before the week is out. Though, I don’t know why that should surprise
me,” The mediwitch exclaimed as she reached into her robes and pulled out the small jar, smearing
the thick salve across her cheek and jaw.

“You’ll still bruise a little, I imagine, but this will take the pain away and hasten the process,” She
explained with a nod, “Now, I think you’d best make yourself scarce before I re-awaken Mr.
Dursley.”

Rosalie nodded and climbed to her feet, moving quickly towards the door, not sure if she’d
accomplished whatever it was that had motivated her to seek her cousin out the first place. Her
guilt had not abated, nor did she feel any better at having given Dudley the opportunity to get some
of his own back. What was a knock to the face when she’d basically murdered his parents? If
nothing else, though, she knew now that Dudley was fine and she resolved not to go back to see
him again. If he wanted to see her, he could come find her, her responsibility, as far as she was
concerned, for that Dursley had ended.

Severus hovered in the kitchen doorway with reluctant curiosity to watch the strange ritual that
seemed to be taking place before him. Potter, bent over the kitchen bench scrubbing at the counter
top furiously, a bucket of what he assumed was soapy water beside her on the bench, single-
mindedly intent upon her task—muggle cleaning.

Frowning, Severus glanced at the muggle clock that had been installed on the wall—a recent
addition to the Black Family home the original owners would have loathed, no doubt. It had gone
midnight, and the rest of the house was still and silent. Indeed, Severus had thought himself to be
the only one still awake. He slept infrequently, existing from day to day on little more than a few
hours here and there. It was rare that he could relax enough to allow his body to descend into full
sleep and rarely outside of his own heavily warded quarters at Hogwarts.

He found himself curious, however, as to the purpose of this late night cleaning frenzy Potter
seemed to be engaged in. It could, of course, simply be a punishment for some offence. He often
used manual labour as a punishment in his detentions, thought it seemed an unlikely scenario in
this setting.

“May I inquire as to what you are doing exactly?”

The girl spun around to face him; startled, it appeared, by his sudden presence. Her long dark hair
was tied back into a loose ponytail, bits of hair escaping to frame her face haphazardly giving her a
harried look. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek and she looked tired and strained, her wide
green eyes dulled with fatigue.

“Professor, I didn’t hear you come in! I didn’t realise anyone else was in the house!” She admitted,
her hand still clutching the scrubbing brush she’d been using, soap suds dripping from her hand
onto the floor.

“You thought the Headmaster would leave you unattended?” Severus asked, his eyebrow cocked in
mocking disdain, “Please, Potter. With your propensity for getting yourself into trouble you’re
lucky you’re not walking around with an armed guard dogging your every step.”
Rosalie recognized his dry humour, but was in no mood to reciprocate or appreciate it and had to
fight against the urge to glare back at him, “I only meant that I thought it was only myself and
Madame Pomfrey left in the house... and my cousin, I guess.”

Severus’ frown deepened as he took note of the swelling to the left side of her face and the bruising
which now marred her cheek and soft underside of her eye. It was fading purple colour which told
him she’d already been to see Madame Pomfrey, but the swelling would still take a few hours to
recede.

“Who hit you?”

Rosalie glanced away, before turning her back on him completely to return to her scrubbing.

“It’s nothing.”

“I didn’t ask whether or not it was ‘nothing’, I asked you who hit you. You have a black eye, Miss
Potter, are you going to tell me you walked into a door? Or perhaps you ‘fell’? Those stairs do look
quite treacherous,” Severus asked mockingly.

Rosalie shook her head, “Really Professor—”

“I want to know who hit you, Potter?” The Potions Master pushed, “Was it Weasley?”

Rosalie spun around again, “What?! You think Ron hit me?”

“Did he?” Severus asked flatly, his eyes brooking no room for argument or evasion.

“No! Of course not! Ron would never! It was my cousin, okay?” She replied with forced
nonchalance, “I went to see him in Madame Pomfrey’s infirmary. He is upset—grieving—over my
Aunt and Uncle.”

Severus arched an eyebrow, “And because of this, he hit you.”

Rosalie shrugged, “He blames me for their deaths and he’s right to; it was my fault Death Eaters
were there in the first place after all.”

“That is ridiculous,” Severus replied in his ‘are you really as stupid as you look’ tone, “You did not
wield the wand that ended their lives, nor did the curse fall from your lips. Their blood is not on
your hands. This war will tear plenty of people’s lives apart, Potter, some hitting closer to home
than others. If you continue to persist in feeling guilty for things you have had no part in, you will
drive yourself insane and be of little use to the people that still need you.”

Rosalie huffed in disagreement, “They would have never been targets if I hadn’t been sent to live
with them! They weren’t given a choice in the matter and from day one they made it clear that they
never wanted me because they were afraid of something like this happening. I am the reason they
are dead!”

“That does not make you guilty of their murder,” Severus counted, “We are at war, Potter, and
people die. Many will even die for you, no doubt. Yes, the Death Eater’s came for you and had you
known and done nothing, then maybe you could consider yourself complicit in their actions. As it
stands, you are not. You’re merely putting yourself through pain you need not endure.”

Rosalie shook her head, “And what of the other man, the Death Eater I did kill? Surely you don’t
think I’m blameless there.”
“It is not an issue of blame. As far as I’m concerned you put down an animal, not a man,” Severus
snarled.

Rosalie didn’t respond.

Severus sighed and allowed himself to continue in a calmer tone, “It is true that every life you take
weighs on you and you will need to find your own way to work through the emotions that are no
doubt battering at you relentlessly. Yet, you did not kill an innocent man, Potter, and you did not
kill him in cold blood. You killed him in self defence and I can promise you, had you not, he would
have done you far worse.”

Rosalie shivered.

“It’s late,” He continued sternly after a moment, “You should be in bed. You’re training, with any
luck, will begin tomorrow and it is imperative you are well rested.”

“I can’t,” She told him plainly, turning back her task, “I don’t sleep all that well.”

“Presently, you’re not even trying. If you require a sleeping draught, Madame Pomfrey would be
more than happy to supply you with some, I’m sure,” He replied.

She shook her head emphatically, “They don’t work. They only make it worse. If I sleep, I’ll
dream and I don’t want to dream.”

Severus eyed her appraisingly. Nightmares. It wasn’t surprising given everything the girl had seen.
He suffered them too. Even so, he tested her Occlumency shield surreptitiously and nodded in
satisfaction when he found them intact.

“There is always Dreamless Sleep,” he told her.

“Dreamless Sleep is addictive,” she argued, “and I would need to be taking it all the time for it to
be any use. Anyway, I had some last night to help me sleep. I feel fine.”

Severus watched a shudder pass over her and he thought, perhaps, that that was the real problem.
People coming down off Dreamless Sleep often found themselves wired and jumpy the next
evening, added to the fact that she was more than likely afraid to go to sleep after what had
happened the previous night and you were left with a slightly manic, overly strained Potter. How
did he always seem to find himself in these situations? More than once over the last year he’d
found himself in the role of counsellor to the girl, though certainly not by choice—hers or his—and
every time he’d been given no warning. He cursed Dumbledore silently for perhaps the millionth
time. If he hadn’t insisted Severus be the one to teach her Occlumency then they would have never
been forced to learn to trust one another with their secrets as they had.

Severus fought the urge to sigh and surprised even himself by walking further into the room and
settling himself into a chair at the kitchen table. He watched her for a moment wondering what was
going through her mind and wondering what was going through his that he hadn’t left her there to
go to bed himself.

“Can you listen and work, Potter?”

Rosalie turned to look across at him nodding in confusion.

“Then pay attention,” He told her, “It should come as no surprise that you have in fact already
performed Legilimency on a number of occasions. They were crude and undeveloped attempts at
best, however, knowing this may help you in the days to come.”
Rosalie frowned at him as he settled into lecture mode, “You’re teaching me Legilimency now?”

Severus arched and eyebrow at her, “Is that a problem?”

Rosalie stared at him for a beat, wondering what his game was. Finally she shook her head, “No.”

Severus stared at her a moment before nodding.

“The difference is those few short times you were able to gain access to my mind, a link had
already been created between us; you simply followed it back into my mind. As rudimentary as
that was, it is, however, essentially what I will be teaching you to do over the next several weeks,”
Severus explained succinctly.

Slowly Rosalie returned to her cleaning, allowing herself to relax into the repetitive motion as
Snape continued to talk. She was somewhat surprised to find herself falling into a rhythm with him
as she worked; her guilt and anxiety falling into the background as she focused on the task before
her and the smooth, rich cadence of Snape’s voice as he took to explaining the basics of
Legilimency to her. It wasn’t long before she felt like she’d blinked and suddenly the kitchen was
spotless and she was sitting across from Snape, a pot of tea between them as he talked.

She listened intently as he described the process, the need for tight personal control and the
importance of direction. She needed to have focus before entering someone else’s mind, to have a
goal, or else she’d find herself in a drift of memories and thoughts. She needed to know what it is
she sought from them, at least until she could better understand the way the human mind worked.
He explained that everyone, even Voldemort needed to have a point of focus before invoking the
incantation or else the spell would be ineffectual, even if that focus was something as vague as the
search for treachery in any of its many forms.

‘I’m going to suck worse at this than I did Occlumency,’ Rosalie thought absently as he described
the intricacies of gaining access to someone’s mind.

“Legilimency requires far more subtlety than that of Occlumency. Any bumbling fool with an
ounce of knowledge in the skill can blast their way into someone’s mind if they have the desire and
knowledge to do so, you must learn to gain entry without making your presence known. A skilled
Legilimens can enter your mind with nothing more than a glance.”

Rosalie shivered at the thought of all the times she’d been almost certain in class that Snape was
reading her mind. He probably had been.

“Are you even listening, Potter?” He asked suddenly, his voice resigned, aware that she seemed to
have drifted off into her own thoughts.

Rosalie nodded, “You were talking about finding the dormant aspect of the person’s
consciousness, rather than the pool of ‘active thought’. Like entering a house through the back door
while the owner was busy greeting someone out front, right?”

Snape sighed, “Essentially, yes, although I wouldn’t have put it in such terms.”

“It’s like what you taught me with Occlumency, the need for diversion? Only this time instead of
creating the diversion, I’m making use of what is already naturally occurring.”

Snape nodded, and she knew from his lack of comment that he was pleased with her understanding
thus far.

“Will you show me?”

Her Occlumency shields were already in place as she felt the gentle and familiar brush of Snape’s
mind against her own. It was barely discernible, a whispered caress against the barrier of her mind
as he entered and she doubted she would have felt it had his presence within her not been so wholly
familiar after a more than a year of having him inside her head. It was second nature now for her to
close her mind to him and she did so without thought.

“Do you feel me?” He asked.

Rosalie nodded, aware suddenly that he had meant for her to feel his entrance.

“Good, now follow the brush of my mind back, much like you have done by accident in the past
only with less...force,” He coached.

Frowning Rosalie reached out with her mind and managing to embraced Snape’s presence with her
own, coiling her consciousness around his to follow the presence back as it withdrew from her
mind until she found herself engulfed in its essence.

Snape’s essence.

Being in Snape’s mind was nothing like what she’d experienced with him in the past. This time she
wasn’t accidentally blasting her way into his private thoughts and memories only to be painfully
and forcefully ejected again. Instead, he’d invited her in and although his mind was closed to her,
she was surrounded by everything that was Snape and it was warm and inviting and personal.

It was overwhelming and for a moment she almost seemed to live and breathe everything that made
the man who and what he was—they were connected in a basic and fundamental sense. She could
feel the awareness of his body in the space around them as if it were her own. Each breath he took
was one she took, as if they were one being. She could practically feel the rasp of material from his
robes against his skin. She’d never felt so close to anyone in all her life and she doubted she ever
would again without recreating the experience.

His dark eyes swum in her vision and with a jolt she remembered suddenly just whose mind and
body she was sharing. She was wrapped up in everything that he was and with a startled gasp she
broke the connection as her concentration shattered.

Snape was surveying her through inscrutable eyes, “Better than I had anticipated. It was an
undisciplined attempt, but not without hope.”

Rosalie shook herself and nodded. She felt odd and shaky. That whole experience had been
strangely and uncomfortably intimate. His consciousness had been familiar and easy in her own
mind, but she’d been unprepared for the way it had wrapped around her, and accepted her back into
its natural state. Would it be like that with everyone? Every time she entered someone’s mind? For
those few moments she’d been surrounded by his presence, she’d felt like she’d truly known him
—was a part of him—in a way she doubted anyone could truly fathom without having experienced
it for themselves.

“Is it always so, um...overwhelming?” She asked uncomfortably, going with the least embarrassing
word she could think of to describe what she had felt. Merlin, if Snape had experienced the same
every time he’d been in her mind...he probably knew her inside out.

She fought the urge to blush at how intimately he likely knew her and how she thought. He’d stood
witness to some of her most personal thoughts and memories over the last year—he no doubt knew
more about what made her who she was then even her best friends. Yet it was because of this, at
least in part, that she believed they’d finally come to respect one another—at least in her opinion.
“It can be. However, for the purpose of teaching you the art I accepted you into my mind and drew
your presence in and you allowed your consciousness to submerge into mine,” He explained,
“When you enter the mind of someone who is unaware, it is far less...malleable and you will be
entering with a clear purpose in mind.”

Rosalie nodded, somewhat relieved as she glanced down at her tea. It had gone cold as some point
during their lesson. Pushing herself up from the table she took the cup to the sink to rinse it out.

“It is late,” Snape abruptly, cutting their lesson short, “Go to bed. I will count myself lucky if you
remember even half of what I have taught you tonight.”

Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to bristle at the blatant order. She was tired, and surprisingly, she felt
like she might be able to sleep. Snape was gone from the table when she turned back to thank him
and she took a moment to admire how silently he could move, before quickly restoring the kitchen
to rights and taking herself off to bed.
 Chapter Three
Chapter Notes

For some reason I can't get the formatting quite right on this site. Anyway, hope you're
all still with me :)

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Three

Snape was gone by the time she’d awoken the next morning and in his place Remus had arrived to
act as her body guard. Rosalie stopped short in the kitchen doorway at the sight of the wolf, her
heart suddenly aching fiercely as her eyes began prickle and burn with tears. Rosalie sniffed
ineffectually as he smiled sadly at her and immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips
falling to press a firm kiss to the crown of her head. Rosalie threw her arms around him in return,
her hands fisting tightly in the back of his robes.

“Are you alright?” he asked roughly, his cheek resting atop of her head.

Rosalie nodded brokenly, unable to form the words.

She was surprised by the strength of her reaction, at how little it had taken for her to break down
before him as she had. They’d seen very little of each other over the past year and things had been
awkward between them after Sirius’ death, yet she hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted him the
past couple of days until he’d been there. The tears she’d kept at bay began to roll down her face
silently and she clutched him tighter.

“It’s alright,” he soothed her softly, his hands smoothing down the length of her hair.

Rosalie shook her head. It wasn’t alright. She’d killed a man and everyone around her kept dying
and she just wanted things to stop. She needed things to stop so she could breathe again. She felt
like she was drowning, suffocating in blood and death and just once she wanted to feel like death
and destruction didn’t follow her wherever she went. Everyone thought she was some kind of hero
because she kept defeating Voldemort, or because she’d faced him a handful of times and walked
away with life, but what they didn’t realise was that it felt like he took a little piece of her away
with him each and every time. Her parents, Cedric, Sirius, her aunt and uncle... She felt like she
was poisonous to the people around her, and now Voldemort had made her a killer like he was.

She didn’t know why the Death Eater’s death should affect her as much as it did, she’d killed him
in self defence and what he’d been about to do to her told her all she needed to know about the type
of person he must have been... perhaps it was just the ‘what ifs’? What if he’d been forced into his
service as a Death Eater? What if he had a wife somewhere who was now grieving for him? Or
children? What if he’d been under the Imperius Curse?

“I killed someone,” she whispered through her ragged hiccups and sobs.

Remus hugged her tighter, “I know.”

She was thankful for Remus’ quiet support and silent strength. What was there to say after all?
Words were of little comfort and nothing anyone did would bring him back; that she didn’t want to
undo what she’d done felt like another black mark on her conscience. She felt like she was at war
with herself and the only thing she knew for sure was that if put in the same situation again she’d
likely make the same decision. She didn’t regret defending herself. She’d been afraid—very, very
afraid—of what he’d do to her that night.

“No one blames you, Rose. No one is ashamed of what you did,” Remus told her quietly as they
finally drew back from one another, “It is always difficult to accept that you have taken another
person’s life. It isn’t easy and I hope for your sake it never becomes easy. Your mind plays havoc
with your emotions and you begin to doubt yourself and your judgement...”

Rosalie nodded, her eyes downcast as she swiped at the tears on her face absently.

“You made the right call,” Remus told her firmly, grasping her shoulders in a steadying grip as he
ducked his head down to meet her gaze head on.

Rosalie looked into his amber eyes searchingly. They were warm and sincere, open and frank and
she could see his belief in his words reflecting back at her. He truly believed she’d made the right
call. That helped, if only a little.

“You can’t look at the situation in pieces,” Remus continued with the same quiet intensity, “You
can’t allow yourself to stagnate on the thought that you have killed someone. Yes, you did kill
someone, but you killed them because they were trying to hurt you. Do you understand what I’m
trying to say? Don’t think ‘I killed someone’, force yourself to think ‘I killed someone defending
myself’ or even just ‘I defended myself’. It is instinct, Rose. Human’s are built with a strong
survival instinct; otherwise we would not have survived for as long as we have.”

Rosalie shook her head, “But Remus...”

“If it had been Hermione in that situation, if it had been Hermione who was being attacked and
who killed that Death Eater, would you condemn her for having done so?” Remus pushed.

“No, of course not,” Rosalie protested.

“Because you are looking at the situation in context,” Remus agreed, “I am not trying to belittle
what you feel, Rose. Simply show you that you are in a way condemning yourself for an act, that
when put in context as it should be, no one would judge you for. Just try and remember that before
you drown yourself in guilt.”

Rosalie blinked and moved to take a seat at the table. Her heart was pounding like she’d run a
marathon and her cheeks were still wet with tears, but she felt like she might just be beginning to
understand what Remus was going on about. It didn’t make it hurt any less, at least not yet, but the
crush of guilt on her chest seemed to have eased the tiniest bit.

She offered the wolf a wobbly smile as he moved to take the seat across from her.

“You blame yourself for too much, Rose,” Remus told her sadly.
Rosalie glanced away, not sure she was ready for the minefield of emotional turmoil that comment
could lead them to. How much could one person take, she wondered, before they simply burst
from all the pain and heartache life put them through? Her world was edged in darkness and at
times it threatened to swallow her whole to the point where it felt like she couldn’t breathe some
days. Was that normal? Was it normal for her to go through life trying to simply ignore what she
couldn’t cope with?

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe,” She was the only answer she gave him on the subject,
“Are you staying long? Or is this just an overnight visit?”

Remus gave her a look that said he knew she was trying to change the topic, but would allow the
subject to be dropped. Instead he conjured up some tea cups and levitated the kettle over from the
stove where it had been boiling before she’d come in.

“I leave again tomorrow,” Remus told her, “I’ll be in an out a lot while you’re staying here, though,
so not to worry. The Headmaster asked a couple of us to act as your ‘guardians’ over the summer—
mostly those of us without families or time consuming duties to fill out days. We’re to use a little of
the time each visit to help teach you some advanced offensive and defensive magic.”

Rosalie nodded. Snape had basically told her as much the night before.

“Who are my other guardians?” She asked.

“It will be Severus and I, for the most part. Tonks and a couple of the older Weasley brothers will
be our backup if we’re unable to be here, but if no one else is available then someone from the
Order will step in. You’ll always have someone in the house with you, Rose,” Remus reassured her.

“I’ll bet Snape loved being told he’d have to babysit me on a regular basis,” Rosalie muttered.

Remus chuckled, “No doubt.”

Rosalie sighed. She hated being couped up. It reminded her of being back at Privet drive when her
relatives would all but place her under house arrest, rendering her unable to leave the house for
days on end, or worse, when they locked her in her room. She’d traded one cage for another. She
knew it was for protection, for both her and other Order members, if Death Eater’s were going to
continue trying to flush her out. They couldn’t protect her forever, though. Sooner or later she was
going to have to take an active role in this war. She could feel it building, tension escalating around
her. In the mean time all she could do was sit and wait. And learn.

“I know I’m not allowed out to visit the Weasley’s, will I be able attend the wedding though?”
Rosalie asked.

Remus nodded, “Of course. Whoever is with you for the day will be able to escort you there and
back again.”

Rosalie nodded, there was that at least, she supposed.

“I thought we might spend the day preparing the room the Headmaster put aside as your training
room?” Remus offered suddenly, as though he too could sense the funk she was slipping into
again.

Rosalie forced a smile, “Has Professor Dumbledore already set up the wards?”

“Not yet,” Remus replied, “It shouldn’t take much to get it ready though. I know some good
interior decorating charms that’ll help brighten things up.”
“You do?” Rosalie asked in bemusement, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they
got up from the table together, Remus guiding her easily towards the door.

The werewolf chuckled, “You’re mother took the term ‘nesting’ to a whole new level, Rose. She
had all three of us learn the charms while she was pregnant with you. Ordinarily she would have
done it, but your dad wouldn’t let her lift a finger so we all got roped in. I don’t think the walls of
the nursery stayed the same colour for longer than a day that first week. Sirius was about ready to
throttle her by the end of it—it was his job to colour the walls! Blue, pink, yellow, green, baby
blue, sky blue, ocean blue, powder blue, cornflower blue—you’d never have known there were
that many different shades of blue! You should have seen Sirius’ face when she settled on seafoam
green! You’re dad hated it, but Sirius threatened to hex him seafoam green if he even hinted to Lily
that he didn’t like it.”

Rosalie smiled, “what does seafoam green even look like?”

“To me? Just a pale green colour,” Remus grinned as they made their way down the hall to her
training room, “If you’d have asked Sirius though he would have taken great pleasure in going into
minute detail of the exact shade and depth of green your walls were painted.”

Rosalie laughed.

Her training room—like the rest of the house—had carpeted floor that was thin and moth-eaten
with age and walls that were painted in the same dreary colours that the majority of the house
seemed decorated in. A large set of bay windows at the far end of the room lit the room with
sunlight, though and absent its gothic furnishings she imagined the room would look almost
cheerful at the right time of day. Rosalie was surprised to find that she actually liked the room and
felt her spirits lift as she gazed at the warm summer sun filtering in through the dirty window.

“What do you think?” Remus prompted.

Rosalie grinned at him, “I think I’d like the walls painted seafoam green.”

A genuine smile lit Rosalie’s face as the floo flared just as she and Remus were sitting down to
lunch and a familiar bushy head of hair announced itself cheerfully.

“Hermione!” Rosalie greeted happily.

The other witch smiled back, “Hi! Mind if I come through for a visit?”

Rosalie glanced at Remus fleetingly for permission before replying, “Of course not, come
through.”

Remus smiled at his goddaughter indulgently as she waved her friend through happily.

“I have a few owls to send,” he told her mildly as he pushed back from his place at the table, “I
might take my lunch in the library and leave you two to talk.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay. Thanks!”

Hermione was brushing the soot from her robes as Rosalie glanced back at her, “Ron couldn’t
make it. Mrs. Weasley managed to catch him while he wasn’t doing anything and now he’s stuck
helping out with the wedding preparations for the rest of the day.”
Rosalie smirked in amusement, “Come on. Let’s go up to my room.”

“You look tired, Rose,” Hermione said as they entered the small bedroom and she pulled her friend
down onto the bed beside her, “You’re not sleeping again, are you?”

Rosalie shrugged, “I got a couple of hours. I got to bed about two or three, I think.”

She was almost certain it was closer to three am, but then she’d managed a solid five hours which
was rare. She’d still had the nightmares, of course, but the sun had at least been up by the time they
disturbed her rest and nightmares were easier to deal with when she knew that they actually were
nightmares and not visions like they’d once been.

Hermione winced, “Snape will kill you if he finds out. You know he doesn’t accept anything less
than one hundred percent. If he finds out...”

“He already knows,” Rosalie replied picking at an invisible thread on her bedspread, “It was really
strange, ‘Mione.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Rosalie worried her lower lip hesitantly, “I was up cleaning the kitchen, trying to burn off some
energy so I could sleep…”

Hermione nodded in encouragement, used to her friend’s odd habits and methods of trying to sleep.

“And instead Snape comes in and somehow I ended up having a spur of the moment Legilimency
lesson. He sat up with me for hours teaching me the basics, ‘Mione, but it’s just strange, you
know...being inside a teachers mind like that. Nothing like what I expected,” Rosalie explained.

“Bad strange?” Hermione asked, “I kind of imagine Professor Snape’s thoughts being all dark and
angry. I mean, I don’t imagine how they couldn’t be with some of the things he must have seen and
done in his time as a Death Eater.”

“That’s exactly what I expected too, I think! But they’re not,” Rosalie exclaimed in quiet disbelief,
“It was strangely...intimate. It was like being engulfed in warmth, or lying in the sun. It was
comforting and welcoming, and for a second it almost felt like I was him, or at least part of him. It
was intense.”

Hermione blushed.

“I know,” Rosalie agreed, knowing exactly what her friend was thinking and this time, she couldn’t
keep the pinkness from her own cheeks.

Hermione giggled nervously, “Do you think it’s always like that? I mean, imagine if you had to use
Legilimency on You-Know-Who for some reason, can you imagine anything worse?”

Rosalie grimaced, “I hardly think Voldemort’s mind could ever feel like that, even if he was really
trying. Anyway, Snape said it was only all personal like that because he was allowing me entry,
and accepting me in to teach me how to do it alone. When someone isn’t aware it’s less
overwhelming.”

“You asked him?” Hermione exclaimed in delighted horror.

“Not like that! I just asked if it was always so overwhelming, like you did.”
Hermione nodded, “Was it awkward? Afterwards, I mean.”

“Merlin, ‘Mione,” Rosalie blushed, “You make it sound like I was doing something inappropriate
with him, or something.”

“Oh shush,” Hermione chided “I know you weren’t doing anything inappropriate, but like you
said, it was intimate. I would have been completely embarrassed to face him after something like
that.”

“I was a little shaken, but I think I held it together ok,” Rosalie replied.

“Of course you did,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes and an amused smile, “I don’t know
how you do it, but you’re always so cool under pressure, Rose. I wish I could have some of that
strength and composure sometimes.”

“Strength and composure? ‘Mione, the last thing I am most of the time is strong or composed. I’m
a mess most of the time, especially since the other night,” Rose countered with a shake of the head.

Hermione reached out to hug her tightly, “No one expects you to be composed after something like
that, but what I meant was, you keep your head when things get bad, Rose. That’s a real gift. I
know things feel all messed up now, and I know you’re probably tearing yourself to pieces feeling
guilty over your Aunt and Uncle. But what happened the other night wasn’t your fault and let’s
face it, your Aunt and Uncle where horrible and abusive. Out everyone who could have been hurt
or killed that night, I’m glad it was them and not you.”

Rosalie bit her lip as tears pooled in her eye, “But, Hermione, if I hadn’t been sent to live with
them...”

“Then they could have still been targets. Your Aunt was always going to be ‘Lily Potter’s sister’,
and that alone would have made them targets eventually. We could play ‘what if’ all day, Rose. If
you hadn’t been sent to live with them, you wouldn’t have had your mother’s protection keeping
you safe all these years, you might have been killed when you were only little by You-Know-Who
or his followers, you could have been forced into this much earlier, or someone like the Weasley’s
might have been the focus of that attack. It’s horrible that anyone had to die that night, but it wasn’t
your fault. It’s You-Know-Who’s. None of this would even matter if he wasn’t a mad man.”

For the first time since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, Rose, felt the blanket of guilt that was
suffocating her begin to lift a little as everything everyone had been telling her began to sink in.
She still had blood on her hands, she’d killed a man, but for the first time since she’d heard the
news, she didn’t feel guilty for the death of her relatives. Hermione was right, if it wasn’t for
Voldemort, none of this would have ever happened.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Rose.” Hermione said with a smile as she pulled back out of
their embrace.

Rose gave her a small smile in return, “and you’re the smartest.”

Rosalie had almost forgotten that Dudley was in the house at all, until she literally ran into him
again almost a week after her arrival Grimmauld Place and immediately began to wonder how she
could have forgotten such a glaring detail. You didn’t just forget a boy like Dudley. His size made
him hard to miss, for one thing, but it was the grate of his personality that gave her the most issue.
She pushed the thought side though as she practically peeled herself back out of his flab and looked
up at him.

He’d managed to corner her alone outside Madame Pomfrey’s makeshift infirmary, a manoeuvre
that seemed almost planned and Rosalie felt hair on her arms stand up at the thought that he might
have been waiting for her.

Dudley’s face was already red and blotchy, his eyes pinched in anger and instantly something
familiar and fundamental inside her clicked on and she felt her whole body go on alert.

“Dudley,” she greeted as calmly as possible.

Dudley—despite his weight—had always been tall and even if he hadn’t weighed as much as a
small whale he would have still been an intimidating figure when standing at his full height.
Speed had been her only defence against him growing up due to her shorter more petite frame and
only if she’d had time to make a run for it first. It made her uncomfortable that now he was
purposefully trying to be intimidating as he crowded in against her person to glare nastily down at
her from a height.

“Potter, you’re going to—”

Rosalie looked up at him expectantly as he swallowed his words, cutting himself off mid sentence.
His eyes flicked past her though, and suddenly she understood.

“Mr. Dursley. Miss Potter.”

Rosalie whipped her head around to stare at Snape and unbelievably felt her heart give a little
nervous jig.

“Sir!”

Dudley was backing away from her slowly, his eyes fixed on Snape’s imposing figure as he
retreated.

“Leaving so soon, Mr. Dursley? It sounded like you were just getting started,” Snape drawled
pointedly, his eyebrow arched at the boy in question.

Dudley didn’t respond.

“Its fine, sir,” Rosalie interrupted, “Dudley was just—it was nothing.”

Snape turned his gaze on her and Dudley took the opportunity to turn tail and disappear back into
the infirmary—which she was almost certain he’d been sleeping in. Snape turned at the last minute
and watched him disappear through the door.

“Would care to enlighten me as to what I just had the pleasure of interrupting?” He asked
pointedly.

Something in Rosalie shrunk away from telling the truth—not that she was even sure what that was
exactly. She had no idea what Snape had just interrupted, but she knew she felt ashamed of it for
some reason and she was glad that he’d turned up when he had. She was embarrassed to admit
she’d felt...what? Threatened? Afraid? All of the above, perhaps?

Rosalie felt her cheeks turn pink and she averted her gaze.

“Nothing, sir. Dudley was just being Dudley,” She replied vaguely.
Snape arched an eyebrow, “Was it not Dudley who gave you a black eye recently?”

Rosalie sighed, “It’s okay, sir. Really.”

“It is not ‘okay’, Potter, for him to believe this kind of behaviour is acceptable,” Snape told her
pointedly, “We have enough to worry about keeping you out of trouble without having to try and
field your cousin’s behaviour as well.”

Rosalie’s blush deepened.

“Of course,” She nodded.

Snape’s gaze held hers for a long moment. Rosalie couldn’t hold his gaze and she was relieved
when he finally turned and swooped from the room almost as quickly and quietly as he’d arrived.

Rosalie let out a deep sigh.

She felt like she was living in some alternate reality. Dudley was suddenly menacing, Snape and
her were getting along—kind of—and then there was that weird moment they’d shared in the
kitchen that night. She couldn’t help but wonder when everything in her world had changed? When
had she started not only recognising Snape as someone she could trust, but someone she could turn
to?

She’d been dreading running into Snape again after the other night when he’d allowed her into his
mind, as he had. She’d expected things to be weird between them, or perhaps for Snape to have
reverted to simply hating her again because she’d seen inside his mind like she had in her fifth
year. It was a stupid notion, though, seeing as how her Legilimency lessons would require just that
on a regular basis, but still she hadn’t been able to shake the fear. Snape had been the same as ever
with her though, the Snape she’d come to know, respect and even understand on some level over
the past year. Things had been slowly changing the whole time, she imagined, she just hadn’t
noticed it until just now.

Rosalie couldn’t help the grin that broke out across her face then, as she imagined the look on
Ron’s face if she were to admit to him that she not only trusted, but liked, Snape now. He’d
probably die of disbelief or try and have her committed to St. Mungo’s mental health unit. What
made it even better was the thought that she was pretty sure Snape had grown to like her too—
though he’d likely die before he ever admitted it. Just as well since the closest she ever wanted to
come to Ron’s wrath should he ever find out was her own musings on the subject.

“Severus!” Lupin greeted with relative cheer, “I wasn’t expecting you back...”

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes as he ran headlong into the wolf, but instead nodded once
briskly, “Lupin. I’m not here to relieve you of your duties. I was released from my own duties
earlier than expected and came to set up my lab.”

“Here?”

Severus arched an eyebrow, “Yes, here. If I am to be spending so much of my time here, I will
need one readily available so that I can continue my work. There is an old lab just off from the
kitchen. It will be adequate for what I intend to use it for.”

Lupin glanced at the old wooden door to which Severus had gestured, it had remained locked for as
long as they’d used the Grimmauld Place as a headquarters and he’d not put much thought to what
lay beyond it. He was not that surprised to learn it was a potions lab, many of the older wizarding
homes had them and the Black’s certainly would not have suffered going without.

“I’m just getting lunch ready, can I get you something?” Lupin offered cordially.

Lupin was someone Severus often took lengths to avoid for a multitude of different reasons that
started with him being a werewolf and ended with him simply finding the man irritating beyond
belief. Yet he needed to talk to the man, perhaps now was a good time for him to broach the
subject.

“Tell me,” Severus began, “how has Mr. Dursley’s behaviour been the last day or so, particularly
in regards to Miss Potter?”

Lupin frowned at him in dim-witted confusion, “Dudley? I can’t say I’ve really seen the boy. He
keeps to the infirmary mostly, I’ve seen him in here once or twice—always alone though—Rose
hasn’t been to see him at all as far as I’m aware.”

Severus didn’t react, though he knew better. He was surprised Potter hadn’t divulged the incident
between herself and her cousin to the wolf as close as they seemed.

“She’s been to see him, he gave her a black eye for the trouble,” Severus revealed.

Lupin looked back at him with a surprised looked that seemed to ask ‘really?’ without him
verbalising anything. Severus didn’t feel the need to dignify the look with a response.

“He’s been no trouble since I’ve been here. I’m sure he only struck out by accident—”

“How does one accidentally throw their fist into another’s eye? Madame Pomfrey witnessed the
act, it was no ‘accident’,” Severus interrupted in a sarcastic drawl.

“What I meant—if you’d let me finish—was perhaps it was simply a ‘heat of the moment’ act that
he now, no doubt, regrets. He’s been quiet as a mouse since I arrived. I don’t think he’s anything to
worry about, Rose hasn’t mentioned anything.”

Severus sneered at him, “‘Heat of the moment’ is no excuse for that kind of violence.”

“I agree, of course—”

“Just watch him,” Severus growled.

Lupin stared at him. Severus’ gaze darkened.

“I’m sure you’ll agree that we have enough to deal with protecting Miss Potter from external
threats. I for one don’t wish to have to start fielding internal ones as well,” Snape pointed out
harshly.

Lupin nodded slowly, “I’ll keep an eye on him, but I think you worry too much, Severus. I’m sure
we have nothing to worry about.”

Severus didn’t respond, the werewolf’s lack of observational skills aside there was little more he
could do. He’d keep an eye on the boy while he was around, but whether Lupin stayed true to his
promise or not was in the werewolf’s hands. Severus knew first hand that ‘family’ meant nothing
to some people, and grieving or not, Dursley was angry and he looked ready to take it out on
Potter.
 Chapter Four
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Four

Rosalie was glad when Dumbledore finally stopped by Grimmauld Place to cast the necessary
enchantments over her new training room. She was finding that as nice as it was to be away from
the Dursley’s, without her friends around as her constant companions, life at Grimmauld Place was
fairly dull. So the idea of something to do—even training—was appealing. Not to mention the fact
that she was getting tired of Dudley’s recent stalker-like tendencies in regards to her general
person. The only place he didn’t seem to follow her was her bedroom and that was most likely
because Remus roomed only a couple of doors down. She wasn’t sure what he was up to, since he
went to lengths to try and conceal his presence. But the only other presence in the house was
usually either Snape or Remus and it happened regardless of who was or wasn’t there, which told
her it was her cousin. Usually his cloak and dagger actions would be amusing, but after that brief,
uncomfortable confrontation they’d had in the hall just a couple of days prior she’d been more
wary of Dudley and his movements.

Dudley was obviously afraid of any fully grown wizard, therefore he was also unlikely to come
anywhere near her training room while either Remus or Snape was inside, a double plus as far as
she was concerned.

She was unprepared, however, to find Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for her when she arrived for
her first training session rather than Remus as she’d expected and she wondered when her
godfather had left.

The shock must have shown on her face.

Shacklebolt chuckled at her.

“Albus sent Remus on an assignment early this morning and Severus was unable to make it back it
time,” he explained good-naturedly.

“Ok,” She replied nervously, not sure how to take this man’s quiet control and strength. He looked
like a pillar of power held in check by nothing more than his own strength of will, and while she
knew he meant her no harm, his image was a formidable one to contemplate duelling with.

Shacklebolt nodded, “We’re going to work on teaching you the skills of deflection and diversion.
You have been lucky so far in the battles you have fought with Death Eater’s, but until you have
begun your instruction in advanced duelling, your best chance should you come face to face with a
Death Eater is deflection and diversion. Everyone knows you have an important part to play in this
war, Miss Potter, and it is our job to see you well equipped to survive long enough to fulfil that
task.”

Rosalie nodded, “Rose, please call me Rose.”

Shacklebolt nodded, “Kingsley. Declino is a deflection charm, which while effective, requires skill
and timing. One of the benefits of this charm is that you can direct its returning path. A
demonstration, here—”

He motioned for her to cast a spell at him. Taking out her wand, she cast a half-hearted disarming
spell at the Auror.

“Declino!”

Rosalie felt the breath knocked from her chest as she was flung backwards, her back slamming
painfully into the wall behind her with a sickening crack that she seemed to feel through her whole
body. Coughing, her hands flew up to her chest as she fought to bring air back into her lungs, and it
was only as she did so that she realised her wand too was gone.

Shacklebolt chuckled.

Rosalie glared up at him furiously.

“There’s the spitfire I’d been told about,” He laughed.

“You almost killed me!” She growled at him breathlessly.

Shacklebolt shook his head, “Hardly, the wall faired far worse, I assure you. But as you just
experienced, the force of the original spell can be influenced by your own power and intent on its
return passage.”

“Why isn’t this taught at Hogwarts if it’s so useful?” She asked as she pushed herself upright and
stretched out her bruised back, fighting to bring her breathing back under control as she did so.

“Don’t be fooled by the simplicity of the incantation. It requires a level of skill few possess and if
the timing of the charm is off it becomes little more than a weak shield that fails to block even a
half-hearted Expelliarmus,” He grinned.

Rosalie scowled to herself as he handed back her wand and began to go through the motions of
teaching her the wand technique.

‘Kind of like a backhand in tennis’ she thought absently, and began attempting to hit imaginary
tennis balls back at her opponent.

“Good,” Shacklebolt stated as he studied her wand form, “Now let’s see how you do under fire.”

Rosalie took a focusing breath as he moved to stand opposite her once more.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Shacklebolt incanted.

“Declino!” Rosalie watched as the spell was deflected, shooting away from her wildly in the
direction of the bay windows, but fizzling out halfway there.

Rosalie sighed.
“Good, but you need to work on direction, as well as strength. You have to do more than lob the
charm back, you have to direct the focus of the spell and hone it’s intent with you own power.”

Rosalie frowned, “How do I hone the focus of the spell that has been cast at me and still maintain
the power and concentration to cast the deflection charm though?”

Shacklebolt paused for a moment in thought, “Think of it like your training Occlumency. I have
heard you have all but mastered the art, a difficult task that requires a level of concentration that it
takes many years to achieve. Occlumency requires you to split the focus of your mind, and in many
ways this is no different. In the forefront of your mind you have the deflection charm at the ready,
your focus on deflecting the curse being sent your way before it hits, but behind that you are
focused on the spell that your opponent has used—in our case, Petrificus Totalus. So when I cast
the curse at you, you’re prepared to deflect, but the minute the incantation has left your lips you are
no longer deflecting the curse, but almost wordlessly recasting it in your opponent’s direction.”

“So really,” Rosalie replied slowly as she sorted through the information in her mind, “the majority
of Declino’s power is what is poured into the original curse, yet it is so difficult to cast successfully
because it requires two focused points of intent.”

Shacklebolt nodded, “Exactly. We’ll make an Auror out of you yet, Rose.”

Rosalie smiled back, its turn non-committing.

“Again,” Shacklebolt replied, gesturing for her to take position opposite him.

“Confringo!”

Rosalie’s eyes widened as the curse hurtled towards her—the blasting curse! Did he mean to fry
her if she missed? If that hit her...Steeling her resolve she hardened her focus.

“Declino!” She very nearly screamed, throwing all her focus into the return curse the moment the
deflection left her lips.

The spell gained speed with frightening intensity as it shot back towards the Auror. Shacklebolt
stood his ground until the last minute, sidestepping the curse at the last second to watch as it flew
past him and blasted into the wall. Rosalie stood transfixed as she stared at the hole she’d just
blasted through the wall, the edges of it smouldering from where the curse had burnt through it.

“Oh Merlin!” She breathed, a little stunned at the damage she’d managed to cause.

“Good!” Shacklebolt cheered, “Now why don’t we try something a little harder?”

Rosalie stared at him.

“Diffindo!”

Rose gasped, and lunged out of the way as he slung a severing charm in her direction. Pain
blossomed hotly in her shoulder, and her hand came away slick with blood as she grasped at it. A
thin line had been sliced into the tender skin of her arm and she looked up at him in shock, blood
coating her fingers.

“Speed is invaluable,” Shacklebolt lectured, “Death Eater’s won’t stop and wait for the all clear,
always be ready for them.”

Rosalie fought back the flinch that threatened as he took hold of her arm and muttered a healing
charm to mend the wound he’d inflicted.

“I wouldn’t use them, but you need to learn to defend against stronger, more deadly curses. Death
Eater’s will not be using leg-locker curses or simple stunning charms,” He told her carefully as
they resumed their positions.

Rosalie nodded, not entirely comfortable with the thought that she’d be standing there alone,
fending off all of the worst curses and hexes the Auror knew.

“Again.”

Resolutely Rosalie took up her stance.

Somehow her training session with Shacklebolt—which she’d started out so enthusiastic over—had
left her more disillusioned and depressed than she’d felt nearly all day. He’d pushed her hard, and
she was aching all over despite the fact that he’d healed her almost immediately every time he’d
landed a shot—which had been more often than not. She didn’t understand how she was meant to
defeat Voldemort, a wizard far more capable than she was, when she couldn’t even win a duel
against Shacklebolt. In truth the Auror had whipped her arse and she suspected he’d been going
easy on her.

She ignored the dark voice in her head that hinted to her that perhaps she wasn’t meant to defeat
Voldemort, knowing that it wasn’t an opinion she was willing to consider, no matter how desperate
things seemed.

Rosalie stretched her aching back, sure that there was one or two bruises that she’d missed, and
headed for the library. It was fast becoming one of her favourite spots in the house to think. Quiet.
Secluded. Though instead of making a beeline for her favourite corner, Rosalie walked along the
shelves scanning the morbid and strange sounding titles absently as she let her mind wander. Most
of it was Dark Arts literature and some creepy looking spell books which looked more likely to
take her hands off than teach her anything interesting or useful, but she’d managed to unearth a
couple of interesting things here and there—including a stash of magical romance novels tucked
away in a dark corner of one bookshelf behind a series of nasty sounding potion books that should
have probably been burned. She’s peeked inside a couple of the novels, her cheeks burning a fiery
red with embarrassment as she’d taken note of the uncomfortably lifelike illustrations that
decorated the pages—moving illustrations!—before she’d slammed them shut and returned them to
their place.

It was as she was doing so, however, that she’d found something that had truly piqued her
curiosity.‘The A-Z Healer’s Companion’, written by a Healer named Salus Eirny, was an
instructional practice text outlining common and not-so-common wizarding ailments and the spells
and potions used to cure them.

“Potter.”

Rosalie felt herself tense and she quickly spun around to face him, “Dudley!”

She hadn’t heard him come in, which made her wondered if he’d already been in the room when
she’d entered. She cursed herself for letting her guard down, especially when he’d been so bold in
venturing from his room lately.

Dudley glared at her.

“Did you want something?” She asked, not sure where this silence on his part was leading. His
behaviour had been so out of character since his parent’s deaths that she was finding it difficult to
predict his actions.

“What do you think?” He snapped, “Parents would be nice, but you already took care of that, didn’t
you?”

“Dudley—” Rosalie just shook her head.

That was her first mistake. She’s learnt early on that you never take your eyes off an enemy until
you were far enough away not to be caught in the crossfire if they lashed out. She winced as
Dudley suddenly sent her flying sideways, sending her stumbling painfully into a solid looking
armchair to her right.

She whimpered as her shoulder slammed into the wooden framework.

“You listen to me, Potter,” He hissed as he lent over her, trapping her against the cushions of the
chair, “You’re going to pay for what you did to my parents, one way or another.”

Rosalie glared up at him.

“I did nothing!” She hissed back, believing—for perhaps the first time—the words which she had
spoken.

Dudley snarled at her, “Bullshit. If you weren’t such a freak they’d have never bothered us. It’s all
your fault, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You think I care what you think?” She growled as she felt her temper rising—which was her
second mistake.

“You should,” He growled, “after all... I’m the one in the position of power now, aren’t I, Potter?”

Rosalie gasped and struggled against him as he hefted her up by the collar of her clothes and threw
her to the floor. Rosalie managed to curl herself into a ball just in time as Dudley drew back and
landed a well placed kick to her ribs.

Rosalie cried out in pain as she felt the breath leave her lungs in a violent whoosh. The air felt like
it was being forced out of her as a red hot poker pierced her chest. Pain exploded across her side
and she lay there gasping as Dudley turned and strode from the library carelessly. Tears of
frustration and pain pooled in her eyes and began to leak down the side of her face pitifully as she
watched him leave.

Fuck him.

She hated him.

She just wanted to go a week—just one—without getting herself hurt or injured in some way! She
should have kneed him in the groin. Maybe she still would. Taking a deep breath and trying not to
cry out in pain she called for Kreacher.

“Mistress calls?” Kreacher sneered disdainfully at her as he appeared in front of her.

“I want you to make something to eat for my cousin,” She told him breathlessly, clutching her
battered ribs as she spoke.
“You wish for Kreacher to make food for that muggle filth?” The house elf hissed.

Rosalie nodded, “Yes, but I give you my full permission to spit in it or perhaps mix a laxative
potion into his food... maybe both. You mustn’t poison him or add anything to his food that will in
anyway harm him, though. Do you understand?”

Kreacher gave her a rather terrifying looking smile, “Kreacher understands.”

“Good.” Rosalie agreed, “Bring it to me when you’re done.”

The elf disappeared with a soft pop and Rosalie groaned. She was probably only making the
situation worse by drugging his food but she didn’t care. Her birthday wasn’t all that far off and
she knew once she had her wand he wouldn’t dare touch her.

Using the armchair she’d been so recently trapped against, Rosalie hoisted herself back onto her
feet wincing as her ribs protested against the movement. She hadn’t heard them crack, so she
didn’t think they were broken, but she’d watch them just in case. Later, when she was either sure
Dudley was asleep or preferably absent from the infirmary, she’d go scour Madame Pomfrey’s
stores for some more bruise salve—if there was any left.

Rosalie felt a well of resentment bubble up inside her over her cousin and was thankful when
Kreacher reappeared at her side once more effectively breaking her from her dark thoughts.

“Kreacher did as his most respected Mistress bade him,” The elf offered and Rosalie stared at him
in shock as he held the lunch tray out to her.

Apparently that was all it took to get the decrepit little elf on her side, drugging her muggle cousins
food. It said a lot about what the elf had been taught to respect and for a moment she felt her
stomach roll uncomfortably that he approved of her actions. What did that say about her?

“What did you put in it?” She questioned, suddenly unsure whether her instructions had left any
loopholes available for the elf to take his own liberties.

“Kreacher did what you asked, Mistress,” He confirmed again, “Kreacher mixed laxative potion
into the filthy muggle’s food.”

“Nothing else?” Rosalie prompted.

“No, Mistress,” Kreacher agreed, “Is Mistress wanting Kreacher to add something else?”

“No,” Rosalie told him quickly, “It’s perfect as it is. Thank you, Kreacher.”

Rosalie stood staring down at the tray of food in her hands in indecision for a long moment, as she
thought about what the elf had said, torn between her desire to get her own back against Dudley
and her fear that she was contemplating doing something that Dark Wizards would approve of.

‘Stop being ridiculous,’ she told herself firmly, ‘you aren’t doing this to Dudley because he’s a
muggle; you’re doing it because he’s a bully who has made your life a living hell growing up.’

There was a difference. No matter what Kreacher believed, this had nothing to do with Dudley
being a muggle.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” She repeated, “Please take this to my cousin.”

*
Rosalie sighed as she lay in bed later that night, tucked away hours earlier than she would have
been under normal circumstances. Her ribs were screaming at her though, so much so that she had
to keep her breathing short and shallow in order to dull the pain by restricting movement. It wasn’t
helping much and the shallow breaths only made her want to cough which, in her current state, was
an experience in and of itself. She was almost certain now that Dudley had broken something; the
lurid looking bruise that had blossomed across the side of her ribcage was only the first indicator,
she knew bruised ribs didn’t hurt this much. Every time she moved searing pain shot through her
side like a white-hot knife, it was almost unbearable.

Rosalie contemplated getting up again in search of pain killers, but that meant facing Dudley again,
and in her current state the notion was unthinkable. She just hoped the laxative potion had worked
and he was currently a slave to the toilet. It only served him right. Anyway, she was not sure the
trip was worth the hassle since Madame Pomfrey was unlikely to have left any of her stronger
painkillers simply lying around the infirmary and the mediwitch had long since vacated the
premises.

Fifteen minutes later, however, when the house had gone dark and quiet and Rosalie was still lying
awake sweating profusely she gave in and hauled herself up and out of bed. The pain eased slightly
as she sat up and she remained sitting on the edge of her bed for a couple of minutes taking a few
slow even breaths, her hands braced tightly against her side over the injured ribs. Yet, every time
her muscles tensed she was assaulted with a brutal stabbing pain that left her near breathless.
Rosalie dismissed the idea of going to Remus for help almost the second it entered her mind,
though she felt dizzy and light headed when she tried to stand. They sat through dinner together
without him noticing or becoming any the wiser as to her state. To wake him now...

The less anyone knew the better.

What would the world think if they found out their precious saviour was unable to defend herself
against even her cousin? Not to mention it would mean explaining all about her relatives and she
wasn’t in the mood to divulge any of her more of her secrets.

Gritting her teeth she pushed herself up into a standing position and clutched at the bed frame as
she waited for the wave of pain and dizziness to pass. She knew going into the infirmary where
Dudley was sleeping was out of the question, so instead she made a beeline for the bathroom
hoping Mrs Weasley might have stocked the bathroom cupboard with some basic everyday
potions. Rosalie hobbled down the hall as quickly as the jostling of her ribs could tolerate,
suddenly desperate for something now pain relief was in sight. She made her way straight to the
bathroom cupboard as she entered the room, flipping the door open to peer inside.

“Pain reliever, pain reliever, pain reliever...” She chanted softly under her breath as she scanned
the cupboards contents. A multitude of little bottles all neatly labelled lined the shelf and Rosalie
felt her spirits lift. Blood replenishing potions, contraceptive potions, headache relievers, hangover
cure...

“Damn it!”

Turning around to rest her back up against the sink she ran a tired, frustrated hand over her face. Of
all the potions not to have, she couldn’t believe they were out of a simple pain reliever. How did a
hangover potion rank above that? Unless, of course, the reason she couldn’t find any was because
they had all been consumed? She considered taking the headache reliever for a moment before
deciding against it, knowing that the way it was designed, it was unlikely to do anything for her
ribs.

She stood there wracking her brains for another place in the house that she might find something
she could take to help with the pain. There wasn’t anywhere else she could think of that Mrs
Wealsey, or perhaps even Madame Pomfrey would have stashed potions.

“Heat pack?” she thought aloud, “Or maybe an icepack?”

It meant braving the stairs in order to get down to the kitchen, but at this point it was worth it. Fire
was burning through her lungs, each breath more painful the last and she didn’t think she could
simply ignore it anymore and go back to bed.

Rosalie made her way out of the bathroom slowly, walking gingerly with her hand braced up
against her side for support wondering how such a short distance could feel like miles. It was the
stairs that would cause her the biggest issues though, and she cursed the person who ever thought it
would be a good idea to put the kitchen in the basement! She was breathless again by the time she
made it to the bottom of the stairs, her head spinning as waves of nausea crashed over her and she
took a moment to lean against the wall as she tried to catch her breath, fighting the urge to cough.

She didn’t noticed the pair of dark eyes that were watching her from the top of the stairs, staring
down at her in curious concern; she was too wrapped up in her pain to notice the presence of
another coming up behind her on silent feet.

Rosalie decided to push onwards after a moment, making her way into the kitchen where she
immediately started to scan the room for something she could use. Did wizards even use heat
packs?

“Looking for something, Miss Potter?”

Rosalie spun around at the sound of Snape’s familiar dark silky tones coming from behind her,
jarring her ribs painfully in the process. She could do no more to prevent the cry that was torn from
her lips then, than she could help the blackness that began to steal her vision as the pain engulfed
her. Her hands flew back to her ribcage to brace against the pain and she felt her knees begin to
buckle.

“S-sir!” She stuttered in surprise.

Snape’s hands shot out to steady her, his hands cupping her under her arms to pull her upright once
more as she began to fall and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the kitchen table Snape
standing in front of her watching her through suspicious eyes as she pulled herself back together.

“Are you going to tell me what it is I just witnessed?” he asked her plainly.

Rosalie sighed and shut her eyes, why did it have to be Snape—of all people!—who found her like
this? Why did he always seem to happen upon her when she was at her weakest? He wasn’t even
meant to be there, or so she had gathered when Remus had told her that he’d be staying the night.
She’d simply assumed that that meant Remus would be her sole protector until someone came to
relieve him of his post the next day. Yet clearly she’d been mistaken, unless Remus had left for the
night, Snape taking his place.

Snape gripped her chin and tilted her face up looking at it this way and that and she realised
suddenly that he was looking for any evidence that Dudley might have hit her again.

‘You won’t find it there,’ she thought to herself, although aloud she told him: “I’m fine.”

“Do me the curtsey of not lying to me when I ask you a question, Potter,” Snape told her briskly, “I
am no imbecile and I’d appreciate it if you did not treat me as such.”
Rosalie gasped as he flicked her hands away from her side and expertly flipped up the edge of her
top before she had time to protest. Blushing a brilliant red, she pulled material of her shirt back
down hastily, but the damage had already been done. He’d seen the mass of bluish-purple skin and
it didn’t take genius to put the rest of it together.

Snape’s face visibly darkened.

“You’re cousin?”

Rosalie simply nodded.

“Are they broken?” he asked watching as she grimaced in pain as she covered her mouth to cough.

“I think so,” She replied quietly.

“May I?” the Potions Master asked, indicating to her ribs and extending his hand. Rosalie nodded
awkwardly, feeling a different kind of blush rise to her cheeks as the man before her reached out
and ran his fingers searchingly over the affected side, carefully feeling for any obvious break or
disfigurement. She was surprised at how gentle the touch was and how pleasant she found it to be.
She could feel the warmth of his flesh seeping through the thin material of her shirt and was
amazed to feel it eased her discomfort somewhat.

“Probably just a clean fractured, I will brew you some skele-gro but you will still need to bind your
ribs tonight to make sure they heal correctly,” He told her as he drew his hand back. If he saw the
blush on her face he didn’t comment.

“Here,” Snape offered, handing her a familiar looking jar, “Bruise salve.”

“Thank you,” she told him accepting the proffered jar, “But you don’t have to worry. About the
Skele-gro, I mean. It’s late and I know you are busy.”

Snape glared at her, “and tomorrow when we are scheduled to start your training? What will your
excuse be when you can barely move?”

Rosalie looked away from him, hating that she knew he was right. She didn’t like to feel like she
was a burden though, at least not any more so than she already was. Their tentative working
relationship aside, she doubted that Snape wanted to spend what little spare time he had babysitting
her. She doubted any of the people who’d been assigned the task wanted to. To them, she
imagined, she was just one more headache, one more responsibility piled on their back that they
didn’t have time for. After all she was almost 17—almost an adult—who wouldn’t resent having to
take time out to look after that? Not to mention she was a mess. She was a mess that couldn’t sleep
properly, who was always getting hurt, whose emotions felt like they were permanently at breaking
point...

“Have you taken a pain relieving potion yet?” He prompted.

Rosalie shook her head, trying to will away the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes.

“I couldn’t find one.”

Merlin, she was crying. Again! And this time in front of Snape! Shame flooded her cheeks and she
swiped roughly at her eyes. It was too much—the pain was too much, her guilt was too much, just
everything was too much! Her relatives were dead and she felt disgusted at herself for feeling even
the littlest bit happy that she’d never have to see them again. She killed someone who’d been
trying to hurt her, trying to violate her and she was sick thinking about it all the time, sick of
feeling guilty over it, sick of seeing him every time she closed her eyes! She was sick of hurting.
Sick of being tired. Sick of feeling pathetic. Sick of worrying all the time...

“I’m sorry,” she whispered roughly, staunchly refusing to look at him in the face or even lift her
head, “Thank you for your help, sir.”

Rosalie gritted her teeth and pushed herself off of the table, clutching tightly at the jar of bruise
salve he’d given her. That, at least, would help at least a little bit and it would be enough. It would
have to be. Tears were leaking steadily down her face and she was just glad that she hadn’t
descended into all out sobs like she had with Remus.

“Potter.”

Rosalie stopped halfway to the door, her back to the last man she’d ever wanted to break down in
front of. Merlin, why Snape? Remus at least was like a father-figure to her. That made it a little
easier to cope with. She wanted Snape’s respect, and Severus Snape respected strength.

“Potter—Rosalie,” Snape called again, his voice neutral, “Sit down.”

Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to turn around.

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape repeated, his voice firm, yet not unkind.

Rosalie jumped as an elegant hand came to rest on her shoulder and guide her gently back over to
the kitchen table. Rosalie let herself be led easily, glad that Snape remained at her back and she
wasn’t forced to face him.

It hurt to cry and somehow that only made things worse. Silent tears had become all out sobs,
complete with hitching and quaking breathing, red eyes and blocked nose and sinuses.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped mournfully, “Merlin, I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this—I don’t—”

Snape sighed, knowing that they were likely tears of frustration and exhaustion. In all honesty he
wasn’t surprised that she was finally breaking down given what she’d been through the last week
or so. It was nothing to be ashamed of, yet she refused to maintain eye contact with him or even lift
her head. He was not the kind of man who felt comfortable offering soothing words or heartfelt
reassurances, so instead he stood behind her, offering her what privacy and support he could while
he waited for her to calm.

“It is a natural reaction, you needn’t be ashamed,” he told her, though he doubted she heard it.

It took her ten minutes to calm to the point where she could breathe without her breath hitching
mid-inhale, though her hands still shook as she swiped at the tears on her face. Rosalie felt her
embarrassment flood her cheeks at such an outburst and was just thankful Snape had had the
decency not to comment or ridicule her, though she was sure the thought had crossed his mind.

“Drink this,” Snape commanded placing both a familiar looking pale blue pain reliever on the table
in front of her and a calming potion. Briefly, Rosalie wondered just how many potions the man had
on his person at any given time. He seemed to pull vials out of thin air on command and she
wondered if that was something all potions masters could do, or whether the talent was unique to
Snape.

She downed them both in quick succession.

Rosalie took a deep steadying breath as the pain reliever kicked in allowing her the full use of her
lungs once more. The calming draught, however, was more subtle. While she was no longer crying
and her hands had stopped shaking, she still felt the same, only more in control of herself and her
emotions. It was a forced calm—a chemical calm—but she was glad for it. The humiliation of
breaking down like that aside, each gasping breath had felt like a hot knife in her chest as she
jostled her poor ribs.

“I’m sorry,” She repeated once more without the humiliation that had coloured her previous
attempts.

Snape didn’t answer knowing any answer from him would make little difference to her and her
feelings and would be out of character on his part. Instead he simply inclined his head—a minute
gesture, but a gesture of acknowledgement all the same.

“The Headmaster will have to be informed of this,” Snape told her.

Rosalie started to shake her head, “No—”

“You are supposed to be safe here, Potter,” Snape interrupted, “Those of us who have been
assigned to guard you have enough to worry about without keeping an eye out for your cousin as
well. Twice now he has vented his anger on you. He cannot be allowed to stay!”

Rosalie sighed, “I know. It’s just that I feel like I should be responsible for him in a way. He’s not
wrong to hate me for everything that’s happened.”

A heavy silence settled over them in which Snape regarded her closely and Rosalie refused to meet
his gaze.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning in guilt,” Snape began calmly after a moment or
two, “to have it sit on your chest, crushing the very air out of your lungs with the weight of your
sins. The difference between us, Potter, is I am guilty of the crimes my conscience bleeds for; you
however, are not responsible for what happened to your relatives and certainly not for your
cousin’s actions in his grief. He is on the cusp of adulthood, the time has long since past where
anyone other than himself should be taking responsibility for the things he says and does as a
man.”

“I know. I do,” She whispered.

Except Dudley had never taken responsibility for anything in his life, he didn’t know how to and
she had always been his favourite victim.

“I know it’s not my fault that they’re dead, I’ve finally come to accept that. It’s just that... I still
care. I don’t know why I do, and to be honest I don’t particularly want to, but I do and
sometimes...” Rosalie sighed, “I just get so tired of caring. Of feeling. I can’t help it though. How
am I supposed to survive with everything I feel bottled up inside me? How do you balance out the
bad with the good? I don’t want to hurt anymore, I don’t want to feel guilty, or responsible for
anyone other than myself...I’m sick of walking around feeling like I have the weight of the whole
bloody Wizarding world on my shoulders. Why do people look at me like that? Why do they
expect me to save them? What do they honestly expect a girl, not yet legally an adult, to be able to
do that they can’t...?”

She could feel the hysteria bubble up within her again, but the calming potion did what it was
supposed to and tampered it back down.

“I see that man—the Death Eater from my room—every time I close my eyes,” She continued
more sedately after a minute, “Sometimes it’s a nightmare where he’s attacking me again and I
wake up and for a moment I’m glad his gone, I’m happy he’s dead. Then I’ll close my eyes again
and all I can see is him lying dead on the floor and I’m covered in blood—his blood—and it’s like
it’s trying to drown me. I know he was a bad mad, perhaps even an evil one. I know what he was
about to do to me and I can imagine what might have happened following that. I know that what I
did, I did in self defence...but if I can feel guilty over a man like that, how am I supposed to set out
murder Voldemort and walk away with my sanity intact?”

Her eyes were very green and glazed once more with tears when she looked up at him, and there
was a kind of desperation in her face that he recognised—had experienced even—and for a moment
he felt connected to her on whole new level.

“If you truly believe our defeat of the Dark Lord can be considered murder, then how do you
define what he does to his victims on a regular basis?” Snape asked her with an odd kind of
suppressed intensity, “He kills for the enjoyment of it, Potter. He derives true pleasure from the
pain and suffering of others and his power over whether they live or die. He rejoices in their
screams and tears, and laughs at their begging and prayers for mercy. Surely you cannot be so
naive to believe that the acts he commits and your own are on the same level? Good people
sometimes kill. ‘Murder’ is sometimes necessary and tearing yourself to pieces over it isn’t doing
you or anyone else any good. Tom Riddle is not redeemable. He cannot be saved. He is a true
sociopath and he will not stop.”

“I know!” she cried, throwing her hands up as if to physically block his words, “I’ve seen what he
does to them, how he plays with them...the visions I used to get more than opened up my eyes on
exactly how evil Voldemort was—is! I know that he has to be stopped; my fears are all selfish
ones! I don’t know how much more I can take. I mean... do you really believe that I hold some
magical key to besting a wizard more than double my age with double my experience?”

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. He could see self doubt clearly reflected in her eyes and knew then
that she didn’t expect to survive the final encounter with the Dark Lord.

“Dumbledore believes you have the ability, Potter,” he replied.

Rosalie shook her head, “I asked what you believe.”

Snape stared at her.

“You’ve never been afraid of telling me exactly what you think of me,” She pushed, “Do you
really think, that when it comes down to it I’ll face him and walk away with my life?”

“You already have, Potter,” Snape answered, “on numerous occasions.”

Rosalie sighed heavily.

“I believe,” He continued, holding her gaze firmly with his own, “that when the time comes, you
will not be standing alone. The Dark Lord may have age and experience on his side, but he makes
the mistake of surrounding himself with people who, for the most part, value their own lives above
that of his own or their cause. You have people here who believe in you so strongly they would lay
down their lives to save you, Potter. That’s all the belief you need.”

“I don’t want anyone to die for me,” Rosalie responded in disgust.

“And that’s where you differ from the Dark Lord,” Snape returned.

Rosalie didn’t reply, instead she looked away not sure how to respond.
“Potter,” Snape continued, “You have my word that between now and then, whenever that time
may be, I will do everything in my power to make sure you are prepared to face him. You are not
alone in any of this.”
 Chapter Five
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Five

“It sounds like you have had an eventful few days.”

Rosalie smiled half-heartedly at her professor but remained silent.

Dumbledore sighed heavily and reached forward to take her hands in his, “I wish that you would
have said something to me sooner. I knew that you were not always happy with your relatives,
Rosalie, but I was unaware that they were harming you. For that I am deeply sorry, my dear.”

Rosalie squeezed his hands reassuringly and looked up at him, “It’s okay. It’s not how you think it
is, sir. Dudley hit or punched me a couple of times growing up, but the worst I got from Uncle
Vernon or Aunt Petunia was a backhand here and there when I did something stupid. They were
never physically abusive towards me.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly, “I am glad to hear it. Still, it makes my heart ache to think of you
suffering under their hands growing up—and again now. Professor Snape was as furious as I’ve
ever seen him when he came to speak to me. That said, I’ve made arrangements for your cousin to
go and live with his Aunt. He will be safe there and his memory will be modified.”

Rosalie nodded.

“Sir?” Rosalie began, before cutting herself off, not sure how to proceed, “Dudley’s behaviour over
the last week or so was so different from normal, I was wondering if perhaps...”

Dumbledore shook his head, “He was checked for the Imperious Curse, my dear, and I’m sorry to
say the test was negative. Mr. Dursley was acting under his own influence.”

Rosalie nodded again, not sure if she was pleased or saddened by the revelation. She couldn’t help
but feel relieved that Dudley would soon be leaving, though. He didn’t belong in this world—her
world—and it had felt wrong to have him there. She was such different people here and in the
muggle world and it felt like her two personalities, the hero and the dirt beneath her relative’s feet,
had been warring with one another the past couple of days. Maybe once he was gone she’d be able
to breathe again and begin to heal. Perhaps this was what she needed to find ‘The Girl-Who-Lived’
again.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are most welcome,” He told her kindly.

“Have there been any more attacks, sir?” Rosalie asked after a moment, taking her hands back from
the Headmaster’s and sliding further back into her seat.

Dumbledore shook his head, “Minor raids here and there, with no major casualties. Professor
Snape informs me that Voldemort appears to have no clear target at present. The attacks on both
your relative’s home and the Weasley’s property were blitz attacks designed to try and capture you,
when that was unsuccessful however, he was forced to take a step back and recalculate his next
move. He knows we have moved you to a secure location by now and for now you are out of his
reach.”

Rosalie worried her bottom lip, “What’s our next move, sir?”

“We shall continue in our hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. Our project was necessarily put on hold
last year for obvious reasons,” Dumbledore replied, his tone expressing the regret he felt at the
events which had unfolded, “and while it was fortunate in many ways that we had yet to leave the
school when the attack occurred, we are now several weeks behind in our hunt for Voldemort’s
horcruxes, it would seem.”

Rosalie nodded, “You want to make the trip out to the cave, sir?”

“Soon,” Dumbledore agreed, “However, there are certain things that require my attention before
we can depart.”

“I understand,” she returned quietly, “Things are only going to get worse from now on, aren’t
they?”

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, “It is a fact of war, Rose, that things often have to get worse before
they can get better.”

Rosalie nodded, “But now that Hogwarts is no longer safe...”

“With the vanishing cabinets removed and the Death Eater’s who infiltrated its walls gone,
Hogwarts is secure. I have spent the last few weeks strengthening the wards that are already in
place and an old friend of mine is arriving in a couple of days to help search the school for any
further points of weakness before we add to the already vast protective layers that make up the
school’s core protection. With any luck we will reopen in time for the new school year, however, I
fear many of our numbers will not return with the threat of Voldemort looming overhead,”
Dumbledore told her sadly.

“Hogwarts is the safest place they could be,” Rosalie sighed sadly.

“Many no longer feel that way,” Dumbledore replied, “Many believed Hogwarts to be
impenetrable, and unfortunately they beliefs have been shaken. Many more will want to keep their
loved ones close now more than ever and the thought of sending them away to a school that is in
Voldemort’s direct sights, especially now, is sheer ludicrous.”

“What will happen to seventh years wanting to sit their NEWTs?” Rosalie asked.

“I suppose many students will transfer to other schools to sit their final exams, others will likely
participate by correspondence,” he explained, “It is unfortunate that many will not return, however
it is their prerogative not to do so during times such as the one we currently face.”

Rosalie nodded slowly.

“I doubt would have been able to return to school this year anyway,” she said after a moment.

“The future is not set in stone,” Dumbledore offered sagely, “It is true that it is unlikely that you
will return to school this year, however, that needn’t keep you from your studies. Many of the skills
you are being trained in, it is possible to sit a NEWT for. You never know what tomorrow might
bring.”

Rosalie fought the urge to roll her eyes good naturedly at the cliché.

“I’m pretty certain I don’t even want to be an Auror anymore,” Rosalie told him honestly.

The look Dumbledore bestowed on her told her he’d already known, or at least realised she would
eventually come to that decision, “There are many other avenues still open to you. You are young
and talented, even if you don’t always recognise these talents. The right path will come to you in
time.”

Rosalie nodded, “I guess. There is not much point in looking until Voldemort is out of the way,
though is there?”

“There is always a reason. Don’t let Voldemort stop you from pursuing your dreams. There is
always a reason to keep living, Rose,” He told her wisely, “It is our dreams and passions that keep
us strong. What would we be without them?”

What were her dreams and passions though? She knew she didn’t want to be an Auror, but where
did that leave her? What were her talents other than staying alive when evil wizards came after
her? She realised suddenly that she didn’t really have any hobbies, at least nothing that truly
interested her. What did she even do in her spare time? She liked flying, but not enough to make a
career out of it, certainly not enough to win a war for. She knew Hermione was interested in
research and spell construction and Ron still had his heart set on becoming an Auror like she had
once dreamed...neither option really appealed to her though.

Dumbledore smiled and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze as he stood, “You’ll find your path, Rose.
Give it time.”

Rosalie was up in her room thumbing through the pages of the healing book she’d happened upon
the day before just as Dudley had decided to stage his confrontation, when to familiar faces
knocked and popped their heads in through her door.

“I just saw your cousin being marched out the front door,” Ron said by way of greeting.

Rosalie looked up in surprise, a grin spreading across her face at the sight of her two best friends
entering the room. She met Hermione halfway as the two flew across the room into each other’s
arms in a tight embrace. Ron chuckled, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like
‘women’.

“How are you?” Hermione asked.

Rosalie smiled at them, “Good. I missed you guys.”

“Same,” Ron agreed with a grin, “Mione’s be driving me nuts! All we’ve bloody done is research
this or wedding that since we left here! It’s been awful.”

Hermione scowled at the redhead, “It’s important, Ron! Besides, no one was forcing you to help.”
“What bloody choice did I have? I’d look like a right bastard if I left it all to you,” Ron retorted.

Rosalie gestured the other two further into the room and together they sprawled themselves across
her bed as Ron took a seat at her desk.

“It’s not long now, is it?” Rosalie asked, referring to the approaching Weasley wedding.

“Day after you’re birthday,” Ron confirmed with a sigh, “Can’t come quick enough as far as I’m
concerned.”

Hermione smiled girlishly, “I think it’s nice, especially at a time like this. It’s a celebration of love,
after all. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.”

Rosalie nodded her head in agreement, “I agree. I don’t know what I’m going to wear though. I’ve
outgrown my dress from the Yule ball and there’s no way I’ll be able to go shopping now with
things as they are.”

“I was thinking of ordering mine by owl post,” Hermione told her, “Gladrags’s have a new
catalogue out, that we should be able to find something in.”

Ron perked up, “Do you think I’d be able to order new dress robes?”

Rosalie laughed.

“Why? Is there something wrong with your old ones?” She teased.

Ron glared at her, which only made her smile widen.

“Fleur is beside herself trying to get everything sorted though and Mrs Weasley isn’t making any of
it easy. They’re fighting over every little detail. Fleur wanted blue for the flowers, Ron’s mum
thought pink would look better—they compromised on purple,” Hermione explained.

“You should have heard the argument over the seating arrangements,” Ron groaned, “Mum only
backed down when Fleur threatened to turn into one of those angry bird things.”

“Is she actually able to do that?” Rosalie asked, looking across at their resident genius.

“It’s possible I guess, since she is part Veela,” Hermione agreed, “I don’t know if she actually can
though. It might depend on how much Veela blood you have.”

“Anyway, what have you been up to?” Ron asked.

“Reading,” She offered half-heartedly, “Remus helped me redecorate the training room. It’s been
pretty quiet.”

“Sounds loads better that what I’ve had to put up with,” Ron told her with an amused grin, “Even if
you do have to spend every other day with Snape. I asked mum to talk to Dumbledore about that
for you, but she said he knew what he was doing and it wasn’t our place to question it.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s okay. It’s really not so bad, Ron. Remus has actually been here a lot
of the time and you know I hadn’t seen him in forever, so it’s nice to catch up.”

“Have you started your training yet?” Hermione asked.

“Yesterday officially, although Snape talked me through the basics of Legilimency the other
night,” Rosalie confirmed.
“And what about your other project? The one with Dumbledore?” Hermione asked pointedly,
lowering her voice as she glanced over her shoulder at the door suspiciously though they were
alone and it was shut.

“I spoke to Dumbledore today actually,” Rosalie confirmed, “We’ll be starting up again soon, he’s
working on strengthening the wards around the school at the moment.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Ron asked.

“They were damaged last term when Malfoy let all those Death Eater’s in,” Rosalie explained,
“Apparently they have to rebuild some of them. He mentioned something about adding new ones
too.”

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another pointedly.

“And the castle? Is it secure?” Hermione asked.

Rosalie nodded, “Dumbledore said it was. Why?”

“It’s just that You-Know-Who hasn’t made it much of a secret that he wants Hogwarts, has he?”
Hermione said unsurely.

Rosalie frowned, “You think he’ll try again?”

“Well now would be the best time, wouldn’t it?” Ron said, “Especially if Dumbledore is about to
add a whole new layer of protection to prevent anything like last year happening again.”

Something dark and sharp seemed to zing through her and catch in her chest, “But why? What is it
he wants?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed, “But aside from wanting to kill Dumbledore, there had to be
another reason for their break in, right? Otherwise why send a whole team in?”

Rosalie shrugged, “Mass terror? What are a few casualties on the side if it ignites the fear in
people’s hearts along the way? Hogwarts is the heart of the Light’s resistance, because it where
Dumbledore resides and he is our leader. By breaking in and terrorizing the students that live there
Voldemort is sending a message out to everyone that not even Dumbledore can protect them from
the reaches of his Darkness.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up, “Wow. Did you come up with that yourself?”

Rosalie glanced away from them, “You pick up a few things about being a Dark Lord when you’ve
had one living in your head for five years.”

Her friends fell silent, and she wondered for a moment if perhaps she’d said too much. She forgot
sometimes that not everyone knew what it was like to be touched by darkness. Sometimes she felt
as if there was a pit of it inside her growing steadily bigger with every atrocity she witnessed,
pulsing ominously ready to overwhelm her completely the moment she slipped up.

“I was thinking...” Hermione began, waiting until she had both of her friends attention before she
continued, “Perhaps the reason You-Know-Who wants Hogwarts so badly, is because he’s hidden
one of his horcruxes there?”

“You think?” Rosalie asked, and then, “Merlin, you don’t think he knows were hunting them
down, do you? Because if he does—”
“We’re screwed,” Ron finished for her.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said shaking her head, “Think about it. I’d be pretty worried if
I’d hidden something like that somewhere my two greatest opponents inhabited on a daily basis.
The threat of you or Dumbledore happening upon it could just be what’s driving him to try and
claim Hogwarts so badly!”

“It does fit with what we’ve come up with so far, I imagine Hogwarts holds a great importance to
him, so it’s possible,” Rosalie agreed.

“Yeah, okay, but what is it?” Ron pointed out, “It could be anything and unless we have some way
of pinpointing it it’d take weeks, maybe longer, to search an area that large!”

“True,” Hermione agreed, “But we could start with the more obvious areas like the Chamber of
Secrets, up until recently You-Know-Who thought he was the only parselmouth in existence so
hiding it somewhere only a parselmouth can access makes sense.”

“Until Rose came along,” Ron added, “and suddenly it’s not secure anymore.”

“Exactly,” Hermione grinned.

Rosalie grinned back and forth between her friends, “This is what you’ve been researching?”

“Actually no,” Hermione replied, “We were trying to whittle down some of the possibilities of
what each Horcrux could be—without much luck.”

“This is good though,” Ron pointed out, “we might actually be on to something here.”

“I’ll mention it to Dumbledore,” Rosalie agreed, “We won’t be able to do anything until the wards
are finished and he mentioned wanting to make the trip out to Voldemort’s cave at some point, but
after that...”

They each stared at each other, their hearts racing with adrenaline at the thought that they were
onto something. It all made too much sense for it not to be right and if they were right that would
mean they knew where four of the seven horcruxes were—if you included the cave which
Dumbledore wanted to search—two of which were already destroyed. That left three. Rosalie felt
her heart lighten, the heavy blanket of guilt and depression that had been weigh on her lifting as the
future suddenly looked that much brighter. That much more possible! Four down and they would
be over halfway to making Voldemort mortal enough to defeat.

Rosalie bit down hard on her lip as she fought back a grin.

“We can do this,” Ron laughed.

“We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Hermione cautioned, though she too was grinning like an
idiot, “We still don’t know if we’re right or even what we’re looking for.”

Rosalie pressed her hands to her stomach and took a deep calming breath, “You’re right. Still, it’s
the only good news I’ve had in days.”

Ron nodded his head in agreement, “It’s better than the nothing we had before.”

Hermione nodded, “Still...I just wish there was more documentation on what they actually were,
how they are made and how best to destroy them, that sort of thing... It might help us narrow down
the search a little.”
“I don’t think I want to know how they are made exactly,” Rosalie offered, “a vague notion is
enough.”

Hermione nodded vaguely, “For instance I wonder if anything can be made into a horcrux, or
whether the object has to meet certain criteria.”

Ron shrugged, “They seem pretty random so far. Diary, ring...”

“They are both personal items,” Rosalie pointed out.

“Two objects hardly constitute a pattern. Is it out of necessity that so far they have both been
personal items? Or is it something just something You-Know-Who chose to do?” Hermione
questioned.

“Because, you know, he’s sentimental like that,” Ron drawled sarcastically.

Hermione glared at him.

“Does it matter? We know he’s choosing objects which have meaning to him, so it’s a fair bet the
rest of them will also fall under that category,” Rosalie argued.

“I know,” Hermione sighed, “I just like being thorough. I’d hate to dismiss something because it
didn’t fit the criteria.”

Rosalie shook her head determinedly, “We won’t. We can’t”

Rosalie had never thought there would come a time when she’d choose Snape over Remus. Where
she’d crave her dour Potion Master’s presence over that of someone she considered family, but
after eight hours stuck inside a house alone with her godfather she was about ready to go insane.
As kind-hearted and well meaning as he was, she couldn’t handle him anymore.

She didn’t understand what the problem was. Yes, she and Dudley had got into a bit of an
altercation which she’d come out of the worse for wear, but similar situations had been common
place in her life growing up. Yet Remus was dancing around her like he was walking on eggshells,
cursing his name for having not ‘seen it coming’.

How could he have? She hadn’t. Not really, anyway. Though she thought maybe Snape might have
suspected something.

She’d given up trying to reassure the wolf hours ago, though, and instead taken herself off to a
quiet corner to read.

Rosalie let out a tired sigh as she sank down into her favourite armchair tucked away in the back of
the library. It was furthest away from the fireplace, but she appreciated the privacy the little nook
provided her. It was out of the line of sight afforded from the doorway, and at times like this, she
was grateful for it.

She ran her hands over the soft leather cover of the ‘The A-Z Healer’s Companion’ that rested in
her lap. She’s been carrying the book around with her for days, but something had interrupted her
every time she’d had a chance to sit down and study it. It was an odd kind of book to have found in
alongside the array of dark arts texts that filled the shelves of the library, and perhaps that was why
it seemed to call to her, but she was genuinely interested in what it contained.
Rosalie cracked the well worn spine carefully, nervous of any enchantments that may or may not
have been added by the Black who had once owned this book. Nothing happened, however, and
she began to breathe a little easier as she read what the first page had to say.

The title was printed carefully in the centre of the page in bland ink, with the author’s name spelt
out in a neat line underneath. In the top corner of the book, though, a name was scrawled across the
page in faded ink. It was hard to make out, but it looked like it read ‘Calliope Black’. The name
was unfamiliar and not one she ever recalled Sirius mentioning, but that didn’t mean much as
Sirius had hardly been forthcoming on the topic of his family. Rosalie thought, perhaps, that she
was one of the many names that had been burned off of the family tree over the years. Healing
hardly seemed like a profession that the Black family would have accepted, it was far too giving
and selfless.

Rosalie began to flick through the pages scanning the text, taking note of page after page of basic
remedies, potions and spells to cure hundreds and hundreds of ailments. There were a scattering of
handwritten notes scrawled in the margins of the book too, reminding her of the Half Blood
Prince’s book. Even that small connection, however, made Rosalie feel like this woman—whoever
she was—had been just as passionate about her work as the Prince had been.

Rosalie amused herself by reading through some of the more amusing sounding conditions—like
Dragon Dung Breath, in which the sufferer’s breath odour reached near toxic levels of potency—
but it wasn’t until she came across a basic wound healing spell, that she realised just how useful a
book like this could be. It was a simple incantation—Vieo Tergum—which was invoked while the
caster waved their wand in a figure eight technique over the length of the wound repeatedly until
the wound closed.

Rosalie turned her head sideways and squinted at the loopy scrawl in the margins:

‘It is important to note that in order to get the best possible results from this charm, slow even
wand work is required. The knitting of flesh is a delicate job that requires an even steady hand lest
the flesh come together unevenly and scar.’

Rosalie wondered what the catch was. It seemed straightforward and simple enough, why then
wasn’t it common place or taught in schools? It seemed stupid to think that basic healing charms
were not part of the curriculum, even as an elective subject.

Knowing such a simple charm could mean the difference between life and death for someone in
her position and to many of the other people fighting as part of the Light’s resistance.

Flipping to the index she began to scan the book for other simple sounding spells and charms that
might prove useful to know in the coming months—de-swelling charms, spells to clear away blood,
basic heating and cooling charms, charms used on bandages to bind wounds neatly and efficiently,
even spells to help people breathe! She poured over the book soaking in the knowledge that she
hoped would never require personal use.

She paused as her eyes ran over a chapter titled ‘Heart Healing’.

Her heart did a little flutter as it scanned the words. What in Merlin’s name was Heart Healing?

Flipping her book open to the chapter, she was surprised to note that the chapter consisted of a
single page of limited text and nothing more. Rosalie scanned the first few paragraphs, yet to her
dismay it described nothing as to what Heart Healing actually was. It mentioned using one’s
hand’s in the actual act of healing, but didn’t describe the process or the associated incantation.
Rosalie smiled as her next thought jumped almost instantly to Hermione and what the young witch
might be able to tell her about it. Her friend was the best researcher she knew and if there was any
information to find, Rosalie had no doubt that sooner or later Hermione would find it. But
Hermione already had enough on her plate, by rights she should be elbow deep in research herself,
but she saw little point in trying to research Voldemort’s horcruxes when they didn’t know what
they were or what they were even likely to be. They were, thus far, all personal items and so she
found it unlikely to think they were going to find the answers they needed in books.

Sighing Rosalie closed her book and let her gaze drift up out of the window.

She needed to write to Dumbledore and arrange a time to meet with him so she could inform him of
the conversation she’d had with Ron and Hermione regarding Hogwarts as a possible location in
the hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. It seemed impossible to imagine they may have very well
been sitting right on top of one for the past seven years, but at the same time it also seemed
impossible to imagine a place holding a greater significance to Voldemort than Hogwarts.

“Rose?”

Rosalie fought the urge to sigh over her godfather’s downtrodden and guilty tone and instead
turned to face him.

“Hi, Remus,” she called, waving him over to her corner from his place just inside the door.

“I just came to say goodbye,” Remus told her, “Snape just arrive. He’s down in the kitchen if you
need him.”

“Okay.”

“I might be gone a couple of days, no more than four or so, try to stay out of trouble?” he asked
with a small smile.

Rosalie grinned, “I’ll try. It’s just me and Snape now, what could possibly go wrong?”

Remus gave her a look.

“I’m just kidding,” She told him, “You worry too much, Remus. Go. Stay safe.”

Remus pulled her into a tight hug and pressed a kiss into her hair, “I love you, Rose. You’re my
family—my pack—and all I have left.”

Rosalie squeezed him back, “I know. Same here.”

“I wish you’d told me something was up with you and Dudley,” He told her seriously, “I had no
idea there was anything to even be concerned about.”

Rosalie did sigh this time, “There’s always been tension between Dudley and I, I didn’t think it was
something worth mentioning. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll try not to make the same mistake again.”

“Good,” he told her, “And I promise you that I’ll try to be more observant. Severus knew from the
first, I think.”

“He had more information to work with, having spent so much time in my head and all,” She
offered consolingly.

Remus gave her a sad look, “I hate that he knows you better than I do.”
Rosalie didn’t know how to respond. After all, she was sure Snape did know her better than Remus
did, but to be fair he’d known her longer and seen her far more frequently in that time, which didn’t
even begin to take into account the hours upon hours they’d spent together in her Occlumency
sessions where Snape spent more time inside her head than out of it. How could Snape not know
her better in comparison?

“I should get going,” Remus said suddenly, saving her from having to answer, “I’ll see you in a
couple of days.”

“Bye,” she called after him as she watched him move towards the fireplace and take up the floo
powder, before disappearing in a swirl of green flames.
 Chapter Six
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Six

Severus stumbled more than he stepped from the floo as the fireplace ignited in a wash of green
flames around him. He was aching from head to toe, his limbs trembling and uncoordinated from
the after effects of the Cruciatus curse and he was in desperate need of a drink. He never hated the
Dark Lord more than he did in these moments, robbed of his pride, sometimes his voice and his
very ability to move due to his perceived failure!

He stumbled clumsily around the kitchen table, cursing himself for allowing his precious custom
made cure to slip through numb fingers as it had done earlier that evening. Normally, he didn’t
wait for his condition to get this bad, but he’d been given little choice in the matter this time and
his pride was hurting because of it.

“Severus! There you are! I was beginning to—”

Severus’ growl cut Lupin off at the knees. The wolf was the last person he wanted to see him in
this state and he’d be damned before he let the man feel pity for him.

“What? Worry? How kind, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you care,” he bit out sarcastically,
ignoring the way his voice grated and his throat burned from screaming himself raw under the
Dark Lord’s wrath.

Lupin stared at him affronted at the abrupt dismissal of his concern, “Sorry to have offended you
so, I’ll make sure not to go to the trouble in the future.”

“I’d be much obliged,” Severus retorted.

Severus’ gaze never wavered as they stared one another down, their animosity near palpable in the
room even as Severus attempted to fight back the urge to simply pass out. Usually he and the wolf
got along better than this in recent months, but tonight he didn’t have the patience or the tolerance
to care. A few minutes of privacy to put himself back in order was all he wanted. Clearly, that was
too much to ask for.

“Rosalie is in the library,” Lupin began again after a moment.

Severus nodded.
“Not that I believe you care, but she’s been doing a lot better this last day or so. I think Dudley’s
departure has helped,” the wolf admitted guiltily, “I’ll be back in a couple of days, Merlin willing,
but Bill Weasley is in town and has agreed to take your place if you’re called.”

Severus sneered, “It won’t be an issue.”

Lupin nodded, “I’ll just say my goodbyes then.”

Severus didn’t acknowledge Lupin again as the wolf left the room; instead he focused his energies
on extracting his wand so he could summon the potions he needed to heal himself. His fine motor
skills left a lot to be desired, but he finally managed on the third attempt and sighed gratefully as
two little vials sailed in through the kitchen door.

‘Not that Lupin believed he cared?’ Severus thought waspishly. ‘What in Merlin’s name was that
supposed to mean? Idiotic, dim-witted fool! Of course he damn well cared! He wouldn’t have
concerned himself with the issue in the first place otherwise!’

Severus’s hands shook as he tried to grasp the little bottles clumsily, snarling in frustration as his
hands slipped and the glass vials clinked together noisily. He prided himself on his steady hands
normally, his title as Potions Master would not be possible without them, but he knew with a
horrifying kind of certainty that one day the nerve damage they all suffered under the Cruciatus
would become permanent if things were allowed to continue as they were. Then what use would he
be? Unable to brew, unable to cast, perhaps unable to even dress himself properly... It was not a life
worth living in his book, and one he never intended to suffer through.

His thoughts were interrupted as cool, soft feminine hands reached out and took the vials from his
struggling hands; she uncorked them easily before passing them back to him.

Severus glared at her, “Potter.”

That he hadn’t heard her enter the room shocked him, though he didn’t show allow himself to show
it. He had not thought his condition so bad as to let his defences slip, yet here she was and he
hadn’t heard her coming. If he had been anywhere else such a simple mistake could have lead to
his death, a state of being he wasn’t eager to advance to.

“You’re welcome,” she returned blithely, moving across the room to the pot on the stove, setting it
to boil manually with her back to him, allowing him the privacy he needed to down the potions as
quickly as his uncoordinated fingers would allow.

Severus glared darkly at her back. What was it with Gryffindors and their inability to respect other
peoples’ privacy? They were always sticking their noses in where they didn’t belong. Yet she made
no further comment, instead placing a cup of tea in front of him—black, no sugar—before taking
the seat opposite him.

“Is there something you wanted?” Severus asked when she made no move towards conversation.

She shook her head.

Haltingly he reached out for the cup of tea before him, only grasping the cup when he was sure his
hands no longer trembled tellingly. He took a long swallow, eyeing her suspiciously over the rim of
his cup.

“Why is it that we use calming potions to treat the effects of the Cruciatus? I thought the spell
affected your nerves?” She asked after a moment.
Severus stared at her a long moment, trying to gauge her motive for asking such a question of him.
Was she somehow subtly trying to mock him? Or was she genuinely curious? That she’d figured
out the cause of his condition at all told him she’d had firsthand experience with the curse, which
was reason enough to believe that it was genuine curiosity that had prompted her inquiry. No one
who’d ever experienced the Cruciatus curse before would mock another’s suffering, aside from
perhaps one or two of the Dark Lord’s more psychotic followers.

“The Cruciatus does affect ones nerves, but because nerves play a part in controlling our muscles,
coordination is often affected during the initial post-curse periods. As the nerves then recover, so
too does muscle control,” Severus explained evenly, “We use calming potions to help relax the
muscles to allow our nerves time to repair themselves or to allow the healing potions, which are
often ingested simultaneously, time to act more effectively.”

“So basically were forcing the body to relax so it will stop fighting itself long enough for us to
repair the damage inflicted?”

She turned the statement into a question and Severus nodded in approval. He was aware that once
upon a time, her quick grasp of the topic would have surprised him, but experience had long since
come to teach him that Rosalie Potter wasn’t in fact stupid, just often distracted or unmotivated in
her learning.

“I have designed my own potion which mimics the effect of both a calming potion and a basic
healing potion—aimed specifically at the repair of nerve damage—to combat the effects of this
curse,” Severus continued, “I have found, thus far, that it is the most effective counter measure.
But the body, as I am sure you are aware, can only take so much. Eventually the potions we use
will become ineffective in the case of prolonged or repetitive exposure.”

“You mean like the Longbottoms?” She asked.

Severus nodded, “The Longbottoms are indeed examples of the most likely outcome to occur from
excessive exposure to the Cruciatus. It does, however, also present in the form of a persistent
tremor or inability to function normally. Some people have become the sufferers of chronic
unresolved pain in the past, though cases like these are rare as it takes time and repeated exposure
over a prolonged period to build up to this.”

She looked at him knowingly, awareness shining brightly in her eyes as she somehow worked out
exactly where he fit into it all though he been careful to keep his voice free of inflection.

“Just one more reason Voldemort needs to be stopped,” she said with a surprising lack of emotion
given her recent turmoil over the notion last time they’d spoken.

Severus was immediately suspicious of her outward calm. The wolf had said she’d been doing
‘better’, but no one got over something like than in a just a day or two—especially not someone
like Potter who was so ruled by her emotions. She wore her heart on her sleeve in almost
everything she did and as such, this abrupt turnaround seemed unlikely. Severus didn’t buy it for a
minute.

“If we were to list all of the reasons in the world that Voldemort deserves to die, Potter, I imagine
that his abuse of his followers would be the least motivating reason of the lot. Not to mention we’d
likely be here all night,” Severus told her, pushing to his feet now that he felt his legs would once
more support his weight.

“Sir?”
Severus arched an eyebrow back at her.

“In case I never get another opportunity, or I forget...or, I don’t know, die before I get the chance
—”

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Get to the point, Potter.”

He smirked to himself as he saw the muscles in her jaw clench in irritation at his interruption.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for everything you’ve done for me, especially when I haven’t
seemed all that grateful for it,” She finished, her voice quiet and sincere, “and I’m sorry for being
the brat that I’ve been to you over the years. You didn’t deserve it—not all of the time, anyway,
sometimes you did.”

“You needn’t thank me for it,” He told her, “I was merely doing my job, and if it ever went beyond
that it was in the pursuit of repaying a debt to a man long dead.”

Potter smiled fleetingly, “Thank you anyway.”

Severus nodded.

She slipped from the room then, as quietly as she’d arrived and Severus was left once more in his
own company.

Severus wondered briefly if it had all been a figment of his imagination, the night seemed so
surreal, but there were still two empty tea cups sitting on the table, which attested to the fact that it
hadn’t been. It had certainly been one of his stranger nights, that was certain. It seemed that these
night time sessions with Potter were becoming routine. She seemed oddly open to conversing with
him and he found it strange that she would choose him as some sort of confidante. Though he’d
filled that role a handful of times over the last year by chance, now she seemed to actively seek
him out or at least knowingly choose to open up to him. Though really, who else did she have to
turn to? While the Headmaster clearly favoured her more than the average student, he couldn’t
actively show it lest he be accused of said favouritism among his students and time was a limiting
factor for one as busy as Albus Dumbledore. She only saw the wolf a handful of times a year, as far
as he was aware, and while Severus knew she was close with the Weasley’s, he also knew she’d be
reluctant to burden them with her troubles when they had seven of their own children to manage as
it was. Which left him, he assumed. The only other adult who she saw on a regular basis and
someone who’d somehow ended up filling the role of mentor to her. What was more concerning
was the fact that somewhere along the way he’d started opening up to her, and he had no idea
when or how it had happened.

Severus scowled willing to bet—not for the first time—that Albus had planned this from the
beginning and manoeuvred them all into place without anyone becoming the wiser. It was just the
kind of cunning underhanded thing that man would do and Severus was willing to bet he’d had a
good laugh over it more than once, eyes damnably twinkling as he celebrated his success. Yet even
Severus had to admit that he and Potter had more in common that he was willing to admit. They
had both been touched by the same darkness, and though it manifested itself in different ways, it
was just one more link he could count between them. They had built something of a grudging
respect for one another over the past year and while she could still infuriate him beyond belief, he
no longer hated her—or her him—the way he once had. The truth was, Severus Snape had always
respected power, and as time went by the more obvious it became that Rosalie Potter would wield
a power to be reckoned with though she didn’t yet recognise this trait in herself.

Severus sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. He desperately needed to sleep and such
thoughts were never conducive to a good night’s rest—not that he even remember what a good
night’s rest felt like anymore. Perhaps if there had been someone else staying in the house he might
have doused himself with some Dreamless Sleep and be done with it. As it was, he was the only
thing standing between Potter and the Dark Lord should someone manage to breach the house’s
defences while they slept.

Sighing, he dragged his tired body up the stairs to his bedroom and collapsed into an armchair he’d
moved to sit by the window. Since sleep—proper sleep—was out of the question, he did the next
best thing.

Making sure he had a quick Sober-up potion readily available and a Hangover Cure sitting beside
his bed, he rechecked the wards on the house before summoning the bottle of scotch from his
nightstand to his side. Kicking off his shoes, he sunk down into the chair until he could
comfortably lift his legs to rest on the lowset windowsill of his bedroom window. The Dark Lord,
Cruciatus and Potter all in one day was more than enough justification in his opinion to het himself
royally pissed.

It was still early as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, the sun little more than a faint
glow on the horizon. As was now usual, she’d managed little more than a handful of hours sleep in
total during the night, but her body seemed to be acclimatising itself to this perpetual state of
fatigue. She felt strangely bright-eyed and alert that morning, and for once free of injury and guilt.

Rosalie ground to a halt as she breeched the kitchen doorway, surprised to find Snape already
sitting at the kitchen table, a pot of tea on the table before him and the Daily Prophet sitting open
across his crossed knee. It had just barely gone five am and she found herself wondering if the
Potions Master had ever gone to bed.

“Good morning,” she greeted, finding her feet once more.

“Potter,” Snape greeted, looking up from his paper, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Rosalie laughed, “I could ask you the same.”

Snape didn’t respond, instead he pulled out his wand and summoned a second tea cup over to table
for her. Rosalie sat down across from him accepting the cup of tea he passed her. They sat together
in silence, Rosalie lost in her own thoughts while Snape continued to brows the morning paper, but
the silence, surprisingly, wasn’t uncomfortable and Rosalie found herself relaxing back into her
chair as she sipped lazily at her tea.

“I was going to make breakfast; can I get you anything, sir?”

Snape arched a sceptical eyebrow at her, “Not if your cooking skills are as appalling as your potion
brewing ones, thank you.”

Rosalie grinned, “They’re not nearly so horrendous, I swear.”

Snape didn’t look convinced.

Not all that long ago she’d never have let a comment like that pass and she was only now realising
how far the two of them had come. She knew now Snape wasn’t insulting her or taking a prod to
get her riled up. Snape’s sense of humour was subtle and it had taken her a long time to recognise,
let alone understand or appreciate that humour. It was dry and sarcastic, but he could be
surprisingly funny at times and life had become that much easier now that she wasn’t always
jumping down his throat at the slightest provocation. Snape could still be a mean git, but she’d
come to realise that a lot of it was just sarcasm.

“Here, I’ll make you some and you can try it and form your own opinion,” she told him, and turned
her attention to preparing breakfast.

Snape couldn’t help but watch with some amazement as she skilfully moved her way around the
kitchen. In short order she had a couple of bagels toasting under the grill as she began to mix up
what looked like a cream cheese mix with red onions.

“Do you eat smoked salmon?”

Snape arched a question eyebrow at her, “I do, but I was unaware you did...”

Rosalie smiled at him.

“The Dursley’s used to like it when I made them what I liked to call their ‘snobbish foods’,” she
told him, making little air quotations as she put a little emphasis on the last two words, “It made
them feel important and more special than they really were, I think, especially when they had
guests over for lunch or dinner.”

Snape snorted, “I can imagine.”

She placed a plate on the table in front of him and Snape could help the shocked look of
appreciation off of his face. It looked fantastic. The bagel was lightly toasted and the cream cheese
smeared on top of it with the smoked salmon and red onion slices layered on top.

Rosalie chuckled, “You haven’t tasted it yet...”

“You enjoy cooking?” He said, his tone making the question sound more like a statement than it
really was as he picked up his breakfast awkwardly and took a bite.

She nodded, tucking into her own.

“Impressive,” he told her honestly.

“Thanks,” she replied happily, “so what’s on the agenda for today?”

“You are well passed due to commence proper instruction in Legilimency,” Snape replied to no
great surprise, “Time has not permitted us the luxury of commencing sooner unfortunately, so we
will have to work hard to try and make up for lost time. I cannot afford to spend all day on the task,
however. Some of my time must be dedicated to the potions research I am conducting for the Dark
Lord. He has given me this time with the belief that I am using it accordingly and it is essential that
I show him the appropriate results.”

Rosalie nodded, she didn’t have to imagine what Voldemort’s anger would be like if Snape failed.
She’d witnessed Voldemort punishing his followers all too many times to know that failing wasn’t
an option.

She couldn’t help but wonder what is was Voldemort had Snape researching, though she was
probably better off not knowing.

Rosalie dropped her gaze to her breakfast.

“That was surprisingly enjoyable,” Snape told her once the last of his breakfast had passed his lips.
“Thanks,” she replied modestly.

“It is still early if you wish to take some time for yourself? I thought we might commence your
training otherwise.”

Rosalie shrugged, “There is nothing I need to do—I showered and dressed before I came down.”

Snape nodded, “Very well, let us make our way down to your training room then.”

Rosalie was proud of the effort she and Remus had put in to remodelling the room. Gone were the
gothic furnishings and clutter that had once littered the room and instead the room now stood
relatively empty. Aside from her couch—a suede midnight blue replica of her favourite couch in
the Gryffindor common room that Remus had transfigured under her careful instructions—a small
cupboard which was currently empty and a writing desk and chair which they’d pushed up against
one wall the room was bare. The carpet had been transfigured into beautiful hardwood floors and
the walls, after a couple of different attempts, had eventually ended up a neutral cream. Still, it was
less depressing to look at and considering the amount of time she was spending there each day, less
depressing could only be a good thing.

Snape gave the room a cursory glance as they entered noting the overhaul the decor had undergone
with little more than passing interest before he turned his attention back to her.

“There are two known and accepted methods of creating the mental connection required to perform
Legilimency. The first and most common method requires strict eye contact and audible
incantation to force the link. This is the easier of the two methods and therefore more commonly
practiced but it has noticeable draw backs. Some people are practiced enough in this method to be
able to cast the incantation wordlessly, but it take considerable amounts of time and practice to
achieve this,” Snape began, his tone suggesting he was in full lecture mode and Rosalie had to
scramble to pay attention and absorb everything he was saying.

“The second method teaches the individual to expand their own mind outwards in search of the
other persons mind in order to then create a temporary link between the two. This method—when
mastered—can be achieved without the need for direct eye contact as a focus and is considered the
superior of the two methods.”

“So I’ll be learning the second method,” She surmised.

Snape nodded, “Correct. Though time permitting, we will cover the first method as well, as both
have a time and a place.”

Rosalie breathed out a steadying breath. She really didn’t want to suck at this.

“Sit,” Snape ordered, not unkindly as he gesture to the floor in front of him.

Rosalie obeyed sinking down to sit cross-leg before him, surprised when Snape followed suit. This
was different.

“I’ve taught you how to clear your mind in our Occlumency lessons. Now I want you to use that
technique to meditate focusing on relaxing your mind and expanding your senses,” He told her,
“Meditation is a necessary part of learning to control and direct the energy of the mind which is
what you’ll need to do in order for this to work.”

Rosalie nodded her understanding.

“I want you to close your eyes. Once you’ve cleared you mind, focus you concentration on your
minds energy. The goal is to learn the feel of it and the way it works so that you may then direct it
outwards to ‘map out’ the area around you. If you are able to that you should be able to locate a
shift in energy as you encounter my presence,” he lectured in smooth even tones.

Rosalie worried her lower lip, “Should I be able to do this first go?”

“We’ll soon see,” Snape replied evenly.

Rosalie sighed and shut her eye, trying to position herself like she’d once seen pictures of monks
doing. Then once she was satisfied she began the process of clearing her mind as she did every
night. Immediately she felt her body relax as a sense of calm washed over her. She concentrated on
her keeping her breathing slow and deep and once she felt she was ready she began to draw her
focus inward.

It was harder than she’d anticipated identifying the ‘energy of her mind’. She’d been expecting to
find a pool or reservoir of energy that ‘hummed’ or ‘buzzed’ inside her or something else likewise
energy-like. When she found nothing to that effect Rosalie became disheartened and dropped her
focus. She opened her eyes slowly expecting to find Snape glaring at her, but instead he was sitting
across her in a similar cross-legged fashion with his eyes closed and his face relaxed.

Rosalie felt shock ripple through her. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d seen the Potions
Master so relaxed and unguarded. The tense lines around his mouth and eyes had softened and his
brow was smooth and unfurrowed. The difference it made to his appearance was...phenomenal. He
looked younger and happier than she’d ever seen him. Cautiously, Rosalie allowed her gaze to
track over him. At some point he’d uncharacteristically drawn his hair back from his face with a
loose tie and removed his heavy teaching robes so that he sat before her in nothing but his slacks,
black shirt and waistcoat. The sleeves of his shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to exposed pale,
lean forearms which were surprisingly toned, though he’d been careful to keep his Dark Mark
hidden from sight. He looked like a completely different person, yet somehow still essentially
Snape. It was a bizarre feeling. She felt like she was seeing him, but at the same time not. This
person before her seemed so far removed from ‘Professor Snape’ that she wondered if maybe she
was seeing ‘Severus’. Logically she knew they were one and the same, but somehow this made
him seem more human to her.

“You’re not even trying to concentrate,” he stated plainly, without opening his eyes.

“Sorry,” She muttered and slammed her roving eyes shut again.

She forced herself to go through the process of clearing her mind once more and pushed the image
of Snape from her thoughts.

‘Mental energy’ she chided herself sternly.

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was supposed to identify, but she resolutely kept her eyes
closed and her focus centred inwards. After a few moments, she began felt herself falling into the
rhythm of her mind—a gentle repetitive rolling sensation of motion, continuous and swirling. It
was only as she allowed herself to be completely engulfed in the flow that she realised that this was
what she’d been searching for. She was submerged in the energy of her mind as it whisked her
around in a whirlpool of movement. She let it guide her around, until the motion started to become
familiar and only then did she try and force that energy outwards, expanding the circle of the
whirlpool outside the edges of her psyche. A feeling of weightlessness washed over her as she
pushed at the limits of her energy, and suddenly it felt thin and shaky, more delicate that a spider
web stretched too far. Snape’s mind was easy to locate though it was still some distance from her
conscious thought. It was smooth and round, and stood out like a pillar of stability in the midst of
the fragile web of her overstretched psyche.

“Rose?”

Rosalie’s concentration shattered around her as Ron’s voice pierced through her concentration like
a knife. She’d registered the presence of another mind a split second before he’d spoken, but it had
made little difference to her ability to focus.

There was a light sheen of perspiration forming on her forehead, and Rosalie rubbed at it self-
consciously with the back of her hand as she turned to her friend.

“Ron?”

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Rosalie frowned in confusion.

“Yes,” She answered slowly, “Why? Has something happened? Is the Burrow okay?”

Snape was glancing back and forth between the two teens appraisingly.

“No, everything is fine—what were you doing?” Ron replied, shooting Snape a mistrustful look.

“Meditating,” She answered plainly, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

Ron blushed, “I’m fine. You were both so still and quiet, I thought—never mind. It just looked
strange, I guess.”

Snape could guess what he’d really thought, it was more than obvious Ron thought Snape was
secretly out to get Potter somehow. He’d find it amusing if it weren’t quite so annoying.

“Right,” Rosalie replied before turning her attention back to Snape.

“You did reasonably well,” Snape told her to Ron’s unending amazement and suspicion, “I want
you to practice that twice a day until you can find and control that energy without pause.”

Rosalie nodded.

Snape glanced at Ron before looking back at her, “I’ll be in my lab.”

Rosalie watched him rise gracefully to his feet and sweep from the room past Ron with his robes
over one arm as the redhead scowled at him.

“He still manages to look like a bat even without the robes on,” Ron shuddered.

Rosalie ignored the comment thinking it was odd how Ron still only saw Professor Snape even
when the man looked so different and wondered if it was just because Ron was biased against him
or because her opinion had changed.

The redhead walked into the room and plonked himself down beside her.

“‘Mione gave me these to give to you,” Ron said as he held out a Gladrags catalogue.

“Thanks,” she offered gratefully as she took the magazine from him.

“‘Mione’s already picked out her dress of the wedding,” He told her, “It’s pink, I think, and mum
said she’d put some money towards the dress robes on the front cover for me—I’m paying for the
rest of it with some money I’ve saved up.”

Rosalie nodded appreciatively as the simple black dress robes displayed, “Good choice.”

Ron grinned.

Rosalie flicked absently through a couple of pages of the magazine to get a feel for what they had.

“Do you know what colour you’ll wear?” He asked her.

“Not yet, I’ll have to have a proper look later,” Rosalie told him as she closed the magazine with a
sigh.

“You hungry?” Ron asked, “I’m starved, and it’s almost lunchtime.”

“Really?” She asked in surprise.

Ron nodded, “It’s about noon by now, I’d say.”

Rosalie was amazed at how much time had slipped by unnoticed while they’d been meditating—
half the day was gone in what had felt like a blink of an eye. It was disorientating.

“What’s there to eat in this place?” Ron asked as he hauled himself to his feet.

Rosalie followed suit, unfolding her legs to climb to her feet.

“I can make something if you like?”

“Brilliant,” Ron agreed and followed her down the hall and down the stairs into the kitchen.

“You wouldn’t believe what our backyard looks like at the moment! Mum and Fleur have gone
kinda nuts over everything. It’s why I offered to drop by to bring you the magazines—not that I
didn’t want to see you, or anything,” Ron told her as he flopped down into one of the kitchen seats
heavily as he watched her start to make her way around the kitchen.

“Why? What have they done?” she asked.

Ron rolled his eyes, “What haven’t they done? I mean, it looks nice, I guess—Hermione said it
looks like an ‘enchanted woodland palace’, whatever that means.”

Rosalie smiled, “It sounds beautiful.”

Ron shrugged, “You’ll see it in a couple of days, I guess. Mum’s hand both Sprout and Flitwick by
to help out though. Just be grateful you have a valid excuse not to be there.”

Rosalie smiled and placed a bowl down in front of her friend.

“Salad?” Ron asked dubiously as he stared down at his lunch.

“Just try it,” She told him, “It’s a warm chicken salad with homemade ranch dressing. You’ll like
it.”

Ron looked sceptical but picked up his fork regardless.

“You’re not eating?” he asked when she didn’t sit down.

“I am,” Rosalie told him, “I just want to take a bowl into Snape.”

Ron’s gaze darkened, “Can’t the great git get his own meal? He’d better not have you waiting on
him hand and foot or I’ll—”

“Ron! It’s fine,” She interrupted, “I made him lunch of my own accord. You know I wouldn’t let
him do that to me. Just give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

Rosalie didn’t wait for him to reply as she walked across the kitchen to the lab door. She knocked
and waited.

“Come in.”

Rosalie poked her head in around the door, “I brought you some lunch.”

Snape glanced up at her.

“Just leave it on the table,” He replied indicating to a table just off to her left that was piled high
with books.

Rosalie made her way over to the table and cleared a spot for the bowl to squeeze on to the corner.

“Thank you,” Snape told her evenly as she turned to leave.

“You’re welcome,” She replied as and shut the door behind her.

“This is actually really good,” Ron commented as she emerged from the lab, “is there any more?”

“Heaps,” she told him, picking up her serving and the large bowl she’d prepared it in as she made
her way over to the table.

“Thanks,” Ron replied absently as he took the larger bowl from her arms and proceeded to shovel
more food onto his plate and then into his mouth in typical Ron Weasley fashion.

“I can’t believe how close the wedding is,” Rosalie commented as she too started to eat.

“And you’re birthday,” Ron told her, “You’ll finally be seventeen—a legal adult like the rest of
us.”

Rosalie shrugged, “it will make things easier when I can use magic without worrying about the
trace.”

“We’re all coming to celebrate. Mum’s even backing you a cake and everything!” Ron exclaimed
happily.

“She didn’t have to,” Rosalie told him seriously, “I’m sure she has enough to worry about with the
wedding being so close.”

“Its fine,” Ron assured her, “We all pitch in. Not always by choice, but the job gets done.”

“I just don’t want to put anyone out,” She told him.

“You’re not,” He replied, “Besides, if we’re all here the night before then you won’t find yourself
suddenly short of an escort to the wedding, apparently we’re all staying over that night. Who’s
taking you anyway? Snape or Moony?”
Rosalie shrugged.

She’d always assumed it’d be Remus, but he wasn’t due back until the night of her birthday and it
was possible he might not make it back in time which would leave Snape as her escort for the
night. Not that it really made much difference; all the members of the Order were attending the
wedding. Though they didn’t know for sure that there would be trouble, it seemed stupid not to
plan for it.

“Depends on who is available,” she replied honestly.

Ron snorted but made no comment. She was glad.

“Do you have any idea what I should buy Bill and Fleur as a wedding gift?” She asked him as he
made to serve himself a third and final helping of what was left of the salad she’d made.

Ron shrugged, “Hermione is buying them a photo album for their wedding photos. I don’t know
what mum’s planned.”

Rosalie nodded, “I’m not sure what I’ll be able to organise.”

“It doesn’t matter, Rose,” Ron told her, “They’ll understand the circumstances. We’re just all glad
you can come.”

Rosalie nodded half heartedly, “Yeah, I guess. I just feel like—”

“Ronald Weasley!”

Ron jumped about a foot into the air as the fireplace suddenly flared green and his mother’s voice
began to screech out at him.

“Merlin’s balls!” Ron exclaimed breathlessly.

“Watch your language, young man!” Mrs Weasley scolded her youngest son, “You told me you
would be back half an hour ago to help with these preparations and I’m still waiting—Oh! Hello,
Rose dear!”

“Hi, Mrs Weasley!” Rosalie smiled.

“Mum!” Ron complained.

“Don’t you ‘mum’ me. There is a mountain of work to be done and I’m counting on you to help
out! Now get yourself home quick smart!”

Ron sighed, “That’s my cue to leave.”

Rosalie laughed, “I’ll see you both in a couple of days.”

Ron nodded, “You sure you’re alright trapped here with just Snape?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes, I’m sure. Now go.”

“Right,” Ron replied unconvinced, “Well...see you, I guess.”

Rosalie watched with amused exasperation as he disappeared into the floo after his mother. It
didn’t matter what she told him, Ron would never believe her where Snape was concerned until he
believed that Snape had changed—or at least changed in his attitude towards her, at any rate—
which wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. She could live with that though, just as soon as Ron
let up with his constant suspicion and misgivings. She was getting tired of always convincing him
she was alright where Snape was concerned.

Flipping open the Gladrags catalogue Ron had left, Rosalie began to flip through the pages noting
the conservative pale pink dress Hermione had marked for herself and a flaming red number Ginny
had noted—though Rosalie thought it was unlikely to pass Mrs Weasley’s approval.

Nothing really seemed to grab her attention though, except perhaps a strapless black dress that was
made out of a shimmery material she thought was probably satin or silk. Black didn’t really seem
appropriate thought, especially not for a wedding in the midst of a war.
Flipping to the back of the magazine she instead began to scan the selection of shoes they offered.
Almost immediately her eyes lit upon a beautiful pair of heels—a little higher than she’d worn
before—that were a simple black, stylish looking pair of platform pumps. She fell in love with
them on sight and only after devouring those with her eyes noted the flowing emerald green
strapless silk dress the model wore. It was perfect. It was simple yet elegant and would bring out
the colour of her eyes. With a grin Rosalie tore out one of the order forms from the centrefold of
the magazine and filled out the item numbers and her sizes for both the dress and the shoes.

With a happy smile she placed the form inside an envelope with the account number of her
Gringott’s vault that the purchases were to be charged to and went in search of Snape again.

She knocked on the lab door for the second time that day.

“Come in.”

“Hi!” She called as she stepped into the room.

Snape arched an eyebrow at her in question.

“I need to send off an order for my dress from the wedding,” She told him, holding up the envelope
so he could see it, “I’d use Hedwig, but she’d be too recognisable.”

“Do you not own a house elf?” Snape pointed out.

“Kreacher?” She asked in surprise.

Severus frowned, “No, well perhaps not that odious beast, but the other one who is so loyal to
you.”

“Dobby?” She asked, even more surprised, “I didn’t even know you knew about him.”

“I’d imagine at this point, Potter, there is very little I don’t know about you,” Snape replied blandly
before turning back to his work.

Rosalie swallowed heavily and for some strange reason had to fight back the urge to blush at those
words.

She failed.

“Right,” She agreed, “Okay, thanks.”

Rosalie turned tail and very nearly bolted from the room with her cheeks on fire wondering what in
Merlin’s name was wrong with her.
 Chapter Seven
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Seven

Rosalie startled awake so violently that she suddenly found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, arms
twisting in her bed sheets desperately and a frantic gasp on her lips. She was shaking badly; sweat
sticking her hair to the side of her face as she fought to bring her heavy breathing back under
control. It had only been a dream, she reminded herself, as her heart beat thundered away in her
chest, but her mind made it feel so real. It was happening every night without fail; nightmares. She
should be used to them, desensitized to what she saw, but somehow she just couldn’t escape them
or what they did to her.

Rosalie shivered despite the warmth of the night and threw back the covers of her bed, sliding from
within the comforts without a second thought. The air in her room felt stagnant and thick, like it
was trying to suffocate her. Images from her nightmare were still freshly imprinted on her mind’s
eye. She could still feel the chill of the night air on her skin, the race of terror in her heart that
she’d felt back in that graveyard with Voldemort, tied once more to the headstone of his father’s
grave. Cedric’s cold lifeless eyes, foggy with death had stared up at her from her feet accusingly as
Voldemort and Wormtail had taken turns taunting her and swiping at her with ceremonial knives.

Rosalie rubbed at her arm absently in remembrance as she slipped from her room and down the
stairs. The worn, thin carpet disappeared under her feet rapidly though her thoughts were otherwise
occupied and a muted sense of urgency still clung to her stubbornly. It hadn’t taken long for her
tormentors to morph into the visage of the man that she’d killed in her bedroom. Taunts had turned
into threats of rape, the sting of knives had turned into the heavy touch of unwanted hands and
she’d jolted herself awake just as his hot, wet tongue had rasped up the side of her face once more.
Rosalie rubbed at her chest through her thin nightshirt as her mind recalled the feel of his blood
dribbling onto her chest as he’d died atop of her, his eyes frantic and bulging—wide with disbelief.

The memory hit her with such horrifying clarity that her footing stumbled on the steps and almost
sent her tumbling down the stairs before she could regain her balance. Her hands shot out and
gripped at the banister to steady herself before she pushed herself onwards.

She could still smell the putrid stink of his breath on her face, hear the rasp of his zipper as his
meaty hands pawed at her—

Rosalie drew up short in the doorway of the library, her heart still hammering out a frantic beat in
her chest.
What was she doing?

Rosalie physically shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts.

The warm flickering glow of the fire was the only light in the room, casting the library in a soft
comforting haze. Snape was sitting in one of the high backed chairs by the fire, his feet propped up
on a footstool, a book open on his lap and tumbler full of scotch dangling loosely from his fingers
as he absently flipped through the pages of his book. He looked comfortable and relaxed, despite
the late hour. His shoes had been kicked off and were sitting on the floor beside him, his sock-
covered feet crossed at the ankle. His outer robes discarded once more in favour of his shirt,
waistcoat and slacks and though she thought it far too warm to be sitting by fire as he was, he
appeared completely comfortable and at ease.

‘What am I doing?’ Rosalie thought again as she hastily backed out of the doorway and pressed her
back up against the adjoining wall, even as she acknowledged something inside her had begun to
relax and uncoil at the sight of him.

Had she really just run to Snape because she’d had a nightmare? For comfort?

“Potter?”

Rosalie tensed, her eyes going wide and without letting herself think about what she was doing she
turned and dashed down the hall, away from him and the sound of his voice. She pulled open the
first door she came across, ducking into her training room and shutting the door quietly behind her.
She pressed her lips together tightly, letting her head fall forwards to rest against the smooth cool
wood of the closed door. Her breath was tremulous and thin as she fought to bring herself back
under control. Rosalie felt her knees buckle as she turned and sank down the door slowly until she
was sitting on the floor, her knees bent up in front of her and her back pressed firmly up against the
wood behind her.

She’d shocked herself, by running to find Snape. Which is what she’d done, hadn’t she? What had
she imagined Snape would have been able—or willing—to do? If Remus were here, he would have
wrapped her up in his big arms and stroked her hair as she clung to him desperately, much like he
had after he’d first arrived back at Grimmauld Place a few weeks ago when she’d still been so
emotional. He would have told her everything was alright and she would have looked to him for
that gentle and calm reassurance. It was what she’d come to expect of him as their relationship
evolved. She saw him as a kind of parental figure—a father figure—which wasn’t so unreasonable
given he was the closest thing she had left to family.

But Snape?

She looked to Snape for advice and guidance. She trusted him implicitly, perhaps more than she
trusted anyone in this war and was beginning to rely on him in ways she didn’t even completely
understand. Yet in no way, shape or form did she think of Snape as a father-figure, though he was
the same age as Remus and her parents would have been and therefore old enough to be so. But,
unlike her relationship with Remus, she felt more like Snape’s equal on some bizarre level—
perhaps not magically or intellectually—but maybe emotionally? In truth she didn’t know what
label to put on Snape’s role in her life, mentor? Friend? They both seemed inadequate in some
fashion. Regardless, she didn’t know what had drawn her to seek him out, but she couldn’t bring
herself to face him.

Pushing herself back to her feet, she made her way over to the couch she’d insisted Remus
transfigure for her and let the cushions practically swallow her whole. She curled up on her side,
drawing her knees back up to her chest, confusion and the last vestiges of fear still clinging to her
heart stubbornly leaving her feeling oddly numb. She lay there in the dark, listening as the soft
muted sounds of summer rain began to fall outside, all the while staring sightlessly out across the
room as slowly, reluctantly she began to relax and let go, bit by bit, of her choking fear.

Severus frowned as he looked up from his book towards the entrance of the library as Potter
ducked back out of the room.

“Potter?”

The furrows on his brow deepened when there was no response.

Severus closed his book and set it aside as he heard the sounds of the floorboards in the hall
creaking as she made her way down the hall and the soft thud of a door closing.

Severus hesitated. What in Merlin’s name was she doing?

He glanced at the clock sitting on the mantle above the fireplace, it was past two in the morning,
but he hadn’t seen her since dinner that night. Setting his glass aside he pushed to feet back into his
shoes before standing, withdrawing his wand—as precaution only—he exited the library and made
his way out into the darkness of the house. There were only two ways she could have gone, but his
eyes were inevitably drawn to the training room door. Severus made his way down the hall slowly,
careful to remain as silent as possible—a task made far simpler from years of experience as a spy in
the Dark Lords inner circle. His instincts were telling him noting was truly amiss, yet her behaviour
had seemed out of character.

He listened at the training room door. Nothing. Reaching out he turned the handle slowly and
allowed the door to squeak open.

She sat up as he entered the room, and looked back at him in shock. She’d been curled up on the
couch in a foetal position, staring listlessly out across the room. His concern deepened.

“Potter,” he greeted, suddenly not sure what it was he’d intended to do once he found her. She
looked tired and strained and the darkness of the room only served to emphasize the dark circles
around her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she told him quickly, swinging her legs to the floor and tugging the
nightshirt she wore down her legs some.

“Why are you not in bed?” he asked.

She looked away from him as she began to worry her lower lip, the faint lines of strain around her
mouth and eyes deepening as her brow furrowed.

“I was,” she replied.

Severus arched a questioning eyebrow at her.

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, “just nightmares.”

Severus continued to stare at her a long moment until she began to shift uncomfortably.

“Do you require a potion to help you sleep?” He asked finally.

Potter shook her head, “No, sir. I’m fine. Thank you.”
She let her head drop forward, her long dark hair swinging forward in a gentle sweep to obscure her
face from view. It was a move that was familiar to him and one he’d often employed in his youth.
He too understood the pain of nightmares, the fatigue they caused and the emotional stress they
could wreak. A few hours of broken sleep each night wasn’t enough to exist on, yet he managed
and it appeared Potter was learning to manage as well. He wondered briefly how long this had been
going on?

“As you wish,” He replied finally, knowing there was nothing else he could offer her. Not when he
too still laboured under the same affliction and yet to find a permanent solution.

Potter glanced up at him again, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you earlier.”

Severus waved a careless hand, “It is of little consequence.”

Potter nodded, but didn’t reply. The silence that fell between them wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Severus half regretted following her in. It seemed ridiculous for him to just leave and have them
both left awake, enclosed off in separate corners of the house unable—or unwilling—to go to sleep
but ignoring each other’s presence. Yet, Severus was unwilling to admit that so much had changed
between them that he no longer simply tolerated her presence—that he might be willing to reach
out to ...comfort her? He grimaced, maybe not, but protect her, certainly. In the past he’d have
turned and walked out the door, leaving her to her demons without a backwards glance. But he’d
hesitated, he realised, without fully meaning to, reluctant to simply leave her when whatever had
awoken her had been distressing enough to have her fleeing from her bed in the middle of the night.

Severus cleared his throat.

“There are...people,” Severus began reluctantly, feeling like a hypocrite for even suggesting it,
“that you can talk to. Certain, Mind Healers, I’ve been told, that specialise in this kind of area.”

Potter frowned up at him, “No one I’d trust.”

Severus tilted his head in acknowledgement, not truly blaming her for shooting him down. He’d be
damned a million times over before he found himself willingly sitting before a shrink. A ‘Mind
Healer’ . He wasn’t broken. His mind wasn’t broken and he wasn’t about to let someone have a
play at ‘fixing it’.

“Sometimes,” Potter said quietly, gaze fixed the rain as it trickled down the windowpane, “it feels
like I might never sleep again.”

Severus stared at her thoughtfully.

‘I know,’ he thought to himself.

Potter laughed, more than a little self depreciatively and flicked her emerald green eyes to meet his
gaze.

“Sorry,” she mutter again, her tone rueful, “I should get back to bed and leave you to your book. I
should at least try for a couple of hours, I guess.”

Severus watched as she pushed herself gracefully to her feet and started towards him and the
doorway that he still blocked.

“Here,” Severus told her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a vial of Dreamless Sleep, “No
more than a quarter a night, once a week. Use it sparingly.”
She started to shake her head in denial, but Severus stopped her, taking her outstretched palm and
placing the potion into her hand.

Severus frowned, “Stop trying to be a martyr.”

“I’m not!” She bit back angrily, “But I don’t want to start relying on a potion to be able to sleep at
night. I don’t want to get addicted.”

“You won’t,” he assured her, “I won’t allow it.”

Potter huffed and closed her eyes in exasperation.

“I’m not advising that you to use it all the time,” Severus reiterated, “and if you are stupid enough
to attempt to do so, tell me now and I’ll have the potion back. It is meant only to offer you an
option not previously available to you —a last resort, if you become desperate enough with the
need to sleep. It’s not a solution to your problem.”

Potter stared at him, her gaze searching as she scanned his face before finally relaxing and
accepting the vial he’d thrust into her hand.

“I’m not using it tonight,” She told him bluntly.

“That is your choice,” he agreed tersely, unconcerned one way or another.

She stood in silence for a long moment, glaring down at the small bottle in her hands.

“Okay,” she agreed, “Goodnight, sir.”

Severus watched her leave, his easy relaxed mood gone and his shoulders tense once more. He
waited until she’d long since made it back up the stairs to her room before he turned and stalked
back down the hall to the library. Ignoring his book he folded himself back into his chair and
picked up his scotch, picking up the bottle and sloshing a healthy portion of it into his glass. He
didn’t understand why that girl had to be so unbearably difficult all the time. Severus knocked the
drink back and sighed, staring unseeingly into the flames crackling away in the fireplace beside
him. Not for the first time, Severus allowed himself to ponder how infinitely easier things could
have been if only Rosalie Potter had been born a boy.

With that thought, a reluctant smirk broke out across his face.

“If only...”

Rosalie spent the morning before her birthday being soundly thrashed in the name of learning
defence. She’d almost groaned when she’d walked into the kitchen that morning to find Kingsley
Shacklebolt waiting for her, ready to start her morning training while Snape was busy with his
potions. He was always pleasant and cheerful to her, but he pushed her harder than she’d ever been
pushed in her life. He seemed to teach with the philosophy that desperation drove mastery. Once
she had the basics of the skill, he’d push her with no reprieve until she was forced to master the art
or get hurt failing. He always healed any damage he caused, but their sessions together left her both
mentally and physically drained, her body aching, tired and sporting more than one blossoming
bruise.

Shacklebolt left at lunch with a pleased pat to her shoulder and Rosalie allowed herself to slump
down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, her head falling forward to thump against the hard
wood of the kitchen table. She didn’t know why they bothered; not really. If it were ever to
happen, she’d never win in a duel against Voldemort anyway and if that’s what Dumbledore was
banking on to win this war then they were all screwed. Her real role in the war was helping
Dumbledore find and destroy all of Voldemort’s horcruxes and making Voldemort mortal enough
to be killed—and at that point, anyone could do it, she imagined. Or at least that was her
understanding.

Rosalie sighed, she hadn’t heard back from Dumbledore since she’d had Remus deliver a letter to
him about their suspicion that one of Voldemort’s horcruxes was hidden at Hogwarts. She
wondered if he’d already searched and dismissed Hogwarts as a possibility, though Rosalie knew
there was one place—at least—that she knew Dumbledore couldn’t access. She’d hinted as much
in her letter, but as she’d yet to hear back she had no way of knowing his thoughts on the matter.

Rosalie glanced across at Snape’s lab door as she wondered about whether or not Dumbledore had
confided in the Potions Master. Did Snape know about the horcruxes and their hunt for them? She
didn’t think so. Otherwise wouldn’t it have made more sense for Dumbledore to be taking Snape
on these expeditions with him instead of her? Not that they’d been anywhere yet, she reminded
herself, but Snape’s name had never been mentioned in the planning.

Getting up Rosalie walked over to the door and knocked hesitantly.

Snape voice was muffled and distracted when it returned, “Come in!”

The door opened easily beneath her hands as she slipped into the room, glancing around as she
entered. The table to off to the left was still piled high with books, but the contents of the room
seemed to have double overnight. She was amazed by the sheer quantity of things the man had
managed to squeeze into such a small space and vaguely wondered when on earth he’d managed to
set it all up without her realising. Bottles and bottles and bottles of ingredients lined the shelves of
each wall neatly and a stone bench complete with fire pit for a cauldron sat in the centre of the
room looking for all the world like it had been designed for exactly that purpose.

“When did you have time to do all this?” Rosalie asked incredulously.

“House elves,” Snape replied distractedly, “The Headmaster arranged for Hogwarts elves to help
transport much of my personal stock over from Hogwarts.”

Rosalie nodded and let her gaze wander along the neatly labelled ingredients along the walls with
interest—all in alphabetical order, labels neatly turned outwards.

“Was there something you wanted, Potter?” he asked finally, glancing up at her from his work
briefly.

“I’m bored,” she sighed.

Snape gave her a look, “and you felt the need to share this information with me?”

Rosalie moved further into the room and slid herself up onto a spare stool sitting on the opposite
side of his workbench.

“You know, I didn’t even realise this room existed till just the other day,” She told him, ignoring
the look of annoyance he shot her.

“All old wizarding homes have a potions lab to some degree. It dates back to the days when many
witches and wizards still made their own remedies. Now, most simply purchase them,” he told her.
Rosalie nodded with interest, “I doubt they were so well stocked, though. I don’t remember see half
this stuff in the Potions lab at Hogwarts!”

“While that wouldn’t surprise me, I believe I said they were from my personal stores,” He
answered, “As such, they were not kept ‘on display’ in the potions lab at Hogwarts where thieving
students could come and stick their noses in where they didn’t belong.”

Rosalie grinned innocently, “I’ve never stolen from you.”

“Is there a purpose to this visit, Potter, or are you simply trying to annoy me?” he asked again.

Rosalie shook her head, “Like I told you, I’m bored and I thought I could practice Legilimency
while you work.”

Snape arched and eyebrow at her sceptically, “There are so many things wrong with that idea I
don’t even know where to begin, but perhaps you might consider that I am currently in the process
of trying to design a highly difficult potion that is also proving to be quite unstable and do not need
the added distraction of you probing my mind.”

“I need the practice though,” She pointed out.

“Undeniably. This, however, is not a good time,” Snape replied firmly.

Rosalie sighed.

“Can I at least watch?” she asked.

Snape eyed her doubtfully, like he didn’t truly believe she could find nothing better to do than
watch him brew. Rosalie could admit it wouldn’t be her first choice either, but it was better than
nothing. In some ways, being stuck here day in and day out was worse than being couped up at the
Dursley’s. At least at her relative’s house she’d had her chores to keep her busy or school work,
even. She’d been able to go outside or talk a walk up the street and even though here she had the
run of the house and could do what she pleased, there was nothing to do when she wasn’t locked
away with one of her instructors and inevitably it gave her too much time alone with her thoughts.

“Aren’t your friends coming by to keep you entertained?” he prompted.

Rosalie shrugged, “Mrs. Weasley has them both helping with preparations for the wedding this
weekend.”

Snape sighed, “Very well then, just don’t touch anything.”

Rosalie grinned at him, “Promise.”

Rosalie fell silent obediently, watching him as he quickly became absorbed once more in the brew
process—adding ingredients and scribbling note on a spare bit of parchment he had set to one side
to record his observations on how the potion bubbled and changed with each added ingredient. The
liquid in his cauldron looked like fluid silk, an opaque silver, shimmering liquid that seemed to
glow ever so slightly. Just looking at it made her feel happy and content and it made her wonder
what kind of potion it was, exactly.

“What is it you’re making?” She asked in a hushed voice, as though lowering the volume of her
voice would lessen the distraction.

“It is a variant of a truth serum that I am developing at the Dark Lord’s request,” Snape replied
evenly.

Rosalie shudder she looked at it again with new eyes, knowing that anything the Dark Lord had
requested was likely to be more than a simple truth serum, “What’s wrong with Veritaserum?”

Severus glanced at her fleetingly, “Nothing, but it can be outsmarted and it doesn’t trick you into
believing you loved ones are being tortured in front of your eyes as this one will.”

Rosalie looked at the potion in horror before her gaze found his above the clouds of purple smoke
that were beginning to billow up from the cauldron between them. It still made her feel happy to
look at, but knowing what it for made it a twisted happiness—a false happiness.

“Why?” She asked. It was a simple question with so many different meanings, but she knew Snape
understood.

He didn’t answer her right away, instead concentrating on his notes as he documented the most
recent reaction.

“Because the Dark Lord would know I was a traitor if I didn’t, and because this, at least, I can
delay and draw out as long as possible without arousing too much suspicion,” he told her finally,
holding her gaze with steady eyes.

Rosalie blinked and looked away from those piercing black eyes that seemed to see right through
her.

“I have been forced to do far worse in order to keep my cover in the past,” Snape told her, “I am
not always wholly trusted, seemingly in ‘Dumbledore’s Pocket’ as I am and every now and then
the Dark Lord likes to spring something on me to make me prove my continued loyalties to him
and ‘The Cause’. In retrospect, I don’t find this nearly as distasteful as it could be.”

Rosalie’s stomach twisted and she realised suddenly how little she truly understood about what it
meant for Snape to be a spy. How hard it would be to have to make those kinds of decisions and
justifications. She complained and bemoaned the weight of responsibility that sat on her own
shoulders, but if was nothing compared to what Snape must’ve faced on a daily basis. She’d always
thought of Snape’s Death Eater activity as being in the past. She knew now that that couldn’t be
the case. Voldemort wouldn’t simply allow him to be a Death Eater in name alone and while she
was sure he probably avoided what he could...

Rosalie shut her eyes as she remembered what it had been like to witness some of those Death
Eater meeting and raids though her visions. Death, torture, rape...

She felt sick.

“I assure you it is not as bad as you are probably thinking,” Snape told her, no doubt having seen a
little of what had passed behind her eyes, “The Dark Lord believes I am his spy and that
Dumbledore is still in the dark about my ‘true allegiances’. As such, I am exempt from much of
the...fun and games, in order to maintain my cover. As long as I continue to feed him information
on Dumbledore and yourself, he is content to keep me as his resident potions master for the most.”

Rosalie nodded, though she was under no illusions that it couldn’t be as simple as he made it
sound. Taking a deep breath she offered him a small smile that she hoped was reassuring. She
knew he wasn’t the type of man to accept or want her pity and so she didn’t let herself feel it.

“So, how close to done are you?” she asked.

“In reality, I’d calculate being a couple of hours off done, though it is hard to know for sure,” he
replied, “As far as the Dark Lord is concerned, it is extremely unstable and will take longer than
expected—a week? Maybe more if I can string it out. I’ll bring him samples during that time which
he’ll test on some of his lower ranking Death Eater’s to keep him satisfied I’m making progress.”

Rosalie nodded, “is there an antidote?”

“Currently, it wears off with time, much like Veritaserum,” Snape lectured as he leant over the
potion to stir slowly and carefully in a clockwise direction, “Ultimately I will aim to create an
antidote that can be taken prior to ingestion to counteract the effects, that must be done after the
original potion is complete, however.”

Rosalie watched as long tapered fingers deftly measured and diced 6 ounces of petrified snow
beetles with amazing speed and precision.

“Why a truth serum?” Rosalie asked in confusion, “Why now? Is he looking for information?”

Snape shook his head briskly, “No, he’s looking for traitors.”

“What?” she gasped, looking at him in horror.

Snape gave her a small, mirthless smile, “I’m not under suspicion yet, though I don’t doubt I’ll be
one of the first victims to undergo interrogation once it’s done.”

Rosalie worried her bottom lip between her teeth, “By then you’ll have made the antidote though,
right?”

“One would hope,” Snape replied.

His answer hadn’t been as reassuring as it could have been, but that was Snape. She wondered
briefly if he even had any family? She didn’t think so, but if that was true, who would he see being
tortured when he was under the influence of his own potion? Maybe, Dumbledore? She didn’t
know if they were close like that though...

“Rose?”

Rosalie glanced back over her shoulder at the door as her friends voices called out to her from the
kitchen.

“I don’t think I need to remind you that this conversation is to remain confidential,” Snape said, his
tone telling her he wasn’t truly concerned she’d blab. She’d never spilled any of his other secrets
she’d happened upon—not even back in fifth year.

“Of course not,” Rosalie agreed, “I’ll see you later.’

“No doubt,” he replied dryly.

Rosalie chuckled and with one last smile, she slipped from the room.
 Chapter Eight
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Eight

The 31st of July dawned bright and sunny and became even more so as the day drew on. Rosalie,
as usual, had been up with the birds, awake early enough to be able to watch the sun crest over the
horizon and track its faithful path up into the sky. A shiver had passed over her as the shadows of
the night were chased from the land and Rosalie had taken a minute to acknowledge the cold knot
that seemed to resided within her—the creeping feeling of foreboding that this day always brought
with it—before she let the bright sun warm her through and she brushed the feeling aside in favour
of getting ready for the day ahead.

She’d showered and dressed, taking longer than usual in the shower as she’d tried in vain to scrub
the fatigue from her tired body and made her way downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

A happy smile broke out across her face at the sight of the neatly wrapped package sitting in the
middle of the breakfast table as she entered the room and then grew as her gaze landed on the dour
looking Potions Master who sat a small ways behind it.

“Morning!” She chirped, making a beeline for the tea pot on the stove.

Snape glanced up at her from the Prophet that was draped across his lap.

“Good morning,” he returned in his usual silky tones, holding out his empty tea cup in a silent
request.

Rosalie took his cup and fixed them both tea with an ease of familiarity that no longer surprised
her. A year ago, if someone had told her she’d come to know something as trivial and mundane as
how Snape took his tea without question—and vice versa—she’d have laughed herself stupid, but
it was the little things like that that spoke to her of how far they’d come.

Rosalie stared at the package inquisitively as she lowered herself into the chair opposite him, one
hand outstretched absently with his tea.

“Is this for me?”

“One would assume,” Snape replied as he accepted the cup from her with a nod of thanks, before
turning his attention back to the paper before him.
Rosalie reached out and slid the package over to her, wondering who would be sending her presents
that she wouldn’t see later that day?

“Who is it from?” She pondered aloud.

Snape arched an eyebrow in her direction, “Perhaps you should open it and find out.”

It was neatly wrapped in brown postage wrapping, a thin piece of twine holding everything in place
expertly. Not very celebratory, but practical, she supposed. Rosalie ran her hands over it curiously
as she picked it up. It was about the size of a notebook, firm to touch and two inches thick. A
book, perhaps? Though, Hermione was the only person she could think of who was likely to send
her a book for her birthday and the young witch would be arriving around lunchtime anyway.
Rosalie was frowning as she slipped her fingers underneath the twine and tugged it off to one side,
stretching it until she could loop it over the one corner of the package and tug it off all together.
Opening up one end of the package she glanced inside to find that she’d only been half right. Inside
rested a leather-bound black book that looked old and worn and a stack of parchments that were
clipped in a neat pile on top of it.

Resting atop of that was a letter:

Dear Miss Potter,

Please find attached all documentation pertaining to your inheritances from both the estate of the
late Mr and Mrs Potter (your parents) and that bequeathed to you in the last Will and Testament of
one Sirius Orion Black (your Godfather) as his sole heir and beneficiary.

As you are now considered of legal age by Wizarding law, all accounts and property previously
held in trust have been transferred into your name in accordance to the wishes of your late parents
and godfather.

If you have any questions pertaining to documentation enclosed, please feel free to contact my
office to arrange a time which suits to discuss any questions and queries you may have on the
topic.

Wishing you a very happy birthday,

Sincerely,
Tobias Whittaker
Wizarding Solicitor of Louis & Whittaker

Rosalie lowered the letter with trembling hands and reached back into the packaging. She had an
inheritance? From her parents? From Sirius? The parchments inside contained page after page of
account balances belonging to her parents, grandparents, Sirius; property listings throughout
Europe that had once belonged to the Potter Family; business shares the Black Family had invested
in which had Sirius had inherited and had now been passed on to her.

“Potter?”

Rosalie swallowed thickly. She pulled out the thin leather-bound book from the bottom of the
stack. The title emblazoned across the front in ornate silver lettering read: ‘The Potter Family’.
Rosalie flicked through the pages, realising almost at once that it was a family listing containing
the names of what seemed like every member ever born, married, or deceased to have passed
through the Potter’s family. Hurriedly she flicked to the back of the book and found her parent’s
names:

‘James Adrian Potter, born on the 27th of March 1960, son of Adrian and Grace Potter, married to
Lily Potter nee Evans August 1979.’

Rosalie felt her eyes begin to well up as she traced her fingers over the black lettering and the thin
line connecting her father and mother’s names, then upwards over that of her grandparents. She felt
ashamed to think that she’d never really thought of her grandparents much before—she hadn’t
even known their names. The page ran out of space at the bottom and she traced her fingers
downwards, flipping the page over knowing that her own name would be on the other side. Alone.

‘Rosalie Grace Potter, born 31st of July 1980, daughter and only child of Lily and James Potter.’

The page beneath her name was blank, ready for her to carry on the Potter line if not in name, then
at least in blood. Rosalie thought about her parents as she stared at the blank page, feeling the
weight of a family line that was centuries old settle on her shoulder as she stared at her name. She
was the last living Potter. The only one who had the ability to fill this page with more names and
she couldn’t help but wondered, for perhaps the first time in her life, if her parents had wished
she’d been a boy? A boy who could have carried on the Potter name? Had her father felt this way
when he’d been shown the book? He must have seen it, after all, for her to have inherited it from
his possessions.

“Potter?” Snape questioned again, his voice strangely quiet. Gentle.

Rosalie looked up at him, “Yes?”

Snape frowned, “Is something wrong?”

Rosalie looked back down at the paperwork in her hands and shook her head, “No.”

Snape didn’t look convinced and his eyes continued to study her closely as she gathered everything
up into a neat pile once more. Rosalie smiled at him fleetingly.

“It’s fine—I’m fine,” She said again, “I’m just going to take these upstairs though, okay?”

Snape’s gaze flicked to the pile of papers, “If you wish.”

Rosalie nodded again and turned to leave, wondering what Snape would have to say if her saw the
figures of money she’d apparently just inherited. She’d already been wealthy; living off of what
she’d thought was her parent’s fortune. Money that she’d inherited at the time of their death.
Apparently that had only been her trust account, made available to her only as means to live off
until she could legally inherit their estate. Now she’d just become even wealthier and the thought
was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to do with that much money.

“Potter?”
Rosalie glanced back at him over her shoulder, “Yes, sir?”

“Happy Birthday,” he told her evenly.

A grateful smile blossomed over her face and Severus felt something inside him clench at the sight
of it.

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely and disappeared from the room.

Severus watched her leave and then lent across the table to pick up the discarded postage
wrappings she’d left lying off to one side. Curiously he flipped it over until he could read the
return postal address.

Louis and Whittaker Family Solicitors,

Shop 301, Diagon Alley
London.

Curious his eyes strayed back to the door where he’d last seen her disappear and wondered what
business a soliciting firm had with Rosalie Potter.

“Happy Birthday!”

Rosalie blinked and looked around the room and blinked again, her mouth falling open in shock.

“I, um...what?”

Ron popped up beside her chuckling and slung an arm around her waist, “Surprised?”

Rosalie nodded. The room was full of people. People that were apparently here to celebrate her
birthday, given the bright banner hanging from the ceiling that read: ‘Happy 17th Birthday Rose!’

Amazing.

Ron was smiling down at her with twinkling eyes and Rosalie could help but grin back up at him.

“When did you guys have time to organise this?” she asked in amazement.

“It wasn’t so hard,” Hermione replied as she appeared at her other elbow with a grin. There were
hundreds of floating candles hovering overhead, illuminating the gloomy basement kitchen like
she’d never seen it before; balloons and streamers decorated the walls and there was enough food
to feed a small army covering the long kitchen bench, which someone had pushed up against the
far wall as a kind of buffet.

“Not so hard?” she asked again.

Ron shrugged with a small grin, “Mum did most of the cooking. ‘Mione and me, we just organised
the decorations and passed the word around. Fred and George supplied the beverages—so don’t
drink anything you didn’t open yourself—and all anyone else had to do was show up.”
Rosalie grinned at her friends with shinning eyes, “I don’t know what to say...Thank you! I’ve
never...”

Hermione nodded and pulled her into a hug, “We know. Come on. Let’s go get you something to
drink, I think I saw some punch sitting on the table...”

Ron made a dubious noise, “Like I said, I wouldn’t touch anything you didn’t open yourself, if I
were you,” Ron cautioned, “Gred and Forge were lurking around the punch table earlier, and I’d
wager every galleon I own that they’ve spiked it somehow.”

Rosalie laughed happily, “So? If I’m going to have fun, I may as well have fun.”

“Yeah, but who’ll be laughing when you’re a three foot chicken with purple feathers?” Hermione
replied teasingly.

Rosalie laughed, “Fred and George?”

“Our ears are ringing,” One of the twins announced as they found the trio still clustered around the
kitchen door.

Rose smiled up at the two of them. Their eyes were twinkling with mischievousness.

“You should get that checked out,” she teased.

“What we want to know is why you three are stuck over here instead of having fun?” The one
Rosalie thought might have been Fred asked.

“We were just weighing up the potential risks,” Ron told them, sending them a half-hearted glare,
“I saw you lurking by the drinks table earlier and now we’re not entirely sure it’s safe.”

“You wound us, brother,” George replied, “It’s perfectly safe... in so far as, it won’t cause any
lasting damage—”

“Physical damage, that is,” Fred interrupted.

“Right you are, Fred,” George agreed seriously, “...in so far as, it won’t cause any lasting physical
damage to your person. Mentally and emotionally, we make no such promises.”

Fred nodded, “Wounded pride can be had to overcome.”

“Wow! If that doesn’t sell your products, I don’t know what will!” Rosalie replied with chuckling
sarcasm.

Hermione frowned, “If it’s not safe, then what on earth are you doing putting it in our food?”

“‘Mione, they just go through telling us how it is safe! Sort of.” Ron started.

Hermione snorted, “Oh, sure! How silly of me to have missed that.”

Hermione glared at the redhead as Ron nodded.

“Buck up, ‘Mione,” George chipped in good-naturedly, “All it does is change your skin colour for
a bit. So, mum and dad might end up walking around blue for a little while? Like we said, it’s not
permanent.”

As if on cue a loud shriek came from across the room and the little group turned as one to see Fleur
watching helplessly as Bill’s skin slowly began to change to a sickly looking green colour that
clashed horribly with his long red hair.

“There’s no telling what colour you’ll turn,” Fred whispered mock-seriously with a little pitying
shake of his head.

George chuckled loudly in amusement and Fleur’s furious gaze immediately zeroed in on them.

“That’s our cue to leave,” George stage whispered, as Fred grabbed him arm and pulled him off
into the crowd.

Hermione was rolling her eyes even though a small amused smirk lifted the corners of her mouth.

“So, the punch is a no go,” Ron confirmed, “but I’m pretty sure I saw a crate of butterbeer sitting
on the bench.”

Ron took her hand and Rosalie let herself be pulled into the crowd of people—Order members,
school teachers, friends and even one or two of their school mates. She grinned as she caught sight
of Snape standing off to one side chatting to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick over what was
probably a glass of scotch.

“This is amazing,” She said again, to Hermione who was trailing behind her.

Hermione smiled, “I think everyone was just glad for the chance to celebrate something.”

Rosalie nodded thinking suddenly about how much had changed in only a few short months.
People were afraid to leave their homes now and there was little to rejoice over. Voldemort had
infected almost every aspect of their lives like some terminal disease—a cancer, determined to get
the better of them. It was nice to be reminded that even with everything that had happened and was
still happening around them, people still knew how to laugh and be happy. Someone—the twins,
most likely—had managed to get some music playing and across the room a small patch of space
had opened up into an impromptu dance floor. She could see Molly and Arthur Weasley out there,
smiling hugely at one another as Arthur swung his wife expertly around the dance floor in time
with the upbeat music. Neville and Ginny were out there too, alongside Tonks whose pink head
was bopping out of time to the music unselfconsciously. Rosalie felt a warm knot of contentment
pulse briefly somewhere inside of her. She loved these people, each and every one of them.

“Rose!”

Rosalie turned as she heard someone calling her name and felt a rush of happiness wash over her as
she caught sight of her pseudo-godfather weaving his way through the crowd towards her.

“Moony!” She greeted happily, breaking free of her friends to walk happily into his outstretched
arms, “I didn’t think you’d make it back in time!”

He chuckled, “Well I did, but only just!”

“This is amazing, don’t you think?” She asked gesturing around the room.

“Very impressive,” He agreed, “You have a lot of friends and people who care for you.”

“I know. The feeling is mutual,” Rosalie smiled, “You look tired, has it been a long trip?”

“I’m a little tired, perhaps,” He conceded, “But not so much to keep me from celebrating your
birthday with you. I’m sorry but I didn’t have an opportunity to buy you a present before I got
here.”

Rosalie shook her head, “You know I don’t care about that, Remus. I’m just glad you could be
here. That’s what matters.”

Remus nodded, “Me too. Go on though, have fun with your friends. You and I can catch up later.”

Rosalie lent forward impulsively, wrapping her arms around his middle again, “Thanks, Moony.”

She felt Remus smooth a hand over the back of her head, “Happy Birthday, Rose.”

“Mind if I steal the birthday girl?” Someone asked from behind her. Bill Weasley she thought,
recognising the deep timbre of his voice.

“Be my guest,” Remus agreed and Rosalie laughed as he grabbed her about the waist yanking her
out of Remus’s arms, hefting her upwards and spinning her out onto the dance floor, arms tightly
banded around her waist.

“Hey!” She heard Ron protest as she was literally whisked away from her two best friends, who’d
been standing off to one side patiently while she spoke with Remus.

“Bill!” She laughed as he continued to spin her around wildly, “We’re going to injure someone!”

A deep chuckle sounded from behind her and she was lowered to the ground and spun around in his
arms as he started dancing with her vigorously to the beat of the music. A still slightly green-tinged
Bill Weasley grinned mischievously down at her.

“Happy Birthday!”

“That shade of green suits you,” Rosalie teased.

“You think?” He asked, with mock vanity, before twirling her away from him and then back in
again.

Against her will she felt a thrill shoot through her, reminding her of the horrendous crush she’d had
on Bill only a year or two ago. He was ridiculously good looking and even though she no longer
dreamed or fantasized about him that way, she wasn’t immune to his charms either and he was
being purposefully charming as he whirled her about.

Fleur was a lucky girl.

“Is Fleur still mad?” she asked with a laugh in her voice.

Bill smirked, “I think she was worried I’d end up green in all of our wedding photos.”

Rosalie grinned, “I don’t blame her! It’d clashed horribly with your hair!”

“You may be right,” he conceded, “Though I don’t know how being green is any worse than this.”

Rosalie’s eyebrows furrowed as he gestured absently to his scarred face—injuries Fenrir Greyback
had given him at the end of last term in the fight at Hogwarts. She hadn’t even noticed, as amazing
as that seemed. Bill had been smiling at her and all she’d seen was ‘Bill’. The Bill who was still
handsome, charming and probably the ‘coolest’ person she knew despite the scars that now marred
his face.

“I don’t know, Bill,” Rosalie told him seriously, “I doubt she even sees any of your scars when she
looks at you. I don’t.”

Bill gave her a soft smile and drew her into a hug. Rosalie wrapped her arms around him and
squeezed back happily.

“Right,” He agreed with a quick smile.

Rosalie punched him lightly on the shoulder, lightening the mood a little again, “I’m getting more
hugs tonight then I think I have my entire life!”

Bill arched a teasing eyebrow at her, “Yes, but you were deprived your entire life, so that isn’t
saying much.”

“True,” she returned blandly.

Bill laughed loudly drawing a few looks from different people about the room.

“You’re making people stare at us,” she whined playfully.

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he returned, “Merlin forbid people stare at Rosalie Potter, that’s
almost unheard of!”

Rosalie huffed, “Oh...shut up!”

He laughed again.

“Here,” he told her, summoning a two glasses of champagne over from the drinks table, “To your
coming of age!”

Rosalie accepted the glass warily, “Is it safe to drink?”

Bill shrugged with a grin, “Only one way to find out.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes good naturedly at him, “Cheers!”

“What’s got you’re knickers in a twist, little brother?” Fred asked as he sidled up beside his
glowering brother who stood off to one side, butterbeer clutched in one hand, gaze dark as he lent
against the wall moodily.

“Nothing,” Ron grouched, taking a swig from his bottle.

“You know, this whole moody, brooding image you’ve got going on would be a whole lot more
effective if you were drinking something with a little more kick in it than butterbeer,” Fred
continued, feigning hurt when Ron ignored him.

George slumped against the wall beside him imitating Ron’s pose as he followed his younger
brother’s gaze out across the room until his eyes landed on the laughing happy form of one Rosalie
Potter as their eldest brother took her for a spin on the dance floor.

“Do mine eyes deceive me, Fred? Or is it the lovely Miss Rosalie Potter who has so completely
captured our darling brother’s brooding attention?” George simpered teasingly.

“Shove off,” Ron growled.

Fred’s eyebrows shot up, “You know, I do believe you’re right, George!”

“Could it be?” George asked dramatically.

“Amazing!” Fred cried.

“Unbelievable!”

Ron huffed and began to stalk off, away from them and their relentless teasing.

“We’re right, aren’t we? You have a crush on, Rose?” Fred asked, his tone losing some of its
mocking edge as he bounced around to block his brother’s exit.

Ron glared at him.

“Seriously?” George asked as their brother seemed to deflate before them with a mournful nod.

“I knew it!” Fred crowed in delight.

“That’s it,” Ron groused, “laugh at me! It’s all a big joke!”

George’s eyebrows shot up, “Whose laughing, little brother?”

“Just—Don’t you dare say anything! To anyone! I don’t want anyone to know,” Ron hissed.

The twins frowned at him, “Why?”

“‘Cause,” Ron muttered.

George gave him an expectant look.

Ron growled, “Just don’t, okay. You don’t get it.”

“So tell us,” Fred prompted.

Ron glanced over his shoulder at his best friend still laughing a giggling in his eldest brother’s
arms. His heart did this horrible little lurch at the sight of her. Merlin, he had it bad.

Ron shook his head.

“Rose is just—there’s no other girl like her, right? She’s funny and cool, she cooks almost as good
as mum, she easy to get along with and she can hang with the rest of the guys and talk about
Quiddich and stuff, you know? But at the same time she’s so...so girly... She’s so beautiful! All the
guys at school want her, but just seeing her makes my heart, like, triple in rate it’s beating so fast,
you know?” Ron told his brother’s forlornly.

Fred whistled.

“So, tell her,” George said, like it was the easiest solution in the world.

“I can’t,” Ron denied.

“Why not?” Fred pushed, “It’s not hard, you just walk up to her as tell her you’re in love with her.
Or, ask her out on a date, or something. You just have to go up to her and be, like: ‘Hey Rose, you
and me? How ‘bout it?’. Dead easy—”

Ron’s huff of frustration cut his brother of short, “She’s my best friend!”
“So?” Fred argued, “She’s not seeing anyone is she?”

“You’ve given up before you’ve even had a shot at her. As far as anyone’s concerned at the
moment, she’s fair game, mate,” George told him plainly, “The only thing stopping you is your
lack of balls. Go ask her out.”

Fred slung an arm around his shoulders, “The worst that can happen is she’ll say no.”

“And I will have lost one of my best friends,” Ron pointed out sarcastically, “and completely
humiliated myself in the process!”

“Not if you don’t hold it against her,” George countered, “I mean she isn’t going to hold it against
you is she? Either way you’re paying her a compliment by showing your interest. The only way
you’re friendship will suffer is if you let it.”

“Standing here glaring holes in Bill’s back isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Fred pointed out, “a)
he’s our brother, b) Bill’s getting married tomorrow and c) they’re just dancing!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ron conceded.

“You know,” George said, “I always thought it’d be Hermione you went for.”

Ron scrunched his nose, “Hermione’s beautiful too, I guess. But...I don’t know. She’s just not my
type, I suppose. She’s like a sister.”

The three brother’s watched as Bill finally let Rosalie go in favour of dancing with his fiancée and
instead Rosalie began to make her way over to the buffet table.

George nudged him in the side, “Here’s your chance!”

Ron glared at him, “I’m not doing it in front of bloody Snape.”

Fred conceded the point, “That’s a fair point, I guess. Snape probably would hold it over your head
for the rest of your life.”

Ron moaned.

“Merlin, I just don’t get that!” He exclaimed gesturing at his friend as she seemed to strike up a
conversation with the dour looking potions professor happily, “How are they like friends or
something now? It just doesn’t make sense! She swears it’s true though! Rosalie used to hate
Snape and now they’re like best buddies or something!”

George shrugged, “Don’t know, mate. Weirder things have happened though, I guess.”

Ron shook his head, “Nu-ah. Not weirder than that.”

Fred laughed, “You’re not jealous of Snape are you?”

Ron blushed a brilliant brick red and the twins fell into gales of laughed around him.

“Oh you are!” One of them exclaimed hilariously.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked as she joined them. The twins snickered and glanced back at
Ron.

“Shove off!” He told them again and turned to stalk back off across the room.
 *

Severus stared at her calculatingly as Potter weaved her way over to him.

“I think it’s entirely possible, you’ve had too much to drink,” he told her as she came to stand
before him.

She licked her lips, moistening the dry flesh as she looked up at him. Her hair had a windswept
look from dancing and her cheeks were flushed red with excitement.

Severus looked away.

“I’m alright,” she assured him with a grin, “All I’ve had is a glass of champagne, just now. I’m not
sure I liked the taste.”

Severus smirked. A glass of champagne was probably enough given her lack of experience in the
way of alcohol.

“Wine is often an acquired taste,” he told her.

She nodded, not really having anything to add to the topic, “I guess. So, are you having fun?”
“Fun?”

She glanced up at him cheekily, “Yes, ‘fun’. Do you require the definition of the word?”

Severus flashed a glare at her fleetingly, surprised when she giggled. It was an unexpectedly
pleasant sound, nothing like the high pitched tittering one heard in the Hogwarts halls year round
and he was surprised that such a sound had come out of her. Deep, breathy, teasing... It seemed far
too mature for someone her age, but then again, what had he expected from Potter? Some days—
most days, recently—she seemed old beyond her now seventeen years.

“I am...not resolved to hating the experience, though it is true that it does not rank particularly
highly on my list of recreational activities to indulge in,” he replied truthfully, before raising his
glass with a little shake, “the company has been good.”

“Scotch?” she asked.

Severus nodded.

Potter smiled, “Do you ever drink anything else?”

“It is a rare occasion that calls for something stronger,” he replied.

“May I try some?”

Severus quirked a questioning eyebrow at her but held out his glass. Potter took it from him with
gentle fingers and raised the glass to her nose. She sniffed delicately and wrinkled her nose at the
aroma, shooting him a dubious look before bravely lowering the glass to her lips and taking a small
experimental sip.

She winced as she swallowed and coughed a little at the taste.

Severus smirked at her as she held the glass back out to him determinedly.

“Not to your liking?” he asked with amusement as he accepted the tumbler back from her.
Her eyebrows pinched together as she stared at the glass in his hands as if it had offended her,
“Another ‘acquired taste’, I think.”

Severus fought against the sudden urge to chuckle.

“Indeed,” he agreed, settling on a satisfied smirk.

Severus’ gaze wandered over her shoulder, his eyes drawn to the scowling face of Ronald Weasley
who was glaring at them from across the room. The redhead’s dark gaze had been tracking Potter
all night and he wondered idly if they’d had a falling out before he further concluded that he cared
not either way if they had.

“I think, perhaps—”

Severus cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain, and his left hand tensed around the glass in his
hand.

Potter’s eyes immediately lost some of their mirth and her gaze shot to his forearm. Clever girl, he
thought absently as he reached out to put his drink to one side. Severus turned masked eyes back to
meet her worried gaze as her fingertips disappeared under her fringe to rub absently at her scar.

“Voldemort?” she mouthed.

Severus nodded tightly, “Excuse me.”

Rosalie watched as he turned without preamble and made his way across the room to the floo
making eye contact across the room with the Headmaster briefly as Dumbledore chatted to Moody
and Shacklebolt as he left. No one else in the room seemed to turn as the fire flared green and
whisked Snape away from the party, but the cold knot of dread in her stomach that she’d been
ignoring all day tightened inside of her, making her feel sick as her insides twisted uncomfortably.
She’d known this day wouldn’t pass unmarked in some way, how could it? Her only choice now
was to wait and try and prepare herself for the news the morning would no doubt bring.

“Hey!”

Rosalie turned to the voice, to Ron, who had suddenly appeared beside her. There was an awkward
looking smile plastered across his face and his eyes seemed tight with worry and she wondered if
he too had seen Snape’s abrupt exit.

“Hey,” She replied slowly.

Rosalie met Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze across the room. He looked as calm as ever and he
offered her a small smile and a nod of his head in acknowledgement and she wondered if it was all
a front or whether she was simply overreacting. Yet she couldn’t help the creeping feeling of
unease, like the calm before the storm, like her body was gearing up for that moment of ‘fight or
flight’.

“So,” Ron asked lowly, his unease also palpable. Did he feel it too? Surely he had to; why else
would he suddenly be at her side, worry darkening his brow.

He cleared his throat, “I was wondering—”

Rosalie cried out as a sharp pain ripped through her head suddenly, buckling her knees and
blacking out her vision. She heard an echoing cry of shock from Ron as she fell and for one
horrifying second she thought they were somehow being attacked, but she couldn’t make herself
function. She couldn’t make herself move. She felt like she was being sucked down and down and
she realised abruptly that Voldemort was pulling on their link, trying to force it open and drag her
mind down into his. Her mind snapped taut under the onslaught, ricochets of pain piercing out
through her skull and down the back of her neck as she fought to maintain her Occlumency shields
against him.

“Rose!” Ron cried, grabbing her under her arms as she stared to sink to the floor.

Red-hot festering rage felt like it was pouring over her, creeping over her skin and showering her in
filth and anger—in pure violence. Voldemort was out there somewhere and he was furious, his
rage all consuming. The malevolence was unlike anything she’d ever felt and it felt like it was
directed entirely at her, a manifestation of his frustration at not being able to find her. She pitied
anyone who got in his way tonight and prayed like hell it wasn’t Snape.

“Rose?”

Her eyes fluttered open again without her having been aware of closing them in the first place.
Something hot and slick was running down the side of her face—blood, she realised, from her scar.
There were faces all around her, watching over her with worry as she sagged boneless in her best
friend’s arms.

“I’m okay,” She told them, her voice somehow hoarse and weak, as she pushed herself up out of
Ron’s firm embrace. He seemed reluctant to let her go.

“You’re bleeding,” Hermione stated obviously, as she whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it to
Rosalie’s forehead.

Rosalie smiled in thanks and took the soft cloth from Hermione’s hands, “I’m okay. Really. It just
took me by surprise.”

“I thought that wasn’t meant to happen anymore?” Ron asked, looking almost accusingly up at
Dumbledore as though the Headmaster had somehow lied to him.

Rosalie shook her head, “It wasn’t a vision. He was just...angry. He was battering at my shields
with his own mind, I think. I could feel his anger and frustration at being unable to reach me. I
didn’t see anything...I don’t know if something happened...”

“It was always a strong possibility Voldemort might try something tonight,” Dumbledore said
gravely, “I was hoping we might have had some forewarning, but alas, I fear we will read about it
in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Well, that’s one way to kill a party,” George muttered jokingly, bumping her gently with his
shoulder.

Rosalie nodded, not able to muster the same levity—even as forced as she knew it must be.

“Perhaps it’s time we all retire for the evening?” Dumbledore suggested, glancing around the room
at the now mostly deflated party, “Rose, if I might have a quick word?”

Rosalie nodded and together they turned and left the room.
 Chapter Nine
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Nine

Rosalie shivered as she pulled the thick woollen blanket she’d taken from her bed around her
huddled form more tightly. She couldn’t sleep—no surprises, there—but she hadn’t even tried that
night. Not when the remnants of Voldemort’s anger still clung to her skin like a disease. She felt
dirty in a way no amount of soap or water could ever help clean. The touch of Voldemort’s mind
against hers was something she’d thought never to experience again and though he had not
breached her shields, the force of his emotions were enough to leave her reeling. She’d been up
most of the night, slowly watching the hours tick by and the night sky lighten to the pinkish-grey
of predawn light that now filtered in through the large window. She supposed she could have
stayed in the warmth of her bed, but the idea of contaminating her space with the remnants of the
previous night sickened her and so she’d ended up back on the midnight blue couch in the training
room she spent so much of her time in. It had become a sort of haven to her, she supposed. Or
perhaps it was just the fact that there was little cause for anyone else to be in there and so she was
almost guaranteed her privacy? A place to think...

The thought that that rage could have been directed at someone—a muggle child, or someone’s
husband or wife!—was sickening and it served only to reinforce the fact that people in this war
were needlessly dying! Murdered by Death Eaters! That children were being kidnapped and killed
for sport; that whole families were being torn apart and tortured, while here she was doing nothing
but hiding away in some creepy old house!

Rosalie’s hand slapped over her mouth to stifle the sob that stole her breath away. What was she
doing? She’d allowed herself to be shut away in this quiet, safe little world after killing that Death
Eater, when that exactly what she should be out there trying to do!

Rosalie pulled the blanket around herself more tightly, trying desperately comfort herself when her
thoughts could not. She deserved this, she deserved feel like this. Dumbledore had told her again
that night that this was where she was needed; that this was the best place for her until they’d
searched out and destroyed all of Voldemort’s horcruxes, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.
Or perhaps accepting it was her real problem? Maybe it was presumptuous, but she couldn’t help
but feel that Dumbledore didn’t always understand. He seemed so unruffled by anything and
everything that she felt sometimes that he simply didn’t understand the weight of emotion—
responsibility—that bound her. She could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on her
shoulders, threatening to crush the life out of her and she knew it was because there were people
out there wondering ‘where was Rosalie Potter?’. All because she was the bloody Girl-Who-Lived!
It felt like now, more than ever, they needed to be pressing onwards with their hunt for
Voldemort’s horcruxes. Dumbledore had agreed to allow Ron, Hermione and herself access to
Hogwarts so that they could investigate the Chamber of Secrets, and that was exactly what she
intended for them to do once Fleur and Bill’s wedding was behind them.

Rosalie glanced anxiously as more and more of the sun began to track its way up into the sky.
Snape was yet to return and she wondered what that meant, if it meant anything at all or if she was
simply casting assumptions she had no basis for. Snape was only living at Grimmauld Place in
order to guard her and Remus and the Weasleys were all currently in residence. It was possible, she
supposed, that he’d been dismissed and sent home and he’d chosen not to return to Grimmauld
Place. She knew he had a home of his own somewhere, though she wasn’t sure exactly where. It
was possible. Maybe...

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder about the things he must have seen—or Merlin-forbid, done—
last night. How had Voldemort chosen to vent his wrath and on who?

The door to the training room squeaked open interrupting her musings and Hermione’s bushy head
peered in at her.

“Rose?”

Rosalie offered her friend a small smile, “Hi.”

Hermione stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, “Are you okay?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

Rosalie gestured for her friend to come join her on the couch and Hermione made her way over,
lifting the edge of the blanket to scoot underneath beside her friend.

“You’ve been crying,” Hermione stated, taking in the reddened skin around her friends eyes.

Rosalie wiped at the tender skin self-consciously. Her face felt sticky and tight.

“A little,” She admitted, “I just hate feeling like I’m sitting here not doing anything, especially after
a night like last night! He was so angry, ‘Mione. Beyond rage and fury. I just hate to think about
what that might have meant for some poor family...”

Hermione nodded, “I know. I think I lay awake for hours last night wondering who might have
been suffering after that outburst. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing something is going on but also
knowing you can’t do anything about it.”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, exactly.”

“We are doing something about it though, Rose,” Hermione continued, “Maybe not last night, but
for the long term. It’s all we can do at the moment.”

Rosalie nodded again, “I guess. I spoke with Dumbledore about searching the Chamber of
Secrets...”

“And?” Hermione asked.

“He agreed that it was at least worth checking out, though I don’t know if he believes there is
anything down there. He said he’d make Hogwarts available to us after the wedding today,”
Rosalie explained.

Hermione smiled, “Well that’s something. I can’t believe we won’t find anything though, it all just
makes too much sense.”

“I thought we could go as early as tomorrow,” Rosalie suggested, “I guess I just feel like we’re
running out of time, you know?”

“No, not really, but I guess you’d have a better idea than anyone, wouldn’t you?” Hermione said,
pointing at the scar on Rosalie’s forehead.

Rosalie ran her fingers over the lightning bolt scar carefully it was still raised and sore, the skin
immediately around it reddened and ultrasensitive to touch, though the lightning bolt itself had
scabbed over from the previous night.

“It looks hideous now, being all raised and angry looking,” She complained gently, “I’m going to
look horrible for the wedding.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Rose, you couldn’t look horrible if you showed up wearing a potato
sack. You always look good no matter what you’re wearing, it’s completely unfair!”

Rosalie frowned, “That’s not true and you know it. Anyway, I’m not talking about my dress; I’m
talking about the dark circles under my eyes, my too pale skin and this butt-ugly thing on my
forehead!”

Hermione gave her a look, “We can use make-up to cover that.”

“I hope you have a lot of it,” Rosalie muttered.

Hermione giggled.

“Is anyone else up?” Rosalie asked.

Hermione nodded, “Mrs Weasley, but she’s been up at the crack of dawn for the last week trying
to get things right for the wedding and she’s already floo’d across to the Burrow to make sure all
the last minute details are in order. I think she might be more nervous than Bill is.”

Rosalie smiled.

Both girls jumped as the door to the training room banged open loudly, swinging back to slam
against the wall behind it and Hermione gasped in shock, her hands flying to her mouth as she took
in sight of the man standing in the doorway, cursing loudly to himself as he tried to wrestle his
battered bleeding body out of cumbersome dark robes, that were torn and sodden with blood.

“Merlin!” he growled loudly, as he finally wrenched himself free and flung them off to one side
with a wet slap.

“Snape?” Rosalie asked, pushing herself up off the couch in concern.

Severus Snape swung around to look at her and she felt her eyes widen in shock as she took in the
state of his face.

“Potter,” he replied tightly before his eyes slid back to take in Hermione’s horrified expression, “I
have need of this room. Kindly, get out—”

“You’re injured,” Rosalie interrupted, dropping the blanket now as she made her way over to him.
“You’re powers of observation are astounding. Awe-inspiring, even. Who would have guessed?”
He replied, his tone mocking as he turned his back on her, making his way over to the small
cupboard in the corner of the room he’d had the good foresight to stock with healing potions and
the like.

Rosalie winced as she took in the state of his back, half exposed through the shredded material of
his shirt. He seemed covered in blood, his clothing torn and his face battered and bruised; he had a
long deep laceration running down the length of one side of his face that looked like someone had
tried to carve his face off and he was wavering on his feet.

Something twisted painfully in her stomach.

“How are you even standing?” She asked, moving forward to support him.

He tried to shrug her off, sneering menacingly at her when she battered his hands away with ease.

“Just stop it. Sit down and let me help you. Tell me what you need,” She told him in a tone of
voice could have very nearly been an order if it hadn’t come out so pleading.

Hermione watched in amazement as her friend practically ordered the surly Potions Master about
as she gently manhandled him down into the chair that sat out from a small writing desk against the
wall.

“I’ll just—” Hermione started, “Maybe I should go get Madame Pomfrey? Rose?”

Neither Snape nor Rosalie replied, but Snape was glowering at her friend darkly as she hurried
across to the cupboard and began rifling through the stock of potions there.

“What do you need?” Rosalie prompted again as she started filing through the numerous little
bottles lined and labelled neatly on the cupboard shelves.

Snape’s frown deepened but his sigh was one of defeat.

“The pale blue pain reliever—I believe you’ll recognise the one—blood-replenishing potion and
the large bottle beside it that looks like pond sludge that has no label,” Snape bit out tiredly,
relenting when it was obvious Rosalie wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Rosalie moved quickly, pulling the required potions out and striding back over to the desk to line
them up on the table before him as Hermione hovered uncertainly beside the couch, torn between
helping and leaving to go send for the mediwitch.

“Cruciatus?” Rosalie asked, noting the tremor in his hands.

Severus nodded.

“Have you taken—” Rosalie started.

“Yes,” he snapped.

“I need to get something to clean those wounds,” Rosalie said as she handed him the first potion.

Hermione was about to interrupt when Snape did it for her.

“Don’t bother,” He told her friend, his voice clipped, “The ‘pond sludge’ will take care of any
brewing infection.”
Rosalie didn’t slow down though, and Hermione wondering if perhaps she wasn’t doing this as
much for Snape as she was doing it for herself. To sate her need to be doing something—anything
—so that she could be helping out in some way.

“It looks like someone tried to take you face off, Snape,” Rosalie replied, apparently unconcerned
at the iciness in the professor’s voice as her spoke to her, “What happened?”

“The Dark Lord was displeased with our efforts to ‘acquire’ you,” Snape told her honestly, “As the
one closest to you and the Order; I bore the brunt of the punishment for my perceived failure.”

“I did this?” Rosalie asked breathlessly, staring at thinly.

“No,” Snape snapped reproachfully, “You had nothing to do with it. The Dark Lord did this. If not
for this reason, then he would have for another, simply because he wanted to.”

Rosalie pressed her lips together and didn’t reply. Instead she summoned a damp face cloth to press
against the wound on his face that was still bleeding freely, “I think this needs to be spelled
closed.”

“I’ve lived through worse,” Snape told her bluntly, but Rosalie ignored him.

Hermione watched as the Rosalie pulled out her wand and held it over the deep wound running the
length of Snape’s face. Snape’s head immediately snapped around and his eyes narrowed.

“Potter! What—”

“Hold still,” Rosalie told him, “Vieo Tergum!”

Hermione’s eyes popped open in both shock and horror as she watched her friend incant over the
laceration, her wand moving in slow even movements as the spell began to knit the skin back
together slowly. Snape went almost comically still beneath her wand, his eyes sharp and assessing.
Rosalie’s wand hand was sure and steady as she first made her way down the wound and then
slowly back up again until the laceration on Snape’s face had closed and all that was left was the
shiny looking pink skin of a freshly healed wound. Snape stood abruptly, one hand flying to his
face the second Rosalie was finished and he glared at the girl suspiciously, clearly as stunned as
Hermione was at this hidden talent.

“Who taught you that spell?” He asked his voice oddly low and even.

“No one,” Rosalie replied, “I found a book on healing and I’ve been reading through it. It’s
actually pretty interesting. I think it belonged to one of the Black’s that was burnt off of the family
tree.”

Hermione noted Rosalie’s hands were shaking and took note of how she slumped against the desk
and wondered how much power and energy a spell like that even required. Not something just
anyone could achieve.

Snape was watching her critically and Hermione was waiting for the tirade she felt sure was about
to be unleashed on her friend.

“You don’t look much better than I do,” He told her bluntly after a beat or so of silence and he
reached for the blood-replenishing potion, downing it in one without flinching.

“It’s nothing,” She told him, “I’ve lived through worse.”

Snape grunted.

Hermione wasn’t sure what it was she was seeing, but she was amazed at the level of trust she was
witnessing between two people who had once hated each other with a violent passion. As
unbelievable as it seemed, she realised suddenly that they’d somehow become friends, though she
was sure they hadn’t acknowledged that fact to one another. The truth was undeniable, though. In
what other universe would Severus Snape accept help from Rosalie Potter while he still had power
enough to deny her? Or sit still and allow Rosalie Potter to cast and unknown charm on his person,
let alone his face?

“Will you be alright now?” Rosalie asked.

Snape sneered at her, “I would have been alright regardless.”

Hermione worried her lower lip as Rosalie glared at him mutinously, fury burning hotly in her
eyes.

“Fine,” She told him, suddenly angry, “I’ll leave you to it then!”

Hermione watched as Rosalie spun on her heel and stalked back over to the couch where she was
still standing numbly. Snatching up her blanket Rosalie nodded at the door to Hermione.

“Come on,” she told her, “Let’s go then.”

Hermione didn’t need telling twice, she was already out of the door when she heard him mutter a
low ‘thank you, Potter’ to her friends retreating back, clearly not meant for her own untrustworthy
ears. Hermione sucked in a quick breath as her knowledge of the world around her suddenly and
irrevocably shifted on a fundamental level.

“You’re welcome,” Rosalie replied tersely and the door clicked closed behind them.

The transformation the Weasleys backyard had undergone was phenomenal. Rosalie felt her mouth
fall open in wonder as she let her eyes take in the flowers and candles and silk ribbons and the
romantic white canopy that had been erected to form something of a marquee for the party.

“Woodland paradise,” She murmured as she looked around, remembering her conversation with
Ron from a couple of days before.

Garlands of beautiful flowers—clearly Professor Sprouts handiwork—were looped around the

lower edge of the canopy lusciously in blooms of whites, creams and purples; bows of silver silk
woven throughout them artistically. Gauzy drapes made up the walls of the marquee lending a
romantic feel to the atmosphere around them, and hundreds of beautiful floating candles lit up the
area in a warm glow.

It looked magical.

Perfect.

A warm summer breeze blew gently through the marquee and a soft scattering of petals, drifted in
on it, twisting and looping their way to the ground like snowflakes around the feet of the guests
who were beginning to gather inside around the refreshment table. She felt her spirits lift somewhat
despite her unease over celebrating a wedding when she felt like she should be out doing
something, like hunting Voldemort’s horcruxes. She felt like they were running out of time; like
every lost hour was an hour closer to Voldemort coming after her before she was ready and before
they’d accomplished the means to kill him. The diary was gone, the gaunt ring still sat on
Dumbledore’s blackened fingers, but they were only two out of the seven Voldemort had created!
Neither had come easily. Rosalie shuddered at the thought of Dumbledore’s blackened hand. She
knew destroying them would be dangerous—the diary had almost killed her back in her second
year—and she could still feel the dark energy emanating from Dumbledore’s hand when she was
near him. What other dangers did Voldemort’s horcruxes hold? The Headmaster had somehow
managed to contain the dark curse to his fingers alone, but it was still active within him and she
wondered if it was very painful. He looked tired a lot of the time nowadays—older. If there were
still five to go, could they afford to keep paying the price for each bit of Voldemort’s soul they
destroyed?

Rosalie sighed. Thinking of the Headmaster, as always, inevitably lead her to thoughts of their
aborted journey out to Voldemort’s cave at the end of the last school term. Rosalie kept thinking
that he’d have called on her by now to make the trip out to the cave. She kept expecting him to
show up at Grimmauld Place and tell her it was time, but he hadn’t come and she wondered if
perhaps he was being spread too thin by the vast number of responsibilities he took on. Surely even
Albus Dumbledore had his limits. He was the face of the Light, the leader of the resistance; he
coordinated every ones comings and goings and seemed to be fighting a daily battle with the
Ministry to keep things under control. Then there was Hogwarts, a place she knew he’d never
willingly neglect. She knew Professor McGonagall helped with the running of the school where
she could, but the reinstating of the wards could only be done by a Headmaster...

Rosalie sighed again, frustrated this time. She was a fully trained witch now, capable of using her
magic outside of Hogwarts wards without the underage magic trace locating her and alerting the
Ministry. It was her job—her destiny—to defeat Voldemort or die trying and she knew that the
hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes was therefore her battle. Perhaps it was time she took it on and
took charge of the assignment, she thought absently? Perhaps she could push on where she and
Dumbledore had left off without the Headmaster’s help? Perhaps Snape—

“I can’t believe my brother is married!” Ron exclaimed happily as he came to stand beside her.

Rosalie looked up at him, her thoughts sufficiently derailed as her best friend’s sudden appearance
startled her back into the present and for a second she had to remind herself where she was. The
Burrow. Wedding. Right.Her brain hastened to catch up to the flow of conversation. She couldn’t
believe Fleur was now a Weasley! It seemed an odd fit, yet somehow it worked and the young
couple were practically glowing with love and happiness over their newly married state. So was
Mrs. Wealsey for that fact, no doubt imaging the grandbabies they would one day give her.

“Yeah,” she agreed absently, offering her friend a small smile.

Ron frowned, “What’s up?”

Rosalie shot him a surprised look at his unexpected show of perceptiveness, “Nothing’s up. Just
thinking about, well...you know what.”

Ron frowned at her, “No. Not tonight. Tonight we’re celebrating my brother’s wedding. There is
no war, no You-Know-Who gunning for us and no stupid hunt for his stupid you-know-what’s.”

“Ron,” Rosalie started her voice full of censure.

“No,” Ron reiterated again more firmly, “Just, no. Everyone is here tonight, Rose. Celebrating.
This could be the very last time in a long time we have anything like this to rejoice over. Hell, this
could be the last time some of us even see one another. So, no, alright? We’re not going to think
about that tonight. Tomorrow we go to Hogwarts and fingers-crossed we find a you-know-what,
but until then, we’re going to stop thinking, relax and have a good time.”

Rosalie stared at her friend in shock, taken aback by his determination to simply ignore the war and
everything related to it for one night. Could she even do that? Could anyone? Yes, she realised as
she looked around. Apparently they could. Every single one of the people she loved most in the
world was there that night, laughing and dancing, seemingly carefree or at least pretending to be so.
Or perhaps it was more than it simply appeared to be? Perhaps all this joy and celebration was
nothing more than a release of pent up energy. All the stress, worry and anxiety they all felt
channelled into something else—dancing and celebrating—in an attempt to purge it from their
bodies the only way they knew how, the only way they could, if only for a couple of hours.

Rosalie looked back at Ron slowly and nodded. She would at least try, if only for Ron’s benefit.

Ron nodded once in return and then promptly changed the topic.

“So, what’s up with Snape tonight?” He groused unexpectedly, shooting a filthy looking glare over
her shoulder at the man in question, “Every time I turn around he’s staring at you. What’s he so
interested in?”

Rosalie shrugged thinking back to that morning and the state he’d been in. You wouldn’t know it
had ever happened to look at him now—magic truly was a wonderful thing. She thought, perhaps
he was angry with her for taking such liberties with him? Maybe she’d crossed some invisible line
or assumed too much of their slowly evolving relationship? She could feel his gaze boring into her
back even as she contemplated his possible anger. Only, the weight of his attention didn’t feel
angry, simply...intense, or perhaps focused.

“I don’t know,” She told Ron truthfully, darting a glace over her shoulder at Snape who, true to
Ron’s word, was staring at her with intensity, “I hadn’t noticed until you said anything.”

Ron nodded, “Well he is, and he was doing it last night too. Before he left, that is.”

Rosalie gave Ron a look, “He is technically my bodyguard, you know. Remus too. He’s probably
just looking out for me.”

Ron shot her a dark glare but said nothing.

“Where’s Hermione?” She asked suddenly, changing the topic before Ron could work himself up
over Snape.

“Dancing,” He told her shortly, though Rosalie didn’t think his tone was due to anything she’d
done, “With Marcel.”

Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up with a small grin, “Marcel? Who might that be?”

“He’s one of Fleur’s cousins,” Ron explained in a disgruntled kind of tone, “He’s French.”

Rosalie chuckled, “You sound jealous.”

The speed with which Ron’s head shot around to stare at her was alarming, and Rosalie felt herself
take an involuntary step backwards at the abruptness of it.

“What!? No! I’m not jealous!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as he stared at her with something akin to
horror, “Why would you think that?”
Rosalie shrugged casually, eyeing him as she contemplated the ferocity of his response, “I thought
you might have a thing for Hermione. I mean, you hated Krum when she was kind of seeing him in
our fourth year and you certainly sounded jealous of this Marcel guy. I just thought...”

Ron was shaking his head vigorously, “I don’t like Hermione. Not like that! I don’t know why
everyone keeps saying that!”

Rosalie laughed, holding a placating hand up, “Okay, okay! Whatever you say!”

“No, you don’t understand,” Ron told her earnestly, “Rose...It’s not Hermione that I—”

“Rosalie!”

Ron’s eyes grew desperate as he glanced over her shoulder at the voice who’d called out her name
and he reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to anchor her to him physically even as her
attention had already left him.

“Oliver!” Rosalie replied, a surprised grin breaking out across her face as she turned to find her old
Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, striding towards them with purpose, “How are you?”

Oliver pulled her into a friendly—if a little unexpected—hug with a grin. Beside her Ron’s face
turned nearly purple as he seemed to swallow his own words.

“I’m good,” He replied honestly before turning to nod at Ron in greeting, “Weasley, how’s things?
Don’t mind if I steal her for a bit do you?”

Ron spluttered behind them as Oliver pulled her out into his arms, not waiting for Ron’s response
as he guided her out onto the dance floor.

“You still playing Quidditch?” She asked as he twirled her with surprising skill and grace.

Oliver nodded, “I’m playing in the reserves for Puddlemere. With any luck this war will all be over
soon and I might make it into second string in a year’s time or so. This thing with You-Know-
Who’s been bloody inconvenient. The whole team’s been grounded until it’s safe to be out
practicing again. But it takes time to work your way up the ranks, you know, so the quicker we can
be back practicing the better.”

Rosalie felt something uncomfortable rise within her as he bemoaned the ‘inconvenience’ the war
had caused him and his Quidditch schedule but forced herself to nod politely. Not everyone was in
the thick of things as she was after all, she reminded herself ruefully. Perhaps it was just Oliver’s
way of coping.

“Don’t think you could help with that at all, could you?” He chuckled.

“With what? The war?” She asked, her tone coming out a little more clipped than she’d intended it
to.

Oliver laughed, “Just kidding, of course. I don’t mind being in the reserves, it’ll be worth it in the
long run. But I want to be on the main team, though. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” She agreed, though with far less enthusiasm.

“I knew you’d know what I was on about,” Oliver told her with a crooked grin, before spinning her
away from him and back in again. Rosalie went through the motions politely. She didn’t ‘know’.
Not really. While she’d always enjoyed playing, Quidditch wasn’t the be all and end all of life to
her like it clearly was to Oliver. It was a game, for Merlin’s sake! How could she even begin to
imagine spending all her time focused on playing a game when she had a Dark Lord to kill and a
war to win? Quidditch was a distant memory, a childhood game—ridiculous. Oliver seemed
ridiculous. It was hard to imagine him as the boy she’d once looked up to, or perhaps it was simply
hard to imagine herself looking up to the boy he still was. Rosalie knew she was being unfair on
him. She was letting something get to her that shouldn’t even matter. What did she care if Oliver
occupied himself with thoughts of Quidditch while a war was being waged? It had no impact on
her and yet she couldn’t deny her irritation. Or perhaps it was jealousy?

“What about you? Do you still play?” He asked her with enthusiasm.

Rosalie gave him a look, “I, ah... don’t really have the time anymore... you know? I haven’t played
much—or at all really—since Umbridge put that lifetime Quidditch ban on me in my fifth year.
There’s too much going on at the moment anyway.”

Oliver nodded, though he didn’t really seem that much interested in non-Quidditch related talk,
“Shame that.”

“Hmm,” She agreed half-heartedly, “Um, excuse me. I should probably—”

Rosalie started as a loud explosion rattled the ground beneath their feet and sent a shock wave of
gasps and screams of fright rippling out over the party.

“What was that?” Oliver asked nervously, his grip on her hand going tight as he went still, eyes
darting around them skittishly. Rosalie looked at him, the colour draining out of his face in fear as
he stared off at something over her shoulder and she had a brief moment to wonder why she always
seemed to have her back to the action whenever the shit hit the fan. There was a wash of murmurs
and startled gasps working their way over the crowd of people at the reception and Rosalie knew
something was about to go very, very wrong.

“Death Eaters,” someone croaked out hoarsely and Oliver’s head whipped around to stare at them
in fear.

“What?” He asked, his voice trembling.

“Death Eaters!” someone screamed and suddenly the world around her dissolved into a wash of
screams, shoving hands and panic as the crowd surged around her en masse. Rosalie gasped and
cried out in pain as someone trampled over her foot as the crowd began to herd themselves, like
cattle, to the point in the yard furthest from that of the menacing cloaked figures that had appeared
in the night. Rosalie shook Oliver’s hands off, scowling at him darkly when he made to grab at her
again in fear.

“Let go,” she snarled, before spinning around to face away from him; to face into the oncoming
throng as she tried to figure out what was going on. She could see the orange glow of fire in the
distance over the heads of the people fighting against her to get inside the house and just away
from whatever was happening.

“It’s alright!” Arthur Weasley’s voice could be heard ringing out over the growing chorus of
frightened screams and raised voices, “They cannot breach the wards! Please....try and remain
calm!”

Rosalie’s hand whipped out to steady herself as another explosion unsteadied her feet.

“Rose!”
Rosalie’s head darted up at the sound of Hermione’s voice and she could see the bushy-haired
witch pushing her way through the crush of people bottlenecking at the Weasley’s backdoor.

“Hermione!” she called back.

Hermione grasped her arm as she made it to her side and together the two girls shared a look.
Silhouetted by the flames was a small group of hooded figures standing ominously at the fire’s
edge moving like wraiths towards the boundaries of the property.

“Oh Merlin!” Hermione whispered as she counted the number of hooded figures moving towards
them.

There were at least nine of them, possibly more; enough to cause plenty of damage on one of
Voldemort’s smaller raids and more than enough to take a sizable chuck out of Bill and Fleur’s
wedding guests should things go badly.

“Oh Merlin, Rose!” Hermione repeated again.

“It’s alright, ‘Mione,” Rosalie told her gently, taking her friends hand up in her own, “They can’t
breach the boundaries of the wards.”

“No,” Hermione replied urgently, ​Look!”

Rosalie frowned and let her gaze follow to where her friend was pointing. She felt her stomach
lurch violently.

“They’ve got muggles,” Hermione whispered.

As if to punctuate her statement a bone chilling scream suddenly tore through the night air around
them. One or two of the party guests followed suit in sheer terror, their mournful wailing
interspersed with wet sounding sobs as they dissolved into tears around them, but Rosalie’s gaze
was fixed on the muggle woman, naked and beaten, lying on the ground at the feet of the Death
Eater taking point, her back unnaturally arched off of the ground and her arms and legs locked in
contracted pain as she was held under the Cruciatus.

Hermione had her hands clamped tightly over her ears in fright, “Make it stop. Please.”

Rosalie wasn’t sure who she was talking to, only that she sounded as shaken as Rosalie had ever
heard her.

“Rose! Hermione!”

Ron was racing towards them, Rosalie turned to face her friend—he looked deathly pale and his
eyes just that little too wide. For a second his attention was caught by the gruesome display before
them and his step faltered.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered roughly.

The screams strangled and filled with pain, and already fading as the muggle’s voice went hoarse
and Rosalie felt herself shiver with disgust. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Why was
everyone just standing there watching this display?

“Ron?” Hermione asked, turning shakily away from the scene before them.

“The Order is going out to meet them,” Ron told them breathlessly, “Snape thinks they’ve come for
you, Rose, but apparently You-Know-Who gave no orders for an attack—at least not one he told
Snape about.”

Rosalie’s jaw tightened, she could hear the faint sounds of the Death Eaters’ jeering and laughter
even from their distance as they taunted the helpless muggles they held captive. She could hear the
familiar high-pitched, insane cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange and her shrieks of delight now and then
and knew that someone was likely suffering for her delight. She looked back at the dark forms of
the Death Eaters, closer now as they drew nearer to the edge of the wards. She could see the form
of a little boy, no more than three or four, naked but for the metal collar locked around his neck
which connected a heavy metal-link chain. A Death Eater—Bellatrix she thought—had the other
end of the chain, tugging on it harshly and cackling with delight as he stumbled and fell. The boy
was dirty and bleeding. Crying woefully as he was dragged along the ground face first. In that
moment she hated Bellatrix Lestrange more than even Voldemort and she felt something inside her
snap.

Rosalie was still frozen to her spot as all hell broke loose outside the wards. Spells started flying as
the Order went out to meet the Death Eaters head on giving back just as good as they got. A flash
of red illuminated Remus’ face as he faced off with the man who had been torturing the young
muggle woman under Cruciatus and Rosalie felt a sick kind of pleasure lance through her as Remus
landed a blow, knocking the man back on his feet and breaking his hold on the curse. The woman
fell silent, twitching uselessly on the ground as the two wizards above her began to duel viciously.
Rosalie could still hear the child’s cries, his whimpers slicing through the sounds of the battle like
a knife through butter and straight into her heart as Bellatrix yanked him about through the midst
of the conflict.

“Rose!”

Her feet were moving before she was fully conscious of having made the decision. She heard Ron
and Hermione thundering along behind her, calling out her name and yelling at her to stop but she
ignored them, her mind totally focused on bringing down Bellatrix Lestrange. She hurtled through
the protective wards, the high heels on her feet barely even slowing her down as she raced
forwards her wand up and at the ready to cast the first curse that came to mind—

“Sectumsempra!” She screamed furiously with a violent swish of her arm as she stared
unflinchingly down the length of her wand at the woman who was taking pleasure from torturing a
child, at the woman who had killed Sirius!

Bellatrix turned at the last second, managing to deflect the worst of the impact, but Rosalie was
darkly satisfied at the spray of blood the arched up out from the long slice that tore through the
witch’s shoulder. Reflexively Bellatrix dropped the chain connecting to the boy, her free arm
flying to the deep laceration on her shoulder.

Rosalie dashed over to the child as Bellatrix shrieked in outrage.

“You bitch!” Bellatrix snarled, furious one second and amused the next as she let out an insane
little cackle, “Baby Potter’s all grown up! Dark magic! It feels good, doesn’t it, lovely?”

Rosalie sneered at her cooing, needling tone, feeling her stomach roll as the insane witch pulled her
hand back from the deep wound on her shoulder to lick lewdly at the blood on her palm.

“You hurt me, Potter,” she whinged in a baby like tone, though there was a vicious gleam of
excitement in her eyes.

“I aimed to do more than hurt you, you bitch,” Rosalie snarled, standing protectively over the boy.
 Bellatrix laughed, “You want to play, Potty? What a shame you still don’t understand the rules
—Diffindo!”

Rosalie was ready for her, erecting a basic shielding charm with ease, “Protego! Confringo!”

Bellatrix batted aside the curse easily, “Crucio!”

“Declino!” Rosalie screamed throwing everything she had into the return curse, watching as it
hurtled towards Bellatrix with alarming speed to strike her dead in the chest.

For a split second shock registered in Bellatrix’s eyes before she crumpled to the ground, twitching
and screaming under her own curse, deflected back on her twofold. Rosalie stared down at her,
chest heaving from exertion as she watched Bellatrix scream and cry and tug and pull at her hair as
her body warped itself into unnatural positions in an attempt to escape the pain. The sight didn’t
move her. It didn’t make her feel anything.

“Rosalie!”

Rosalie looked up as someone yelled her name in warning, but it was too late. Hands like steel
locked themselves around her arms, pinning them behind her with an almost unnatural strength as
she was yanked backwards into someone’s chest.

“Yes, Rosalie,” A smooth voice cooed in her ear tauntingly, “Watch out.”

Chapter End Notes

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has read, liked, bookmarked
and commented on my story so far! I love reading your comments and knowing what
your thoughts are! I appreciate all your support and I am glad that your enjoying the
journey I'm taking Snape and Rosalie on as much as I am enjoying writing it. I also
wanted to apologise again for any grammatical or spelling errors that pop up along the
way, as I have mentioned previously, this story is currently unbeta'd, so any mistakes
are my own.

Thanks!
Quill
 Chapter Ten
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Ten

There had been a time once, when Severus had counted Lucius Malfoy as one of his friends. The
blond had been a year or two ahead of him in school, popular among his peers, powerful and
leading a seemingly gifted life in Severus’ eyes. He could still remember the thrill it had given him
when Lucius had shown an interest in his little potion experiments, the older boy paying him the
credit and time of day that Severus had then felt he deserved. The very notion that someone like
Lucius Malfoy, a wizard from a wealthy aristocratic family, could believe someone like a Snape
was worth of his time had been a heady feeling. It had seemed at the time, for the first time in his
life, something was finally going right and he was finally getting somewhere. Becoming someone.

Friendship had blossomed quickly and dizzyingly between them and Severus had allowed himself
to be uncharacteristically swept away with it. He had idolized Lucius and though he knew now that
Lucius had no doubt approached him under his Lord’s orders, their friendship—for a time—had
been real. Real enough for Severus to allow himself to led blindly into the service of a madman,
truly believing it was what he wanted in life and real enough for him to be named godfather to
Lucius' heir and only son, Draco. It hadn’t been strong enough, however, to keep them rigid in the
face of the atrocities they had been expected to commit in their Lord’s name—a challenge Severus
had baulked at and Lucius had risen to willingly. He should have seen it then, the darkness that
plagued his friend like a sickness, but in truth it took him years to come to terms with what he was
seeing—who he was seeing: the real Lucius Malfoy, or at least a facet of the person Severus knew,
but had never been shown before. It was a facet of his friend that had a wicked, cruel streak and a
taste for torturing others; it was power hungry and driven to excel no matter the cost.

Over time Lucius learnt to cultivate that behaviour, encouraged as he was by the Dark Lord, until
his cruelty and sick predilection for unwillingness in his ‘sexual partners’ had become common
knowledge among Death Eater ranks, applauded even, though those outside their circles remained
oblivious to his activities—a necessary measure to maintain Lucius' reputation at the Ministry and
throughout the Wizarding World.

His obsession with Rosalie Potter, while newer, was apparently no less intoxicating to the man’s
needs, and it was with a sick kind of knowledge that Severus realised Lucius held the means to
satisfy both tastes in his arms before him.

Severus watched from the shadows, careful to remain unseen, as Potter cringed away from Lucius
as much as she able to from within his grasp. Her body was arched outwards, struggling with
futility as Lucius lowered his face to her ear, his nose pressing into the silk of her hair in a parody
of intimacy causing Potter to stiffen momentarily in his grasp. Something poisonous seemed to
flood Severus’ stomach at the sight, a feeling only expounded on as the Lucius allowed his tongue
to dart out and trace up the warm, exposed skin of Potter’s neck.

Severus’ wand dropped into his hand before he’d consciously made the decision to do so, a curse
that would leave Lucius Malfoy more than simply incapacitated already forming on his lips as
anger began to fester beneath the surface of his skin. To hell with maintaining his cover, he
couldn’t simply stand by and watch his one time friend degrade Potter in such a way! He wouldn’t!
And where the fuck was Lupin, her other so called bodyguard?

For a moment Severus was taken aback by the unexpectedness of the emotions bubbling up inside
of him. It wasn’t like he’d never felt anger before, it just wasn’t a common emotion for him to
experience. Irritation, frustration, annoyance, disdain, scorn and occasionally even hate, he was no
stranger to; but, anger? To get angry over something—more importantly, in defence of something
—you had to care, and there were few things he’d ever truly cared about in his life. Most of them
women, he thought ruefully: his mother, Lily...and now, apparently, Potter. He cared about Potter,
he mused, though he couldn’t begin to wonder how that was even possible.

She was struggling against Lucius’ hold, her legs kicking out at her attacker as she fought against
him like a wild animal.

“Confundus!”

Lucius hissed the curse through clenched teeth, his wand jammed into the soft skin of Potter’s
temple and for a moment her struggles lost rhythm and calmed slightly as the charm took effect. A
blank look settled over her face and Lucius smiled menacingly. She was still opposing him, but the
confusion charm he’d cast on her had muddled her thoughts enough to calm her attack somewhat
which had been his goal, no doubt. He dragged her with him—easily now—into the shadows of a
nearby patch of wilderness amidst the commotion raging around them and Severus quickly
followed, careful to remain hidden from sight. Lucius’ hands were on her, Potter’s skirt hiked up
on one side so that the frill of black lace underpants was exposed as his hands wandered beneath
the green silk of her dress and a rage unlike anything Severus ever felt came over him.

His spell hit dead on its mark making Lucius stumble and lose his grip on Potter as the whiplash
hex struck. The skin along one side of his neck split open with a pray of blood as if struck by a
whip and Lucius’ free hand flew to the wound. Glacial eyes shot up to glare into the night, his gaze
darting around for his attacker even as his captive tore herself free of his grasp, pushing down her
skirt as she stumbled away from him to snatch her wand, which she’d lost in the initial struggle.

“Reducto!” Potter snarled angrily through her dazed expression, staring down her wand
determinedly as she blasted Lucius Malfoy several metres back and into the trunk of a solid
looking tree even as she fought against the effects of his Confundus charm.

“Bitch!” Lucius wheezed as he staggered to his feet, blood dripping down the side of his neck to
soak into his robes.

“Stupefy!”

The shout came from several directions and Lucius dropped like a sack of potatoes where he stood.
Potter didn’t relax her stance, though it was clear she was finding it difficult to keep her attention
fixed on one point as her eyes kept leaving Lucius’ form to trace her surroundings every couple of
seconds. She looked fierce, Severus thought—primal, even—with her teeth clenched, eyes dark
and chest heaving with the rush of adrenaline she was no doubt experiencing. Her wand remained
steady on her attacker, despite the cloudiness that still clung to her and the slight tremor in her
hands and Severus couldn’t help but admire her strength of focus.

Almost immediately Death Eaters began apparating away, leaving their muggle hostages as their
ringleader fell and Severus fell back into the shadows watching as Remus Lupin approach Potter
hesitantly, guiding her gently to lower her wand and then coaching her to end the Cruciatus that
still held Bellatrix captive, writhing on the ground behind her. The night fell silent as the hoarse
throaty shrieks of the insane witch abruptly ceased as Potter ended the spell dispassionately, her lip
curling as she stared at first Bellatrix Lestrange—now lying unconscious on the floor—and then
Lucius Malfoy.

“I’m going home,” She told the wolf without preamble promptly apparated away.

“Rose!—”

Not even a second had passed before Severus followed suit.

He appeared behind her in the training room before she’d taken even a couple of steps. Her face
was lined with distress as she whirled face him and then, seeing who it was, turned her back on
him again and continued her march towards the door.

“Potter.”

She ignored him.

“Potter!” He growled, starting forward, his long strides eating up the space between them easily to
grasp her arm and spin her around to face him.

“What?” She grit out at him.

For a second Severus was lost for words, unsure what had prompted him to follow her in the first
place, what he’d intended to achieve by confronting her like this and forcing her to stop for him.
Her eyes were blazing as she’d spun to face him again, burning with intensity even filled as they
were with the sheen of tears.

“What?” she prompted again when he didn’t immediately respond to her, jostling her arm half-
heartedly to try and free herself of his grip.

She was standing close enough to him that he could almost feel the heat emanating from her body
even through the thick wool of his robes. Her hair was tousled wildly around her face in silky black
snarls, her cheeks were flushed with emotion and unexpectedly he felt something rise within him.
Warmth seemed to leech out from his chest and through his body, making his fingertips tingle
where they touched her bare skin and his stomach clench. Something in her expression changed as
she looked up at him through cloudy eyes and her lips parted minutely. Severus felt his gaze lower
to them without his consent, taking in the soft pink flesh of her mouth.

He was suddenly very conscious of his heart pounding in his chest.

“Rose!?”

Lupin’s voice seemed to cut through him like a knife, shattering the spell that had woven itself
around them. Severus took a shocked step back, seemingly returning to himself as he did so and
wondered at what the hell he’d been about to do. He looked down at Potter uncomfortably as her
head whipped around at the sound of the wolf’s voice, a confused look plastered across her face
and Severus felt the expression mirrored in his soul. He let her arm drop from his grip as if she’d
burned him and turned his back on her.

“Rose!?” Lupin called again, his voice desperate and worried.

“In here!?” Potter called back, her voice a little unsure making her answer sound like a question. It
was obvious she was still suffering the effects of Lucius’ Confundus charm and having trouble
keeping up with the play by play of the moment, but Severus had to wonder if he hadn’t been hit
himself his behaviour was so unfocused and out of character.

Potter looked back at him nervously and he looked away unwilling to maintain eye contact with her
while his own thoughts were in such disarray. He could hear the wolf’s steps echoing dully as he
hurried down the hall to their location and knew he couldn’t be there when Lupin arrived.

Gathering the folds of his robes around him he glanced back at her once briefly and disapparated.

Rosalie was finding it hard to focus properly on her thoughts, frustrated by how time seemed to
keep jumping ahead of her. One minute she’d been standing alone with Snape, his eyes holding an
odd kind of intensity she’d not seen before and the next she was being enfolded in Remus’ arms.
She wasn’t even entirely sure how she’d come to be back at Grimmauld Place.

“Are you alright?”

She looked up at Remus’ strained face. His brows were knotted together in the centre of his
forehead and his face creased with worry. It was a very complex expression, she pondered absently
as she found herself completely unable to prevent herself contemplating the look. His whole face
seemed to be involved in creating it: eyes, cheeks, mouth, eyebrows, forehead... The lines were
deep and furrowed, like his face was used to pulling such an expression and she thought perhaps
that was completely true. Remus looked like a worrier.

“Rose?” The man in question prompted again.

Rosalie blinked up at him in question, trying to recall what his initial question had been and sighing
in frustration as she realised she’d allowed her thoughts to wander again.

“Sorry, what?” She asked.

“Are you alright? Malfoy, did he hurt you? Touch you?” Remus asked, practical snarling out
Malfoy’s name.

Her mind touched on her memories of the assault, following Remus’ prompt, but everything
seemed disjointed and out of order, much like her thoughts at present. She knew she’d been cursed
but she couldn’t remember if that had come before or after her memory of Lucius Malfoy’s hands
locking her own behind her back, his fingers digging into her wrists with enough pressure to make
her drop her wand. She didn’t feel physically hurt, though she remembered struggling with him and
his hands sliding across the bare skin of her stomach and thighs.

She felt her cheeks turn hot.

“I don’t....think so?” She replied weakly, somehow turning her response into a question, “Where
did Snape go?”

Remus gave her an odd look, “Severus? He isn’t here, Rose.”

Rosalie shook her head, “He was. I’m sure of it—I think.”

Remus took out his wand and cast a quick spell and running it up and down the length of her body.

“Confundus,” he said aloud, as if he was answering an unasked question and somehow his face
relaxed.

Rosalie watched as the lines seemed to melt out of his face leaving nothing but faint wrinkles in
their place. It made him look years younger. He smiled at her and Rosalie couldn’t help the
returning smile that broke out across her face. It made his amber eyes sparkle and the skin at the
corner of his eyes crinkle in a different way—a better way.

“You had me worried for a minute,” He admitted, pulling her back into a tight embrace, “Are you
sure you’re not hurt? I didn’t even realise Malfoy had cornered you until I heard you curse him.”

“I don’t feel hurt,” She replied lamely, her own brows knitting together in concentration. Time
seemed to speed ahead of her again then and she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, Remus
and the Weasley’s all seated around her, Ron and Hermione to her right as they rehashed the events
from the night with one another. There was a cup of tea in her hands that was burning the tender
skin of her palms; automatically she loosened her grip.

Ron’s face was as dark as thunder as he argued back and forth with his brothers and Hermione was
gazing across at her worriedly.

“Rosalie?” Hermione asked, her tone indicating it wasn’t the first time she’d called Rosalie’s
name.

Rosalie made her eyes focus on her best friend’s tense brown eyes, “Yes?”

“It’s alright, you know, if you’re not okay,” Hermione told her softly, a gentle hand moving to grip
one of hers, “I wouldn’t be okay after something like that.”

“Something like what?” Rosalie questioned.

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably, shooting a quick look across the table at Remus.

“If someone tried to...touch me. Like that. Without my permission, I mean,” She replied
uncomfortably, stuttering through her explanation, “We saw what happened.”

Rosalie frowned; she was beginning to think that perhaps she wasn’t reacting the way she ought to
be if people kept asking her if she was okay.

“I’m okay, really. He didn’t get the chance to do anything,” Rosalie replied with more certainty
than she’d felt since arriving back at Grimmauld Place as the fog in her head cleared somewhat.

Hermione nodded, “I wasn’t sure since we were watching from so far away and you were kind of
in the dark. Ron wanted to charge out and save you, but Mrs. Weasley confiscated our wands
before we had time to blink. Lucky Snape was there.”

“Snape?” She asked, her curiosity piqued.

Hermione nodded, “I wasn’t even sure it was him at first, since he was skulking in the shadows for
most of the battle. He emerged briefly once the Death Eaters left though, and then I knew for
certain. He’s the one who hit Mr. Malfoy with the whiplash hex.”
Rosalie nodded, though the memory was still hazy and disjointed.

“Bloody coward,” Ron muttered bitterly, “Just like a bloody snake to hide away in the shadows to
save his own skin.”

“He couldn’t very well step straight out into the heart of the battle and start shooting down Death
Eaters left, right and centre, Ron,” Hermione returned with a longsuffering sigh, “He has a cover to
maintain! Do you really think You-Know-Who would stop and wait for an explanation once wind
of Snape’s ‘defection’ got back to him?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “Then where did he disappear to so quick?”

‘Here,’ Rosalie answered silently, as the memory of them standing toe to toe in her training room
filtered back to her. Snape had followed her back to Grimmauld Place, arriving no more than a
heart beat after her own appearance. Her thoughts drifted back over their odd exchange. It had
lasted mere seconds with nothing of consequence passing between them in that time, but it had
been full of a strange kind of intensity. It was odd seeing Snape’s concern for her displayed so
clearly in his actions. He’d beaten even Remus to her side when all things were said and done and
it had been Snape—according to Hermione—who’d freed her from Lucius’ Malfoy’s dirty
clutches.

She had the strangest urge to smile suddenly, though she knew it would be somehow inappropriate
to do so in that moment, and wondered vaguely how long it would take for Lucius’ confusion
charm to wear off.

“How should I know?” Hermione argued in response to Ron’s original question, “Perhaps he was
called?”

“Or perhaps he just skipped out of his own accord so he could go report back to You-Know-Who!”
Ron fired back.

Rosalie looked around, waiting for Mrs Weasley to jump down her son’s throat about raising his
voice when she realised suddenly that somewhere along the way they’d left the room and it was
just the three of them remaining.

Rosalie sighed, “Do we have to have this argument every time his name comes up? Snape is on our
side, Ron. End of story.”

Ron’s face flushed red with anger, “End of Story!? You really are confused! Since when are you
his biggest fan, Rose?”

“Since I grew up and got over these petty childhood grudges and got to know the man Snape really
is,” Rosalie shot back angrily, feeling her cheeks heat up with emotion, “If he was truly a Death
Eater he could have hand delivered me to Voldemort a hundred times over by now. His loyalties
are with the Light.”

“You’re wrong,” Ron replied stubbornly, “don’t you think You-Know-Who would have figured out
the same if Snape didn’t have a believable reason why? Trust me, when the truth comes out you’re
going to wish you’d have listened to me.”

Rosalie just stared at him not voicing the silent ‘ditto’ that was echoing through her thoughts.

“Just you wait,” Ron told her seriously, “Snape’s playing off both sides of the fence to his own
benefit, so no matter what happens with this bloody war, he’ll be in a position to come out on top.”
Rosalie sighed and shook her head. She knew where Ron was coming from, she’s had many of the
same thoughts herself in the past but she’d been wrong. She’d let her dislike for the man and his
unfair treatment of her blind her, it was only over the past year she’d gradually come to see reason.
Ron refused to be swayed though.

“Can we please at least agree to disagree on this point and leave it at that?” Rosalie asked tiredly,
“I know your thoughts on the matter and you know mine...if I promise to be careful will you try
and keep your thoughts to yourself?”

Ron glared at her, “If I’m not looking out for you, who will Rose? The bloody git’s got everyone
fooled—especially you! Six months ago you would have laughed yourself stupid if I’d come up to
you and told you that in six months time you’d be walking around singing Snape’s praises and
claiming the sun shines out of his bloody arse, but here you are!”

“Just listen to yourself! You sound ridiculous, Ron!” Rosalie cried in exasperation, “Don’t you
think if Snape was smart enough to have fooled everyone else—including Dumbledore—he’d have
fooled you too?”

“Are you calling me stupid?” He growled.

“Are you calling yourself a smarter man than Dumbledore?” Rosalie countered.

“Stop it!” Hermione interjected firmly, “This is stupid! All you are doing is going round and round
in circles. Ron, Professor Dumbledore surely has good reason to trust Professor Snape and surely
we know that we can trust his judgement if nothing else; but Rosalie, we have a right to worry for
you as your friends. Arguing like this isn’t going to change anything and it’s getting us nowhere.”

“Well said, Miss Granger.”

All three teenagers snapped around at the sound of their Headmaster’s voice as it floated in to greet
them from the kitchen doorway. His blue eyes were twinkling as he smiled at them benevolently
over the rim of his glasses.

“Professor,” Hermione breathed, her cheeks tinting pink in embarrassment over her impassioned
reprimand.

Ron’s face was too was flushed red, though the last vestiges of anger still clung to his expression.

“I had come to see how you were recovering, Rose,” Dumbledore informed them as he swept
further into the room, taking up a seat alongside them at the table, “I am pleased to see, that you
are no longer labouring under the effects of Mr. Malfoy’s curse.”

Belatedly, Rosalie felt a heavy tide of mortification sweep through her at the mention of Lucius
Malfoy’s name and felt her gaze drop to the table. Merlin, how many people must have witnessed
his treatment of her? Witnessed how close he had come, once again, to degrading her body against
her will. It had been different before, both with Malfoy’s attempt in the Department of Mysteries
and with that nameless Death Eater in her room back at the Dursley’s. There, at least, there had
been no audience to her humiliation. Her closest friends, Ron and Hermione, didn’t even know
how close she had come to having her body defiled so. Snape, she knew, suspected, but he had
nothing more than his suspicions to go on and the topic had never been broached between them.

“I’m fine,” she replied adamantly, and physically she was. Privately, she couldn’t help but wonder
how many more times she was going to need rescuing? Twice in recent weeks she’d been caught
unprepared and physically overpowered by men. The first time, admittedly, she had been asleep
and there had been little she could have done to change the events that played out at the Dursley’s
that night, but tonight, she had let emotion rule her actions and allowed herself to run headlong into
danger’s open arms without second thought.

“The child, is he...safe?” She asked quietly.

“The young boy is fine. He has since been healed, obliviated and returned to his family via
Magical Law Enforcement authorities. He will retain no memory of his capture,” Dumbledore
replied gently, “As far as the MLE are concerned all the Death Eater’s involved managed to escape
tonight. Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, however, were both detained by the Order and
have since moved to a secure location.”

“Will they be taken back to Azkaban, sir?” Ron asked.

Dumbledore sighed, “I fear Azkaban would no hold them long, Mr Weasley, now that the
Dementors have joined ranks with Voldemort as one of his allies. Regardless, the Ministry is now
fraught with those under Voldemort’s control; if they were to be put on trial I doubt they would
ever be convicted.”

“Where are they being held then, sir?” Hermione asked.

“Fear not, my dear, they have been moved to a secure location—one of the Order’s safe houses
which has the facilities to hold prisoners. They will be kept under surveillance and magic
dampening spells until which time they can be released and tried before an unbiased Wizengamot.”

“I say let them rot,” Ron grumbled angrily.

“Ron!” Hermione snapped.

“I have always believed that it is a measure of a man how he treats those who have wronged him,
Mr Weasley, as it takes a stronger man to forgive than it does to condemn,” Dumbledore chided,
his tone sober, but not unkind, “Should we not treat our adversaries with the same compassion and
tolerance with which we wish to rebuild our society on?”

Ron flushed, “Yeah, I guess...”

“The right path is not always the clearest path to take, Mr. Weasley, nor the most appealing at
times, but nevertheless it is why we have our friends and family—those we trust— there to guide
us.”

Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder what it said about her as a person that she was inclined to agree
with Ron’s initial statement? It saddened her to think that she might not have the capacity within
her to be filled with so much benevolence towards the people that had wronged her.

“Now, is it still your intention to travel to Hogwarts tomorrow to search the Chamber of Secrets?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes.”

“Good,” Dumbledore agreed, “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all to be careful? While the
basilisk once contained down there may now be dead thanks to your efforts, Rose, we know
nothing of what other secrets may still guard Slytherin’s chamber. Be cautious.”

Rosalie knew she should have been focusing on the task ahead of them. Perhaps researching
Voldemort’s possible horcrux’s, or the Chamber of Secrets, or focusing on something other than
the memory of Lucius Malfoy’s hands against her skin as he’d attempted to molest her in front of
the entire Order of the Phoenix.

Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation. Azkaban had done nothing but unhinge the last few
tender threads of Lucius Malfoy’s sanity. She felt sick thinking about it. The sheer audacity of such
an attempt, the motivation behind it, the mortification...

‘That’s it, Potter, struggle! It only makes me want you more!’

The memory of his words and the feel his hot, humid breath against her neck as the wet tepid heat
of his tongue slid up the column of her neck made her shudder. Was it her? Something she did?
Did she give off some kind of vibe that made men want to degrade her in such a fashion? If it had
only happened once, she might have been able to reason out the motivation behind such an attack.
Perhaps even if it had only happened twice, and if Lucius Malfoy the sole attacker responsible for
both attempts, she could reason off the second attempt as the blonde Death Eater merely ‘finishing
what he’d started’. But it had happened three times. Three times too many.

She felt dirty.

Her vision blurred as she stared down at the book in front of her until the letters were fuzzy and the
lines on the page had duplicated. A fierce ache was building in the back of the throat and she
gritted her teeth in frustration as she realised she was about to cry. Merlin, what was wrong with
her? All she ever did lately was cry and fall apart over things and she didn’t know when she’d
become so weak.

Her hands curled into fists as she fought to tamper back the tightness in her throat, her knuckles
turning white with the pressure. Gasping for air she tried to breathe past the constriction in her
throat and chest and bring herself back under control. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t going to do this to her.
She wouldn’t let him. He could rot in hell for all she cared, and she just hoped that wherever
Dumbledore was holding him was secure—more secure then Azkaban clearly was.

Rosalie startled violently as she felt a heavy weight descend on her shoulder and shot out of her
seat instinctively. It clattered to the ground loudly as she spun around and out from under the
weight that held her, her eyes wild and ready.

Rosalie sighed in relief as her gaze came to rest on Snape’s person.

“I apologise. I did not mean to startle you,” Snape told her calmly, his eyes dark and quiet as he
assessed her out of character reaction.

“No, its fine...I was just lost in thought,” She replied quickly, embarrassed by her own flightiness
as she discreetly put away the wand she hadn’t realised had slipped into her hand and bent down to
right her toppled chair, “D-did you want something, sir?”

“I wish to speak with you about your actions tonight,” He continued after a beat.

“My actions?” Rosalie parroted vaguely, her heart still racing from the sudden surge of adrenaline.
She swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat and focused her gaze on his. His eyes were a
deep navy, she noted abstractly, not the inky black that she’d always taken them for—the thought
made her feel lighter, somehow.

“Your actions,” Snape agreed.

Rosalie looked at him questioningly, noting the frustration that seemed to crease his face as he
sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Potter, how many times to do you have to run headlong into danger at the risk of your
own life, before you realise that do so is detrimental to your continued health and wellbeing? I
know such a notion must be difficult for you to grasp, but please, enlighten me as to what you
could have possibly hoped to achieve tonight? But no, it was abundantly clear that thought didn’t
enter the equation,” He growled his quiet anger mounting with every passing second, “Otherwise
you might have also realised that your blatant unhindered use of Dark magic in front of the entire
Order would give cause for concern! How foolish of me to believe that you might have learnt your
lesson when you cast the same spell at Draco just a couple of months ago. You could have killed
her, you realise? Do you really think your conscience could have handled such a stain?”

“I wasn’t thinking about my conscience!” She hissed back, her anger rising quickly in the face of
Snape’s own, “Someone had to help the child Bellatrix was torturing, and everyone else seemed
too engaged to even notice! You can’t honestly expect me to simply sit by and watch such an
atrocity?”

“Yes, I damn well can! Because you are too important to risk losing!” Snape snarled abruptly and
with such vehemence that Rosalie snapped her mouth shut, swallowing her barbed retort as he
stared at her with dark, glittering eyes.

“This war cannot be won without you, Potter!” Snape continued after a moment, his tone abrupt
and his jaw tight with anger, “What is one child—who I was already moving to assist—when your
capture or defeat would mean the destruction of the Light’s resistance and the death of countless
others?”

“That’s not me,” she pushed stubbornly shaking her head in denial, though her words seemed
somewhat deflated, “I could never sit by and just watch something so monstrous. I won’t!”

“Yes, and they realise that,” He replied, his tone quietly scathing as he moved into her space,
crowding in against her until he was looming over her darkly, “They knew exactly what to say and
do to have you catapulting yourself from the protection of the Weasley’s wards and into their
clutches. You played right into their hands and look at where it got you! You achieved nothing by
placing yourself in such danger.”

Rosalie glared weakly up at him, unintimidated by his proximity even as her defences were
crumbling down around her. He was right, and he knew she knew it, but she was too proud to back
down when she believed so strongly in her reasoning, “No, that’s not true. I—”

“You are a fool!”

Rosalie stiffened as her retort was abruptly aborted by the sudden insistence of Snape’s mouth
against hers. Her heart stuttered in shock as their lips melded together seamlessly and it took her
brain a couple of beats to catch up, allowing the sudden acute spike of fear to recede, before she
realised that Snape was kissing her.

Snape was kissing her?

Merlin!

Rosalie gasped as her heart thudded into gear again sending a wash of pleasure over her skin and
tingling up her spine as she went limp with pleasure. Haltingly—hesitantly—her hands jerked
upwards to rest against his face, his neck, his shoulders, before finally fisting in the hair at the nape
of his neck fervently. She could hardly think—hardly breathe!—as his mouth slanted fiercely over
hers, his smooth dry lips encouraging hers to part beneath his direction. Her heart was pounding
out a steady rhythm in her chest, the rush of blood filling her ears with excitement as she melted
into his hold willingly. Large hands cupped her face and knotted in her hair, forcing her to tilt her
head backwards as she allowed him to take control over her. She’d never been touched so boldly,
claimed so self-assuredly and all she seemed able to comprehend was the flushed, trembling mix of
emotions that had become her very existence; how utterly and completely Snape owned her in that
moment and how she’d never been kissed like this in her life—kissed by a man, and not some
nervous, hesitant boy.

Rosalie whimpered as Snape tore himself away from her, the presence of his mouth gone as
quickly as it had come and looked up at him in confusion, her green eyes hazy with passion and her
lips pleasantly bruised.

“Snape—?”

He swept from the room without a backwards glance, his robes flicking up against the door as he
made a quick exit. Rosalie swallowed thickly, her fingertips lifting to palpate bruised lips in
confusion. She felt odd and shaky; her skin overly sensitised and flushed with the heat of arousal.

Had that really just happened? Had she truly just been snogged silly by Severus Snape in the
library at Grimmauld Place where Remus could have happened upon them at any moment? Not to
mention the horde of Weasley’s and her best friend Hermione who were all staying the night at
Grimmauld Place—albeit upstairs, in bed and asleep.

“Dear Merlin,” Rosalie breathed as her cheeks flamed red belatedly and she shot a little glance
around the room guiltily, half expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and yell at her, or
laugh, or make protest over what they’d just done.

Snape had kissed her.

She’d kissed Severus Snape.

Unconsciously she licked at her lips which were still tingling in remembrance as a shy, secret little
grin pulled at the corners of her mouth hesitantly. Her stomach did a strange little flip of
excitement. A shiver of pleasure worked its way over her body goose pimpling her flesh as she
stared at the door Snape had disappeared through and wondered idly when their relationship had
changed enough for something like this to have even been possible. Just over a year ago she had
loathed him unreservedly and now... well, she didn’t know where they stood, but it seemed a world
away from where they’d come. He was one of the most important people in her life.

Rosalie gingerly sat back down at the desk she’d been seated at when it was clear Snape wasn’t
going to be returning to finish what they’d started any time soon. Strange how different it was to
receive such attention from Snape, compared to what had been forced upon her by Lucius Malfoy.
Snape’s kiss had been rough and passionate, yet once she’d moved past the initial shock, she’d felt
no fear from his forthrightness. It was hard to believe that both events had happened on the same
night. It seemed like an age ago that she had left the wedding and escaped Malfoy’s unwanted
advances. She knew a part of that was due to the confusion charm she’d been under, but part of it
was also because so much had happened in the last few hours that the light-heartedness of the
wedding seemed like it had been and gone days prior.

“Rose?”

Rosalie’s head shot up as Hermione’s sleepy voice called to her from the doorway. Her best friend
was watching her through sleep bleary eyes that were squinted against the harshness of the
library’s light.

“Mione! What are you doing awake? I’m not keeping you up somehow, am I?” Rosalie asked as
she took in her friends sleep rumpled appearance guiltily.

Hermione shook her head as she made her way further into the room, “No. I just woke up and
when I noticed that you weren’t there I thought I’d come see if you’re okay, given everything
that’s happened tonight...Are you alright? You look...odd.”

Rosalie blushed a little, “I’m fine. I’ve just been trying to do some reading, mostly though I’ve
been thinking.”

“What about?”

Rosalie shrugged, “This and that... Nothing important.”

Hermione glanced down at the book that still sat open on the desk, her eyes scanning the text with
practiced speed, “Dark Arts?”

Rosalie nodded and looked down at the book on the table, “I found it buried down the back of one
of the bookshelves...I’m not all that far into it yet. Just a couple of pages really, but it makes
reference to Horcruxes.”

Hermione nodded, “I’ve read one or two of the same. They are all frustratingly uninformative and I
hate that we have nothing to work from but the bare minimum! It is so...infuriating! I’ve never had
so little to work from! How are we meant to find anything when we don’t even know how they’re
made, we don’t know how to safely destroy them, and we don’t know what they are remotely
capable of?!”

Rosalie nodded absently, “Well I destroyed the diary without any repercussions—nothing like
Dumbledore’s hand anyway....Maybe that’s something?”

Hermione shrugged, “Perhaps. But the two events were so different; the key factor could have been
any number of things... It makes me worry about what will happen when we finally come across
the next one, you know? What if we find one in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“We’ll be careful, Hermione, and Dumbledore clearly trusts us to be as well, either that or he is
convinced that we won’t find anything of use down there. We’d never be allowed to go alone
otherwise, you know that...”

Hermione nodded and shot her friend a wry smile, “Yes, but trouble has a way of finding you in the
most unlikely of places, Rose, I know that too.”

Rosalie grinned, “Shut up, ‘Mione, anyone would think I was a bad omen!”
 Chapter Eleven
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Eleven

“Remember this, Rose?” Ron asked, bumping her shoulder playfully with his.

Rosalie frowned.

“Of course,” She replied as she looked down into the gaping maw that was the entrance to the
Chamber of Secrets. How could she forget? It was dark and smelt of damp, mildewed stone—just
as she remembered. If she were honest with herself, she would have been able to admit that she
hated the thought of returning to the Chamber of Secrets, the place where she’d first met Tom
Riddle: the young man who would become Lord Voldemort. She’d had nightmares for weeks
following that ordeal, most of them featuring the giant basilisk that had almost killed her. Not even
her Uncle’s threats of violence had been able to prevent her waking up in the middle of the night
with a scream choking in her throat. She wasn’t likely to forget this place for the rest of her life.

Rosalie rubbed at her upper arm in remembrance, at the spot that still held the barest remnants of a
pale pink shiny looking scar from where the basilisk’s fang had pierced her flesh. Would the
snake’s carcass have decomposed by now? It had been just over four years, after all, what would be
left?

“How do we get down?” Hermione asked, turning inquiring cautious brown eye on her friend in
question.

“We jump,” Rosalie replied before taking a deep breath and stepping over the ledge to make the
plunge.

“Jump?!” Hermione’s voice echoed down after, all shock and outrage.

Rosalie fought against the instinctual scream that threatened to escape her as her stomach flipped
wildly and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins making her feel sick with the exhilaration
of freefalling a couple of feet before she hit the slide with a dull thud and slid down the rest of the
way to relative safety. Behind her, she could hear the shouts of Ron and Hermione as they
followed loyally after her.

She couldn’t help but smile at Hermione’s surprised cry of exclamation as the brunette’s feet came
to land on the crushed piles of animal skeletons that still littered the floor.
“Urgh!” Hermione muttered, kicking the skull of a rat out from under her feet.

“It’s just like I remember it being,” Ron breathed as he clanked around the dark tunnel that would
lead them to the Chamber.

Rosalie felt something inside of her cringe as he shot a blinding smile back at her and it was then
that it clicked for her and she realised that Ron was more than a little excited about the ‘adventure’
ahead of them. Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder when that had changed for her? Perhaps when she
had lost Sirius at the end of her fifth year? Or maybe even earlier, back at the Triwizard
Tournament where she had witnessed Cedric lose his life so needlessly. She knew for a fact that,
miraculously, she was still somehow the only one out of the ‘Golden Trio’ who saw the threstrals
that pulled Hogwarts carriages and lived in the Forbidden Forrest. She was glad for it, she
wouldn’t want it any other way, only sometimes it made her feel years older than two of them and
she hated that she could look down on their immaturity in any way. They were still young,
immaturity was expected of them! They weren’t supposed to be bitter souls that were world weary
insomniacs at seventeen like she was. She was sure the shadows under her eyes were permanently
ingrained. She looked haggard. Worn.

“Wands out,” Rosalie warned them already lighting the tip of her own want with a softly spoken
incantation.

“Remember, we don’t know what we’re looking for,” Hermione reminded them as she followed
Rosalie’s lead, lighting her own wand quickly and glancing around the dank tunnel, “it could be
anything.”

Rosalie nodded as they started off down the tunnel along the same path that she’d taken all those
years ago.

“Look here, Hermione! This is where Lockhart tried to curse us and hit himself instead,” Ron
pointed out as they passed the avalanche of rocks.

“You’re lucky he didn’t inadvertently bring the whole tunnel system down around you!” Hermione
nodded as she took in the remnants of the scene.

“Yeah, I know!” Ron agreed wholeheartedly, “What he did was bloody stupid if you ask me!”

“We better keep moving,” Rosalie urged, not willing to linger and reminisce, they had a long day
ahead of them as it was without drudging up memories of the past.

The trek through the remainder of the tunnel didn’t take long, barely more than a few minutes in
total before they were arriving at the main entrance, guarded ever faithfully by Slytherin’s snakes.
Ron shivered as she hissed the password to the guardians, yet didn’t hesitate as he immediately
stepped into the room behind her.

“Blood hell!” The redhead breathed in amazement as his eyes widened to take in everything around
him.

Rosalie sighed.

She was back.

Rosalie let her eyes track over the familiar carving of Salazar Slytherin’s stern looking face.
‘Bloody hell’, indeed! This place held nothing but bad memories, and the dead carcass of the
basilisk—looking just the same as it had the day she’d killed it—lying on the floor didn’t help any.
Ron let out a low whistle of amazement as his eyes followed her gaze to the dead monster.
“Oh my gosh, Rose! You killed that?” Hermione exclaimed in disbelief, staring at the huge snake
in horror.

Rosalie nodded.

“It’s a miracle your even alive,” Hermione told her, “You were twelve!”

Rosalie shrugged, “It was blind luck. Literally. Fawkes plucked out its eyes.”

“How come it’s still...whole? Shouldn’t it be all rotted by now?” Ron asked awkwardly, referring
to the fact that snake looked like it had only just been slain, instead of lying dormant for four years.

Hermione shrugged, “It is possible it’s rotting inside, but....basilisk scales are magically dense and
have properties we are yet to fully understand, not to mention they are known to be an extremely
strong protective shell in the physical sense. I suppose it’s also possible the scales are responsible
for keeping the snake...”

“Fresh?” Rosalie supplied, wrinkling her nose at the beast.

Hermione nodded, “We should harvest what we can from the carcass while we have the chance.
The potions ingredients that can be found on a specimen like this are rare and expensive. It would
be foolish to pass up such an opportunity.”

Ron shuddered, “You want me to touch that thing?”

Hermione arched her brow at him, “You have a better idea? Rose used a basilisk fang to destroy
the first horcrux, for all we know, that’s the key to destroying them all.”

Ron sighed, “Alright, alright.”

Rosalie reached out and let her fingertips slide over the body of the serpent. The scales were cold
and silky-smooth beneath her questing fingers. She could almost feel the power still residing in
them, humming beneath her fingertips. They were strong, perhaps even more impenetrable than
dragon’s hide.

“How do we even go about harvesting the scales?” Rosalie asked.

“With this,” Hermione replied pulling out a wicked looking blade, specifically designed for the
safe harvesting of potions materials, “I always come prepared.”

“Anyone would think you were a nerd, if they saw inside that bag, 'Mione,” Ron prodded.

“Lucky for you, I am,” She returned easily before donning her pair of dragon hide gloves and
approaching the carcass.

Rosalie drowned out the sound of their bickering as she turned her attention to the spot where
Ginny Weasley had lain unconscious, oblivious to the happenings around her—to Voldemort
slowly leeching the life out of her and the giant serpent that had emerged from Salazar
Slytherin’s...mouth. How could she have forgotten that? Immediately her eyes shot up to the
concealed entrance, it was closed once more and she had almost forgotten its existence. It had been
such a minor detail in what was otherwise one of the worst nights of her life, that it hadn’t occurred
to her till just that moment that it might be significant. Surely if the basilisk was guarding
something, then whatever it was it was going to be in there, right?

The image came clearly to her now and Rosalie mimicked the scene as it played out in her
memory. She moved until she was standing before the giant carved face of the Hogwarts founder.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!" Rosalie hissed out in parseltongue,
casting her focus on one of the many carved snake’s around the room to pull her parseltongue
forth.

“Rosalie?” Ron called cautiously, hesitancy in his voice born of fear. He hated it when she spoke
parseltongue.

The heavy grinding sound of stone moving on stone sounded throughout the room as slowly,
Slytherin’s mouth grew wider and wider, his chin dropping down to reveal the secret passageway
as she remembered, though this time no serpent flowed from its depths. It struck her as she thought
of this, that this was likely the inspiration Voldemort had used when he created his Dark Mark—
the ultimate tribute to Salazar Slytherin and an ode to his own ability to converse with snakes.

“Rosalie? How did you...” Hermione began in shock.

“It was such a minor detail, that it completely skipped my mind when we were talking about the
Chamber before. I can’t believe I actually forgot it, though. This has got to be it! Don’t you think?”
Rosalie asked them hurriedly, gesturing up at the stone steps that led up into a dark tunnel through
the opening of the statue’s mouth, “This is where Riddle summoned the basilisk from!”

“You want to go in there?” Ron asked.

“That’s where it’s going to be,” Rosalie insisted, “If Voldemort hid a horcrux anywhere in here, it’s
going to be in there and if not, then it’s a pretty good place to start.”

“It could be booby trapped,” Ron hedged.

“I’d expect nothing less, though no doubt the basilisk played a major part in his defences,” Rosalie
countered, “and that’s only if anyone even managed to get this far. He did think he was the only
living parseltongue in existence, what are the chances anyone who wasn’t would have even found
this in the first place?”

“I think you’re right. A secret room inside a secret Chamber? I can’t think of a better place to stash
something you don’t want found,” Hermione replied.

Ron sighed, “I guess.”

Rosalie smiled, “How long till you’re ready to get moving?”

“I’m done,” Hermione replied, packing up her tools and safely packing away her harvest.

“You only took three scales!” Ron cried.

“Ron, think about the times you’ve seen powdered basilisk scales in the potions class room,”
Hermione told him, as she stuffed everything back into her rucksack.

“Ahh...?”

Hermione sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at the blank look on his face, “One of these scales, if
you sold it, would set you and your family up for life. Three of them would make you almost richer
than the Malfoy’s. This stuff is potent. I have more than even Professor Snape could use in several
lifetimes.”
“What? Really?” Ron asked, looking back at the basilisk’s carcass with new eyes, filled with hope
of a different life—a better life, “It could make me that rich?”

“Yes, but you have to be a registered dealer in order to sell it and it is illegal to sell it in large
quantities. The only place we’d be able to sell this is on the black market, and we wouldn’t be able
to track where it was going. It’s too dangerous, sorry,” Hermione replied softly.

Ron shrugged.

“S’ok,” he replied before tearing his eyes away from the beast, “Can I at least have some to give to
Fred and George?”

“Of course,” Hermione told him, “We’ll all take a scale each. That way fair is fair.”

Rosalie shrugged, though she could help but wonder what Snape would say if she gave him one of
the scales. They were almost the size of a small plate, more than ten times the tiny amount of
powdered scales that he kept in his private supplies. She felt a faint blush rise up over her cheeks at
the thought of him and she pressed her lips together in remembrance as she relived their kiss for
perhaps the thousandth time since the night before.

“Perhaps we should take the remaining fang too?” Rosalie suggested suddenly, “It can't hurt to
have two.”

Ron looked up at her in surprise, “I thought you wanted to get moving?”

Rosalie shrugged.

Hermione bit her lip, “We have time...”

“Do it,” Ron agreed, “I don’t want to have to come back again.”

Smiling Hermione slipped her gloves back on and pulled out protective eyewear, “It’s possible
once we have the tooth out, we may be able to harvest some of the venom as well. It’s highly
deadly, so you should move away, Ron, since I’m the only one with protective gloves and
eyewear.”

“What if I ruptured it when I killed it?” Rosalie asked, as Ron came to stand beside her and
Hermione took hold of the tooth in both hands.

“Then it will have likely all dispersed by now and there will be nothing left to harvest. But you’d
have probably noticed if you had since venom would have been flowing everywhere.”

Rosalie nodded.

“This is harder than I thought,” Hermione admitted, as she huffed and strained in an attempt to
extract the tooth.

“Why don’t you conjure a chisel and mallet?” Ron called.

“Good idea!” Hermione grinned.

Rosalie chuckled.

“Who would have thought that this would be how Hermione got her kicks?” She said to Ron,
turning to him with a small smile. The redhead wasn’t smiling though; instead there was a pensive,
almost melancholy look on his face. It was a far cry from his earlier attitude and abruptly Rosalie
felt horrible for thinking him annoying and juvenile.

“Are you okay?”

“I almost don’t care, you know,” Ron said to her quietly.

“About what?” Rosalie asked just as softly.

“About selling those scales on the black market,” He told her frankly, staring into her eyes with his
own, his gaze naked and raw. Rosalie swallowed uncomfortably under the directness of that gaze.
He’d never looked at her in such a way and it was more than a little unsettling—like he wanted her
to see into the depths of his soul; like he wanted her to fix everything. Rosalie was the first to break
the eye contact, dropping her gaze and turning her attention back to the serpent that represented
something different for all of them.

Ron followed her gaze with his own, “I don’t care that the scales might end up in dark wizards’
hands, if it could mean my family could have a new life. We deserve it.”

“Money isn’t everything, Ron,” Rosalie replied finally, “I have plenty of money, more than I’ll
probably ever need or could spend in a life time, but I’d give it all away to have what you have
with your family. You might be poor, but you’re happy and you don’t go hungry. The basilisk
scales aren’t worth it. Trust me.”

They both looked up again as a loud crack echoed throughout the Chamber and Rosalie was
thankful for the interruption.

“I got it!” Hermione cried triumphantly turning to grin up at them with the giant fang clenched in
one fist.

“Go Hermione! Good work!” Rosalie cheered.

“There’s no venom left to harvest, though,” The brunette witch called back as she carefully slipped
the basilisk fang into a protective bag and back into her rucksack.

“Does it matter? We got the main bits, right?” Ron asked.

Hermione nodded, “This is plenty to work with.”

“Alright, then,” Ron nodded, “I vote we push on, it’s getting late, it’ll be dark out before we make
it out of here at the rate we’re going.”

“I agree,” Rosalie added, “Plus we don’t know how long it will take us to explore this tunnel.”

“I’m ready,” Hermione agreed as she made her way up to stand beside them.

Rosalie took a deep breath and turned her gaze onto the dark passage way behind them.

“Be careful, alright. I’m pretty sure we’re not going to come across anything, but we’ve got no idea
where this leads” Rosalie said turning serious eyes on her two best friends.

Ron rolled his eyes, “You’d think you’d have learnt by now, warning us off gets you nowhere,
Rose. We’ll be careful. Promise.”

Rosalie held his gaze for moment before huffing a sigh, “Come on, then.”

*
Albus startled as his fireplace turned unexpectedly green in sudden burst of flames and Severus
stepped out from within the fire in a swirl of ash and soot.

“Severus, my boy! You about scared me half to death!”

“I have but a moment, Albus,” Severus hastened as he strode further into the room, “Voldemort has
tasked myself and a handful of members from his inner circle with scouting the perimeter of the
school’s wards. We will be patrolling the Forbidden Forest looking for weaknesses. Potter
mentioned coming to Hogwarts today, she and her cohorts—”

“Are safe,” Dumbledore interrupted, “they’re all deep within the bowels of the school combing the
Chamber of Secrets for any information left by Tom Riddle in his adolescence.”

Severus eyebrow lifted in question, “The Chamber of Secrets? I know you’re keeping something
from me, Albus; something that you’ve got Potter and her friends working on.”

“It’s necessary, Severus.”

Severus nodded, “That’s not the issue, Albus, I more than understand my position. Are they in
danger?”

“I would not be sitting here if I believed they were,” Albus assured him.

Severus held his gaze.

“You have nothing to be concerned about, Severus, I am monitoring them closely,” Albus assured
him.

“Perhaps not closely enough, this is Potter we are talking about,” Severus retorted dryly with a
heavy sigh, “Unfortunately I don’t have time to discuss this further. I’m expected elsewhere,”

“I must return to Grimmauld Place this afternoon, I will wait to hear from you there,” Albus
concluded.

“Make sure you see Potter into the floo before you take your leave, that girl is magnet for trouble
and I fear what she is capable of if left up to her own devices,” Severus said as spun on his heel and
strode back over to the floo.

Albus chuckled, “Do you really trust me so little, Severus? I am more than capable of keeping
Miss Potter and her friends safe. Your concern for her, however, is touching. It pleases me that
you’ve managed to put aside your differences so amicably.”

Albus frowned as Severus hesitated, a shadow darkening his features and the hint of a blush
staining his cheeks before he visibly seemed to pull himself together.

“I have to go,” he replied.

He was gone before Albus had drawn his next breathe.

Albus shook his head quietly, Severus’ capacity to care was beyond compare, yet he reserved the
honour of it from people so it suspiciously. Yet with Rosalie Potter, Albus couldn’t help but
wonder if he’d ever even made the decision to care for her, or whether it had simply been so from
the moment she’d first drawn breath. He imagined that in Severus’s eyes she was Lily’s daughter
and her last surviving legacy in this world, how could he not love her?
Chuckling to himself, Albus looked back down at the paperwork on his desk there was still much
to sort through. Hefting an amused sigh, he returned his thoughts to his work.

“Does this even lead anywhere? I feel like we’ve been walking for hours!”

“It’s barely been twenty minutes, Ron,” Hermione hissed.

“Yeah! Twenty minutes of damp rock, dirty floors, dead animal skeletons and nothing else! Zilch,
Hermione! We’ve found nothing! And we’re not going to find anything ‘cause there’s nothing
down here!” He growled back.

“Well there’s no need to yell about it!” She huffed, “Our voices travel enough without you
screaming at me!”

Ron glared at her, “I didn’t scream at you.”

“Yes, you—”

“Guys, will you shut up for just one second! Please!” Rosalie hissed at them as she spun around on
her heel to glare at them. Both teens turned their hot gazes on her, “Just listen!”

“To what?” Ron asked.

“Shh!” Rosalie chided, moving closer to slap a hand over his mouth in warning. Ron instantly fell
still beneath her touch, his eyes wide blue pools as he listened obediently, “Do you hear it?”

“Water...” Hermione breathed out.

“Water.” Rosalie confirmed, dropping her hands from Ron’s face. The three teens continued to
listen quietly for a couple of beats before Ron hesitantly put his hand up to speak.

“Ahh...what does that mean exactly?” He asked.

Rosalie shot him a look, “It means that things are about to change. No more damp rock, dirty floor
and animal skeletons. Hear the change in the echo of our voices? I think that means we’re about to
come across a large body of water. I can feel the moisture of it in the air.”

Hermione nodded, “Do you think it runs under the school?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m finding it hard to pinpoint our location, or which direction we’ve been
walking in. For all I know it could be connected to the school lake.”

“Possibly,” Hermione hedged.

“Well, come on then. Let’s go have a look,” Ron prompted heading off in the direction they could
hear the water coming from.

Rosalie followed after him, her ears trained to sound of rushing water as they took off at a jog. Her
heart was pounding in her chest as the first sparks of adrenaline began to seep into her bloodstream.
Was it possible this was it? Were they actually going to find something? She hadn’t wanted to let
herself believe it before now, but she could feel it in her gut, they were heading in the right
direction.

“Is it just me or is getting louder?” Ron asked after a couple of minutes when the distant swoosh of
water was becoming a steadily growing roar.

“Yes, we’re getting closer,” Hermione nodded.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to swim across,” Ron said as he turned sceptical eyes ahead of
them.

“It does sound like it’s moving very quickly,” Hermione agreed.

“We don’t even know that we’ll need to,” Rosalie pointed out.

Hermione glanced across at her with worried eyes, “I certainly hope not.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Ron questioned sceptically.

The river was wide and deep, rushing past them rapidly in plumes of white foam and fluid waves
completely blocking the way forward. The noise of the rushing water echoed off the deep
cavernous walls as the ceiling, which had been barely high enough for Ron to walk through
comfortably in the tunnels, but now vaulted upwards dramatically.

“I don’t see where we’re meant to go?” Hermione said they glanced around with wide disbelieving
eyes, “There’s nothing on the other side.”

“Maybe this is as far as we’re meant to go?” Ron offered as he shone the light of his lumos
upwards with a cautious gaze, “Maybe there’s nothing down here.”

“I think we continue onwards,” Rosalie told them determinedly, “look here.”

She beckoned them over to the river edge to where she was inspecting the cavern’s walls. For the
most part they were damp and uninteresting, but right at the water’s edge, there was a small snake
carving etched into the stone by hand.

“Do you see it?” She called over the noise of the river.

Hermione nodded, “What do you think it means?”

“Maybe it’s another hidden entrance to something?” Ron pointed out, “Try hissing at it again.”

Rosalie shrugged and followed his advice, unsurprised when nothing seemed to happen. It didn’t
have the same hum of magic around it that she’d felt when she’d first found that small snake
carving under the sink in the bathroom that housed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It didn’t
feel right to her, it didn’t feel like the snake itself had purpose, but rather was put there to simply
mark the stone—which would mean there was something nearby that they were meant to find.

Rosalie let her eyes scan the area.

“What’s this here?” Hermione asked.

Rosalie glanced in her direction, “It looks like shadow, but—”

“It’s an alcove!” Hermione cried with a smile, “Alohomora!”

The steps leading upwards were worn and damp, the stone rubbed smooth from years of use. There
were only a handful of them leading up onto a small landing, but it was the sign they had been
looking for that they were heading in the right direction.
A spike of adrenaline lanced through her.

This was it. They were finally getting somewhere.

Taking the lead, Rosalie shone the light of her wand up the steps as she began the ascent upwards.
The sound of the water almost immediately dulled as she stepped through the entrance, and Rosalie
spun around on instinct to glance back over her shoulder.

“What?” Hermione gasped, reflexively copying the action, “What is it?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Nothing. Muffling spell.”

Ron gave the staircase a wary look, “This whole thing is giving me the creeps.”

“Shh,” Hermione chided, sending her elbow half heartedly back into the wall of his chest.

The silence was eerie, nothing but the dull echo of their voices and the inconsistent drip of water on
wet stone.

“There’s a door here,” She told them, as she reached the landing.

It was old and wooden, water damaged and slimy with mildew, but she knew beyond a shadow of a
doubt that this was the reason behind the Chamber of Secrets. Not the basilisk. Not a chamber built
for the sacrificial killing of muggleborn students as some had whispered, but a front to secret-away
whatever lay behind this door.

Rosalie felt her stomach turn over nervously.

“Woah,” Ron breathed.

Rosalie nodded her head soundlessly in agreement.

“Now, this one?” Ron stated with raised eyebrows and a swift nod in the direction of the door,
“This one, I reckon you definitely need to be speaking to in parseltongue.”

“No shit,” Rosalie breathed in agreement.

“Is that—?” Hermione began as the wand light lifted to illuminate the door.

“A basilisk,” Rosalie finished.

The carving on the door was not only intricate, but had been painstakingly carved out by careful
hands. Each tooth, coil and scale had been carefully crafted and lovingly sanded until the visage of
the serpent looked almost real down to the two glittering amber eyes that sat in the dead centre of
the door.

Rosalie reached out and ran her hand along the body of the snake as she had earlier to the basilisk’s
carcass.

Silky-smooth.

“What did I tell you? Bloody creepy!” Ron shuddered as he gave the carving the hairy eyeball.

“Hello?” Rosalie hissed.

Hermione visibly started as the carving seemed to come to life before them, uncoiling its body and
turning its head to ‘look’ at them.

“Welcome...” The serpent hissed back.

“Will you grant us access to the room that you are guarding?” Rosalie hissed at the snake.

The snake’s body rippled as it slithered its way across the door, rearranging its body so that its
glittering amber gaze was level with hers.

“You need only say the word, Snake Speaker,” it replied.

“I don’t know the password,” Rosalie admitted.

The serpent recoiled itself lazily, “Then you will not be granted access.”

Rosalie sighed.

“What?” Ron asked impatiently.

“We need a password,” Rosalie told them.

“Great!” Ron huffed, “It could be anything! And it’s probably in Latin!”

“What do we know about Salazar Slytherin?” Hermione asked, looking at each of them in turn,
“Perhaps if we can brainstorm some ideas we might get lucky.”

“He spoke parseltongue,” Rosalie offered.

Ron shrugged, “He left Hogwarts before all the other founders—”

“Because he was a pureblood supremacist...” Hermione added, “He left behind the basilisk to flush
the mudbloods out of the school because he felt they didn’t deserve the same education.”

Rosalie nodded, “He was arrogant and believed himself superior.”

“And we know he was secretive,” Ron added readily, “Just look at all this...”

“Paranoid, if you ask me,” Rosalie agreed giving their current location the once over
unenthusiastically.

“He wouldn’t have seen it as being paranoid though,” Hermione mused, “No one likes to think of
themselves as paranoid...”

“If not paranoid, then what?” Ron asked.

“Careful? Prepared? Mistrustful?” Rosalie supplied.

“Cunning! That’s it, it’s got to be! The sorting hat even lists it as one of Slytherin’s traits!”
Hermione exclaimed suddenly, her face and eyes lighting up with triumph.

“That’s it? Just cunning?” Ron asked sceptically.

“Just try it!” Hermione pushed.

Rosalie took a deep breath and nodded her head in agreement, “Okay. In parseltongue?”

Hermione nodded.
“Ahh...Cunning?” Rosalie hissed unsurely, “Slytherin cunning?”

Nothing happened.

Rosalie slumped dejectedly. Of course, it was never going to be so easy! Salazar Slytherin was
intelligent, if nothing else and Slytherin cunning wasn’t exactly the world's best kept secret. Then
again, even if you worked out the word, someone would have still had to figure out how to say it in
parseltongue if they ever happened across this room in the first place.

“Secret!” Rosalie hissed, rolling out the first thing that came to her.

“Basilisk!”

“Slytherin!”

“Salazar Slytherin?”

“Open!”

“Pureblood!”

All three of them jumped as the bolt in the door clicked open loudly and the door swung inwards.

“You did it!” Ron cried.

“What was it?” Hermione asked.

“Pureblood,” Rosalie breathed sharing a look with her friend, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Ron snorted.

“Shall we?” He offered, taking a step back and sweeping his hand out towards the door in a gesture
for them to pass through.

“Of course,” Hermione groused, “Send the women in first.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped across the threshold boldly and watched as the room
around her came alight spontaneously. The fireplace bust into a riot of flames with such violence
and ferocity that it looked as if it could have been burning for hours rather than seconds, casting
the room in a warm orange glow.

“Did you feel that?” Hermione asked immediately on stepping in behind her.

Rosalie turned to glance at her friend curiously, “What?”

“I think we just passed through a ward, didn’t you feel the tingle of magic on your skin?” She
asked.

Ron shrugged, “A place like this is bound to be warded. It’s probably an old protection ward to
keep unwanted trespassers out or to alert the old geezer of any intrusion.”

“Probably,” Hermione agreed.

Rosalie let herself wander around the office taking in the rows upon rows of books, ancient tomes
of dark magic and spells—magic that had probably been outlawed over time and lost to the
generations. So much knowledge! Cautiously she pulled a book from the shelf and cracked it open.
The spine creaked with age, the pages thick, yellowed and marked with a spidery scrawl. The book
was so old it was handwritten and it was hard to decipher the script, but it was full from cover to
cover with potions, rituals and spells. Spells she’d never even heard of or seen before, not that that
was saying much, but she was certain even Hermione would be able to claim she’d heard of them...

“Whoa, is that Slytherin’s?” Ron asked as he came to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder
at the manuscript.

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply that everything in the room was Slytherin’s when his words
took on a deeper meaning. The manuscript was Slytherin’s, written by Salazar Slytherin himself!
Could it be? Rosalie looked closer, flipping through the pages curiously. There were corrections
and annotations in the margins, alterations in the text, all written in that same spidery scrawl.

Rosalie ran the tips of her fingers over the dried ink.

“Yeah, I think so,” Rosalie replied, a slight tone of awe colouring her voice.

“Let me see,” Hermione said holding her hand out demandingly.

Rosalie and Ron shared a knowing look and passed the book over with a smile. Hermione grabbed
it with greedy eyes and began devouring the book with relish.

“I can’t believe how untouched this place is,” Rosalie noted as she looked around the room. Papers
in ordered disarray across the desk, aged brittle looking quill still standing upright in a dried up
inkwell, it was like Salazar Slytherin had just stepped out of the room and time had unexpectedly
jumped forward.

It was impossible to believe that Tom Riddle had never found this room and meticulously combed
through everything that it had to offer. Yet the timelessness of it remained intact. He had preserved
Slytherin’s study in its original state. Proof, perhaps, that he’d once cared for something other than
himself, his own power and immortality?

“This is unbelievable,” Hermione said absently, reaching out a stray hand to beckon them over
without taking her eyes off the text before her.

“What?” Ron prompted, moving to her side.

“All this time there has been one thing that didn’t make sense to me. How did You-Know-Who
even find out about horcruxes in the first place? You said he was brought up in a muggle
orphanage, right? An orphanage he returned to every summer once he started at Hogwarts. So
where did he get his information from?”

“Slughorn,” Rosalie replied.

“Yes, but you said that Professor Slughorn was reluctant to even mention as much as he did. You-
Know-Who would have had to research it further before he made one,” Hermione pointed out,
“How did he even know as much as to ask in the first place?”

Rosalie frowned, stumped on her answer, “I don’t know.”

Hermione grinned, “I think, he found this.”

Rosalie’s eyebrow shot up as Hermione spun the book around so that the pages were facing them.
The heading blazoned across the top of the page in old elegant, jagged-looking script read ‘The
Horcrux’.

“We assumed the diary was You-Know-Who’s first Horcrux as it was created while he was still in
school. If the diary was created with Moaning Myrtle’s murder then it stands to reason that this
could have been the very place the You-Know-Who first read about them...”

“Merlin,” Ron breathed.

“It’s all here,” Hermione continued, “Horcruxes: perhaps the darkest, most evil of magic known to
date. It requires a blood sacrifice, dealt by the hand of the caster, in order to sufficiently fracture
the soul...”

“Stop.”

Hermione looked up at Rosalie in askance.

“Not here,” Rosalie whispered.

Hermione nodded, shutting the book, “Your right. This is good, Rose, this could give us everything
that we’ve been looking for in order to deal with them properly.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I say we head back,” Ron put in flicking his head in the direction of the door, “I don’t reckon
we’re going to find anything down here. You-Know-Who might be a creep, but I doubt he’s stupid
enough to hide a chunk of his soul next to a book outlining everything there is to know about one.”

Rosalie nodded, “I agree.”

Hermione slipped the book into her rucksack, “I want the chance to skim through this tonight,
anyway.”

Rosalie glanced around the room one last time, “We should bring Dumbledore down here. There’s
a lot of history in this room. History that belongs to Hogwarts.”

“I’m disappointed we didn’t find anything,” Hermione said with a sigh as she went about
rearranging her rucksack to accommodate the old tome.

“We’re not walking away completely emptied handed. Dumbledore didn’t seem to think there’d be
anything down here anyway—at least, no horcrux’s,” Rosalie pointed out, “Plus who knows what
kind of info that book will give us!”

“Yes, that’s at least something,” Hermione replied with enthusiasm, “The lack of available
knowledge on the topic has been frustrating.”

“With good reason,” Ron muttered over his shoulder as he turned to make his way back across to
the door, “Imagine what the world would be like if this was common knowledge.”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, I agree. I wish I didn’t know half the things I do on this topic.”

“Damn it! Rose, the doors locked itself! Hiss at it again, will you?” Ron asked from across the
room, already eager to part ways with the slice of Slytherin’s past they’d found.

“Pureblood.”
Rosalie frowned when nothing happened.

“Do it again, you must have said it wrong,” Ron prompted.

Rosalie repeated with the command with no result. The trio shared a wary look.

“Merlin,” Hermione asked looking around, “Are we trapped in here?”

Rosalie shook her head, “There’s got to be another way out. Some secret passage or something...
You know what Slytherin’s are like.”

“But where?” Hermione asked, looking around the room. No windows, no doors, no tapestries a
secret entrance could be hidden behind. The only picture in the room was an imposing looing
portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself, hung high above the ornate mantelpiece that framed the
fireplace. Thankfully he was sleeping.

“You don’t suppose the fireplace is connected to the floo network do you?” Ron asked hopefully.

“Don’t be silly, Ronald!” Hermione hissed “If you knew anything about our history you’d know
that they didn’t have a floo network back in the founder’s era!”

“Well how’d they get around then?” Ron countered.

“They opened and closed individual floo routes, of course!”

Rosalie tried to ignore their bickering as best she could, “Could we maybe do that? Do either of
you know the spell we’d need to temporarily connect this fireplace to the floo?”

“Even if we did know, it would be incredibly dangerous! We don’t know how closely the floo
network is being monitored, if we accidentally gave someone access to this place...”

“We’d be screwed,” Ron finished.

Hermione nodded, slightly calmer, “For all we know, there could be something in this very room
which You-Know-Who is after. The last thing we want is to give him access to it, even
temporarily.”

Rosalie sank down into the uncomfortable cushion of Salazar’s chair, letting her eyes move around
the room slowly.

“He would have had to be pretty damn paranoid to build a secret escape tunnel from his secret
study which you can only enter if you know his secret snakey password,” Ron said as he too let his
gaze drift over the room, “My guess is that it wouldn’t be something obvious, but it would need to
be something easily accessible.”

Rosalie nodded, “Something he could get at easily without wasting too much time.”

“Right,” Ron agreed.

“Okay,” Rosalie said, straightening herself up in the chair, “So I’m sitting at my desk, doing
whatever it is Salazar Slytherin spends his time doing and I hear someone outside my door trying
to get in.”

Hermione stood up and moved to stand in front of the locked study door, “You know the intruder
has already made it past your other safe guards, so you know that they’ll break in before long.”
Rosalie nodded playing along, “I need to get out. Quickly. So what do I do?”

“Grab anything of value and run,” Hermione replies, “Slytherin’s value self preservation above all
else.”

“The only place big enough to get through is the fireplace,” Ron points out, “An it’s not even four
steps away from where you are sitting.”

Rosalie nods standing up and walking the short distance until she was standing before the crackling
fire, yet still nothing jumped out at her.

“Open,” She hissed.

No one in the room was more shocked that Rosalie when the fire abruptly extinguished its flames
and the back wall of the fireplace swung open to reveal a secret passage way.

“It worked?” Rosalie announced in a surprised tone, turning to look back at her friends.

“I know,” Ron replied, “I sort of can’t believe it, actually.”

“Who cares?” Hermione laughed, “Come on! I don’t want to spend a minute more than we have to
trapped down here!”

Grinning, Rosalie chuckled and followed her friend through the door. The minute all three had
cleared the doorway the flames burst back into life behind them and the doorway swung shut.

“Merlin! It is pitch black in here,” Ron moaned even as the tip of Hermione’s wand lit up with a
muttered incantation.

“Stairs,” Rosalie pointed out in the dim light, as she too lit her own wand.

“I wonder where it leads to?” Ron pondered aloud.

“It’s hard to know. We’ve travelled through so many different tunnels and secret passages that I’m
completely turned about. My guess would be that this exits into the dungeons somewhere, though,”
Hermione responded.

“Well I guess we’re about to find out,” Rosalie said pointing at the door up ahead.

“I hope it’s close to the kitchens, I’m blood starving,” Ron complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Open.”
 
 Chapter Twelve
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Twelve

It was dark out, the forest drenched in an inky blackness that was almost complete in its intensity.
They were so deep under the canopy of trees that Rosalie couldn’t even see the night sky as her
eyes adjusted to the shadows. She knew though, without a doubt in her mind exactly where they
were: the Forbidden Forest—deeper in than she had ever been before.

“The Forbidden Forest,” Hermione stated softly, echoing Rosalie’s own thoughts.

“It’s dark out already,” Ron replied as he squinted through the night, trying to see beyond the trees.

“Lumos!” He incanted, holding out the glow of his wand like a torch before him.

“No,” Hermione hissed, throwing her hand out to lower his wand, “Wait for your eyes to adjust.
We’ll see more if we don’t blind ourselves against the darkness. We don’t want to attract any
unwanted attention.”

“You don’t think...” Ron trailed off raising his eyebrows pointedly, “You-Know-Who?”

Rosalie’s eyes cut to her friend, “It’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. I’m almost
certain we’ve crossed the wards...”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, although that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

Ron shuddered, “Oh right. Spiders.”

“Among other things,” Rosalie agreed.

“I say we cut out losses and apparate the hell out of here, now!” Ron told them, unable to keep
himself from glancing over his shoulder cautiously and wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his
pants. The memory of Aragog had been enough to give the redhead nightmares for weeks
following their jaunt into the Forbidden Forest in second year, and Rosalie didn’t blame him in the
least. For someone who already had a phobia of spiders, the Acromantula had to be the pinnacle of
all those fears combined. All things considered, he’d handled himself well.

“I agree,” Hermione nodded, “If we’ve passed the wards I see no reason not to.”
“To Grimmauld Place, then?” Rosalie asked, holding out her hands. Ron and Hermione both
nodded as they joined hands until they had formed a loose circle.

“We can floo the Headmaster from there,” Hermione agreed.

Rosalie closed her eyes and waited, allowing Hermione to apparate them as she had earlier in the
day. Risalie's eyes flew open again though when instead of experiencing the familiar sensation of
being sucked through a tube, her body jarred painfully as the breath was stolen from her lungs.

“Ouch! Merlin ‘Mione!” Ron cried out, yanking back his hand in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I...” Hermione shook her head, “Something is blocking me. We must be within the
boundaries of the wards still...”

“We can’t be,” Rosalie frowned in denial, “I’ve never been this deep into the woods.”

“Maybe Dumbledore extended the boundaries?” Ron offered.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t risk weakening the wards like that after
last term.”

“We’ve got to be on Hogwarts grounds then,” Ron pointed out.

Hermione was casting her gaze out around them, as if to try and locate landmarks that would hint to
their location. There was nothing to be seen beyond the silhouette of trees and damp undergrowth
surrounding them. No light, sound or smell save that of the forest around them. It looked the same
in every direction, even the door through which they’d emerged had disappeared into nothingness.

“We should get moving,” Rosalie offered, peering out into the darkness of the woods, her eyes
already adjusted to the light, “It’s already dark out, who knows how long it will take for us to find
out way back to the castle.”

Hermione nodded, “We can use a ‘point me’ spell to lead us. The Headmaster is probably worried
sick.”

Rosalie took the lead, following the direction of Hermione’s wand as they began to trudge through
the thick undergrowth of the forest floor. This deep into the woods, there was no carefully worn
path to follow and the trees were densely packed. Even in the summer heat it was still damp and
cool and Rosalie was regretting her decision to wear a dress that morning as twigs and branches
snagged against her legs, scrapping the skin painfully.

“I bloody hate wildlife,” Ron moaned, swiping at an errant branch with his hand angrily to get it
out of his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes and Rosalie couldn’t help but smirk in amusement.

“What! There could be spiders everywhere!” Ron groused, slapping at his arm as something
brushed against it, “I can’t see a bloody thing in this darkness.”

“Shh,” Hermione hissed at him, “At least be quiet about it, we don’t want to attract any unwanted
attention.”

“Do you hear that?” Rosalie whispered, drawing to an abrupt halt as the hair on the back of her
neck stood on end.
“Oh very funny,” Ron snarled, rolling his eyes, “I’m not falling for—”

“Shh,” Rosalie hissed, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“What is it?” Hermione whispered as she strained to hear what it was that had put her best friend
on alert, “I don’t hear anything.”

Rosalie turned to stare out into the darkness; it felt like something was watching them. Stalking
them from the shadows. The sound of a twig snapping had all three spinning around to face the
sound. Nothing moved in the darkness, but the sound of muffled voices drifted through the night
air to reach them.

“Oh shit,” Ron whispered.

Two pairs of eyes spun around to look at her.

“What do we do? We’ve nowhere to hide!” Hermione gasped.

Rosalie froze as a cold shiver snaked its way down her spine. There was something behind her.

Someone.

Hermione screamed, loud and shrill and Rosalie spun around with her wand at the ready as Fenrir
Greyback lunged at them, grinning wickedly and baring the knife sharp points of his disgusting
teeth. His elongated fingernails caught a chunk of her hair, ripping it painfully from her scalp as he
tackled her to the ground with his teeth snapping audibly. The air was expelled forcefully from her
lungs as she landed with the werewolf’s weight atop of her, wincing as something hard dug
painfully into her lower back.

“What’s this? Potter and her bitches,” The werewolf hissed, chuckling as Rosalie used their
momentum to toss him off of her and scramble back to her feet.

Greyback was already on his feet, hunched over in front of them like an animal waiting to pounce
as Rosalie scuttled back from him. He was holding a clump of her hair in his fist and he grinned
menacingly at her as he lifted it to his nose, "you smell good, Girly, like strawberries and virgin."

Ron looked like he was ready to tackle the wolf himself, vengeful rage building up inside of him at
an alarming rate as he pushed Hermione behind him and made to confront the wolf that was more
beast than man, "Say that again."

Rosalie didn’t give him the chance.

“Reducto!” She hissed at the same time he lunged for them, her voice quiet and controlled as she
slashed her wand up at him, sending him hurtling backwards with surprising force.

His scream was agonising as he landed with unexpected precision onto a protruding tree branch,
the limb—as wide as her arm—impaling him through the abdomen with a sickening ease. Rosalie
stared at him in gaping horror.

Merlin.

Something cold passed over her, goose pimpling her flesh as she realised what she’d inadvertently
done.

“Oh God! Merlin!” Hermione gasped, looking like she was about to be sick, “Rose, you—!”
“You fucking BITCH!” Greyback screamed at her in a thunderous growl, his voice cracking and
breaking against the pain, “I am going to rip you and you pansy-arse friends to shreds and feast on
you!”

Rosalie flinched, taking a step backwards though her gaze remained fixed on the tree branch
protruding from the werewolf’s abdomen.

Ron glared up at the wolf, “I don’t think so, you twat. Stupefy!”

“Oh God,” Hermione breathed, her eyes fixed on the wolf in horror.

“‘Mione,” Ron interrupted, grabbing her by the hands and forcing her to face him, “You’ve got to
shut up. We’ve got to get moving. You can bet he won’t have been alone, and with all the noise
we’ve made...”

“He’s right,” Rosalie said, physically pulling herself together and tearing her eyes away from the
fixed staring eyes of Greyback’s face. Not dead—not yet—just stunned. Wouldn’t be long though.

“They’re gonna zero in on us like we’re cupcakes to their Crabbe and Goyle,” Ron finished,
tugging on Hermione's hands, forcing her feet to stumble forwards. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on
the wet, shiny, black-looking liquid that was running down the trunk of the tree. Blood.

“Hermione!” Ron snapped, yanking her around, “It’s nothing he didn’t deserve. He would have
done a lot worse to us. Think of Bill. Remus. Think of the all the children he’ll never be able to
hurt again. Now come on.”

Hermione nodded numbly and started to move.

They ran, plunging through the undergrowth with a speed that couldn’t be quiet, or careful, but put
as much distance between them and Greyback as possible. Rosalie could feel her heart hammering
in her chest painfully, as she ducked and swerved, refusing to let herself dwell on what had just
happened. What she’d done.

It was an accident.

“How are they inside the wards?” Ron called breathlessly from a pace or two behind her.

“They’re not,” Rosalie yelled back, “They can’t be. There has to have been something else
stopping us from apparating.”

“The book!” Hermione gasped suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop. She was panting heavily, the
least fit out of the three of them and the least sure of her footing.

“Don’t stop,” Ron growled.

“No, wait!” Hermione yelled back, “We’re obviously not within the wards, so it must be the book.
It’s probably charmed to prevent theft. Perhaps if we hide the book we can apparate home.”

Rosalie shook her head, “No. If we lose that book now and Death Eaters get their hands on it, it’s
over. Voldemort will know exactly what we’re up to. He’ll know his ‘artefacts’ are at risk and the
first thing he’ll do is check to make sure they are secure. We can’t risk that.”

Hermione looked torn, but nodded, "I guess. You're right."

“Great,” Ron replied, “now can we keep moving?”

“Yes, hurry now,” A voice laughed, as a dark figure stepped out in front of them. A woman
judging by the tone of her voice, although any distinguishing features were hidden by her Death
Eater garb.

“Wouldn’t want to run into any Death Eaters now, would you?” another voice hissed from behind
them as a man stepped out, trapping them from both directions.

“The Carrow twins, Alecto and Amycus,” Ron whispered fearfully.

“Oh, heard of us, have you?” the man taunted, “How sweet. We have fans!”

“That was a wonderfully nasty thing to have done to our dog,” Alecto told them delightedly, “the
Dark Lord won’t be happy to hear what you’ve done to him—impressive work for supposedly
Light wizards.”

Rosalie ignored her mocking tone, determined not to let their words affect her until she had time to
stop and process it properly. Which she would. Just...later.

‘Don’t shut down. Keep moving,’ she told herself stubbornly.

“If you’re not careful, you might end up the same way,” Rosalie hissed, letting her wand drop into
her hand discreetly.

The duo laughed mockingly.

“Give it your best shot, Princess,” The man challenged tauntingly, like he didn’t really believe they
could best them.

“Expelliarmus!” Ron shouted without warning, shooting off a disarming spell at Alecto, which the
woman deflected easily.

She laughed, “Is that all you’ve—”

“Diffindo!” Rosalie incanted, cutting her mocking laughter off mid-sentence with a severing hex,
smiling with grim satisfaction as it split open Alecto’s upper arm, tearing through her robes to bite
deep into the meaty flesh.

The Death Eater shrieked in outrage.

“You bitch!” Amycus hissed in fury on his sister’s behalf, “Crucio!”

“Declino!” Rosalie returned, sending the spell whizzing back at him.

Behind her she hear Hermione casting a leg-locker curse on Alecto, followed quickly by Ron’s
stunning spell taking the witch down with surprising ease.

“Finite!” Rosalie spoke, ending the Cruciatus on Amycus that had been aimed at her. The man
moaned, lying in a heap on the forest floor, still twitching under the remnants of his own curse.

“You need to teach me that spell,” Ron stated, his tone of voice clearly impressed.

“He’s still moving,” Hermione pointed out hesitantly.

“Of course he is,” Ron replied, “It’s not like he’s dead.”

Rosalie walked over to him and nudged him with her foot to get his attention.
“How many of you are here?” She hissed.

Amycus glared at her, his eyes skimming across to his sister lying bound, stunned and bleeding on
the forest floor. Sneering up at her, he spat a glob of blood at her. It landed at her feet.

“Answer me,” Rosalie insisted, levelling her wand on him.

Amycus snarled at her, but opened his mouth to respond.

“Morsmordre!” he cried gleefully.

Rosalie hissed in surprise as a stream of green light shot up over her shoulder and into the night
sky, illuminating the area in a sickly green glow.

“No!” Hermione gasped as the Dark Mark began to form overhead, notifying everyone in the area
to their location. A crack of apparation heralded the arrival of another witch or wizard to their
location, followed by another, and another, then another.

Amycus grinned up at them through bloodstained teeth, his gaze feral and triumphant, “Fuck you!”

Ron hit him with a stunner.

“Quick, give me the bag and get out of here,” Rosalie hissed, practically snatching the bag
containing Slytherin’s manuscript off of Hermione’s shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hermione argued, “We’re not leaving you.”

Rosalie grit her teeth in frustration, “I am able to defend myself better than you are! Go. Get. Help
—”

Something sharp and hot caught her across the side of her face, tearing open the skin like it was
warm butter as heat bloomed across her face. Instinctively they all dropped into a crouch, and not a
moment too soon as a bright purple light whizzed by overhead. Rosalie’s hand came away from her
face covered in blood.

“I can’t see them,” Ron whispered urgently.

“Hopefully that means they can’t see us, either,” Hermione returned.

“Go,” Rosalie urged, standing briefly to return fire, barely dodging a stunning spell as she shot a
Confundus into the bushes. Hermione and Ron followed her lead, firing off their own hexes beside
her as the dark forest burst into a riot of colour.

“Drop it, Rose. We’re not leaving you here,” Hermione told her firmly, “We’ll try to incapacitate
them and then run for Howards. Dumbledore may have already seen the Dark Mark in the sky.”

“Fine,” Rosalie huffed, knowing deep down that there was no time to argue the point with them.
They would stay or they wouldn’t. In the end the choice was theirs, “but if we get separated and
you’re trapped you apparate out of here.”

“Deal.”

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” a voice mocked.

Rosalie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at their cliché. Original. She waited until the next curse fired
before sending a blasting curse back in the direction the spark of magic had come from, smirking
at the surprised yell she heard as she blasted a gaping hole in the tree her attacker had been
shielding behind. A whimper of pain had her spinning around thoguh, her gaze zeroing in on
Hermione’s hunched form.

“Are you okay?” Rosalie breathed.

The brunette was clasping her hand protectively to her chest, her eyes clouded with pain.

Hermione nodded briskly, “Fine. Something just caught me on my knuckles.”

“Let me see,” Rosalie insisted.

“I’ll be fine, Rose,” Hermione denied, pushing her away.

“This is getting us nowhere,” a deep voice growled before she felt the sudden whoosh of flames
pass by her side narrowly avoiding catching her in its path and successfully separating her from
Ron who screamed and dived out of the way. A dull roar accompanied the sound and Rosalie
stared wide eyed as the undergrowth around her went up in flames.

“You fool!” a familiar voice yelled, “She is to be brought before our Lord alive!”

Snape.

Rosalie felt her heart twist as something inside her ignited until it was burning as hot as the flames
at her side. Snape was here!

“Too late,” the other person growled, “might as well burn them out!”

Another whoosh accompanied by a billowing roar sounded and more flames appeared growing
steadily larger and larger and Rosalie coughed as the smoke began to sting her eyes and lungs.

“We have to get out of here!” She yelled, turning to Hermione and finding her gone.

“Hermione?!” her eyes darted around, but the brunette was nowhere to be seen, “Ron?!”

The redhead was no longer visible through the wall of flames between them and Rosalie prayed
that he’d cut his losses and apparated the hell out of there. The forest was crackling to life around
her at a horrifying speed. Flames were licking up the sides of the trees, growing more and more
furious with every inch they gained. Rosalie hesitated in indecision, not knowing whether to run or
look for her friends or get out while she still had somewhere to run to. The decision was made for
her though, when a large cracking sound from overhead sent a flaming branch tumbling down
around her. The fire seemed to be closing in on her from all sides and she knew she didn’t have
time to stay and look. The heat was already blisteringly hot against her skin; making her cheeks
feel hot and tight against the heat.

She had to get out of there!

Now.

Her hand strayed to the bag she’d snatched off of Hermione reassuringly as she turned and ran back
the way they’d come, ignoring the hoots and hollering that seemed to echo around her over the roar
of the fire. But the flames only seemed to follow her as spot fires began to form and trees burst into
flames around her then burned with a fiery vengeance one after another, after another, until they
were nothing but glowing orange skeletons against the blackness of the night.
This couldn’t be a normal fire. It couldn’t. It was building too rapidly! Surely nothing natural could
spread this quickly or have grown so fast! It was all around her, hundreds and hundreds of meters
of burnt forest! Rosalie screamed as something jumped out of the smouldering undergrowth at her
feet and made a dart to safety, away from the flames that towered threateningly behind her. Even
the wildlife was fleeing! They had to have used fiendfyre—which was notoriously difficult to
control—there was no other explanation. They’d sooner bring the whole forest down around them,
than let her walk out of here alive.

Rosalie forced her legs to keep moving, jogging uphill as she frantically searched for a point where
she felt she could safely try to loop back around back in the direction of Hogwarts. The smoke was
getting thicker though, making it harder to breathe comfortably and harder to see. Hot ash drifted
down around her like snowflakes as Rosalie tripped and stumbled, landing heavily. The air was hot
and acidic; it burnt her lungs as she fought to breathe and made her cough, which only made things
worse. She felt like she was suffocating and thought perhaps that was exactly the case. Fires
needed oxygen to burn, didn’t they?

Ripping a small section off of the skirt of her dress she covered her mouth and nose with the
material in attempt to filter the air she was breathing and pushed herself back to her feet. Behind her
the fire was gaining on her in leaps and bounds, moving far quicker than she was able to through
the smoke and she realised suddenly that she wasn’t going to make it out of the forest before it
caught up with her.

She wasn’t going to make it out.

Almost everywhere she looked now there were flames save for a small passage ahead of her that
lead her deeper into the woods.

“Potter!”

Her head snapped around at the sound of her name being yelled and she squinted through the thick
smoke to see a black figure moving towards her with alarming speed. Death Eater. Rosalie spun
around and forced herself to keep moving; a new kind of terror pumping through her veins.

“Potter!”

The smoke seemed to part around him, allowing a clear path to form as he ran to her side
practically tackling her to the ground. Rosalie shrieked and struggled against him as he crashed into
her.

“Get off of me!” she screamed kicking out at him violently.

“Rosalie! Stop it!” He snarled at her and she paused, recognising the voice.

“S-snape?”

Snape reached up and tore the white Death Eater mask from his face as he stared down at her.

“We have to move!” He yelled as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet,
“Quickly.”

They began to run and she realised suddenly that she could breathe easier when she was next to
him, some sort of charm repelling the smoke and ash away from them as they ran. Snape’s hand
was a steady pressure on her back forcing her onwards as they hurtled through the trees, the heat of
the fire hot on their heels. It was blisteringly hot, singeing the clothes on her back even from the
distance it was behind them. The roar in her ears was near deafening and only growing louder as
behind them the blaze grew to mammoth proportions. All around them burning embers were
raining down around them like snowflakes in winter, creating little spot fires in their wake and
making her feel like they were running through the bowels of hell. All around her the putrid stink
of smoke stuck in her throat and ash burnt her eyes, despite the charm that held it at bay. She’d
never seen anything so terrifying in all her life and she prayed to Merlin that they made it out of
this alive. It seemed an impossible task, but she kept going. She had to.

“There!” Snape yelled over the deafening roar of the fire behind them, after it felt like they’d been
running forever.

Rosalie didn’t even look up, just let him push her in the direction he’d pointed. She had to keep
going, though her back felt like it too was on fire and the bare skin of her arms felt raw in the heat.
She couldn’t think beyond the pounding of her heart or the rhythmic, frantic fall of her feet on
uneven earth. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left...the rubber soles of her shoes were beginning to melt
and stick to the ground. Left. Right. Left. Right. Lef—she gasped as she suddenly found her feet
submerged in cold water and threw her arms out to brace herself as she stumbled forward
ungracefully her head going under as she floundered. It felt icy again her overheated skin and she
gasped breathlessly as her head broke through the surface of the water to re-emerge. She clasped
blindly at Snape as he dragged her into the water behind him. The lake. They were in the lake.

“Keep moving!” he snapped at her and together they began to swim. The sudden cold of the water
bit into her raw skin mercilessly, but it was a welcome pain, the pain of safety and refuge. Rosalie
didn’t stop to let herself think, as they swam—as quickly as possible—out into the centre of the
lake, only stopping when the heat of the fire no longer burnt their faces and the roar of the inferno
had begun to lessen.

Her limbs were shaky, trembling with excess adrenaline and fatigue by the time they eventually
crawled their way out of the water and onto land once more. Rosalie gave a dry sob of relief,
nothing in her left to give as they collapsed onto the banks of the small island in the middle of the
lake with a wet thud, tired, sore and soaking wet.

She could feel her breath quavering unsteadily as she gasped for air, sobbing dryly as she turned,
half curling herself into a ball so that she was lying on her side, her face turned into the damp earth
as she let her exhaustion and fear overwhelm her. She could still feel Snape at her back, close
enough that she could feel the heat emanating off of his body despite their sodden clothes, one arm
—the one which had been supporting her all through the forest—still flung carelessly over her
waist from where they had collapsed.

“Potter...”

Snape’s arm lifted to her shoulder, pushing gently until she rolled onto her back beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Rosalie whispered unable to look at him, embarrassed that she was breaking down in
front of him—again. Merlin, he must think her so weak. Poor, emotionally unstable Potter.

Snape frowned at her, “Are you alright?”

Rosalie pressed her lips together, trying to control the deep shuddering breaths that continued to
force their way from her lungs as she nodded her affirmation. Her whole body was trembling now
and she hugged herself tighter to try and fight it off.

Severus sighed, his features softening slightly as he drew her into his embrace, his hold more than
a little ill at ease as he pat awkwardly at her back. As a rule, he didn’t comfort people, he couldn’t
remember the last time held simply held someone and to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure he was
doing it right. It didn’t seem to matter. Potter curled into his embrace easily, her body fitting itself
against his with ease as she grasped at even the awkward, unpractised comfort he offered. Her
body was so petite in his arms, so soft and deceivingly delicate and though they both smelt of
smoke, he could still recall with alarming clarity the sweet warmth of her scent from the night
prior.

Severus stiffened with sudden awareness.

He couldn’t let his thoughts wander down that path. He was already all too aware of how her body
felt in his arms and the memories of her mouth hot against his from the previous night were making
guilt curl uncomfortably in his stomach. It had been a lapse in judgement he couldn’t forgive
himself for or rationalise—an uncharacteristic moment of weakness that had no justification. A
moment he’d successfully avoided thinking about all day.

Until now.

Severus shut his eyes, resolutely pushing the memories from his mind and trying to ignore the
warmth that was radiating off of her body, warming him even through their drenched clothes.

“Snape?”

Shimmering pools of emerald green stared up at him with aching misery as he looked down at her
trembling form and something foreign clenched inside of him as soft fingers lifted to feather across
the line of his jaw in a barely-there caress. His hand came up to clasp the wrist of the hand still
lightly touching his face, but he found himself unable to pull it away entirely. There was a fission
of awareness spreading through him as the air seemed to crackle between them.

“Potter...” he began warningly.

He felt his gaze drop to those petal pink lips without his permission and the rush of adrenaline still
in his system began to swirl in a different direction as a different heat began to prickle inside of him
anew.

‘No,’ He chided himself internally, ‘I will not give in again.’

Severus’s jaw clenched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her damp eyelashes fluttering
closed over those green, green eyes and he knew he’d already lost the battle before he’d even
begun to fight it. Severus dropped his forehead to hers as the last remnants of control fled him and
he claimed her mouth with his as she lifted her face to greet him.

Delicate hands knotted themself in the front of his robes as she moaned and tugged herself in
closer, desperate and needy. His hands framed her face as he took her with lips, teeth and tongue,
the tips of his fingers lost in all that silky black hair at the nape of her neck, wet from their swift
dash into the lake.

Potter gasped breathlessly into his mouth and Severus felt something akin to a growl rumble
through him. What was it about this woman that made him unable to think around her? Unable to
breathe? There were a hundred reasons why he should never have touched her, a hundred reasons
why this was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. He should stop. He knew he should.
Stopping, however, felt like the only thing more impossible than continuing, the only thing more
unthinkable than giving in to this.

‘Merlin! I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Snape thought, even as he rolled her on to her back beneath
him, both their breaths coming in harsh pants as they broke for air.
Potter arched up beneath him, her lips chasing his retreat unashamedly, eyes hooded with pleasure
and lips slick as she sought to lure him back. Snape’s hand moved to grasp the back of her neck to
support her head, a harsh sigh of pleasure escaping him as her tongue flicked out coyly, swiping
along his lips and enticing his mouth unresisting back to hers.

Impatient hands tugged at his robes in frustration, a heavy and wet curtain between them and he
pulled back from her enough to help pull them off over his head, disregarding the long line of
buttons from waist to collar in their need to be closer.

“Snape...”

Her hands found his waist, running up the strength of his back and over firm shoulders as he
lowered his mouth to her neck, inhaling the softly scented skin of her throat. Somehow she still
smelt sweet despite the cloak of smoke that clung to them both and he pressed his lips
appreciatively into the skin of her neck. Her head fell to the side, a low moan rumbling through her
as the touch of his lips against her overheated flesh fanned the flames of arousal higher. Liquid
heat began to pool low in her abdomen and her legs lifted of their own accord, dragging their way
up Snape’s body until her thighs gripped at his waist. Rosalie’s hips bucked up into his reflexively
as she undulated beneath him, her body restless with a need she never felt before.

“Oh,” she gasped, her lips tickling his ear as she reacted to the wash of sensation that prickled over
her body at the contact. Severus let out a grumbling moan as her thighs tightened their grip on his
hips, forcing their bodies closer. He felt the roll of her hips again as they pushed up into his
instinctively and groaned guiltily as this time he allowed himself to grind down against her heat.

“Severus...” she breathed into his neck, her lips and teeth finding the tender skin behind his ear.

Severus moaned at the sound of his name on those lips, braced above her on one elbow as his free
hand dropped back to slide down the silk of her thigh, the dress she’d worn that day falling away to
bunch enticingly around her hips.

The haze of arousal and lust blanketing them was thick with need as he allowed his fingers to trace
the curve of her thigh inwards—downwards—until they found the seam of her underpants. Her
breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over her clothed centre and he let out a ragged moan at the
dampness his fingers encountered. Her eyes lifted to stare up at him from under thick lashes with a
raw visceral kind of expression as he cupped her through the damp cloth, her heat almost
overpowering. She rocked into him again, whimpering enticingly as her own hands scrambled
beneath his robes to find the clasp on his pants.

Severus hissed in pleasure as he pushed her underwear to one side, his fingers delving into her slick
heat, slipping through her swollen, silken folds with ease.

“Ungh!” She panted against him, arching up off of the ground to find him again, her lips attaching
themselves wetly to his throat, kissing her way back up the underside of his jaw, pausing briefly to
mouth his Adam’s apple as she pulled and tugged at his pants.

“Rosalie,” Severus grunted softly as his pants were shoved down his thighs unceremoniously and
he finally fell into the palm of her hand. Without hesitation, she stroked him as she let her teeth
scrape lightly over the ridge of his jaw.

She was pure nirvana and he groaned with anticipation as his fingers delved inside. Instinctively
she clamped down around the intrusion, her breath hitching as her inner core strangled the digits
invading her. He felt her legs tighten around him, pulling him forward, drawing him down into her
heat.
“Please,” she breathed against the damp skin of his throat, her lips teasing the sensitive skin there
as she spoke. She wasn’t even entirely certain of what it was she was begging for, but they shuffled
into alignment and she moaned as Severus let the thick head of his cock slide wetly through her
folds teasingly, savouring the feel of her slippery heat and obvious arousal.

“Please,” Potter whispered again, her teeth finding and worrying the skin of his neck as she
moaned her encouragement into his neck hotly and Severus, gathering his senses together enough
to form one cohesive thought, thrust himself into her.

His eyes flew open in shock, the haze of arousal fogging his mind shattering abruptly as he felt
himself tear through her maidenhood.

Impossible.

Rosalie winced, a groan that was more pain than pleasure escaping her as her as her inner walls
clamped down around him reflexively unprepared for the foreign feeling of being filled.

Severus couldn’t help the answering moan that resonated from inside his chest at the feel of her
constricting so tightly around him.

Rosalie fastened her mouth over his once more, swallowing the remnants of his shocked and guilty
moan as she rocked her hips purposefully, winding both legs and arms around him as if trying to tie
his body to hers.

“Potter—”

Severus’ hands flew to her hips, not sure whether he was trying to stop the movement or guide it as
she undulated underneath him, her unpractised motions slowly coaxing him, thrust by thrust back
into the moment.

Merlin, he was going straight to hell.

“Potter...”

A strangled moan clawed its way out of him and on the next roll of her hips he thrust down to meet
her, driving himself almost helplessly into temptation. Potter threw her head back and gasped her
face awash with pleasure as her fingers dug into his back desperately.

Merlin, she felt amazing, her silken depths dragging him back into her again and again, guiding
him home hot and slick. Her lips found his neck, his face and finally his lips and she moaned her
pleasure into him as he as they fell into a rhythm. Severus let the sin of her mouth and her body
drag him back under until he felt his faculties slowly leave him again as he indulged in the visual,
auditory and sensory overload she presented him.

She was intoxicating.

Addiction.

“Beautiful,” he told her, almost absently.

Rosalie braced her hand on the back of his neck dragging him down into full, wet, passion filled
kisses as each thrust sent a burst of pleasure racing up through her body, making her unable to
remain still under the onslaught, making her pant her pleasure into his mouth and moan like she
was dying.
His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as awe-filled green eyes that were glazed with passion
and lust gazed up at him. Her brow creased in concentration, her skin dewy with sweat and Severus
let go, allowing himself to thrust into her wildly as his hands dipped below her waistline once more
to rub teasing circles against the small bundle of nerves at the apex of her centre. She quivered and
pressed herself into him caught between trying to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on her and
wanting more as she gave herself over to him with complete abandonment. Severus groaned as she
started to tighten around him like a vice, her walls pulsing erratically she climbed higher and
higher.

“Oh Merlin!” She sobbed against him breathless, her brow creased as she chased completion, her
nails digging into the back of his neck, “S-Severus!”

Severus growled, grasping at her hips hard enough to bruise as she fell apart in his arms and swiftly
dragged him over the edge alongside her. With hiss of pleasure he emptied himself thrust by thrust
into her pulsing channel.

He prevented himself—only just—from collapsing on top of her. Potter was trembling underneath
him, her hands releasing their punishing grip on his neck to clutch weakly at his biceps. Severus let
his head drop forward until his forehead was pressed into the crook of her neck as the arm that was
not taking his weight lifted to run a hand soothingly up and down her exposed thigh. The warmth
of afterglow filled them and for a time, Severus let himself enjoy it as they melted into one
another. Her inner walls continued to pulsate around his softening cock irregularly as they began to
relax and their laboured breathing returned to normal.

Severus didn’t feel inclined to move and knew the minute they did real life would intrude upon
them once more. Instead he continued to pet her absently, stroking her body gently—reassuringly
—luxuriating in the feel of her, the softness of her against him, the heat of her surrounding him, the
smell of her all over him. They couldn’t stay there forever, though, and Severus knew if they didn’t
move soon, someone would eventually find them. It was a sobering thought. He could already
imagine the reaction they would receive if someone were to come across them whilst he was still
balls deep in their thoroughly debauched Chosen One.

Severus sighed, “We shouldn’t linger. We need to return to Grimmauld Place.”

Her nod was interrupted by a sharp wince as he slid out of her and Severus was filled with the
oddest emotion as he watched her pull her underwear back in place and push her skirt back down
around her legs. Standing, he made quick work of tucking himself away and felt somewhat better
for having regained some sense of normalcy between them once more.

It was painfully obvious, with their unexpected and shockingly intense moment of intimacy behind
them, that neither of them knew where to look.

“What now?” Potter asked, her cheeks taking on a pink tint visible even in the relative darkness of
the night as her eyes turned to sweep out across the lake and the smouldering remains of the
Forbidden Forest behind them.

‘Good question,’ He thought silently, knowing he’d just crossed a line with Potter that should
never have been crossed. He’d believed himself a man of utmost control and discipline, had trained
himself to be as much and had never once faulted, yet he was...appallingly weak in her presence.

Merlin.

At a distance, he could already see the Order out battling the flames, trying to control the blaze.
Someone was likely already looking for her. He swallowed thickly and fought valiantly to pull
 himself together, ignoring the fact that he’d just fucked the Girl-Who-Lived—a student—on
Hogwarts grounds.

Severus ruthlessly stamped down that line of thought, averting his gaze from the profile of her
face, “You’ll make your way up to the school and speak the Headmaster. No doubt the Order is
already out combing the forest for you and he will need to be informed of the night’s events. I must
to return to the Dark Lord.”

“What will you tell him?” Potter asked, scooping up Hermione’s sodden satchel she’d been hauling
around all night.

“The truth, bar the fact that I found and helped you to escape,” Snape told her, “lying is of little use
when others were there to bear witness to the events that unfolded and I am as much in the dark as
those who were in my company as to what the in Merlin’s name the three of you were doing in the
forest in the first place.”

Rosalie nodded, but didn’t answer.

Snape gave her a curious look, but didn’t push the issue.

“Your rescue team arrives,” Snape drawled, eyes flicker over her shoulder to the silhouettes of
Lupin and Arthur Weasley as they made their way around the banks of the lake.

Rosalie turned and watched their approach, “I should go meet them.”

Snape nodded, watching as she turned to leave only to hesitate and look back at him.

“Be careful,” she told him, then turned and walked off.

Severus didn’t linger long enough to watch the reunion.

 

Chapter End Notes

A/N: So, I’m a little nervous about this chapter. Let me know what you think...

Also, a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review so far, your
comments have been amazing! I seriously love reading what you have to say in regards
to the chapters I've written! It's so inspiring to hear that you're all enjoying the story so
far :)

~Quill
 Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirteen

The guilt didn’t hit him fully until he was sitting opposite Albus, the man—his mentor—looking
on him with kind, understanding eyes while his cock was practically still wet with her pleasure.
Severus could still feel the imprint of her etched into his body and mind, her scent seemed branded
into his subconscious and his skin felt tight with the memory of her touch. Between the Dark Lord
and Albus, he hadn’t even had time to shower and though rationally he knew the thick burn of
smoke still clung to him, all he could smell was Rosalie Potter.

Severus swallowed heavily and looked away.

Guilt wound its icy claws around him, making his stomach clench and his head pound. He was
going straight to hell; he thought for the millionth time that night, there was nothing else for it.
He’d deflowered Albus’ Golden Girl, the fated saviour of the Wizarding World—The Girl-Who-
Bloody-Lived!

The girl that he knew the man before him thought of as a granddaughter.

Severus bit back the urge to groan in self-depreciation and instead concentrated on being able to
look his mentor in the eye. Perhaps his one saving grace was at the very least she had been of age
—even if just barely. Legally she was an adult.

“Are you quite alright, my boy?” Albus asked gently as he moved to place a comforting hand on
the Potions Master’s shoulder. Severus fought the urge to shrug the hand off, “It’s been a hard
night for you, perhaps you should rest?”

Severus shook his head, “I am well, Albus. I will rest later.”

Albus gazed at him shrewdly over the rim of his spectacles, “Are you quite sure you are alright?
There is no harm in admitting it, if you’re not. Sometimes it takes a stronger man to admit he needs
help, than to act otherwise.”

‘A stronger man might have also said ‘no’,’ he thought to himself bitterly.

Severus fought the urge to vocalise his derision, “Quite, sure. I am merely tired.”
Albus was watching him with concerned eyes and Severus looked away. He needed a stiff drink;
several, in fact. Something—anything—that would obliterate Rosalie Potter from his mind and
leave him comfortably numb once more.

“Was Voldemort suspicious of your prolonged absence?” Albus asked finally.

Severus shook his head, “If he was, he didn’t show it. I told him that I pursued Potter and that in
doing so we passed through the school’s wards—which is truth. The school recognises my
signature and allowed me entry. I implied that I then continued to pursue Potter through the forest,
whilst trying to avoid the inferno at my back, until I was forced to abandon the attempt in order to
maintain my cover as we were not long after greeted by the Order.”

Albus nodded, “Which is essentially what happened, as I understand it.”

Severus nodded carefully. Essentially.

“I am at a loss to understand what Potter and her cohorts were doing in the forest in the first place,
alone, outside of the boundaries of the wards no less? You told me you were keeping an eye on
them,” Severus queried, subtly shifting the direction of the conversation.

“I’d not anticipated their search taking them outside the boundaries of the wards,” Albus admitted
tiredly, “I knew the minute they had crossed the wards that something unforseen had occurred, but
it wasn’t until quite sometime later that circumstances made themself apparent. Were Fawkes not
in his infancy once more, I would have sent him to retrieve them. Alas...”

Severus frowned.

Albus chuckled, “That child will be the death of me, her penchant for attracting trouble is
unrivalled.”

Severus stomach twisted violently at the very notion of Albus referring to Potter as a child. Young,
no doubt, but he was no monster. He did not sleep with children.

“She is no longer a child,” He stated stiffly.

Albus nodded absently, “You are, of course, right. It is easy to forget how quickly time slips away.
Though, to a man of my age, Severus, sometimes it feels even a man of your age is a child by
comparison, my boy.”

Severus said nothing as guilt gnawed at his insides like a rampant beast. It was a living, breathing
entity that threatened to consume him whole. A child she may not be, but he had taken her
innocence, had he not?

“Really, Severus, you do seem quite out of sorts this evening,” Albus spoke again after a beat, his
concerned gaze focused once more on the dark haired Potions Master sitting before him wearing
such a troubled look.
Severus nodded finally, “Perhaps you are right, Albus. I think it might be best if retire for the
evening.”

“Of course, my boy,” Albus agreed kindly, “This war takes its toll on all of us, none more so than
you, I’d wager given the role you take on. I’m sorry if you feel I expect too much from you,
Severus.”

“You expect nothing of me that I’m not willing to give,” Severus replied curtly, pushing himself to
his feet, “If you’ll excuse me, then.”
“Sleep well,” Albus bid him and Severus slipped from the room and those infuriatingly twinkling
eyes that judged him without realising there was cause to. Without his consent an image of Potter
flushed and panting beneath him danced across his memory, coupled with the echo of
Dumbledore’s words:

‘That child will be the death of me.’

Severus bit out a growl of frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. What in Merlin’s name
was he playing at?

“She was hit with some kind of flesh decaying spell,” Ron told her gently, “Got her on the
knuckles apparently. By the time she realised it was spreading it was covering her hand; had her
whole arm by the time she’d apparated home.”

Rosalie nodded, staring remorsefully down at Hermione’s peaceful face as she remembered asking
if her friend had been okay. Apparently she should have pushed harder.

“She’s asleep?” Rosalie asked.

Ron nodded, “Madame Pomfrey spelled her asleep while she regrows all new muscles and skin on
her right arm. She said if it had travelled any further they might not have been able to reverse the
damage.”

Something sick and heavy twisted in her stomach as she thought about how closer Hermione had
come.

“What about you, though? Are you alright? What happened?” Ron asked. “After we were
separated I tried for a bit to find you, but the fire... never seen anything like it in my life! The whole
forest seemed to go up in flames in a matter of seconds! I ran until I was far enough away to
apparate, when I couldn’t I realised I’d crossed the wards at some point and the next thing I knew
Dumbledore and the Order were there. I had no idea where you or ‘Mione were...”

Rosalie nodded, “I had no choice but to run back they way we’d come. I ran into Snape along the
way and he lead me back around to the lake. We only just made it in without going up in flames
ourselves. That’s where Remus and your Dad found me.”

Ron’s eyes darkened at the mention of Snape but for once he didn’t say anything. Perhaps, it was
because the man had just saved her life. Again. Or maybe he was just as sick of fighting over it as
she was. She hoped it was the latter, though she suspected that was wishful thinking.

“Apparently they used Fiendfyre,” Rosalie offered, trying to break the awkward silence that had
fallen between them, full of things left unsaid.

Ron sighed, “Yeah. How’s your face?”

“Fine,” Rosalie told him honestly, reaching up to brush her fingers over her cheek. It had taken
Madame Pomfrey all of three seconds to heal the gash across her face and it had been the last thing
on her mind when she’d floo’d back into Grimmauld Place. Even now her head was still so full of
the clutter of the night, that she didn’t know where to begin. She was too afraid to ask about
whether Greyback had made it out alive, or the Carrow’s, for that matter. Guilt was already
churning thickly in her stomach over what she’d done to Greyback—though he of all people
deserved what had happened to him. He was a monster in the truest sense of the word.
Severus would know, once he returned home from the Dark Lord. She would ask him then.

Her cheeks coloured at the mere thought of Snape’s name and Rosalie squeezed her thighs together
as she remembered his touch, her flesh tingling with the memory of him. The dull ache she felt
between her thighs wasn’t enough to dampen the memory of the slight roughness of his hands
against her flesh, his mouth on hers or the scent of his skin. Her heart was pounding with the
memory of it, yet somehow it seemed impossible that it could have actually happened.

“Are you okay? You’re all red and you’re breathing kind of funny,” Ron asked worriedly and
Rosalie felt her face flame hotter.

“I’m great. Just tired, you know?” She offered as she pushed to her feet in embarrassment, “I’m
going to go see if I can find Dumbledore and show him the manuscript. He’ll want to know what
happened.”

Ron nodded uncertainly, “Okay. You want me to come?”

Rosalie shook her head, “No. You stay with Hermione.”

She darted out of the room before he could say more and made her way quickly through the house
to Dumbledore’s makeshift office. She was surprised when the door swung open as she
approached, making her falter in her steps as the man whose touch she had just been remembering
stepped out of the room.

Her heart jolted at the sight of him, skipping a beat before thundering back into action at twice its
usual speed. She smiled up at him, slowing as she drew nearer, but his gaze barely met her own but
briefly, distant and cold.

Shock lanced through her at the ice in that expression, the polar opposite of the heat that she’d seen
in his eyes barely an hour ago. She felt something inside her shy away and curled in on itself at the
look he gave her and chill passed over her body.

“Miss Potter,” he greeted curtly, sweeping past her without a backward glance.

Rosalie frowned her feet faltering again as he brushed past her without pause. Confusion warred
against hurt within her at the abrupt dismissal, so reminiscent of her early years at Hogwarts, not
something she’d grown used to or come to expect from him this past year.

She opened her mouth to respond, call out to him and make him turn around and look at her again,
but for some reasons the words caught in her throat.

“Rose,” Dumbledore greeted, making her spin around to face voice from behind her as he
beckoned her into his study, “I was about to come find you, but it appears you read my mind.”

Rose smiled weakly at him and followed him into the room, trying to put Snape from her thoughts
as she face the headmaster’s kind, probing blue eyes.

“I wanted to speak to you about what happened today, Rose. Particularly how you came to be in
the Forbidden Forest,” he asked her mildly, his tone gentle and unassuming.

Rosalie forced herself to focus on the topic at hand.

“It’s a long story, sir. But first, I wanted to show you this,” Rosalie said, reaching down into
Hermione’s rucksack—thankfully spelled to be waterproof—and pulled out Slytherin’s
Manuscript. She held the aged tome out to the Headmaster carefully waiting until he’d taken it to
begin her explanation.

“We found Slytherin’s study, sir,” She began, “This was inside. There is a chapter within it
containing quite detailed knowledge regarding the creation and foundations of Horcrux’s.”

The Headmaster glanced up at her with sharp eyes.

Rosalie nodded, “I think it might hold the key to destroying them.”

Remus let out a weary sigh.

It wasn’t hard to see that something was going on between Rosalie Potter and Severus Snape, he
thought as he watched his goddaughter with worry as she seemed to turn manic in her desire to
clean the entire house—without magic. The anger that was pouring off of her in waves was
palpable, yet he was completely in the dark as to what had cause such a dramatic shift to her
usually pleasant mood.

It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to connect her abrupt shift in countenance to
Severus’ absence, yet he soon came to realise could be no great coincidence that her anger
coincided with Severus’ sudden departure—he only wish he knew what could have possibly
occurred to prompt such as drastic response. From both of them.

He’d been surprised by their apparent closeness when he’d first arrived back at Grimmauld Place,
subtle though their behaviour was, he might not have noticed at all if it hadn’t been so very
different from the frank antagonism which had existed between them back in Rosalie’s third year.
That and he’d been intrigued by Severus’ evident knowledge and understanding of all things
‘Rose’. It had been the little things that had hinted to this supposed friendship, though. Rosalie
knew how Severus took his tea without prompting and vice versa, the subtle smirk at this comment
or that, a lack of any real goading in their arguments and their total ease in one another’s presence
and space. They respected one another, trusted one another even, and Remus could admit he’d been
somewhat jealous.

To see them now, though, made it all the more obvious that something had changed. Rosalie had
returned from their ordeal at Hogwarts with her mood understandably subdued. Days had passed
though and her mood had changed from a dejected kind of contemplation to outright anger, and
Remus had seen neither hide nor hair of Severus since he’d left that night. He might have been
worried for the man if not for the fact that once or twice he’d been able to smell the lingering
traces of Severus’ scent in the air—proof that he’d at least visited Grimmauld Place in the last
week if nothing else.

Remus sighed again; they were both such volatile personalities in their own way, that no matter the
bridges they’d built over the past year, they were still bound to argue along the way. He only
hoped this proved to be a minor bump in their peculiar friendship. If nothing else, Rosalie needed
Severus’ assistance if she were to have any hope at winning this war.

As though his very thoughts had summoned the man in question, the kitchen floo flared to life to
expel the severe looking Potions Master into the room.

“Severus!” Remus greeted in surprise, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Severus arched a sardonic eyebrow, “Do you not require relieving of your current duties? Albus
lead me to believe he had need of your expertise?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Remus agreed, choosing to ignore the slight dig, “I was expecting to have to
call in one of the Weasley boys to remain here at Grimmauld Place, however, due to
your....absence of late.”

Severus sneered, “That will not be necessary.”

Remus nodded, hesitated, then nodded again, “I suppose not.”

Better judgement was telling him it was probably unwise to leave Severus and Rosalie alone
together with their explosive tempers as they were, but he knew—knew—Severus would never
harm her, even if they did rip one another to shreds verbally.

Remus let out a low sigh, “She’s been...out of sorts, since the incident at Hogwarts. As a result the
house has never looked so clean.”

Severus gave him a tight look, one eyebrow arched as if in question.

“Rosalie cleans when she is angry or upset,” Remus explained.

Severus gave him a withering look, “I am well aware of that, Lupin.”

Remus nodded, “Yes, I suppose you would be.”

Severus glared down the length of his nose at him, “And what exactly are you—”

His retort was cut short as the kitchen door swung open loudly, Rosalie’s bitter form standing
framed in by the doorway. The air took on a chill that Remus suspected wasn’t completely natural
as he watched her glance from him to Severus briefly and back again.

“Professor,” She greeted neutrally, her eyes averted.

Severus nodded, “Miss Potter.”

It was the first time Remus had seen the two of the in the same vicinity as one another for the past
week. He’d expected the frostiness between them, which was there in spades, but if anything
Rosalie seemed to relax the tiniest bit with Severus’ sudden re-emergence into their daily lives.

‘Of course,’ Remus thought as he watched the girl he considered family walk over to the sink with
cool indifference to fill up the bucket she’d been carrying, Of course, she’d have no doubt been
worrying about Severus’ absence too, only she’d not had the same reassurances he’d had over
Severus’ continued survival in this war.

Severus’ eyes tracked Rosalie as she moved across the room before flicking back to his own.

“I expect to see you in the training room this afternoon,” he stated simply, before nodding briefly at
Remus and sweeping from the room.

Rosalie didn’t reply or show any signs of having heard the order, but her shoulders were tense and
her back ramrod straight as she waited patiently at the sink for the bucket to fill.

Remus sighed for what felt like the millionth time.

“I wish you would talk to me, Rose,” He said finally, unable to keep his silence any longer, “I wish
you’d tell me what’s got you so upset. I’d feel better about leaving you here if I knew.”

“I’m not upset,” she retorted sharply, her back still to him as she concentrated on her task at the
sink.

“Angry, then,” Remus corrected, “I can tell something’s wrong. I can help if you’ll let me.”

Rosalie sighed, “I’m fine, Remus. Nothing is the matter in particular. I just have a lot on my plate
at the moment and I guess I’m a little tired.”

“And Severus?” Remus prompted, “You and he seem to have had a falling out.”

“Snape?” she queried shooting him an odd look, “Why would you think he has anything to do with
anything?”

Remus gave her a pointed look “He’s been absent for some reason or another for the past week,
Rose, ever since you were attacked in the forest—”

Rosalie shook her head, “I told you, I’m just tired, Remus. Snape has nothing to do with anything.”

Remus was at a loss of what else he could do or say. He knew she was lying to him and fobbing
him off with excuses, but if she didn’t want to talk to him, he couldn’t make her. He’d given her
the opening and she hadn’t taken it.

It hurt that she trusted him so little.

“I know you’re worried, but don’t be,” Rosalie offered, seeming to realise his disappointment, “I’m
fine. I appreciate your concern.”

Remus nodded, accepting the hug she pressed into his back briefly before disappearing from the
room again, leaving Remus to his own misgivings once more.

Of course Remus would notice that something was wrong—it would have been impossible for him
not to, not when they lived in such close quarters day in and day out. But talking to Remus about
how she was upset because she’d had sex—with Snape—and her lover now appeared to hate her,
when Remus was the closest thing she had to a father, was a notion beyond mortifying. Not to
mention the fact that it wasn’t something she thought the werewolf would be very happy about.
There was also the fact that she didn’t even know what to think about it. The sex had been beyond
amazing, better than she’d ever imagined it could feel. She’d never felt that close to anyone in her
entire life and the moment itself had been beautiful...but the aftermath had been awkward. Painful.
Humiliating even.

Rosalie scowled at the memory.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that it didn’t help matters that necessity had prevented them from
being able to linger or acclimatise to the abrupt change in their relationship, but it had been a
situation rife with awkwardness and embarrassment on her part, and perhaps....regret on his? He
hadn’t looked at her since with anything but cool indifference. He hadn’t been present to look at
her, and Rosalie couldn’t help but feel that was because of her.

He was avoiding her.

It had hurt at first, knowing that his thoughts and feelings on the matter were so obviously negative
ones, but hurt had quickly turned into anger the longer he’d stayed away.

If he hadn’t wanted her, why kiss her in the first place? Twice even? Why let it get that far?
Perhaps it had been the heat of the moment, but why do something you were going to so clearly
hate yourself for the next day?

Was she that undesirable? Had she been that bad?

She couldn’t understand what his aversion to her was, if not that? She was above the age of
consent, they had done nothing wrong. Was it because he thought she was too young? Had she
disappointed him somehow? She didn’t want to admit to herself how much it hurt to be so clearly
regretted by someone she’d come to think so highly of. Someone she cared about.

“Hey.”

Rosalie looked up at her best friend as he loped in through the door.

“Hi, how’s Hermione?” She asked immediately.

It had taken longer than anticipate for Hermione to grow the skin and muscle back to her right arm,
and when she had, she’d had start exercises to retrain muscles that were new and awkward.
Madame Pomfrey told her it wasn’t like muggle rehabilitation in so far as it didn’t take months, but
she’d have to use it constantly over the next fortnight if she wanted 100 percent use of her hand
back.

“She’s good. Great, even. The hand’s going well,” He told her brightly.

“That’s great,” Rosalie smiled, “Now’s not really a great time though, if you wanted to talk.
Snape’s probably waiting on me in the training room.”

Ron’s expression darkened predictably, “So he’s back, is he?”

Rosalie sighed, “Ron—”

The redhead shot her a look as if to ask ‘what?’ and Rosalie frowned at him.

“Just leave it, okay?” Rosalie huffed as she stood to leave.

“But—”

“How many different ways does he have to prove to you that he’s on our side?” Rosalie finally
snapped, spinning on her heel so she was face to face with her best friend, even if he was more than
a couple of inches taller than her.

Ron stumbled over his words as he searched for an answer.

“I’m sick of having to listen to this constant...bitching every time Snape’s name comes up in
conversation!” Rosalie growled.

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it?” Ron yelled back as his temper got the best of him, “His name is
always coming up. He’s part of almost everything you do, Rose, and I don’t trust him. I don’t care
that he spends a couple of hours every other day training you Legili—whatever it’s called. He also
spends a good amount of time in your head, from the way you tell it, and I want to know how you
know he’s not telling You-Know-Who all your secrets every time he runs on back to play Death
Eater with the boys.”

Rosalie stared at him in disbelief, “My secrets? Ron, he’s the one who taught me Occlumency in
the first place! He doesn’t get to see any of my secrets anymore, and even if he did, I don’t believe
for one second that he’d betray them to Voldemort. Why don’t you stop trying to make this about
something that it isn’t and just admit you’re mad because you’ve still got a grudge against him that
I managed to get over a long time ago!”

“I’m mad because he’s got you fooled!” Ron yelled at her in exasperation, “I don’t care how loyal
he claims he is to Dumbledore, he’s in the perfect position to betray you to Voldemort and I think
you’re crazy for spending so much time alone with the bastard.”

Rosalie sighed, “I don’t have time for this! Do you really think Dumbledore would allow us to
spend so much time alone together if he didn’t trust Snape? If you’re so worried then come with
me for all I care!”

“Fine, I will!” Ron agreed and fell into step behind her.

Rosalie fought the urge to turn around and slap him as she stomped down the hall towards her
training room. Snape was already waiting for her when she entered the room with Ron trailing
barely a foot behind her. He looked as formidable and imposing as ever in his usual teaching robes
and Rosalie felt something cold shiver through her at the closed off look on his face as he turned to
glare at them. This Snape was impenetrable. This Snape reminded her of the man he’d been when
they’d started those appalling lessons in Occlumency back at the beginning of her fifth year.

This Snape hated her.

Professor Snape was nothing like then man—her mentor—that she’d come to know and trust over
the past year. Light years away from the man who’d been coaching her so supportively in her
Legilimency efforts over the last few weeks.

Certainly, nothing like the man that had made her writhe under his touch and pant out his name a
week ago. He was determined to distance himself from her it seemed.

“Professor,” she greeted neutrally.

“You’re late,” He replied as his gaze slipped over her shoulder to stop on Ron, “Get out, Weasley.”

“I’m here to watch,” Ron snarled defiantly, moving further into the room purposefully. Snape
glance at her expectantly and Rosalie felt her anger swell once more.

“I told him he could come so he he’d believe you weren’t using these training sessions as a chance
to kidnap me and deliver me to Voldemort,” Rosalie replied shooting a look of annoyance at her
friend.

“My mistake, Weasley, I was unaware Miss Potter had so kindly granted you her permission to
intrude on our lesson,” Snape sneered with biting sarcasm, “her word, of course, overrides my
own.”

Ron glared at him nastily.

“Shall we begin then?” Snape asked as he turned towards her once more, his look as closed off and
severe as ever.

Rosalie frowned.

“No? Perhaps a demonstration for Mr. Weasley then?” he snarled.

Rosalie gasped out in pain as his mind was suddenly battering at her shields, pushing relentlessly at
her mind as he tried to overwhelm her with his strength. He was trying to invade her mind and he
wasn’t being subtle about it. Rosalie grit her teeth and strengthened her shields as she was once
more forcibly reminded of what those early Occlumency lessons had been like, which was the aim
of this little display, no doubt.

“No,” She hissed angrily and ejected him from her mind abruptly.

Rosalie couldn’t keep the mix of anger and hurt of her face as she glared at him.

“The Dark Lord won’t be gentle,” he told her unapologetically.

Rosalie’s look never wavered, “Well thankfully you’ve already taught me how to shield my mind,
so maybe we can move on to the real lesson?”

She was tempted to assault his mind in the same manner he’d just forced her to endure out of
childish anger, but decided against it, knowing it would only make his dark mood worse.

Rosalie felt something sharp coil up inside of her.

“Legilimens!” she incanted using the spell to guide her as she forced her mind outwards.

She could feel the frantic angry buzz of her best friend’s mind behind her, his unshielded mind
battering at hers with every thought that ran through his mind. She ignored it though and focused
on the calm familiar buzz of energy that was Snape. He was shielding well, blocking out
everything but his very presence from her as she slowly and carefully allowed her consciousness to
blanket his mind as he’d taught her, searching for the natural point of entry with cautious mental
fingers.

Rosalie groaned as the air forcefully left her body as thought she’d been punched in the stomach
with an iron fist. She gasped in a breath and looked up at Snape from where she’d landed on the
floor.

Climbing to her feet, she shot him a warning glare as he stared at her impassively.

“I thought Occlumency was about blocking someone from your thoughts without making them
aware of it?” she growled in anger, “You needn’t throw me across the room to prove a point.”

“I’m merely demonstrating the most likely outcome of which will occur if you let the Dark Lord—
or one of his Death Eaters—realise you are attempting to gain access to their thoughts. That I am
not following it up with a well placed Cruciatus is a given,” Snape told her evenly, his voice
menacing rather than sexy as it had been that night.

Rosalie fought the urge to blush as her mind seemed to betray her and she forced the memory from
her mind angrily. She continued to glare balefully at him. She should have realised, she supposed,
that one night together wasn’t going to change anything, but she’d never assumed it would turn
him back into the spiteful bastard he’d been to her when she’d first started taking lessons from him.
She knew what type of man he was; only it had felt like he cared, like it might have meant
something that she herself was only just coming to understand. Severus Snape was a man who
showed few emotions though and fewer still that would leave him vulnerable in any way, shape or
form.

Closing her eyes, she resolved to get Legilimency right for once so they could be done with it. She
was tired of fighting with everyone.

Opening her eyes again she focused her gaze unblinkingly on his. Breathing in deep and slow she
let her mind begin to expand slowly.

‘Legilimens.’

The incantation echoed through her mind like an exhaled breath and it was only as she felt her
mind rushing towards his that she realised she’d invoked the incantation wordlessly. She let her
consciousness spread out over his, blanketing him carefully this time, but his awareness remained a
distant hum. Reaching out, she felt for the cracks in his defences that she knew would be there and
let herself sink down into them.

Snape’s mind was tense and ready as if still expecting the attack that was already occurring.
Rosalie let herself fall into the rhythm of his mind as she sought out the word—a rare potion
ingredient that she’d never be able to simply guess—that she had to try and pull from his mind.
She’d yet to succeed even once, but this time her whole body felt like it was tingling with
anticipation even as she forced herself to remain calm.

There...

The door bursting open startled her and she felt her mind jar in his. Snape reacted instantly, pushing
her forcibly from his mind with little in the way of finesse.

Rosalie growled in frustration as she once again, had to pick herself up from the floor.

“My apologies,” Dumbledore offered both of them as he made his was further into the room. It was
only as he nodded once in greeting at Ron that she even remembered her friend was still in the
room and she took in the thunderous look on his face with growing annoyance.

“It is of no concern,” Snape replied briskly, ignoring Rosalie entirely as she pulled herself back to
her feet.

Dumbledore looked enquiringly between them, “Is something wrong? I was under the impression
you were both on better terms with one another these days.”

“Indeed,” Snape replied dismissively, “What can I do for you, Albus?”

“It is actually our Miss Potter I’m after,” Dumbledore told them as he levelled his gaze on the girl
in question.

“Sir?”

Dumbledore smiled, “I was hoping we might make that excursion we’ve been meaning to go on
tonight?”

Rosalie swallowed, “Of course.”

“Good, good,” Dumbledore nodded, “I shall see you after dinner then, in my study.”

“Yes, sir,” Rosalie replied, studiously avoiding Ron’s gaze.

“Thank you, Rose,” Dumbledore said, giving the room a final nod of farewell as he turned for the
door.

Rosalie watched him leave the room with an odd sort of heaviness in her chest. She could feel the
first stirrings of nervousness starting and ruthlessly tried to trample them back down.

“Excuse me,” She told the two men in the room absently as she made her way to the door.
“We’re not finished, Potter,” Severus told her firmly.

“Yes we are,” she replied just as strongly, “You were thinking of powdered basilisk scales before
the professor interrupted.”

Snape frowned, “I was still able to detect your presence.”

Rosalie opened the door, “Then I’ll practice harder. Tomorrow.”

Snape and Ron watched her walk out the door in silence before Ron rounded on the older man.

“I’m watching you,” Ron whispered threateningly, “Rose might trust you, but I don’t. So don’t
think I won’t be ready when you decided to show your true colours.”

Snape turned his glare on the redheaded boy, “That sounds awfully like a threat, Weasley. Perhaps
you should take a closer look at who your enemies and allies are, because you’re wasting all your
energy on the wrong person. Potter’s safety is my number one priority in this war.”

“Sure it is,” Ron sneered before jogging out of the room after his friend.

He caught up to her as she was entering the library, flinging the door shut behind them and
rounding on her.

“What the hell was that all about?” he demanded, “I thought you said he treated you alright
nowadays?”

“He does,” She snapped, “Just leave it, alright?”

“Leave it?” Ron thundered angrily, “I just watched that bastard treat you like shit, for no good
reason at all, Rose, and you’re still defending him? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” she yelled as angry, frustrated tears began to prickle at her eyes, “He’s just mad at me,
alright? We had an argument...just leave it, Ron. Please.”

Ron softened as he saw tears filling her eyes and heard the emotion clogging her voice, “Rose...”

She kept her back turned to him resolutely.

“Come here,” he offered softly, tugging her around until she was buried in his arms, her head
tucked neatly under his chin as he felt the first of her tears begin to wet his shirt, “Please don’t
cry.”

Anger bubbled in his gut, choking him with its magnitude as she clung to him tears wetting his
shirt.

“I’ll bloody kill that bastard,” he murmured.

Rosalie shook her head, “No, don’t. Just leave it, Ron. It’s more complicated than you think.”

“I hate that he can make you cry, Rose,” Ron snarled, “How can you even think of defending
him?”

Rosalie pulled back and wiped her eyes, “I’m not, he was a right bastard just now, but he didn’t
make me cry. I’m just angry and frustrated. If he wants to treat me like shit, then that’s fine, but I
won’t take it lying down.”
Rosalie blushed at her own words before she could control the reaction, “It’ll be fine, Ron.”

“What are you fighting about, anyway?” Ron asked moodily.

“It’s nothing important,” She told him, fobbing him off, “Come one, help me get ready for the trip
with Dumbledore. I’m sick of getting myself worked up over this.”

Ron hesitated, reluctant to let the topic go.

“Ron, Please?”

Sighing he nodded and held out his hand, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Rosalie echoed, forcing down her emotions as she led him from the room.

Severus exhaled harshly through gritted teeth.

That had been necessary. Absolutely. What they needed more than anything was distance in order
to reclaim their respective roles of teacher and student rather than this abnormal limbo they’d found
themselves in. It was left up to him to make her see that, though the imprint of her felt like it had
been branded onto his soul making it impossible to forget her. Not even the guilt that had latched
onto his chest, sitting thick and heavy could spoil the memory of her.

Severus swallowed heavily and looked away from the doorway.

He was going straight to Hell, if such a place truly existed, there was nothing else for it. He’d
deflowered Albus’ bloody Girl Wonder, and he’d loved every second of it. It was abhorrent. What
was it about Rosalie Potter that managed to affect him so badly? Twice now he had given in to her
like he was a man dying of thirst and she his only means of survival. Her mother had been beautiful
and infuriating too and he’d fancied himself in love with her, but she’d never had the power over
him that her daughter seemed to wield. Rosalie Potter, had managed to crawl her way under his
skin to tear down his defences without so much as a token fight. It was infuriating beyond belief, to
know that someone had the power to unhinge him so completely. He’d allowed himself to relax
around her. He’d allowed himself to trust her. He allowed himself to see her as an equal—his peer.
He’d allowed her too much, too close and if he wasn’t careful, he knew he’d do it again.

She was intoxicating.

Severus clenched his fists against the memory, his knuckles turning white under the pressure.
Distance was good. Safe. She had to hate him again, or at least severely dislike him since outright
hatred would prove detrimental to their continued lessons. Today had been a step in the right
direction.

Unbidden an image of her danced across his memory, eyes wide and dilated as they gazed up at
him, flushed with arousal and panting heavily. He felt himself stir at the memory and hissed in
frustration. He refused to touch himself over her like some hormonal schoolboy. He would not
acknowledge this attraction.

He was tempted to apparate directly to his room, pick up the half finished bottle of scotch that still
sat on his desk and write off the rest of the day. Instead he apparated into his lab and went about
checking on the few potions he had brewing. There were always potions to be brewed—salves and
pain relievers for Poppy’s infirmary, darker things for the Dark Lord. He kept himself busy well
into the night, chopping and measuring and stirring ingredients with a practiced ease that he could
 rely on to keep himself distracted. In here the rest of the world drifted away until nothing else
mattered. Seconds, minutes, hours passed behind the waft of fumes from the heat of his cauldron.
The tension in his back unwound and he felt himself begin to relax, inch by inch.

It wasn’t until he heard the heralding crack of apparation in the adjoining room that he even looked
up from his work, immediately on alert. His eyes slid to the clock on the wall taking note of the
time as his hand reached blindly for his wand. Eleven pm, too late for a casual call. Perhaps Potter
and the Headmaster back from wherever it was he had taken her? He was ashamed to admit he’d
not even heard them leave, that in his desire to block Potter from his thoughts he’d shut out
everything beyond the four walls of his lab.

Severus sighed harshly. Must she impede upon every aspect of his life?

He heard the clatter of wood against stone, the murmur of an urgent voice and slipped his wand
from its sheath.

“Oh my God!” a voice cried. Granger? What in Merlin’s name were Potter’s sidekicks doing in the
kitchen at this time of night? Didn’t they have a home to go to?

Severus reached for the door ready to storm out and send them packing back to the Burrow for the
night. He had enough on his plate without having to deal with miscreant teenagers who didn’t think
before they acted.

“Miss Granger, call Madame Pomfrey immediately,” a familiar voice full of urgency called,
“Where is Severus?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t seen him—”

“Albus?” Severus interrupted the Weasley boy, letting the lab door swing open to survey the scene
unfolding in the kitchen. His unease rose as strained blue eyes bored into him, absent their usual
twinkle. Albus’ expression was as grim and worried as he’d ever seen it, his mouth set in a hard
line, strain pulling the corners of his lips down into a frown.

Something sharp and poisonous coiled itself in Severus’ stomach as he took in that expression.

The Headmaster beckoned him over and Severus crossed the room quickly only to draw up short as
he saw what lay on the kitchen table, half cradled in Albus’ arms.

Merlin.

Fuck.

He felt his heart stutter in his chest and his blood run cold as he stared at the cold, lifeless body of
Rosalie Potter.
 

Chapter End Notes

A/N: I've been absolutely blown away but the response I've received for this fic so far!
Thank you so much! I hope you all continue to follow the story as it unfolds. Let me
know your thoughts!
 Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Fourteen

It was like swallowing acid as it hit her tongue full of razorblades and fire. She choked on it more
than she swallowed as it burnt a fiery trail of thirst down to her stomach, ripping her insides to
shreds in its wake. She wanted to die before she ever let it pass her lips again, yet her thirst was
overwhelming and she opened her mouth obediently at the press of the cup. The poison festered
inside of her as she took mouthful after mouthful, time after time till she was sure she would never
come back from this.

Surely they were done? Surely she’d consumed all there was to consume? She could feeling the
poison snaking its way through her, ripping through her body without finesse and dredging up all
the worst kind of fear and anxiety that lived inside her; making it bubble outwards in a series of
pitiful moans and treaties to stop. No more. Please, no more. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t
fathom one further drop passing her lips and adding to this unimaginable torture, but she felt the
pressure of the cup at her lips and Dumbledore’s gentle guiding hand at the back of her head and
dutifully she swallowed suddenly desperate for the liquid that would pass her lips and slake her
thirst.

The agony was unending.

The thirst unbearable.

The heat: caustic and chemical and a bitter green in colour.

Faces of her loved ones, past and present, flashed before her mind’s eye as gradually the cave
slipped away until she floated with them, a gentle rocking calming her whimpers and sobs.

Her mother was with her, Lily’s soft, warm hand cupping her daughter’s cheek lovingly as her
thumb stroked over Rosalie’s cheek bone. Rosalie smiled, heartbeat slowing as she gazed lazily up
into the warmth and love that shone in the eyes gazing down upon her. Rosalie parted her mouth to
greet her, but no voice left her lips, no sound or air. Lily smiled tenderly down at her, knowledge
shining in her eyes and Rosalie knew that they didn’t need words to communicate. Her mother’s
understanding complete. There was a pressure building inside of her, expanding steadily until it
encompassed her entire body, but it was easy to ignore and so she ignored it in favour of staring at
her mother.
“Take a breath, sweetheart,” Her mother cooed gently, that lovely reassuring hand drifting down to
rest on her upper chest, “In and out.”

Rosalie nodded and took a breath in and immediately the pressure eased somewhat, though it
lingered benignly.

“And again,” Lily guided.

Rosalie obeyed, frowning at the pressure lessened only to be replaced with an overwhelming
sensation of nausea.

‘I’m going to vomit,’ She thought urgently, though she had no voice to warn her mother, ‘Merlin,
I’m going to vomit on my mum!’

Pain ripped through her as her stomach twisted violently and she turned her head, just in time to
expel the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Venomous green liquid singed the floor with
an angry hiss, eating its way into the ground like acid.

“It’s for the best,” Lily whispered as Rosalie looked up at her with apologetic green eyes, but she
was gone, fading away and Rosalie felt the desperation returning with her mother’s retreat, “In and
out, my little Rosie. In and out.”

In and out.

Rosalie took a breath wanting to cry out for her mother not to leave her, but it was already too late.
Lily Potter was nothing more than a vague shadow.

In and out.

Mechanically she took another breath.

In and out.

“Poison,” Dumbledore explained hurriedly, “We haven’t much time.”

Severus felt the breath rush back into him and his knees threaten to give out from beneath him,
“She’s alive?”

Severus took a faltering step forward, forcing his limbs to unfreeze enough that he could cross
swiftly to Potter’s side. Though his face remained carefully blank, his heart was pounding out a
rapid staccato in his chest, his hands clammy and shaking. She was as limp as a ragdoll as he pulled
her body from Albus’ arms, her head flopping back unsupported to thump onto the hard wooden
tabletop, but he forced himself to ignore it as his fingers pressed searchingly over her neck in
search of a pulse. It was difficult to find, but it was there, just barely—weak and irregular.

Severus swallowed thickly.

She was feverishly hot to touch, though her skin was bone dry beneath his touch as his hand trailed
down to rest on her chest. He bent over and listened for the small whoosh of air as it escaped past
her lips and felt for the rise and fall of her chest beneath his palm. Her breathing was so shallow
and laboured it was almost nonexistent, her chest barely moving with her respiratory effort. She
was breathing though and a crippled kind of hope and fear began to churn uncomfortably in his gut
as he forced himself into action. He sniffed quickly at her lips, frowning at the sharp, sickly smell
that wafted from her lips.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, putting your hands—”

“Ron, please! He’s only—”

“She must purge what remains of the poison from her system,” Severus told them as he summoned
a barrage of potions from his workroom, ignoring the loud protest of Potter’s friends as the
Weasley boy yelled and snarled obscenities at him and Granger tearfully pleaded with him to calm
down. He tilted Potter’s head back as he uncorked a noxious looking purple potion, pouring it
down her throat unceremoniously. It welled in her mouth and spilled out past lax lips that were a
dusky shade of death, forcing him to cover her nose and mouth and massage her throat in order to
get her to swallow.

Severus rolled her onto her side, watching with satisfaction as almost immediately she purged what
little remained from her stomach with a near violent force coating the table and floor in a foul
smelling substance.

“Is there an antidote?” Dumbledore asked as he banished the emesis without fanfare, making anger
churn hotly in Severus’ chest.

He glared darkly at the his mentor as he pulled a bezoar from within his robes and forced it into
her mouth, holding his hand firmly over the seal of her lips and nose, forcing her to swallow once
more to ensure it made it to the right place.

“I do not know, without first knowing which potion she ingested. There are several that fit the
symptoms she is displaying. Not all are curable. Unfortunately, the poison is in its advanced
stages. We...will have to wait and see,” he ground out tersely, his eyes never leaving Potter’s form
as a small trail of blood began to leak from her nose.

“I was right to bring her to you,” Dumbledore nodded, speaking almost to himself.

Severus’ temper flared, “What happened?”

The furious presence of Weasley felt silent behind him at the venomous hiss and Severus felt the
full weight of the redhead’s stare fall on his back. Albus never flinched, staring the Potions Master
down pointedly. Granger sniffed wetly, her voice wobbling as she spoke, “I firecalled the
Weasley’s, Sir, and Madame Pomfrey.”

Severus ignored her, furiously pulling his gaze away from that of his mentor’s. Potter was still on
fire beneath his hands, her skin taking on a worryingly mottled hue. It was entirely possible they
were too late. That at this stage the bezoar wouldn’t be able to work as quickly at leeching the
potion from her system as the poison was able to spread through her.

Severus gasped inaudibly, breathless at the possibility. Such a notion was unthinkable—
completely and utterly unacceptable—but he was forced to consider it as her breathing began to
falter, the pause between each breath and the next getting more and more irregular as her colour
turned deathly.

Severus bit out tersely, hand snapping out a hand to grip roughly at her jaw, “Don’t you dare,
Potter. Breathe, damn it!”

She obediently took a breath, before her chest fell silent.

“Adsum Inhalo!” Albus incanted and Severus watched as her chest began to rise and fall with a
mechanical regularity, “I am breathing for her now. We are running out of time.”

“The bezoar isn’t working quickly enough,” Granger whispered fearfully.

“I am aware of that,” Severus snapped, “We have precious little choice—”

“Bleed her!” Granger interrupted authoritatively, “Bleed her and transfuse her. Take my blood. My
blood type is O negative—I am a universal donor.”

“Bleed her?!” Weasley gasped, “Now, hang on!”

“It could work,” Severus admitted, his gaze sharp as he mentally calculated the risk involved in
attempting a total blood transfusion. It was a muggle practice, one considered barbaric in nature by
the magical world at large, but it might just be their only option, “We will have to complete it over
several hours to prevent sending her into shock.”

Granger nodded, “And I will need several vials of blood replenishing potion on hand.”

Severus nodded, “I have several in stock.”

“Are you bloody crazy?” Weasley gasped, “You’re talking about draining her of all her blood!
She’ll die!”

“She’s barely this side of dead, as it is, you blathering idiot!” Severus snarled furiously, “What
would you have me do?”

“Enough, Mr. Weasley, now is not the time. We all want what is best for Rose, and I trust
Professor Snape wholeheartedly to do what he deems best,” Albus interrupted, “If you cannot
control yourself, you will remove yourself from the room.”

The redhead seethed, but remained silent.

“We will need more than one donor, to keep up with the demand Rose’s condition has placed on
us. You and I both, Severus, are out of the question, however. We cannot risk the taint: I, with my
cursed hand, and you bearing the Dark Mark,” Albus continued at the same time the fireplace
flared and spat out more redheaded Weasleys, “Ah! Impeccable timing Molly, we require
assistance.”

Severus took a deep calming breath. Perfect. Just what everyone needed at this point—more
Weasleys. Molly’s shriek of distress was like nails dragging down a blackboard in his ear and his
irritation ratcheted up another notch. The Weasley matriarch tried to push her way through as she
howled out her distress but Snape stood his ground, ignoring her grasping hands as they tried to
yank Potter’s body out from underneath him.

“Mrs. Weasley? Please, we need your help,” Granger interrupted, prying the desperate witch’s
hands from Potter’s limp body.

“We can help,” The Weasley twins offered after Granger had finished explaining to them what
they intended to do. Molly looked as horrified as her son, but the twins stepped forward in unison,
completely unfazed, “We’re both O negative, too.”

“Excellent,” Albus replied, “Then I propose we move this up to the infirmary while we await
Madame Pomfrey’s arrival. Severus, if you could procure the blood replenishing potion, we shall
make our way upstairs.”
Severus stepped back abruptly with a sharp nod; his hand falling from Potter’s overheated flesh,
“Of course.”

He watched with an odd sense of detachment as a mob of Weasley’s converged on Potter’s still
form to help lift and carry her up to the infirmary the minute he was no longer looming over the top
of her. Molly was sobbing and demanding answers even as she directed her posse of children up the
stairs with their precious load, all of which Albus deflected with relative ease. Severus watched
them go, his heart still pounding a mile a minute in his chest and strangely bereft.

He was shaking with fury and adrenaline and if he was honest with himself...fear. Horrible, gut
churning, paralysing fear. Fear for Potter’s wellbeing. Fear that they were too late and poison
would claim her life. Fear of what would happen if the Light lost their Chosen One... Fear of losing
her.

The floo flared green again and Poppy came bursting out of the flames, her carry case in hand as
she stared pointedly at Severus’ tense form.

“Severus. I came as quickly as I could. Where is she?” Poppy hastened without preamble.

Severus ran a weary hand over his face pinching tightly at the bridge of his nose to try and ease the
throbbing headache he could feel coming on.

“They took her upstairs,” He growled and the mediwitch hurried past him with a brusque nod and
barely a second glance.

Suddenly the room was quiet and still and he realised with a start he was the only one still standing
there, his gaze stupidly fixed on the point where Potter had disappeared up the stairs.

He sneered up after them.

Damn Potter.

Damn Albus, too.

Spinning on his heel he marched himself back into his lab. The minute the door swung closed
behind him the murmur of voices drifting down from the floor above was cut off and he was
engulfed in relative silence. He stared at the multiple potions he had brewing under stasis spells and
for the first time in his life felt displaced in his potions lab. Foreign. He wanted to throw
something. Hit something. Hex something. Instead he turned around and with a sweep of his arm
sent a tumble of books careening off the end of his desk. They hit the ground with an unsatisfying
thump, landing in a jumbled heap that immediately made him only angrier, unfulfilled and feeling
ridiculous for indulging in such an outburst.

This would not do.

Pulling out his wand he waved a hand over the books, watching as they returned to their rightful
position on the table. Striding across the room, he plucked several vials of blood replenishing
potion from his stores and looked down at them in his hands.

This would not do. They would need more before the night was out. It was enough to get them
started though and he could have another batch ready well before dawn.

Calling Potter’s house elf, he had the decrepit creature deliver the vials to the mediwitch the above
him and then turned to his work bench and picked up his brewing utensils.
With a calming breath he banished the contents of his current brew. The Dark Lord could wait, he
thought absently, and went to work on the mundane, while Poppy worked miracles the floor above.

Three days she was unconscious while her body fought against the remaining toxins that still raged
through her system. The worst had past of course, Potter would live, but until her body had
excreted the remnants of the poison that still lingered—mostly harmlessly—in her system, she
would not regain consciousness. The blood transfusion had taken twelve hours complete, Granger
and the Weasley twins each donating two or three times over the course of the night and
throughout the next morning. It had been a gruelling process for all involved, but it had worked.

Now Severus was seething mad.

Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, reckless schemes to come up with, he couldn’t for the life of him
understand what had possessed Albus to agree to such a thing. What pure lunacy could prompt
such an act as to spur them into believing it was necessary for Potter to ingest a whole basin of an
unknown poison that had been left there by the Dark Lord?

Did her life really mean so little to her?

Did it mean so little to Albus?

Why did Albus insist on encouraging these bouts of misguided heroics that always almost got
Potter killed?

Severus snarled as his eyes flicked angrily to the woman lying motionless in the bed before him.
What was it that they were keeping from him? Something important, certainly. Something so
important it justified, in the Headmaster’s eyes, risking Potter’s life for the bloody cause. Perhaps
something only Potter could achieve? His eyes drifted to the lightning bolt scar on Potter’s
forehead for once unusually visible where her fringe—usually swept to one side to keep it hidden
—had fallen away. It stood out in stark relief against the pallor of her skin, looking raised and
irritated. She was undoubtedly extraordinary for her age, powerful and resilient, yet he sometimes
wondered if Albus truly saw Potter. Severus resisted the urge to touch her, to swipe her fringe back
down until it covered that blasted scar once more, then he reached out and did it anyway. One little
scratch and the world thought her invincible.

Severus tensed as he heard a creak coming from outside the infirmary door, the sound of weight
shifting over aged timber floors. It was far too quiet to be the footsteps of the mediwitch returning
from the much needed nap she’d left to take not even an hour prior, but too conspicuous in the
otherwise silent night to belong to someone not trying to mask their presence. Immediately Severus
was on his feet moving swiftly and silently from Potter’s bedside to meld himself into the long
shadows that blanketed the room, almost vanishing from sight entirely as his black robes
disappeared into the darkness. He didn’t need to wait long before the soft squeak of the infirmary
door reached his ears and he watched, his body coiled tight in anticipation, as their late night visitor
crept quietly into the room.

Weasley. Typical.

Severus relaxed and sneered at the redheaded boy as he shot across the room on silent feet until he
was occupying the space Severus himself had only just vacated, sinking down into the armchair
which had been pulled up to Potter’s bedside and taking up her limp hand in his tenderly.

‘Perfect,’ Severus thought scathingly.

He was a hairsbreadth away from revealing his presence, verbally chewing the boy out and booting
him from the premises when the boy began to talk quietly.

“Why do you always get yourself in these kinds of messes, huh?” He asked Potter’s unconscious
form quietly, his voice as quiet and withdrawn as Severus had ever heard it, “You’re not making it
easy for me to love you, I feel like my insides are being constantly torn to pieces with worry over
you.”

Severus’ eyebrows arched speculatively at that. Love her? Weasley fancied himself in love with
Potter? Severus smirked. How priceless.

“Not that you’d know that, of course,” Ron sulked, “You never let me pin you down long enough
to bloody tell you! That and Snape’s always getting in the way and making us fight.”

Severus fought the urge to smile viciously at that, absurdly pleased that he’d managed to cause
such an obstruction to ‘young love’, even if unknowingly. He didn’t care how immature it was; he
still got a kick out of riling the hot-tempered teen up. Weasley was so full of misplaced pride and
arrogance, so quick to snap first and ask questions later that it was almost too easy.

“I promised myself that I wasn’t going to wait anymore though,” Ron declared fervently, “as soon
as you’re awake, I’ll tell you how I feel. I’m not going to let another opportunity pass me by, even
if it kills me. I love you, Rose.”

The redhead reached out slowly running his hand over the top of her head, his fingers tangling
themselves in those silky black tresses, before brushing back her fringe again, purposefully
exposing that wretched scar once more. Severus ignored the way his gut clenched at the sight of it.
Anger swirling through him as the redheaded boy seemed transfixed by it, his pale, freckled fingers
tracing it reverently. It wasn’t Potter, the boy loved. It was the Girl-Who-Lived. Severus had seen
enough, his eyes flashing in annoyance as the Weasley boy’s body lurched forward suddenly,
awkwardly so that he could press sloppy lips to Potter’s forehead. He landed the kiss right over
that cursed scar, lingering nauseatingly as he shut his eyes in apparently bliss.

The boy had no concept of the word.

“Molesting unsuspecting women in their beds at night while they lay comatose and defenceless?
How underhanded of you, Mr. Weasley. One can’t help but wonder what your mother might have
to say about that?” Severus intoned darkly, his voice smooth as silk as he stepped out of the
shadows to seemingly appear at the foot of Potter’s bed.

Weasley startled and jumped back from Potter’s body guiltily, spinning around at the sound of his
teacher’s voice. Severus stamped down the urge to smirk in amusement.

“Snape!” He exclaimed in shock, before blue eyes narrowed nastily at him.

“Guilty conscience?” Severus drawled.

Weasley blushed but is angry gaze never wavered, “I-I wasn’t molesting anyone!”

Severus merely arched an eyebrow.

“At least I have a reason to be in here, what the hell are you doing lurking around Rose’s bedside.
Come to finish the job?” the redhead hissed scornfully.

“If you recall, Mr. Weasley, which I realise must be difficult for someone of your intelligence, I
helped saved Miss Potter’s life. A wasted effort if I intended to turn around and kill her again not
three days later. Clearly this is a concept beyond your level of intelligence,” Snape replied aiming a
dark glare down at the boy, “I merely came to investigate the intruder who was sneaking around in
the dark at two am in the morning. Imagine my surprise when I came to find you, no doubt here to
commit any number of depraved unspeakable acts on an unsuspecting victim. Would you like to
tell me again, your so-called reasons for being here?”

Weasley spluttered angrily, “Depraved? How dare you, you bastard! I would never hurt Rose!”

Snape arched an eyebrow sceptically, “Then why, pray tell, could your visit not wait until
morning?”

The boy’s whole face seemed to flush red, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Actually, Mr. Weasley, you do,” Severus informed him curtly.

“Yeah? Well you can go fuck yourself, you Death Eater scum,” Weasley spit out viciously, “You
might have Rose fooled into trusting you—liking you, even—but you don’t fool me. You’re not
my Father and right now you’re not even my teacher. I owe you nothing and I’m not telling you
shit.”

Severus sighed, “Foolish, Mr. Wealsey.”

Fifteen minutes later the redhead was being frog marched back home via the floo by his father
where his mother was no doubt waiting and ready to give him an earful. Severus smirked with
satisfaction. That had felt good.

Severus made his way back through the house to the infirmary, stopping however, when he noted
the oil lamp on the mediwitch’s desk was lit once more and the plump woman was faithfully back
at her station. Severus tried telling himself the disappointment filling him was actually relief, that
he’d only found himself at Potter’s bedside in the first place so that someone had been watching
over her while the mediwitch had been indisposed. Now that Poppy was back, there was no longer
need for him to linger unnecessarily.

Severus turned and made his way back to his room, determine to get a couple hours of sleep if only
to alleviate the fatigue that suddenly seemed to weigh him down. His lingering amusement from
humiliating Weasley was already fading, replacing itself once more with the anger and frustration
he’d felt since Albus had apparated into the kitchen three days ago with Potter in tow, looking for
all the world like she was already dead.

Severus grit his teeth, refusing to let his mind once more rehash the events that had unfolded that
night. It changed nothing. Potter was alive and recovering. Why couldn’t he just forget the mottled
pallor of her skin, the bluish tint that had tainted her lips and the skin around her mouth, or the way
her body had sagged in Arthur’s arms so lifelessly as they carried her away from him? The
unnatural heat of her skin under his hands as he’d passed the bezoar—the one he always carried
with him—into that cyanotic mouth. Thank Merlin for Granger’s quick thinking—though he’d
she’d never hear him admit to it. Thank Merlin he’d been so readily available when they’d first
arrived.

Severus felt anger grip him with fresh potency at the Headmaster’s obvious lack of planning and
foresight in executing this so-called ‘mission’. It was pure luck that Rosalie Potter was still alive.
She had been mere minutes away from death or irreversible damage.

How dare she risk her life like that! How dare Albus!
Severus snatched up his bottle of scotch, pondering furiously the ease with which Potter drove him
to drink. Slumping down in his armchair by the window, he forwent a glass and drank straight
from the bottle, knowing deep down, that this wasn’t rational or healthy behaviour but deeming his
need for the numbing effect of alcohol greater in that moment than the call of his bed. He would
have words with Rosalie Potter when she regained consciousness and force her to see the idiocy of
her actions as the Headmaster refused to listen to reason. Perhaps then he’d be granted a little peace
of mind? Perhaps then he’d be able to rest? Until then, it seemed he was doomed to find his solace
in the bottom of a scotch bottle.

It was dark when she awoke, the house quiet. Moonlight was streaming in through her open
window, and she thought it odd that she left it open when she’d gone to bed. Rosalie swallowed
coarsely, a grimace rippling across her face. She felt like she’d been ill—her whole body ached, her
throat was burning and her head pounding with a headache—and yet, the last that she recalled
she’d felt fine. In fact, the last thing she recalled was that horrible training session with Snape and
she felt her heart drop as she was reminded of the fact that he seemed determined to hate her again.

“You’re awake.”

Rosalie startled at the sound of her pseudo-godfather’s voice.

“Remus?” She grated, wincing again at the pain in her throat. She felt like she’d spent the all night
screaming.

The werewolf’s face swam into her vision. He looked tired—more tired than usual—and it was
only then that she realised he must have been sitting at her bedside. Her eyes scouted the room with
more interest and she deduced quickly, that she was in the room Madame Pomfrey had set up as
her infirmary at Grimmauld Place.

“Shh,” Remus chided softly, “try and rest your voice. It’s going to take a little longer to heal
unfortunately and you shouldn’t strain it.”

Rosalie frowned.

“What happened?” She whispered heeding his advice, noting that it was easier to talk when she
didn’t try and force the sound past the grating rawness of her throat.

“You don’t remember?” Remus asked, his hand coming up to sweep over the crown of her head
affectionately. Comfortingly.

“You drank a whole bowl full of poison, Rose,” Remus told her, his tone an odd mixture of
exasperation and disbelief, “The Headmaster took you on a mission—”

Suddenly the events of the afternoon came rushing back, her trip to the cave with the Headmaster,
the small boat, the poison, the horcrux! Her hand absently lifted to her throat in remembrance. She
could still feel the acidic burn of the potion as it slid down her oesophagus and the emotional
upheaval it had evoked in her. The thirst. She had been so certain that that had been it for her—that
she was dying.

‘Apparently not,’ she thought, smiling slightly in relief.

“To the cave,” Rosalie interrupted with a nod, “Yes, that’s right. I remember now. Drinking the
poison he’d left was the only way to get at it.”
“Get at what?” Remus asked, searching her eyes like they held the key to the meaning of life.

Rosalie just shook her head, silently telling the wolf that she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell him. He
looked put out that she’d shut him out so abruptly and she felt a niggle of regret that she couldn’t
tell him more. She had the distinct impression that she’d been unconscious for at least a couple of
days, if Remus’ haggard appearance—at least more haggard that usual—was anything to go by,
and she felt bad for stonewalling him.

“I’m not allowed to say,” She whispered truthfully, “Sorry.”

Remus sighed, and stroked her hair back from her face again, “I understand.”

Rosalie nodded her thanks, “What time is it?”

“Almost sunrise,” Remus told her, as his eyes briefly left hers to glance out the window, “You’ve
been unconscious for four days. I would have been here sooner if not for the full moon preventing
me the first three. I’m sorry.”

Rosalie smiled, “You don’t need to apologise, Remus. It’s fine. I’m fine. And it’s not like you
could have done anything for me anyway.”

Remus looked away, “I know. Only, I feel like I’m never there for you when you need me and I
want to be there for you, Rose. I know I can never replace your father, or even Sirius, but your all
the family I have left. I want you to feel like you can rely on me, like you can tell me the things
that are bothering you...”

“It’s not like that, Remus,” Rosalie rushed to reassure him, “Dumbledore told me I wasn’t allowed
to say anything. It’s all very top secret. I would tell you if I could. I promise.”

Remus shook his head, “It’s not that, Rose.”

Rosalie frowned.

“I can tell something’s been bothering you lately, ever since the attack you, Ron and Hermione
faced in the Forbidden Forest,” Remus told her plainly, his voice low and calm, “It’s fine if you
don’t want to open up to me, that is your decision to make, of course. But it was painful to see you
so clearly upset over something and not be able to help you.”

His soothing tone and gentle eyes made her feel like shit for neglecting him so. He was family,
after all, and she felt like the only time she every really saw him was at meals and her training
lessons which was appalling given the fact they lived together for a good fifty to sixty percent of
each week. There was no way in hell, of course, she was telling him about her and Snape, but she
felt like the world’s biggest bitch for making him feel like she didn’t trust him, because she did.
She trusted Remus with her life.

“It’s not that Remus, I trust you. I do. You’re family to me. The only family I’ve got,” She told him
sincerely, “I guess I was just...scared, from everything that happened in the forest that night. Being
trapped by the fire and all and I guess I just turned that fear into anger.”

Remus looked like he didn’t really believe what she was saying, which was a fair call, she admitted
to herself, since her anger had had nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with her
confusion and hurt over Snape’s abrupt dismissal of her after such an intimate encounter. The only
one of its kind she’d ever had. The very thought of it made her chest ache with tightness.

“And Snape?”
Rosalie tried not to blush, “What about him?”

“His week long absence from Grimmauld Place seemed to coincide with your, ah... ‘meltdown’,”
Remus prompted softly.

It was sheer force of will that Rosalie was able to keep the blush that was threatening from rising to
colour her cheeks.

“Yeah, well...” Rosalie began awkwardly, “He wasn’t too happy with the situation I managed to
get myself into, I guess, especially when I wouldn’t tell him why I was there in the first place. I
just assumed he was angry with me...and I was angry at him, for being angry with me...”

Remus nodded slowly.

Behind her, the sun was just beginning to turn the sky pink with morning light and Rosalie watched
as it slowly began to light up the room with a pink hue, feeling awkward and unsure as both she
and her godfather sat side by side in silence. She was pretty sure he knew she was lying, and she
was also sure the he knew that she knew. There was nothing to be done about it though, how could
she explain what she didn’t understand herself?

Remus leant over and kissed her forehead gently, “I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey.”

Rosalie watched him leave, the sick feeling in her stomach growing with every step he took. She
felt like she’d failed some sort of test, just now, by refusing to open up to him like he wanted her to
and she felt certain their relationship would be irrevocably altered in some way because of it.

Rosalie spent the rest of the day hiding in bed, for once not fighting Madame Pomfrey’s orders to
rest. She’d have preferred to be up in her own bed, but Madame Pomfrey was unsurprisingly good
at keeping her visitors to a minimum which she was grateful for, shamelessly avoiding both Remus
and her friends as best she could. She’d feigned sleep earlier that morning when she’d heard Ron
and Hermione’s voices in the hall, oddly reluctant to face their endless questions and accusations.
She felt beaten down by everything that had happened in the last two weeks, tired of fighting with
people, disappointing people and generally failing to be anything but a never ending nuisance.
She’d been mentally attacked, almost molested, nearly burnt alive, been the cause severe and
lasting damage to a notoriously vicious werewolf, lost her virginity, been outstandingly rejected,
almost died for the sake of locating a horcrux and managed to alienate the closest man she had to
being a father-figure. Rosalie sighed, wondering if other people’s lives were ever this difficult. She
knew she was simply wallowing in an astounding bout of self-pity, but she couldn’t bring herself to
care. Tomorrow she’d regroup and face the world again, for now she was content to avoid
everyone like the plague and drown herself in her misery.

She resolutely kept her eyes shut and her breathing even as her friends had sat at her bedside for an
hour, their voices low and hushed as they chatted between themselves over nothing of
consequence. She’d been shocked when Ron had reached out and threaded his fingers through hers
intimately when Hermione had left them alone for a time to use the bathroom, but she’d forced her
had to remain limp in his as he caressed her hand with his thumb.

“Alright, up with you,” Madame Pomfrey ordered as she entered the room carrying a tea tray in her
hands. Rosalie’s stomach grumbled audibly at the scent of food and she flushed with
embarrassment. “You’re been lolling about in bed all day, which isn’t like you. Especially when
you’re as good as recovered—or there about.”

Rosalie offered her a weak smile and pushed herself up to sit against the headboard. The burning in
her throat was almost gone, though her voice was still gravelly and uneven, which was expected
given the damage she’d done to her throat. Madame Pomfrey had told her earlier in the day that
she’d had to regrow the delicate lining of her oesophagus due to the damage that had been caused
by the caustic properties of the poison, which would leave it tender for a couple of days to come,
but would eventually heal.

“Eat this and then I want you dressed and out of here. You’re usually climbing the walls by now
and it’s no fun if you actually want to be here,” the mediwitch teased with a wink.

Rosalie smiled, “You’re right. Sorry—”

“Ah! Rest your voice!” The mediwitch chided, cutting her off midsentence, “No talking above a
whisper for the next twenty-four hours, Miss Potter. Understand?”

Rosalie nodded.

“Sorry,” she whispered, offering her a small grin of contrite.

“Better,” the mediwitch agreed, straightening out Rosalie’s bed as the teen began to eat, “And,
Rose? Try to stay out of my infirmary for at least a month this time, if you think you can?”

Rosalie smiled, “I’ll try.”

 Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Fifteen

Rosalie hid in her room for the remainder of the day feigning sleep until Grimmauld Place was still
and silent once more. Then, once she was sure Ron and Hermione had left and Remus’ snores
could be heard from all the way down the hall, she threw back the covers of her bed and swung
herself upright. She balanced herself on the edge of the bed for a moment, blinking away the slight
dizziness that lingered as a result of such an abrupt manoeuvre and took a steadying breath. She felt
caged and restless from having spent the whole day in bed trapped with nothing but her thoughts,
but now there was no one left in the house for her to avoid and she felt anxious to get up and do
something—anything. Physically, she felt fine and although she’d been given strict orders to rest,
she figured Madame Pomfrey likely knew she wouldn’t be able to sit still for long. In any case, she
couldn’t stay locked away for another second, her thoughts going round and round in circles
without rest—Remus foremost in her thoughts. She’d never felt the weight of someone else’s
disappointment so keenly upon her shoulders. She’d never had someone to disappoint like that
before. Not until Remus, and now she’d let him down. Failed him. She just didn’t know how to
open up to him the way he wanted her to, though. She couldn’t tell him the things he wanted to
know. She didn’t want to, even if he did make her ache with the need to say something
—anything—to wipe the disappointment off of his face.

And then there was Ron.

Rosalie sighed. She didn’t even want to consider what the hell was going on with her friend. When
they weren’t arguing over Snape, Ron was starting do things that made her stomach twist
uncomfortably. It was a look or a touch, like the way he’d held her hand that morning, and she
didn’t want to have to deal with what those things might mean.

Rosalie groaned, her thoughts driving her from her room.

As if she didn’t have enough to deal with already! Voldemort, the Horcruxes, Snape...now Ron had
feelings for her?

Rosalie made her way downstairs to the basement kitchen forcing herself to put thoughts of Ron
and Remus from her mind as she began to work her way around the kitchen, setting the kettle to
boil on the stove and making quick work of the few dishes that were stacked beside the sink.

“Potter.”
Her back stiffened and Rosalie shut her eyes as the sound of his voice washed over. She took a
deep calming breath and felt a pleasant shiver pass over her as the subtle scent of sandalwood and
spices engulfed her. Her stomach flopped over wildly and the hair on her arms stood on end with
awareness, attuned to his every movement, as he swept further into the room.

‘Just what I need,’ she thought sarcastically, ‘Snape, for the trifecta.’

“Professor,” she grated out, wincing at the sound of her own voice as she opened her eyes and
turned reluctantly to face him. He looked tired and strained and his gaze was penetrating, but she
met it with her own, unable to determine the emotion that was staring back at her.

“A word?” Severus ground out as he glared at her.

Rosalie frowned, irritation bubbling up at his brusque manner. So he was still determined to put
distance between them by treating her like shit, then. She might have guessed as much. Clearly
nothing had changed between them in the four days since she’d seen him last. It made her chest
ache and anger churn hotly in her stomach. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

Clenching her jaw she turned her back on him to where the kettle was screaming at her from the
stove.

“Why? Do you want to yell at me some more? Or are you done with that and think ignoring me is
the way to go after all?” She seethed, her voice cracking and grating horribly as she grabbed at the
kettle. A surprised hiss of pain escaped her as she accidently splashed herself with scalding water
in her haste and she pulled her hand out of the way, pressing it tightly against her lips.

“I wish to discuss neither,” he started.

Rosalie saw red.

“Of course you don’t. Well tough, ‘cause that’s what I want to discuss,” She retorted glaring back
at him furiously, slamming the kettle down and narrowly missing scalding herself a second time as
water sloshed out of the spout, “Let’s talk about how you decided avoided me for a week after we
had sex because you found the act so distasteful. I want to talk about that!”

Snape snarled and grabbed her arm, throwing a look over his shoulder at the open doorway before
pulling her across the room to his laboratory. Rosalie stumbled along behind him under his grip.
The grasp of his hand was tight, though not so hard as to hurt, but Rosalie could feel the anger in it
and it matched her own. She was done with him treating her like she was shit. Not after everything
they’d been through.

Rosalie snatched her arm back off of him as he pushed her into the lab and followed her across the
threshold before slamming the door in their wake.

Rosalie pressed her lips together angrily and glared at him.

“Well? Nothing to say, Snape?” She snarled through her husk of her voice as she watched him
throw up a couple of wards and a heavy duty silencing charm before spinning to face her. His face
was hard and unflinching and she held her breath in preparation for the tirade she had no doubt was
about to be unleashed upon her.

“Do you think of nothing beyond your own slighted feelings? The implications of our involvement
are far more reaching than your own bruised ego. I thought it best that we each put some space
between us,” Snape replied stiffly.
“Oh?” Rosalie bit back, “And it never occurred to you to ask me how I might feel about that? How
it might feel knowing that the first person—the only person—I’d ever been with was avoiding me
like the plague without any explanation? Somehow I think these ‘implications’ are just a
convenient excuse for you to hide behind! Was I that bad? Is that it? Was ‘little virgin Potter’ not
good enough for you?”

“I am not having this discussion with you, Potter,” Snape told her resolutely, his glare fiercely
dark.

“I’m not giving you the choice!” Rosalie denied, her tone a sharp hiss, grating like sandpaper
against her windpipe.

Snape sneered at her.

“I trusted you,” She breathed, “More than my friends, more than Remus and even Dumbledore, I
trusted you. You know everything there is to know about me. So, yes, it would have hurt to find
out you looked at me as some kind of mistake or something to regret, but I still would have
preferred that than having my footing ripped out from underneath me. Instead you just didn’t show
up, and when you did you treated me like I was worth less than the dirt beneath your feet.”

“You are acting like we’re lovers. I owe you nothing, Potter,” Snape told her harshly as he rounded
on her.

“You’re right, but I thought we were friends,” She scoffed sarcastically, “I don’t know what I was
thinking...”

Snape stared at her stiffly, “You are correct, I have come consider you...a friend, I suppose. For
that you have my apologies. But you must understand, what happened between us was wrong on a
number of different levels, not the least of which I am your teacher, and as—”

Rosalie cut him with her glare, “Don’t even. I’m not your student any longer. We are not at
Hogwarts.”

“Not at Hogwarts? Do you really believe that has any bearing on the situation?” He sneered, “You
are the bloody Girl-Who-Lived, seventeen years old and my student! I robbed you of your virginity
on school property and relished every minute of it. What do you think Dumbledore—or your
public—would have to say about that?”

“I don’t bloody care what they think!” Rosalie fumed, “I am seventeen—legally an adult. I’m no
longer a student of Hogwarts—no matter how much you’d like to believe otherwise—and I can
make my own decisions. It’s not anyone’s business, including Professor Dumbledore’s, who I’m
with!”

“You’re naivety just goes to show you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” She repeated in a sarcastic hiss, “Merlin. Tell the truth,
Snape. If I disgusted you or disappointed you so much, there were other ways to go about letting
me down gently. You know as well as I do, that legally there is no barrier to what we did, stop
trying to create one to hide behind.”

Snape backed her up against the wall, crowding in against her, “Don’t put words in my mouth,
Potter. If I was disgusted at the idea of you I would never have touched you. Did I not just say I
relished every minute I was inside of you? The thought of that night leaves me hard and aching, but
if anyone knew—”
“We don’t owe anyone anything.” She breathed out with determination.

“You’re a fool if you think anyone else believes that.”

They were standing so close. She was practically pressed up against the wall as Snape loomed over
the top of her and for a second she thought that he might kiss her again. His eyes dropped to her lips
and Rosalie held her breath waiting,wanting him to lean into her. Wanting it with everything she
was.

When it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen, Rosalie gritted her teeth and turned her head
away in anger. Planting her hands on his chest she pushed, sending him stumbling backwards a
pace.

“I’m going to bed,” She snarled hoarsely, brushing past him impatiently.

“We’re not done here,” Snape told her, a hand grabbing her upper arm again, preventing her from
leaving.

“Yes we are,” she snapped, attempting to shake him off, “I’ve said everything I wanted to say. I
think you have too.”

“I think not,” Severus hissed enraged once more, pulling her back to him, “You almost died four
days ago. Your wilful disregard for your own life is beyond mortal comprehension! A few minutes
more and you would have been lost to us!”

Rosalie paused at the sudden change in subject looking back up at him and the rage that was
twisted across his face. The fear? His eyes were dark and tumultuous, his eyebrows draw down
tightly and his mouth a hard line. He was furious at the thought of her perishing and it made
something inside her break as the anger drained out of her, “I know, but it was necessary.”

“Do not insult my intelligence.”

Rosalie slid her arm out of his grip again and turned to face him fully, “Better the war loses me
than Dumbledore. He is the centrepiece of the Light’s resistance. Who would step in and fill his
shoes if he were to die?”

Rosalie shook her head, “We didn’t know what the poison would do, only that he shouldn’t be the
one to drink it.”

Snape scoffed.

“It would be a great loss, indeed, if Dumbledore were to perish in this war. Your death, however,
would signify the death of all hope. You are, after all, the Girl-Who-Lived. Without you, there is
no war. The Dark Lord will have won.”

“No,” Rosalie replied softly, shaking her head, “That’s not true. There are those that would
continue to resist him. Once the Prophecy has been—”

“Fuck the bloody Prophecy,” Snape snarled and suddenly Rosalie found herself stumbling
backwards until the hard ledge of the table behind her was pressing into the back of her thighs as
Snape crowded in against her and took her mouth with purpose.

A startled sound of surprise escaped her, her body stiffening under his sudden advance as her arms
made an aborted attempt to ward off his attack, his lips claiming hers with a bruising intensity.
Then she was flowing into him, melting into his embrace as her mind caught up with the
suddenness of the advance and she was kissing him back just as urgently. Her hands slid up his
chest, twining around his neck to fist in his hair as his hands flexed over her hips and knotted in the
soft material of her dress.

Fireworks were erupting behind her eyes; her heart pounding hummingbird fast inside her chest,
sending pleasure rocketing through her veins with every beat of her heart even though she knew she
should probably be protesting. She should be pushing him off of her, stopping things before they
went too far—again—and he broke her heart, but she wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted it
even though she knew it would only end badly when he pushed her away again. Her memories of
that night paled in comparison to the reality of his hands on her body and the rush of adrenaline he
sent pulsing through her veins and weren’t enough though. Not now. Not ever.

Talented fingers tugged her underpants from her body before they found slick heat, making her
moan and spread her legs wider.

Rosalie gasped softly into his mouth, desperate hands pulling him in closer. He came willingly,
until they were pressed chest against chest, his breath hot against her neck as Rosalie pushed at his
robes, parting them and sliding them from his shoulders in quick movements.

The minute his arms were free his hands were on her thighs, hoisting her up onto the table behind
her and sending dusty tombs clattering to the floor in their wake.

Rosalie knotted her legs around his waist her forehead coming to rest against his as she felt his
cock slide over her opening, slipping easily through her arousal to prod at her entrance bluntly.

They groaned simultaneously.

“Please,” She breathed, pressing the words into his mouth.

“Potter,” he ground out hoarsely as long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, this thumb
inching out to prop up her chin, angling her face into his as he hovered just outside of her entrance.

“Please,” She whispered again, her lips brushing his as she caught his gaze in hers, “Severus...”

He sheathed himself inside of her as he claimed her open mouth. Rosalie whimpered into him, her
fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his shoulders as he drove himself into her. Snape groaned
loudly in response, the sound mixed part way between pain, pleasure and relief. They tumbled back
into the pile of books behind her, his arm stretched out above her to brace against the wall as they
quickly coiled themselves around one another in a tight knot of want and need.

Rosalie clung tightly to him as he found his seat deep within her again and again, stoking the fire
burning inside her thrust by thrust. She keened against him, completely overcome with the need to
possess him, be possessed by him, to mark and claim him. She took his mouth, again and again, her
teeth finding his lower lip and tugging on it lightly.

Rosalie moaned as he pulled away from her mouth only to attach himself to her neck, biting and
sucking—marking her as she’d so wanted to mark him.

Snape gasped his pleasure against her flesh, his lips wet against her neck, “Rosalie...”

It was rough, passionate and she never wanted it to stop. It was life affirming after coming so close
to death. Which she realised, as Snape continued to pound into her relentlessly, the table knocking
into the wall behind them, his rhythm long and hard, was exactly what this was all about. It was his
way of confirming to himself, to her, that she was still here.
“Rose,” Snape groaned again as she clenched her inner walls around him purposefully, his eyes
finding and locking with hers as his fingers slid down between them, his fingers parting around his
own girth as the heel of his hand pressed against the sensitive apex of her sex.

Rosalie rocked into his hand, her lips parting in silent pleasure as he pressed back against her. Her
head fell back against the books behind her, narrowly missing the wall as her legs tightened around
his waist, “Yes! Oh, Merlin...”

His fingers found her clit massaging it in quick circles, making her tighten around him like a vice
as her pleasure reached a fevered pitch, her climax rushing over her, pulsing around him and
wringing a strangled groan from his throat as he followed her over the edge.

Rosalie sagged back against the pile of books at her back sending another tomb tumbling from the
table carelessly. Severus followed, his forehead falling forward to rest against her the nape of her
neck, as she fought to bring her breathing back under control.

“I was the better choice. I’m younger and fitter and Dumbledore was far more capable of getting us
both out of there alive than I would have been,” she told him, her voice wavering under the abuse
she’d just put it through. That had been neither ‘taking it easy’ or ‘relaxing her voice’ as she’d been
ordered to and it seemed she’d be paying the price as her voice threatened to give out on her all
together.

Severus sighed, unable to muster the anger he’d worn like a shroud for the past week as though it
too had been expelled from his body with his release.

“A couple more minutes, Potter, and we wouldn’t have been able to save you,” Severus told her
steadily, his voice like velvet, “You came too close.”

“I know,” Rosalie replied, her voice almost non-existent and they lapsed into an odd kind of
silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just silent. He felt like a hypocrite. He was a
hypocrite, lecturing her on all the reason their continued involvement couldn’t happen, yet falling
straight back into her moments later in the rush of heightened passion.

‘Am I really doing this?’ Severus thought as he took a moment to examine what he’d just allowed
to happen again. What he’d just instigated again. Clearly self-control meant nothing in the face of
Rosalie Potter. He’d spent the last fortnight tearing himself to pieces over previous lapse in
judgement, and yet here he was, first chance he got, doing it all over again.

Damn it!

Her fire was all consuming. She made him forget all the reasons she was off limits. She made him
forget the reasons why he should’ve been denying himself the nirvana of her body and instead
made him abandon all his hard won self-control in favour of giving himself up to with utter
abandon.

She was heat and softness in his arms; vanilla and the warm musk of arousal, her body loose with
sated lassitude against his, her walls still cradling him within her warmth, pulsing intermittently in
the aftershocks of their pleasure as he softened inside of her. The nape of her neck was damp with
sweat where his fingers were curled in the silken lengths of her hair and the warm puffs of her
breath were wafting pleasantly across his neck.

She was perfection in his arms.

Green eyes, dilated with satisfied arousal blinked up at him slowly as lifted his head from the softly
scented skin of her neck. So expressive. So open. Severus looked down at her and took in the
obvious beauty of her face—a face that still held a noted familiarity to him—and wondered when
exactly he’d stopped thinking ‘Lily’ every time she looked at him and started thinking ‘Rose’.

Her apprehension was clear, as was the hurt she felt from his last rejection. Those eyes spoke to
him more clearly than any amount of words could what she was feeling: Worried, anxious, soft,
tender, sated...

His hand lifted of its own accord to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing over the damp plumpness of
her lower lip.

Did he dare continue this?

He wasn’t even sure he even knew what the definition of ‘this’ was, but the resounding answer
echoing inside of him seemed to scream ‘yes’ though he knew to do so would be a mistake.
Severus lent into her, cupping her face in both hands and took her lips with his. She seemed to sigh
into his mouth, accepting him readily. He rubbed their lips together languorously, enjoying the feel
of her against him and the taste of her on his tongue.

“I don’t understand,” Rosalie grated out as she pulled back from him and Severus winced internally
at the hollow husk of her voice, worse now that it had been an hour ago, “You made it clear that
this wasn’t something that was ever going to happen again. That it had been a mistake...”

“It is,” Severus agreed. Yet here he was. Merlin, he was still inside her! Gently, he disentangled
their bodies, feeling himself slip out of her wetly. She whimpered softly as he slid through her
sensitive opening and carefully disentangled her legs from around his waist. She followed him up,
smoothing the material of her dress down her legs shyly.

They were both silent for a moment as they stared at one another appraisingly, her fatal green eyes
flicking up to pierce him with wary indecision.

He wanted to again point out the fact that he was her teacher and that such familiarities were
heavily frowned upon, though it almost seemed beyond significance at this point. Not when he still
stood within the easy reach of her arms, his fly undone and his limp cock lying spent against his
thigh, still wet with the evidence of their debauchery.

He chose not to elaborate. There were so many reasons why this was the worst idea he’d ever had.
It was definitely the worst idea she’d ever had. Standing there and discussing it wouldn’t change
the fact that they’d already crossed that line. Twice—three times if you counted the kiss they’d
shared in the library, which anyone damning them would. It didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t
help but want to keep crossing that line. He was disgustingly weak willed in her presence.

Those eyes burned into him: desire, pain, confusion, want and understanding all mixed up in the
emerald depths.

“I don’t care,” She whispered determinedly, though the sound barely making it past her lips and he
knew that she would pursue this if he forced her.

She wouldn’t have to.

He was going straight to hell, he realised, not for the first time since he’d allowed himself to fall
into her temptation. He went easily as she drew him in knotting his hands possessively in her hair.
This was probably the worst idea of his life. It would no doubt backfire spectacularly in his face in
time to come, but common sense clearly had no say in the matter. She’d worked her way under his
skin somehow and now he was unable to say no. One taste wasn’t enough.

This—Rose...she would be his undoing.

“The locket we retrieved, most unfortunately, was a fake,” Dumbledore told her as he handed her
piece of jewellery. Rosalie took it with careful hands, the metal dull and cold against her fingers—
lifeless. She was no expert, given her experience with any kind of horcrux was limited to the
incident with Riddle’s diary, but it didn’t have the same feel to it that the diary had. The locket felt
empty in her hands. It was just a locket.

“Definitely a fake,” she agreed, turning it over in her hands. Rosalie ran her thumb over the three
letters engraved across the back of it: R.A.B.

“I must admit, I have no idea to whom the initials R.A.B belong,” Dumbledore admitted easily,
“Whoever they were, they left this message inside addressed to ‘the Dark Lord’.”

"To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered
your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in
the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.”

“The wording leads me to believe it was likely one of Voldemort’s followers, or at least a former
follower who had defected from the cause,” Dumbledore continued.

“Do you think—” Rosalie began, frowning down at the locket and the small, aged piece of
parchment Dumbledore had lain out on the desk before her, “There is a room upstairs—opposite
Sirius’ old room—with his brother’s name on it: ‘Regulus something Black’. I’m almost sure his
middle name begins with an ‘A’, is it possible that he might be our R.A.B.? He was a Death Eater,
wasn’t he?”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, “He was. Regulus Arcturus Black.”

“Arcturus! So it could be him, then?”

“It could well be. I must admit I haven’t thought of Regulus in years,” Dumbledore murmured
ponderingly.

“He was a quiet boy in school, but also proud and respectful of those he deemed worthy, namely
pure-bloods like himself. He idolized Voldemort and ‘the cause’ for which he fought. The perfect
son in his parents eyes, unlike your godfather who was considered a disappointment to the name
Black. There were whisperings around the time of Regulus’ disappearance of his defection, but of
course nothing was ever proven. It was often speculated that he was murdered on Voldemort’s
orders, but no body was ever recovered and thus his death always remained a mystery,”
Dumbledore told her solemnly, “It is a good place to start our search if nothing else, but I would
think it is very possible that Regulus Black could be the mysterious R.A.B.”

“So where do we go from here?” Rosalie asked once more, “We have no idea if he ever managed
to destroy the locket or where it is now if he didn’t!”
“We will have to talk to those who knew Regulus best.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly, “Sirius is...gone, who else is there?”

Dumbledore gave her a pitying look over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, “There are still
others we can speak to. Severus, for instance, knew Regulus quite well from their early days
among Voldemort’s ranks.”

Rosalie nodded, forcing herself not to blush hotly at the mere mention of Snape’s name and the
memory of it evoked inside of her. Not something she believed Dumbledore needed to know about.

“You plan to tell him, then? About the horcruxes, I mean?” She asked.

“Not if it remains unnecessary to do so. Severus is in a position where the acquisition of such
knowledge could prove quite dangerous should anyone become the wiser. He knows this and
therefore understands that there are some things I cannot or will not tell him. Perhaps, though, you
can direct our Miss Granger into tracking down what she can on Regulus’ movements so that we
might piece together a timeline of events,” the Headmaster continued, oblivious to her sudden acute
spike of embarrassment.

“I’ll ask her when I see her, they’ll be around today at some point, no doubt,” Rosalie agreed.

Dumbledore nodded, “Good.”

“Is that all then?” Rosalie asked.

“Yes, you may go.”

Rosalie smiled and pushed up from her chair, reaching out to lay the locket back on the desk.

“You may hold on to it, for now. See what Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger make of it,” he said,
interrupting her action and so instead she slipped the locket into the front pocket of her jeans.

“Thanks,” she offered with a quick smile.

“I’m glad to see you fully recovered, Rose, your voice notwithstanding,” the Headmaster offered
solemnly, “I pained me to see you in such a state and to bear some of the responsibility for your
arrival at such a juncture. I hope that you realise your bravery has not gone unappreciated.”

Rosalie nodded awkwardly, unsure how to respond to such a statement.

“It could hardly be helped,” She said finally, painfully aware of the rasping sound of her voice that
was only somewhat improved from the day before, “It was necessary.”

Dumbledore nodded, “We did what we must.”

Rosalie left the Headmaster’s office and made her way through the quiet house. It seemed
outrageously unfair that they could go through everything they’d endured to find one of
Voldemort’s secret hiding places, yet not find one of his horcruxs. She felt deflated, disappointed
and tired. It made her feel like an idiot for defending her risks so strenuously to Snape. How had
what they’d done been worth it when in fact all it had gained them was more questions? Who was
R.A.B., if not Regulus Black? Where was the real locket now? Had it already been destroyed?
Where did they even begin their search?

It all felt too large, too impossible. Even if they did manage to figure out the mystery of Regulus
Black’s disappearance, it didn’t mean it would lead them to the locket. Without it, however,
Voldemort would remain ‘immortal’.

Rosalie sighed and ran her hands over her face. This was a nightmare.

She wasn’t surprised to find Ron and Hermione waiting for her when she entered her room, nor
was she surprised by Hermione’s teary hug and gentle reprimands. Ron, though, looked like he
might cry, which was somewhat out of character and he held her tightly when she offered him a
comforting hug.

It reminded her, a little uncomfortably, of how he’d taken her hand in his yesterday when he’d
thought she’d been asleep and held it cradled in his until Hermione had come back into the room.

“I’m okay,” she told them both earnestly, ignoring the way her voice cracked. It still sounded better
than it had yesterday.

“Your voice!” Hermione moaned.

“You don’t think it’s sexy?” She joked, giving them both a teasing wink as she extracted herself
from Ron’s arms.

His face was a bright shade of red, from embarrassment or anger she didn’t know.

“Don’t joke about it, Rose,” He mumbled unhappily.

Rosalie sighed, “It isn’t permanent. Madame Pomfrey said it would continue to improve day by
day. It’s already better today than it was yesterday evening.”

They both stared at her unhappily.

“You almost died,” Hermione whispered gravely.

“You looked dead,” Ron added, “I thought you were dead when I saw you! I’ve never seen
anything so horrible in my entire life!”

“Professor Dumbledore was really worried; I’ve never seen him look so serious! It was a miracle
that Professor Snape was here. He saved you’re life!” Hermione told her.

Ron snarled angrily and bit out curse, “Madame Pomfrey saved her. You, Fred and George saved
her. Snape didn’t do anything but make her puke her guts out all over Dumbledore.”

“That’s a lie, Ron, and you know it. You’re just mad because he caught you sneaking in to see
Rose in the middle of the night and called your mother!” Hermione snapped back in reply as if this
was an argument they’d had more than once before turning back to Rosalie and adding: “I think
Professor Snape thought you were dead too at first, but he did help save your life, Rose. He made
you purge what was left of the potion from your system and he made you swallow a bezoar. I don’t
think you’d have s-survived if he...We wouldn’t have been able to save you if he hadn’t been so
readily at hand. He bought us time to come up with a plan.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and lowered her gaze, “I’m sorry. It must have been horrible for you to
have to see that.”

Ron nodded.

“Everyone was pretty upset,” Hermione agreed.

“We didn’t know going into it that that would happen,” Rosalie offered.

“Was it worth it?” Ron asked, his tone still solemn, “Did you get one?”

Rosalie sighed and shook her head, launching into the explanation of what had occurred. She told
them of how they’d found the cave and Dumbledore had worked out how to gain entry. How
they’d found the basin full of an unknown potion and the locket that lay at the bottom of it. How
they’d quickly realised one of them would have to drink it to get at the horcrux and how she’s
offered herself up as the better choice.

She glossed over the effects of the potion and the blur of memories she had of the time following
that. She didn’t know how they’d escaped, only that Dumbledore had managed to get her to
relative safety and that she was alive and well.

Ron snorted at that but didn’t comment.

Rosalie told them about the fake locket and the theories she’d hypothesised with the Headmaster
that morning over whom the mysterious R.A.B might be and where the locket might be now.

“So what your saying is, the mission was a bust,” Ron stated bluntly, “You almost died for a fake
horcrux and we have nothing to show for it but a therory on who stole the locket!”

“It’s not ‘nothing’, we have a lead, which is more than we have on any of the other possible
horcruxs,” Hermione retorted, giving Rosalie the impression that they’d been at each other’s
throats again recently. Over what, she didn’t know or particularly care.

“Hermione is right,” Rosalie interrupted quietly, her croaky voice not allowing much more,
“Dumbledore asked if you might be able to research Regulus Black and find out everything you can
about him in the years leading up to his disappearance, Hermione. I’ll talk to Snape and see if he
might know anything, since they knew each other back when they were both Death Eaters—”

“Which by all accounts Snape still is,” Ron muttered.

“Anything we can find out will help us narrow things down,” Rosalie continued, talking over her
friend as if Ron hadn’t spoken.

“I’ll try,” Hermione agreed with a nod, “But to be honest I don’t know how much I will be able to
find, he went missing such a long time ago. I don’t know what I could possibly find that we don’t
already know, or suspect.”

“Anything is a start.”

Hermione nodded, “Of course.”

“I still can’t believe it’s a fake,” Ron sighed.

“Has Dumbledore made any progress with the manuscript?” Hermione asked hopefully, her eyes
alight with hope.

Rosalie shrugged reluctantly, “There hasn’t been much chance to talk to him about it, to be honest.
With everything that’s happened, it didn’t even cross my mind.”

Hermione nodded, “He sent me a letter asking if I’d assist him in the research. I think he realises it
doesn’t make much sense for both of us to be studying it independently. It’s unlikely I’d come
across something he missed, after all, but if we combine our efforts it’s possible that we might
generate some new ideas.”

Rosalie nodded, “That makes sense, where will you be doing that?”

“At Hogwarts,” Hermione replied, “We just don’t have access to the same resources anywhere else.
I’ve already been over the Black Library twice and there is nothing of substance that seems likely
to help us. At Hogwarts I’ll have access to the Restricted Section and Dumbledore’s own collection
—what he’s managed to gather on the subject anyway. Also, it’s less likely someone will happen
upon us and discover our secret, Hogwarts is practically deserted in the summer.”

“Not for much longer. September first is rolling around quicker and quicker every day. What
then?”

Rosalie already knew she wasn’t going to be returning for the school term, at least not this year and
not while Voldemort was still alive and his Horcruxes undiscovered. Sitting her NEWTs seemed
inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. She couldn’t sit idly by for another year while
Voldemort was out there murdering people and getting away with it. Though she would have the
freedom to come and go from the school as needed, she would likely never again be a student
there. Though, it occurred to her that they had never really spoken about it.

“I’m not returning for our Seventh Year,” Rosalie told them quietly.

Ron nodded, “We figured. Wouldn’t really make sense at this point.”

“Where you go, we go,” Hermione agreed, “Anyway, you didn’t really think you could do this
without us did you?”

Rosalie grinned despite herself, “No. Definitely not.”

“Well then, I guess that’s that,” Hermione said giving a satisfied nod, “Although, now that we’ve
officially decided that this is what we’re going to do, I think we should come up with a strategy.
Do we all stay here together? Or do you join us at the Burrow?”

Ron grunted, “The Burrow is out. Mum wouldn’t let us be for a minute. We’re going to need the
freedom to do what we have to without her getting in the way.”

“Let’s just leave things as they are for now. I’ll continue my training and you continue your
research. Once term starts, you can both join me here at Grimmauld Place. There isn’t much more
we can do at the moment except try and solve the mystery surrounding the locket and work out
what the next one might be.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t get progressively harder to find as we go along,” Ron sighed.
 Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Sixteen

The night air was still thick with heat though the sun had long since set as Rosalie made her way
outside for some fresh air. It was comforting, in a way, like a warm embrace—gentle and
supportive. It brought back memories of a time long ago before she’d ever known she was a witch
or who Tom Riddle was and why he was trying to kill her. It made her feel less alone, and growing
up with the Dursley’s, feeling less alone was about as good as she ever got. She’d curl up on her
small cot under the stairs, sweat beading on her face from the stifling heat and imagine that her
mother or father were lying beside her, holding her close and whispering they loved her.

It had been a beautiful illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.

Now she was seeking the solitude of the night after a long afternoon of Mrs. Weasley’s hovering
and fussing. She loved the Weasley matriarch dearly, words couldn’t express what it meant to her
that Ron’s whole family treated her as one of their own, but at times it was too much. She felt
smothered with love and it killed her that she felt that way when there was a time she would have
given everything she was simply to hear a kind word.

Ron had proven to her why he was one of her best friend when he’d herded his mother into the floo
after dinner with an apologetic smile and a promise to speak to soon and she felt grateful for his
understanding.

Crossing the small courtyard Rosalie stretched herself out across a small bench seat and gazed up
at the clear night sky. The stars were bright tonight, sparkling against the deep navy of the night
sky.

So many stars.

She’d always sucked at astronomy, but she knew enough to be able to find Sirius burning brightly
in the night sky. Her heart ached at the thought of him. Some days she missed him so much it hurt
to breathe, but every day it was getting easier and easier to think of him without feeling overcome
by her emotions. Now they were trying to find his brother and it felt inevitable that she would think
of her godfather. How could she not?

She smiled as she located Sirius in the night sky and allowed herself to dream for a moment that he
might be looking down on her.

“Where do I start, Sirius?” she breathed on a sigh.

How on earth were they meant to track down a man, that was not only presumed long dead, but that
no one had been able to locate, even in the first few months following his disappearance. What
hope did they have of finding out what happened to him now? All they had were the initials R.A.B.
and the name Regulus Arcturus Black carved into a bedroom door.

Rosalie sat up abruptly with a curious expression on her face.

“His room...” she wondered, pushing herself to her feet and making her way back inside the house.

Surely someone had checked his room for clues? Only, she didn’t recall ever having seen anyone
go in there. Right?

The house was silent as she made her way up three flights of stairs on light feet. Regulus’
childhood room, like Sirius’ was on the topmost floor of the house. It was the smallest floor,
compared to the rest of the house, with only the two bedrooms and a bathroom occupying its space.
Now days, this floor went mostly unused save for the very occasional use of the bathroom at the
end of the hall. Perhaps due to the fact that both Sirius and Regulus’ rooms sat like twin tombs
flanking either side of the staircase as dormant reminders of the men that had once lived there and
died too young. To her knowledge, no one had touched either of the rooms since Sirius’ death, and
it seemed disrespectful in a way to disturb them now. But she wanted answers. She needed them, if
she was ever going to find out what happened to the Horcrux which was stolen from the cave.

Rosalie paused in front of Regulus’ door to trail her fingertips over the name cared into the door
curiously: R.A.B.

Gripping the handle and turning the knob, the door swung open easily leaving Rosalie to marvel at
the state of the room. It was larger than Sirius’ had been, nicer too, but it was the immaculate
condition that had her jaw falling open in disbelief. No dust; no moth ridden, Doxy infested
curtains; no musty bedding. The wooden floor of the room was polished to a high sheen, reflecting
her image back at her in the candle light.

It looked like the man had just this minute left, though it carried a sense of vacancy that came from
a room left long dormant. The bedcovers were still rumpled as if someone had recently been sitting
on them and a book that was resting on his bedside table had the pages turned down to mark his
place.

Rosalie felt like she was trespassing as she stepped cautiously into the room and began to scout her
way around. There was a half written letter on the desk, simply addressed to ‘my friend’, which she
let her eyes scan quickly and dismiss when it revealed nothing of consequence. The small bin
beside his desk was empty.

No pictures hung on the walls.

No Dark Arts books lined his shelves.

Nothing in this room hinted to his life as a Death Eater and yet she knew he’d occupied this space
up until the time of his disappearance.

The wardrobe, when she opened it, showed all his clothes still hanging neatly before her,
suspiciously dust free. How was this possible? Who would have—
Kreacher.

Of course.

Rosalie grimaced, the idea made her somewhat sick to think of. To think that all these years one
decrepit, obsessed house elf had kept his favourite Master’s room meticulously clean while the rest
of the home fell to ruin and disrepair. Home many hours must the elf have spent in here cleaning?
Was it possible then, that the elf might know what had happened to Regulus? Or was this simply
his way of coping and keeping his memory of Regulus alive? The latter seemed more likely and
creepy enough for her to believe it was something Kreacher would do. He was only a house-elf
after all. Rosalie tried to rid herself of the thought as she crossed the room to perch cautiously on
the edge of his bed. The mattress groaned under her weight and she bounce on it once
experimentally before lifting her gaze to scan the room.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find, but his room had revealed nothing.

Picking up the book on the bedside table she turned it over in her hands, chuckling in surprise
when she noted the title: ‘Hogwarts, A History’. It was cracked open on to a chapter on the
Founders, a messy scrawl littering the page and margins. She frowned as her fingers traced over a
picture of the Gryffindor Sword that had a large cross scrawled harshly over the top of it in red ink.
He’d been angry when he scratched it out and Rosalie wondered if he’d been thinking of Sirius, the
only Black to ever be sorted into Gryffindor house.

She flipped a couple of pages forward, noting that he’d made the same commentary and musings to
both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. She knew little of the artefacts that belonged to either house, other
than that they, like the Gryffindor Sword, also supposedly existed. She frowned as she noted the
circle he’d drawn around the Hufflepuff artefact—a cup. It seemed vaguely familiar to her, large
and ornate—

“Rose?”

Rosalie frowned at the sound of Bill Weasley’s voice calling to her up the stairs.

“Bill?” She called back questioningly, putting the book aside as she stood up and made her way to
the door.

Bill grinned up at her as she emerged above him on the staircase, “There’s my favourite Girl
Wonder!”

“You know others?” She returned with a smile, before frowning at him in question, “What are you
doing here?”

“Guarding you, of course! Snape was called and no one else was available, so tonight I’m it!” he
explained as she drew level with him.

Rosalie frowned, “Snape was called? When?”

“A couple of minutes ago, I think,” He told her, “Not to worry though, I may not be as big and
mean as out dear Potions Professor, but I’ll keep you safe."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and offered him the required smile, “Of course. Your mum would kill you
if you didn’t.”

Bill sent her a knowing look.

“It’s not my mother I’m worried about,” He joked back as he slung an arm around her shoulders
and led her back down into the lounge room where they made themselves comfortable opposite
one another the couch, “You do realise my brother fancies himself in love with you, right?”

Rosalie flushed, “Who?”

Bill gave her a look.

“You mean Ron, don’t you?” she offered reluctantly.

Bill nodded with a grin, “That would be the one.”

Rosalie’s blush deepened with embarrassment, “I’ve kind of begun to get that impression too. Only
I’d hoped I was wrong. I love Ron. He’s my best friend. It’s just that...”

“You don’t feel the same way?” He supplied for her.

Rosalie shrugged.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “That wasn’t what I was going to say though. I guess I just think Ron is more
in love with the idea of me, you know? Not the real life emotional and mental cripple I really am.”

Bill sighed, “I’m not sure you give Ron enough credit, Rose. He knows who you are.”

Rosalie shrugged again, “Maybe. It wouldn’t be fair on him though. I just don’t see him that way.
He’s like a brother to me. You all are.”

Bill nodded, “That’s fair enough. There’s nothing you can do about it if it’s not there.”

Rosalie nodded, “I don’t think he’ll take it so well, somehow. I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t work
up the nerve to confront me, because I don’t want something like that to come between us, you
know? Somehow I always thought it’d be Hermione he’d fancy.”

“Maybe it will be one day.”

Rosalie nodded absently, not truly believing that it was as easy as Bill made it sound. Ron was
prone to holding grudges and their relationship had suffered for it more than once in the years that
they’d been friends. He hadn’t spoken to her for months over the Triwizard Tournament fiasco. For
her to reject him, and then find out that she was kind of involved with Snape? She didn’t want to
think about the fallout that would cause.

“So, you keeping yourself entertained?” Bill asked, glancing around Grimmauld Place sceptically.

Rosalie smiled, “It’s been ok. Mostly I’ve been having lessons from Snape and Remus.
Occasionally Shacklebolt. There’s not all that much to do here.”

Bill chuckled, “I hear you.”

“I found this book on Healing though that’s really interesting,” She remembered after a beat. She’d
been so busy recently that she hadn’t thought of the book in days, but every time she remembered it
she found herself coming back to it again, “There are some really interesting spells in there that I
thought could be useful to know given, well...everything.”

Rosalie remembered healing Snape’s face and how the skin had seemed to knit itself back together,
“It’s already come in handy.”
“Already?” Bill repeated, “You managed to heal someone from just reading about the spells in a
book?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, why? Hermione does stuff like that all the time.”

Bill shook his head, “I forget sometimes how powerful you really are. It takes a tremendous about
of strength and focus to be able heal people. People don’t give Madame Pomfrey enough credit for
the work she does. It requires raw power, Rose, which is why mediwizardry courses take a number
of years to complete. It takes some wizards years to accomplish what you did on your first try.”

Rosalie shook her head, “You don’t even know what or who I healed. It was tiring, but it wasn’t all
that difficult. Not really. All I did was sew some skin back together.”

Bill chuckled, “You are truly amazing.”

Rosalie shrugged uncomfortably, searching for something to change the topic, “How’s married life
treating you?”

Bill sigh happily easily diverted, “It’s great. Life is good, despite everything. Fleur and I bought a
small cottage that we’re living in now. It’s right on the beach, away from everything and everyone.
First thing we did was put it under the fidelius.”

Rosalie nodded happily, “I’m happy for you guys. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the
attack that night at your wedding. They were there for me. I shouldn’t have even been there,”
Rosalie apologised.

“Don’t. Nothing would have prevented that happening, Rose. It wasn’t your fault. You’re part of
this family too,” Bill reprimanded with a scowl, “It wouldn’t have been the same without you
there.”

“I’m still sorry your night ended that way,” She offered.

“I am too, but we’re in the middle of a war,” He replied seriously, squeezing her shoulder
reassuringly, “We knew there was a strong possibility You-Know-Who would attack. No one was
killed. That’s all that matters.”

Rosalie nodded, blinking away the sudden watering of her eyes.

“So what’s next for you guys then?” She asked brightly, changing the topic again before she
brought them both down.

Bill chuckled.

“Babies. At least if mum gets her way! She’d already banging on about them. We’re being careful
though. Now’s not the time. We don’t want to be bringing up a child while there is still a war
raging on our doorstep. It’s just not safe. Mum knows it too, but she just likes thinking about it, I
guess. It takes her mind off of things.”

Rosalie froze, nodding mechanically as Bill spoke, as something suddenly occurred to her that
should have a long time ago. Babies. She’d had sex, twice now, without taking any form of
contraceptive measures—muggle or magical. Neither she nor Snape had cast the charms—at least
not to her knowledge—nor was she taking any long term contraceptive potions.

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

He ‘finished’ inside of her, too. On both occasions.

Merlin.

What if she was pregnant?!

The very thought filled her with dread. She couldn’t be. She could not be pregnant. It simply was
not an option. Not now. She felt dizzy and lightheaded and her stomach rolled threateningly.
Severus would kill her. He’d probably assumed she was taking contraceptive potions as many
women her age did and so hadn’t thought to ask. Not that either instance had been highly conducive
to thought.

Rosalie dropped her head into her hands. She needed to seem Madame Pomfrey. Immediately.

“Rose? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Bill asked worriedly, getting up from his seat to hover over
her.

“I’m—”

What was she meant to say to him?

“I’m just not feeling very well all of a sudden. I think—”

“Do you want me to floo Madame Pomfrey? You look really pale,” Bill asked as he laid a hand on
her back, rubbing soothing circles into her hunched form. She wanted to cry. How could she have
been so stupid?

“Yes,” She replied immediately. Thankful that he’d solved one problem for her, “Call her.”

Bill nodded, guiding her to lie back into her seat while he made the floo call, his face the picture of
concern.

“I’ll just be a minute,” He told her before dashing across to the floo.

Her heart was pounding out a rapid rhythm against her chest and her nerves were making her
stomach churn uncomfortably.

When had she last had her period? She was so irregular with her cycle that it could hardly be used
as a valid indicator to pregnancy, but nevertheless it had been over a month at least.

Without thought her hand strayed to her lower abdomen before she realised what she’d done and
jerked it away. It would be just her luck to fall pregnant the first time she had sex. A nervous,
hysterical little giggle bubbled from her lips as she imagine herself taking on Voldemort in a duel
to the death with a baby strapped tightly to her back, all black hair, green eyes and patent Snape-
sneer in place. What would Dumbledore say? Or her friends? Remus? Mrs Weasley?

A small whimper escaped her lips and Rosalie pressed a hand over her mouth tightly to muffle the
sound. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. But how could she have been so unbelievably careless? How
could he? Neither of them had been prepared for what had happened between them, but it was no
excuse. This is how teen pregnancies occurred!

She sat up again as Bill returned with the mediwitch in tow.

“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” he offered, slipping out of the room again before either woman had the
chance to reply.
Madame Pomfrey ran an assessing gaze over her form, “Rose, how are you feeling? What seems to
be the problem?”

“Anything I tell you is confidential, right?” Rosalie asked nervously.

The mediwitch nodded her brows furrowing.

Rosalie let out a heavy sigh, nervously smoothing her jeans out across her the tops of her thighs
and simultaneously wiping the anxious sweat from her palms as she avoided the mediwitch’s keen
eye.

“I, ah...I had unprotected s-sex recently,” She said finally, a furious blush rushing up to stain her
cheeks a vivid red, while her gaze fixed itself to the toes of her shoes, “Which is stupid, I know.
Believe me, I know. I wasn’t thinking, obviously, and now I’m worried there is a chance I could be
pregnant.”

The mediwitch gave her a tight, disapproving stare, “I see.”

Rosalie stared up at her pleadingly, “I can’t be pregnant, Madame Pomfrey. I can’t. I need you to
check, though.”

“Rose, even if you had been pregnant, the poison that you so recently ingested would have aborted
any conception that might have taken place inside you. You are not pregnant.” The mediwitch
explained matter-of-factly.

“And what about now, if I had sex...after I was poisoned, I mean?”

Madame Pomfrey sighed and took a seat beside her, “Well. That does change thing some, but to be
honest, there will be nothing to see at this stage. It’s far too early to tell one way or another I am
afraid. You might be pregnant or you might not.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and nodded, ignoring the stinging in her eyes and the burn at the back of
her throat, “Oh, Merlin...”

The mediwitch pat her leg gently, “I’ll give you a potion, which will cause you to pass anything
that may have taken root inside of you—at this early stage, you won’t even notice one way or
another as any conception will still be microscopic in size. It isn’t one hundred percent effective,
mind you, but it’s pretty close and it’s the safest option at this stage.”

Rosalie frowned, but nodded her agreement regardless.

Reaching into her medical bag, the mediwitch drew out a small bottle of a dark blue potion and
handed it to her.

“Take it with food and have an early night. Some cramping is normal, but nothing more severe than
you’d expect to experience with your menstrual cycle.” Madame Pomfrey explained, her eyes
scanning and assessing Rosalie’s face to ensure she was talking in everything that she was being
told, “If I thought you’d have the time, I’d make you and your partner come in for sex education
classes to remind you how important it is to play it safe. You are too smart to be making such silly
mistakes, Rose, and I might add, that having intercourse after I told you to rest is not ‘taking it
easy’.”

“I know,” She moaned pitifully, burying her face in her hands again. Trying not to imagine the
look that would be on Snape’s face were she to tell him that he was expected to attend Madame
Pomfrey’s ‘Safe Sex’ lectures with her. She’d rather face down a horde of angry Death Eaters.
“I’ll need to see you again in a couple of weeks to make sure you’re in the clear. We’ll make an
appointment to meet again in approximately five weeks. We won’t know for sure until then unless
you should get your usual cycle during that time, but even that can be deceiving.”

Merlin, she wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Okay,” Rosalie replied, her tone barely above a whisper and her mortification complete.

“In the mean time, if you intend to keep having sex it is important you do so safely. The potions
are the most reliable method of preventing unwanted pregnancies. Do you know how to brew a
contraceptive potion?”

Rosalie nodded, her face burning and her hands cool and clammy. If she couldn’t remember the
process exactly, it wouldn’t be hard to find out at any rate, getting the ingredients would prove
harder.

“Good. I have a small amount to tide you over until you’ve had time enough to brew your own
batch,” the mediwitch continued, “Rose, I know you know made a mistake and you realise the
possible consequences of your actions, but if you were to fall pregnant now, the results could prove
catastrophic. No one truly knows what’s coming; you don’t need an added pregnancy on top of
things.”

“I know, Madame Pomfrey, I do,” Rosalie replied earnestly, meaning every word she said, “It’s
just at the time one thing led to another, things got a little out of hand and I guess it just happened.
I’d never done anything before that, so I wasn’t prepared and I hadn’t been taking anything to
prevent it. I will now though, regardless of what happens, just in case. I don’t need a baby to add to
all the stress in my life. I have enough to handle as it is.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Make sure you speak to your partner about things also, though. It is as much
his responsibility as it is yours.”

There was no way Snape was ever finding out about this. Ever.

“I will,” She lied, offering the older witch a tight smile.

“Good.” The mediwitch nodded, “I’ll see myself out.”

Brewing a contraceptive potion, on closer examination, was going to be harder than expected
Rosalie realised as she contemplated her next move. Not only did she lack that ingredients she
needed to brew the potion, but unless she attempted it in a steel pot on the stove she had nowhere to
brew it. The thought of what Snape would have to say about that, should he ever find out she’d
even contemplated such an option, made her shudder. Contraceptive potions required brewing in
silver bottomed cauldrons, she knew that much, although she couldn’t recall why. Steel pots and
cook tops were not an adequate substitute. Snape’s lab was out of the question though. As far as
Rose was concerned, they weren’t at a point where discussing her contraceptive measures with him
wouldn’t be awkward and embarrassing, and she wanted to leave him out of it as much as possible.
It might lead to awkward questions that she wasn’t ready to share. The problem was that it didn’t
leave her with many options. Hermione would ask too many questions and withhold help until she
had the answers, and Rosalie didn’t want to listen to the lecture that would follow on making such
a careless mistake to begin with or her lack of thought over sleeping with a teacher. Also, as much
as she loved her friend, Hermione couldn’t really be trusted to keep her mouth shut when she didn’t
agree with what she was being told.
That left purchasing one as her only viable option.

The question was, where from?

She didn't even know if the apothecary in Diagon Alley was even still open for business, nor did
she know the price of such an item.

“Dobby!”

The little elf appeared with a small pop and toothy smile, “Miss Rosie Potter! Dobby is being so
happy to see his friend again! What can Dobby be doing for you?”

Rosalie smiled, “I need you to go into Diagon Alley and get something for me. A potion. Only you
can’t tell anyone it’s for me.”

“Rosie Potter is being unwell?” The elf asked with wide, worried eyes, “If you is being unwell,
you is needing to see—”

Rosalie sighed, “No, Dobby. I’m not unwell. This is just something I need.”

Rosalie handed Dobby a folded up piece of paper and a couple of galleons—more than enough to
cover the cost of the potion just in case.

Dobby took the piece of paper with a small nod, “Dobby be taking this directly to the apothecary.”

She felt his presence behind her the same moment that Dobby popped back out of the room. She
tensed guiltily and didn’t turn around.

“May I enquire why you are sending out for inferior products when all you need have done was ask
to have my skill at your disposal?” a smooth, rich voice asked lowly, coming up to stand directly
behind her. Close enough that the she could feel the brush of his robes against her bare ankles.

Rosalie blushed hotly and turned to face him, “Oh it’s nothing really. I didn’t want to bother you,
with all the brewing you do for Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. Not to mention the Dark
Lord...I didn’t want to add to your work load.”

“It is no bother,” Snape replied easily, “Tell me what you need and I will make it for you if I don’t
already have it in stock. At the very least you can be assured of its efficacy.”

Rosalie let out a distressed noise and bit her lip, “I, um...”

Snape frowned, “Potter?”

“Contraceptive potion,” She blurted out finally, her blush creeping up until she was sure it was
encompassing her whole face, “I’m, ah...I’ve run out, you see, and I need more.”

She avoided his gaze, feeling guilty for misleading him but at the same time unwilling to wander
down the path honesty would have taken them. She refused to have that conversation with him.
Regardless, she felt certain after her visit with Madame Pomfrey, that an unwanted pregnancy
would no longer be an issue, if it ever had been.

“I see,” Snape said, watching her curiously, “And you felt you couldn’t ask me for this?”

Rosalie groaned, “It’s embarrassing, alright?”

“You should not be ashamed for taking responsibility for yourself,” he informed her, “A pregnancy
at this stage in your life would be...unfortunate. I should have brought this up between us before
now. I should have made sure you were safe. I am ashamed to admit that it did not even occur to
me.”

Rosalie lowered her gaze, because in truth, it hadn’t occurred to her either.

“Call your elf back,” He told her, “I will make it for you.”

A warm feeling blossomed in her chest and stretching up on to her toes she gave him a quick kiss,
her lips pressing once firmly into his before they were gone.

“Thank you.”

Snape nodded, leading her before him into his lab and shutting the door behind them. Her face
flamed at the memory of the last time they’d been alone together in this room and her breath
quickened as she glanced at the table by the door, piled high once more with the books they’d sent
tumbling to the floor in their passion. The memory sent a shiver of pleasure racing over her body
and she turned her attention back to the man in question.

Rosalie watched as he moved about the room with ease collecting ingredients and supplies to go
about preparing the potion as Rosalie busied herself by calling Dobby back and explaining to the
elf why she no longer needed his services.

Snape already had the base of her potion simmering and was instead inspecting one of his other
works as Rosalie made her way further into the room cautiously. Her confidence was buoyed by
the fact he hadn’t reverted to treating her like crap after he’d allowed them to become intimate
again. She’d been half expecting the return of ‘Professor Snape’, but he seemed to have come to
terms with whatever had been plaguing him over what they’d done.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Rosalie said as she slid herself up onto one of the stools
in his lab. Severus quirked and eyebrow in her direction, only really listening with half an ear as he
studied the change in viscosity exhibited in his current mixture in direct correlation to its darkening
in colour. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Odd.

“Snape?”

“I’m listening, Potter,” he told her as he ladled out a small sample and bottled it. It would still need
to be tested, though he suspected it may have been the runespoor skin. The texture of it hadn’t been
exactly right.

“Did you know Regulus Black well as a Death Eater?”

Severus lost his train of thought as he turned to face her, “Regulus Black? What, pray tell, does he
have to do with anything?”

Rosalie worried her lower lip with her teeth, “Its part of what I’m working on with Dumbledore.
We’ve reason to believe he had something to do with what we are searching for, only very little is
known about his disappearance though. I was hoping you might be able to tell me about him—or
what you knew of him?”

Snape eyed her shrewdly, “I don’t think there was ever a time one might have called Regulus Black
and I friends. Close acquaintances, perhaps. We entered the Dark Lord’s service around the same
time though we were not initiated together. From what I knew of him, he was quiet, ruthless and
absolutely rigid in his beliefs. He was incredibly intelligent, though magically not as powerful as
some; certainly capable enough to get the job done, though. We were always amicable with one
another, but never close.”

Rosalie nodded, “do you remember the weeks leading up to his disappearance?”

“Of course. What you must understand, is that everyone in the Dark Lord’s service changes given
time. Regulus was no different,” Severus told her dispassionately, “He became more withdrawn
and secretive, even among his friends, more so however in the weeks before his disappearance. He
spent a lot of time alone and when he did interact with others it was to question the intelligence
behind their continued loyalty to a mad man. His doubts caused ripples among the Death Eaters
and it was no surprise when he eventually disappeared. The Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate defection
amongst his followers.”

“Was he part of the inner circle?” Rosalie asked.

“No.”

Rosalie frowned, “Did he ever mention any reasons for his sudden change in beliefs?”

“None that would explain his abrupt change in demeanour, most of us simply believed he’d been
given a task and baulked when the reality of the situation confronted him,” Severus sneered,
though Rosalie recognised she was not the cause of it, “It would not have been the first time, or the
last. Pureblood’s especially were often squeamish about getting their hands dirty.”

Rosalie shivered and tried not to think about what that might mean. Her hands were dirty too. She
wasn’t thinking about that though, she reminded herself. If she thought about it, then she’d have to
think about what she’d done to Greyback and she didn’t think she could deal with that right now.
Maybe not ever.

Snape’s information, however, seemed to fit with a certain chain of events. Creating a horcrux, by
all accounts, was considered to be dabbling with dangerous unnatural forces. It was the worst kind
of magic, to destroy one’s own soul in the pursuit of immortality through committing murder. It
was reasonable assume that if their R.A.B. really was Regulus Black, then his newly acquired
knowledge of his leader might have lead to his defection. It wasn’t normal for someone to want to
rip themselves apart; realising that this was what Voldemort had done might have shaken his
beliefs.

Rosalie wondered how many other Death Eater’s might defect if they knew of their leader’s
abomination? How many more would celebrate his cunning? Her eyes strayed to Snape against her
will. Would he revolt against such knowledge? Would it horrify him to learn what lengths Tom
Riddle had gone to achieve power and immortality? She had to believe it would. Who in their right
mind could justify the destruction of their own humanity in such a way?

“This has to do with the artefacts you are hunting? You believe Regulus to be somehow involved?”
Snape asked his voice deep and smooth.

Rosalie looked at him sharply.

“The Headmaster mentioned some weeks ago that you were searching the Chamber of Secrets for
certain Dark artefacts left by the Dark Lord in his time as a student,” He elaborated, correctly
interpreting the suspicious look she gave him.

“Yes,” She finally responded, noting that Snape nodded with approval at her caution.

“I am sorry I cannot be of more use,” He told her, “Regulus and I were never close enough to share
such information. There are those I may be able to question for you, but to do so may raise
suspicions as to the reason for such a request.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s not necessary. Not yet.”

Snape inclined his head.

“Was there anyone Regulus was close enough to, to have possibly confided in?”

“Not towards the end. Those who were once his allies began to distance themselves from him to
spare themselves from the inevitable backlash his lack of discretion would eventually unleash. In
his early days, his friendships stayed mostly within the family and those he knew prior to his
initiation. Rosier, the Lestrange’s and Malfoy’s by way of his cousins’—”

“Bellatrix?” Rosalie interrupted.

Snape nodded.

That made sense. If Regulus was friends with Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lords most devoted
and trusted follower, it explained how he may have come across such sensitive information. Out of
any number of Voldemort’s followers, she was perhaps the only possible candidate that he may
have confided the truth of his Horcruxes to. If she had told Regulus, or even hinted about the
existence of such an artefact, then it’s possible that she knew what later happened to him. Maybe
she was the one who’s killed him? Perhaps, she even knew what had happened to the locket?

“I need to speak with Bellatrix. Where is the Headmaster holding her?” Rosalie demanded,
scooting forward to slide off of her stool.

Snape’s hand shot out to grip her wrist, “Don’t be stupid. You cannot simply charge in and demand
answers from her! She will tell you nothing. Think, Potter, I know you are capable of it!”

Rosalie glared at him up at him, “What do you suggest I do then?”

“Talk to the Headmaster about it. Plan,” Snape replied, his long fingers still encircled around her
wrist though his grip loosened off somewhat, “There is nothing Bellatrix holds more sacred than
her loyalty to the Dark Lord. It doesn’t matter what you do. She will not talk and you will give far
too much away in the process.”

Her eyes stayed locked with his though she relaxed her stance, only just realising how close they
were suddenly standing. Close enough that his scent engulfed her and she consciously breathed it
in.

“Without that information...” Rosalie trailed off, her own hand tuning to loosely encircle Snape’s
wrist in return, the mirror of his hand on hers.

“There may yet be other ways of obtaining the information that you need,” He told her steadily, his
voice like dark chocolate.

Rosalie held his gaze steadily before finally, reluctantly relenting.

He was right. She hated it, but it was true. She’d gain nothing if she simply stormed in and
demanded answers. There was nothing they could do to Bellatrix Lestrange that Voldemort
wouldn’t do worse if he ever found out that she’d betrayed him. She valued nothing they could
give her.

Rosalie looked down at their clasped arms—hand to wrist. She couldn’t help but wonder if Snape
would be so calm if he knew what it was she and Dumbledore sought? What that information could
mean for them?

“Does it anger you that Dumbledore willingly keeps information from you?” Rosalie asked,
wondering how someone at the centre of the war could be content to function knowing there was
things he didn’t know. Things that might impact on the decisions he made moment to moment. If
Dumbledore hadn’t kept the secret of the prophecy from her, then it was possible Sirius might still
be alive. Maybe not. She would never know.

“In truth, there is little I don’t know,” Snape told her with serious eyes, “What is kept from me, is
kept from me with good reason. My skill as an Occlumens aside, if Dumbledore has information
sensitive enough to bring an end to the Dark Lord, then he cannot risk that for the sake of
appeasing my sensibilities. Nothing is certain. The Dark Lord may turn on me tomorrow and for
him to learn of such things would be catastrophic.”

Rosalie nodded. Dumbledore had said as much in his own words. She didn’t want to think about
what might happen if Voldemort came to realise they were hunting his horcruxes. He would move
those that remained to ensure their safety, perhaps even make more! They would be back at square
one and without the advantage of surprise. She shuddered at the thought. No wonder Snape and
Dumbledore had pushed her so hard to master the skill of Occlumency, without it Voldemort had a
direct link to her brain and every thought and memory.

Which is why she’d never learnt of Voldemort’s horcruxes until after she’d been able to successful
occlude her mind.

Snape was gazing at her with intent eyes, focused and assessing like he was following her thoughts
simply by reading the expression on her face. Maybe he was.

The air between them seemed to vibrate with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming. She felt
drawn to him, like a magnetic force was pushing them together and she was powerless against it.
Like gravity. How was it that he did this to her? Made her feel this way by just looking at her?

Rosalie glanced down at their entwined hands, still loosely encircling one another’s wrists. They
were cool and dry against the warmth of her skin. His hands: clean, strong and so different in size
compared to her own.

She glanced up at him from under lowered lashes, the intensity of his gaze unchanged.

Her hands cupped his face as her mouth found his, soft and needy, and they kissed like they were
trying to devour one another whole. Rosalie pushed herself up onto her toes as his arms encircled
her, pulling her further into his embrace, and she allowed herself to sink into him, her body sagging
into his arms. Her shirt crept up under his hands, warm hands finding the soft skin of her waist and
spine.

A chime sounded and Snape pulled away from her reluctantly, his hands slipping out from beneath
the material of her shirt to tend to the potion that was now furiously bubbling behind them.

“Take your information to the Headmaster and see what he makes of it,” Snape told her as he
stirred her contraceptive potion with practiced measure until it gradually began to change colour.

Rosalie nodded. Either way she would find out what Bellatrix knew. She was sure now that
Bellatrix was the key to finding out what had happened to Regulus Black, for some reason it
always came down to her.
Chapter End Notes

So this is the last re-posted chapter before I start posting brand new freshly written
chapters again! You can probably expect chapter posts to begin slowing down a little
as we start to catch up to my writing speed, hopefully not too much though :) Again, a
massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and left kudos on my work! I
love reading all you comments! It's super inspiring to read what you've all written and
hear your thoughts and theories. On that note, I got an email from one of you asking
what I imagined my Rose looked like and whether I had based her looks on a real life
person/actor/character. I honestly haven't had a specific person in mind as I've written
this but I would be super interested to know who or what you imagine Rose looking
like if any of you have put any thought into it :)

See you all next week!

 Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Seventeen

“Severus! Come in, I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”

Severus nodded his head in greeting as he swept into the Headmaster’s office, taking his usual seat
across from the ornate desk, “Albus, I trust this is not a bad time?”

“Not at all, I was just going over the student list for the coming year,” Albus sighed with a shake of
his head, “I fear many of our numbers will not be returning to us.”

“An expected loss,” Severus replied evenly.

Albus made a noise of agreement, “Unfortunate all the same. I am growing too old for this,
Severus. Three wars in a lifetime is three too many. Nevertheless, when we find ourselves
entrenched in it, we must make of it what we can, my boy.”

Severus inclined his head, “Indeed. What choice do we have?”

“There is always choice, Severus. Always,” Albus responded gravely, a weighty pause following
his words, “How have you been keeping?”

“Reasonable well given current political climate and the subterfuge that I often find myself
embroiled in,” Severus replied dutifully, wondering how Albus always managed to sidetrack him
so.

“It gladdens me to hear it, my dear boy,” Albus replied sincerely, “Tea?”

Severus shook his head even as two cups were laid out on the tea tray and aged hands deftly went
about preparing the unwanted beverage. He accepted the cup without comment and set it aside,
mentally gathering his thoughts.

“Has Potter been to speak with you?” Severus enquired neutrally, “She came to speak with me
some days ago regarding my former acquaintance with Regulus Black. Whatever information she
gleaned from our discussion had her attempting to fly off half-cocked, in true Potter style,
determine to seek out Bellatrix Lestrange and make her talk. I advised her instead to seek your
counsel on the topic.”
“Ah yes,” Albus chuckled, “She did indeed come to speak with me. In keeping with your advice,
she informed me of the situation and her wish to gain access to Ms. Lestrange. It is Rosalie’s desire
that we question her in regards to certain sensitive information we believe she may possess. Ms.
Lestrange’s lack of co-operation makes this a less than feasible option, as you can, no doubt, well
imagine. However, this does leave us in a bit of a pickle as to how to proceed and thus I have not
completely ruled such an endeavour out.”

Severus’ jaw clenched, “It is doubtful you would gather anything of worth from interrogating
Bellatrix. Her mind is not so warped as to leave it vulnerable to being poached. She would not have
held so in the Dark Lord’s ranks if this were not the case. Nevertheless, she is the least of my
concerns regarding Potter. You must restrict Potter’s access to our ‘guests’ at all costs—or more
specifically, Lucius Malfoy, as you have seen fit to house the two of them together. The man has an
unnatural obsession with Potter that clouds even his soundest judgement.”

“While I have no intention yet of allowing Miss Potter access to either Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix
Lestrange, I am confident that both remain little threat in their current environment,” Albus told
him with a smile, “They remain under strong magic dampening wards specific to their magical
signatures and various other protective enchantments that render them magically useless.”

“The threat Lucius Malfoy poses to Potter is not a magical one. Undoubtedly, his goal could be
accomplished just as well without the use of magic altogether,” Severus sneered with distaste, his
body rigid with tension. There were no words to express the disgust that bled through to his very
core.

Albus sipped his tea, eyeing his Potions Master over the rim of his cup “I am well aware of the
situation that befell Rose when last she was in Lucius Malfoy’s presence. I will take your concerns
on board, Severus, and continue to restrict her access for the time being so that it does not become
an issue. I do believe, however, that he poses little threat in his current confinement. In any
eventuality that Rose was to enter their holding cells, she would not be unarmed nor would she be
left unaccompanied.”

Severus nodded tightly, forced to accept that Albus would continue to refuse to take his warnings
with the weight he felt they deserved. While he would no doubt continue to restrict Potter’s access
to the prisoners, he doubted the man fully understood Lucius Malfoy’s obsession with the woman.
Simply sighting her was enough to cloud Lucius’ judgement beyond reason. Barely out of
Azkaban, certainly far from being back within the Dark Lord’s graces, he had thought no further
than his need to possess her—seeking her out against all reason and getting himself captured again
with scarcely a thought to the punishment his wife and son would suffer on his behalf for his utter
incompetence on an unsanctioned mission. Azkaban had done nothing but left him to stew on his
fixation and the minute he’d gained his freedom he’d hunted her down and attempted to exert his
desires upon her.

Severus’ grip unconsciously tightened on the armrests of his chair at the thought of Lucius
possessing Potter in such a manner, defiling her with his filth. The inkwell on Albus’ desk began to
rattle ominously and Severus consciously forced himself to relax and let the rage bleed out of him.

Albus was eyeing him curiously.

“I am not indifferent to your concerns, my boy” Albus stated pointedly, calling to attention
Severus’ obvious protectiveness, “Indeed, I am pleased to see you and Miss Potter on such good
terms.”

‘Perhaps not if you realised how good those ‘terms’ were,’ Severus thought cynically, even as he
inclined his head minutely in acknowledgement.
“Hard won, no doubt,” Albus chuckled, “You are both so stubborn at times.”

Severus chose not to respond to such a comment, how could he? While it was true that his
relationship with Potter was as solid as it had even been, Albus was correct in citing that it had been
a long and arduous journey to arrive at this point. Had he not spent months loudly reciting all of
Potter’s faults and short comings to his mentor in complaint and despairing over the fact that the
Wizarding World’s entire hope rested squarely upon Rosalie Potter’s shoulders? The memory of it
made him feel foolish, despite the fact that he knew that it had taken both of them changing to
allow such evolution to occur in their relationship. Potter’s growth to maturity and his hard won
battle for patience. Even then they had argued and railed against one another, but their forced
closeness had eventually led to grudging trust and respect to the point where he could now admit to
himself, if no one else, he was proud of all Potter had achieved under his mentorship. When that
had morphed into the powerful pull he felt around her now, he wasn’t sure. She was intoxicating
and although he wasn’t sure if even he could approve of this new aspect of their relationship, he
wasn’t strong enough to say ‘no’ and deny himself this connection. Potter seemed to have
flourished from a girl into a woman overnight and somehow he’d missed the parts in between.
She’d become every bit the woman her mother had been and more. Her life—the circumstances
she’d grown up in and the things she’d experienced—had shaped her differently. She was more
complex. Lily had grown up almost entirely in the Light. Potter, had been shaded in darkness all
her life and weathered more than any one person should have to at such an age, and yet she’d
bloomed into the woman she was today because of it.

Severus snorted softly, bitterly amused at the turn of his own thoughts and how notions of Potter
‘blooming’ had managed to find a place there. He worried sometimes at what he’d been reduced
too.

“You disagree?” Albus asked, taking Severus’ snort as disagreement.

He’d allowed his thoughts to wander again and departed the conversation at hand. What had they
been speaking of?

“My apologies,” Severus murmured, “I found myself lost in thought, briefly.”

Albus was silent for a moment as he surveyed his Potions’ Master and Severus endured it calmly.

“Very well then, my boy, I think it’s time we call it a night. Unless there was something else you
wished to discuss?”

Severus shook his head, “No. I have preparations that need to be made for the upcoming term.”

Albus inclined his head, “We will have an interesting year ahead of us. Dare I say ‘quiet’ in some
respects with many students not returning for the school year? Tom has been far too active for
comfort and I believe many will choose to keep their children close at hand.”

“That is their prerogative,” Severus replied, “It is not necessarily unwise to do so, given current
events as they stand. Nothing is certain. Perhaps they will be safer at home, perhaps not.”

Albus nodded, “Hogwarts will always be open to those who need her. Tom cannot touch us here.”

“He already has,” Severus reminded him.

“Not personally, and we must remember that he did not prevail,” Albus corrected, “I have since
strengthened the wards and sealed off all aspects of the school that are non-essential to everyday
functionality. Whilst we are not impenetrable, even Tom will have difficulty breaking in and
certainly not without alerting me to his presence well in advance. I believe Hogwarts is not yet vital
enough to Tom’s plans to take the risk head on, or he would have attempted it by now.”

Severus nodded in agreement, “Certainly not while you remain such a threat to his plans. He seems
largely unconcerned by Hogwarts at the moment. Which makes me speculate about his plans in the
interim? He has made no secret of his desire to seize Hogwarts, yet he is content to wait. I believe
something else holds his interest.”

“He keeps his plans closely guarded,” Albus replied distractedly, his expression pensive with deep
thought, “I am at a loss to decipher his next move. His long term goals, however, remain clear.”

“He wants Hogwarts, he wants Potter dead and he needs you out of the picture,” Severus agreed,
“Beyond that we remain in the dark as to his ultimate play. His still claims purification of the
wizarding race above all and the severance of the muggle world from our own. However, I
wouldn’t be surprised to find that changing with time. He has slowly twisted many of the ideals he
once preached in his early years to suit his current needs.”

Albus shook his head gravely, “Merlin help us if those ideals ever become our reality.”

Hermione yawned and rubbed her hands over her tired eyes. She was exhausted. Bone-tired. No
matter how many times she read and re-read the information, she never seemed to be able to
generate anything new. She was convinced they were looking in the wrong places. She’d been
through books and old copies of the ‘Prophet’ over and over again, but nothing gave any indication
of providing them with a lead. The information was biased anyway and the ‘Prophet’ couldn’t be
trusted as a reliable source. It was time to face the facts, Regulus Black, their R.A.B., was a ghost.
They would never find out what happened to him, because no one knew—no one that might be able
help them, that is. Rosalie, of course, still wanted to question Bellatrix Lestrange.

Where did that leave them though?

Hermione had even tried decoding the message Regulus left inside locket, but there was no hidden
message to speak of. They’d exhausted every lead they could possibly think of trying to ‘find’
Regulus Black and come up blank, which brought them right back to the locket they’d found,
which was a fake, left by a man they knew nothing about—which meant they had nothing.

Hermione turned the fake locket over in her hands. Rosalie had almost died for a useless trinket.
She needed to figure out where the real locket was.

Hermione looked helplessly over the array of books fanned out around her, three of four books
deep in some places, and her eyes fell on the manuscript. She was surprised at how much time the
Headmaster had given her with the book, although she suspected he’d copied several pages for
himself and was appeasing her by asking that she continue to study it. After all, what would she
find that The Albus Dumbledore couldn’t? Most of the book, while interesting, was completely
irrelevant anyway. Nothing that would help them locate the real locket, or any of You-Know-
Who’s other horcruxes for that matter.

“I need a break,” She sighed, glancing across at Ron. He was curled up comfortably in a well worn
armchair by the fire, idly flicking through the book on his lap. One of his sock feet bounced
rhythmically where he’d thrown one leg over the arm of the chair.

“I could eat,” he agreed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, catching the cover of his text as he swung it closed, his finger still
marking the page he was on.

“Really, Ron?” She asked in amusement, “You choose now to start reading ‘Hogwarts, A History’?
I could use some help, you know.”

Ron glanced back down at the book briefly, “I’m not reading it, I’m looking at the pictures.”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation, “Of course you are.”

“Hey! I’m still helping,” Ron announced defensively at her tone, “it was the first book on the pile
you directed me to earlier. It’s not like I’d choose to read this, you know.”

Hermione sighed, “I know, sorry. I just need a break.”

“Here, I came across this,” Ron offered holding out the book again on the page he had marked,
“Does this look familiar to you?”

Hermione took the text from him, her eyes sliding down the page to where he was pointing.

“We’re looking for a locket, right? Well I swear I’ve seen this somewhere before...” He offered.

“It’s Slytherin’s locket,” Hermione told him, “It’s a founder’s heirloom, Ron, like Gryffindor’s
Sword. There are pictures of it everywhere; you’ve probably seen it a hundred times. Unlike the
sword though, the locket itself has been lost for generations.”

“Generations?” Ron grimaced, “Oh. I guess not then. Only, don’t you think it kind of looks like
that locket we found here last summer? The one that wouldn’t open?”

Hermione paused, “That old heavy thing?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed nodding, “It was kind of tarnished, but I’m almost certain it looked the same
as the one in this picture.”

Hermione pressed her front teeth into her lower lip, worrying the flesh in thought as she considered
the possibility, “It makes sense that he wouldn’t use just any locket, I suppose. Knowing how
important being a Slytherin was to You-Know-Who, not to mention the fact that he is a direct
descendent of the line... Actually, I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me sooner! Especially after we
found Salazar Slytherin’s office and the manuscript—I’ve known for weeks that we’re searching
for a locket and I’ve been so wrapped up in finding Regulus Black that it just didn’t occur to me
that instead of tracking the man to find the locket, the locket itself could be a lead! Slytherin’s
locket! Ron, you’re a genius!”

“I am?” The red head asked, his cheeks tinting in unexpected embarrassment, “So I was right? We
found the locket?”

“No,” Hermione replied but she was smiling, “While I’m almost certain that You-Know-Who’s
turned Slytherin’s Locket into a horcrux, we can’t be sure it’s the same one we found here... I
barely remember what that locket looked like, and there are bound to be loads of replica’s made of
the real locket. It’s a famous artefact after all. At any rate, we threw the one we found out,
remember?”

“Yeah, but not everything stayed in the bin. Sirius spent half that day wrestling things back off of
Kreacher who was ‘stealing back’ what we threw out, remember?” Ron pointed out earnestly,
“Even if it isn’t the locket we are after, it’s pretty much the best lead we’ve got! A locket, fitting
the description of Slytherin’s Locket, found in the last known residence of Regulus Black, the man
who left us the fake? I think it’s the best damn lead we’ve got going for us! Unless, of course,
you’ve managed to find anything new on Regulus Black’s disappearance in the last fifteen
minutes?”

Hermione huffed and narrowed her gaze at him, “I’d like to see you do any better with the
information I’ve been given to work with.”

“My point exactly,” Ron rushed out, “Regulus Black is a dead end. He’s got nothing left to give on
the topic and we’re wasting time we could be spending actually destroying these things.”

Hermione nodded, “You’re right. Let’s find Rose and fill her in on what we know. Perhaps she
remembers the locket we found more clearly.”

“It’s the one, I’m telling you. I can feel it in my bones,” Ron replied with touch of fierce
satisfaction colouring his tone as he stood, watching his friend scoop her well-worn copy of
‘Hogwarts, A History’ under her arm with practiced ease.
“Let’s hope.”

“I don’t remember what it looked like, to be honest, other than it was old and tarnished. The only
reason I remember that is because I tried to open it before I chucked it in the bin and it wouldn’t
open. I thought the hinge was broken or something,” Rosalie admitted excitedly, “but Regulus was
still living here right up until his disappearance, so it makes sense that it’s the locket we’re looking
for, especially since it matches the description of Slytherin’s Locket!”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed eagerly, “it all fits too conveniently.”

“Why not destroy it though? The note clearly states that that was his intention,” Hermione asked.

Rosalie shrugged, “Perhaps he didn’t know how? Look at Dumbledore, he’s one of the most
powerful wizards in the Wizarding World and even he couldn’t destroy one and escape unscathed.
Whatever curse got his hand was a powerful one, he’s probably lucky to even be alive. It’s not
impossible to think that Regulus Black didn’t have the power to destroy it. Perhaps that’s what
killed him?”

“He didn’t have the Headmaster or the manuscript to help him like we do,” Hermione conceded,
“It’s possible he died in his attempt to destroy it.”

“How did you even come to this conclusion?” Rosalie asked them, shaking her head in amazement,
“What made you think of the locket we found that day? It seems so long ago now, it would never
have even crossed my mind.”

“I came across a picture of Slytherin’s Locket and it looked kind of familiar, is all,” Ron replied.

“He was finally reading ‘Hogwarts, A History’,” Hermione told her friend with a smile.

Rosalie froze as something clicked into place, sending a zing of tingles racing down her spine.

“‘Hogwarts, A History’?” Rosalie asked.

“I know,” Ron said, sighing dramatically, “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“That’s not it,” Rosalie gasped whipping her wand out as she aimed it at the room above their
heads. A loud thump followed her rushed summoning spell and Ron got up to open the door just as
the object in question came whizzing in.

“I was going through Regulus’ room the other night hoping to find some sort of clue or something
regarding his disappearance. I found nothing, obviously, but this was turned down on his bedside
table,” Rosalie told them holding up Regulus Black’s copy of ‘Hogwarts, A History’, “he’s made
markings all throughout the pages of the book. I didn’t know what to make of it at the time and I
was called away before could really go through it, but I think now he may have been doing
research into the locket and other Hogwarts heirlooms. Look—”

Rosalie flipped the book open to the page she first found it on and held it out to them.

“—Gryffindor sword is crossed out. At the time I thought it was symbolic of his hatred for
Gryffindor, but with what we know now, it’s probably crossed out because he knew—”

“It isn’t a horcrux,” Hermione finished.

Rosalie nodded, “exactly.”

“The Hufflepuff cup is circled, Ravenclaw’s diadem too,” she flipped the final page over revealing
Slytherin’s Locket and she grinned fiercely at the bright red tick etched in ink beside the picture,
“He’s ticked it off. I think he knew, or at least suspected that there were more and began his own
investigation into where and what they were.”

Hermione looked up from the book wide eyed, “we need to take this to the Headmaster.”

“No, first we need to speak to Kreacher,” Rosalie said urgently, “He was pocketing all kinds of
things that day.”

“I agree,” Ron told her and they turned as one to look at their friend.

“Okay,” Hermione conceded.

“Kreacher!” Rosalie called, holding back the habitual wince as he bowed lowly on his arrival and
looked up at her with obedient, respectful eyes. If only it hadn’t taken spiking her horrid cousin’s
food with laxatives to end Kreacher’s hostility. His knowing gaze made her skin squirm.

“Mistress calls?”

Rosalie shuddered, “Kreacher, I am looking for an object that used to be in this house. My friends
and I mistakenly tried to throw it out when we were cleaning up the summer before last. You kept
trying to save things from us, do you remember?”

Kreacher narrowed his eyes at them, “Kreacher remembers.”

“Good,” Rosalie replied taking Hermione’s book from Ron as he handed it to her. She held it out to
the elf, “You see this locket? It was in the house and not understanding its importance, I tried to
throw it out. Did you save it?”

The trio held their breath as the little elf eyed them all carefully, “Kreacher did. Master Regulus be
giving Kreacher this locket before he dies. He be ordering Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher
could not. So Kreacher instead be bringing it home to keeps it safe.”

Rosalie felt her heart flip over and begin pounding painfully in her chest.
“Kreacher, I know why Master Regulus wanted you to destroy the locket, and I know how to do it.
I need you to bring me the locket,” Rosalie told the elf working hard to keep her voice calm for the
elf. She could feel her friends’ excitement behind her and knew they were feeling the exact same
way. They were so damn close.

“Kreacher cannot,” the elf replied shaking his head.

Rosalie’s heart froze, “Why not?”

“Kreacher be putting the locket in the Black Bloodline Vault at the wizard’s bank, Mistress,” the
elf replied easily.

“What? What does that mean? Can’t you go get it?” Rosalie asked in confusion.

Ron groaned, “Not from a Bloodline Vault, he can’t. It’s a stupid vault some pureblood families
have that requires blood access. Only a direct blood related, legitimate descendent can get in.”

Rosalie frowned, “But I am the head of the Black family once Sirius passed the title onto me,
shouldn’t I be able to get in?”

“Doesn’t work like that. The vaults not controlled by the head of the family. We need someone
with Black blood by birth to be able to get into the vault.”

“Anything else, Mistress wishes?” Kreacher asked, popping out only once Rosalie dismissed him.

“What about Tonks, or her mum?” Hermione offered.

Ron shook his head, “Andromeda is ineligible because she was disinherited and Tonks is not
recognised as a Black because she was born after the disinheriting and to a muggle father. Neither
is eligible.”

“Can’t Rosalie reinstate them into the family as the Head of the family?” Hermione asked.

“Do you know the ritual?” Ron asked looking across at his friend.

“No,” Rosalie shook her head, “We could ask someone though, right? Maybe your dad might
know? Or Dumbledore?”

Ron shook his head, “Rituals are unique to the family, Sirius would have had to have taught you—
if he even knew.”

“Who does that leave us with, then? Bellatrix, Draco and his Mum? They are all on the wrong side
of the bloody war!” Rosalie huffed.

Hermione frowned, “I think it’s time we bring this to the Headmaster.”

Severus hesitated briefly as he entered the Headmaster’s office, his eyes zeroing in on a familiar
head of long black hair he’d become so familiar with of late. Her back was turned to him and for
one horrifying moment he thought Albus had found out about their affair and had summoned him
here for questioning. Unease hammered through him making his insides turn cold and his stomach
twist. Potter turned to him on hearing the office door swing shut and nodded once solemnly in
greeting.
“Excellent! We are all here,” Albus gestured for him to take a seat opposite the desk, “Come in and
sit down, Severus, we have a lot to cover.”

Severus forced his legs to un-stick themselves from the floor and moved forward taking the
proffered seat beside Potter, finally noticing the presence of Weasley and Granger as he forced his
sudden panic down. The tension immediately left his frame and his mind unclenched. No matter
the circumstances, Albus would never allow Weasley and Granger ringside seats to what would
undoubtedly unfold should he ever find out about the liberties Severus had allowed himself with
Albus’ Golden Girl. The relif didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest, though.

Potter shot him a sideways glance, but he ignored it resolutely, realising that his doubts—and fears
—that someone would find out about their tryst were not entirely resolved as he had led himself to
believe.

‘Focus,’ he snarled internally, forcing himself to shake off his internal musings and focus on the
Headmaster.

“As you know, Severus, Miss Potter and I—with the help of Miss Granger and Mr Weasley—have
been hunting down certain valuable artefacts of Tom’s that play a vital role in the war. Recently,
Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Miss Potter made an important discovery in this avenue, however,
we find ourselves unable to proceed further with this information as things currently stand.” Albus
explained, “Just this afternoon, they uncovered the fact that one of these artefacts is currently kept
in a Bloodline Vault only three people have access to.”

“Indeed,” Severus replied, sending the trio an appraising look, “Who might these people be?”

“There in lies the issue—Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco,” Albus
answered, his blue eyes direct and serious as he peered over the rim of his spectacles.

Severus nodded, “I thought as much. You want me to help persuade Draco into defecting?”

Albus inclined his head, “He seems to be the most logical option. He is young and afraid. He is
confused and struggling with the duties that have been thrust upon him. We have his father who we
can allow him access to and a mother whom we can provide safe accommodation for. It offers him
a way out for both him and his family that is otherwise out of their reach. In return I believe he can
be persuaded to help us.”

“You are still asking a seventeen year old boy, who is, at present, essentially a prisoner in his own
home to break ranks with the Dark Lord on a promise. Furthermore, it will require him to step out
into public in a very suspicious manner. Draco doesn’t leave the Manor anymore except
when...necessary,” Severus pointed out, “I’m not sure pinning out hopes on him is entirely safe.
Draco is a coward. He will take the easiest route to ensure his safety in the immediate future, even
if that means staying within the Dark Lord’s clutches at present.”

“I believe he could be swayed,” Albus replied.

“Take Draco,” Rosalie interrupted suddenly, as thoughts began to unroll in her mind to form a clear
picture, “If we take him and we hold him in a safe house, it only leaves Narcissa who I believe is
far more reliable than Malfoy. We inform her that we have not only her sister, but her husband and
son and if she wants to see them before the end of the war she will help us with our task.”

“Rose!” Hermione gasped, “That’s blackmail!”

Severus eyed her appraisingly, “Extortion actually.”

“It’s necessary,” Rosalie countered, “Snape is right, Draco is a coward and he folds under pressure.
Narcissa is the more reliable option. She will do anything for her son and I imagine her support
network right now is thinning rather rapidly. We take her and make her decide on the spot. If she
refuses then we still have the option to use Draco.”

Severus glanced at Albus whose frown was deep and contemplating as he rolled the options around
in his mind, “Narcissa trusts me. Their family position is precarious at the moment and I believe
she will turn to me once it becomes apparent that Draco is missing before informing anyone else.
She won’t immediately assume we have taken Draco, as he is rarely outside the Manor. She will
believe it is the Dark Lords doing. I can quietly and quickly apparate her to a secondary location
where our terms can be explained.”

“You will reveal yourself a spy,” Albus pointed out.

“By then it won’t matter. Whether she agrees or not we can prevent her from returning to the Dark
Lord and informing him of my defection. The Dark Lord is tearing her family apart, Albus. I
believe it has long been her wish to escape him.”

“If you are indeed right then I agree that this is a more viable option,” Albus conceded, “How and
when will you take Mr. Malfoy?”

“I will snatch him at the end of the next meeting the Dark Lord calls, when it becomes obvious
that he is missing, Narcissa will send for me.”

“Will she not be at the meeting as well?” Rosalie asked.

Severus nodded, “However, the Dark Lord keeps them separated. Draco is required to stand at the
front and participate in the...‘sport’ as punishment for failing in his task at the end of last
semester.”

“Where will we take Malfoy once we have him?” Hermione asked, her tone still not entirely
approving.

“Somewhere safe. Perhaps to his father,” Albus replied, “to show him in good faith that he is
unharmed and will continue to remain unharmed whilst in our care.”

“We must not take him directly to Lucius,” Severus cautioned, “he will need time for me to speak
with him first. To explain.”

Albus inclined his head, “Naturally. A voice activated portkey will be arranged in order to take you
both to the safe house when the time comes.”

“Will Gringotts allow her entry to the vault if she is there under duress?” Hermione asked
sceptically, “I thought they had wards against coerced withdrawals?”

“That is true; however, I hope to be able to get around that by offering Mrs. Malfoy a choice. We
will not force her to go down into the back and withdraw the artefact we need, merely present her
with an option. If it is true, as you say Severus, that she has long been looking for a way to escape
Tom’s clutches she will see this for what it is—an opportunity to make a clean break from him
with the added benefit of our protection against retribution until the war is done.”

“Am I required to escort Narcissa to the bank or do you have someone else in mind for the task?”
Severus asked.

“No, as soon as you have her and she understands the situation escort her straight to the bank and
then back via portkey to the safe house. The longer we wait the more obvious her disappearance
will become. I will ensure the Malfoy’s are made comfortable on your return and then we will
depart with the artefact,” Albus replied.

“There’s a lot of room for error,” Ron piped up, his distrustful gaze boring into Snape from across
the room, “What if someone sees you take Draco? Or sees you at the bank with his mum before
she then mysteriously disappears? What if she somehow ‘escapes’ and takes the artefact back to
You-Know-Who along with the information that we are hunting these items down in the first
place?”

“I know the Malfoy’s. Nothing is more important to them than family,” Severus returned frostily,
“Narcissa will not risk her son’s life. This is a chance to free him of the Dark Lord once and for
all.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, or we might as well admit defeat and turn ourselves over to You-Know-
Who now and save ourselves the trouble,” Ron hissed.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and glared at her friend, “Ron! The plan will work. It has to. We only have
one shot at this before people start getting suspicious.”

“I have the upmost faith in our Potions Master, Mr. Weasley,” Albus assure him, “Have faith that
everything will go according to plan.”

“If that is all for now Albus?” Severus asked, pushing to his feet.

“If you’ll see Miss Potter and Miss Granger home, Severus, I’d like a word with Mr. Weasley,”
Albus replied.

“Me?” Ron squeaked.

Albus waited until the others had exited via the floo before coming around from behind the desk to
take one of them empty seats beside the redheaded teen. He analysed the boy over the rim of his
glasses, freckled face pale with worry, blue eyes wide and earnest, free now from the twisted hate
that had transformed his face into something dark and poisonous only minutes before.

“You are walking down a dangerous path, Ron, one that has the potential to consume you if you
let it,” Albus began slowly and seriously, his blue eyes boring into that of the teen before him.

“I don’t understand,” Ron tugged on his sleeve, fiddling nervously with the frayed edge as his gaze
dropped, unable or unwilling to maintain the contact.

“I think you do.”

Ron felt his cheeks grow hot—shame, anger, guilt, hate. Always Snape. It was always about
Snape. How did one man have so many people ready to champion him?

“Perhaps you should ask yourself what it is that makes you dislike Severus Snape so passionately.
To my knowledge his has done nothing to you to inspire this level of abhorrence, has he?”

Ron’s jaw clenched, “With all due respect, sir, you can’t tell me how to feel.”

Albus reached a hand out, resting it on the boy’s knee and anchoring him to the moment, “My dear
child, I would never presume to tell you how you should or should not feel—”

“But you are,” Ron interrupted eyes once more ablaze, “Snape can’t be trusted, and you and Rose
 and everyone else don’t seem to be able to see that.”

“Is that what is upsetting you, the fact that Rose and Professor Snape have been able to put the past
aside and form a solid basis of trust and friendship?” Albus queried calmly even as the storm
raging inside Ron grew stronger.

“She thinks the sun shines out his bloody arse!” Ron snarled, his cheeks flushed crimson, his chest
heaving as he stood abruptly and began moving around the room agitatedly, “Rose used to hate
Snape every bit as much as I did, and with good reason! He’s a mean, cold bastard who picked on
us every chance he got. He’s a known Death Eater, who is still working with You-Know-Who and
suddenly everything between them is fine!?”

“It is your choice whether or not you trust Severus Snape, Ron. Just as it is Rosalie’s prerogative to
make the same decision. You have made your concerns quite clear to her, and yet just as I cannot
tell you how to feel, you need to extend the same courtesy to her. This anger you hold inside you
will consume you if you let it and it will push your friends away. I would caution you to try and let
it go and simply be there for you friend if and when the time arrives that you worries are proved
founded.”

“Rosalie could be dead by then,” Ron hissed.

“And how will your hate and anger now change that?” Albus asked, “If I had any concerns or fears
about Severus Snape, or indeed, if anyone came to me with serious allegations as to why we should
not trust him I would act on them. As it stands, no such allegations or suspicions exist and I trust
Severus Snape with my life.”

“It’s not your life you are risking, though, is it? You say you would act on serious allegations or
suspicions, and yet here you are blowing mine off as if they are nothing!”

“Ron, you offered nothing more than old grudges over school time pettiness and his past as a Death
Eater when the fact is he has been a spy in my camp longer than he was ever loyally pledged to
Voldemort. He has been instrumental in our successes over the years as he brings true and honest
information to our table. If you have any other reasons that you are withholding as to why I should
not trust a loyal friend and Order member then now is the time to tell me, otherwise I am sorry to
say there is nothing to be done.”

Ron shook his head.

Albus sighed, “I am not saying you need to change the way you think—”

“Good, cause I’m not.”

“—remain cautious if it makes you feel better, but learn to recognise and control you anger. Ask
yourself what getting angry will achieve in the here and now. If your goal is to keep your friend
safe, then alienating yourself from her may not be your wisest course of action.”

“Fine.”

“You are a good friend, Ron. Rosalie is lucky to have someone who cares so much about her
wellbeing. That’s what counts.”

Chapter End Notes

A/N: Oh my gosh! Finally some brand new chapters after so long! I hope it’s up to
scratch and I would love to hear what you think! Thanks so much for those of you who
have taken the time to review so far and to everyone who has read and left kudos!

Till next time!

 Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Eighteen

Rosalie stumbled out of the floo with her usual lack of grace and immediately turned to await
Snape’s arrival. The house was still and almost oppressively silent around her, the only sound the
steady rhythmic thudding of her heart in her ears. At times she wondered how she could have lived
here for weeks on end without going mad. Or perhaps she was already mad and this was all some
paranoid delusion? Maybe the long shadows and drenching darkness were leeching into her and
changing the way her mind worked. After all, she’d have never hatched a plan to blackmail a
woman with her own son’s life before all of this—even if it was Malfoy. Or perhaps this was just
war and surviving meant you had to play by different set of rules even if it changed you in the
process. It was impossible to remain untouched and perhaps, more importantly, it was impractical.
They couldn’t run the risk of playing it safe anymore, but that didn’t make them Voldemort.

The floo flared again and Rosalie caught her breath as Snape stepped through.

Their gazes locked—green to midnight blue and a million emotions seemed to pass between them.

“Is this going to work?” her voice no more than a whisper. She could hear the neediness in her tone
—a plea for reassurance that they’d made the right call. Knowing hard decisions would need to be
made and making them as different as night and day, it would seem, but she trusted Snape to guide
her down the right path. He had more experience than anyone she knew in walking the line of
morality, his position firmly rooted between both camps—Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Severus held her gaze, “Narcissa has long been disillusioned with the Dark Lord and his tyrannical
regime.”

“Yes, but fear is a strong motivator. Who’s to say it doesn’t sway her the wrong way?”

Severus inclined his head, “Even so, I believe the plan will work.”

“She trusts you implicitly,” Rosalie realised, her gaze following his searchingly, “She confides in
you... You must be very close.”

He hesitated fleetingly, so slightly she almost missed it, “We have long been friends. I am Draco’s
godfather.”
“What if she feels you’ve betrayed her?”

“She would not be wrong to think so,” Severus replied, “I have been lying to the Malfoy family for
years over the true nature of my loyalties. I’ve sat by whilst Narcissa fretted over her family’s
welfare and said nothing. I will have kidnapped her son as blackmail material and forced her hand.
She will be...upset, certainly, but she will forgive me.”

“I’m not sure I would forgive you if I was in her shoes,” Rosalie whispered.

“You are not a Slytherin,” Snape said, as if that was all there was too it, “She will understand that
all I have said and done—or neglected to say or do—was in the interest of my own welfare. For the
most part her family was never in immediate danger and I have helped subtly where I could to
ensure they remained so.”

Rosalie stared at the man before her, amazed at the confidence he held in this woman’s ability to
understand and forgive him. She wanted to ask how he could be so sure. It made her wonder if
there had once been something more than mere friendship between them? Severus wasn’t the
unattractive git that everyone made him out to be. He wasn’t handsome in the most classical sense,
but he was far from unappealing or ugly. Once she’d stopped viewing him through prejudiced eyes
she began to realise that teenagers and their gossiping made everything seem worse than it really
was—his nose, while hooked wasn’t overly large for the proportions of his face; his hair when un-
brushed hung lank about his face, but she had never once truly noted it to be overly greasy; his
eyes were deeply emotive and he was surprisingly strong and physically fit. She had no doubt there
had been many women who’d seen what she had seen in him over the years. Narcissa Malfoy had
more than likely been one of them—Narcissa had never had to overcome the prejudice and
misconceptions that Rosalie had faced. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that they had
once shared a mutual attraction for one another, was it? Even thinking such a question made her
sound jealous and insecure, though, and it was truly none of her business. She had no expressed
claim to the man before her, but even still, the thought of the two of them together made her
stomach churn with vicious jealousy. Narcissa Malfoy was elegant, cool, sophisticated and
beautiful in an impersonal sort of way—worldly, perhaps—everything she could imagine a man
like Severus could want or need in life. Why on earth would he ever choose her over someone like
that? She was not sophisticated or elegant, she was just ‘Rose’; an average student, with average
looks, who led a complicated and sometimes difficult life that was anything but.

Rosalie glanced away not wanting to chance Severus seeing what might be in her eyes.
Legilimency aside, he was far too gifted at reading her face and body language and this felt too
personal. It left her too vulnerable to someone as unpredictable as the weather. She wasn’t ready to
discuss these thoughts with him and find herself suddenly adrift once more, because she didn’t trust
that he wouldn’t change his mind again.

A steady hand found its place on her shoulder and Rosalie composed herself enough to look up into
those dark eyes.

“I will do everything in my power to see that we get all that you need,” Severus told her, his gaze
capturing and holding hers once more, “take my word that Narcissa Malfoy will not become an
obstacle to this.”

She believed him. She had to.

Rosalie nodded stepping into him so that her forehead could come to rest on his sternum. The
rough wool of his robe was warmed from the heat of his body and she turned her face into it until
her cheek was pressed against his chest. His heartbeat drummed in her ears and she could feel its
steady beat under her face—strong and reassuring. Resilient. His arms encircled her waist,
returning the embrace almost without pause as they sank into one another. She felt safe in his arms;
protected from the world and all its problems.

Rosalie inhaled his scent carefully, filling her senses with him as he smoothed her hair down her
back in long even strokes. His throat was rough against her lips as she swept them up the side of his
neck to press a kiss into the soft stubbled underside of his jaw lingeringly, enjoying the tension that
settled into his fame. His arms tightened on her waist, drawing her in closer and she smiled against
him, repeating the process before dragging her teeth teasingly over the angle of his jaw.

A shudder rattled through his fame as his hands twisted in her hair, gently tugging her head back as
he brought their faces together. His lips bussed hers, hovering lingering allowing her to return the
favour, teasing one another with the promise of more.

“Rosalie,” His hand was warm against her face as he cupped her jaw, this thumb tracing the
softness of her bottom lip as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

Rosalie glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, as she kissed the pad of his thumb. Her
heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest as she opened herself up to him, for once
levelled headed and without the threat of death hanging over their heads or fear induced adrenaline
fuelling their passion. His mouth was warm, gentle and demanding all at once and her eyes fell shut
of their own accord as she acquiesced to his control. Butterflies took flight inside of her stomach
and in a sudden moment of bursting clarity she realised how emotionally invested she was in this
man. She hadn’t gone into this knowing what would happen, or even that it would, they’d simply
fallen into one another and she was only just realising how much he had come to mean to her on an
emotional level.

Emotion whipped through her, gripping her tightly around the chest and stealing her breath as her
whole body trembled with realisation. She was falling in love with Severus Snape. She was falling
for him hard and it felt like a storm was raging inside her, her feelings too vast to contain,
threatening to rise up and consume her whole. Her world was shifting on its axis, finding a new
centre of gravity and she knew that when it was done she would no longer simply be Rosalie
Potter, but something more. She would never simply be Rosalie Potter again.

Rosalie kissed him harder in an attempt to distract him from the way she was suddenly trembling,
but her hands still shook as she pushed his heavy robes from his shoulders easily and pulled his
shirt out from within his pants. His skin was warm beneath her hands and smooth to touch as her
hands ghosted around his sides and up his spine.

“Rose,” Severus called, pulling back from her questing hands, noting absently how they shook.

Rosalie looked up at him in question, her green eyes dark with arousal as she peered up at him and
Severus felt something in him break at the sight of her. Merlin help him, he didn’t care that it was
wrong or that he’d panicked today when he’d though Albus had found out about them. He was
done second guessing his every move and then choosing to do it anyway.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, pulling her back into his arms as he apparated them mid-kiss. They
appeared in his bedroom, flushed and panting with need without missing a beat; deep, sucking
kisses driving them onwards as they shuffled further into the room.

“I want you,” Rosalie breathed, her heart all but consumed by the fire burning within.

Severus growled deeply as he stripped off her top, drinking in the sight of her lace clad breasts as
they stumbled back towards his bed. Their clothing hit the floor, one by one, lining their path until
Severus found his seat on the edge of the mattress and pulled Rosalie into his lap. His hands buried
themselves in the abundance of her hair, drawing her back into his mouth. He moaned deeply as
her hips rocked into him—he could feel the heat of her core pressing into his length temptingly
through the thin barrier of their underwear. Rosalie did it again, gasping as his fingers dropped to
trail over the damp material of her underpants.

“Severus!”

Severus stroked the white lace, pressing in gently as his mouth kissed a trail of heat over her
shoulder and up the length of her neck. Rosalie moaned as she coiled herself around him, her eyes
hooded with desire as she pressed back, her breasts crushed against his chest.

His breath was hot and damp against her neck as she reached into his pants, her fingers tangling
teasingly in his pubic hair as she trailed her lips up the side of his face, “Show me what you like?”

Severus moaned as her warm hand encircled him, tugging him gently from within the silk of his
boxers. His eyes fell closed of their own accord, relishing the feel of her—even just her hand—
wrapped around him and exhaled raggedly, reaching down to cover her hand with his own and they
began to pull his length together. His hand guided hers over his flesh, squeezing and tugging
rhythmically up and down the shaft, swirling across the head, smearing pre-cum down his length
and twisting around the base.

Her mouth was needy—soft and damp—as she took his mouth, again and again with hunger,
teasing him and tempting between gasps and moans to follow her retreat as they pleasured him.

“This is...okay?” she enquired breathlessly, pulling back so she could catch the expression on his
face.

Severus hissed, pulling her mouth back into his, “More than...”

Rosalie gasped as he gripped her about the hips and flipped them suddenly, sending her bouncing
back into the centre of the bed, only to gaze up at him as he shifted over her. Warmth flooded her
core as he pushed at his boxers and feeling flushed, she lifted her legs, using her feet to help push
them the rest of the way off.

Rosalie ran her hands down his chest as the material slid to the floor, taking in everything that was
Severus Snape for the first time. Her body felt hot with need at the sight of him, fully naked,
resting atop of her. His skin was smooth and pale, his chest surprisingly toned, as she let her gaze
rake down his form with interest. His hips were tucked neatly into the cradle of hers, the dark
thatch of pubic hair doing nothing to conceal the flushed heat of his arousal pressed between them.

His eyes were dark with emotion as his lips found the valley between her breasts, pressing a line of
soft kisses along her sternum as he began to trail his way down her body. He lingered briefly over
her stomach and navel as warm hands smoothed up her thighs and hooked into the waistband of her
underpants. He drew the small scrap of material down her legs slowly, the intensity of his gaze
holding her in place as her underpants cleared her feet and the sudden urge to snap her knees shut
almost overwhelmed her.

She could smell her own arousal perfuming the air and the thought embarrassed her just as much
as it turned her on. She felt her cheeks burn as Severus lowered his head to inhale the clean musky
scent, pushing her knees apart and back towards her chest.

Rosalie’s cheeks remained hot as she fully appreciated the fact that Snape could see all of her too,
that he was staring right at her sex as his big hands gently kept her legs apart. Anxiety and arousal
pulsed through her, leaving her breathless and panting and somehow frozen in place.
“What are you—” Rosalie gasped breathlessly; her stomach muscles jumping in surprise at the first
swipe of his tongue over her heated sex, “Ohhhh!”

“Holy shit!” she sobbed as her fingers tunnelled into his hair and clenched in the strands as she
consciously fought to relax her thighs from their death grip around his head.

“Relax,” he breathed against her, the deep velvet of his voice urging her back as his hands guided
her legs apart once more. He pressed a soothing kiss to the tender skin of her inner thigh, as her
muscles trembled in anticipation. Breathing in deeply she forced herself to relax back into the
softness of the mattress, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling as her body fought to come to
terms with what was happening—practically vibrating with need over the unexpected pleasure of
his mouth.

Rosalie moaned brokenly as he lowered his mouth once more, her hips thrusting up against his face
without her consent. The pleasure emanating from her core had her restless with need, not entirely
sure whether she was trying to escape the overwhelming sensations or get closer to them. She
moaned and rocked against him as he lapped at her folds, parting them expertly as he circled her
opening and sucked teasingly on her clitoris. Boisterous pleasure sparked over her, pooling
tremulously between her legs as her hands twisted in his hair, tugging more harshly than she
intended.

Severus let out a muffled grunt of pain.

“Sorry,” she gasped, consciously relaxing her grip, “I’m sorry.”

Their gaze locked as he pulled back from her, traces of her pleasure clinging to his mouth. Rosalie
felt her breath hitch, pinned down by his gaze. He sat back on his haunches slowly and held his
hand out to her, guiding her up and over his lap once more until they were kneeling face to face in
the centre of the bed, her body pressed tightly against his from chest to hip.

She tasted herself on his lips as they joined, her arms twining about his neck as he guided her up
enough that he could move himself into alignment beneath her. Rosalie gasped as he rubbed the
head of his cock over her entrance, slipping through her folds with ease as he teased her opening.

“Severus,” she breathed, raw need sparking down her spine.

“Rose...” a soft smile lit her face at the sound of her name on his lips, drawn out in a deep heady
moan as she sunk down onto him slowly.

Rosalie pressed a kiss to the shoulder that lay beneath her mouth as his lips trailed softly down her
neck and across her chest. Her breath trembled out against him, as everything slowed—his arms
coiling about her waist, her fingertips sinking into the muscle of his shoulders as they slowly began
move; rolling and thrusting in synchronisation as their bodies moved to completely encircle one
another.

“Merlin!” she gasped as his cock rubbed over a spot inside of her that made her muscles tremble
and her thighs clench about his hips.

“That’s it,” Severus encouraged, brushing long tresses back from her face. She was flushed and
dazed looking. Green eyes luminous with the same emotions he felt flooding his chest.

“You feel so good,” Rosalie whined, no longer embarrassed by what came tumbling out of her
mouth.

Severus groaned.
“What are you doing to me?” He whispered fervently, not entirely sure whether or not he’d spoken
the words aloud after he’d said it, but knowing them to be true. He lost all sense and reason around
this woman.

The musky scent of sex and the clean tang of sweat scented the air as her long dark hair teased
across his knuckles as it swayed at her back, “Rose...”

Their release erupted over them almost simultaneously, the spasming of her inner walls sending
him over the edge as they gripped at each other, crying out into the night.

Severus lost himself to the soft lush kisses that followed as they knelt trembling, holding one
another in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He knew that this closeness would make a lot of
people angry over the liberties he had supposedly taken with Rosalie, but he knew in the end that it
wouldn’t matter. They’d found someone in one another that was exactly what they needed. What
they wanted.

Realising this, Severus kept her wrapped in his arms as they fought to regain their breath, their
bodies still intimately joined.

Rosalie blinked up at him with liquid eyes.

“Is it always like this?” she asked breathlessly, a high flush on her cheeks and her breasts heaving
with every breath.

“Is what?” Severus replied as he eased them back down onto the bed, he was old enough that his
knees wouldn’t thank him for the abuse they’d just endured if he remained kneeling on them any
longer.

“Sex,” Rosalie replied.

Severus smirked, “only if you’re lucky, Potter.”

Rosalie smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck again, curling into his side easily so that her
head was resting on his shoulder.

“I like it better when you call me ‘Rose’,” She admitted, letting her hand trace over his chest.

“Indeed?” Snape asked, eyebrows quirked, “perhaps only in private?”

Rosalie caught her bottom lip between her teeth, “only in private.”

Severus marvelled at idea that he’d fancied himself in love with Lily Evans for a time, back when
they’d reached a certain age that one started thinking of such things. It had taken his adolescent
brain time to come to terms with what she’d likely known all along, that he’d loved her as a friend
—a best friend—or perhaps even a sister, nothing more. Those feelings though, confusing as they
were, had nothing on what he was coming to feel for her daughter. He felt dirty even thinking of it
in those terms, but it was getting easier and easier to move on from such thoughts every day. He’d
never been in love before—he wasn’t even sure that he’d recognise the feeling if it struck him—
but what he felt for Rosalie Potter was unlike anything he’d ever felt for another human being. If
he let himself, he could fall in love with her. It should have been impossible, but their relationship
had changed so from what it once was that they’d formed intimacy with one another without fully
meaning to realising that they had. Severus had come to view her as an equal, someone worthy of
his time and knowledge. Rosalie had learnt to trust him with her life and her secrets. Perhaps this
had always been the inevitable conclusion for two people so steeped in Darkness? Who else had a
hope of understanding what they’d been through, let alone relating to it? Her friends would never
know the extent to which the Darkness had touched her, they had never lived with the Dark Lord
dogging their every step, intruding on their thoughts and influencing their behaviour. They had
never bloodied their hands for the sake of self preservation. Rosalie, at her core, was Light and
good, but she would forever carry this Darkness with her just as he did.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

“About choice and inevitability,” Severus replied vaguely.

Rosalie was quiet as she contemplated what that was supposed to mean, “What’s this for you,
then?”

“Both,” he smirked, his arm tightening briefly around her waist, “What once was perhaps an
inevitability between us, given the intimacy we were forced to share, we chose to continue. I chose
to continue.”

Rosalie smiled, “I’m glad.”

“Hello?” Remus called out as loudly as he dared, shooting a wary look in the direction of Sirius’
mum’s portrait. He hadn’t really expected an answer given the lateness of the hour, yet he knew
both Rosalie and Snape were prone to wandering at night. It wasn’t uncommon to find them both
up chatting in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning when all three of them were in the
residence. Rosalie, he knew, suffered from nightmares that kept her awake; Snape, he suspected,
was in the same boat though the man would never admit to it. Just one more thing Snape and
Rosalie seemed to share.

Remus glared into the darkness at yet another reminder of how Snape held a role of greater
significance in Rosalie’s life than he did. It was...upsetting. He regretted the way he’d left things
with Rosalie when they’d last spoken the minute he’d left the house. He’d been angry and upset at
her unwillingness to open up to him, but he’d realised his mistake almost immediately. Leaving
things on such a bad note was foolish. There were no assurances in this war, he couldn’t bear the
thought of something happening to either one of them when he’d not taken the time to make things
right between them. Still, it felt like Snape was slapping him in the face at every turn. He was her
parent’s best friend and her pseudo-godfather and they were the closest thing either of them had to
family. It was bloody Snape she confided in though, Snape with whom she plotted and planned and
whom she trusted above all others. It was painful that someone had managed to take that role from
him without even trying.

Remus walked through the darkened lounge, red ashes burning in the hearth the only remainder of
the fire which had recently burnt there. With a flick of his wand the fire roared back to life and the
room lit up once more in a warm muted glow. It was then he saw the black heap of cloth on the
ground just by the fireplace. He picked it up, immediately noting Snape’s distinctive scent. How
unlike Snape to have simply left something lying around the house?

Lifting the fabric to his nose, he inhaled deeply picking out the scents that still lingered on the
garment. Rosalie’s warm vanilla scent was strong, which was not wholly unexpected given the
close company she kept with Severus of late. What was surprising was the undercurrents of arousal
he could detect—hers or his, perhaps even someone else’s all together? He couldn’t be sure. All he
knew was the very idea of Snape and Rosalie together in such a manner made him see red.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as Remus turned and made for the stairs. His righteous ascent,
however, was interrupted by the appearance of the man in question, showered and dressed,
appearing on the steps above him.

“Lupin,” Snape greeted casually.

“Snape,” Remus snarled, “Care to explain this?”

Snape glanced at the robe Lupin had thrust out before him as though it were Snape’s Death Eater
garb.

“It appears to be my robe,” Snape returned, realising immediately that Lupin must have found it by
the floo where Rosalie had stripped him of it the night before—hardly incriminating evidence, but
certainly suspicious, he conceded. Strangely, the expected guilt didn’t stir inside of him; he would
ensure they were more careful in the future.

“Quite obviously,” Remus agreed, “What I am wondering is why I found it lying forgotten in the
lounge? Quite unlike you, wouldn’t you say?”

Severus smirked, “You think me so infallible that I don’t on occasion misplace or forget personal
items from time to time in the house in which I am living? I’m flattered, Lupin. Truly. Even so, I
see no reason why it should be any of your business where I leave my attire.”

Remus snarled, “It is when it is drenched in Rosalie’s scent and the pungent scent of arousal!”

Severus cast a sceptical eye over him, unmoved by his apparent outrage and Remus felt himself
shrink back somewhat, suddenly feeling a little absurd. Arousal? Really? In what world would
Severus Snape seducing Rosalie Potter ever be of concern? He was the same age as her father. Yes,
they had become close...but involved?

He must be more tired than he realised.

“May I ask what exactly you are suggesting, Lupin? I do mean, other than the fact that you clearly
make a habit of sniffing other people’s clothing.”

Remus didn’t respond, but his hand and the robe dropped to his side, “Just...where is Rose?”

“Sleeping,” Severus replied, “At least I believe so given the hour. Where on earth did you think she
would be?”

“You’re up,” Remus pointed out almost churlishly.

“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “Because I felt you cross the wards I placed last night and I am
unable to return to sleep once awoken. I planned to use the time to make some progress on one or
two of the projects I have been working on. Unless, of course, you’re not finished interrogating
me?”

Remus hefted a sigh feeling ridiculous, “My apologies—I am, not myself. I feel I am absent a good
night sleep.”

Severus pierced him with a glare, “Indeed.”

Remus held out the robe, “My apologies.”

Snape watched him go, not moving until he’d heard the man’s bedroom door swing closed. He
looked down then at the robe in his hands. He’d best awaken Rosalie and send her back to her own
bed.
 *

‘How exactly did such a slimy git inspire such trust in people?’ Ron thought venomously as he
stared down the table at the git in question. Snape didn’t even try and Rosalie acted as if the bloody
sun rose and set on his command most of the time. It was beyond infuriating. Snape had shown his
colours time and time again in the past, and now suddenly it was all forgotten! His opinion, on the
other hand, apparently counted for nothing and now here they were, waiting for Snape to receive
his summons from the Dark Lord so that their ‘plan’ could be set in motion. Ron felt like he was
waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why was he the only one who thought that putting their trust in
Snape was a bad idea? Even if he retrieved the Locket without issue, all it would take was a word
in the Dark Lord’s ear and any advantage they had over You-Know-Who would be lost. It was a
disaster waiting to happen. Snape hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he hated Rosalie up until a
year ago, and even then his behaviour toward her hadn’t changed all that much. Why was every
one so blind to the fact that he was an unimaginable git? Even Hermione was on board the Snape
express. Dumbledore too, was just as blind as the rest of them. Snape would betray Rosalie,
though, Ron knew it. He only hoped that when the time came he was in some sort of position to
help her, because surely Snape had it in for him too. Especially seeing as he was the only one who
could see past the charade.

Ron watched them from across the dining table, engaged deeply in one another’s attention,
discussing the finer aspects of spell construction, of all things. Since when was Rosalie even
interested in spell construction? And since when had Snape become some kind of expert in it?
They were oblivious to everyone around them and it was noisy enough that Ron couldn’t keep up
with the flow of their conversation.

His mum could be heard over the general buzz of voices, banging pots and pans in the kitchen,
completely in her element as she fluffed around over their dinner for the evening. The Order
meeting that night had run late and she’d offered to cook everyone dinner at Grimmauld Place. At
least a handful of people had stayed on—Shacklebolt, Moody and Tonks; his dad, Ginny and most
of his brothers; Dumbledore and McGonagall; Lupin and Hestia Jones and, of course, Snape. It
was a lively bunch, despite his own dark mood, and the overall feeling of the dinner was cheerful
one now that more serious matters had been dealt with.

Hermione and his sister where whispering back and forth with one another, erupting in fits of girls
giggles every couple of minutes as they sent pointed glances up and the table.

Ron shot them a dark glare as he caught Hermione’s eye just as she tried to muffle another snigger,
Ginny hissing something into her ear zealously.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noting his dark look as she took a deep sip from her cup, trying
to settle her mirth.

Ron shook his head and looked away, “Nothing.”

Ginny snorted, “Please! Anyone can see that Ron’s jealous of Snape because Rosalie focuses so
much of her attention on him and Ron wants her to notice him because he’s in love with her.”

Hermione didn’t share his sister’s amusement. Wide eyes blinked owlishly in his direction as she
stared at him agape.

“You’re in love with her?” Hermione repeated in shock, “I mean, I knew you had a crush on her,
but...”

Ron’s face flamed, “Shut it will you! I’m not bloody well in love with her.”
Hermione blushed and looked away knowing the statement to be false. Ron Weasley was in love
with Rosalie Potter. Hardly shocking really, given their history and Ron’s devotion to their friend,
but the realisation was unexpectedly painful none-the-less. Hermione avoided Ron’s eyes and
looked up at their friend as silence descended them. Rosalie had a pink tinted flush on her cheeks
and was studiously avoiding their gaze. She’d heard. So had Snape. Curiously, however, Snape’s
dark gaze was still centred on Rosalie, watching as she came to terms with what she’d just heard,
but apparently unsurprised himself—or perhaps merely unaffected.

Hermione swallowed thickly, keenly feeling the tension that had settled over them like it was a wet
blanket—cold and heavy.

Ginny shifted awkwardly beside her.

“Excuse me,” Rosalie finally said, clearing her throat self consciously as she pushed back from the
table.

Ron was staring at her with wide, imploring eyes, his gaze boring into her back as she made to
leave the room, silently willing her to look back at him. Just look at him, so that he could decipher
what was going on inside her head.

“Rose, darling!” Molly called as she saw the young witch making a bee-line for the exit, “I’m just
about to serve dinner!”

Rosalie shot a strained smile over her shoulder at the Weasley matriarch, “I’m just ducking to the
loo, Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione watched her slip out the door before she allowed herself to glance back at her friend. His
cheeks were burning with humiliation and fury, turning his whole face an unflattering shade of red.

“What did we miss?” George whispered loudly as the twins both picked up on the tension, “You
could fry and egg on your face Ronniekins!”

Ron’s chair screeched across the floor the minute she cleared the door.

“Sit,” Snape ordered, hit tone brooking no room for argument.

Ron’s glare was mutinous, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Snape’s face didn’t so much as twitch, “Sit down, or I will make you.”

Despite himself, Ron’s arse hit the seat obediently. His glare was murderous though as he stared
Snape down across the table. What right did he Snape have to order him about like they were in
school? Only if he made a scene, he’d only end up humiliating himself and Snape knew it. Bastard.

Hermione worried her lower lip as she watched the play by play, stunned at Snape’s unwavering
defence of her friend. Ron looked like he was about to explode, but he remained seated to her
surprise and Snape went back to ignoring him with an ease that would have been insulting if she’d
been on the receiving end.

She didn’t know what to say, or whether she should even say anything at all. Ginny too was silent
beside her, sitting shame-faced as she watched the scene unfold though wide eyes.

The conversation from the other end of the table buzzed over them, filling the void of silence
surrounding them, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding at the opposite end of the table.
Hermione startled as Snape rose unobtrusively from the table and slipped from the room without
word, his black robes swirling around his feet dramatically as always. Was he going after Rosalie?
She had been gone a while, not that Hermione blamed her friend, she wouldn’t want to return to the
table if she were in Rosalie’s position either.

“So he can go after her, but I can’t? What does he even want with her, anyway?” Ron seethed,
“Bloody bastard.”

“Ron, I’m sorry, I—” Ginny began earnestly.

“Who bloody told you?” Ron snarled, cutting her off midsentence.

“The twins,” she replied quickly, “though not directly. I heard them talking. It’s kind of obvious
though, really.”

“Wait just a minute!” Fred interrupted suddenly, “we don’t even know what’s going on here!”

“Ginny and Hermione just ousted Ron’s love to Rose,” George cut in, his tone conspiratorial.

“Oh...right,” Fred replied knowingly, “Carry on, then.”

“Is it true?” Hermione asked gently.

“Does it even matter if it is?” Ron huffed.

Hermione sighed, “It obviously is, or you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“Why’d you ask then?” Ron shot back, “if it’s all so bloody ‘obvious’ to you.”

Hermione shrank back, lowering her gaze at the venom in his voice. Why had she asked? Because
she’d needed to hear him say it? Because for some reason his answer mattered to her? She wasn’t
sure.

They fell silent again as Rosalie re-entered the room and resumed her seat at the table. She avoided
their gaze studiously, her cheeks still pink with embarrassment.

“Rose, I—”

Rosalie cut him off.

“Can we talk about it later, Ron?” she asked with a meaningful look at the other end of table.

Ron deflated, “Yeah, okay.”

Rosalie offered him a strained little smile, full of discomfort and embarrassment.

“Where’s Snape?” She asked curiously, avoiding Ron’s gaze and looking instead into Hermione’s
flushed face.

“He left not long after you did,” Hermione replied, “We assumed he went after you, which now
that I think of it...doesn’t really seem very likely.”

“Perhaps he was Called?” Fred offered still completely at ease despite the tension around them.
George nodded his agreement, “it was only a matter of time.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them he’s gone?” Hermione prompted with concern, her eyes darting down the
table to where Dumbledore appeared to be in deep conversation with McGonagall and Lupin.

“Nah,” George replied nonchalantly, “He’ll already know.”

Rosalie ate her meal mechanically when it came, barely tasting the food that passed her lips as she
dutifully shovelled food into her mouth bite by bite. Time seemed to pass at an excruciating pace,
made worse by the fact that she could feel Ron’s gaze burning into her from across the table.
Surely he must realise that she didn’t feel the same way?

Conversation around them remained at a minimum, and finally, as the last plate was cleared from
the table, she couldn’t take it anymore. Pushing herself to her feet, she thanked Mrs. Weasley for
cooking and excused herself from the table, shooting a meaningful look at Ron as she did so,
hoping that he would take the hint and follow her from the room.

Rosalie lead him silently through the house, not entirely sure where she should take him for them
to have this talk. They ended up tucked away in the back corner of the library, the door shut for
privacy and a light ward in place to let them know if anyone was trying to eavesdrop nearby.

Rosalie turned to her friend, “Ron—”

“No, please? Let me...let me just say this?” he interrupted, “That’s not how I wanted you to find
out that—well, that I have feelings for you. Strong ones. You make me feel unlike anything I’ve
ever felt before. I wanted to tell you so many times, but something always got in the way. So, yeah,
this wasn’t perfect, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not true. I think I’m in love with you, Rose.”

Rosalie felt something inside her cringe in sympathy for her best friend. He was pouring his heart
out to her and the most she could offer him in return was a brotherly kind of love that would
probably sting worse now than if she flat out refused him. Rosalie hung her head as she tried to
collect her thoughts, but then his damp, sweaty hands touched her face, loosely cradling her cheeks
as he tilted her head back. The slight tremor in his touch betrayed his nerves and her heart clenched
painfully for him.

“Ron, I...” She started shaking her head as she fought to find the right words—words that wouldn’t
wound him too deeply or cause irreparable damage to their friendship. Was there a right and wrong
way to let someone down gently? She had next to no experience in either and she felt ill equipped
to handle this with the delicacy and compassion it deserved.

“Just give me a chance, Rose,” He whispered earnestly, “Please.”

She realised what was about to happen a heartbeat before the hot press of his bumbling lips
touched her mouth. Rosalie froze in shock. His hands were a little too eager on her face, his lips a
little too awkward and excited as he rubbed them against hers trying to coax her lips into action. No
spark. No flush of passion. She felt nothing but guilt and an overwhelming sense of growing
awkwardness as wet lips and sweaty hands pawed at her.

He moaned.

“Ron, stop...” she told him quietly, pushing him back gently with a hand firmly planted on his
chest. He didn’t resist her.

“I can’t do this,” She told him seriously, hoping he could read the apology in her eyes, “You are
one of my best friends and I love you for that. Dearly. But I can’t love you the way you want me to
—I don’t. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Ron took a step back from her, letting his hands fall from her face. Rosalie discreetly wiped her
mouth on the back of her hand and hoped she’d said enough for him to understand without her
needing to hammer the point home.

“Nothing? Not even just now when we kissed?” Ron asked trying to catch and hold her gaze.
Rosalie didn’t want to tell him how his kiss had done nothing but make her feel uncomfortable.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I just don’t see you like that,” she apologised, “you are one of the most
important people in my life, Ron. I need your support and friendship everyday—I want it—but as
my friend—as my best friend.”

Ron nodded, hanging his head as he huffed out a self-depreciating sigh, “It’s not like I didn’t know
you’d turn me down, but I hoped...”

“Ron...” Rosalie gasped torn between wanting to comfort him and knowing that only thing that
would make this better would be a lie. He spoke the truth, and though it tugged at her heart to see
him so down on himself, in the back of her mind she knew that it was better that she made this
clear now, so that there was no mistaking where she stood. She couldn’t let him think that there
was some hope, any hope, that she might one day change her mind.

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Rosalie offered uncomfortably.

“Not as sorry as I am that you don’t,” he sighed, piercing her with tremulous blue eyes full of
longing and heartache. It was like a kick in the guts—he was making sure she felt it, she realised,
and for a moment anger, instead of guilt, ruled her.

She ruthlessly squashed the impulse to tell him about Snape, knowing that between them they’d
caused enough damage to their friendship for one night. Right now, their friendship was reparable.
Ron would be beyond furious if he found out about Snape though, especially now and especially
because it was Snape—she doubted she could have picked anyone worse in Ron’s eyes. In this
moment, it would spell the end of their friendship, and she didn’t want to lose Ron over this.

Rosalie bit her lip, letting the surge of anger wash over and then seep out of her. Everything about
this situation was awkward and wrong. She’d said everything she needed to say, though, what else
was there? It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t feel the way he did. That’s all there was too it.

“I think I’ll go home now,” He said finally, his tone flat and deflated.

“Okay,” Rosalie replied in a small voice, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, maybe...” was all the answer she got as he turned and left the room. The click of the door
seemed to echo throughout the library with finality as it swung closed behind him and she hoped
that the door to their friendship hadn’t swung closed along with it. She wondered what Hermione
would have to say about it all? Would Ron force her to take sides over this? Would she judge her
for rejecting him? The whole situation was a mess she could do without. Rosalie slumped down
into the armchair behind her and let her head fall into her hands. The best she could hope for right
now was that Ron wouldn’t be an arse about this. She loved her friend, but he had the capacity to
carry a grudge unlike anyone she’d ever met—except maybe Snape, in that respect they were
completely alike. Ron was going to need time to come to terms with this though... time they might
not have with everything else that was going on around them.

Rosalie sighed. She wanted to take herself upstairs and crawl under the covers of her bed and spend
the rest of her days hiding away from the mess of her life. No war, no guilt and no one blurring the
lines of friendship, just the softness of her pillow and the warmth of her blanket and the comfort of
oblivion.
 “Are you okay?”

Rosalie startled, spinning about at the sound of her friend’s voice. Hermione was hovering
uncertainly behind her, worry clouding her brown eyes.

Rosalie nodded, “I’m fine.”

Hermione perched on the seat beside her, “He was crying when he left.”

Rosalie winced, “He told me that he’s in love with me.”

“And you aren’t in love with him,” Hermione surmised.

Rosalie shrugged in exasperation, “No. I’m not. So why do I feel guilty for not returning his
feelings? He’s like a brother to me, ‘Mione! I just don’t see him like that.”

Hermione nodded, “I understand.”

“I just don’t want this to come between us, but you know what he’s like—he’ll see this as me
rejecting me and this time, he’ll be right! I am rejecting him,” Rosalie huffed, “I just don’t want
him to shut me out because he’s angry with me, you know?”

Hermione nodded half-heartedly, that was just the way Ron was after all. He needed time to get it
all out of his system and simmer down and then things went back to normal. This would probably
be no different. Only, the stronger he judged the humiliation to be, the worse the cooling off period
became.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now it’s out in the open,” Hermione sighed, giving her friend
a tight hug, “Ron just needs time to pull himself together and find his feet again. Think about how
you would feel in his position? I’m not saying you were wrong to be honest with him, but I would
be upset if I were standing in his shoes too. Just give him some space, things will go back to
normal eventually if we don’t make a fuss over things and give him a chance to ‘save face’ and
come to terms with being just being friends again.”

Rosalie nodded and gave her friend a wry smile, “How’d you get to be so smart, ‘Mione?”

Hermione chuckled, “Apparently I read a lot.”

Rosalie smiled wryly at her friend.

“Come on,” Hermione said, pulling her to her feet, “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

Chapter End Notes

I just can't seem to keep Snape and Rose off one another anymore, lol! Let me know
your thoughts!
 Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Nineteen

Draco was easy to spot among the Dark Lord’s faithful. Front and centre, he lay prostrate on the
cool marble of the ballroom floor, his robes torn and his face stripped of the white Death Eater
mask that would hide his identity; he had been reduced to little more than the Dark Lord’s play
thing, his punishment for failure unending. Even from this distance, Severus could see his body
trembling, with fear, no doubt, and the after effects of the Cruciatus. Severus knew that his godson
would soon break. Draco had not been equipped with the skills or the fortitude to survive this kind
of life. A failing, indeed, on his father’s behalf. Lucius Malfoy had primed his son to live a life of
luxury and power, never doubting for a second that it might all be stripped away. Oh, how the
Malfoy’s had fallen. Now Draco was paying for his father’s sins and his own failure to prove
himself someone of worth in the Dark Lord’s eyes.

Narcissa’s punishment: to watch the destruction of her son without intervention.

It pained Severus’ to see them so, but it would serve his purpose well. They were nearing the end
of their tether and swaying them from the Dark Lord’s side had never before been so achievable.

Severus kept watch over him throughout the duration of the meeting, through two more bouts of
the Cruciatus and his humiliating attempt to clean up his own piss and vomit when the pain grew
to be too much. The sight sickened him to the core and for a moment hate flared deep and true
throughout his being for the Dark Lord and everything that he represented.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, red eyes singled him out from the rest of his followers and
burnt into him, ploughing through his mind with neither skill nor finesse, searching for weakness
or compassion—searching for betrayal.

“Does this upssset you, Severusss?”

Severus kept his face blank behind his mask and his thoughts dispassionate as the Dark Lord swept
down from his dais, gliding around Draco’s body with a feverish energy, until they were face to
face, mere inches apart, “You godssson, broken and used, lying in his own filth... Does it anger
you, Severusss?”

“His weakness sickens me, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord held his gaze, silent and challenging, daring him to falter. Then, as soon as it had
come, the pressure in his mind ease and the Dark Lord retreated, “You see, Draconisss, even you
godfather resentsss what you have become.”

Severus left without backward glance as the meeting was dismissed, nodding at one or two others
as they exited the ballroom, making sure he was seen leaving the manor. He would have to loop
back around, slip away and disillusion himself before returning. It was imperative that he wasn’t
seen, though once Draco and then Narcissa were discovered missing he would be suspected
regardless.

His plan, changed, however when Narcissa caught him in the hall, pulling him into an alcove out of
sight as the final few dispersed.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?” he hissed, yanking his arm back out of her
grip, “If we were seen—”

“We weren’t,” she replied, her voice little more than a harsh whisper.

Severus glared at her, “I’ll thank you now not to drag me into this mess with you, Narcissa. I have
no wish to trade places with your son.”

“And your godson,” She reminded him, her tone cold and unflinching, “You took vows to protect
him, Severus. I won’t let you forget that.”

“What would you have me do?” Severus exclaimed, “Nothing and no one can help Draco now.
You can thank Lucius for that. Be thankful the Dark Lord still has use for you, or your son would
be dead.”

“Don’t think, for one second, that I will forget what Lucius has done to this family.” Narcissa bit
out furiously, “I am not here to discuss my husband’s abysmal choices, though. You can help him,
Severus. You must. I need potions.”

“The Dark Lord will know from whom you got them,” Severus denied.

“Please,” she breathed, taking his hand in hers, “Please, old friend. You are the only person I can
turn to. I am not asking you to heal him. I just want something to dull the pain—the Cruciatus, he
is starting to have the tremors, Severus.”

Severus’ heart faltered, “Truly?”

Narcissa nodded, “They are mild—almost unnoticeable—but they will get worse. You know it as
well as I do.”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I will need time to brew the potions you need.
They are not something that I routinely carry.”

Narcissa heaved out a sigh, “Thank you.”

Severus nodded, “Go, now. I will disillusion myself before leaving.”

Narcissa nodded, her eyes brimming with emotion as she gave his hand a final squeeze, before
slipping out and away from him, gliding down the corridor on silent feet. Little did she know that
if all went to plan, her son would have the help he needed inside of an hour. It was, unfortunately,
too dangerous to take them both at once, but it worked in their favour that Narcissa stayed behind.
Slipping out unnoticed with Draco in his current state would be challenging enough and whatever
happened, he would need the leverage over Narcissa that Draco presented.

Disillusioning himself, he cast a muffling charm on his feet as he crept back into the hall, retracing
his steps to the ballroom. The corridor that was brimming with Death Eaters moments before was
now deserted and cloaked in darkness. Severus slunk through the shadows, keeping close to the
wall as he moved, travelling as quickly as he dared under disillusionment.

The doors to the ballroom stood open, the room empty and cavernous once more, the lights
dimmed. Inside Draco was only just staggering to his feet, his gait awkward and unsteady.

“Dinky!” he called weakly, his voice hoarse, and barely recognisable.

The small house elf appeared before him, its ears flapping nervously as it took in the state of its
master, “Master Draco?”

“Clean up this mess,” Draco ordered.

“Yes, master.”

Severus watched as Draco began to shuffle towards the door, his steps slow and cumbersome. The
front of his robes were stained with vomit and urine and there was a small trail of blood leaking
from his mouth. Severus had seen the like before, more than once he’d bitten through his own
tongue whilst under the Cruciatus—it was the least of his godson’s problems at present. Severus
could see the tremor Narcissa spoke of in his hands; time would tell if it became a permanent
disability.

“Draco,” Severus whispered as they drew level.

The blonde’s head shot around, wariness filling his gaze as he stared into the shadows. Severus
stepped forward, his disillusioned form becoming clearer with movement.

“Severus?”

Severus pulled him into the shadows, casting a quick scourgify over the front of his robes
vanishing the vomit and piss from his person. His godson flinched and reared back, his eyes
bulging in fear at the sudden movement, before shuttering with embarrassment. Severus ignored
the reaction, it was not wholly unexpected.

“Drink this,” Severus ordered as he pulled a small vial of his Cruciatus remedy from within his
robes, “It will help ease your muscles.”

Draco obeyed without question taking the proffered vial and downing its contents clumsily almost
dropping the potion in his haste. Severus took the empty vial and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You’re leaving the Manor. Tonight,” Severus told him firmly, “but you need to cross the wards
willingly or else we will set of the alarms.”

“What?” Draco asked his voice full of hope as he stared up at his godfather.

“You heard me. I don’t have time to offer you more of an explanation, how are you legs? Can you
walk properly?”

Draco’s eyes welled up as he nodded rapidly, his relief overflowing and leaking down his face in a
steady stream as he began to sob. Severus clasped him on the shoulder awkwardly, bracing himself
against his godson’s tears.
“You can fall apart later, Draco. We need to move,” Severus told him.

“What about Mother?” the blonde questioned anxiously as Severus cast the Disillusionment charm
over him. He shivered as the cool, runny sensation past over his head and down his body, “I’m not
leaving without her.”

“She is already waiting for us,” Severus lied.

Draco nodded, “Okay. Good.”

Their pace was slow, hampered by Draco’s uneven steps as his hobbled along behind his godfather
and Severus was grateful that he’d had the forethought to cast a muffling charm on their feet.
They’d had to stop several times as the sound of voices reached their ears and it had taken longer
than anticipated for them make their way through the house. They were minor obstacles compared
to the sight of Wormtail loitering in the Manor’s entrance, however, muttering to himself as he
paced the room, clutching his silver hand to his chest nervously.

Several minutes ticked by as Severus eyed the rat barring their way to freedom.

“The fireplace in the kitchens is connected to the floo,” Draco breathed behind him.

Severus shook his head. They weren’t travelling by floo, too easily tracked. They would apparate,
first to his home and then on to the safe house Albus hand arranged for Draco and his mother.

It took twenty tedious minutes before Wormtail tired himself out and moved on, darting with
sudden purpose back into the house, his eyes determined and gleaming.

“Now?” Draco whispered.

Severus shook his head, making them waiting a further five minutes before he deemed it safe to
continue onwards. The grand doors of Malfoy manor swung open on silent hinges and together
they slipped into the night. Severus allowed them to sacrifice stealth for speed as they dashed
across the manicured lawns, darting as quickly as Draco’s injured body would allow towards
shelter and the boundaries of the anti-apparation wards protecting the property. It took them longer
than he would have preferred and Draco was panting heavily by the time he felt the tell-tale tingle
of magic wash over his skin as they passed through the wards to safety, but they made it and
Severus felt his whole body sag with relief.

“Grasp my arm,” He ordered, throwing his arm out for Draco to get hold.

He felt his godson’s hand clamp down around his wrist and they disapparated from sight.

They appeared with a crack! in the centre of safe house’s lounge and Albus stood to greet them
wearily. It was long past the time he had expected them and he had begun to worry that something
had gone awry. Though they looked weary, however, they appeared largely intact.

“Draco, Severus. Welcome.”

The blonde flinched, spinning around to stare at the Headmaster in horror as realisation sunk in.
His gaze flit from Severus and back again shocked betrayal alight in his eyes.

“Dumbledore!” Draco exclaimed, confusion and fear warring on his face as he looked to his
godfather in askance, “What the—? You brought me to the Headmaster!? I thought... I thought I
could trust you!”

Severus sighed, “Where did you think I would take you, Draco? Where else could you be safe
from the Dark Lord?”

“I thought I could trust you! I didn’t think you’d hand deliver me to the other side!” Draco stared at
him in disbelief, “You’re... a spy? For them?”

Severus nodded, “For the Light. Yes.”

Fury darkened the blonde’s brow, “You traitor. All this time I believed you loyal to the Dark Lord,
like my father, and you lied to me? You lied to my family.”

“Loyal to the Dark Lord? Like you are, I suppose. Yes I lied to you and I would do so again
without question,” Severus scoffed, “You have barely escaped with your life, Draco, and your
transgressions are minor. What do you think will happen should my true allegiances be revealed?”

“He will kill us for this,” Draco stammered, his hands going to his hair, tugging on the blond
strands in distress, “You’ve brought me down with you.”

“Voldemort will not be given the opportunity,” Albus intervened, his voice calm and soothing,
“You are safe now. Severus brought you here in order to offer you a way out of this life, Draco.
This is not a trap. I have arranged for this safe house to be made available for you and your mother,
together you will be safe here as it is under the Fidelius and I am your Secret Keeper.”

Draco shook his head.

“Where is my mother? You said she was waiting for us,” Draco hissed, staring back at his
godfather venomously.

“She will be joining you here imminently, once she has assisted us with a certain task,” Albus
replied soothingly.

“What task?” Draco demanded, “What are you making her to do?”

“Nothing that is beyond her reach,” Albus reassured him.

“You bastard,” Draco hissed defeated, glaring at Severus through slitted eyes, “You lying bastard.”

Severus stared back impassively, “Is this not preferable to being tortured by the Dark Lord for
sport? Would you not rather stow away to safety and remain out of harm’s way than continue on as
you were? Yes, I lied to you, Draco, perhaps you should be grateful, however, that I saved your
life. At great risk to my own, I might add.”

“Fuck you.”

Albus looked on with sympathetic eyes, “I will take it from here, Severus. Why don’t you go get
some rest while you can?”

Severus sighed.

It was well after midnight and it would likely be some hours before Narcissa worked herself up
into a sufficient enough state to contact him again. There was time. Sleep would do him the world
of good, he was bone weary and fatigued to the point that sleep seemed somewhat achievable—
desirable, even. With a slight nod to the Headmaster he disapparated once more ignoring his
godson’s angry eyes as he took his leave. Dumbledore could deal with this mess for now. At this
point there would be very little he could say or do to Draco to make him change his tune anyway.

Grimmauld Place dark and silent as he appeared in the kitchen that someone had wiped clean and
put back to sorts after the festivities of the evening. He had missed dinner he realised suddenly, as
his stomach gave a half-hearted rumble. He was too tired to even contemplate eating at this point
though. Instead he took the rare moment of peaceful solitude to sigh heavily, his eyes falling shut
involuntarily as he swayed on his feet. He could feel the fatigue drawing at his body and weighting
his limbs. Tonight, perhaps, might have been a night that he’d have allowed himself a small dose
of Dreamless Sleep, but he couldn’t take the chance that Narcissa would send for him sooner rather
than later and he needed to be fully alert when he confronted her.

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes he made his way through the dark house on nothing but the
strength of his memory. The stairs creaked underfoot as he climbed them with bone weary legs
onto the landing and past the wolf’s room where snuffled snores let him know that Lupin was both
in residence for the evening and well and truly out for the count. He sneered spitefully at the door
as he passed it.

It was half his goddamned luck.

Something shimmered past his peripheries, winking at him from down the hall and Severus spun
around to face it, his weary mind snapping to attention once more as he peered into the darkness.

Nothing.

He drew his wand, his suspicious nature rearing its head as he continued on past Lupin’s door
thinking vaguely of what he would do to the wolf if he’d gone to bed and left Rosalie unprotected
while he slept through a Death Eater attack. The wards surrounding the house felt whole and intact
though.

Severus noted the disruption in his wards before he’d made it within five feet of his room, the
foreign magic shimmering at him as he drew nearer. He slowed his step, his senses expanding as
he assessed the damage. It was subtle, but it was there and his curiosity piqued as he recognised the
familiar pulse of her magic interwoven through his. Not an intruder after all; Rosalie. Severus felt
an odd mixture of surprise and admiration course through him that she’d managed to gain entry
through his wards. Curiously, he laid his hand against the smooth grain of the wood, the wards
hummed under his touch, altered but not destroyed. Impressive.

He pushed the door open gently, stepping across the threshold into the room. She was asleep in his
bed, her pale skin luminescent in the moonlight that streamed in through the open blinds and her
dark hair an inky smudge across his pillows.

Severus closed the door silently behind him and moved further into the room, his eyes never
straying from her body. The sight of her wrapped up in his bed sheets stirred something powerful
inside him, something at once possessive and protective. It was a foreign feeling, but not an
unpleasant one. He let his cloak slip from his shoulders easily, draping the heavily material across
the armchair by the window as he was struck by the memory of Rosalie Potter at age eleven. Who
could have known that that scruffy child with her messy hair hacked boy-short and her ridiculously
oversized, threadbare clothing would one day turn into the woman he saw here now? She’d looked
more like a little boy than a little girl at her Sorting Ceremony, her resemblance to James Potter a
burning slap in the face. Now, though, she resembled neither James nor Lily overtly, but was an
appealing mix of them both—unique. Lily would have been proud of the woman her daughter had
become. He was sure of it.
Severus knew he should probably wake her and send her back to her own room when her self-
appointed godfather slept mere meters from their door. They didn’t need anything else to fan the
flames of the wolf’s suspicion. Her face was peaceful and wonderfully free of the stress that often
plagued her throughout the day though and he didn’t truly have the inclination to send her packing.
Instead, he stripped himself down to his undergarments and moved to the vacant side of the bed.
She didn’t stir as he slipped in behind her, brushing her fragrant hair off of his pillow in the
process.

“Severus?” She murmured.

Severus allowed his fingers to trace the delicate indent of her spine down her back before draping
his arm around her waist. She was soft and pliant, her skin sleep-warmed under his fingers as he
pulled her back into his embrace.

“Yes,” he replied softly, “go back to sleep.”

Rosalie rolled in his arms, eyes still heavily lidded in sleep as she gazed up at him through her
lashes alluringly. Her soft breasts pressing in against his chest through the material of her
nightgown as warm hands stroked down his side. Completely unable to resist the temptation, he
pressed his lips against hers in a brief kiss which she responded to with a lazy smile.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’ok. Did it work?” She slurred softly, her voice still hazy with sleep.

Severus nodded, as he brushed her long hair back out of her face.

“The first part was a success. Albus is with Draco now,” he replied, hooking his thigh over hers as
she slipped her knee between his legs.

“Now we wait,” She concluded.

He nodded, “Now we wait.”

Severus sighed as she pressed a kiss into his neck, her hand still caressing his side aimlessly. He
could feel the tension literally melting out of his frame as his body became heavier and heavier in
the bed.

“Ron is in love with me,” She told him quietly, sounding more awake, “Or at least he thinks he is.”

“Indeed,” Severus finally replied after a beat of silence, “that fact was rather hard to miss as I
caught him confessing his love to you whilst you lay unconscious in the infirmary. He was... quite
ardent in his passion.”

Rosalie cringed, tucking her face into his chest, “it was awkward. Really awkward. I told him that I
didn’t feel the same way—it didn’t go all that well. He was gutted. I made him cry.”

“He will recover,” Snape told her, “In time, he will move on.”

Rosalie tilted her head back so she could meet his gaze, his eyes midnight pools in the pale muted
light. His expression was guarded and she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind that
shuttered expression. Was he speaking from experience, perhaps? Would he ‘move on’ once he
was back at Hogwarts and she had to remain here at Grimmauld Place? It made her feel sick to her
stomach, the idea of being reduced to nothing more than a memory. Not when simply lying in
Snape’s arms felt bigger and more vital to her than the reality of kissing Ron. Ron had left her
feeling bereft. Snape made her feel alive simply being in his presence.

Holding his gaze she leant in, pressing her lips against his, feeling justified when he immediately
kissed her back. His arms tightened around her frame, drawing her in. Somehow, despite her fears
that Snape would tire of her, she didn’t truly believe that she meant so little to him. Their
relationship had evolved so slowly, so naturally, that she couldn’t believe that he could simply
brush her aside when he’s had his fill. It filled her with pride knowing that she was one of only a
handful of people that Snape trusted. However you read it—that meant something.

Rosalie allowed her gaze to study his face as the parted once more, taking in the stubble that
shadowed his jaw, the crease between his pinched brows and the faint strain lines around his
mouth. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath his eyes. He looked drenched in fatigue and she
felt suddenly guilty for keeping him up.

“You look exhausted,” She told him seriously, her fingertips smoothing over his rough jaw in
concern.

“I am tired,” he agreed.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked simply, knowing that she would leave happily if he wished it,
so that he might get the rest he needed.

“No,” Severus told her, surprising even himself at the abrupt refusal.

“Okay,” She smiled, settling herself into his embrace, delight suffusing her in a warm glow. One
word and a little bubble of happiness had popped into existence inside her chest.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured into her hair, his voice already slurred with sleep.

Rosalie ran her hand down his back as she shut her eyes, the edges of sleep creeping back in with
unexpected ease as she let her mind drift once more. To her surprise, sleep seemed to take over in
no time at all and she was only vaguely aware of Severus’ body slackening against hers, his
breathing growing deep and even as he too drifted off. She hoped he had good dreams, she thought
dimly, her own mind slowing as the pull of sleep grew stronger—or perhaps to have no dreams was
kinder. He deserved some rest.

Rosalie smiled.

It was her last conscious thought before she too succumbed to the pull of sleep.

Severus jolted awake to the sun burning brightly into his eyelids. He groaned and pressed his face
into the pillow, feeling disorientated and confused. Merlin, what time was it? Why was he still in
bed? Had he drugged himself the night before?

A pleasant weight was resting against his back, pressing into his side and warming his exposed
skin and it shifted as he pushed up onto his elbows. Rosalie. The previous night came flooding
back to him and he recalled coming home to find her in his bed and allowing her stay there with
him, probably against better judgement. He’d not thought either of them would sleep more than a
couple hours together, given their respective sleeping habits, but it appeared they’d both slept the
night through for perhaps the first time in months.

Severus reached for his wand and cast a quick Tempus charm. It was just past dawn, early enough
that Lupin would likely still be abed and he breathed a small sigh of relief, thanking Merlin for
small mercies, as he flopped back onto the pillow.

Rosalie stirred behind him and he felt something warm and soft trail down his back as her hand
smoothed down his spine.

Warm lips pressed as kiss into the back of his shoulder, “Morning.”

Severus felt his lips curve upwards as he rolled onto his back, taking in her rumpled state and the
tousled mess of her hair as he scooted back to sit against the headboard, “Good morning.”

“What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Still early,” he replied easily.

“Is it?” Rosalie smiled up at him from her pillow, “I feel amazing.”

Severus could only agree, watching with interest as she rolled into him, her cheek coming to rest on
his bare thigh. Her eyes were shining as she glanced up him, mischief in her gaze.

“I can’t believe I slept so long,” she breathed, “and no nightmares.”

Severus murmured his agreement, but his focus was suddenly centred on the warm hand that was
creeping up his inner thigh and the mouth that was mere inches from his cock. Severus moaned,
almost inaudibly, as her fingers ghosted over his burgeoning erection. It twitched needily under her
caress—wantonly.

“We should refrain. We need to get up as there are things I should be doing,” he protested weakly,
“not to mention, you’re self appointed dogfather is just down the hall.”

“Mmm,” She agreed with a smile, “you shouldn’t call him that.”

He didn’t protest as her hand moved to the waistband of boxers, though, lifting his hips obediently
as she hooked her fingers under the material and pulled them down. Rosalie pressed her lips
together and glanced up at him nervously. Her heart was a nervous flutter inside her chest as she
reached out and took him into her hands.

“Rosalie, you don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Severus told her, anxiety in
her expression as his fingers carded through her hair.

“I know.”

She took the head of his cock in her mouth, her lips parting over the flared tip as she suckled him in
gently.

Severus sighed softly with pleasure, scooting down in the bed to give her better access as she
crawled over him, settling between his splayed legs. She had little more than a vague notion of
how this was supposed to work, trusting her instincts and Severus to guide her as her mouth began
to slide over his hard flesh, trying to judge by the sound of his moans and sighs what he enjoyed
and what he didn’t.

He felt hot under her lips, the head spongy and smooth as it slipped past her lips and onto her
tongue and Rosalie swirled her tongue around the head, collecting the taste of him.

“Rose...” he breathed, sounding far away and vacant, though his eyes never left her and the weight
of his hands still rested lightly in her hair.
His flavour was mild and musky—not nearly as displeasing as she’d imagined—and so she
repeated the action, smiling in triumph over the ragged moan he released as the soft underside over
tongue slipped over the very tip of his cock.

Heat began to pool deep inside her at the sound, making her clench her thighs together in
anticipation as she returned to her task with new enthusiasm.

She sucked as much of his length into her mouth as was comfortable, her cheeks hollowing around
him as she bobbed her head up and down, her hands taking over what her mouth couldn’t.

“Merlin, Rose...that’s it—”

They both flinched at the sound of someone apparating into the room and Rosalie gagged around
him as he accidently thrust up into her mouth making her cough and splutter as she pulled away
from him. Before she could blink back the tears that had begun to leak from her watering eyes, the
blankets we’re suddenly thrown over her head and she was plunged into darkness.

“Wha—”

“I is sorry to be interrupting, Mister Snape, sir,” a small voice squeaked anxiously from outside the
covers, “Mistress be sending Dippy to tell you that Mistress is needing to be speaking with you
urgently, please, sir! She be requesting that you be coming to Malfoy Manor at once!”

A house elf had sprung them in the act—Narcissa Malfoy’s house elf to be exact. Rosalie’s cheeks
flamed, embarrassment burning hotly on her face as she wiped at the tear tracks down her face,
inadvertently brushing the hot length that still stood alongside her face.

“Thank you, Dippy,” Severus replied, his hand on her head encouraging her to stay hidden beneath
the blankets as she shifted about, “Unfortunately, I am unable to call on her at Malfoy Manor at
present, but you may tell your Mistress I will meet her at Spinner’s End in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir!” the elf squeaked as the small elf disapparated once more.

Rosalie groaned with embarrassment as she felt the covers being lifted off of her head, “I may die
of embarrassment.”

“I apologise, if I hurt you just now,” he offered, concern creasing his brow as his hand cupped her
face taking in her red cheeks and watery eyes.

“I’m alright. Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting....that.” she offered lamely, “It won’t say anything,
will it?”

Severus smirked at her, “the elf saw nothing more than the back of your head. I very much doubt
he even realised who you were...or cared for that matter. It will be fine.”

“Merlin, I hope so. We were just caught in the act while I had your cock in my mouth—I can see
the headlines now: ‘Girl-Who-Lives-to-Give-Head blows Potions Master in Early Morning
Rendezvous’!” Rosalie exclaimed, her cheeks still crimson as she crawled back up the bed.

Severus chuckled.

Rosalie blink in surprise, gazing up at him in awe as the sound of his laugh washed over her, filling
her with incredible warmth. It was deep and rumbling, rich like dark chocolate. She smiled
brightly, filled with pride that she’d been able to induce such a response from one usually so
reserved.
“Let’s hope that is not the case,” Severus replied, pulling her mouth into his. Her lips were pink
and lightly swollen in an appealing sort of way that reminded him of her recent efforts. Severus
kissed her gently, “I must go.”

Rosalie nodded, sighing as his arms tightened around her once, briefly, before he slipped from the
bed and began pulling his clothes on.

“Don’t let Lupin catch you here,” He told her as he pulled up his pants, buttoning them at the waist
with ease, “make sure you shower before you see him.”

From anyone else it might have sounded like a dismissal, but she knew better what a dismissal
from Severus Snape sounded like. Instead she smiled and crawled to her knees behind him,
winding her arms around his shoulders and draping her body across his back as he pulled on his
boots.

“Good luck?”

Severus nodded once briskly and stood, mentally checking himself as he reached for his wand,
“This should take no more than a couple of hours.”

“I’ll see you this evening, then.”

Turning away from the appealing sight of Rosalie sprawled across his bed he swept from the room,
mentally composing himself to face Narcissa Malfoy as he strode through the house towards the
kitchen. For all that he knew Narcissa that wanted to break free from the chains of the Dark Lord,
fear was a strong motivator. Only a fool was unafraid of the Dark Lord and his power.

Grabbing the floo pot from above the hearth he took a minute to stare into the flames as he drew
masks in around him and composed his features. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he doused the
flames in the fine powder, turning them a familiar green.

“Spinners End!”

No more than a couple of minutes had passed between Severus’ arrival at Spinner’s End and the
anxious rap that sounded at his front door, urgent and needy. Taking a moment to school his
expression into its usual blank mask, Severus strode across to the door and threw it open, wand at
the ready.

“Come in,” He hissed, glancing out into the street over Narcissa’s shoulder as she darted inside the
dark house. The door creaked as it swung shut behind her, its pane of glass rattling emptily.

He turned his dark gaze on the woman before him; she was not bearing the strain of Draco’s
disappearance well. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a woman of impeccable grooming for as
long as he’d known her, even in the hours following the birth of his godson, her make-up had been
immaculate, her hair coiffed and her face aglow with new love. She’d borne everything life had
thrown thus far with poise and composure, but with the disappearance of her son, the cracks were
beginning to show. She looked haggard and worn, her eyes strained with fatigue and a growing
sense of worry. Her hands were clasped before her, bony and frail looking, gripping and twisting
around one another.

He regretted having to causing her this pain.

“Narcissa,” he greeted with a slight nod.

“Draco is missing,” she informed him without preamble, “I waited for him to return to his
chambers last night following our meeting, but he never returned. I am forbidden from assisting
him, as you know, but I often have Dinky tend to him throughout the night so that he might be seen
up and about the following day. It is important they see Draco as resilient.”

She was rambling; her words coming thick and fast as she laid her concerns out before him. She
trusted him to help her, as she should. Draco was Severus’ godson and he’d sworn and oath on the
day of his birth to protect and guide Draco through life when his parents were unable.

“There was no sign of him in the ballroom when I returned. Dinky, Draco’s house elf, reports
being ordered by Draco to clean up the mess they’d left that evening, though. He said he saw
Draco leave the ballroom under his own power—I just, I don’t know what to believe. Do you think
it’s possible the Dark Lord has him?”

“No,” Severus replied firmly, “Draco is safe and well. I extracted him from the Manor, myself.”

Narcissa stared at him in confusion, “You...what?”

“Come. Sit down,” Severus offered, “I will get you a Calming Draught.”

“No,” she denied, stepping back out of his reach her face settling into a mask of betrayal, “You
have Draco? I don’t understand, Severus. Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been up for hours
making myself sick with the very idea that the Dark Lord may have finally tired of his games and
killed my son—or that... that Draco may have abandoned me—and you...—Why wouldn’t you say
anything? Why would you wait for me to come to you like this?”

“Because my actions were not at the Dark Lord’s behest,” He told her plainly, “and because it was
essential that you left the Manor of your own free will so that I am not implicated in your
disappearance.”

“My disappearance?” she parroted taking another wary step back.

“I am a spy, Narcissa. I have been working for Albus Dumbledore for the past seventeen years,”
Severus admitted, “I am not loyal to the Dark Lord, nor have I been since before—”

“Lily,” Narcissa breathed.

Severus nodded, “Lily.”

She was panting heavily, looking at him with wary, distrustful eyes as she tried to make sense of
the information she’d been given, “Why are you telling me this now? After all this time!? I have
been nothing but a loyal friend to you and this is how you choose to repay me? You’ve lied to me
for the past seventeen years while I’ve tied myself in knots over the very idea of the Dark Lord
returning and then what he would force upon first my husband and eventually my son—and all the
while you’ve just stood by and watched!”

“What did you expect me to say?” His hissed, “Did you expect me to confide in you when doing so
may have cost me my very life? Would you have accepted things as they are when your husband
and son remained safely by your side and your position in life was unquestioned? I realise that this
must be difficult for you to accept—”

Narcissa scoffed, “How am I to trust anything that comes out of your traitorous mouth? You lie to
me for seventeen years and then take my son as blackmail against me—do not take me for a fool,
Severus! What is it that you want?”
Severus stood back and inclined his head.

“I would never presume to think of you as such, but understand what I am offering you here,” he
said carefully, “We have you son, your sister and your husband, but we are not the Dark Lord, your
family is safe. This is your chance to leave the Dark Lord’s side and put this war behind you once
and for all.”

“At what price? I am not so naive to think that you won’t want something from me first. You’ve
jeopardised my family’s very well-being for this and your own position within his ranks,” she
hissed, “Tell me Severus, what is so important to you that you are willing to risk everything and
betray the very people who have been your closest friends for the last two decades?”

Severus stared at her appraisingly, “I need your assurances first that you will help me with my
assignment and not betray me to the Dark Lord for your own gain.”

“And you will release both my husband and son to me in return?” She countered without missing a
beat.

“We will relocate you and Draco to a safe house out of Britain—Lucius must be kept secure until
Voldemort is no more,” Severus told her.

“Lucius comes with us,” Narcissa demanded.

Severus narrowed his eyes, “Then we will require an unbreakable vow from him to ensure his
compliance. He must in no way, shape or form have any further involvement in the war and vow to
answer for his crimes when the time comes that he is brought before the Wizengamot. He must
also vow to cease all further attempts at physical contact with Miss Potter.”

Narcissa glared at him, her ice blue eyes piercing him with rage. Above all else, she hated to be
reminded of her husband’s sick predilections—especially his obsession with Rosalie Potter—it was
humiliating, but it needed to be said to ensure that Rosalie would remain safe from Lucius Malfoy.

“You lay down your terms and mock me in the same breath!”

“I speak only the truth; he has lost all reason in the face of his obsession! He came for her the
minute he escaped Azkaban. It was my own hand that prevented Lucius from assaulting Miss
Potter in full view of—”

“If she cannot even protect herself from the unwanted advances of man, how do you expect her to
defeat the Dark Lord in all his power? You are condemning us all to death!”

“She will not fail, Narcissa,” Severus stated coldly. Unbendingly.

Her ice blue eyes cut through him, fully of disdain and contempt, “What choice do you leave me?”

“None,” Severus replied, “if you do not comply we will use Draco in your place.”

“You bastard,” she breathed, turning away from him as she fought to compose herself once more.
Fury radiated off of her in waves that were palpable, “an oath then?”

Severus nodded and she withdrew her wand slowly and with measured movements.

“I, Narcissa Malfoy, do hereby swear on my magic that I will do everything in my power to help
Severus Snape on his current assignment and not betray him to the Dark Lord or any sympathisers
to his cause.”
 A silver chain formed gradually as she spoke, encircling her body as she began to weave the oath
around herself. The chain grew brighter and more tangible with every word she spoke until it was
lighting the dark hall around them.

Severus watched on with satisfaction, nodding when the oath had been completed to his liking.

“This I promise,” she finished and the chain shone brilliantly for a moment before absorbing into
her body with a slight pulse that lit up her skin.

“Good,” Severus nodded, slipping his wand back into his robes.

“What must I do?”

Chapter End Notes

Lots happening in this chapter! Let me know your thoughts :)

Also just a quick note to let you know that I am going on holidays for the next two
weeks and so the next update won't be until I get back.
 Chapter Twenty
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Twenty

The goblin controlling the Black Bloodline Vault eyed them carefully, suspicion evident in his eyes
as they flicked over Narcissa’s shoulder and back again.

“Will your...associate be joining us?” He asked the blond witch, beady eyes flicking once more to
Severus despite the borrowed invisibility cloak that concealed his presence. Severus wondered if
the goblin could truly see him, of if it was indeed a lucky guess.

Narcissa nodded sharply.

The goblin huffed and jerked his head for them to follow as he climbed down from behind his
counter, “he may not enter the vault.”

“Naturally,” Narcissa agreed primly.

“Come,” the goblin barked as he began leading them through Gringotts’ maze of halls. Severus
trailed behind them as closely as he dared, hyperaware that keen eyes were no doubt following
their every movement through the bank. Though he remained invisible to unwanted observers, the
goblin currently leading Narcissa very publicly through the bank would be known, in the right
circles, as a Black goblin and unaffiliated with the Malfoy accounts. It would raise questions (not
the right ones hopefully), but any suspicion could prove damaging if it turned the Dark Lord’s
attention to this visit. The sooner they were away from prying eyes, the better.

Severus ignored the suspicious weight of the goblin’s eyes on him as they climbed aboard the
carriage that would take them down to the deepest level of the bank’s vaults, where only the oldest
and most wealthy pureblood families housed their treasures and heirlooms. They descended
through the levels at breakneck speed, rocketing around corners through tunnels and enchantments
designed to foil even the most crafty of thieves, yet he was reminded that Voldemort, in Quirrell’s
body, had somehow made it in and out of the bank in pursuit of the philosopher’s stone in Potter’s
first year—while crafty, it was not as impenetrable as the goblins would have them believe.
It took ten minutes for them to descend deep enough into the bank’s underground to arrive at the
vault. They came to a screeching stop exactly outside the vault door and Narcissa rose from her
seat, cool and seemingly unaffected by the whole process as she stepped free of the cart. Severus
followed, removing the cloak as he stepped onto the platform behind them.

“He who comes on honest business, should have no need to conceal his identity,” the goblin
huffed, shooting a pointed glare at Severus as he stepped in front of him, barring him further access
to the vault.

“I am merely accompanying Mrs. Malfoy on business. You well know these are dangerous times,
we do not wish for our venture to become public knowledge, that is all. Would your enchantments
have not prevented me coming even this far if my intentions were not honest?” Severus enquired
evenly.

The goblin glared at him, “You may not enter the vault.”

Severus nodded. Blood access was required in order to enter a bloodline vault and as such he had
known that he would be unable to accompany Narcissa inside once they’d arrived at their
destination. Reluctantly, he’d described Slytherin’s Lock to the witch whilst still at Spinner’s End,
watching as speculative gleam had entered her cool eyes.

“Lady Malfoy,” The goblin beckoned, stepping up to the vault and gesturing to the vault door.
There was recess in the intricately carved door, perfectly shaped for one’s hand to fit against it,
palm down against the wood. Narcissa followed the goblin’s instructions as she laid her palm
down against the smooth surface of the door. She gasped softly as something sharp darted out to
prick her finger, stealing the sample of blood that would determine her heritage and her right to
access what lay beyond the vault’s doors.

For a long moment, nothing happened and Narcissa looked to the goblin in askance, “What is the
meaning of this?”

“So impatient,” the goblin grumbled in reprimand, gesturing to the door that had disengaged with a
faint hissing whoosh as it swung open with a gust of stale air.

Narcissa stepped across the threshold without issue, disappearing into the vault as Severus watched
on from the platform outside the vault door. From his vantage point he could see inside the
cavernous depths of the vault, noting with some discomfort, that it was far larger than he’d
anticipated. Countless priceless artefacts—many of them, no doubt, Dark in nature—lined the
walls and floor, simply piled somewhat carelessly atop one another in disorganised chaos. There
were likely centuries worth of artefacts Narcissa would need to wade through, finding the Locket
amongst it could take hours, he realised suddenly.

The idea of lingering for any length of time, made him anxious about what might be waiting for
them on the surface. The Malfoy family was no longer well respected within the Dark Lord’s ranks
and all it would take is one enterprising soul looking to work his way up the Dark Lord’s ranks to
report having seen Narcissa to attract unwanted attention.

There was nothing to be done about it, though.

It felt like hours had passed when Narcissa finally reappeared inside the vault door; Severus
estimated it had been close to two and his relief at seeing her was near palpable. Her eyes were
cool and calculating as she studied him shrewdly; in her hand Slytherin’s Locket dangled from
loose fingers.
“Slytherin’s Locket,” She mused lightly, “I suspected as much when you were describing it to me
—as any Slytherin Alumni would—but now I know for sure. This is a priceless heirloom.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, noting that she had yet to exit the vault. She was staying strategically
out of reach, where he could not physically enter the vault, nor could magic penetrate its wards.

Narcissa smiled, “Tell me again why I should give it to you.”

“We’ve been over this, Narcissa. I am offering you the chance to save your family,” Severus
responded, his tone carefully bland, “This is your chance to escape the Dark Lord’s reaches once
and for all. Your family has fallen out of favour, what chance do you truly believe you have at his
side?”

Narcissa gaze blandly at him, her face carefully blank as she weighed her options. Her eyes
dropped meaningfully to the locket still dangling from loose fingers, “I guess that would depend on
how greatly he values this?”

Severus felt himself stiffen with unease. Not even he fully understood what it was Narcissa held
between them. He knew not what power the locket held, nor what sway it might have over the
Dark Lord, only that it was vitally necessary to ending him once and for all.

“He would kill you on sight for ever having laid eyes on it,” Severus hissed, taking a gamble and
lying through his teeth, the subterfuge coming naturally.

“Just like he will when Potter fails and my family is left vulnerable to his punishment? We will be
branded traitors for our defection!” She snarled violently, her eyes flashing with outrage and fear.
Fear for her family’s wellbeing.

“Potter will—not—fail ,” Severus bit out forcefully

“She is a child, Severus!” Narcissa cried in desperate exasperation, “what possible hope does she
have against a man who rose to power before she was even born!?”

“That woman hasn’t been a child for a very long time. She is more powerful than you or I can even
begin to comprehend. She will defeat the Dark Lord, Narcissa, one way or another and when she
does you can choose to been seen as supporters or Dark Lord sympathisers. Either way your family
remains in a perilous position until the Dark Lord is dead. The choice is yours,” Severus
demanded, “There is nothing more to say on the topic.”

Narcissa hesitated, half turning from him in distress.

“I would remind you that you’ve already sworn an oath to me,” Severus added after a beat.

“It is not impossible to break an oath—it was not an unbreakable vow,” she hissed.

Severus inclined his head, “Then choose.”

The hum of Dark magic radiating off of the locket was refined, its influence so subtle it would, no
doubt, be almost indiscernible to an inexperienced practitioner. Yet Rosalie had reacted to it the
moment she stepped into his office; her back had snapped taut, her gaze turned wary and her mood
darkened as she moved into the room, coming over to glance at the piece that, for now, lay
dormant on his desk. It only strengthened his belief that she was the final piece to the puzzle.
Albus’ heart sank at the realisation, weighed down by grief at what was to come. He had
suspected, of course, his suspicion had piqued as soon as he’d come to realise what Tom Riddle’s
diary was back in Rosalie’s second year—he’d put two and two together when she’d begun
displaying talents that had been passed down through Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline for generations:
parseltongue most notably, an incredibly rare and misunderstood gift. He’d hoped that he’d been
mistaken, unfortunately, it was not to be. Now he wondered, whether even Voldemort realised the
truth of what he’d done—surely he must, to have been able to possess her as he had that night at the
Ministry. As it was, it was no small mercy that Miss Granger had yet to figure it out. It was crucial
that Rosalie be kept in the dark until the last possible moment—to be left to stew over such a fact
would be her undoing. Severus would eventually need to be informed, of course, so that someone
knew what must occur at the end should anything prevent him from passing on the final message
himself. After that it would be anyone’s game. Voldemort would be mortal once more.

Albus’ eyes strayed to his Potion’s Master, noting the ease with which Severus and Rosalie were
finally able to interact. It made his heart shine with pride. He’d always known that if they gave
themselves half a chance, they would find in one another someone that they could relate to. They
were the same breed of person—cut from the same cloth of experience—and Rosalie could learn
from Severus’ mistakes. Mistakes that had lead him down the path of Darkness where he’d almost
lost his way. It made him wonder how Severus would take the news that she must die so that they
all might live? It was a conversation for another day. For now, they still had time.

Albus sighed, gesturing for Rosalie to take a seat beside Severus. Her hand drifted beneath her
fringe, rubbing absently at the scar as she complied.

“How do we destroy it?” she asked without preamble.

Albus gazed appraisingly at her over the rim of his spectacles, “The same way you disposed of
Tom Riddle’s Diary—with basilisk venom.”

“Basilisk venom? I mean, I still have the fang, sir. Would that even work?” She asked sceptically.

“It is doubtful,” Albus replied, “Gryffindor Sword, however, is made from the finest goblin steel.
As it happens, Rose, you handed us the ultimate weapon against the Dark Lord’s artefacts when
you used the sword to defeated Slytherin’s basilisk. Goblin steel is well known for its ability to
incorporate into itself anything that has the ability to make it stronger.”

“Like when I killed the basilisk,” She finished, in understanding.

“Indeed,” Albus agreed with satisfied nod.

“Are you telling me we have a weapon that is infused with the very essence of basilisk venom?”
Severus asked, stunned at what he was hearing.

Albus nodded, “yes, exactly so.”

“When will we destroy it, Sir?” Rosalie asked eager to get the job done so that they could move on
to the next impossible task.

“Soon. It will need to be done away from Hogwarts, I cannot risk exposing the children to that
much Dark Magic, nor do I want to risk damaging the wards so soon after they have been
repaired,” Albus replied solemnly.

“Dare I even ask what magic could be so powerful as to pose a risk to the school’s wards and
require basilisk venom to dispose of it?” Severus wondered quietly.

Rosalie eyed him shrewdly, “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”
“It is a matter the will require much thought. Grimmauld Place is not a feasible option for obvious
reasons, I will contact you when I have formulated an appropriate plan,” Albus told her.

Rosalie nodded.

“It will be odd not returning this year,” She murmured, glancing around the office at the familiar
stone walls and portraits.

“It is for the best. Your safety, as well as that of the school is essential, Rose, otherwise you would
be joining those of your year mates that are returning this year.”

Rosalie nodded again. They’d been through it all before, after all. Not only was she at risk by
returning, but her presence all but ensured that Hogwarts remained in Voldemort’s spotlight. They
would be looking for her come September first, waiting to see what move they made and if she
would come out of hiding. She wouldn’t risk the safety of her classmates if she could help it. The
uncertainty of it all rattled her though. Snape too would return to his post as Potions Master and
Head of Slytherin, bar the odd weekend or Friday night he could slip away to continue on with her
training. She couldn’t help but wonder what that would mean for them and this new aspect of their
relationship they’d begun. She could admit to herself that she was already half in love with him and
it terrified her to think she might not be as vital to him as he’d become to her.

She wondered if she should be feeling guilty that she was more worried about losing Snape than
not returning for her final year. She spent more time thinking about him, than she did
contemplating Voldemort’s horcruxes most days.

“I know this forced restriction to your freedom has been difficult for you,” Albus continued,
perhaps believing her silence was due to her melancholy over her continued ‘imprisonment’,
“Grimmauld Place is the safest place we have for you at the moment outside of Hogwarts. I would
let you stay at the Burrow, but it is not well enough protected and far too well known amongst the
wrong circles. The Weasley’s are safer without you there, my dear.”

Rosalie nodded, “I know. It’s okay.”

“We will readdress the situation come Christmas,” Albus promised her.

“I have ensured Potter that her training will continue despite the recommencement of the school
year,” Snape offered, and really it shouldn’t surprise her anymore that he was able to read her so
well, “Perhaps, where appropriate, Professor Sinistra might take on some of the house obligations
that take up much of my time on those weekends where I will return to Grimmauld Place to fulfil
this promise?”

Albus nodded, “I will speak with her at her earliest convenience.”

“Excellent,” Severus replied, nodding his thanks.

“I think that concludes out business for the day then,” Albus informed them, rising from behind his
desk, “I will contact you when I have determined our next move, Rose.”

“Okay,” Rosalie replied, standing to follow him across to the floo.

“Perhaps, Severus, you’ll see Rosalie home?”

Rosalie followed Severus into the floo, her mind feeling cluttered and full. She hardly noted the
wash of green flames or the flash of heat that accompanied them as they were whisked out of
Dumbledore’s office.
They arrived back at Grimmauld Place, pressed together tightly, Severus arms keeping her
supported as they exited the floo.

“When will you have to return Hogwarts?” Rosalie asked as they made their way into the lounge.

Severus sighed, “I believe the morning of September first will be sufficient. Defence Against the
Dark Arts has significantly less pre-semester preparations to attend to—nothing that cannot be
completed in an hour or so as I have already seen to the worst of it.”

Rosalie smiled, watching as he poured himself a couple of fingers of scotch and took a seat on the
threadbare couch with the air of someone who had had a long day. She drifted across to him,
shucking off her sandals and climbing onto the couch beside him. She wedged herself in between
his body and the corner of the couch, her legs draped across his lap.

“Does that mean they’ll send someone here to take your place when you leave?” She asked, as
Severus warm hand wrapped around her ankle.

His hand skated up her leg, tracing the smooth skin idly, “It is possible, though with the Dark Lord
no longer actively seeking you out, it is less essential that you have a twenty four hour guard.
There will also be significantly less traffic through Grimmauld Place than there was over the
summer. Lupin will continue on in the same manner, whether Albus chooses to post a new guard
with such limited resources is another matter.”

Rosalie nodded thoughtfully. Her head resting back on the cushions behind her as she pondered the
notion that Dumbledore might leave her and her friends here unguarded after ensuring a round the
clock guard had not left her side since she’d arrived here at the start of summer. Remus was an
infrequent resident, becoming more and more infrequent as time pushed on. Yet who could be
spared to live alongside them, three almost fully-trained wizards? They were more than capable of
looking themselves in a crisis. Mostly. Perhaps it was best that they were left to their own devices
so that they might research Voldemort’s horcruxes without interruption or fear of discovery.

Rosalie parted her legs as Severus’ hand slid up her leg once more, where it hovered over her knee
waveringly before taking the hint and sliding back down the inside of her thigh under her dress.

Rosalie shivered pleasantly.

“Will you miss me?” She breathed canting her hips up into his hand tellingly, her eyes fixed on his
dark stare as she took the remnants of his drink from him, placing the glass on the small end table
beside the couch.

Severus sent her an arch look as his fingers ghosted over the soft tender skin of her inner thigh,
drawing a soft moan from her lips.

“I have come to appreciate you in ways I had not considered possible prior to this summer,”
Severus replied as his fingers began to caress her through the damp cotton of her underpants.
Rosalie sighed as her eyes drifted closed, taking his answer to mean ‘yes’ in Severus-speak as her
hips thrust up into his hand restlessly. Deft fingers pushed the sodden material of her underpants to
one side, her slick arousal smearing across the back of his hand as his fingers slid underneath the
material and in through her wetness.

“Severus...” she gasped as he sunk two fingers into her depths, “Oh...Will you think about this
while you’re gone? Will you think about touching me like this at night?”

Rosalie couldn’t keep the moan out of her voice as she tilted her hips up into his hand, as his
fingers began to pulse in and out of her slick channel. She clasped his shoulder in a white-knuckled
grip as she let herself succumb to the pleasure he was inflicting on her.

“Barely a day goes by now where you are not on my mind,” Severus told her heatedly, his voice
rough with need as he pushed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, pulling the front half of her
dress down to expose her breasts to the cool night air. The heat of his mouth was like a furnace
against her skin, his lips closing over the tender skin of her nipple.

“Oh!” Rosalie gasped, her fingers knotting in his hair, “Severus!”

“Your scent...” he moaned hungrily, his fingers still pumping in and out of her grasping, needy
quim, “your taste, the heat of your cunt wrapped around me—it’s all branded into my very being.”

“Severus...” Rosalie panted breathlessly at his words and the feel of his fingers thrusting deep
inside of her, his thumb keeping a steady pressure bearing down over her clit. Restless need had her
bucking up into his hand as dizzying lust fogged her brain and blurred her vision.

“You’re intoxicating,” Severus growled. His teeth tugged on her nipple gently before he suckled
her breast into his mouth, her whole areola disappearing past his lips.

“Please!” Rosalie gasped, “Please...”

She was close to orgasm, her whole body ringing with the feel of her impending release. Arousal
was soaking her core, smearing across her thighs and the wet sounds of Severus’ hand pleasuring
her beneath her skirt only made her hotter. Needier.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped, her fingers tightening convulsively in his hair as she writhed in
his lap, his mouth still suckling at her breast.

“I want you to,” Severus told her matter-of-factly, pressing the words into her skin.

As if on command, Rosalie cried out as her orgasm thundered over her, her body tensing as she
clamped down around his fingers, hips bucking un-rhythmically as pleasure shook her to her core.

“Fuck,” she sobbed, her eyes watering as he frigged his fingers in and out of her furiously, drawing
out her release as long as physically possible as he worked her needy flesh through its undoing.

Rosalie gasped in a huge breath as she sagged in his arm, her whole body going limp, completely
and utterly sated. She whimpered as he withdrew his fingers from her overly sensitized body. His
hand was sodden with her release, yet she couldn’t dredge up the will to be embarrassed by it.
Instead she watched as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, his eyes fixed on hers heatedly.

“Exquisite.”

She didn’t know whether he was referring to her or the taste of her release, but a powerful wave of
possessiveness tore through her and she pulled his mouth into hers, kissing him with fierce longing.

This man.

This man.

“This is what I’ll think about while I’m touching myself at night,” Rosalie whispered as they
parted, not sure where this sudden boldness was coming from but content to go with it while it
lasted.
Slipping from his lap she settled onto her knees in the vee between his parted legs. This time, no
house elf would be around to interrupt them, she thought as she freed Severus’ cock from within
his trousers carefully. He looked painfully erect; the flesh flushed a dark red with desperate need.

“Rose,” Severus hissed as she took him into her mouth, his mind’s eye going rampant with visions
of Rosalie touching herself feverishly beneath the covers of her doona, fingers buried deep in her
own heat as she dreamt of him. It was a stimulating thought, not quite as stimulating as her mouth
tightening around his shaft, though, her head bobbing up and down his length with enthusiasm.
This wouldn’t take long, he thought, his body already coiled tight with need.

Severus groaned as she sucked powerfully on his cock, her hands dropping down to fondle soft
skin of his scrotum and stroke the remaining length that she couldn’t fit into her mouth. His hips
bucked up into her face involuntarily, “Sorry.”

Rosalie’s dark lashes fluttered open to stare up at him, her Avada Kedavra-green eyes holding him
captivated as she withdrew enough to let her hands take over the pumping of his shaft as she
suckled on the head of his cock.

“I’m almost there,” Severus groaned as he threaded his fingers through the soft strands of her hair.
The pressure was building in his balls, flooding up through his body achingly as he climbed higher
and higher.

He groaned loudly, body spasming as the first thick rope of his release filled her mouth. Rosalie
startled and pulled back, moving to one side as she continued to pump him, letting his release
decorate the floor in pearlescent strands.

Severus sighed deeply and let his head fall back against the couch.

Rosalie smirked as she climbed up off the floor, moving the straddle his lap.

Severus peered at her through heavy-lidded eyes, his arms wrapping about her waist as she settled
against his chest. Warmth was suffusing every neglected, tired molecule of his body and he felt
loose with contentment.

“We should take this upstairs,” Rosalie whispered, her lips pressed against the side of his neck.
Aware of how brazen they’d been to even contemplate being so intimate so openly.

Severus smirked tiredly, “You’ll be the death of me.”

Rosalie grinned, “Never.”

Rosalie sighed as she relaxed back onto the picnic rug they’d pulled out into the backyard, letting
the heat of the sun warm her through. This would probably be one of their last warm days of
summer and with little else planned for the day Rosalie was determined to make the most of it. It
had already been an unusually warm season, but with September bearing down on them the
weather would start to cool rapidly as winter drew nearer and days like these, bright, warm and
clear, would soon be behind them. Rosalie was already dreading the long winter months she would
have to spend locked away here at Grimmauld Place, summer hadn’t been nearly so depressing.

“Ron’s not coming, is he?”

Hermione shook her head solemnly, adjusting the straps on her dress so that she would tan evenly,
“he just needs time, Rose.”
“He wasn’t nearly this upset over Lavender—he actually dated her,” Rosalie huffed.

Hermione chuckled, “I’m not actually sure you can call what Ron and Lavender had ‘dating’.
Mostly they just snogged. A lot.”

Rosalie grimaced, “Don’t remind me.”

“I think he really thought he’d have a chance with you,” Hermione offered, rolling onto her
stomach so she could look down at her best friends face, “He’s pretty torn up over it. Mrs. Weasley
is even at a loss with him.”

“He told his mum?” Rosalie gasped, her face flaming with embarrassment.

“No, but I think she’s put two and two together. She has raised five other boys before him. I’m sure
she has a better idea of what Ron’s going through than Ron does.”

Rosalie groaned and covered her face with her hands, “this is humiliating. She’s going to hate me
for rejecting him.”

Hermione scoffed, “don’t be ridiculous. Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t do anything of the sort. She might
like the idea of you dating Ron, but she probably knows that he isn’t well suited to you—everyone
can see that.”

Rosalie gave her friend a look, “Everyone but Ron—and what do you mean ‘everyone can see
that’?”

Hermione shrugged, “You need someone who is strong enough to let you lean on them; someone
who can look past all the fame and the nonsense and not buckle under the pressures of having their
life thrown into the spotlight. You need someone who sees ‘Rose’ and not the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’,
because even though she’s amazing, that’s not you.”

Rosalie felt like she might explode with emotion, she was so incredibly touched that there was
someone in this world who understood her so well, “and that’s not Ron.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, “As much as Ron loves you—and I really think he does—he still gets
caught up in the hype from time to time. You have everything in life that he’s always dreamed of,
and... I don’t think he really gets it.”

“He kissed me,” Rosalie admitted quietly, throwing her arm over her eyes to both block out the sun
and to avoid having to look her best friend in the eye.

“He what!?” Hermione gasped, leaning in intensely and pulling the arm from her face, “When?
Wait, that was a stupid question—it was the other night, right? How...how was it?”

Rosalie grimaced, “Awkward. Sweaty.”

Hermione made a face, “Better than Cedric? Or Neville?”

Rosalie shook her head, “It wasn’t like that. You can’t compare them—I wanted to kiss Nev and
Cedric. Ron just kind of launched himself at me. I think he was trying to convince me to give him
a chance...”

The memory of it made her cringe internally. It wouldn’t be fair to judge Ron on the ability of that
kiss; Lavender would have ditched him way sooner if that was as good as it got. No one wanted
clammy hands pawing at their face as wet eager lips mashed against theirs. Gross. It wasn’t Ron’s
finest hour, she was sure and so she wouldn’t do him the disservice of dissecting it like Hermione
and her had gossiped about others in the past.

“I’ve always king of wondered what it would be like, though,” Hermione admitted with a pink
flush to her cheeks, “in fourth year—before Viktor—I thought for a while that I might fancy him.
Then, of course, Viktor asked me to the ball.”

Rosalie smiled, “and little Her-my-oh-ninny was never the same again.”

Hermione’s flush grew deeper, “Well, he was just so different, wasn’t he? Intense. It was hard not
to get swept up in that intensity with him. The boys at Hogwarts were all so immature.”

“Do you keep in contact with him?” Rosalie asked.

Hermione nodded, “Not as much recently with everything that’s been going on, but we still write
one another.”

“Do you think you and he might ever get back together someday? Properly, I mean?” Rosalie
inquired lightly as she too rolled onto her stomach so she was pressed shoulder to shoulder with her
friend.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t think so. But, who knows? Stranger things happen everyday.”

‘Like Severus and I getting together,’ Rosalie pondered, wondering how Hermione would react to
such news. She ripped absently at the long grass as she imagined that conversation. Hermione was
perhaps the one person she could imagine taking the news in her stride. She imagined her friend
would have some concerns over the fact that Severus was once their teacher, especially because
she knew Hermione intended to go back to school just as soon as this war was over, but out of
everyone, Hermione seemed to understand her friendship with Severus—or at least accept it
without question. A part of her desperately wanted to tell her friend everything. So many huge and
exciting emotions were rioting inside her at the prospect of being able to share her happiness with
someone—someone she considered family. The risk though was too great. Hermione had a track
record of putting what she believed was ‘right’ before everything else. What if she didn’t agree
with the idea of Severus and her being together and went to Dumbledore? Severus seemed to
strongly believe the Headmaster would take the news of them seeing one another badly. Rosalie
wasn’t convinced either way, but assuming the worst, how would Dumbledore reach to such news?
What if he forced them apart? What if Severus was persecuted over this? She couldn’t risk losing
him when they were doing nothing wrong. Nothing that had happened between them was illegal,
but there would be those who believed they had a say in her life, and they would be angry—Ron,
the Weasley’s, Remus...

“I just hope this mess with Ron blows over soon,” Rosalie said on a sigh, “you guys will be coming
to stay soon and we’ll need to be able to work together.”

“Just treat him the same as always,” Hermione counselled, “He’s feeling humiliated right now, but
when he realises that nothing has changed between you because of it, he’ll move on.”

Rosalie nodded decisively, “You’re right.”

“You should be flattered to have so many men interest in you,” Hermione continued after a beat,
her voice cautiously curious, “not that I’m surprised. You’re gorgeous.”

Rosalie frowned.

“What do you mean ‘so many men’?” she parroted.

“You know,” Hermione hedged, “Ron...Snape...” she sing-songed, her eyes cutting sideways to
analyse Rosalie’s response.

“Snape?” Rosalie gasped feeling like she’d suddenly been doused in ice water as she stared at her
best friend in shock. She couldn’t know. Surely not.

Hermione nodded with a role of her eyes, “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed—he’s changed so
much over the last few months, it’s obvious! He’s a different person when he’s around you, Rose.
Just look at the way he defended you the other night when Ginny spilled the beans about Ron and
Ron made to go after you. I mean, just the fact that he even got involved is huge! You can see it in
his eyes.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly, her heart knocking painfully against her chest

“See what?” she whispered.

“That he cares for you,” Hermione told her seriously, “I’ve never seen him more human than when
he’s around you. You’ve changed him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—it doesn’t mean that he’s interested in me,” She replied, going for
dismissive and hitting awkward and embarrassed instead. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

Hermione shrugged, clearly disagreeing but not forcing the issue, “I guess not, it’s just a feeling
that I have. He watches you so intensely sometimes.”

Ron had said the same thing to her at Bill’s wedding, “He’s my bodyguard; it’s his job—”

“—one he takes very seriously,” Hermione finished, talking over her protestations,” that night you
returned from the cave and we thought...that you might die? I’ve never seen him so angry. He was
furious at Dumbledore for risking your life. He was terrified it was already too late. He didn’t
guard his face very well that night. If you’d seen it, maybe you’d agree with me.”

Rosalie was speechless. She’d known, of course, how angry he’d been. He’d still be furious days
later when he’d found her in the kitchen and they’d vented all their hurt, fear and frustrations out
on one another in his lab. Why hadn’t Hermione said anything before now, though, if she’d
known?

“He didn’t leave Grimmauld Place the whole time you were in the infirmary,” Hermione
continued, “He was in the foulest of moods the entire time and we avoided him like crazy. Things
didn’t change until you woke up again and then things just...went back to normal. That was when I
started to realise that he cared for you. I mean, we’re your best friends and Molly, Arthur and
Remus are like family to you and I think he might have been more distraught than all of us put
together.”

Rosalie’s didn’t know how to respond to that. Nothing she said would change her friend’s mind at
this point and Rosalie didn’t blame her—the evidence seemed rather compelling.

“Does Ron know?”

“I think he’s picked up on it subconsciously, but no, I don’t think he actually knows,” Hermione
told her, “You like him too, don’t you.”

“Would you be angry if I said yes?” Rosalie whispered.

Hermione bumped shoulders with her, “I’m not really all that surprised, to be honest. I think you
and Snape understand one another on a level Ron and I never will. I can see how it would be
appealing, to have someone who understands you so completely.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d understand,” Rosalie admitted with a small smile, looking up into her best
friends big brown eyes.

“I didn’t at first,” Hermione confessed, “When I realised what I was seeing from Snape I was
shocked and angry. My first thought was that it was wrong and that he’d been lusting after you
inappropriately—I didn’t know what to do about it though, since it was only my observation and as
far as I knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Then I noticed that your behaviour had
changed too and I didn’t get what you saw in him. It was actually Ron that made me realise what
you must see in him. Ron is still enamoured by the idea of the Girl-Who-Lives, he loves the idea of
adventure and fame, but Snape never subscribed to all that hype. To him you have always been just
Rosalie Potter, even when he hated you. He gets you.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I’m not saying I don’t think you could do better, Rose, but I get why you’re attracted to him,”
Hermione finished.

“You don’t care that he was our teacher?” Rosalie hedged.

Hermione shrugged, “The magical world has different rules to the muggle world for a reason—
teacher/student relationships are not forbidden. Plus, he’s not technically your teacher anymore. I
have more issue with the fact that he’s twenty years older that you—but even that is a muggle
thing. Molly and Arthur have twelve years between them! Age is less important in wizarding
terms.”

Rosalie sighed, “Somehow, I don’t think anyone else would be so understanding.”

“You might be surprised,” Hermione pointed out, “There actually isn’t anything illegal to stop you
two from being together if that’s what you really wanted. At least not now that you are legally
considered an adult.”

Rosalie blushed, “I doubt that will matter to most people. The fact that I dared to stray from their
perfect ideal will be the real issue.”

“That and, well...Snape’s just isn’t all that nice, is he?” Hermione offered.

“He may not be the perfect pin-up hero of the Light I’m expected to get together with, but who is?
Snape is a good man, he’s done and sacrificed more for our cause than anyone else,” Rosalie
defended heatedly.

Hermione nodded awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Rosalie apologised, “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t know, but I have had a lot more to work with than most people,
I guess.”

Rosalie nodded, her fingers compulsively tearing up blades of grass and letting the drift to the
ground like confetti. She hadn’t counted on someone figuring it all out, but she should have known
Hermione would guess, she was too smart for her own good. She considered briefly telling
Hermione the whole truth, but something held her back. Knowing she had a thing for Snape was
one thing, knowing that they’d acted on it was another and she was feeling suddenly reticent about
sharing anything further.

“Please, don’t say anything,” Rosalie asked quietly, her gaze locking on her friend’s imploringly.

“Of course not,” Hermione assured her, “It’s no one’s business but your own.”

It was with mixed emotions that Rosalie greeted her friends as they arrived by floo a handful of
days later, toting their trunks behind them. Hermione wrapped her up in a tight hug the minute
she’d cleared the floo, a determined smile etched into her face as she drew back. Rosalie returned
the smile, genuinely pleased to see her friend.

“Perhaps now we will be able to make some headway in all this mess,” Hermione offered,
“condensing out resources will help enormously.”

Rosalie nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she told her friend sincerely, “—both of you,” she continued, glancing over
Hermione’s shoulder into Ron’s unblinking blue eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him properly
since he’d confessed his love to her and the expression on his face was like a fist to the stomach,
forcing the air from her lungs and making her feel vaguely nauseated.

“Hi,” he offered, his tone somewhat subdued.

Rosalie smiled back at him, the brittle expression stretching tightly across her face before flaking
out of existence all together.

Was she supposed to just ignore the kicked puppy-dog looks that he was shooting her, his wide
eyes forlorn and gazing at her so damned earnestly? This was not the reaction she'd anticipated
having to deal with. She’d expected his anger. She’d expected for him to snub her and make her
life difficult by refusing to talk to her in an attempt to save face. Ron was usually so quick to anger
—it was his default emotional setting ninety percent of the time—she didn’t feel prepared to deal
with this new side of him.

‘He’s genuinely hurt; and he wants to make sure I know it,’ she though uncomfortably, guilt
twisting poisonously in her stomach. Guilt and a touch of anger. He’d have made a bigger
impression on her—a better impression—if he’d sucked it up and treated her like nothing had
changed. She didn’t want this to ruin friendship, but it felt like he was trying to guilt her into
changing her mind and the idea that he might try to manipulate her like that filled her with
resentment.

Rosalie felt instantly guilty for thinking Ron capable of such a thing.

“Shall we take our things up?” Hermione asked brightly, cutting through the awkward silence that
had settled between them.

“Sure,” Rosalie replied, turning from the heavy weight of Ron’s eyes as she lead them from the
kitchen.

“Mum said she’d floo through with dinner,” Ron offered sullenly as they made their way up the
stairs, “She’s out of sorts about us coming to stay here and she doesn’t trust Kreacher not to try and
poison us.”

“We had to talk her out of moving in with us,” Hermione added, her tone clearly exasperated and
Rosalie wondered how long and hard that battle had been, “This was the only way we could get
her to agree.”

“She wants to know if Moony is staying with us so she knows how many to cook for,” Ron asked.

Rosalie nodded, “He’s here.”

They trudged up the second flight of stairs together, trunks clattering along behind them as they
passed the row of mounted house elf heads without blinking an eye.

“Which room are we sharing, Rose?” Hermione asked as they cleared the landing.

“Actually, there are enough rooms for us each to have our own. This one here is yours, ‘Mione. I
thought, given my sleeping habits, it might be nicer for you if you were in your own room,”
Rosalie replied gesturing the door that they were standing in front of.

Hermione frowned, “You’re still not sleeping?” ‘

“On and off. Some nights are better than others,” Rosalie shrugged.

“Where am I?” Ron asked.

“You’ve got your usual room,” Rosalie replied, “Remus’ room is this one at the top of the stairs.
I’m across from him and Snape’s room is down the far end of the hall. He won’t be around much
anymore since Hogwarts is back for the year, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him too much.”

Ron grimaced, “Good.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hermione said as she pushed open the door to her room, “normally this time
of year we’d be getting ready to return to Hogwarts for another year—out final year! It’s odd to
think that we won’t be going back.”

Rosalie nodded, “I know, I keep thinking about what’s ahead of us—it all seems so big.
Impossible, almost. When I think about everything we’ve already been through, though—it’s a
wonder we passed any of our classes as it is.”

“We did alright,” Ron offered flopping listlessly back onto Hermione’s bed. The mattress groaned
nosily under his weight, “Needs a silencing charm, this does.”

“I think I’ll go back,” Hermione said, “once this is all behind us, I want to graduate properly and sit
my NEWTs.”

“Urgh!” Ron moaned, “I don’t even want to think about school work again until I have to!”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Well, you’ll have to go back if you want to become an Auror,” She pointed out tartly, swiping his
booted feet off the end of her bed, “What about you, Rose?”

Rosalie was silent as she contemplated Hermione’s question, “I guess I haven’t really let myself
consider the future too closely. Everything seems so....uncertain.”

“But if we can...?” Ron prompted, “What then?”

Rosalie shrugged, avoiding their gazes, “I’m not sure. Perhaps just in the subjects that I need? I’m
not sure I could just go back to being a student after everything.”
Hermione nodded, “I know what you mean, but then I remember that being a student is what I am
meant to be doing. Being a student is normal—not this. I don’t want to let this change who I am
underneath it all.”

“How can it not?” Rosalie asked, “I already feel it changing me and not only in bad ways.”

“Good experience for becoming an Auror this is,” Ron chimed in, completely missing her point—
or maybe purposefully changing the subject, “Perhaps we won’t need out NEWTs if we spend the
next year hunting down bad guys. That’s the job description, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to be an Auror anymore,” Rosalie said quietly.

“What?” Ron asked, sitting up in shock as he stared at her agape, “What are you talking about?
You and me—we’ve always wanted to become Aurors. How could you suddenly not?”

Rosalie swallowed thickly at the thunderstruck look on his face. She had the distinct impression
she’d just shaken his foundations to the core for the second time in a week and he looked like
anything more might break him completely. Bit by bit she was tearing down the image of her he
held on a pedestal inside his mind. Did Ron ever really know her? Did he ever even see her—
Rosalie?

“All of this?” Rosalie said, waving her hands in the air as if to gesture at their currently situation in
general, “It’s made me realise that I don’t want to spend my life chasing down evil wizards. When
this is over, I want to be able to put it all behind me and move on.”

“but—”

“What do you want to do instead?” Hermione asked.

“I think...,” Rosalie started; suddenly shy about announcing her intentions, “I think I want to
become a Healer.”

Hermione smiled, “I think you’d be a fantastic Healer.”

“But, don’t you need a NEWT in Potions to become a Healer?” Ron prompted his face still aghast.

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, but I did okay in Potion’s last year with Slughorn. I think I could do it if I
really worked for it.”

“Of course you can,” Hermione smiled, “I’m sure Snape would mentor you in Potions as well if
you asked him.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not sure what I want to do; there is so much to choose from!” Hermione said, “Maybe
something in the research field, or in politics?”

“Yeah, well, we have a war to win first,” Ron cut in, flopping back onto the bed, once more, “and
four more Horcruxes to figure out, find and destroy.”

Hermione nodded with a frown, “I think we need to focus our research on the remaining Hogwarts
heirlooms, namely the Hufflepuff Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem. Gryffindor’s sword is out for
obvious reasons. Regulus Black clearly seemed to have his suspicious regarding Hufflepuff and
Ravenclaw, though—he may have been given cause to suspect them. Since we don’t know where
we got his information I think we should exhaust the possibility that he is correct before we look
 elsewhere.”

Rosalie worried her lip, “that still leaves two unaccounted for.”

“But it’s a start.”

Silence settled over them thickly as they each descended into thought. Ron was scowling fiercely
at the ceiling, his body language tense and unhappy and she wondered if he was thinking about
Voldemort’s horcruxes or her.

Rosalie sighed.

“I’m going to go unpack,” Ron stated abruptly, climbing to his feet and exiting the room without a
backwards glance.

Rosalie turned and watched him leave helplessly.

“Just ignore him,” Hermione offered, “He just needs to calm down. Give him a few days to settle
in.”

Rosalie nodded unhappily, feeling tense with stress. This was not how she’d hoped things would
start out between them now that they were all living together for the foreseeable future. How had
things changed so much? Even before this debacle with Ron confessing his love she felt like she’d
hardly been able to have a conversation with him without things inevitably devolving into an
argument—usually over Snape. How could one deepening relationship throw so much of her life
into a tailspin? Ron, Remus—could she have changed that much that she no longer fit into the
relationships of her old life? Did the blame for the breakdown in these relationships lie at squarely
at her feet as the only common factor between the two? She’d never felt more disconnected from
people she considered family and it hurt to think that that connection might be lost. She didn’t
know how to fix things between them though, not without telling them the truth about her
relationship with Snape and she wasn’t sure she was ready to make that leap of faith.

Rosalie offered her friend a tight smile, “Thanks, ‘Mione. I’ll let you get settled in.”

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the delay, I ended up needing a couple of days to settle back into life after
my holidays :) Hope you’re all still with me!

~Quill
 Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Twenty One

The days started cooling rapidly as September bore down on them with all the finesse of a charging
bull, chasing away the last days of an unusually warm summer as the sky turned increasingly grey.
Rosalie felt her mood darken with the sky as days turned into weeks and suddenly it was mid-
September. Two weeks without news from either Dumbledore or Severus. Two weeks of tediously
combing through reference after reference on the Hufflepuff Cup and Ravenclaw’s Diadem and
coming up blank. Two weeks of constantly walking on eggshells around Ron. Two weeks of Mrs.
Weasley ‘popping’ in three times a day to check on them and make sure ‘they’d eaten’ (which was
really just code for making sure they were still alive).

Rosalie felt like she was going to go crazy. Time felt like it was slipping through her fingers every
moment they didn’t spend hunting down and destroying Voldemort’s Horcruxes, yet they were at a
dead end. Even Hermione’s determination was beginning to wane as they failed to generate any
new information to support their theories. They spent less and less time ‘researching’ every day
and Rosalie was beginning to feel a clawing sense of desperation deep within.

Everyday Mrs. Weasley brought snippets of news along with her: attacks on muggles and muggle-
born homes were increasing; less and less people were turning up for work each day; the Prophet
had begun a weekly ‘Missing Persons’ register; The Minister of Magic had finally declared the
Wizarding World at war against the You-Know-Who and his supporters; Hogwarts enrolment
numbers were at an all time low and yet, two weeks in, student hostility and inter-house rivalry had
never been worse. The world had begun to spiral around them and Rosalie felt like they were
bobbing around in limbo, bored and waiting for something to happen that would force them to
action. The war was at once worlds away from them and breathing down the back of their necks
and they were trapped at Grimmauld Place with nothing to focus their attention on. Most days
Rosalie spent hiding from Ron and his labile mood swings. She didn’t know how many different
ways she could explain to him that it wasn’t that she didn’t like him, she just wasn’t attracted to
him. Each and every time he cornered her he took her refusal like a knife to the heart and stormed
off from her in a red-faced and emotional. She wished he would just let it go and stop punishing
them both with it at every opportunity. His injured eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went,
unable to decide on how he should be approaching the situation to achieve the desired outcome and
so chopping and changing as the mood struck. Severus’ lab was the only place he wouldn’t come
looking for her and Rosalie had taken to secreting herself away in there to avoid having another
one of those conversations with him every time Hermione left the room.

She’d transfigured a small sofa into the corner of the room and at first it had seemed like the
perfect solution, but as the days passed by with no word, thinking about Severus—whilst she was
sitting in his lab surrounded by his things—seemed unavoidable. Was he really so busy that he
couldn’t even write to her? Or had physical distance made old doubts manifest once more? Was he
using Hogwarts as an excuse to avoid her?

Rosalie sighed, her thoughts once more coming a full circle as she looked down at the letter she’d
penned over an hour ago and had yet to send. It was more of a note really.

I heard things have been unsettled since your return. I hope it begins to improve soon.
Life here has been quite as always.
I didn’t know whether or not it was okay to write. I hope this is okay.
I miss you.

Rosalie looked it over with a critical eye. She’d tried to be appropriately vague, but she worried she
sounded too abrupt. She’d written it six times though and it always ended up sounding the same: ‘I
get that you’re busy. I’m sorry. Things here are fine. I miss you’.

Still, she was anxious about sending it. Or rather, she was worried about how it would be received,
both for the content (‘I miss you’) and for the fact that they hadn’t discussed communicating via
letters before he’d left. Neither of them had expected they would be apart this long she supposed,
but in hindsight it seemed stupid not to have thought of such a thing.

It had taken her three days to build up the courage to put pen to paper and although she wanted to
write to Severus and tell him that Ron was driving her crazy, that she felt like she’d go mad if she
had to spend even another week at Grimmauld Place and that Mrs. Weasley’s presence was nearly
so constant that it was stifling, she kept it simple.

Rosalie skimmed through the letter once more wondering if the unasked ‘Do you still want me?’
was obvious. The last thing she wanted to come across as was desperate, but Severus had shaken
her trust in him once already and she kept half expecting the other shoe to drop and for Severus to
change his mind. Rosalie had assumed their relationship was more than just physical on some
deeper level, but they’d been so wrapped up in the elation of the physical aspect of their
relationship they hadn’t taken the time to talk about things.

Folding up the letter Rosalie sealed it with a small blob of wax, watching slowly as it began to cool
and harden the minute it hit the paper. The thought of sending it set loose a kaleidoscope of
butterflies inside of her.
“Kreacher!”

The decrepit elf appeared before her, bowing so low his head almost touched the floor, “Mistress
calls?”

Rosalie held out the letter to the elf, “Kreacher, I need you to deliver this letter to Hogwarts for me.
It is very important that no one other than Professor Snape finds out about it, though. I need you to
deliver it to him while he is alone. Can you do that for me?”

Kreacher inclined his head accepting the letter, “Kreacher be delivering you your letter to the
Professor.”

Rosalie nodded, “Good.”

The elf disapparated abruptly with the letter in tow and Rosalie felt a wave of nervous energy pass
over her in a nauseating prickle. It was done. Hopefully Severus would have her letter before
nightfall.

It was past midnight by the time Severus made it back to his quarters. The latest incident, in a
string of incidents that had occurred since Hogwarts had reopened for the school year, had
involved a Slytherin girl’s arm almost being entirely amputated by an overzealous severing charm
intended to remove the left sleeve of her school robes. The Gryffindor boy at fault had been
attempting to expose her as a Death Eater and had instead ended up with a three week suspension
and detention with Minerva until the end of the year upon his return. Severus had spent the last
three hours shut away in Headmaster’s office with Albus and the girl’s parents discussing the
matter and trying to dissuade them from pulling their daughter out of the school.

Children were beasts.

A headache had settled in, beating out a steady tattoo behind his eyes as he sunk down into his
favourite armchair and summoned tumbler and a bottle of Ogden’s.

“Go away.” Severus ordered as he heard the soft crack! of a house elf apparating into the room.

“Kreacher be delivering a letter to the Professor from his Mistress,” the elf insisted.

“A letter?” Severus glanced sharply at the elf, “Well then?”

Kreacher nodded, handing over the folded parchment.

Severus took the proffered letter, dismissing the decrepit elf back to Grimmauld Place even as he
cracked the wax seal. Quick eyes darted over the contents—a handful of words in Rosalie’s messy
scrawl—and remarkably Severus felt something inside of him come loose.
‘I miss you.’

He was shocked to realise that the sentiment was returned. He had thought he pull would lessen
with distance between them, but his desire to see her was as intense as it had been the morning that
he left her, wrapped in his sheets at Grimmauld Place.

Severus smoothed his thumb across the parchment, rereading the words. When had he last had
someone in his life who could genuinely say they missed him when he wasn’t around? His mother
perhaps? Albus? It was a foreign feeling to realise that he was important to someone else’s
wellbeing and peace of mind. He didn’t know how to respond, or if he even should. They’d not
discussed keeping a correspondence once he’d returned to Hogwarts. There were inherent risks in
putting anything down on paper at a time like this and to do so was to put themselves at
unnecessary risk. Yet, in typical fashion, Rosalie had managed to sidestep most of danger involved
by forgoing the use of owls in exchange for houselves—magically bound and unable to disobey a
direct order from their master.

Once upon at time he would have called her cunning arrogance.

Placing the letter aside, Severus summoned a parchment and quill.

I feel I owe you an apology for my absence the last fortnight. It was not my intention
on returning here that we would remain out of contact for as long as we have. As your
letter suggested, the transition on returning this year has been significantly more
trying than usual. Children are beasts to one another. They are acting out in fear and
it has taken all our attention to keep them from causing serious damage to one
another. There have been several near misses already—one that has taken most of my
evening to resolve. It makes me long for the relative simplicity of a summer spent
straddling the barbed line of morality.

I hope to be able to return soon.

The words flowed with surprising ease and Severus nodded in satisfaction as he reread its contents.
Rosalie would be disappointed if she were expecting effusive words of love in return, but he felt
confident that she knew him better than to expect something so out of character from him.

He sealed the letter shut with a flick of his wand as it occurred to him, somehow, after years of
solitude interspersed with brief flings and one night stands, that he’d found himself in relationship.

Severus snorted in self-depreciating amusement. He had no idea how to be in a relationship, but he

couldn’t pretend he was invested in its outcome. He only hoped he was enough. He wasn’t a nice
man, or a particularly good one by his standards, but Rosalie shared a connection with him that he
hadn’t felt since he’d been friends with her mother and he’d stopped worrying about what that said
of him as a person. There could be no confusion or overlap between the two women, as different as
night and day, but as equally kind and caring as they were fierce and powerful.

“Dobby!”

“Professor Snape, Sir!” Dobby cried as he appeared before him.

“Take this to Rosalie. Make sure she receives it whilst she is alone. No one but Rosalie must know
of the letter,” Severus instructed handing the elf his letter, “Do you understand?”

Dobby nodded his head vigorously, “Dobby be understanding you perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Go then.”

Rosalie barely had time to prepare herself for Albus’ arrival from the time she received his note to
the time the Headmaster stepped out of the floo and ushered her into the lounge at Grimmauld
Place. Ron and Hermione were already abed for the evening when she’d received the
Headmaster’s note, informing her to dress warmly in preparation to leave the wards. After weeks
of waiting, they were finally to destroy the locket.

Throwing on her warmest clothes, Rosalie had dashed down the stairs to await his arrival, shocked
when he’d arrived just moments later in a flurry of heat and ash as he stepped from the floo and
swept her into a brief hug.

“How have you been keeping, my dear?” Albus asked as Rosalie hugged him back offering him a
slight smile.

“Things are okay,” Rosalie shrugged, “Even Hermione is finding it difficult to fill in the time with
anything constructive, though. Not that I’m complaining, sir, I understand the importance of my
own safety but I feel like we might all go crazy some days.”

Albus nodded sagely, motioning for her to take the seat across from him on the lounge as they
entered the room, “I understand that this is difficult for you and I thank you for your patience and
understanding. All is not lost, however, as I have something that you might direct your attentions
towards over the coming days to help break up the monotony.”

“Oh?” Rosalie asked, lifting her eyebrows enquiringly as she accepted the cup of tea passed to her.

Albus nodded, stirring two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his own tea, “As you know, our research
has led us to believe that Voldemort has hidden each of his Horcruxes in a location of some
significance to him.”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes.”

“I have come to believe he may have hidden one of his horcruxes in the house belonging to his
muggle relatives in Little Hangleton. Not only is it the site of three significant deaths for him, as he
murdered his three remaining muggle relatives inside the house, but it was also his chosen place of
rebirth. The symmetry, perhaps, appealed to him at the time; I believe the house represents both
the past and the future to him,” Albus explained.

Rosalie absorbed this information quietly, her mind recalling the events of the Graveyard
unbidden. Certainly significant—so significant, in fact, that she couldn’t believe one of them hadn’t
thought of it sooner, it seemed so obvious.
“Which horcrux do you believe he’s hidden there?” She asked, gazing up into his curious blue eyes
as she sipped absently at her tea.

“It is my belief that we will find the Hufflepuff cup there.”

Rosalie nodded once, “So, how do we get it?”

“Preliminary investigations suggest that Voldemort abandoned the house following his rebirth and
it appears to have remained dormant since that time. If I am correct in believing this to be one of
our locations, I would expect there to be powerful enchantments still protecting the building—a
sure sign that something of worth is still being housed within,” Albus declared, eyes alight with the
prospect of discovery. Rosalie felt her face forming a smile in return, “If nothing else it is cause for
further investigations if only to rule it out.”

“Will you send someone to investigate the wards?” Rosalie asked.

“I will visit the property myself,” Albus nodded, “If my findings lead me to believe there is
something within we shall return with a team of people.”

Rosalie nodded in understanding, “Good.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Albus chuckled, this eyes twinkling with mischief.

Rosalie flushed.

“Now, once you have finished you tea, I believe it is time we dealt with Slytherin’s Locket once
and for all,” Albus said as he pulled himself to his feet, “We will need to leave the wards for a
time, my dear, in case the excess outflow of magic interrupts their power. We cannot risk exposing
this location, even for a second.”

Rosalie quickly drained the last dregs of her tea and stood. A slight tremor ran through her fingers
as she swiped her suddenly sweaty palms against the rough denim of her jeans.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she took his outstretched hand.

“Stonehenge.”

They apparated directly into the world heritage site and Rosalie gaped at the giant bluestone slabs
surrounding them like silent sentinels of strength. She could feel the power radiating off of them,
surrounding them with their energy. Perhaps this was why muggles visited by the hundreds—
thousands—each year. Surely they too must be able to sense its power? An intense and timeless
force that had stood against the test of time, it radiated strength too strong and too pure to go
unnoticed. It was awe inspiring.

“Muggles have only theories as to what Stonehenge once was—a burial ground? An astrological
calendar? An ancient ceremonial site?” Albus told her as he reached out to lay his hand flat on the
surface of the nearest stone, “the truth is that it has always been a magical site of great power, built
by wizards to sit directly over the ley lines that run through this region. It was built as a place of
ritual and worship; in recent times, however, it is rarely used as our ancestors intended it to be, as
many of the Old Rites have fallen out of practice.”

“Why here?” Rosalie asked curiously, “It seems wrong to defile such a place with Voldemort’s
evil.”

Albus shook his head, “Stonehenge does not discriminate against magic as we do. Power is power.
It all comes from nature. The nature of these stones is that they absorb the magic of the earth and
that which surrounds them. By coming here, I hope to contain the potential outburst of magic by
allowing it to be absorbed into the stones that surround us.”

“Like some kind of magical dampener?” she marvelled.

“Of a sort,” Albus agreed, “Come.”

Rosalie followed the Headmaster into the centre of the stone circles where the pulse of magic
humming around them felt the strongest. She could feel it in the Earth beneath her feet, vibrating
up through her legs and spine and out through her peripheries. She could feel it in the air around
her, caressing her skin like the crisp dew of a spring morning. It was electric. It was energising.
She breathed in deeply, letting it settle into her lungs and filter through her body until she could
feel it humming in every cell of her being.

Albus pulled the locket out from deep within his robes and lay it out on the soft grass between
them. It trembled ominously, flipping to and fro, backwards and forwards, face up and then
facedown under the pull of magic surrounding them.

“It will fight its destruction,” Albus told her as he summoned Gryffindor’s Sword, the bright metal
gleaming in the light of the moon as the hum of steel rang out through the night. Rosalie felt
something in her cringe back from the weapon as it swept between them innocuously and she
shivered at the twinge of fear that momentarily gripped her.

She shivered, shaking the feeling off, passing off her reaction as anxiety over what was about to
occur. The only other horcrux that she’d witnessed the destruction to had been Tom Riddle’s diary.
Would the locket manifest a version of Tom Riddle as his diary had all those years ago? She
wasn’t sure she was ready for such an eventuality.

“Will we see him? Can the soul manifest?” Rosalie asked nervously, stress turning her voice thin
and brittle even to her own ears.

“Whatever face it may present us, know that it is a lie,” Albus replied, but it did little to ease her
apprehension.

Rosalie recalled the boy she had met in the Chamber of Secrets, how he had tried to convince her
that they were one and the same, driven by the same tragedies and experiences. The fear that she
would or could morph into something so grotesque had haunted her for weeks after the incident in
the Chamber, but she knew now that at their core, where it counted, she was nothing like Tom
Riddle. She never would be. She would not let him draw her in again.

“Okay. I’m ready,” She said with a nod, drawing her wand and holding it at the ready.

Rosalie startled as a harsh cry pierced her straight down her spine, making her hair stand on end
and fear settle in her heart. She stumbled back a step as Dumbledore swung the sword above his
head, the metal whistling through the night with deadly intent as he unleashed the battle cry that
had shaken her to her core. Rosalie swallowed thickly, forcing her heart back out of her throat as
she took in the fierce look of battled etched into his face. Her heart stuttered into gear again,
pounding painfully against her chest.

The locket shook violently as it strained against the suddenly oppressive press of magic around
them. The locket screeched as it burst open, black smoke pouring from within, thick and dark,
obliterating the night as it leeched outwards menacingly. Rosalie hissed as it wrapped around their
ankles, twisting its way up their legs until she couldn’t see past her knees any longer.
“Professor!” She gasped, but it wasn’t Dumbledore who stood before her.

Ron sneered at her, his eyes bitter and cold as the darkness encroached on him, embracing him like
a lover.

“Ron?” She called questioningly; dread gripping her, “Ron! What are you doing here! You have to
leave!”

His blue eyes cut her to the quick, “Oh, I have to leave, do I?”

“What?” Rosalie gasped in confusion.

“To think I trusted you. Loved you. Do you really think I’d stick around once I found out you’d
taken up with him? A Death Eater? Hermione and I are better off without you.”

“Wha—?”

“—Rosalie get back!” Albus yelled as he brought the sword swinging down, cutting through Ron
like he was warm butter.

Severus rose in his place, twisting up out of the ground like an apparition of death.

“Really, Potter,” He scoffed, his sneer twisting his face into a visage of poisonous hate, “You’re
just a child—”

The image flickered.

“Albus?”

Severus seemed to sink back into the locket as a young girl with long blonde hair and startlingly
blue eyes took his place. Rosalie blinked in confusion. The girl wasn’t here for her though, Rosalie
realised as the apparition turned her back on her and stretched out a beseeching hand in the
Headmaster’s direction, “Albus, I’ve missed you. I’m so alone here. Please don’t leave me again
—”

The sword struck with a brittle clang of steel that Rosalie felt somewhere deep within her own soul.
She gasped, her hand pressed against her forehead as pain prickled in her scar and the backlash of
Dark energy hit her squarely in the chest, throwing her from her feet as it blasted through her.
Rosalie hit the ground with a heavy thud that rattled her teeth and stole the breath from her lungs.

She blinked up into the night, dazed and gasping for air.

The night sky was clear and crisp. She could see every star that shone down on them with bursting
clarity. It was beautiful and vast. She’d never felt more insignificant.

The back of her head was throbbing.

“Rosalie? Are you alright?”

Rosalie couldn’t catch her breath to respond.

Albus wheezed as he crawled over to her, his own voice breathless and stunned as he called out to
her again.

Rosalie nodded, “that was...not what I expected.”

Albus helped steady her as she sat up and rubbed at the back of her head, “nor I, I must admit.”

Rosalie eyed the locket, blackened and cleaved in two. It felt barren. The magic she’d once felt
animating it was gone. It was cold and hollow.

“Is it safe to touch?” she asked as she reached out for it.

“It is harmless now; the soul in it has been destroyed.” Albus informed her as they climbed back to
their feet, “you did well.”

Rosalie turned the broken locket over in her hands, “I wasn’t expecting to see Ron. Or Snape. I’m
sorry. You told me to be prepared and I thought I was.”

“You did well,” Albus reiterated, “I too did not expect it to take on the faces of our allies and loved
ones—his creation of this horcrux and its protections was far more elaborate than I anticipated.”

“Who was the girl? At the end?” Rosalie asked curiously and then immediately realised how
invasive such a question was. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks.

Albus sighed and a gentle smile lit his face, “My sister. Her name was Arianna.”

Rosalie nodded feeling the weight of loss in his words even though he was smiling.

“Let’s hope that the rest of them aren’t like this,” Rosalie chuckled as she passed the broken
remains of Slytherin’s Locket back to the Headmaster.

“Indeed. Let us return to Grimmauld Place. It is likely you will feel somewhat drained after this
encounter—it is entirely normal after being exposed to such a degree of Dark Magic,” Albus told
her his hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly as he led them through the ancient stones of
Stonehenge.

‘Perhaps I will sleep well for once,’ Rosalie thought to herself as the trudged across the uneven
ground. She glanced up at the giant slabs of stone, unchanged in the face of so much Dark magic,
but her perception of them—of this place—had been irrevocably changed in no more than a few
minutes.

Albus apparated them back into Grimmauld Place without fanfare and Rosalie blinked as they
appeared precisely where they had left only a little over an hour before.

“I think I might head off to bed,” Rosalie said quietly, her mind full all that she had seen that night.
She bid Dumbledore goodnight and trekked her way back through the house to her bedroom. The
light under Hermione’s door was still on but she avoided it, sneaking past as silently as she was
able. The inevitable barrage of questions could wait until tomorrow. True to word, she felt deplete
of energy; she was physically, emotionally and mentally wrung out from such a brief but intense
encounter. More than anything, she wanted to be alone to think on what she’d seen and heard that
night—Ron’s anger, Severus’ disdain and her own lack of fortitude in the face of such an obvious
ruse. Shame coloured her cheeks.

‘You’re just a child.’

Rosalie huffed. Logically she knew Severus couldn’t perceive her as such. If she were nothing
more than a child in his eyes, they would never have made it to where they stood today. She
couldn’t deny that hearing it hadn’t stung though.

Rosalie slipped into her room and shut the door with a soft snick.
“Are you alright?”

Rosalie spun around in alarm. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, cast in shadows his face was
concealed in darkness, but he was the most welcome thing she’d seen all day.

“Severus,” she breathed, crossing the room to his side.

His embrace enveloped her completely, “Are you well? I felt you return through the wards with the
Headmaster. He didn’t inform me he intended to destroy the artefact with you tonight.”

“I am fine, just some magical backlash,” she assured him.

Severus nodded, “I owe you an apology, I feel—I did not intend to be absent for such a length of
time. There have been more hurdles to overcome at the beginning of the school term than usual...”

Rosalie shook her head, “It’s okay. I got your letter. Thank you.”

His lips were warm and familiar against hers as they sunk into once another. She’d missed the feel
of him, his taste and smell. She’d missed being held by him, talking to him, duelling with him,
even watching him brew...

“You’re staying, right?”

Severus nodded, “I’m here through the weekend.”

Rosalie yawned, blushing as her jaw cracked loudly, “Sorry.”

“I will leave you to rest,” Severus told her.

Rosalie shook her head, “No, stay...Please?”

“Your friends—“

Rosalie grasped his arm, “I’ll leave Hermione a note: ‘I destroyed the locket with Dumbledore
tonight and he gave me Dreamless Sleep so that I could get some rest’. Kreacher can give it to her
once she wakes up. They’ll leave us alone.”

Severus barely hesitated.

“We ward your door,” he told her, realising even as he conceded that he’d only been waiting for an
excuse to stay.

Rosalie nodded, “Sure. Just stay with me?”

Severus dipped his head once in reply and happiness washed over her, sensitizing her skin and
making her stomach flip. She kissed him chastely, her hands framing his face.

“Call your elf,” he replied, drawing back as he drifted away, his hands moving to his robes and the
long line of buttons that kept them closed from his throat to his navel.

Dashing across to her desk, Rosalie quickly penned the note she would instruct Kreacher to give to
Hermione should either one of them oversleep as they had done in the past when they’d spent the
night together.

The elf took the note without issue, vowing to keep the mudblood away from her room at all cost
and then popped back to wherever he’d come from.
Severus was already ensconced beneath the covers, her bed magically widened for two and she
made quick work of shedding her clothes, feeling his eyes on her all the while. Realising this she
slowed her movements, looking back at him as she unclasped her bra and her underwear found its
way to the floor. Her nightdress was nothing more than an old t-shirt, oversized and threadbare. It
fell to mid-thigh as she slipped it on over her head and it occurred to her that she should perhaps be
embarrassed by the somewhat shabby appearance of her night clothes. The way Severus was
looking at her though, made her think it probably didn’t matter much.

“How is your training coming along?”

Rosalie shrugged.

“Good, I guess. I am able to hold my own—I even bested Kingsley once. It was mostly luck, but
he seemed pleased,” Rosalie told him as she slipped beneath the covers alongside him, moving into
his side, “Honestly, it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Mrs. Weasley is here everyday cleaning
and cooking so she can keep an eye on us. She means well, I know, but her constant presence is
stifling. She doesn’t think we should be taking any part in the war, let alone with some secret task
set by Dumbledore. Sometimes I think she’s right.”

“Albus has his reasons,” Severus told her, “The information you have is obviously sensitive.
Certainly not something he wants to risk become common knowledge amongst the Order. It is
naive to assume that I am the only double agent in this war, after all. Why else do you think you
have had a full time guard in a house under the fidelius?”

“I know, and I agree that the information is sensitive. The less people who learn the truth, the
better. It feels like Dumbledore just appeasing us, though, by keeping us busy researching and
making us think that we’re helping. Surely there are those he could trust this information to who’d
be of more use than us? I mean, I am confined to Grimmauld place and Ron, Hermione and me—
we’re trying to research something you just don’t find in books. It’s a waste of time. Ron and
Hermione, at least, should be in school actually learning something, shouldn’t they? I don’t know
what Dumbledore expects us to find that he hasn’t already thought of...”

“I think, to a certain degree you are correct—he’s appeasing you by trying to give you something
to focus your attention on other that your own confinement, but you also underestimate the
Headmaster’s cunning,” Severus told her, “Loathed as I am to admit it, you and your friends have
proven that you work well as a team. You are more than capable of assisting the Headmaster with
this task and by utilising your skills he is not drawing on already strained Order resources or risking
the information being in any way leaked. Your allegiance to one another is unquestionable—the
knowledge is safe in your hands.”

Rosalie nodded half-heartedly, worrying her lower lips between her teeth, “Do you truly believe
that there could be a spy in the Order? What if they expose you as a traitor?”

“It is always a possibility,” Severus agreed, “to my knowledge, however, there is no one we should
be overly concerned about. As a safe guard however I feed certain information back to the Dark
Lord in order to maintain my cover as a spy. He would be a fool not to question my allegiances, but
I believe I do enough to ensure he continues to believe in my loyalty to him.”

“What kind of information?” Rosalie questioned.

“That Albus has you under twenty-four hour guard and that you live at the Order’s headquarters—
which he knows is under the fidelius and I therefore cannot disclose,” Severus replied, “Basic
information that feels important but in the long run is of little use to him.”
“Does he know about this,” Rosalie asked warily, gesturing between the two of them.

“He knows that I am working at forming a closer relationship with you in order to try and gain
your trust. That is all,” Severus assured her.

Rosalie nodded, “He’s going to use you to lure me out.”

Severus shrugged, “It is unclear at this stage. I think he is merely trying to manoeuvre all his
players into a position of advantage. I do not believe he is forming plan to try and capture you at
this stage.”

“This is all so messed up,” Rosalie sighed, “When I was little, before Hogwarts, I always dreamt
that I would grow up one day and leave the Dursley’s forever and when I did my life would be
great! No more rules, I’d do what I wanted!”

Rosalie sighed, rolling into him and lying against his chest, “Instead I became a witch, famous and
have had to do things I never dreamt possible because an evil wizard is out to get me.”

“We all wish to be free of his shackles, Rose,” Severus offered solemnly, “We will defeat him.”

“And then what? I’m not sure I’ll even recognise myself at the end of all this. I feel like my entire
purpose in life has been to fulfil some prophecy and conquer evil—”

“We are all more than our roles in this war. You are more than your supposed ‘destiny’,” Severus
told her emphatically. She was more than aware of the credence he placed on the prophecy.

“I know but I’ve done things. Things I can’t just forget about and put behind me—I’ve killed and
hurt people—I don’t know how to move on from that. Mostly, I just try not to think about it, but
living with Ron and Hermione again has made me realise just how much I have changed. We don’t
fit like we used to.”

Severus tucked her hair back from her face and cupped her jaw making her look up at him so he
could see her eyes clearly.

“You and I walk a path that is different from anyone else in this Order. We are both soldiers of the
Light in our own way, but we have both been tainted by Darkness. It doesn’t mean you are
destined to go Dark, or that you have something evil or malevolent at your core though. It took me
a long time—years—to realise that. It merely means that we have seen and experienced the world
in different ways and we know that life is not so black and white,” Severus told her seriously,
“Granger and Weasley have not had to bear the same hardships and they will never see things from
quite the same perspective as you do. That does not make you inferior to them.”

“But I’ve killed people—”

“What have you done that wasn’t in self defence?” Severus asked her plainly, “Do not torture
yourself over this so needlessly. You’ve done nothing that anyone else in your place wouldn’t have
done.”

Rosalie sighed, “I know. I get that deep down. And like I said, mostly I just try not to think about it
all. Ron and Hermione just make me feel like I am losing myself, sometimes, or at least losing who
I used to be.”

“I believe it’s called growing up; you’ve just been forced to mature quicker than they have. For all
that they are playing a part in this war, their life, for the most part, has remained sheltered.”
Rosalie nodded, “I’m glad. They deserve to grow up sheltered and happy and loved.”

Severus hummed in half-hearted agreement.

“I’m glad I can talk to you,” she added pressing her lips into his chest, “How are things and
Hogwarts?”

“The children are scared. Many have not returned for the year and as such they have been roomed
together in their dormitories to ensure no one is left alone. Slytherin in particular is in a state of
flux. Draco, as you know, did not return and they are absent their leader when they are in most
need of one. The entire school remains suspicious of anything in green and sliver. You can imagine
the chaos involved with emotions running high and teenaged hormones driving their every
decision.”

“The school is segregated,” Rosalie nodded.

“Letters home are no longer a strong enough deterrent,” Severus agreed.

“You’ve had a hard couple of weeks,” She noted, running her hand soothingly up and down his
side.

“It is beginning to settle somewhat,” Severus sighed.

“It is...a welcome relief to be free of the castle for the night, though.” Severus continued,
wondering when exactly Grimmauld Place had become his place of comfort and safety. It was a
completely foreign concept for him, but one that wasn’t hard to trace the aetiology of. It boggled
his mind that he’d allowed himself to become so comfortable—so familiar—with her presence that
he could relax and allow himself to unwind so easily. She didn’t even realise how tightly she had
wormed her way into him or how much of himself he’d opened up to her. How could she when he
too was only just figuring it out?

Their conversation waned naturally and Severus allowed himself to shut his eyes and relax back
into the pillow and her warmth. When he opened his eyes again it was morning and the golden
glow of morning light was creeping in around the edges of the curtains. For once, he felt both
relaxed and well rested.

Rosalie was spread out on her stomach beside him, her head turned away and her dark hair splayed
across the pillow behind her. Severus picked up a silky lock and rubbed it between his fingers as he
inhaled the warm vanilla scent, ignoring the faint stirrings of arousal that now accompanied that
smell. Her smell.

Using his wand he flicked open the curtains, allowing the weak morning light to filter in through
the room and bathe her in the golden hue of morning. Her t-shirt had ridden up around her waist
during the night and the sheet slipped down, exposing a soft strip of flesh about her middle to his
greedy gaze. Gentle fingertips traced the contours of her body, following the dip of her spine and
up over the gentle swell of her buttocks. She was truly exquisite.

“Severus,” she shifted restlessly under his questing fingers, her eyes blinking open as her hips
pushed back into his hand, “Touch me.”

Severus flattened his hand over the curve of her arse at the softly spoken command, squeezing
gently before drifting down, his fingers burrowing into the dark space between her legs. She was
already slick and ready and she moaned as he dipped into her centre from behind, parting her folds
and dragging her wetness back up her crease.
“On your knees,” he told her, encouraging her to bring her hips up off of the bed.

Rosalie obeyed him readily, crawling up onto her knees, hips swaying as she moved into position
until her arse was high in the air, knees spread wide.

Severus felt his whole being throb with arousal.

“Exquisite,” he to murmured, his hand once more smoothing over her arse as he absorbed the
image she present: the sharp downward curve of her spine, her chest pressed low on the bed
clutching tightly to the pillow before her while her arse sat up on display so perfectly, her sex held
open by the spread of her knees. It was the picture of submission. It was need and desire and
wanton sex. It was Rosalie Potter begging him to take her with her body.

“Please,” she whispered agonizingly, glancing back at him over her shoulder, hunger setting her
eyes ablaze, “Fuck me, Severus.”

Severus moaned. Fuck her he would. He wanted to sink himself inside that welcome heat and
hammer into her like a man possessed. He wanted to lose himself to her and reckless abandon. He
was pulsating with need for her, his cock hard and aching with desperate want.

He could see her arousal slickening her folds in the morning light and he ran his fingers through it,
collecting it liberally as he pushed at his boxers. He slathered his shaft in her juices, readying his
cock for entry.

Rosalie writhed restlessly, hips swaying in front of him tantalisingly and eyes hooded as she
tempted him in. Did she even realise how fucking arousing that was he wondered as he aligned the
head of his prick with her glistening entrance and thrust himself through the tight circle of his fist
into her grasping channel.

“Severus!” she cried hoarsely, her grip turning white-knuckled on the pillow before her as she
rocked back into his entry.

Severus mouth fell open in a silent moan of relief as her heat engulfed him, drawing him in until he
was buried to the hilt, balls pressed against the dewy folds of her sex.

“Rose...”

She moaned, her voice thick with a need his body echoed, a need he couldn’t ignore, “Fuck me.”

Severus did, one hand on the flare of her hip pulling her hips back into his in tandem with his
thrusts as the other pressed down into the small of her back as he fucked into her with a single
minded focus.

“Oh!” Rosalie cried as her senses exploded, a white hot burn of pleasure building rapidly in her
core and spreading out over her body as he pounded into her in long strokes. The wet slap of skin
against skin filled the air as his balls smacked rhythmically against her clit and the musky smell of
sex filled the room. She could feel the stress leaving her body with every thrust of his hips and
bliss pulsed through her as a different kind of tension began to build.

“Harder,” Rosalie gasped, no longer able to control the obscene sounds of pleasure that were
falling from her lips.

Severus moaned, his hands flexing over her hips as he snapped his hips into hers as hard as he
dared, “You have no idea what you do to me...”
Rosalie stretched her arms out, her fingers curling around the posts of the bed head, “Tell me.”

“I have never desired anyone with such a passion as I do you. You are all consuming. Your every
nuance wholly captivating. You make me forget myself,” Severus gasped, barely paying attention
to the words that were tumbling from his mouth as they both sunk into the bed. They were lying
flush against one another now, Severus pressed into her back and his hips rocking into her more
than thrusting, barely leaving her warmth as he pressed into her in a steady grind. He nuzzled aside
the material of her t-shirt, now bunched around her shoulders and pressed his lips into the curve of
her shoulder blade, his teeth scraping lightly over the soft unblemished flesh.

“You’re attracted to me for the way I look?” Rosalie gasped, tilting her pelvis back into his,
deepening the penetration. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, trapped beneath her body the
way his weight trapped her against the bed. His weight against her back was not uncomfortable,
though. It appealed to her in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“I could never be so attracted to someone who did not also find mentally engaging,” told her
breathlessly, the words smeared against her throat where his head was pressed into the side of her
neck.

“Oh...”

Her orgasm washed over her like the receding pull of the tide moments before a tsunami broke
against the shore. She could feel herself drawing down, rapidly pulling in as the pleasure built,
gaining force, gathering momentum at her core until it coalesced into something huge and
momentous, bursting out over her and shattering her utterly to pieces as the wave broke shore.

She heard herself gasp and then moan, her fingers gripping at the sheet under her reflexively and
turning white-knuckled in his hair as she reached back to anchor him to her.

“Severus...”

His hip continued their steady grind as she lay devastated in his arms, sweat sticking curls of hair to
her forehead as he sought his own release moments later with an aborted cry, shuddering gasp and
herculean thrust of his hips that send a rippling shock of pleasure tingling through her body as he
spilled himself inside of her.

Rosalie moaned contentedly, heavy with contentment as warm soft kisses were pressed into the
back of her neck. He rolled them to the side before he allowed himself to collapse back onto the
bed, pulling her with him until her back was plastered against his chest, her head lolling back to rest
against his shoulder as they panted for breath.

“That was incredible,” Rosalie gasped, the afterglow suffusing her body and making her limbs feel
weighted and loose, “I just...I want to stay in this moment forever.”

Severus hummed, his hand skating down her abdomen, ghosting over her folds once more to cup
the place where their bodies were still joined as one. His fingers parted around his softening girth,
not stimulating, just feeling.

Rosalie blinked and sat up at the feel of Severus gently disengaging from her and slipping from the
bed, wondering when exactly she’d managed to fall asleep again, “What time is it?”

“Half eight,” Severus told her as he slipped back into his boxers and pants, “I’ll need to leave for a
time so I can ‘arrive’ via floo later this morning.”

Rosalie nodded, sliding out from beneath the comfort of her sheets and letting her t-shirt fall back
 into place as she padded across to open the window. It wouldn’t take much to set her room back to
sorts—a quick Finite on the bed and a good Scourgify on her sheets—but she’d have to leave the
window open to air out the lingering scent of their pleasure.

“We will need to spend the day training as we planned,” Severus informed her, “Tomorrow I need
time to see to the potions I left brewing here. With any luck my stasis charm has held.”

Rosalie nodded and shivered at the sharp gust of air that rushed in behind her through the open
window, “Okay. I’ll see you later?”

Severus cast a warming charm over her, “After breakfast.”

Rosalie smiled and watched him disapparated out of the room.

Chapter End Notes

A/N: This chapter has been SUCH a chore to write. I just can’t look at it anymore. I’m
still not happy with it, but I needed to move on from it. I’m sorry about the long delay
in posting, when I mentioned that posts would begin to slow as they caught up with
my writing speed I didn’t expect that it would take this long to get one chapter out! I
hope you’re all still with me.
 Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Twenty Two

“Rose!”

“Morning, ‘Mione,” Rosalie greeted with a smile as she exited the bathroom, a cloud of steam
drifting out behind her, “You’re up early.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Hermione asked with a chuckled, “I got your note. I didn’t think
you’d be up until at least noon after taking Dreamless Sleep.”

Rosalie blushed feeling the lie flood her cheeks as she replied, “I only took a half dose. I feel loads
better though.”

“Well that’s good, I suppose,” Hermione said with a smile, “How’d it go last night with the
Locket?”

Rosalie shivered, “It’s gone. It wasn’t anything like I expected it should be... but, we should find
Ron before we discuss anymore. I don’t want him to feel like we’re excluding him and I don’t want
to have to explain this twice.”

Hermione looked at her a moment, her gaze indecipherable before nodding, “Lets head down to
breakfast then, that’s probably where he’ll be.”

Rosalie smiled, gesturing to the bundle of clothes in her hands, “Just let me put my stuff away
quickly.”

Rosalie dashed down the hall to her room, tossing the bundle of nightclothes onto her bed before
spelling her towel dry and hanging it over the foot end. She shivered as a gust of wind billowed her
curtains into the room, airing out the smell of Severus and sex. She sniffed once delicately before
nodding to herself and latching it shut again.

“Rose?” Hermione called from the hall.

“I’m coming!” Rosalie called back as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, making sure her
hair was sitting right before darting out the door, “Sorry, let’s go.”

Rosalie shut her door behind her as she met her friend in the hall and together the two of the turned
for the stairs. They walked side by side down the hall, simple unstrained silence between them as
them approached the head of the stairs.

“You look nice today,” Hermione noted as they began their descent. Her eye appraising as she
looked Rosalie up and down.

Rosalie smiled, “Thanks.”

“Not that you don’t always look annoyingly amazing, you know, but you look really pretty today,”
Hermione continued, “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion? There is no occasion. Not that I’m aware of. I didn’t even really do anything different,”
Rosalie replied hating the slightly defensive tone that had crept into her voice. Hating more that
Hermione was sure to notice it, especially if the slight narrowing of her friends gaze was anything
to go by.

“Maybe it’s just the effects of having a good night sleep for once,” Hermione smiled, though her
tone said that she believed thought otherwise.

“Yeah,” Rosalie nodded, “That’s probably it. It’s amazing how much more energy I have.”

Hermione nodded as they crossed the lounge, “Are you training with Shacklebolt today? Or
perhaps... Professor Snape? Did the Headmaster mention when he might be back to resume your
lessons?”

Rosalie shot her friend a glare, but refused to rise to the bait, “I’ll be training with someone. I’m
not really sure how they work out a schedule for who I train with and when, but if Shacklebolt
doesn’t show up then perhaps Tonks or Severus or—” Rosalie stopped abruptly as they reached the
stairs that led down to the basement kitchen, “Can you hear that?”

The muffled sounds of raised voices were filtering up the stairs and both girls stopped as they
strained to hear what was being said.

Rosalie frowned, “Is that...?”

Hermione nodded and as one they crept closer, keeping their backs pressed against the wall as the
snuck down the staircase until they were less than a foot outside of the doorway. Rosalie leant
forward careful to remain out of sight as they listened to the unmistakable sound of Mrs. Weasley’s
voice, strained with exasperation, as she pleaded with her son.

Hermione’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Enough is enough, Ron; you can’t keep on like this! This attitude is not winning you any friends—
and it’s certainly not helping you keep the ones you already have!”

“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m entitled to an opinion. I have to live in this house too and
I don’t bloody want him in it!”

‘Snape’ Rosalie mouthed over her shoulder, as the familiar strains of Ron’s ire drifted back at
them. Hermione nodded, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth in concern. Molly was only the
next in line to be on the receiving end of Ron’s anger, it would seem. Rosalie didn’t have to see
him to know his face would already be turning a blotchy shade of red, his hands gesticulating
wildly to try and emphasise his point.

“Severus Snape is a trusted member of the Order—”

Ron’s scoff was derisive as he cut her off.

“Oh, how could I forget? You, Dumbledore, Rose...Merlin, even Hermione don’t stop singing his
bloody praises! Just because Rosalie thinks the sun shines out of Snape’s pasty white arse doesn’t
mean I have to agree with her...but as usual my opinion counts for nothing, does it?”

“Just as my opinion, clearly means nothing to you!”

“And!? Why should I care about what anyone else has to say, when no one cares to listen to me?”

“Is this really the man I raised you to be? By Merlin, Ronald Weasley! You have done nothing but
whinge and throw tantrums since the moment Rosalie landed here this summer! Did you even stop
to consider, that perhaps people would take you seriously if you had conducted yourself and this
situation in a more adult-like manner instead of screaming foul with no proof to back it up?
Severus is as welcome in this house as any other member of the Order. He does not deserve to be
spoken to in such as way as you spoke to him just now and I will not have it!”

Hermione’s grip was tight on her shoulder and Rosalie lifted her hand to squeeze nervously at her
friends fingers as they waited in the silence that followed for Ron to respond to his mother.

”Everyone is on her side...”

His tone sounded defeated. Deflated of anger.

”Who, Rosalie? I thought we were on her side Ron...”

“No one gets it. I’m in love with her and I only want to protect her... Snape is bad news. I don’t
care what side of the war he claims he is on, he’s always had a personal vendetta against Rose
since the day they first met. All my worries are merely an annoyance to people though, my love
something to be brushed aside. No one listens to me because to Rosalie, I’m nothing.”

Rosalie was shaking her head.

“That’s not true,” she breathed.

Mrs. Weasley sighed.

“Ron, you can’t make someone love you nor can you force someone to see things the way you want
them to. The best we can do is keep watch for the people we love and be there for them when
things go wrong. What are you achieving by acting the way you do towards Severus? All you are
doing is antagonising the people around you and potentially tipping your hand to someone you
don’t trust. I can’t force you to accept Severus, but I would caution you to restrain yourself from
blowing up like this around him!”

The room fell silent and Rosalie held her breath, waiting for Ron’s response. If anyone could get
through to him, it would be Molly. Hermione’s grip on her shoulder was white knuckled with
anticipation as they waited with baited breath for his answer.

“You just don’t get it. I’m not apologising.”

“Ronald Weasley—”

“No. I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m not apologising for shit. Snape’s a slimy bastard and I’m only
looking out for Rosalie when no one else seems to care. If no one else can see that, perhaps its
better that I move back home for a while.”
“Ron—”

Hermione jumped like a startled rabbit as Ron suddenly appeared before them like a tower of icy
fury. He glared down at them silently, both guilty-faced in the act of eavesdropping. Rosalie felt
her face flood with shame as she stared up into his unusually cool gaze, glacial where they would
normally be burning with anger.

“Anything you want to add?” he prompted, his voice a challenging accusation.

Hermione was shaking her head as Rosalie choked on her words, mouth opening and closing
soundlessly as she looked to her friend helplessly.

“Of course not. It’s not like you haven’t said it all before anyway,” Ron huffed, pushing pasted
them and making his way back up the stairs.

Rosalie watched the rigid outline of his retreating back as he took the stairs two at a time before
disappearing from sight.

“Rose...” Hermione whispered, her voice almost nonexistent.

Rosalie swallowed thickly around the lump that had formed in her throat as it finally occurred to
her with a burning sense of clarity that no matter how much she might wish it, her relationship with
Ron would never ever be what it once was again. They’d been irreparably changed by their choices
and what was already strained between them would become infinitely worse once he learned the
truth of her relationship with Snape. Things were only going to get worse from here on out, not
better.

“I think we’re done,” Rosalie whispered.

Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders, her head tucking into the curve of
Rosalie’s neck as she embraced her friend, “He’ll come ‘round...”

“No. He won’t.”

Not once he knows...

Within an hour of Ron’s argument with his mother, he’d collected his things and floo’d back to the
Burrow. Rosalie hadn’t seen him leave. After being caught eavesdropping on his argument, she’d
turned tail and taken herself off to the relative safety of the library, forgoing breakfast in her need
seek shelter from the glacial storm that was Ronald Weasley. There was little more to be said
between them, wasn’t there? Hermione, she thought, had tried to talk him out of leaving, but even
that was just a gut feeling. She suspected the brunette had gone to speak to him when Rosalie had
ditched her on the stairs.

“I hear Mr. Weasley has decided to return to the Burrow for the foreseeable future,” Severus said
as she closed the door of their training room behind her and crossed the room to him.

Rosalie nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped into his embrace. Familiar hands
settled themself onto her hips, sure and steady. With some reluctance Rosalie lifted her gaze to
meet his, feeling oddly vulnerable to his judgement. There was no love lost between Severus and
Ron and she supposed a part of her feared his derision for feeling the way she did over her friend’s
departure. His midnight eyes were calm and steady, however, and she felt herself relax into him.
“I’m sorry that it has come to this,” he told her frankly.

Rosalie shook her head as she heaved a tired sigh, tucking her head into his chest.

“Ron and I haven’t been right for longer than either of us cared to admit,” Rosalie told him quietly,
“I should have seen this coming.”

“You feel responsible for this,” Severus stated, reading the guilt in her body language as she
avoided his gaze, pulling out of his arms only to wrap her own tightly around her frame. She turned
from him, presenting him the tense line of her back and Severus’ frowned, “this is not your fault.
Mr. Weasley chose to leave of his own accord.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” Rosalie asked, “I feel like this is the ‘pivotal moment’ where I am
supposed to run after him and tell him that he can’t leave because we need him here and he’ll stay
and things will be okay again. I can’t, though... I can’t because I don’t want him to take it as
something that it isn’t. I can’t because I think he needs this distance from us—or at least from me—
and I can’t because, deep down I don’t want him here anymore. I feel relieved that I won’t have to
deal with his shit every day or creep around the house to avoid running into him.”

“Just because you have grown apart does not mean that you no longer care for one another. Given
time you may repair this rift between you, but until that occurs, things will be better off this way.
Weasley’s behaviour had become a distraction. You were right to not prevent him from leaving.”
Severus counselled, his hand coming up to grasp her shoulder reassuringly.

“I know,” Rosalie sighed turning back to him, her eyebrows drawn down in a tight anxious line
across her face, “But this feels horrible. He was my first real friend. I feel like I’ve betrayed him.”

“Weasley has got nothing he hasn’t brought on himself,” Severus scoffed, “You have more
important things to be focusing on than the fact Ron Weasley is a moron. Once he realises that, he
will come back to you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Rosalie nodded, letting the insult Severus had just delivered Ron slide. Ron was
being moron. There was no getting around that, even if his heart was in the right place.

“Focus your energies into something that will benefit you,” Severus told her, “You have already
determined that for now there is nothing you can do to help Weasley, so instead focus on
something else.”

“Like training,” Rosalie agreed.

“Like defeating the Dark Lord,” Severus returned pointedly.

“Voldemo—”

“You must not speak his name!” Severus hissed, cutting her off midspeech, “There have been
whisperings that the Dark Lord has once again invoked a taboo upon his name.”

Rosalie frowned up at him in confusion, “A taboo?”

“An exceedingly complex dark curse that reveals to him the location of anyone who speaks his
name,” Severus explained, “He used it during the first war to great success. So great, in fact, that to
this day there are only a handful of witches and wizards brave enough to utter his name aloud—
yourself and Albus, for instance.”

“It would reveal my location even through the Fidelius?” Rosalie asked, her tone taken aback.
“It is unlikely, but it may very well bring unwanted attention upon the general area. There are still
those in the Dark Lord’s service who would recognise the significance of this locale even with the
Fidelius in effect,” Severus conceded, “It would be best that you try and train yourself now to
avoid using his name. You won’t always have the protection of the Fidelius to shield you. We
cannot risk exposing you before you are ready to defeat him.”

Rosalie hummed in agreement. She knew now how lucky she had been over the years that
Voldemort had let his own fears stay his hand each time their paths had crossed after that fateful
Halloween night sixteen years ago. Even with the protection of his horcruxes in place, he had learnt
to fear her, or at least fear the possibility that to attempt to kill her again was to once again destroy
himself in the process. Now that he knew whatever protections had allowed her to survive his
attack no longer held, though, she was once more fair game and until each of the seven horcruxes
he’d created had been destroyed, he had the advantage as they would never truly be rid of him, no
matter that they might destroy his body.

“No, we can’t risk it,” Rosalie agreed. Not if she were truly to be the one to end this.

Severus was eyeing her closely, like he somehow knew the dark turn her thoughts had taken, “It
has been some time since we have trained together, although Shacklebolt informed me that he is
pleased with how far you have progressed in such a short amount of time.”

Rosalie smiled tightly, “His teaching methods allow for nothing less. He’s taken a page out of your
book.”

Severus smirked, “How have you managed incorporating Legilimency into your repertoire?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Kingsley has a naturally closed off mind and I find him difficult to read. I
rarely make it past his defences let alone in far enough to skim anything useful from his thoughts.
He doesn’t seem to sense my intrusion though.”

Severus nodded, “Shacklebolt is a natural Occlumens, as is Lupin due to his nature.”

“Tonks is easier. When I have the opportunity to duel with her I have been able to use Legilimency
to anticipate some of her moves, but it is difficult maintaining a dual focus.”

“You must continue your meditation exercises. It will help you both strengthen and focus your
mind,” Severus told her, though she could tell from his tone that he was as pleased with her
progress as Kingsley was, “We shall begin with duelling so I can assess your progress.”

“I hope you’ve warmed up,” She teased, watching in silent appreciation as Severus moved to
removed his outer robes and roll back the sleeves of his shirt. Rosalie followed his lead, pulling her
hair up into a messy ponytail atop of her head as she moved to stand across from him in the centre
of the room, “I’m pretty good now.”

“We shall see,” Severus smirked as he withdrew his wand from its sheath and indicated that they
might bow to one another.

Rosalie laughed, holding his gaze as she followed his lead and lowered her torso into a traditional
pre-match bow. While her tone was light, though, Rosalie’s mind was already whirring as it
catalogued everything about the way he stood from the placement of his feet and centre of gravity,
to the light fingered grasp he had on his wand. It told her he was planning to open the duel with
either a stunning hex or blinding jinx that would temporarily rob her of her eyesight. She was ready
though, weeks of dodging Kingsley’s sneak attacks teaching her to look for any opening, even the
smallest of tells and exploit it to her own advantage. All it took was the split second his gaze left
her own for her to spring into action. She fired at him whilst he was still bent at the waist, his gaze
turned from hers.

Severus hissed as he nimbly dodged the blasting hex that took out part of the floor where he’d been
standing and shielded against the severing hex that barrelled into him less than a heartbeat later.
Suitably impressed he sharpened his focus.

“How very Slytherin of you, to attack before we’d completed the Opening Rites,” Severus needled.

“I’ve learnt recently to embrace some of my more Slytherin qualities,” Rosalie returned unfazed, “I
doubt any Death Eaters will be upholding the Opening Rites before they begin trying for First
Blood.”

“Unlikely,” Severus agreed, as he returned his own barrage of spells, signalling the end of their
banter as they began their duel in earnest. She was quick and nimble, matching him hit for hit as
they decimated the room around them. Technically, while her form was good, she was far from
perfect, but they were training her to think on her feet, to act and react with deadly precision and in
that respect her skill was already quite remarkable.

“Bombarda!”

Severus hissed as he deflected the spell away from him, watching out of the corner of his eye as it
ignited the curtains behind him. Blood was running down his face, copious and metallic in his
mouth as he caught her in a tripping jinx. She hit the ground—hard—and as one they called it,
bringing an end to their duel without little more than a look as they turned their attention to the
curtains that were threatening to set fire to the room around them.

Rosalie pushed herself to her feet as Severus cast a muffled sounding Aguamenti at the burning
fabric, his free hand cupping his broken nose to try and contain the flow of blood.

“Let me see,” Rosalie insisted the minute the flames had been dealt with.

It was a tribute to how far they’d come that Severus immediately sat down and let her inspect the
damage she’d caused by breaking his nose. Again.

“I got you good,” Rosalie said apologetically as she waved her wand over his face to stop the blood
that was still flowing freely from his nose and down his face. Gentle fingers palpated the
misshapen appendage and she cringed at unnatural bend she’d caused, “Madame Pomfrey will
have to look at this. I think it’s fractured in two places.”

“This too, needs her attention,” Severus pointed out, his fingers ghosting over the burnt and
blistered skin of her waist.

Rosalie nodded, only now realising the pain in her side as he called attention to the injury she’d
sustained there, “I’ll call her.”

She turned from him, only looking back as his long fingers curled around her wrist, “I’m pleased
with the progress you’ve made. Shacklebolt is right to be proud of you as am I.”

Rosalie felt warmth suffuse her chest at his words, freely given. She leant down, mindful of his
broken nose, and pressed her lips into his. The metallic taste of his blood was on her lips as she
drew back from him, but it was easy enough to ignore when he was looking at her the way he was,
“Thank you.”

“Go summon Pomfrey,” he told her as they parted, his eyes gentle though his face remained
otherwise impassive. Rosalie smiled and pulled back from him, making her way out of the room to
the nearest floo feeling a million times lighter and happier than she had when she’d walked into the
room.

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” Hermione asked, gesturing the burn about her waist that was
already turning a shiny pink as the skin healed over.

Rosalie frowned, “What do you mean?”

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a sure sign that whatever she was trying to say,
she felt unsure, “Well, it’s just, you don’t come back from Shacklebolt looking like this... Do you
think that maybe Snape might be taking it a little far?”

Rosalie considered how this must look to someone like Hermione who never saw the bruises and
abrasions Shacklebolt left on her before she’d had a chance to heal them. The burn had hurt, but the
only reason it had hit her in the first place was because she’d hesitated and Snape had taken
advantage of her indecision, “It looks pretty horrible, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded, “I know it will heal, it already looks ten times better than it did an hour ago, it’s
just that...”

“You’re worried that maybe Ron was right and Snape really is trying to kill me after all?” Rosalie
prompted.

“No! I mean... I know he would never purposefully hurt you. I just wonder if this is really
necessary,” Hermione huffed.

“It’s not just Snape, you know. The first time I trained with Kingsley he I left looking like one big
bruise. I need to be able to hold my own against Death Eaters, ‘Mione. I need to be able to beat
them or else I’ll never stand a chance against Vo—Riddle. Shacklebolt fights like an Auror. Snape
fights like a Death Eater. He’s making me a better fighter by not pulling his punches.”

Hermione shrugged, “I guess.”

“I’m giving back just as much as he’s dishing out,” Rosalie told her reassuringly, “I broke his nose
in two places. Madame Pomfrey had to set it straight for him again.”

“I know. I guess... as long as you’re okay with it, then I should be too,” Hermione replied, “Why
don’t you tell me about what the Headmaster said?”

Rosalie nodded, “I mentioned the difficulties we were having in terms of finding anything useful to
base our research on and he asked that we instead look into the house at Little Hangleton that
belonged to Riddle’s parents. He thinks it’s possible that one of Horcruxes may be hidden there.”

“I imagine it would definitely a location that holds a lot of meaning for You-Know-Who,”
Hermione agreed.

“Exactly,” Rosalie agreed.

Hermione frowned, “You know...I’m sure there is plenty of wizarding documentation on the house
given its history, but I imagine if it’s originally a muggle dwelling then we would find more
looking into local muggle government records. They may even have schematics on file that we
could use to help plan our search.”
Rosalie grimaced, “Muggle records? That’s going to make things difficult. How do you propose we
access those?”

Hermione shook her head, “We’ll see what wizarding publications we can find first, but you know,
I think as long as we are looking into the house, we should look into the graveyard too and the
members of the Riddle family who are buried there. We’ll also need a list of occupants who lived
there after the death of the Riddles so we can establish a timeline of when You-Know-Who would
have been able to come back and hide the horcrux.”

“This is why you’re my friend, ‘Mione,” Rosalie grinned, “I’d be lost without you.”

“I know,” Hermione laughed, “This feels weird without Ron here, don’t you think?”

Rosalie sighed, “Yeah, but I relieved too...He’d made things so uncomfortable around here that
now that he’s gone I feel like I can breathe again.”

“The last few weeks have been fairly awkward, even for me.” Hermione agreed, “Now that he’s
left though I feel like I should have done more to prevent things from getting to this point.”

“What could you have done, Hermione?” Rosalie asked, “His issue is with me—my friendship
with Snape, my inability to return his affections, my apparent lack of care for anything and
everything he had to say...he’s throwing a tantrum because I don’t value him in the way he wants
me to and my friendship, apparently, is no longer good enough!”

Hermione reached over to pull her friend into a tight embrace, “I’m sure he just needs some time to
move past all this...You’ve been his lifelong dream since before you even met and now suddenly
he has to face the reality that the two of you aren’t going to grow up and get married like he’d
always believed you would. He’ll come around again, I’m sure of it.”

Rosalie wasn’t sure that she had the same faith in Ron’s ability to forgive and forget. He wore a
grudge like a wet blanket and things would only get worse once he learnt the truth of her
relationship with Severus. He would see it as a betrayal and it would break whatever meagre
threads of friendship remained between them. He would pull the fickle rug of friendship right out
from beneath her feet and blacklist her as he had everyone else who didn’t live up to his black and
white expectations of life. You were good or you were a Death Eater. What choice did she have
though? To choose the broken remains of a friendship with Ron when she knew he’d never truly be
happy with the knowledge that they would never be more than just friends, or risk it all and chose
Severus who had been in her corner since day one; Severus whose mere presence made her feel
lighter, happier and more whole than she could ever recall... She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that go,
not for Ron, not anyone.

Her eyes drifted to the door of Severus’ potions lab as she thought about the man working behind
it. She only hoped that Severus felt the same way about her.

Hours later the thought was still circling within her mind, bouncing back and forth and making her
wonder whether or not Severus was merely delaying the inevitable with her—biding his time until
he eventually rejected her once more. Perhaps he’d never intended for this thing between them to
survive past the end of the war or even long enough for anyone to find out about it in the first
place... She’d give up everything for him, but could he even offer her the same in return?

Suddenly, she was no longer content to wait for him to take his fill and be done with her. She
needed answers. Her relationship with Ron had suffered over this (at least in part) and she couldn’t
let herself be content with not knowing whether or not it had been worth it.

She needed for Severus to tell her it had been worth it. That she was worth it.

The door opened easily under her hands and Rosalie slipped inside on silent feet closing the door
soundlessly behind her.

“Good evening,” Severus greeted without glancing up, wide awake though it was already some
minutes past midnight and Hermione had been abed for hours. Had he been waiting for her? She
hoped so. Merlin, she hoped so.

He was propped up against the headboard, his longlegs extended before him and his socked feet
crossed at the ankle as he looked over the stack of parchments that rested atop his lap. Student
essays, no doubt, now that Hogwarts was back in term. The thought made her smile. How many
times had a paper of hers made it into his bed? If only she’d known at the time, Merlin only knew
what she would have done with such information! How different things were now...

“Hi,” she smiled as she crossed the room, crawling up onto the bed beside him. From this distance
she could see the yellowish tint of a fading bruise disappearing from under his eyes, the only
remaining evidence that she’d broken his nose only that morning. Ironically, his nose looked
straighter than it had to begin with and Rosalie was suitably impressed with Madame Pomfrey’s
handiwork as she gently palpated its length, “How’s your nose?”

Severus smirked.

“Healing,” he replied as he passed the stack of parchments off to the bedside table, “And you?”

Rosalie moved to straddle his lap, lifting her camisole up over where the burn had been. Severus
reached out and ran his warm hand over the shiny new skin, almost indiscernible from the soft
unmarked flesh of her stomach, “Almost gone.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, his thumb brushing over the smooth taut flesh lingeringly.

Rosalie bit her lip and carded her hands through his still somewhat damp hair. He’d showered at
some point between now and when she’d last seen him and the fresh smell of his soap wafted
around her as she disturbed the stands of his hair. Severus closed his eyes and tilted his head back
into the palms of her hands as she scratched her nails over his scalp lightly.

“Do you need to work on your potions tomorrow?” Rosalie murmured unsure how to bring up
what she truly wanted to talk about.

“For a time,” Severus replied, “The Dark Lord is expecting to see the results of a number of
projects I have been working on.”

Rosalie frowned, “The truth serum?”

Severus opened his eyes to look up at her, “I will trial the antidote tomorrow.”

Rosalie let her hands fall to his chest, “Do you want me there? Perhaps I can help? Or perhaps you
could trial the serum on me?”

“That will not be necessary,” Severus replied, taking her hand and pressing his lips against her
inner wrist briefly, “I’m more than confident in the concoction I have brewed. This will be merely
a formality to confirm my results.”
Rosalie nodded, “Okay, but I am willing to be a guinea pig for you if necessary.”

Severus smirked, “I will keep that in mind should I come across anything I wish to...experiment
with.”

“Within reason, thank you,” Rosalie chuckled, leaning down to press her lips against his as
Severus slipped his arm about her waist, his warm hand running up the length of her back, “Do you
need to finish up with those essays?”

Warm lips travelled the smooth column of her neck, his nose dipping into the hollow behind her
ear briefly as he inhaled her scent, “Not tonight.”

Rosalie smiled against his skin, her stomach alight with butterflies as her own hands found their
way under his shirt and into the light smattering of hair across his chest, “I’ve been thinking...”

“Mmm?”

Rosalie sighed, “I think after all of this is over, provided I’m still here when things are done and
settled—”

“Potter—” Severus started.

“—that I want to pursue Healing instead of becoming an Auror,” Rosalie continued, glancing up at
him to assess his reaction.

“This is no great surprise, given the aptitude you have shown for it recently,” Severus replied
evenly as his hands stroked her hair back over her shoulders and smoothed it down her back, “I was
unaware this was meant to be a secret.”

Rosalie turned her head to rest against his chest, “It’s not, but it requires a NEWT in Potions.
Which currently...”

“Ah,” Severus interrupted, comprehension dawning, “you have never lacked the skill, Rosalie,
merely the motivation. You are more than capable of achieving the required grade, even with
Slughorn as a teacher.”

“I thought, perhaps, you might tutor me, though? I realise I’d have to sit the NEWT independently
at the Ministry if that were the case, but...?” Rosalie asked.

Severus inclined his head, “If you would like me to.”

Rosalie smiled, “I can’t think of anyone better. The only reason I did as well as I did in Slughorn’s
class last year was because I had help.”

“Horace’s particular brand of ‘preferential treatment’? No doubt you were simply too big of a
temptation for him to pass up, celebrity that you are,” Severus grimaced.

Rosalie frowned at the implication.

“No, a book actually... I only found out at the last minute that I’d actually been accepted into the
class and so I had to borrow a book from the supply cupboard as I hadn’t purchased my own copy
of the text,” Rosalie explained, “Someone called the Half Blood Prince had made annotations
throughout the whole text, I took a risk and followed his instructions and almost all my potions
turned out better than either Malfoy or Hermione’s as a result. It drove her nuts. She thought I was
cheating, but I just had better instructions.”
“Ahh, yes,” Severus chuckled, “I’d quite forgotten about that book. I knew, of course, the minute
you hexed Draco in the bathroom that you had come into possession of it, but I’ll admit I had
completely forgotten about it until just now.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalie asked, sitting upright in his lap again to stare down at him
questioningly as his hands settled on her hips.

“Simple. I am the Half Blood Prince. The book you found was my old school text,” Severus told
her with a smug smile.

“What?” Rosalie gasped, “Why didn’t you ever say anything before now? I was obsessed with that
book all through sixth year! I can’t believe I never realised!”

Shocked delight bubbled through her, that all this time it had been Severus’s notes she been reading
and his instructions she’d been following. Rosalie hadn’t believed there could be any way she
could have felt closer to this man. Yet two people that she’d come to know and care for so well
had just merged into one being and emotion overwhelmed her. She’d been half in love with the
Prince throughout the most of the previous year, then Severus had come along and changed things
and she’d left the Half Blood Prince—someone who was little more than a figment of her
imagination—behind her. She’d been in love with Severus for longer than she’d ever realised...

The thought made her breath catch in her throat. Then, gradually, a warm smile spread across her
face and she leant back into him, taking his mouth with hers.

“What will you do once the war is over? Will you remain teaching?” she hummed happily.

His thumb ran the length of her jaw line, lifting her face into his again, kissing her softly.

“I suppose, given the opportunity, I would like to set up my own potions business,” Severus told
her, “teaching was never something I aspired to, but it was a necessity given the position I found
myself in during the first war.”

“Would you take on a shop front in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade?” Rosalie murmured against his
mouth.

“Unlikely,” Severus said as his hands slipped up under her camisole his fingertips tracing her spine,
“I have enough contacts in the potions world to be able to run a specialty potions business via owl
order. Running a shop front is time consuming and will take away from the time I can devote to
research. There are a number of projects I haven’t been able to dedicate the time to which I could
prepare for publication.”

“So you could set up anywhere?” Rosalie surmised as her fingers carded back into his hair, tugging
lightly on the strands at the base of his head.

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, “A small town perhaps, somewhere private and secluded.”

“That sounds lovely. If I could live anywhere, I think I’d like to live by the ocean. Somewhere I
can laze in the sun and fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore,” Rosalie smiled,
“I’d let my skin turn golden-brown and my hair curly with the salt from the sea...”

“Mmm,” Severus agreed, scooping her hair off of her back and over her shoulder so that he could
run the soft, thick tresses between his fingers. The scent of vanilla clung to the silken strands
making warmth pool deep inside of him as he inhaled of it deeply. It wasn’t hard to imagine the
smell of sea salt and fresh ocean air clinging to her. In fact, it was all too easy to picture quiet
evenings spent lazing together in the cocoon of a hammock, swaying softly from side to side as the
sound of waves crashing against the shore played softly in the background. It was an appealing
dream. It made him realise that he could envision a future with her, that she featured in his dreams
of what his life could be like if they both survived this war and, by no small miracle, he avoided
Azkaban.

“I think I’d like somewhere I could grow my own flowers too,” Rosalie hummed, letting herself
sink into his warmth.

“You will have your pick of properties to choose from,” Severus pointed out, “the Potter holdings
are vast and plentiful, or so I have been led to believe.”

“I think I’d be happier living in a small cottage of my own. Something I can make a home out of,”
Rosalie replied with a sigh, “I received a list of the Potter holdings I have access to for my birthday,
but I haven’t really looked at it. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it all. Sell them off,
perhaps? I’ll never have use for so many properties.”

“Don’t discount them so quickly, you might be surprised by what you find amongst them,” Severus
counselled her, “Not all pureblood holdings are manor houses.”

Rosalie nodded, pressing her lips into the side of his neck, his jaw and lips again.

“You may one day have a family of your own to which you can pass on the legacy of your father’s
family,” Severus continued, “Add to it if you will, but do not merely throw away such history.”

A swarm of butterflies took flight inside of her, “Perhaps.”

A family.

Rosalie pressed her forehead against his, emotion bubbling up inside her—overwhelming her—as
almost against her will an image of what children of theirs might look like sprung into the forefront
of her mind; Wide-eyed, dark-haired little things, as happy and wild as they were intelligent.

Perhaps she was letting herself get too deep. She wasn’t ready for children. But one day... One day
she would be and she pictured Severus at her side when that time came.

“Severus...” Rosalie breathed.

‘I love you.’

Her whole body, her whole being echoed with the words, but she couldn’t let them out though they
were perched on her lips. Instead she kissed him as if her life were dependant on the meeting of
their lips, pressing the sentiment she was not yet ready to articulate into his mouth—slowly—
lingeringly—as his arms encircled her completely, pulling her flush against him so that she had to
arch her back to remain kissing him.

Her hands cradled his face. His pushed up under her camisole.

Love was tingling throughout her body. She could feel it in the tightness in her chest all the way
out to the electric feeling in her fingertips as they carded back into his hair. He groaned beneath
her as her tongue pressed into his mouth, moving with a rhythm that pounded throughout her
whole body, making her restless with need till she was rolling her hips into him in time with the
rhythm of their breathless panting.

Their lips parted only long enough for Severus to pull her camisole off over her head, her hair
tumbling back down around them as her hands fell to his fly. Unclasping his pants, she pushed
herself off of him so that her hands could join his as together they tugged his pants free of him.

“Merlin,” She gasped against him, reaching between them for the cock lying thickly against his
thigh, half hard and growing quickly. Her fingers curled around his girth. His hands boldly found
purchase on her body, pushing her hair back off of her shoulders so he could palm her naked
breasts as she reclaimed his mouth.

“Rose,” breathed into her neck, his skin flushed with need as his fingers dipped below the
waistband of her pyjama shorts, pushing them beyond the curve of her arse as fingertips ghosted
over soft flesh teasingly.

“Banish them,” she told him as nimble fingers slid down the close of his shirt, wandlessly loosing
buttons so that she could push the shirt from his shoulders. The tingle of his magic lit across her
skin as her bed shorts faded from existence leaving her bare against him, no barrier left between
them.

Rosalie sighed as she undulated her hips into his. Slowly. Torturously. The motion teasing them
both with the wanton slide of flesh against flesh.

“Do you want me?” she asked quietly, reaching past him, the soft of her arms grazing his
shoulders as she grasped the headboard in both hands. Warm hands slid up the curve of her waste,
to settle on her ribcage, the heel of his hand teasing the plush edge of her breast.

His gaze felt like a physical caress against her soul as their eyes met, “More than is decent.”

“I want you,” Rosalie replied with a nod, “More than is decent.”

She let him enter her slowly despite the tension that hung thick between them—because of it. Sweat
was beading on his forehead as Rosalie slowly started to rock into him, her hip starting up a gentle
rhythm as they let the need between them grow, gaining pace and intensity till she was riding him
at a gallop. His hands clasped about her hips, guiding her every move.

“How could I not want you?” he told her, pulling her flush against his chest once more and taking
her mouth with his.

Rosalie caught her breath as he rolled her underneath him, her teeth catching her lower lip as he
rocked into her without missing a beat, “Oh...yes! Keep going, keep going...”

Severus pushed into her with long solid thrusts, sweat soaking them both, trickling down his chest
and navel as he hitched her leg up over his hip, opening her to his entry. Rosalie moaned, hands
grappling at his broad neck and shoulders as the rhythmic brush of his pubic bone against hers
slowly send her insane.

“Rosalie,” Severus grunted against her neck they rolled in the bed, tangling themselves in the bed
sheet.

“I’m almost...Oh, Severus—Merlin!”

Her whole body tensed as her release burst over her, stealing her breath as she contracted around
him. Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging tight on the strands with need as he thrust through the
tightening of her channel.

“That’s it,” Severus gasped, fingers reaching down between them to rub purposefully at the hood
of her clit sending out a second burst of pleasure so intense it bordered on painful.
“Oh!”

Severus grunted as he released himself into her quivering depths and fell panting at her side.

Rosalie felt weightless, suffused with warmth as she melted back into the mattress beside him, her
limbs boneless and loose. The euphoric feeling of the afterglow was rich and heady and there was
little she could do to prevent the lazy smile that crept in across her face or the satisfied little hum
that escaped her. Light, happy, wonderful feelings were buzzing through her and for perhaps the
first time in her life Rosalie knew that she was truly happy. This was a feeling people spent their
whole lives pursuing and with good reason. She never wanted to leave this moment. Biting her lip,
Rosalie rolled into his side, grateful for the arm he immediately looped around her as her head
came to settle against his shoulder.

The plush kisses that followed were slow and decadent. A shared exultation of closeness and
connection.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Rosalie told him before she’d even realised the thought in her
own mind. She pulled back from him so that she could tilt her head back to meet his gaze, her lips
pressed together as she tried to seek the answer from his eyes.

“I don’t particularly wish to return,” Severus replied, his fingertips brushing idly across her back,
“Needs must dictates my return.”

Rosalie nodded, “I hate this war.”

“As we all do. Yet without it, I would never have been more to you than your potions professor,”
Severus smirked.

“I am thankful for what has come of our ‘forced closeness’, just not for the circumstances that led
us to it,” Rosalie sighed, “Do you think, if Dumbledore hadn’t insisted on my learning Occlumency
from you, we would have ever ended up here otherwise?”

Severus shook his head, “Unlikely. I am still amazed at my own spectacular lack of self restraint in
allowing this to occur. This was never the inevitable outcome of Occlumency lessons. It should
never have eventuated between us.”

Rosalie frowned, “But it has.”

“It has,” Severus agreed.

“And we shared more than just our memories before you ever touched me...you don’t want us to
stop, do you?” Rosalie pushed, knowing she had to get the words out even if they weren’t coming
out the way she wanted them too, “Eventually people are going to find out about us... Unless that’s
not what you—or perhaps this is this just ‘for now’...”

Severus sighed, rolling onto his side so that they were face to face, “No, I don’t want this to stop. I
doubt now whether I could bring an end to this even if I wanted to. My resolve is appallingly weak
where you are concerned.”

“So you don’t care that people are going to find out about us?”

“I care that people will find out,” Severus informed her honestly, “People will judge me harshly
for daring to touch you. They will judge me as unworthy due to my age, my nature, my looks, my
position, my past affiliation to the Dark Lord and my present position as a spy. I care that I will
have to defend myself against that. Especially when in some instances, I will agree with them that
we are unsuited—”

“We’re not unsuited!” Rosalie huffed.

“In some ways we are,” Severus pushed on, “In many ways we are not. I am loathed for people to
find out about this because I am a private person and nothing about your life is private. Given
time, once those that are close to you find out, the world will find out and I will then have to endure
their scrutiny too.”

The euphoria from only minutes early felt like a distant memory as the gravity of what he was
telling her came crashing down around her, “I thought you didn’t care what anyone thought of
you. What does it matter what anyone else thinks?”

“It doesn’t,” Severus agreed, “But just because I don’t care what they think, doesn’t mean I
welcome the onslaught of their judgement and anger.”

“It’s none of their business,” Rosalie hissed.

Severus shook his head, “No. It’s not.”

Rosalie looked up at him lost, “So what does that mean then? You want me, but you don’t want
anyone to find out...where does that leave us? What is this to you, because I need to know before I
let myself slip too far into this? I’m not ashamed for people to know that we’re sleeping together.
The only person I was afraid to tell was Ron, but now we’re barely even talking!”

Severus eyed her uncomfortably, “You must know that when it comes to this sort of thing I am quite
reserved... I think we both know you are more to me than a mere distraction, though. Enough that I
will weather the storm when it comes, so long as that is where you want me to be.”

“You weren’t reserved a couple of minutes ago,” Rosalie whispered staring up at him
unblinkingly, “...am I’m your girlfriend, then?”

“For lack of a more appropriate term, I suppose you are,” Severus agreed.

Rosalie smiled, a pink tint of happiness colouring her cheeks, “Good. Because if you had told me
this was nothing more than a bit of release for you, I would have pursued you. Other than winning
the war, this is the most important thing in my life right now and when I picture my life beyond the
walls of Grimmauld Place in a world free of the Dark Lord’s influence, I picture you in it.”
 Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Notes

A/N: I promise you I haven’t given up on this fic. I know where I want it to go, I know
how it ends but getting there can be a challenge, especially the filler chapters. It fic
hasn’t wanted to write itself lately and so I keep putting it to one side and trying to
return to it with fresh eyes. I have about a hundred different drafts of this chapter saved
in half written files on my computer; all of them were discarded for one reason or
another. This was the lucky one that made it through, so I hope you like it...

I hope despite the long delay that some of you are still with me and I hope that you can
pick up where we left off without too much trouble. Thank you to everyone who has
continued to leave reviews on my work in the time that I have been absent. Each and
every time I read one of them I am inspired to open a new word document and keep
writing. Seriously. You don’t know how much it means to know that people are
enjoying something I have worked so hard on.

Also, just a reminder that my work is unbeta’d so apologise for any mistakes that I
have overlooked on the rereads.

Enjoy
~Quill

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Twenty Three

Sunday passed with aching normalcy—for most of the day, anyway.

Severus spent the day ensconced within his lab, closing the door firmly behind him when the sun
had only barely separated itself from the horizon. Rosalie had watched him go, suppressing her
own need to follow him in just to be within his presence. Perhaps it was because they’d finally had
a chance to talk about their relationship, perhaps it was because she could now actually say that
this thing between them was a relationship, but the need to be with him was strong. So strong, in
fact, that she’d felt bereft as the door swung shut behind him. She’d managed to restrain herself,
just barely, knowing that if nothing else Severus needed this time to work uninterrupted. She knew
he would not appreciate her hovering. They would have time together later that evening and that
would be enough. She would content herself with that fact that he even made time for her despite
the impossibilities of his schedule. It was enough that he wanted to spend time with her, that he’d
sought her out Friday evening and stayed with her through the weekend.

Just thinking about it—about him, them—made her feel lighter and oddly anxious all at once. She
was at once anticipatory and excited and... happy. Ridiculously happy. She was unable to help the
smile that stretched across her face as she mused on that thought, that Severus Snape of all people
could make her feel like this? The irony wasn’t lost on her. From her most hated professor at
Hogwarts to the everything he was to her now: mentor, friend, confidant and lover. It was true that
impossible circumstances had lead them here and while she could never be thankful for this war or
Voldemort’s blight upon them all, she could be thankful for the opportunity it had presented them
—a silver lining in one very dark storm cloud that may yet still swallow them whole.

Still...she was in awe of them. In love with the reality of them and it felt perfect.

He had not retreated from her as the light of day had encroached upon them. She’d awoken in his
arms, content that he wanted her there beside him. It was a heady feeling. She’d felt drunk with
emotion, warm and soft. Severus too had seemed reluctant to get up, content to hold her as the sun
crested the horizon and daylight slowly crept in around them.

She was still standing in the kitchen, lost in thought when Hermione found her.

“You look happy this morning,” Hermione greeted with a smile.

Rosalie nodded, “I slept well last night.”

The misdirection came almost too easily; she didn’t allow herself to feel bad about it though.
Hermione had been supportive of her ‘crush’ on Severus and even seemed unperturbed by Severus’
apparent interest in her, but there was only so far Rosalie was willing to push her friend. Hermione
had a long history of doing what she thought was right above all else—even above the bonds of
friendship. However much Hermione seemed to trust her now and trust her judgement, Rosalie
wasn’t certain that she wouldn’t turn around and spill the beans if she thought it was the right thing
to do. Rosalie didn’t want to risk that. She didn’t want to risk falling out with her only other ally in
this bloody house and she didn’t want to risk jeopardising her relationship with Severus when
everything still felt so new. When the time was right Hermione would know and by then it
wouldn’t matter if she approved or not.

“Well, that’s good,” Hermione said with a practical nod, “Are you training today?”

Rosalie shook her head, “Severus has other work to do today, so unless someone else shows up to
take his place I thought we might try and make a start on the Little Hangleton research.”

Hermione nodded with satisfaction, “I was going to suggest we try and make a start on it. I briefly
looked through the library yesterday to see if there was anything stashed in there that might
reference the town or house. There were some old newspapers, but to be honest not much else. We
might need to talk to the Headmaster about accessing the Ministry’s records.”

“I doubt the Ministry will simply hand over their records. I’ll talk to Dumbledore though,” Rosalie
agreed, “I reckon if we can work out a basic floor plan of the house and a rough timeline of when
Vol—You-Know-Who— had access to the place then we might be able to work out what he’s done
with the horcrux.”
“Since when do you say ‘You-Know-Who’?” Hermione frowned.

“Since You-Know-Who put a taboo on his name,” Rosalie informed her, “I didn’t even know such
a thing was possible until Severus explained it to me...”

Hermione, though, was already nodding in understanding, “He did that during his first rise. You’ll
have to be careful from now on. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to reinstate it to be honest.”

“I know,” Rosalie sighed, “I hate calling him that, though, ‘You-Know-Who’ is such a mouthful to
say every time.”

“Why not refer to him as the Dark Lord then?” Hermione suggested.

Rosalie shrugged.

“I could, I suppose,” she agreed. She even did sometimes when she was talking to Severus about
things, “I guess it just feels too respectful, somehow, like I am acknowledging his leadership or
something.”

“Well whatever you want to call him, you’d best get used to it fast,” Hermione cautioned, “We’re
not ready for you to face him yet.”

And wasn’t that the truth? No matter how hard she trained, any true confrontation that occurred
with the Voldemort before they had destroyed each and every one of his horcruxes could only end
to their detriment. She would either perish or Voldemort would become incorporeal once more—
unable to be destroyed until he’d once again managed to inhabit a new body. Rosalie didn’t have
the stamina to let this drag on like that, waiting and watching for maybe years before they would
have another chance to finally—finally!—be rid of him.

“No. No we’re not,” Rosalie agreed with a grim nod, “Come on. Let’s go make a start.”

Together they made their way back up through the house to the library; Rosalie lost in thought as
they climbed the stairs one after another. She let herself forget sometimes just how important this
hunt to find and destroy Voldemort’s horcruxes was. More than just chasing the means that would
make it possible to destroy him, they were systematically hunting down her only chance for
survival. She was not immortal. If Voldemort cast the killing curse at her, she would die. No take
backs or second chances.

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

She was not ready to die. Not now. Not when she suddenly had so much to live for.

The Library was cold, the pervading chill from the night before not yet chased away by the weak
morning sun that was only now beginning to filter in through the library’s west facing windows.
Residual droplets of a melted frost still clung to the outer edge of the glass pane in damp crescents,
the tails of which crept up the edge of the window before disappearing into nothingness.

Rosalie shivered, her breath a barely-there mist as it puffed out in front of her.

“It’s freezing in here,” She murmured.

“It is rather,” Hermione agreed absently as she immediately crossed to the table that had become
the centre point of their research over the last few weeks. Rosalie watched as she distractedly
pushed the mass of her curly hair back from her face and took up a newspaper from the top of a
small neat pile she’d stacked to one side. As always with Hermione, it was straight down to
business.

Smiling, Rosalie aimed her wand at the hearth. Flames burst to life from the tip of her wand to
ignite in the fireplace and she sighed at the rush of heat it brought them, moving to stand in front of
it, “Is this everything then?”

There was a smattering of books and newspapers across the table, but the pile was woefully small.

“There wasn’t really much to find,” Hermione sighed, “It’s not something we’re going to find the
answers to in books after all. Especially since the Riddle’s were muggles. I think the papers will be
our best bet.”

Rosalie nodded as she moved to take up the stack of old newspapers. They were dated more than
twenty years prior, during the height of Voldemort’s first reign. They looked well read, yet they
were not yellowed with age. The text on the cover was as clear as the day it had been printed, black
and bold: ‘Winchester Mourns: Dozens of Muggles Dead in Death Eater Strike’. She could still
feel the tingle of residual magic coating the pages—preservation charms. It made Rosalie sick to
think of someone in the Black family keeping them as mementos of a time when their family ideals
had been enforced upon everyone by deadly means.

“The Dark Lord’s past wasn’t widely known before he became Vol— You-Know-Who,” Rosalie
said, catching herself on the slip of his name just in time, “I’d wager most of his follower’s didn’t
even know he was a half-blood. I mean, can you imagine a family like the Black’s stooping to the
leadership of a half-blood? The house at Little Hangleton house was evidence of his muggle
ancestry. It stands to reason he’d try to bury his past. Its possible that we may not find much of
anything in wizarding publications.”

“The same thing occurred to me yesterday,” Hermione agreed with a brisk nod, “which is why I
was thinking that what we really need is to access the muggle records. Little Hangleton is a muggle
town and the Riddles were a muggle family, right? So, it stands to reason that the best information
we are going to find on the property will be from muggle resources.”

Rosalie looked at her friend, “how are we going to get access to muggle records?”

Hermione let out a frustrated breath, “If I had a computer I could email someone and simply
request the information be sent to me, they may even keep their records electronically archived.
Unfortunately, I don’t—have access to a computer, that is.”

“We definitely don’t have access to a computer. Not one that will work here at Grimmauld Place,”
Rosalie agreed, “But perhaps we could write to them through the muggle post? In the meantime I
think we should focus on piecing together the bits of information we do have. I can talk to
Dumbledore about getting our hands on the Ministry’s records and there are also my own
memories of the house; I’ll ask him if we can get access to a pensive so that we can study my
memories.”

Hermione frowned, “Your memories? I didn’t think they ever took you into the house that night...”

“They didn’t,” Rosalie replied unperturbed, “but I had been dreaming about You-Know-Who
hiding out there for months before the night of the graveyard. I saw things through Nagini’s eyes a
lot of the time as she moved about the house. I saw Barty Crouch Junior and Wormtail. I saw him
kill the caretaker there....”

Hermione shuddered and not for the first time thanked her lucky starts that she wasn’t cursed to
carry the burdens that Rosalie was, “Well, it’s a start and while we work on that I suppose I might
be able to try writing to the local council to request the information via mail, if nothing else. Dobby
can post the letter for us.”

“I’ll send a message to Dumbledore now asking him if he can get us access to a pensive,” Rosalie
said as she reached out to pinch one of Hermione’s quills and some parchment.

“What I don’t understand,” Hermione said slowly as Rosalie focused on writing out her letter, “Is
why You-Know-Who didn’t stay at Little Hangleton instead of moving into the Malfoy’s place? If
Little Hangleton is vacant, doesn’t it make more sense if he has hidden one of his horcruxes there,
that he’d want to stay close to watch over it? Especially now that people know more of his history,
he has no reason to hide the fact that his father was a muggle.”

“It’s a power thing, probably,” Rosalie said as she folded up her note and passed the quill back
across the table to her friend, “Malfoy Manor is bigger and grander than his ancestral home. It’s
also a wizarding manor home. To You-Know-Who power is everything, particularly around his
followers. Taking over the Malfoy’s family home was likely a punishment and a reminder—once
you pledge your allegiance to him, everything you are belongs to him. Your life belongs to him. So
if he desires it, he need only take it from you and there is nothing you can do to stop him.”

Hermione let that thought sink in as Rosalie summoned Kreacher to her and asked him to deliver
her message to the Headmaster. It should be disturbing how easily Rosalie seemed to understand
the motives Voldemort had for such things, but Hermione supposed that was just a side effect of
being linked to him the way that Rosalie was. She’d never really thought about what other side
effects it had on her friend or how much it might influence Rosalie’s behaviour and thought
process. Hermione’s gaze drifted up to the scar on Rosalie’s forehead. It lay flat and dormant,
barely visible beneath the fall of her hair, but for a moment Hermione imagined that You-Know-
Who was watching them through it—like an eyepiece through a door—and the hair on the back of
her neck prickled with unease. What did they truly understand about this link between them? A
connection so powerful that Rosalie had been forced to master Occlumency—a skill that normally
took years to properly accomplish—in a matter of months to try and protect herself from his
manipulation.

“Are you okay?” Rosalie asked her, her forehead creasing in concern.

Hermione smiled, “Yeah, I just don’t know how you manage sometimes, being linked to You-
Know- Who the way you are.”

Rosalie sighed, “It’s not so bad anymore, now that he can’t send me dreams and visions.”

Hermione nodded like she understood. She didn’t. How could she?

“Anyway, hopefully Dumbledore will let us use his pensive or else has one which we can borrow,”
Rosalie said before gesturing at the stack of newspapers in front of them, “I suppose we should go
through all of these then, just in case.”

“I suppose we should,” Hermione nodded, sliding one of the papers off of the stack and grimacing
down at the mayhem emblazoned on the front cover. Neither of them was relishing the task of
having to read through the stack of papers on the table.

“It creeps me out that they kept these,” Rosalie said as she unfolded the first page.

“Same here,” Hermione agreed, “they’re like trophies or something.”

Rosalie nodded, “Like the house elf heads.”

“Don’t get me started,” Hermione groused flicking the cover of her paper open with more force
that was strictly necessary.

Rosalie smirked unapologetically and turned her eyes back to the words on the page before her.
Still smiling, she began to read.

Severus blinked once.

Twice.

His vision swam back into focus and he realised he was staring up at the ceiling of his potions
laboratory, the one at Grimmauld Place. He frowned, his senses reaching out around him as he
assessed the situation he found himself in. He was lying prostrated on the ground, his were robes
askew and there was a horrid dryness coating the back of throat that told him he’d been lying there
for some time.

His fingers curled around the glass ampoule that was resting in the palm of his hand. It was empty,
but the silvery residue that collected in the base as he held it upright told him that it had not always
been.

His truth serum, he realised immediately, as the horror of the hallucinations he’d endured began to
come back to him.

Naked, beaten and bloody, she hung from too-tight restraints, her head sagging forward limply,
her dark hair hiding her face but doing little to hide the livid stain of her blood dripping down her
abdomen—

A success then, he realised, pushing the images from his mind abruptly. If nothing else the
hallucinations the potion induced were impressive in their realism. He felt nauseous thinking about
it—about her—like that. Broken and defeated.

Tortured green eyes stared through him, her lips bloodied—

The mix of confusion draught he’d utilized as the base had been just enough to baffle the intended
victim into believing that what he saw to be the truth. Severus frowned as he pushed himself
upright, clasping onto the corner of his workstation to help haul himself back to his feet as he
assessed his own performance. He’d relied more heavily on his Occlumency shields that he cared
to admit and yet, even now, he’d awoken more confused than he’d expected. Even with the
antidote in his system, he could not say with certainty whether or not it would be enough for him to
remain impartial should the Dark Lord, in actual fact, have been present to question him. Not with
the distraction of ‘seeing’ his lover tortured before him every time he answered a question falsely.

He would need to adjust the dosage and enlist Albus’ help upon his return to Hogwarts to complete
the final stages of testing. He was reasonably certain, though, that with a few adjustments he would
be able to safely withstand the effects of the serum should the Dark Lord hold to form and test it on
him first and foremost.
The Dark Lord would be inordinately pleased with the results. As well he should be.

Severus’ hand was shaking as he summoned his journal and began to make notes and adjustments
to the recommended dosage. He would be ready the next time he was summoned. He had been
under its effects once and he would know now what to expect. Next time he would ensure that
Rosalie’s name never passed his lips while he was under the influence of his own potion.

And yet, seeing her like that...

Another man’s hands against her skin, roughly pinning her against him as she cried out—

Severus snarled as he forced the image down.

He’d been right to use the boggart residue. It had been a last minute addition, but as rare as it was
and as expensive as it had been to acquire, it had added just the right amount of expertly focused
fear to the hallucination. It had certainly been enough to make clear though difficult when his
senses had been flooded with everything he had come to dread. He had known that he would see
her; he had thought that foreknowledge of the fact would have been enough for him to remain
impartial in the face of seeing her used against him, but the desire to divulge the truth in order to
save her had been near overwhelming.

If not for his Occlumency shields, it was possible he may have done so...

Without choosing to acknowledge his own actions, Severus found himself closing his potions
journal and making his way across the room, towards the door. The cool air of the kitchen hit him
like a slap across the face as he exited his suddenly oppressive laboratory and he took a moment to
try and compose himself before starting on again.

Sometime over the course of the last several hours the house had grown dark once more; the day
been and gone behind the waft of potion fumes and a self-induced hallucinogenic state. It was the
latter that had driven him from behind the closed door of his lab, his feet carrying him unerringly
towards the library and the woman inside. He could not deny, even to himself, the deeply seated
need within him to see her and know that she was indeed safe and unharmed. It mattered not that
he knew the hallucinations he had seen to be false, assurances were needed to put his mind at ease
and he followed that need with single-minded focus.

The library was cast in a dim light as he approached, long shadows leeching out to meld into the
darkness of the hallway. Inside, though, he could see the flickering light from the fireplace dancing
along the walls, making the room shine like a beacon in the darkness. Instinctively, Severus kept to
the darkness, moving quickly down the hall hidden in shadows right up until the moment he was
forced to part himself from their cover to cross the threshold of the room.

She was tucked up in an armchair close to the fire, her legs folded neatly beneath her as she studied
the book in her hands.

Rosalie.

She shone golden in the firelight, whole, healthy and alive and Severus lent back against the wall
behind him, the tightly coiled knot of tension inside of him beginning to unwind at the sight of her.
She was studying the book in her hands closely, completely absorbed in its pages and wholly at
ease with her surroundings. Severus the moment gifted to him to simply stare at her and wonder at
his good fortune.

She was truly was magnificent.

Rosalie looked up at him from beneath the curtain of her dark hair, a hand rising to brush it back
from her face absently as she smiled up at him in greeting, “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Her face was relaxed and welcoming, a soft smile playing about her mouth as Severus pushed off
the wall to cross the short distance that separated them. Drifting towards her like some
gravitational pull existed between them that he was as helpless against as he was the earth’s
gravity.

She stood to greet him and Severus held his hand out to her, pulling her into his arms as he neared.
Rosalie followed willingly, flowing into him to fit herself against him with a satisfying familiarity
as she tilted her head back in a clear request. He lowered his lips to her obligingly, kissing her
softly, lingeringly as his hands stroked in through her hair with a reverent tenderness that he’d
rarely let himself feel.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, seemingly picking up on his mood simply by the way he’d
held her.

Severus nodded, aware that he probably stunk of potion fumes but unwilling to let her go all the
same, “I am fine.”

‘Now’ he thought but didn’t voice, ‘I am fine now.’

Rosalie eyed him closely, “You look tired.”

“It has been a long day,” Severus agreed, turning them so that he could perch against the arm of
chair Rosalie had been sitting in. Rosalie went with him, moving to stand within the vee of his
spread legs as his arms slid down her waist to settle on the swell of her hips. Rosalie smiled as she
looked down at him, enjoying the height advantage this position gave her, “Where is your friend?”

“Hermione’s upstairs,” Rosalie replied, “I don’t know what she’s doing, but she will be down soon
for dinner.”

Severus nodded but didn’t remove his hands, instead allowing them to slide down further until they
were wrapped loosely about her thighs, holding her in close. Rosalie smiled and looped her arms
about his neck, fingertips scratching lightly through his hair.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Rosalie asked after a moment or two, when neither of them did
anything but hold one another.

“Yes.”

His hands tightened briefly on the back of her legs, squeezing reassuringly and Rosalie bent down
to kiss him again. He complied readily as she cupped his faced and enticed his mouth open with
hers. His mouth was soft and pliant, yielding to her direction as Rosalie darted her tongue out
coaxingly, dipping into his mouth and drawing him back to her.

Rosalie moaned as she felt his hands slide back up to her hips, one slipping in under her t-shirt to
stroke against her back as she nipped at his lips gently.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” she told him breathlessly as her lips recaptured his in direct
contradiction of her words.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Severus agreed, his long fingers brushing back and forth against the dip of her
spine. Neither of them parted, despite their words and Severus closed his eyes and relished the feel
of her against him as her forehead came to rest against his, nose pressed alongside his and her wet
lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

Rosalie sighed against him, rubbing her lips against his one last time before pulling back enough
that there was a breath of space between them.

Almost compulsively she glanced across at the open doorway, relieved not to find Hermione
standing there staring at them in shock, or anyone else for that matter.

“I needed that,” Severus told her gently, surprising her with his candour. He was not usually so
open with his emotions outside of those times that they were intimate.

Rosalie smiled, pleased, “You’re welcome to it anytime.”

Severus smirked at her, “I am pleased to hear—”

Severus cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain, his left arm pulling away from her abruptly as he
pulled his forearm in tight to his chest, “Damn it! He is calling.”

Rosalie nodded; her heart jumping at the unexpected interruption. She stumbled backwards as he
pushed her away from him gently and stood preparing to leave, “Be careful?”

“I must go,” Severus replied absently already making his way to the door in long strides, “I need to
hurry if I wish to take the antidote before I leave—both are still in the laboratory.”

Alarm lanced through her.

“The antidote—did you test it though?” Rosalie exclaimed suddenly as she trailed after him, “You
can’t seriously be taking the serum to him now if you haven’t properly—”

“It’s been tested,” Severus replied abruptly.

“With who exactly?” Rosalie demanded.

“Do you not trust me?” Severus snapped back at her as he descended the stairs to the kitchen with
ridiculous efficiency.

Rosalie thudded down after him, “With my life, but that hasn’t got a fucking thing to do with you
taking stupid risks with your life like—”

“What would you have me do? If you knew anything about what it is like to serve the Dark Lord,
you would understand that arriving empty handed is not an option. He is expecting results,”
Severus replied as he snatched up the potion vials from his workbench, uncorking the antidote and
swallowing it down in a single gulp, “I am one of the foremost Potions Masters in the world,
Rosalie. If nothing else, trust that.”

Rosalie followed him out into the kitchen as he snatched up the floo powder, “Severus...”

He paused, a fistful of floo powder gasped in his hand as he stared back at her, his expression
unreadable in the dim lighting of the kitchen. Rosalie surged forward, slamming into him bodily as
she pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him harshly, their lips mashed together almost
painfully as her fingernails left crescent-shaped indents on the back of his neck, “Go.”

Severus threw the floo powder into the flames, barely waiting for them to turn green before he’d
stepped into the floo, “Malfoy Manor!”

He disappeared from sight with a roaring whoosh as the flames sucked him back up through the
floo and Rosalie took in a gasping breath. The silence of the kitchen felt like it might swallow her
whole as she turned and slumped down into a seat at the table.

“Is everything alright?”

Rosalie looked up as Hermione stepped tentatively into the kitchen, “Oh, Hermione. I didn’t realise
you were there.”

“I wasn’t, until just now,” She replied, “I heard raised voices and...well, I came down to
investigate.”

“Oh,” Rosalie offered blandly, “That was just Severus and I, we were arguing. He got called.”

“I see,” Hermione nodded, but her tone suggested that perhaps that wasn’t the case at all.

Rosalie forced herself to glance up at her friend and smile, “It’s nothing. I’m sorry we disturbed
you.”

“It’s okay. Are you sure everything is alright?” Hermione asked again as she took the seat opposite
her friend.

“Everything is fine,” Rosalie nodded, “In fact, we should eat. It could be hours before Severus’
back and there’s not much point waiting.”

Hermione nodded in bemusement as Rosalie summoned two plates across from the bench where
they’d sat under stasis charms for most of the day, left by Mrs. Weasley that morning for their
evening meal. Rosalie smiled, “This looks great.”

Silence descended over them as Rosalie began to eat mechanically. Hermione stared at her at a loss
not entirely sure what had happened to put her friend so out of sorts.

“I’m sure he’ll be back before you know it,” Hermione offered finally when the tension in the
room got to be too much.

Rosalie paused, a brisk nod her only reply and continued eating.

It was nearing the early hours of the morning and still there was no sign of Severus returning.
Grimmauld Place was dark and cold once more, dormant for the evening as Rosalie waited.
Hermione had left her hours ago pleading off tired as she turned in for the evening, doing her best
to try and coax Rosalie into turning in with her. Sleep seemed impossible though and the unease
that had settled inside of her the minute Severus had disappeared through the floo had only built in
the hours that he’d been gone.

More hours than she could count on one hand.

Hour and hours in which things could have gone horribly wrong.

Rosalie sat resolutely at the kitchen table, legs crossed on the seat, her knees aching from the cold
and being bent for so long. She didn’t know how to cope with this, she thought as she pulled the
blanket wrapped around her shoulders a little tighter and cast a warming charm over her tired body.
It wasn’t the first time that Severus had been called, it likely wouldn’t be the last if things went
according to plan, but for some reason, the inherent danger in Severus’ role seemed closer this time
than anytime before.

Not for the first time that evening, she was sorely tempted by the thought of lowering her
Occlumency shields in the hopes that she might be able to feel, even distantly, what Voldemort was
feeling. She needed something to latch onto. She was in the dark—both literally and figuratively
speaking—and the fear of the unknown was ripping her to shreds: Had the serum worked? Had the
antidote? Had Severus’ true allegiances been made known? Was he in danger? Was he being
tortured right now as Rosalie sat here and worried herself sick over him?

Rosalie let her head fall forward into the cradle of her hands.

He could be dead. Voldemort could have killed him hours ago and she’d have been none the wiser.
He could already be gone and she could be waiting here for nothing.

Rosalie shook her head. No matter how desperate she was to know what was happening, she knew,
no matter what, Severus would never forgive her for taking such a risk. It was essential that
Voldemort remain ignorant to the things that she knew. She would be risking more than herself by
letting him into her mind.

Still, she couldn’t deny that she was sorely tempted.

Rosalie startled as the sudden whoosh of flames burst outwards from the softly glowing embers of
the fireplace. Her heart leapt to her throat at the abrupt flash of green flames and Rosalie scrambled
to her feet, the blanket dropping away from her shoulders to pool beneath her as she stepped
towards him.

Remus.

“Rosalie,” the werewolf greeted in surprise, his voice roughly grated as he stepped out of the floo,
brushing errant flakes of ash from his shoulders as he glanced over at her curiously, “What on earth
are you doing down here at this hour?”

“Remus,” Rosalie greeted, her feet frozen to the spot, halting her sudden surge towards the
fireplace as she registered the presence of her godfather.

Not Severus.

Hot tears prickled in her eyes and Rosalie swallowed around them thickly, her face feeling tight.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” He asked her gently as he moved into the room, “It’s freezing
down here.”

Rosalie dropped her gaze, moving back to her chair. She avoided his gaze as she stooped to pick up
her dropped blanket, “No reason. I couldn’t sleep, is all. I wasn’t expecting you just now—you
startled me.”

Remus’ hand was warm on her shoulder and she started under its unexpected weight, “Is
everything alright, Rose?”

Rosalie nodded, not able to bring herself to lift her gaze from the blanket in her hands. The wool
was rough underneath her fingers as she rubbed the coarse material between her hands. It felt nice.
Soothing even.
“Rose, I know that...” Remus began gently as he urged her to face him with the hand still resting on
her shoulder, “I know that things between us haven’t been all that easy recently. A lot of that is my
fault, I was upset that you were hurting and that you wouldn’t lean on me the way I wanted you to.
Perhaps you felt you couldn’t, I don’t know. Either way I reacted badly and for that I am sorry. I
want you to know that I will always be here for you, though, even when I might not be around.”

Remus ducked his head down to try and catch her eyes with his own and reluctantly, Rosalie lifted
her gaze to his. His eyes were warm and earnest and the heavy weight of his disappointment settled
over her. The pointed barb of her own failure once again pierced her chest and she reached out to
grasp the wrist of the hand still resting on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“I want to be someone that you can rely on. I want to be someone that you feel like you can confide
in when things get rough—I’m sorry that I have made things difficult for you in that regard. I’ve
had plenty of time away to think about the way I behaved and the way we left things... and I don’t
want to regret not mending fences between us while we still had the chance.”

Rosalie nodded, hot tears spilling out of her eyes, “I’m sorry too. There are things that I can’t—I
can’t tell anyone and—”

Remus pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her tightly as she clung to him, “It’s
okay, Rose. You don’t need to explain. We’re going to be okay.”

Rosalie gripped him tighter, her fists white-knuckled as they twisted in the back of his robes. It
was as if suddenly someone had opened the floodgates within her and all her hurt and fear was
spilling out of her as her tears soaked the front of his robes. She clung to him as if her very life
depended on it and through it all, he held her tightly, his head resting atop hers gently.

“Alright?” Remus said after long moments when Rosalie’s grip on him finally began to lessen and
she stepped back from his embrace.

“Yes,” Rosalie assured him as she scrubbed a hand over her face, “I’ve made a mess of your robes,
though.”

Rosalie shrugged carelessly, “I don’t care about my robes.”

“Where have you been all this time?” Rosalie asked finally.

“With the werewolves,” Remus told her, “I’ve been trying to monitor the likelihood of their
involvement by gauging their support of the Dark Lord. So far many of them still choose to keep to
themselves. Greyback and some of those that he has turned seem to be exceptions to the rule.”

“You’ve been living with them then?” Rosalie asked.

“On and off,” Remus hedged, “I have also been spending time with Nymphadora.”

“Tonks?” Rosalie asked in surprise, “Why would...are you and she...?”

Shockingly, Remus blushed, “Not as much as she would like, I’m sure; but yes, I suppose you
might say that she and I are...somewhat involved.”

Rosalie frowned at his reluctance, “Somewhat involved? I’m not sure I understand.”

“I am a werewolf, Rose,” Remus explained gently, “there are implications that come with that.
Werewolves are not well respected by our society. She has everything life has to offer ahead of her
and a good career as an Auror. She does not deserve to be shunned by society simply because of
her choice of associations and she will be if she chooses to be with me.”

“Don’t you think that’s her decision?” Rosalie asked pointedly, not envying the fight Tonks had
ahead of her. Remus had lived with the bigotry of others dogging him for almost his entire life. It
would no easy task to wear him down and accept that Tonks didn’t care what others would say
about them. Society would shun them, but there would be those among them that would accept
them too and respect their right to live their life the way they wanted.

Remus chuckled, “You sound just like her.”

Rosalie smiled, wondering if she should be feeling guilty the little spike of excitement she felt
when she realised that this relationship between Remus and Tonks could only help her own with
Severus once Remus found out about them. There was thirteen years between Remus and Tonks,
only seven less that the twenty that separated Severus and her...surely that would help their
argument? The more that Tonks wore Remus down, the less he would have a leg to stand one when
it came time to defend her own relationship to him down the track.

The fireplace flared again and her heart jumped as Severus stepped from out from the hearth,
“Lupin.”

“Severus,” Remus returned cordially.

Rosalie felt relief punch her in the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs as she drunk in the sight
of him, whole, alive, uninjured, “Severus, you’re back.”

His eyes flicked over her, shuttered in the presence of her godfather as he nodded once, “Indeed, I
am.”

Remus looked back and forth between them, his expression curious as he turned his gaze to the
blanket still clasped loosely in her hands.

“I would have thought you’d be at Hogwarts given the lateness of the hour,” Lupin offered after an
awkward beat of silence, “breakfast will be starting in the Great Hall in just a few short hours.”

Severus gave him a flat stare, “What business is it of yours?”

“Oh, none at all,” Remus replied lightly, “I am merely attempting to make polite conversation.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Severus replied as he pulled his robes about himself, “If
you’ll both excuse me.”

The need to follow him was strong. Instead she turned back to her godfather, “I guess we should
both turn in, too.”

“You were sitting up for him, weren’t you?” Remus asked. His expression was neutral and calm.
Rosalie could not sense no judgement from him, no recriminations or anger.

Rosalie bit her lip, “I was worried about him.”

Remus nodded a small smile playing about his face as they turned to the stairs together, “I truly
don’t understand how you managed to get past all the snark and actually form a friendship with
that man. He’s got more barbs on him than a porcupine.”

Rosalie smiled, “It didn’t happen overnight, but I think that every second of the hell we put each
other through has been worth it to arrive on the other side.”
“I don’t doubt it, the things we work the hardest for in life are often the most rewarding,” Remus
agreed.

Rosalie looked at him pointedly, “Maybe you should think about that the next time you’re about to
shoot Tonks down.”

Remus chuckled, “Touché. I walked right into that one.”

Rosalie nodded, “I mean it, though. If she hasn’t backed down yet, maybe she’s worth holding on
to. You deserve love in your life, Remus.”

“We’ll see,” He told her as they stopped outside the door of her room, “Goodnight, Rose.”

“Goodnight, Moony.”
 Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Notes

A/N: This work is still un-beta’d so any mistakes are my own.

I used this website as a resource this chapter:

http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Subtle_laws_of_wands

Enjoy!
~Quill

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Twenty Four

Rosalie was roused from sleep as she felt Severus shift beneath her and curled in tighter against his
side. She was stiff from the cold, the thin woollen blanket she spread across them the night before
not enough to keep the pervading chill of the night at bay as they’d slept. The cold had seeped deep
into her bones and she moaned in discomfort as she turned her face into his shoulder wishing that
she’d had the foresight to turn Severus right way up in the bed and pull the covers up over them
before succumbing to sleep. She’d been exhausted though and despite the fact that barely a handful
of minutes had elapsed between the time Severus had left her with Remus in the kitchen to when
she’d bid her godfather goodnight on the stairs, he hadn’t stirred as she’d entered his room either.
Stretched out diagonally across the mattress, he’d lain fully clothed atop of the sheets, only his
shoes discarded carelessly at the bedside before he’d seemingly collapsed onto the bed. Not
wanting to disturb his sleep, she’d taken the woollen blanket still clutched in her hands and spread
it out over them as she curled up beside him.

“Rose?” he murmured deeply now as he felt her pressed against his back.

Rosalie hummed half-heartedly in response, not complaining as she felt Severus manoeuvring them
both beneath the covers of the bed. The tingle of a warming charm settled over them as Rosalie
pushed back into strong arms and a broad chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Severus murmured into her hair, his voice still rough with
sleep.
Eyes closed, Rosalie ran her hand along his arm and threaded her fingers through his, “You were
asleep.”

Severus sighed, “I’ll have to leave soon.”

“I know,” she agreed, a small smile lifting her lips at the brief tightening of his arm around her
waist. His nose dipped into the curve of her neck, skimming lightly along the skin as he inhaled her
scent groggily.

“Did it go okay? Last night with the Dark Lord?” she asked after a minute as her mind cleared
enough to remember why Severus had been so tired the night before.

“It went fine,” Severus replied dismissively, his lips pressing into her neck, “I’d rather not bring
the Dark Lord into our bed just now though.”

“Agreed,” Rosalie breathed into the darkness, turning fractionally in his embrace until she could
twist her neck around so that her face met his comfortably. A large warm hand cupped her cheek as
his lips met her in a slow, languid kiss. Lazy and inelegant, Rosalie sighed into him, granting him
entry into her mouth as his tongue swiped against her lips before delving deeper.

In her somnolent state, relaxed and now warm, the hot embers of her arousal quickly began to
smoulder and burn. His jaw was rough with stubble and it rasped along her face and her fingertips
as they trailed his face, pulling him in closer.

“Lift up,” Severus murmured after several moments when he broke their kiss, his hand running
down her stomach leadingly to push at her pants. This thumb hooked in the elastic waistband and
Rosalie shifted her hips accommodatingly, helping scoot them down her legs until they were lost in
the bedding at their feet.

Blunt teeth nipped at the curve were neck met shoulder as his hand slid back up her thigh,
squeezing lingeringly at her hip as she pushed back into the cradle of his. Cool fingers dipped
inwards to glide over her centre, his fingertips parting the damp folds teasingly.

“Severus...” Rosalie sighed as she reached up to pull his face back down to hers, her fingers
tangling in his hair as he circled her clit persuasively.

They kissed languorously, needily and at length as Severus opened her to his touch, his fingers lost
in wet heat as she rocked into his hand, her knees spread wide and her hips canting up with every
thrust of his fingers.

“Bring your knee up to your chest,” He gasped finally when they could take no more, his lips a wet
smear against hers and his breath coming in deep pants. Wet fingers reached for her upper knee,
guiding it upwards as he moved up over her hip. A quick fumble had the clasp of his pants open
and Rosalie moaned as the heat of his skin touched hers.

His lips pressed against the warm skin of her shoulder as he pressed into her with deep groan of
deliverance.

“This is uncomfortable,” She said of her knee, “Can I—?”

Rosalie jostled herself around, hooked her leg back over his hip and leant back into him, her head
falling into the cradle of his elbow as Severus propped his upper knee up to help hold it place,
“Better?”

Rosalie nodded, “Yes. You can move now.”

Severus rocked into her smoothly as his upper arm reached out to wrap around her body, sliding up
beneath her shirt to bracket her ribcage and settle beneath her breast. Rosalie smiled her hand
joined his and she entwined their fingers, turning her head back into him as he leant down to take
her mouth. They had never been more tightly coiled about one another, Rosalie wholly
encompassed within his embrace as he slid into her in slow measured thrusts, his hips ebbing and
flowing rhythmically. She felt entirely under his power, wrapped tight in his embrace, restricted by
his arms as he took control of the pace. She knew if she desired it she could break free at any
moment, but it turned her on more than she fully understood to be held in place so—resting back in
loving arms—as Severus took his pleasure from her and delivered hers.

Rosalie broke their kiss to keen softly as pleasure lit through her, a slow gentle glow of bliss
building in her core and flushing out over her body as they moved in synchronous rhythm.

“Rose...” Severus gasped as his thrusts began to deepen.

“Yes,” Rosalie replied. She was nodding, her brow furrowed in concentration as her fingers left his
to tunnel back into his hair, “Yes! Please...make me come...”

He was panting heavily as he drove into her again and again, his cock sliding in and out of her with
ease as the obscene sounds of their pleasure filled the room—the wet sounds of him moving inside
of her, the faint squeaking of his bedsprings as it protested under them...

Her hand left his hair and Severus groaned as he realised she was rubbing furious circles about her
clit, helping herself along as she began to constrict around him in climax.

“Severus,” She panted needily, “Sev! Oh, Merlin, yes!”

The force of Severus’ thrusts increased then as he drove his length inside her only a couple more
times before his release washed over him, making her breath catch and her mouth fall open as his
final thrust sent of a shock wave of pleasure rippling out across her body in a minute version of
what she’d just experienced.

Her skin felt dewy with sweat, her hair stuck uncomfortably to her face and neck as her heart
pounded out a rapid staccato against her chest. Rosalie reached back for him again, her hand
reaching around until she could cup his face. Snape let his fingers tangle with hers as she lifted her
lips to feather across the underside of his. Obligingly, he turned his face down into her kiss, his lips
rubbing gently over hers in a soft kiss before he curled their arms back around her waist and pulled
her more firmly back into his chest. Carefully, Rosalie eased her leg back down off of his hip,
whimpering as she felt his length slide out of her.

“That was amazing,” she breathed.

Rosalie’s eyes fluttered closed again as she felt Severus’ lips drop to her neck once more. He
placed a tender kiss against the column of her throat and then she knew no more until she was
awoken again by the muffled downpour of rain pinging against the window outside. The bed
beside her was empty, the area Severus had occupied long since turned cold from his absence.

She was still naked from the waist down and Rosalie rolled over in the bed, a secretive smile
playing about her face as she stared out at the drowned world beyond Severus’ window. Her hand
splayed out along the mattress, running along worn-soft sheets as she recalled the events of that
morning, the ghost of Severus touch still lingering on her skin.

Even waking up alone, the dark skies outside pregnant with rain and the threat of Voldemort
lingering over their heads, she wasn’t sure that she could recall a happier Monday morning.
Rolling over to press her smile into the pillow, Rosalie laughed.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Hermione admitted as she collapsed backwards, her
breathing coming in laboured pants.

Rosalie extended a hand to help her up, smile grim. They were both sweating profusely, their outer
robes abandoned across the couch despite the chill that clung to the air, “I told you it wouldn’t be
easy. It took me over a year to make any headway with it.”

“Yes, but I thought some of that was because of the antagonism that used to exist between you and
Professor Snape,” Hermione admitted, “I mean, I’m not expecting to be able to get it first go, I
know that Occlumency usually takes years to master, but I thought that I would have more initial
success! I read through all the theory, after all.”

Rosalie shook her head, “It has to come from more than simply knowing what to do. Basic theory
doesn’t help—or at least, it didn’t for me.”

Hermione sighed in frustration, “Then how? What changed to allow you to start Occluding?”

“Meditation helped a lot,” Rosalie shrugged, “I found ‘clearing my mind’ to be the hardest part and
the meditation helped me focus my thoughts. I thought ‘clearing my mind’ meant I had to think of
nothing, which is impossible. The minute I tried to think of nothing, I was thinking of thinking
nothing and whether thinking of thinking nothing was the same as thinking of nothing. I’d instantly
become frustrated and from there Severus waltzed into my brain.”

“So what does it mean then?” Hermione asked.

“It’s not something I really know how to define. For me it means focusing my thoughts on my
breathing. I focus all my attention on my breathing with an absolute single-mindedness that allows
me to ‘clear my mind’,” Rosalie instructed carefully, “It’s not about having nothing in your mind,
but more about clearing active thought. By focusing on simple repetitive instruction such as
breathing in and out, I am allowing passive thought to filter by without allowing anything to take
hold and direct my attention. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hermione nodded.

“Explaining that to Severus took time because I didn’t know myself what it was that I was doing
wrong. Once I managed to adequately fumble out an explanation to the issues I was having we
started having sessions where we would just sit together and meditate—only we called them ‘focus
sessions’,” Rosalie smiled, remembering the nights they spent together sitting in silence barely a
foot apart, both lost in their own minds, “Eventually, once I got good enough at allowing passive
thought to take over, we began to work together on constructing the barriers that would become my
shields.”

Hermione swiped a hand across her brow, “So the shield exists in the place between passive and
active thought... That way, theoretically, a Legilimens only sees active thought once entering
someone’s mind and you can control what they have access to.”

“Right.”
Hermione gave her an assessing glance, her head tilted to one side, “You know, you actually really
good at this.”

“Occlumency? I’ve had to be,” Rosalie nodded.

“No, not Occlumency,” Hermione denied, “Well, you’re good at that too, but I meant teaching. I
remember thinking the same thing back when you were teaching the DA defence.”

Rosalie shrugged, “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

Hermione nodded, “So should we be meditating then?”

“Is that where you think you’re failing? Clearing your mind?” Rosalie asked as she gestured for
them both to take seat on the training room floor. She folded her legs beneath her, resting her hands
over her knees.

“I think so,” Hermione agreed, imitating the position across from her friend.

“Meditation is harder than it looks too,” Rosalie said with a quick grin, “It can be difficult to
remain focused solely on your breathing and not let your mind wander. It is important to remember
that the breathing is your guide, though. Severus says some people count the measure of their
breaths, two counts in, there counts out—whatever number works for you. In through your nose
and out through your mouth in a steady pattern.”

Hermione nodded, following her lead and inhaling deeply through her nose, “He’s not going to be
upset that you showed me this is he?”

“Forget about Severus,” Rosalie said dismissively, “Close your eyes, keeping your posture straight,
but your body relaxed and think only of the flow of your breath. Inhaling and exhaling in a circular
pattern.”

Rosalie closed her own eyes then, following her own instructions as together their breathing fell
into synchronisation. Rosalie let the natural flow of her meditation wash over her and soon found
herself drifting in a sea of abstract thought—‘passive thought’ as she’d labelled it with Hermione.
She allowed herself to float there amongst the non-defined sea of thought for an undetermined
amount of time before finally coming back to herself. When she opened her eyes once more
Hermione’s were still shut, her face relaxed and serene.

Rosalie smiled with a sense of satisfaction, both determined and oddly grim as she watched
Hermione take the first few halting steps of success that would one day lead her to becoming an
accomplished Occlumens. It was a powerful moment, one that she could feel building inside of her
—changing inside of her—twisting the smile on her face into something else altogether as it
throbbed through her entire being, bursting outwards in a white hot pulse that was hot and curling
as it leeched through her body. Rosalie inhaled sharply as its poisonous tentacles began stretching
outwards flooding her with a sense of violent triumph that made her want to throw her head back
and bare her teeth—

Rosalie gasped, rocking forwards so that her forehead smacked into her palm, “Merlin!”

“Rose?” Hermione gasped drowsily.

The sensation was fading, leaving her with a sick receding slide of filth as it drew back into her,
disappearing into nothingness almost as quickly as it had come. Her head was pounding, her scar
throbbing with every beat of her heart. Her palm was slick against her forehead, the trickle of hot
blood unmistakable.
“Are you okay?!” Hermione asked as she placed a warm hand on Rosalie’s shoulder.

“That hasn’t happened since my birthday,” Rosalie whispered, still curled in on herself. She didn’t
want to move her had away from her forehead. The pressure was both warm and comforting, like it
might keep any further attacks at bay and just for a few minutes that was exactly what she needed.

“What hasn’t? Rose, what happened?”

Rosalie sat up again, holding her bloody palm out for her friend to see, “I’m not sure, but whatever
it was it made Vold—You-Know-Who pretty bloody happy. I could feel it. It just bubbled up inside
of me like the emotion was mine and yet...not.”

“Were you shields down?” Hermione asked conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air to press against
Rosalie’s bleeding scar, “Had you lowered them to meditate?”

Rosalie shook her head and then thought better of it when she felt like the motion had sent her
brain rattling back and forward in her forehead, “No. I just... it was just one of those things that was
strong enough for me to feel through the shields. Like at my birthday when he was so furious and
my scar burst open and I almost fainted.”

Hermione pursed her lips speculatively, “I don’t understand how it’s possible for him to be able to
reach you through the link when you’re Occluding. If your shields are capable of withstanding a
direct attack from him, which I’m suggesting they are given that he hasn’t been able to send you
dreams or access your mind in months, then how is it that he is able to project his heightened
emotions on to you like this?”

Rosalie shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, the link is still there, I suppose. I’m just blocking it.”

Rosalie could see her friend’s mind working as she turned over the pieces of the puzzle that was
the connection that Rosalie shared with Voldemort in her mind. Hermione’s eyes kept drifting back
to the angry looking scar on Rosalie’s forehead from time to time, eyeing it thoughtfully.

“It’s odd, isn’t it? That the link is formed through your scar—”

The heralding crack! of someone apparating into the house echoed down to them from beyond the
training room door cutting Hermione off mid-sentence as they both swung around in the direction
of the sound. Rosalie and Hermione shared a look.

“Who’s that?” Hermione whispered as they both climbed to their feet.

They were startled when two more followed, signifying the presence of thee additional people into
the house.

“Potter?” a familiar voice called out to her from the lounge.

Rosalie relaxed, “It’s just Severus.”

“What’s he doing here mid-week?” Hermione asked, “It’s Wednesday, most Head of House’s have
open office hours of a Wednesday night.”

“No idea,” Rosalie replied as they made their way over to the training room door. Severus was
standing in the lounge, his back to their approach, as he talked in hushed tones to Madame Pomfrey
and Professor McGonagall. The former looked up as they approached, something like relief
lighting her features at the sight of them.
“Ah. Here they are,” Madame Pomfrey called as Rosalie and Hermione stepped out into the
lounge.

“Potter,” Severus greeted briskly, “There is to be an Order meeting tonight, as soon as everyone has
managed to gather—you’re bleeding, what happened?”

Rosalie pulled the sodden handkerchief away from her forehead, “Something happened tonight to
make You-Know-Who happy—or triumphant, I guess. It filtered down the link.”

“You were Occluding?” Severus asked sharply.

Rosalie nodded, “I was. This was just...spill over.”

“Was there any associated vision?” He prompted his gaze intent.

“No. None,” Rosalie reassured him, “It was just like the night of my birthday. I got his feelings,
that’s all—like they were my own and yet foreign at the same time.”

Severus nodded once, his eyes flicking over her furtively before leaving her form altogether.

“Let me see your head, Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said without preamble as she stepped forward to
tilt Rosalie’s head back into the light, “It does look a might angry, doesn’t it? Very inflamed, but
mostly settling now, I would say. There isn’t much I can do for a cursed scar unfortunately; it
needs time to settle on its own. If it is still bothering you in an hour or two, though, try a basic
healing charm and see if that helps.”

Rosalie nodded, “It’s doesn’t bother me too much once it’s like this. Like you said, it just takes a
while to settle down once it’s aggravated.”

Hermione was frowning at her in thought again and Rosalie wondered what exactly was running
through her friend’s head. She knew that look. It was a look that told her that the pieces of a puzzle
were slowly coming together for Hermione to form some bigger picture; her friend was just trying
to work out how they all fit.

“What’s going on?” Rosalie asked after a moment, when it seemed no further information would be
forthcoming, “It can’t be a coincidence that a meeting’s been called the same night my scar acts
up.”

“Indeed,” Severus nodded, “There has been an attack.”

“What?!” Hermione gasped, “Where?”

“Perhaps we ought to wait for Albus to arrive to go into the particulars, Miss Granger,”
McGonagall offered primly, “Shall we to the kitchen?”

Rosalie shared another look with her best friend before hastening after their transfiguration
professor.

“Rosalie, might I have a quick word before we join the others?” Madame Pomfrey called out to her
before she’d taken two steps. Rosalie looked back at her in surprise but complied with a quick nod
and gestured for Hermione to go on without her while she lingered behind.

“Yes?” Rosalie asked as she turned back to the mediwitch.

Madame Pomfrey eyed Severus’ retreating back shrewdly before turning her attention to the witch
in front of her. Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up as the mediwitch cast a quick privacy spell over them.

“I thought I might take to opportunity to follow up on our last consultation,” the mediwitch said
meaningfully as she glanced down at Rosalie’s midsection, “It’s near enough to five weeks on
since I gave you the potion to clear out any unwanted pregnancy and I thought it prudent to take
the time have a quick follow up scan to ensure the potion was indeed effective.”

Rosalie instantly felt colour flood her cheeks, “Oh! Of course...”

“Good, then. Shall we take this somewhere more private?” Madame Pomfrey offered, gesturing
for Rosalie to precede her as they exited the room.

“I guess we can use my training room, for now,” Rosalie said as she led the mediwitch down the
hall, discreetly trying to wipe her suddenly sweaty palms against her clothed legs.

The mediwitch smiled at her kindly as the door swung shut behind them, “Try not to be too
worried, my dear, it is highly unlikely you will return a positive scan. This is merely a formality.
We need to be certain.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly and nodded, “Okay.”

“Are you ready then?” Madame Pomfrey asked as she raised her wand.

“Wait!” Rosalie gasped, “What’s going to happen?”

“I will cast the spell over your abdomen and if you are pregnant your stomach will glow green,”
Madame Pomfrey explained patiently, “A negative result yields no effect.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay. Okay, do it.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded and raised her wand again, “Conceptus Repertum!”

Rosalie’s eyes slammed shut tightly, unable to look down at what her fate might be, “Well?”

Her heart was lodged somewhere in her throat, pounding so strongly she thought she might vomit...

“It’s negative,” Madame Pomfrey assured her, “You are not pregnant.”

Rosalie let out a heavily sigh of relief as she allowed her eyes to pop open once more, “You’re
sure?”

“Yes, I am completely certain,” Madame Pomfrey agreed with some relief, “Although, I might
take this moment to remind you again how irresponsible it was for someone in your position to be
having unprotected sex. I do hope you have spoken to the young man you are sharing your bed
with about this and that you are both being more careful?”

Rosalie blushed beet red and wondered what Severus would think about being referred to as her
‘young man’, “Yes, Madame Pomfrey. I’ve been taking a contraceptive potion regularly since I
saw you last.”

“It’s the very least I expect of you,” Madame Pomfrey nodded, “Now, come. We best make
ourselves present at this meeting.”

Rosalie fell into step behind the mediwitch as they made their way out of the training room and
down the narrow staircase to the basement kitchen, relief making her feel giddy and lightfooted.
The sounds of voices filtered up to them as they approached and they entered into a room full of
Weasleys: Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Fleur, Bill and...

Rosalie’s eyes immediately fell to the redhead quietly seated at the table.

Ron.

His burning blue eyes flicked up to clash with hers and she tried to offer him a small smile. It felt
stiff and odd on her face though and, she was almost certain, looked more like a grimace than the
smile she had intended.

“Hey,” She greeted with a small nod.

Ron held her gaze for a moment before his eyes slid past her shoulder and darkened. Rosalie didn’t
have to glance behind her to know that Severus had moved to stand at her back, his presence called
to her like a magnetic force. Ron looked away without returning her greeting and Rosalie was
forced to swallow around the bitter taste of disappointment.

The gentle brush of a larger hand against the small of her back fortified her and Rosalie stepped
further into the crowded kitchen.

“Is there something the matter?” Severus asked her surreptitiously.

Rosalie glanced at him, “Aside from the obvious you mean?”

“I was referring to your council with Madame Pomfrey,” he clarified, a small crease between his
brows the only visible outward sign of his concern.

“Oh,” Rosalie replied, “No, nothing is the matter. Women’s stuff.”

Severus’ eyebrows lifted, “‘Women’s stuff’?”

Rosalie frowned at him a nodded, “Yes. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. I’d tell you if
something was the matter.”

“I hope so,” Severus agreed, as they took a seat at the kitchen tabled.

More and more Order members began to trickle in and Rosalie glanced up as she felt Hermione
slide into the vacant space to her right.

“Budge up there, would you?” one of the twins hollered down the table, “We’re going to need to fit
a good lot more of us around this table before the night’s through.”

There was a round of shuffling and Rosalie was pushed down the table, the side of her body
pressing in tight against Severus’ as they were all jostled to make more room. Somehow, she ended
up sitting directly across from Ron’s dark glare.

“Is something the matter, Mr Weasley?” Severus intoned darkly.

Ron looked away.

In short order the room was full to bursting and Rosalie turned her attention to the head of the table
as Albus stood to address the Order.

“My friends,” he greeted, his tone heavy, “It is my sad new to inform you that an attack took place
tonight in a small wizarding village just outside of London. We were given no prior warning about
this attack and alas, by the time many of us arrived it was too late and the town sustained much
damage and loss of life. Our most esteemed wandmaker, Mr Ollivander’s home was situated in this
village and his whereabouts are currently unknown. Though his body was not found at the scene,
we have it on the authority of one of his neighbours he was in fact home that evening and his house
bore signs of a struggle. It is likely he was taken by the Dark Lord. Kingsley Shacklebolt and
Nymphadora Tonks remain on scene investigating his subsequent disappearance.”

“What would You-Know-Who want with Ollivander?” Someone asked from the back of the room.

“His intentions are unclear,” Albus answered calmly, “If we are to believe at this stage that Garrick
Ollivander has indeed been abducted by Tom Riddle, one can only assume his particular skill set is
of use.”

“Because of the Priori Incantatem?” Rosalie asked quietly, “Because he has the brother wand to
my wand?”

Albus looked at her steadily over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, “I believe so, yes.”

“Priori Incantatem? Albus?” Arthur Weasley asked, leaning forward in his chair with concern
etched across his face.

“Wandlore is a difficult subject to fully understand, but I shall do my best to explain,” Albus began,
“Miss Potter’s wand and Tom Riddle’s share the same core, a phoenix feather gifted by the same
phoenix. When this occurs—when two wands share the same core, taken from the same source—
they are known as ‘brother’ wands. This in itself is not terribly uncommon, as you might have
guessed, they are likely many pairs of brother wands in our world, but few so unerringly connected
as Tom Riddle’s and our Miss Potter’s. Brother wands, as it turns out, cannot be forced to duel
against one another and in such an instance that this occurs, a exceedingly rare phenomenon known
as Priori Incantatem can occur. Miss Potter and Tom Riddle achieved this phenomenon in Miss
Potter’s fourth year when they faced off against one another in the graveyard of Little Hangleton
after the Dark Lord’s rebirth.”

Rosalie could feel the weight of many eyes settling on her and she fought hard not to fidget under
their stare.

“What does it mean, though?” Bill Weasley asked.

“Once a Priori Incantatem connection has been made the wands become unpredictable when used
against one another. In a duel, it would be almost impossible to predict how two such wands would
react to the presence of one another’s magic. It is possible that Tom is taking steps to furnish
himself with a more suitable wand with which to face off against Miss Potter.”

“Should we be doing the same?” Severus pointed out, “It seems foolhardy to leave Potter ill-
equipped with a wand that could prove unreliable in such a crucial moment.”

“Perhaps,” Albus agreed inclining his head, “The wand, however, chooses the wizard. There is no
guarantee that we could find another such wand for Miss Potter to use in the time we have
remaining to us. Until now, there had been no indication that Tom Riddle had been searching for a
new wand—indeed, it seemed to give him no trouble when they met briefly the very next year in
the Ministry of Magic.”

“I think we should be trying, Albus,” Minerva agreed.

“Does it even matter anymore? If You-Know-Who’s getting himself a new wand?” Ron asked
suddenly.
“We cannot know for sure that is his intention,” Severus hissed, “He gave no warning prior to this
attack, no hint that he desired Ollivander in anyway—for all we know the wandmaker is dead. This
is not something that should be left to chance.”

“Well isn’t it your job to find out?” Ron glared back.

“Ron, that’s enough,” Arthur snapped more sternly that Rosalie had ever heard him speak. Ron
glared mutinously at his parents, but mercifully fell silent.

Severus sneered at her friend from across the table, “Indeed, Mr. Weasley, I’ll just go question him
now, shall I?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Albus intervened, “If you could refrain from antagonising one another for
just a moment or two longer. I understand that this has been a long day for many of us and I thank
each and every one of you for everything you do for this Order and our cause. However, in light of
Mr Ollivander’s disappearance, I feel it might also be prudent to keep a close eye on his rival, Mr.
Gregorovitch. Should Tom indeed be in the market for a new wand as we suspect and Mr.
Ollivander is unable or unwilling to fulfil the request, I hazard a guess he will be the next in line to
go missing.”

“We can look into it,” Bill offered with a quick look to his wife, “We were thinking of making a
quick trip back to France to visit Fleur’s parents, anyway—we’ll extend the visit if need be and
make contact. Did you want us to bring him in?”

“I very much doubt you could convince him to come, but perhaps, if nothing else, we can employ
his services for Miss Potter?” Albus offered, “at the very least we can warn him of what is likely to
befall him should Ollivander in anyway fail. Forewarned is forearmed they say.”

Bill nodded his head, “We’ll see that he gets the message.”

“Good. In that case I thank you all for taking the time to come,” Albus glanced around the room,
“Unless there are any further issues anyone would like to discuss this evening?”

A general mumble to the negative flowed about the room and the meeting soon after dispersed as
people left and other’s regrouped in smaller groups about the kitchen.

“Professor?” Rosalie called as people began to filter out of the room. Albus looked up at her with a
faint smile, “Could I speak to you for a moment, sir?”

“Of course, my dear,” He replied readily as he gestured for her to precede him into Severus’
laboratory, “I’m sure Severus won’t begrudge us the use of his space momentarily.”

As the door swung shut behind them, the noise from the dispersing crowd instantly muffled and
Rosalie followed dutifully as Albus lead them over to the two stools Severus had tucked away
beneath the ledge of his bench.

“Take a seat, my dear,” Albus offered as he pulled himself up to perch on one of the stools, “What
can I do for you?”

“Well actually, sir,” Rosalie began as she climbed up onto her seat, “What I really wanted to talk to
you about was what I can, or could, be doing for you. It’s just, we’ve made next to no progress on
the research into Little Hangleton you assigned us; mostly because we have nothing to work from
—at least not until we have the file from the Ministry or you are able to get us that pensive we
asked for...?”
“Ah, I see. Perhaps I ought to give you this, then,” Albus replied calmly as he withdrew a small
shrunken down dish from within his robes. It made a heavy clunk as he rest it down on the stone
bench top and withdrew his wand so that he might return it to its original size. It was far less
elaborate than the pensive she’d seen in his office, this was a simple stone basin with crude runic
cravings etched around the rim, but as long as it served its purpose it could have polka dots for all
she cared, “The information you requested from the Ministry, however, will be somewhat harder to
achieve as such a file simply does not exist.”

“Doesn’t exist? How can that be?” Rosalie asked in surprise, “Surely they looked into the Riddle’s
murders?”

Albus nodded, “They did, but perhaps not as thoroughly as they should have. Morfin Gaunt, who
we now know that the Dark Lord framed for the murders of his remaining muggle family, had a
history of using magic against muggles—including previously filed charges of magic use against
members of the Riddle family. If this was not already compelling ‘evidence’ enough, his memories
were modified sufficiently enough that he confessed to the killings... Very little investigating was
done. On the surface it was an open/shut case. No one thought to look deeper, it would seem.”

“So what you are saying is that there is nothing of use in the case file?” Rosalie sighed, “I feel like
every minute I spend here trying to ‘research this’ and ‘research that’ is just pointless. I’m
achieving nothing. There are people in the Order who are more equipped to be looking into this for
you than we are—people who can go out and follow up on facts. We’re stuck here, sir—and it’s
for a good reason, I know—but we’ve been over and over everything available to us and there is
nothing here.”

Albus gave her a kindly stare over the rim of his glasses, “I do not expect miracles from you,
Rosalie. I realise that your confinement here has made progress difficult; however, the most
important thing at the moment is that you are kept safe. That being said, you should know what I
very much value the time and effort you and your friends have devoted to this, despite the obvious
setbacks that you face. There are few people who I would risk trusting this information to and
fewer still that have the time as you do to look into it; if you would prefer not to be doing so,
however, I will understand.”

“No, it’s not that, sir. I just—” Rosalie rubbed a hand over her face, flinching back slightly as her
fingertips inadvertently brushed against her inflamed scar, “I want to be useful. I want to do my
part in all of this. Part of me wonders though why you’re entrusting such an important job to a
couple of teenagers who don’t have the means or the resources to properly follow things up.”

“I trust this to you because you have proven to me, time and again, that you are up to the
challenge,” Albus told her seriously, “Had I more hours in the day I would take this task upon
myself, but alas there is only so much I’m able to accommodate at any one given time. You have
made good progress already or had you forgotten? It was you and your friends that found
Slytherin’s Locket, you who directed us to Narcissa Malfoy as means of acquiring it.”

Rosalie nodded, “this just feels bigger—or perhaps, less defined? With the locket we had clues that
lead us down the right path. This just feels open ended and vague.”

“Would it help if I clarified the need for the information I have requested you search for?” Albus
offered easily, “I could simply apparate out to the house and waltz in on chance, but we will only
have one opportunity to cross the threshold of the wards at Little Hangleton and acquire the cup,
should it indeed be there as I believe it to be. Once Tom is alerted to our presence he will send
Death Eaters to meet us, of that I have no doubt. Should we leave the property empty handed for
any reason, we will not get another chance to return before the cup is moved to a more secure
location beyond our reach. Our hand will have been tipped and Tom will know why it is that we
have come—the cup will then be beyond our reach. It is essential that we know what we are
walking into so that the most amount of space is covered in the least about of time.”

Rosalie nodded, “I hadn’t thought of that. I kind of thought...well, I kind of thought you wanted us
looking for hidey holes he might have stashed something.”

“No, nothing so specific,” Albus said with a small shake of his head.

“But even if we get the cup,” Rosalie pointed out after a moment as she rolled Dumbledore’s words
around in her head, “Won’t he still be alerted to the fact that his horcrux is missing and know that
we’re onto him?”

“By then, my dear, we will have the cup and it will hardly matter,” Albus told her with a smile.

“What do you mean?” Rosalie asked, “There are still three that we’ll need to find even after we
have the cup. If he knows we know, then he can move them. Protect them.”

“Indeed. I have reason to believe that Ravenclaw’s diadem is hidden at Hogwarts, however, which
is safely beyond Tom’s power,” Albus informed her steadily, “The remaining two after that
likewise cannot be easily tampered with or hidden. Once we acquire the Hufflepuff cup; I will have
accounted for the whereabouts of all seven horcruxes and it will be too late for Tom to
countermove against us.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped open, “All seven? You know what they all are?”

“I do,” Albus replied, a strangely poignant look coming over his face.

“What are they? Where are they?” Rosalie gasped in excitement.

“When the time is right, I will tell you, my dear,” Albus offered reaching a hand out to squeeze her
shoulder reassuringly as he asked for her patience, “For now, I ask that you trust me when I say that
I have the situation well in hand.”

Still engaged in conversation, Severus eyes tracked Rosalie discreetly as Albus lead her out of his
potions lab. She appeared lost in thought, barely sparing Granger a second glance as the bushy-
haired brain rushed her, taking Rosalie up by the elbow and steering her from the room without so
much as a by your leave to the people that remained. It irked him more than he cared to admit to
have her whisked away from him so readily, even more so that something like that should even
bother him in the first place. How times had changed him. He had not felt this protective—or dare
he admit it jealous—over someone since he’d been friends with her mother and James Potter had
barged in and ruined everything.

“Drink, Snape?”

Severus looked down at the proffered drink, then to the Weasley—Bill—holding it out to him and
thought about declining. No matter how much he’d changed, the last thing he wanted to be doing
was socialising with Weasleys, even ones of Bill’s calibre. Technicalities aside, however, he was
sleeping with the woman the man likely considered an honorary sister and so his sense of self
preservation reared its head and Severus found himself reaching out to accept the beverage.

“Thank you,” Severus replied with a small incline of his head as long fingers curled around cool
glass, “What can I do for you, Weasley?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really,” Bill replied easily, “Just thought you could do with a drink while Mum’s
cooking dinner. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” He lied easily as he took a long sip of amber fluid.

“Oh,” Bill nodded unperturbed, “I just assumed when you didn’t dash off like you normally do that
you were staying.”

Severus hummed, his gaze focused on the liquid in his glass as he swirled it around the walls of the
tumbler. The eldest Weasley seemed untroubled by his disinterest, however, and after a moment’s
pause continued, “So how’re things going with Rosalie?”

The question startled him. Severus felt himself visibly hesitating and cursed internally at his
fumble, “Potter? Why do you ask?”

“You’re training her,” Bill frowned in confusion, “Aren’t you?”

“When time permits,” Severus nodded regaining his equilibrium, “Her skill is progressing
satisfactorily.”

Bill nodded like he agreed, “I’m kind of amazed at how powerful she truly is, to be honest. She
told me last time I was here that she’s been learning healing spells straight out of a book—and
succeeding with them.”

“So she tells me,” Severus agreed.

“Unheard of! It’s a wonder that she doesn’t realise how truly gifted she is. I used to think she
wouldn’t be able to handle all this, you know?” Bill continued, his voice taking on an incredulous
air, “I didn’t believe Albus when he insisted she would be the one to bring an end to You-Know-
Who, despite what happened when she was a baby, but I believe it now. Whether she knows it or
not, I’d say she’s quite possibly one of the most powerful witches in the world right now.”

“It is a distinct possibility,” Severus agreed, wondering where this conversation was leading and
why Bill Weasley had thought that he of all people would want to talk about Rosalie Potter. Not
that he truly minded, of course, but more the worry was that Bill believed her to be a topic of
common ground. Perhaps he’d already showed his hand more than he knew. Perhaps when it came
time and people found out about their relationship, the news would hardly be a shock anymore.

Severus smirked.

Doubtful.

He looked up as he noted Rosalie sweeping back into the room, Granger, as always, close on her
heels.

Turning back to Bill Weasley and his seemingly unending small talk, he realised with some
pleasure that he would enjoy, if only for a moment, the shock that would ripple through this man
when he realised the true nature of his relationship with Rosalie Potter. It was a thought that he
knew Rosalie would not appreciate, but a part of him relished it all the same. Perhaps he was not so
very changed after all. Fundamentally, he was still an arsehole, a notion that would bring him no
small measure of comfort when he was tolerating being assaulted with Weasleys one day.

“Hey, Bill!” Rosalie greeted the eldest Wealsey with a smile as she sidled over to them, “How are
you?”

“Good thanks, Rosalie,” Bill returned easily, pulling Severus’ lover into a warm hug, “We were
just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” she chuckled, glancing between the two of them with light-hearted
suspicion.

Severus hummed noncommittally into his drink and Rosalie punched him good-naturedly on the
shoulder.

Bill winced dramatically, “You’re a brave woman, Potter, punching Snape like that. I’m not sure
I’d have the balls.”

Severus rolled his eyes, “This conversation is appalling.”

Rosalie smirked at him, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”

Severus nodded once glancing up at Bill, “If you’ll excuse us, Weasley.”

“By all means,” Bill replied as Rosalie led him across the room towards his Potions laboratory.

As the door swung shut behind them Severus felt the tension in his shoulders lessen, the noise of
the Order instantly muted to a muffled rumble of voices beyond the closed door.

“Hermione and I have some work coming up that requires the use of a pensive,” Rosalie told him
as she led him over to the stone basin that now sat atop his workbench, “Dumbledore was able to
get us one, but it’s still raw. I was hoping you could brew the base potion for it? Hermione offered,
of course, but we need it to be perfect since we need it to help boost clarity and detail.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, his fingers reaching out to trace over the pensive’s rune work, “Dare I
ask what on earth you might need a pensive for?”

“We need to go back and review some of the dreams—well, visions actually—that I was having of
Vol—You-know-Who in fourth year,” Rosalie replied as she pulled herself back up onto the stool
that she’d occupied not even half an hour earlier.

Severus nodded as he moved behind his work bench and summoned a fresh cauldron from the
shelf to set over a flame, “It is a relatively simple potion. It shouldn’t take long to make.”

“Thank you.”

Rosalie watched as sure hands summoned fresh rosemary and three pansy buds into a mortar and
pestled and began pulverising them into a sticky paste. His movements were quick and sure, his
hands used to moving in such a manner and Rosalie smiled as she contemplated how truly
accomplished he was. One of the foremost potion masters in the world, her brain supplied for her
as the hiss of cold water hitting the heated base of the cauldron sizzled around them.

“Is that it?” She asked incredulously, “Just rosemary, pansies and water?”

Severus looked up at her from under a lifted eyebrow, “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes?”
“Tell me, what is the key ingredient in most memory and truth potions?” Severus quizzed her as he
scraped the paste into the now simmering water and began stirring the concoction in unhurried
strokes.

“Jobberknoll feathers,” Rosalie answered, surprised that she actually knew the answer.

“Correct,” Severus nodded, “Therefore, the answer to your question would be ‘no’. It is not just
rosemary, pansies and water; but it is not much more than that either.”

Rosalie smirked, “I knew it.”

Severus nodded, “The base will need to simmer over night and then be allowed to cool completely.
It will settle into an iridescent mauve which you can then use to coat the pensive. Once the potion
has been completely absorbed by the stone, the pensive will be ready for use.”

“Rosalie? Professor Snape?” a voice called from the doorway as Hermione’s head peered in at
them, “What are you doing in here?”

“Making the base for the pensive,” Rosalie replied easily, glancing back over her shoulder at her
friend.

“Oh,” Hermione responded, her tone somewhat taken aback, “That was certainly efficient.
Anyway, I was sent to retrieve you both for dinner.”

“We will be with you presently,” Severus assured her as she nodded and closed the door behind her
again. He added the Jobberknoll feather to a flash of blue smoke and looked up at Rosalie seated
across from him, “This illness you have. It is not something that I have contributed to, is it? We
have not been too rough—”

“I’m not injured or unwell, Severus,” Rosalie told him again, “I am completely, one hundred
percent healthy. Madame Pomfrey just wanted to do a follow up scan on me after one of our
appointments from a few weeks ago. You know, to rule out any lingering effects I might have been
experiencing...”

“You mean from the night at the cave?” Severus queried.

Rosalie bit her lip.

“Yes,” she lied, “From the night at the cave.”

The blatant lie settled uncomfortably inside her and Rosalie dropped her gaze. She could feel the
misdirection burning in her cheeks and didn’t want Severus to read the truth of things from her
eyes. Somehow, though, it still felt too personal to share with him and if she was honest—and with
herself, at least, she could be—she was afraid of the issues it might raise once more. Morally,
Severus had been pushed far enough in terms of their relationship, he didn’t need to know that he
might have sired a child upon her those first few time. The fact was the he hadn’t though, and it
was not as if she was hiding a miscarriage or abortion from him, because as far as Madame
Pomfrey or anyone else would have been able tell she’d never been pregnant.

Severus nodded, “And is there? Any lingering effects, that is?”

“No,” she told him honestly from beneath the cover of her lie, “I have a clean bill of health.”

Severus nodded again, “You could have told me this.”

Rosalie sighed and skirted his gaze, “I didn’t remember until today that she wanted to do a follow
up. I’m sorry.”

“It is of no matter, as long as you are well,” Severus told her, setting the potion on low to simmer
and casting a basic protection charm over the cauldron, “Come. I believe yourself appointed mother
has dinner ready for us.”

Sliding off of the stool Rosalie walked with him to the door, the burden of the lie weighting her
steps. It was for the best. Severus would never know the truth of things and everything would be
fine.
 Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Notes

A/N: It's been forever, I know! Sorry!

This is completely unbeta'd - sorry for any mistakes!

Enjoy!

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Twenty Five

~ The caretaker let himself in through the back door noiselessly and stepped into the cavernous
kitchen of the derelict manor. It was dark, but memory lead him to where the door to the hall was
and he groped his way blindly towards it, his deaf ears straining for the telltale sound of intruders
as he fumbled through the darkness. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the
large mullioned windows either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the
dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick.

On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: at the very end of
the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of
gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly.
Several feet from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond... ~ [1]

Rosalie jolted awake with gasp, her heart beating rapidly in her chest and her fingers knotted tightly
in the bedcovers as the ominous green flash of the killing curse faded from the reflection of her
eyes. Rosalie shivered despite herself and rubbed a hand over her sweat dampened face. She’d
watched Frank die in her dreams every night for the past week, stirred back up into the forefront of
her mind by her foray into the past with the pensive Dumbledore had gifted them. It would have
been a small price to pay, perhaps, should they have come across something of use. Yet no matter
how many times either she or Hermione walked through the passageways of the house as Frank
slowly ambled to his death, they had seen little of anything that they would be able to work with.
The only thing they’d achieved was a week of her nightmares returning with a vengeance, so that
she was once more existing on little to no sleep.

Perhaps it was time they explored other options, Rosalie thought as she pushed herself up to sit
against the headboard, her knees bent up in front of her as she peered into the darkness. Hermione
had made no secret of the fact she believed they’d have more success looking into muggle records
and Rosalie was finally ready to admit that she was right. Of course she was. That had never been
in doubt. Rosalie had known from the very beginning that this journey down memory lane would
bring them nothing but the ability to honestly say that they’d exhausted all other options before
they went against direct orders and put themselves into the path of ‘danger’ by venturing out into
the Muggle world.

Her reluctance had had nothing to do with fears for their safety. She highly doubted Voldemort was
lying in wait in a muggle library, waiting for her to show up and run a computer search on his
father’s ancestral home. It made the decision to go that much easier, it was just... the
disappointment that she knew they would face should Dumbledore—or more to the point,
Severus—find out what they’d done.

Was this an unnecessary risk though?

Rosalie didn’t think so. So long as they were careful about not being seen and minimising their use
of magic, there was no reason for anyone to be looking for her at the library Hermione had
frequented during the summer months that she was home. They would avoid her family home to be
on the safe side, but even Voldemort didn’t have the resources to be standing watch outside of a
muggle home that had been deserted for months.

The details were coming together easily in her mind and by the time the sun was beginning to
lighten the sky outside she’d formed a rough plan of what needed to be done. Rosalie rose from her
bed, showering and dressing methodically in warm comfortable clothes that would blend in easily:
jeans, knee high boots, her most comfortable jumper and grey pea coat that was warm but still
allowed her to move freely. Brushing her long hair back from her face she whipped it up into a
messy bun atop her head and glanced appraisingly at herself in the mirror.

With a nod, Rosalie made her way out of the room and down the hall to Hermione’s room, she
knocked twice on the door, unsurprised when it swung almost immediately. Her friend was awake,
but still in bed, hair mussed and her face drawn.

“Morning,” Hermione offered, a yawn cracking her jaw loudly midspeech. She too had dark circles
beneath her eyes and Rosalie immediately felt guilty for having subjected her friend to the reality
of the things she witnessed in her nightmares for as long as she had.
“You should get dressed,” Rosalie urged as her friend slipped from beneath the covers of her bed
and stretched stiff sleep deprived muscles, “We’re making the trip to the library.”

“Oh?” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “What made you change your mind?”

Rosalie sighed, “We both knew it was always going to come down to this...You were right from
the beginning. I’m sorry for dragging things out so long and making you watch that horrible
memory again and again... I just, didn’t want to disappoint the people who’ve been looking out for
us.”

Hermione gave her an arch look, “You mean Snape.”

“And Dumbledore,” Rosalie added, almost defensively.

Hermione smiled, “but mostly Snape...”

Rosalie shrugged, “I guess so. Yes.”

“Well if we’re quick—and there is no reason we shouldn’t be since the information shouldn’t be all
that hard to find once I have access to one of their computers—then he’ll never need to know,”
Hermione replied as she summoned her clothing from her trunk, dressing quickly.

Rosalie chuckled lightly, “Usually it’s me breaking the rules and you’re the voice of caution, this
feels backwards somehow.”

Hermione shot her a quick smile, but even as she’d said it Rosalie considered the fact that such a
statement wasn’t entirely true. Hermione had never let the rules get in the way of her pursuit of
knowledge or the truth. Hermione was a Gryffindor for a reason and Rosalie of all people knew
that when the situation called for it, Hermione was often willing to bend the rules to suit her needs.

Hermione nodded, “You should bring your invisibility cloak; we can apparate under it.”
Rosalie nodded, “It’s already in my bag.”

The rest of the morning crawled by with aching slowness. Mrs. Weasley was late arriving with
breakfast and then seemed inclined to linger afterwards so that she might chat with them over
trivialities she’d read in the Prophet that morning. Rosalie barely contained her sigh of frustration
until, glancing at the time, Molly made a small exclamation of surprise and taken her leave. By
then, it was gone 10:30am before they were in a position to leave and Rosalie was impatient to
make a move, “You ready?”

Hermione nodded, “A little nervous.”

Rosalie smiled, “Me too. We’ll be fine, though, we just needed to stick together.”

Hermione nodded again and Rosalie spun her invisibility cloak up and over them. It landed heavy
on their shoulders with a whoosh of displaced air and immediately pulled tight over their backs as
Rosalie attempted to pull it shut. Hermione snickered as they stumbled against one another as
Rosalie tried to fit them both under the cloak.

“I’m not sure it still fits both of us,” Rosalie laughed. They were a lot larger than the last time
they’d tried to fit more than once person under the cloak and they couldn’t help but giggle as they
stepped in close, pressed up against one another awkwardly as they sought to make sure they were
completely covered.

“Maybe we should disillusion ourselves,” Hermione suggested with a smile, her arms wrapped
tightly around her friend to accommodate the stretched material.

“No it’s okay. I think I’ve got it,” Rosalie laughed, “We’ll just have to take it off once we’ve
apparated.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, “Ready?”

Rosalie nodded, “Ready.”

Rosalie shut her eyes against the sucking pull of sidelong apparation, the nauseating feeling
stretching out over her body until they landed with a sudden stumble of uneven feet in a small
mostly deserted alley way. It ran, conveniently, alongside a small strip of shops adjacent to the
library. According to Hermione, it was mostly used for deliveries (as far as she knew) and Rosalie
looked around to see a small truck parked halfway up the alley ahead of them, its back roller door
open, boxes of produce stacked haphazardly inside.

“Let’s go,” Hermione hastened, “before the driver comes back.”

Quickly, they slipped out from under the cloak and Rosalie stuffed the silky material back into her
satchel as they looked around the otherwise deserted alley for onlookers. They were alone.

“Okay, follow me,” Hermione said as the casually strolled out of the alley and onto the main
walkway, “It’s not far, you can see it from here, see?”

Rosalie nodded falling in step beside her friend. People paid them little mind as they passed by,
going about their business with an unburdened nonchalance that no one in the wizarding world
really had these days. The difference was startling, Rosalie thought, as she considered the people
that bustled about around them. These people, these muggles, were able to live life without the
threat of war hanging ominously overhead. Yet Rosalie wasn’t sure if she envied them their peace
of mind or pitied their ignorance. What would become of them if Voldemort won? Would he stop
at merely the total separation of their worlds? Wizarding and Muggle? Or perhaps even that
wouldn’t be enough and a new war would erupt where muggles would be forced to fight magic to
maintain their freedom, if not their very existence.

Rosalie shivered.

“Come on,” Hermione beckoned as they made it into the library without drama. Hermione smiled
at the lady behind the desk as she showed her membership card and requested the password that
would allow them access to the internet.

“Do you know what to search for?” Rosalie asked quietly as they pulled two seats up to crowd
around a computer in the farthest corner of the room and angled the screen slightly away from a
man who sat two computers down from them.

“I was just going to type in ‘Riddle Manor: Little Hangleton’” Hermione replied, typing out the
words out as she spoke, “Hopefully it bring something up.”

The search page was slow to load and Rosalie couldn’t help shooting a little glance over her
shoulder at the man just down from them. He was ignoring them completely, however, completely
engaged in whatever was on his screen.

“Look,” Hermione gasped, pointing at an article halfway down the search page.

“What is it?” Rosalie asked, having never used a computer in her life. Dudley had had at least two
of them while they were growing up and she’d not been allowed to touch either of them, though
she’d seen him on them often. There were times when Dudley had spent entire days glued to his
computer screen playing all number of games and chatting with friends.

“I think it’s an article—a muggle article—on the Riddle murders,” she said as she clicked into it.
Another screen loaded and Hermione began immediately scrolling through it, her eyes skimming
over the words with lightening fast efficiency, “It says here they were found in their family manor,
no signs of forced entry or deadly force were determined and local police were baffled by their
deaths but suspected that the property caretaker, Frank Bryce, to have had some involvement in it.
No arrest was ever made however, as there was no evidence found to tie him to the scene in a
manner indicative of homicide and that, aside from being dead, the family appeared otherwise
perfectly healthy.”

Rosalie nodded, “The Killing Curse. What about the house though?”

Hermione shook her head.

“It says here that it was sold off some years later, but rarely had any consistent occupancy. Kept
for tax purposes most likely,” Hermione mused, “Who’d buy a house were three people were
murdered?”

“Well as far as anyone in the muggle world knows, they weren’t murdered. Just dead,” Rosalie
pointed out, “There aren’t any photos are there, by any chance?”

Hermione shook her head, “No. Not in this article. I’ll keep digging. If I can find the council
records, we’ll be set.”

Rosalie nodded watching as Hermione’s fingers flew across they keyboard with a speed and
accuracy that Rosalie found impressive and tried keep up with the speed with which she shifted
through information. An hour later though, Rosalie found her concentration beginning to drift as
Hermione scanned through page after page of text and information on the town, the Riddle’s and
their mysterious deaths and continued to come up empty. Lulled by boredom and the relative safety
of the library, Rosalie felt her eyelids beginning to burn with weariness. She struggled to remain
interested as fatigue caught up with her and she fought a losing battle to keep her eyes open. Her
head was slumped in her hands, her eyes shut and breathing steady, and for a second Rosalie felt
she might actually be able to sleep.

“Yes! Rose, Look!” Hermione hissed suddenly, startling her alert once more, “It’s a sale listing for
the property dated nine years ago!”

“Nine years is a long time. I wonder how many times the property has changed hands since then?”
Rosalie asked as she peered at the screen.

“It’s only been sold twice, according to this and it was on the market for six months before it was
eventually bought, too. Whoever purchased the property this time—” Hermione tapped at the
screen, “—probably still owns it.”

Rosalie raised her eyebrows dubiously, “Nine years is a long time. Do you think the horcrux could
still be there? After nine years? I mean, this isn’t exactly an abandoned cave or bank vault.
Someone owns this—they might have been living there.”

“I’m sure he would have it protected—like the ring was,” Hermione offered reasonably as she
scrolled down the page, “I doubt he’d risk leaving it somewhere a muggle might stumble upon it
and discard it as junk. Anyway, he might have moved it there more recently, for all we know. So, if
the Headmaster believes it’s here, then it probably is.”

“You’re probably right,” Rosalie nodded, “It’s just that they feel so evil. I imagine the feeling of it
would permeate the whole house. Like some insidious presence. Who’d spend nine years living
with that?”

“Maybe whoever owned the property wasn’t living in it?” Hermione offered with a shrug, “I’ll
admit I haven’t spent much time around any of them while they were still active—only the diary
briefly in second year—but I never felt much of anything from that, to be honest.”

Rosalie shook her head, “Trust me, you can feel it. Look how it affected Ginny—”

“Bingo!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly, “there’s a link to the floor plan!”

Rosalie leant in eagerly, “What? Seriously? Just like that?”

Hermione glanced at her, “Why not? The muggles who lived in and sold this house couldn’t have
known we’d one day come looking for it. It’s all here—” Hermione grinned, “I knew this would be
where we found it!”

“This is perfect,” Rosalie breathed, “We need to make a copy somehow.”

“I can print it off,” Hermione told her as she began clicking away at the screen again.

“This is the last one, Hermione,” Rosalie said, staring at her in awe, “Dumbledore told me the
other day that this is the last horcrux that’s unaccounted for. Once we have this we will have
everything we need to finally get rid of Voldemort once and for all—”

“Rose!” Hermione hissed in horror, “The taboo!”

Rosalie froze, a cold shiver passing over her as realisation dawned on her and she stared at
Hermione in shock.

“We have to get out of here,” Rosalie gasped as she grabbed at her bag, ripping the invisibility
cloak from within its depths, “Did you print it?”

“No, but—”

“Do it, Hermione,” Rosalie interrupted, “We can’t leave here without it.”

“Shit,” Hermione whispered and turned back to the computer as Rosalie swung the cloak up and
over them. Her finger flew across the keys, “Okay—okay it’s done. The printer is at the front
desk.”

“Disillusion yourself,” Rosalie ordered, pulling her own wand out to follow suit at the same
moment the first Death Eater apparated into the library. Immediately followed by a second, then a
third and fourth.
The woman at the front desk screamed.

“Potter!” a harsh voice snarled, as he slashed his wand down viciously and the woman’s scream
was abruptly cut short as she crumpled to the floor, “We know you’re here! Come out, come out,
wherever you are!”

“Rosalie the computer...” Hermione breathed from behind her, pressed in tight under the cloak
once more.

“Shut it off.” Rosalie breathed in return, though she was fairly confident that Voldemort’s Death
Eaters were likely at least as computer illiterate as she was it made sense not to make things too
easy for them by leaving the page open to their search.

Rosalie watched, wand out as they fanned out around the room slowly, eyes alert and wary as they
scouted the surroundings. Out of the corner of her gaze, Rosalie noted the muggle that had been
sitting by them was crouched down under the desk eyes wide with fear as he took in the cloaked
and masked figures that drifted about the room.

She twitched her wand in his direction shielding him with hastily constructed Notice-Me-Not
Charm.

“They’re blocking the exit,” Hermione whispered again after a moment, “We have to go that way
to get to the printer.”

“We’ll never make it while we’re both under this,” Rosalie replied, “Take the cloak and grab the
print out. I’ll distract them.”

“What? No, Rose you can’t—”

Rosalie pushed her friend away, “I’m disillusioned and I’ll be careful. Go—it’ll be fine.”

Rosalie stepped out from under the cloak before Hermione could argue further and began inching
her way around the room slowly using the book stacks for cover as she circled around on the Death
Eater’s milling about the room. When she was far enough away, she poked her head around the
corner, startling when she almost came face to face with one of the Death Eaters.

“Stupefy!” She hissed, hitting him square in the chest before dashing back through the stacks to
circle back on herself. A volley of spells followed her as the three remaining Death Eaters all
converged on the point from which her spell originated. Someone screamed—a muggle—and
made a dash for the exit.

A flash of green struck her down before she made it more than four paces, “better come out and
play, Potter, or we will start killing off the muggles one by one!”

It wasn’t a bluff. They would do it—they already had—but she couldn’t take the risk that they
might capture either herself or Hermione in the process if she were to reveal herself. There were
thankfully only a few muggles in the library, however—not more than five or six including the
woman crumpled behind the counter and the man she’d cast the Notice-Me-Not over. Was that an
acceptable loss of life? Was it ever?

“I think she’s shy, Selwyn” one of them hissed.

Rosalie pressed her back up against the bookcase she was crouched behind as they swept past her,
holding as still as possible under the disillusionment to avoid detection.

“Homenum Revelio!”

Rosalie took off a run the minute she felt the swooping presence of the detection spell wash over
her, revealing her presence to the cluster of Death Eaters stalking her through the stacks.

“There she is!” Someone exclaimed from behind her and a sizzle of heat zapped over her shoulder
as she unknowingly dodged a streak of purple.

She turned, wand raised as she sought eye contact—she slipped into his mind easily, his thoughts a
wash or red that telegraphed his every move:

Tripping Jinx—“Protego!”
Severing Hex—dodge.

Cruciatus—“Declino!”

Rosalie was panting heavily as she dodged and parried against his attack, twisting her way through
the stacks barely more than a step ahead of him. He snarled his frustration as she continued to
evade him, but she was backing herself into a corner and soon she’d have nowhere else to retreat.
Her heart hammering in her chest Rosalie darted around one of the stacks and flattened herself in
against the bookcase holding the perfectly still as her disillusionment charm let her form melt into
the surroundings. As long as she held still, she’d be invisible to the naked eye.

He appeared behind her a heart beat later and stopped, his gaze darting about the aisle.

“Oculatero!” Rosalie cast wordlessly, her wand tip angled toward her assailant.

He let out a shout of surprise as the hex took effect and his eyesight went dark and Rosalie took off
again, using his distraction to slip past him, dodging hands that snatched out for her as he felt her
presence pass by him.

“Potter!” He snarled, stumbling against the stacks as she darted away, “You fucking bitch!”

She moved quickly back through the stacks, eyes alert for the presence of Selwyn and his lackeys
while wondering where Hermione was and how she was going to manage to get back to her.
Rosalie frowned, should have told Hermione to grab the print out and leave. They could have
apparated separately. Now they were both stuck. Rosalie couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave without
knowing that Hermione had managed to get herself to safety.

Rosalie stopped against the end of an aisle to catch her breath as she thought about the best way to
make it back to the front of the library without drawing attention to herself—

A searing heat grazed her arm, blistering the flesh almost immediately as her skin sizzled and
popped and Rosalie cried out in pain despite herself.

She caught the outline of a disillusioned figure moving towards her, wand raised and darted to the
side, the smell of ozone searing her nostrils as his blasting hex ripped apart the book stack she had
been leaning against.
“Sectumsepra!” The disillusioned form spat as Rosalie backpedalled. She stumbled, barely dodging
the second curse as she tripped over a pile of books, falling into a heap on the floor.

“Expelliarmus!”, Rosalie incanted, off-target as the barely there outline of his form melded back
into their surroundings.

Rosalie scrambled back to her feet, wand out and her eyes straining to take in the outline of his
figure once more. She startled as something crash into her from behind, her footing stumbling
again as she twisted sharply under their grasp, bucking against the tight grip on her shoulder.

“Rose, stop!” Hermione hissed harshly completely invisible under the cloak.

Hermione.

“Duck!” Rosalie yelled as a curse flew at them again and she pulled Hermione’s invisible form
down with her and propelled her down the aisle before them, “We need to get out of here!”

“I’m going to apparate us,” Hermione replied and Rosalie felt and invisible hand reaching back for
her, finding and cinching around her waist.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, “Do it, quick!”

The sucking pull began and Rosalie let out a shout as felt a disembodied hand clamped down hard
on her wrist at the exact moment she felt Hermione start to disapparated. Magic lurched around
them, pulling against the unexpected weight as they shot through the atmosphere drawn thin and
tight—she felt breathless, like perhaps they might not make it and gasped in a lung full of air as she
tried to shake the hand still grasping her loose. It felt like she was being split in two: Hermione
clutching her tightly to her chest and the weight of the Death Eater who had grabbed at her,
fighting to drag them back. Seconds felt like minutes, and then suddenly they came to a jarring
halt, the force making her teeth rattle in her head as they slammed up against the Fidelius
protecting Grimmauld Place.

The sound of their arrival was like a gunshot going off and Rosalie staggered on her feet as they
were suddenly thrust back onto solid ground on street outside Grimmauld Place, denied entry from
the house. Rosalie looked down at the hand still gripped tightly about her wrist and the arm
dangling uselessly from it, splinched from its host and then across at Hermione, half visible from
beneath her invisibility cloak.

Hermione dropped to her knees and vomited onto the pavement.

“‘Mione,” Rosalie breathed, her head still spinning with the after affects of sudden displacement.

Rosalie blinked slowly as the edges of her vision began to blur.

She could hear the anxious squabble of approaching voices—witnesses, no doubt to their sudden
arrival—as the sting of concrete bit into her knees and she collapsed against the sidewalk.

Hermione woke to darkness and the sound of people arguing. Blinking heavy eyes into the
darkness, she glanced minutely around. She was in the makeshift infirmary at Grimmauld Place,
tucked warm and safe in a bed that wasn’t her own with a pounding in her head that told her she
still had not completely recovered from the force of their apparation displacement. She could feel
her pulse in her eyes and her brain felt too large for her head. The acidic burn of vomit was in her
mouth and her lips felt dry and chapped. It was the sound of voices pitched low behind her that
stole her attention though, their hissing, urgent, snapping tones abrupt and cut off as Hermione
strained to make out what they were saying despite the pounding in her head.

“—how many more times must we have this conversation before something changes?” a dark
voice snarled low and furious. Snape, Hermione realised immediately and went completely still as
the last vestiges of sleep left her and she focused all her bleary attention on his words. There would
be only one reason Snape would have found himself in the infirmary in the middle of the night and
Hermione was not silly enough to believe that her welfare had anything to do with it.

Her suspicious were almost immediately confirmed as the achingly familiar sound of her friend’s
voice snapped back without pause. Hurt and anger coloured Rosalie’s tone and Hermione bit her
lip as she listened: “You only think the risk was unjustified because you don’t know what we
found or what it could mean for the war. Dumbledore—”

“Do not presume to tell me what I do and do not think. It matters not what you found, you acted
with unfathomable stupidity,” Severus interrupted, before continuing bitterly: “That Albus has
made a career of fostering foolhardiness in you and might approve of such recklessness does not
help your cause and even now he is lamenting what you have cost us. I was a fool to believe that
you might mature beyond such infantile behaviour. Your selfish need to always play the hero—”

“Excuse me?” Rosalie hissed back, “It was not selfishness that motivated me into today’s events.
We weighed the pros and cons, we persisted for over a week down an avenue that we both knew
was getting us nowhere before we finally resolved to take this step—and we were successful!”

“Yet, you told no one of what you planned to do. Why? Because you knew that we would not
approve of you putting yourself at such risk. You knew, yet you jumped at the first chance you saw
to play the hero and look at what you have done? You call today a success? Grimmauld Place is
now compromised; you have placed everyone in this building in danger. After tomorrow anyone
coming or going from this place chances capture or worse, the Dark Lord will have his spies
watching the area surrounding the Fidelius like a hawk. He knows now where you are.”

“They cannot reach us through the enchantment. Things will be fine—”

“Do try not to be so naive,” Severus scoffed with a sourness Hermione hadn’t heard from him in
more months than she could recall. Severus continued: “You will be moved first thing in the
morning.”

Rosalie’s voice hitched slightly in reply, “You don’t understand. It was still worth it.”

“You risked muggle lives—”

“And I’ll have to live with that, just like I’ve had to learn to live with everything else in this war—”

“You risked your life. Again,” Severus snarled in furious vitriol. There was something else though,
something other than that lay under the scorn he was unleashing upon her.

“What choice do I have but to risk my life?” Rosalie snapped back, exasperated. Wrung out. “What
do you suppose the prophesy meant when it says that neither of us can live while the other
survives? Me, with a power the ‘Dark Lord knows not’?”

There was a beat of heavy silence before Snape offered: “I believe I’ve made my opinion on my
regard for that prophecy clear—”

“What does it matter what you think about it if the Dark Lord believes it? Or Dumbledore? For
Merlin’s sake! What is it that you think you’ve been training me for, Severus?” Rosalie hissed,
“To sit idly by in some safe padded corner until it is time to strike the killing blow? That I’m some
weapon to be pulled out at the very last moment, to be wound up and aimed at Volde—You-Know-
Who from a distance?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Don’t be absurd?” Rosalie heaved in contempt, “Me? Please. It is you that is walking into this
with the wool pulled wilfully down over your own eyes.”

“You are purposefully misunderstanding me. I am not ignorant to the fact that you will inevitably
be required to become an active participant in this war, but do you imagine when that time comes
that it will be alone without the support of the Order behind you to ensure you have every
opportunity of coming out of this alive? Yet time and time again you take off hot-headed, half-
cocked and full of arrogance believing yourself to be invincible! Your behaviour is that of an
arrogant, reckless child who has no concept of gravity of her situation.”

“A child, am I? Interesting that you only see fit to deem me such when it suits your purposes,”
Rosalie returned viciously, “Either I am or I’m not, but take care that you don’t find yourself
standing in the murky shadows of your own aspersions.”

“Indeed. How very foolish of me,” Severus intoned quietly, his voice glacial and smooth, “I see,
however, I have wasted my breath long enough in trying to make you to see reason. If you have no
inclination to care for you own wellbeing, it is pointless for me to squander my time on such
fruitless endeavours. Thank you for making that clearer for me.”

Hermione could hear her heart beating in the silence that followed. It stretched out over them,
blanketing the room in an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. It was only as her lungs
started to burn in protest that she realised she was holding her breath...

“Fine...”

Rosalie.
She sounded overwrought—splintered.

Hermione’s heart was beating so forcefully in her chest that she could feel it knocking against her
ribs—hammering against her breast bone as she waiting for what would happen next.

There was a heavy snap of flicking robes and then the dull click of a measured boot tread across
the uneven floor. She could hear the aged floorboards creaking beneath his weight in the otherwise
silent room and Hermione slammed her eyes shut as Snape’s shadow passed by the end of her bed.
She counted the measure of his footsteps across the floor, their steady beat over the short distance
feeling like an eternity in the wake of the destruction left between them. She kept her eyes closed
the entire time until the quiet snick of the door swinging shut sounded and she released the breath
she hadn’t known she was once more holding.

The gasping sob that followed was as gut-wrenching as it was brittle and Hermione didn’t pause to
think as she threw back the covers and crossed the room. Rosalie stood stiff in her arms as
Hermione clutched at her, her arms grasping tightly at Rosalie’s back as Hermione pressed her face
into Rosalie’s neck, trying with all her might to comfort her friend’s rigid form.

Rosalie trembled against her, as silent tears streamed unheeded down her face, “No, I’m fine. Sorry
—you shouldn’t have had to hear that. Merlin...”

Hermione tightened her grip briefly.

“I’m fine,” Rosalie repeated again, just as falsely.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Rosalie relaxing against her in hard won inches
as Hermione stroked slowly at her back and hair until her tears had stopped and the room was
silent once more. Eventually they found themselves pressed entirely together, Rosalie’s weight
resting entirely in Hermione’s arms as the trembling subsided and the sun began to break across the
horizon.

“We should get dressed,” Rosalie offered into the silence.

“Soon,” Hermione agreed, had easing down over the back of her head, “We will. Soon.”
 *

Alternative arrangements turned out to be a wizarding tent and an absolute barrage of privacy
charms and wards that rendered their location unplottable and safe from prying eyes. It was no
fidelius, but neither could alternate accommodations be prepared on such short notice. Dumbledore
had explained as much to them when he’d stopped by again that morning. Rosalie had cringed at
the disappointment in his eyes as he’d thanked them for the information that they retrieved and
reminded her again about how critical it was that she not take such risks in the future. It only
served to emphasise everything Severus had snarled at her that morning and she was left feeling
thoroughly chastised by the time he’d departed only a handful of minutes later.

Remus had taken one look at her when he’d arrived to retrieve them and made no further comment.
He apparated them to the Forest of Dean where they had set up camp in a small clearing, little in
the way of words passing between the three of them as they worked together to set up. Hermione
began collecting firewood as Remus walked the perimeter setting the wards and enchantments that
would keep them safe.

Rosalie started at the tent in her hands, trying to focus on the spells needed to set it up, but all she
seemed capable of was replaying the worst parts of her argument with Severus and the sense of
finality she’d felt when he’d left—like maybe he wasn’t coming back again. Like maybe he didn’t
want to.

The tent was lopsided when she finally managed to get it standing, leaning dramatically to the left
like a tree bent sideways in the wind. She didn’t try to fix it. Though it looked like it might topple
over at the slightest gust, it was surprisingly sturdy as she peered in through the front flap. The
world was tilted just as crazily on the inside and somehow it suited her current frame of mind as she
glanced around the modest sitting room. It wasn’t quiet as luxurious as the tent she’d shared with
the Weasley’s at the World Cup, but it would be comfortable enough for the three of them for the
foreseeable future.

Remus arched his eyebrows in question at the sight of it as he came to stand beside her.

Rosalie shrugged her indifference and didn’t meet Remus’ gaze again as she turned and walked
away.

It was early enough in the season that most of the trees still held their slowly yellowing leaves, yet
cold enough in the shade of the forest that she pulled her jumper around her more tightly as she
crunched through the sparse leaf litter that had begun to fall. Weak afternoon sunlight was
streaming in through the trees in beams of light that cast a dappled glow over the forest floor. It
was beautiful and Rosalie allowed herself to be distracted from the pressing weight of her thoughts
as she drank in the sight of it.

She paused as she came across a large tree, just out of sight from the tent, yet still well within the
perimeter of the wards. Its roots were gnarled and exposed, twisting around themselves to form a
natural seat against the base of its trunk. Crawling over the knotted sprawl of its roots, she pressed
herself back up against its rough bark, pulling her knees up against her chest as if she meant to
disappear into it entirely.

A gentle breeze stirred, bringing with it more thoughts of Severus and Rosalie sighed, resigned to
the fact that she seemed completely unable to escape him.

“Hey.”

Rosalie looked up as her friend’s bushy head poked around the trunk of the tree to look down at
her.

“Hey,” Rosalie replied, shifting easily to one side as the brunette crawled down to sit beside her
and huddled in close.

“You okay?” Hermione asked quietly, “You’ve been pretty quiet all day.”

Hermione was being kind. Rosalie knew she’d barely spoken more than a handful of words since
Dumbledore had left that morning, utterly consumed with her own self-pity. It was childish, she
knew—more proof, perhaps, that Severus was right she thought bitterly.

Rosalie nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” Hermione offered quietly.

Rosalie sighed, “It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. You didn’t force me to go. I made that choice and
I’m the one who fucked it up. I wasn’t thinking and I’m glad, more than anything, that you’re
okay.”
“Maybe, but still,” Hermione said, picking up a stray twig to begin stripping it of its leaves, “I
pushed for us to go. I’m at least as much to blame as you are.”

Rosalie offered her a tiny smile, “Maybe.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as Rosalie turned her attention back out to the forest
around them wondering idly if Hermione was feeling as conflicted as she was over everything that
had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“Are you thinking about Snape?” Hermione asked after a moment.

Rosalie shook her head, “I wasn’t, but he’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.”

Hermione nodded, “I thought as much. I have been too, to be honest.”

Rosalie frowned, “I’m sorry you had to hear that. We should have put up a silencing charm...”

“He cares for you. A lot,” Hermione said carefully.

Rosalie huffed, and then, her voice dripping with sarcasm and more anger than she’d been able to
muster since the door had clicked shut behind Severus’ retreating form, asked: “How could you
tell? All I got from that exchange was that he thinks I’m both childish and irresponsible...that I
can’t be trusted to make my own decisions and take care of my own safety.”

“Maybe,” Hermione agreed softly, turning her gaze out over the filtered light shining in through the
trees, “That’s certainly what his words said.”

“He made his point more than clear,” Rosalie agreed.

Hermione nodded and looked back at her, “His words were certainly full of anger, but perhaps his
anger... was full of fear? For you.”

Rosalie frowned as something in her chest pulled tight, “What?”

“I think he’s scared of what this war might mean for you,” Hermione continued, “I’ve be turning
things over in my head all day, replaying what I heard again and again and I keep coming back to
the same thought.”

Rosalie looked sideways at her, curious and yet unwilling to meet her gaze, “And what’s that?”

“Severus Snape has never struck me as an irrational man, but try as he might he can’t make himself
be rational with you. Logically, he knows, as we all do, what role you’ll play in the war. That it has
been predestined is beside the point. You know I’m the last person to put much weight behind fate
and destiny, or at least the divination of such concepts. It doesn’t matter though. Prophesy aside,
true or not, like you said, You-Know-Who believes you to be his equal—the final hurdle he must
overcome—and so it is what it is. Whether or not you are the one to end You-Know-Who’s life,
you play an integral part in all of this, which puts you at risk.”

“We are all at risk, Hermione,” Rosalie replied blankly, “While he is alive, threatening out way of
life, we are all at risk.”

“I know,” Hermione conceded, “But I think Snape hates that you are so accepting of this role you
have been cast to play and the danger that it inevitably puts you in. I don’t know that he really
knows what to do with your apparent disregard for you own life, when it’s clear he values it—you
—so dearly. Anyone who has spent enough time around the two of you can see that you care for
one another, I’ve said as much before. Every time you stumble he has been there to pick you up
and every time you do something that puts your life in danger, I think he’s scared that perhaps next
time you won’t come back and he won’t have been there to save you... I don’t think he knows how
to deal with that.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

“He was angry last night—furious, even—but I think more than anything, he’s terrified of losing
you,” Hermione finished.

Isn’t that exactly what had happened though? Merlin, it felt like it. Rosalie felt her lip quivering
and valiantly fought against the knot that was suddenly in her throat, making it hard to breath and
even harder to swallow, “Merlin...”

Hermione wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Rosalie crumpled, curling in on herself as the
tears came again—hot, wet, messy tears that had her covering her face in embarrassment and
clutching at her chest as if she meant to hold her heart in by sheer force of will.

“I think I’m in love with him,” Rosalie sobbed lurching forward to bury her head against her tucked
up knees, her breath coming with great quaking sobs.

“I know,” Hermione agreed as she rubbed Rosalie’s back.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Rosalie breathed, her voice thin and tremulous, “It hurts...it hurts so much to
think that I might have lost him because of this.”

Hermione lent her head forward, pressing it up against Rosalie’s shoulder before pressing her cheek
flat against her shoulder blade in an embrace, “It’ll be okay, Rose. I promise you, it will be okay.”

“Everything just feels so mixed up,” She huffed out through shuddering breaths, “I feel guilty for
having disappointed him—and Dumbledore—but I’m still mad at him for being such a dick, too.”

Hermione stroked her back evenly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Rosalie admitted, “I can’t focus on anything other than this crushing
feeling in my chest...”

“Give it time,” Hermione offered softly, “Everything still feels raw and wounded right now. Give
yourself a chance to heal before rubbing salt into it. Maybe, in that time, Snape will come round.”

Remus shut the tent flap closed tightly behind him and stood facing slanting the room, his mind
blank but for a white-wash of disbelief at what he’d just heard.

Rosalie was in love with Snape? Severus Snape? Surely not. It seemed...impossible. He knew that
they’d become close over the last few years, that much was blatantly obvious, but in love? The
notion made him feel vaguely sick and he scrubbed a hand over his face as if to quell the feeling.

Perhaps Rosalie, young and impressionable, was confusing the guiding, helping hand of an older
man with love? It was possible she’d begun to idolise him and, in a manner of speaking, believed
herself to be in love with him, right? Was that what this was? Was she infatuated with the wisdom
and power she so respected in a man she’d been allowed to grow so close with? Severus seemed
like such an unlikely figure for teenage infatuation though...even before you added in the fact that
he was old enough to be her father—quite literally, given he was the same age her father would
have been, which led him to wonder if it wasn’t some kind of latent daddy issue?

Remus frowned, wondering if that wasn’t the most horrible thought he’d had all day.

She’d grown up in such repressed circumstances that the notion wasn’t complete absurd though,
was it? Wasn’t that how such things were meant to start?

Remus didn’t even want to contemplate the fact that Hermione seemed not to think it at all crazy
that Snape cared for Rosalie too. Which of course he did, they all did...but that didn’t mean he was
in love with her. Merlin, he hoped not. It was too much. Remus had no bloody idea how he was
meant to deal with something like this. He felt entirely ill equipped and inadequate for the task
ahead. Did he confront her over it? Did he confront Snape? The implication was certainly that there
was something between them for Rosalie to believe she could ‘lose’ him.

But then...?

Merlin’s balls.

He remembered, suddenly, a forgotten robe that had been thick with the smell of arousal and
Rosalie mingled together so damningly. He had suspicions then, hadn’t he? Only to be dismissed
and denied like he was a fool for even suspecting what lay right in front of him. So unbelievable it
was at the time, he’d allowed his concern to be brushed aside without so much as a token
argument.

That had been weeks ago!

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, “What the hell do I do now, Prongs?”
 He had to wonder if it was even any of his business. He knew Sirius would have hated it ruthlessly.
James, too, could be just as immature about these things as Sirius could be a times. They’d both
hated Snape with a passion all throughout their schooling. For Sirius, that had been allowed to
carry on into adulthood as if someone had pressed pause on his emotional and mental maturation
the minute he was sent to Azkaban. James, on the other hand, had hardly been given the chance to
grow out of such things.

Neither of them seemed like the best place to go looking for inspiration on how to deal with this—
besides which, they were both dead. He was on his own it seemed, as he had been for much of his
adult life.

“This is all your fault, Prongs,” He mumbled mutinously as he sunk down onto the soft couch in
the middle of the room, “No one warned me that I’d be the one left to deal with your daughter’s
teenage heartbreak.”

Taking out his wand he summoned his Patronus and, before he let himself over think it, sent a
message off to the fading afternoon.

‘We need to talk.’

Chapter End Notes

Just a few little notes:

[1] - an excerpt taken directly from the fourth book 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of
Fire', written and owned by J.K. Rowling :)

Oculatero - A temporary blinding hex. Found online here -->

http://harrypotterfanon.wikia.com/wiki/The_Compendium_of_Incantations
Not sure who is to thank for that one! ;)
 Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Notes

Hi!

Hope you are all still with me! I realise the long delays between chapters make things
difficult. I'm still working on this story though and intend to finish it, so hang in there!

Once again this isn't beta read, so I apologise for any mistakes! If I notice any I'll try
and come back and correct them as they pop up, but after a while of staring at the
same writing over and over my brain starts to miss things. If by any chance someone
would like to beta read my work, leave me a comment in the comments section and I'll
get in contact.

Also a huge THANK YOU to everyone who continues to comment and leave support
for this story. I am sorry I don't individually reply to you all, but I am inspired to keep
going every time I get a notification that someone has left a review! Seriously, it
means the world!

Enjoy!

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Twenty Six

The summons came via Patronus: ‘We need to talk.’

Severus ignored it. Whatever the problem, it wasn’t one that Severus was currently interested in.
He knew it could only be about one thing—or rather one person—and right now he wanted
nothing more than to not be thinking about Rosalie Potter. Potter and her ruthless lack of self-
preservation—her foolish risk taking—that was going to see her dead before the Dark Lord even
needed to take a crack at her.
The very thought stirred up the raw-edged dregs of his anger once more.

‘How utterly Gryffindor,’ Severus sneered to himself, but then couldn’t help but wonder if that
wasn’t precisely the problem? Perhaps this was nothing more than the Slytherin in him warring
against the Gryffindor in her? Albus had seen to it that a well honed sense of Gryffindor heroics
had been fostered in her from the minute she’d stepped foot into Hogwarts. She’d been subtly
encouraged to leap first and ask questions later—philosopher’s stones, basilisks and the thrice-
damned Tri-Wizard Tournaments—rewarded for her daring feats at every turn. She was hell-bent
on thrusting herself into the line of fire and while he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the time would
come when such risks were unavoidable for her, her lack of self-preservation instinct was going to
be his undoing.

Whatever the issue this time, the wolf could sort it out without his assistance. Doubtless, Lupin
would soon learn that no matter his thoughts on the issue, Rosalie would follow her own council
regardless.

‘It’s important, Severus,’ came the second summons some hours later, then: ‘It’s about Rosalie.’

‘Of course it is,’ Severus thought with a roll of his eyes as he sunk down into the chair behind his
desk with an exhausted sigh.

How was he expected to care for someone who put no stock in their own life? How was he
expected to withstand the onslaught she unleashed upon him every time he was forced to scoop up
her crumpled form and put her back together again? How many times would he have to gaze down
at her still, pale body and wonder if this time her luck had run out?

It was only by chance that he had been standing beside Albus when the wards were set off at
Grimmauld Place. They had left at once and yet it had still taken them precious minutes to move
beyond the boundaries of the anti-apparation wards protecting the castle before they were able to
apparate away. He hadn’t known what he would find as they arrived at Grimmauld Place, but
finding the house still and undisturbed was almost more disconcerting than finding it under siege.

He’d followed as Albus led them out the front door unerringly and onto the street where a small
group of muggles were beginning to mill around a disturbance on the sidewalk. There Granger’s
ashen face could be seen, lolling listlessly to one side, unconscious beside a puddle of emesis. Like
some macabre Picasso, only half of her was visible—her head and neck, one arm and most of her
left foot—and it took him a beat to realise that she lay beneath Rosalie’s invisibility cloak.

Rosalie had been nowhere to be seen...

Severus hastened to the girl’s side as Albus dealt with the muggle bystanders.

“Granger,” He called as he’d shook at her shoulder, tugging the cloak free of her form as he
assessed her for further injuries. Despite being unconscious, she appeared whole and uninjured as
he withdrew his wand and placed it at her temple, “Enervate!”

Granger’s head flopped to the side and without further warning she purged her stomach once
more, the acid-yellow slick of bile pouring from her lax mouth in a steady stream. Magical
depletion, Severus realised as he stepped back to avoid the emesis with a sneer of disgust and
stumbled as his ankle twisted over uneven ground. He’d turned and looked down at the pavement
in question, smooth and flat beneath his feet before prodding the area with a booted toe. It
connected with something soft and heavy...

“Finite Incantatem!” Severus breathed and suddenly Rosalie melted back into existence at his feet.
She too was unconscious, looking pale and drawn, but alive and unharmed but for the splinched
hand clamped tightly about her wrist, it’s knuckles still white with tension as it gripped her hard
enough to bruise.

He fell to his knees beside her, hand brushing back the hair from her face as he looked her over for
injuries.

“Apparation Displacement,” Albus offered solemnly as he looked them over.

Severus nodded, prying the splinched arm off of her wrist and eyeing the mottled ring of bruising it
had left, “It would appear that they left of their own accord and ran into trouble along the way.”

“I’m somewhat surprised at the damage they managed to inflict on the wards,” Albus said with a
nod towards the house, “It will not be easily repaired. We will have to make other arrangements
from here on out.”

Severus cast a feather-light charm over her and scooped Rosalie’s slack body into his arms; her
head drooped back over the crook of his elbow, arms and legs sagging gracelessly around her,
“What were they doing beyond the wards?”
“A very good question, indeed,” Albus agreed as he lifted Hermione’s body with a wordless
Mobilicorpus and floated her back into the house through the front door, “though it is one I
suspect I know the answer to. I assured them this was not necessary—”

Severus frowned as he turned the events over in his mind once more. Perhaps equally as
disconcerting as his concern for Potter, was the fact that the Dark Lord had not summoned him
following the events of the afternoon. Surely he was to have questions concerning Potter’s
whereabouts? His taboo had been invoked and Potter sighted by his followers in Muggle London
and yet no summons had been forthcoming—

Severus glance up sharply as the door to his office swung open abruptly, flying inwards with such
force that it reverberated off the stone wall behind it with a shudder. Severus’ eyes narrowed as
Lupin stalked in fluidly and flung it shut again.

“Lupin,” Severus greeted, unimpressed by the wolf’s theatrics, “If I had wanted to entertain the
idea of talking to you I would have responded.”

Remus’ brows were drawn down in a tight knot against his forehead, “This is important.”

“Indeed,” Severus replied dismissively, “However, whatever issue you are having with Potter—”

“Don’t try and pretend now that Rosalie’s welfare means nothing to you,” Remus growled, his
angry stride eating up the space separating them, finally pushed too far, the shock of the afternoon
finally breaking free as he lent over Severus’ desk and jabbed a finger against the grain of the
wood pointedly, “I want to know what’s going on between you and Rosalie.”

Severus went utterly and completely still, surprised, though he didn’t show it, by the line of
questioning. He had thought this to be about Potter’s excursion beyond the wards, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Remus replied sharply; more sharply than Severus might have expected from
him, though he straightened up off of the desk to stare down at him.
Severus hesitated as his mind whirred through the possibilities that could have brought Remus to
the conclusion that something was indeed occurring, or had occurred, between himself and Rosalie.
Had Rosalie confided in the wolf? Or did he only suspect and had come looking for proof?

“If you’re referring to the disagreement between Potter and I earlier—”

Remus snarled, his eyes flashing amber as the wolf made its presence known and Severus felt his
entire body tense though outwardly he remained calm.

“I’m referring to the fact that she seems to be labouring under the belief that she is in love with
you,” Remus interrupted, the words ‘in love’ barely discernible with the animalistic weight of the
wolf behind them, “a fact you could hardly be oblivious to given the many hours you seem to
spend in one another’s presence. Yet, you avoid the obvious in a clumsy attempt to redirect my
focus...”

Severus didn’t point out that he’d been purposefully goading the wolf into divulging what he knew
with his ‘clumsy’ manipulations. His mind was entirely caught on the fact that Lupin had just
informed him that Rosalie thought she was ‘in love’ with him. The words seemed to echo through
his very core as the very notion brought with it its own heady concoction of emotions. Were they
Lupin’s words though? Or had they come from Rosalie?

Lupin seemed to be waiting for him to respond, his eyes bright with intensity.

“It’s true we have become close,” Severus began slowly, unsure where he wanted to take this. Of
all the people to find out about their relationship, it made sense that Lupin would be the first to
suspect something more. That this day had not come sooner was a blessing. What now though?
Though he had long dreaded the very idea of anyone finding out about them, he didn’t feel the
overwhelming sense of shame he’d endured after that first night they’d been together. He was
prepared, he realised shockingly, to weather the coming storm despite everything that had
happened in the last twenty-four hours. That he was beyond furious with her didn’t matter, Lupin’s
sudden appearance had made him realise that perhaps his misgivings were minor in the overall
scheme of things. Still, he thought about denying it—denying her—but he knew almost
immediately that he wouldn’t do it.

He didn’t want to.

“Stop evading the question. Tell me what the bloody hell going on between you, Snape?” Remus
returned pointedly, his voice low as he seemed to realise that Severus wasn’t denying things as he
might have hoped.
“Nothing she wasn’t wholeheartedly in agreement with,” Severus replied evenly.

Lupin seemed to turn rigid, his amber gaze never leaving Severus’ as he weighed the meaning of
Severus’ words.

“You...bastard,” Lupin breathed, shutting his eyes momentarily as if overwhelmed by the truth of
Snape’s confession, “How dare you even think of touching her.”

“What business is it of yours, Lupin?” Severus replied, one eyebrow arched in condescension, “She
is a consenting adult, as am I.”

“She is a ‘consenting adult’ young enough to be your daughter!” Lupin hissed at him, “She is your
student—”

“Was,” Severus corrected sharply.

Lupin scoffed at him, “Barely. In the same way she is barely and adult. For fuck’s sake! She is
James’ daughter, Snape! Lily’s... Or perhaps—Merlin, help me!—perhaps that is exactly what this
is all about...?”

“I sincerely hope you are not insinuating—” Severus began darkly only to be cut off again as Lupin
ploughed on.

“—is that what she is to you?” Remus asked in disgust, “Your ultimate vengeance for the
grievances of your childhood and a missed opportunity all rolled into one conveniently available
package?”

Severus’ lip curled in disgust, “and you claim I am the one who cannot let go of the past? I can
assure you James and Lily Potter were the last two people on my mind while I was engaging in
intimacies with their daughter. My past with her parents is... unfortunate, but it has no bearing on
the present.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lupin shook his head, repulsion written across every inch of his face.
“Shockingly, I do not care,” Severus told him flatly, “My relationship with Rosalie is none of your
business, Lupin.”

“It’s my business when it’s my goddaughter you’re manipulating,” Lupin challenged.

“You may think so, however, Rosalie is an adult and more than capable of making her own
decisions,” Severus intoned darkly, “If you have questions or concerns about our relationship or
her decisions, perhaps she would be more inclined to answer them than I am.”

“I think you owe me an explanation, Snape.”

Severus sent him a cutting look, “I owe you less than nothing.”

Lupin’s eyes flashed amber once more, “What is she owed though? She has spent the afternoon in
tears because of whatever you said to her this morning. This ‘relationship’ ends now. You
understand? If you touch her again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

“I am suitably terrified,” Severus returned mockingly.

Remus snarled warningly, “I mean it, Snape. If you touch her again, I’ll make sure you live to
regret it.”

“Noted,” Severus deadpanned as he held Lupin’s gaze, the hard amber of the Wolf’s gaze burning
through him as he refused to cow to its authority. He could see the beast railing against the man it
was caged inside, rippling restlessly beneath Lupin’s skin at the clear challenge Severus had laid at
its feet. Severus’ fingers ghosted over his wand subtly, readying himself should the beast overcome
the man...

“I don’t know what she possibly saw in you,” Lupin said finally, turning way. Severus watched
him make his way back across the room silently, his eyes dark.

“Lupin,” Severus called as he reached the door and there werewolf paused, back rigid arm braced
against the door, “Perhaps you ought to remember that it wasn’t me who left her unchaperoned in
the woods while you ran off to defend her honour this evening. Without the protections of the
Fidelius she is vulnerable.”

Remus snarled and the door rattled as it was slammed shut behind his retreating back.

Remus arrived back at camp and immediately went in search of the two girls he’d left unsupervised
in his haste. It had been rash of him, leaving them unprotected but for his hastily constructed
wards, but the realisation of what had been occurring between Snape and Rosalie under his very
nose had rocked him to his core. Snape had let him stew in that outrage, ignoring his summons and
fuelling the flames of his ire with every minute that ticked by unanswered and finally, hours later,
Remus had been unable to wait any longer.

What had confronting Snape achieved though?

Remus didn’t believe for a second that Snape would heed his warning. Rosalie was too great a
temptation for Snape to just walk away from. Rosalie was all the greatest parts of Lily and all the
memories of James rolled into one young, beautiful and impressionable package. Snape had simply
had to sit back and wait; he’d struck the moment she’d come of age and Rosalie, primed to look up
to Snape, to trust and believe in him, had fallen straight into his games.

Remus stalked through the flap of their tent, searching anxiously for the two teens he’d
thoughtlessly walked out on and breathed out a sigh of a relief when he quickly located them. They
were curled up around one another on Rosalie’s bed, Hermione wrapped protectively around her
friend, both of them asleep. Even in the shadows of the room, Remus could see the red blotches on
Rosalie’s face though, inflamed from her crying jag that afternoon. The sight of it stirred the
embers of his anger still burning brightly in the pit of his stomach.

‘Things can’t be left to continue on as they have been,’ Remus thought as he left the sleeping girls
and made his way back outside the tent to keep watch. Snape clearly couldn’t be trusted and
Rosalie’s judgment had been swayed by him. She needed time apart from him to come to a more
rational decision where Snape was concerned. A man old enough to be her father wasn’t the right
choice for her and with time and distance she would hopefully come to see that. The stress of the
war and her isolation from people her own age had muddied her feelings for Snape, that much was
obvious. It had left her vulnerable to Snape influence (Remus couldn’t call it ‘charms’, the idea of
Severus being charming in such a way was almost laughable).
It occurred to Remus that it was possible he was in a unique position to fix things, however.
Severus, after all, didn’t know the forests of the British Isles like he did and with the right warding
it could be possible for Remus to keep Rosalie from him. Albus wouldn’t question the added
protections, so long as Remus kept him apprised of their movements and if Severus ever did catch
on, Remus would keep them moving so that they’d be gone before he ever caught up.

With that thought in mind Remus conjured up a chair and sank into it before casting a warming
charm over himself as he settled in for the night. Perhaps it was extreme, but there were going to be
on the move anyway and if it worked, it would be worth it in the long run. It wouldn’t take
Rosalie long to move past him and when she did, she’d realise the mistake it had been to become
so involved with a man like Snape.

Rosalie woke to the sound of birds and the stillness of nature. She lay in bed a moment, watching
the pale morning light begin to creep in across the room, and wiped at her swollen gritty eyes.
Though the pain in her chest was just as prominent as it had been the day before at the thought of
Severus, she felt calmer after a full night’s rest, less emotional. Spent from the day prior, she felt
wrung out—numb.

Taking a deep breath in, she curled into the pillow beside her as she stared blankly into the room,
eyes as distant as her thoughts as she recalled her outburst from the day before. Rosalie felt her
cheeks tint pink with embarrassment over her overwrought behaviour and flooding tears. She’d
cried more in the last three months than she had in the entirety of her time at Hogwarts—more than
she had since she learnt with the Dursley’s that tears didn’t change anything. Much like time
wasted wishing things were different. It was done and there was nothing she could do to change
things now. Knowing that to be true and accepting it, however, were two entirely different
concepts and she’d been powerless against the onslaught of tears that had crippled her. She’d cried
and cried and cried until her voice was hoarse, her head pounding and her eyes were swollen and
red. Then, finally, when the tears had abated enough for her to talk through the hiccupping sobs,
she’d told Hermione everything.

Every agonizing, wonderful, heartbreakingly painful detail of her evolving relationship with
Severus was divulged without restraint, until she was left feeling stripped and vulnerable awaiting a
judgment that had never come.

“I know,” Hermione had said in return, “I’ve known. Or, at least—Well...I saw you both in the
library a little while ago.”

Rosalie shivered and curled in on herself further, burying herself beneath the covers of her bed as
sounds of movement from the main living area of their wonky tent filtered back to her. She didn’t
want to think about how she was going to explain her behaviour to Remus. He’d seemed
uncharacteristically uncomfortable with her obviously distressed state when Hermione had finally
lead her back inside the day before when the sun had slipped low enough of the horizon that the
forest chill was beginning to seep into their bones. He’d avoided her gaze and busied himself with
dinner preparations while Rosalie and Hermione had sequestered themselves in her room. Rosalie
didn’t expect he would remain so distance for long, not when past behaviour indicated that he
would press her to open up to him sooner rather than later. A lick of anger curled its way up her
spine as she realised that once again, because of Severus, she would be left with no explanation to
give him.

Rosalie huffed and threw back the covers as she rose from the bed. She was a mess: her eyes red
and swollen, her hair a snarled, knotted heap that hung around her face in clumped strands...
Rosalie scrubbed her hands over her face and sighed, before conjuring a basin and filling it with
cool water. She leant over and cupped her hands under the surface of the water and splashed her
face, gasping at the shock of icy water as it washed away the fatigue and the dried residue of tears
that still clung to her cheeks. Rosalie blinked rapidly as rivulets of water ran down her face before
repeating the process again and again until her skin felt fresh and clear. Her fingers pressed
tenderly against the puffy bags under her eyes as she cleared the water from her face and Rosalie
decided that a quick de-swelling charm was in order before she left her room for the day, probably
a spell to smooth out the tangles of her hair too, so that she didn’t look exactly like she’d spent the
entire night sobbing into her pillow.

“Morning,” Hermione offered, looking up at Rosalie as she exited the wonky tent. The brunette
was sitting on a deep, overstuffed looking armchair just outside of the entrance to the tent, “Did
you sleep alright?”

Rosalie shrugged and then shook her head, “A bit. Probably more than I usually do. I was
exhausted.”

“Me too,” Hermione agreed as she summoned a tea pot from inside the tent. It was still lightly
steaming and she poured her friend a cup and motioned for her to conjure up a chair. They sat
together sipping their warm mugs of tea as the sun crept over the tree tops around them. Rosalie let
her head tilt back against the chair behind her, closing her eyes and inhaling the fresh scent of
morning as they sat in a companionable silence. The morning was still and quiet, barely a rustle of
wind whispering through the trees around them as she absorbed the feeling of peace that saturated
the forest.

“Have you seen Remus?” Rosalie asked eventually, opening the eyes only enough to glance across
at her friend.

“He’s sleeping. I’ve not long taken over watch. He said to wake him in a couple of hours though or
if we needed him,” Hermione replied.

“Did he ask you about yesterday?” Rosalie asked cautiously, looking down into her teacup as if it
held all the answers.

Hermione shook her head, “He didn’t say a word, although perhaps he is waiting for the
opportunity to talk to you about it himself?”

“Maybe,” Rosalie agreed, “Probably.”

“He’s going to wonder,” Hermione pointed out, “That does remind me though—he mentioned that
Bill would be stopping by sometime this morning with news of Gregorovitch. They’ve located him,
I believe.”

Rosalie arched an eyebrow in surprise, her expression and unconscious imitation of her lover’s,
“Already? That was quick.”

Hermione hummed in agreement.

Rosalie pulled out her wand and turned it over in her hands as she ran her fingers over the familiar
notches and twists in the grain of the wood, “It’s strange, thinking about a having a new wand.”

Pulling her sleeve down over her hand, Rosalie polished the wood, rubbing out the smudge of
fingerprints that littered its surface and tried to imagine the feel of an unfamiliar wood resting in
her hands, the hum of power barely contained under its surface as her fingertips wrapped around
it’s handle. It was difficult for her to imagine another wand as attuned to her as her own. Ollivander
had always said that ‘the wand chooses the wizard’, surely any other wand now could only be
second best? Her holly wand had been with her from the beginning as she began to understand her
magic and respect its limits; the idea of facing down Voldemort without the steadfast familiarity of
her holly wand was a terrifying thought.

Such thoughts were still swirling in the back of her mind when Bill’s patronus scurried up to them
to announce their arrival beyond the boundary of Remus’ wards.
Hermione looked across at her friend in askance, “‘We’ve arrived’? Surely Bill hasn’t brought
Gregorovitch here?”

But he had, they realised quickly as Hermione disappeared inside the tent and reappeared only a
few moments later with a rumpled looking werewolf following after her. Remus glanced over at
them briefly before quickly making his way down to the boundary of the wards, shooting a terse
‘wait here’ over his shoulder.

Gregorovitch had insisted on getting started immediately and accompanied Bill despite the
redhead’s protestations to the contrary.

“He threatened to leave if I didn’t bring him with me,” Bill explained to Remus quietly once they
had both been brought across the boundary of the wards. The redhead shot a glance across at the
ill-tempered wandmaker, “He’s under oath and he agreed to be blindfolded for the journey.”

“He’s a bloody wandmaker, Bill,” Remus sighed, “He’ll know exactly where he is by the trees
surrounding us alone.”

Bill was silent for a beat, “I didn’t have a choice, Remus. He agreed to come with us so to provide
Rosalie with a new wand, but refuses our protection. He’ll stay only as long as it takes to ensure an
adequate match has been made.”

Remus shook his head, “It hardly matters now. He can supply Rosalie her wand and then leave, I
intended to keep on the move anyway. If he betrays our location, we will be gone before anyone
has the chance to come looking for us.”

“He’s never declared his allegiance one way or another,” Bill pointed out.

“He’s been known to have Dark affiliations,” Remus returned, “I’ll not take the chance one way or
another.”

Bill nodded, “Right.”

“Good,” Gregorovitch interjected, suddenly beside them once more, “Lead me to the girl.”
 *

Rosalie eyed the elderly man introduced to her as Gregorovitch. His face was pinched in an
irritable slant, his mouth a split across his face like a crack that ran through a weathered log and his
brow a heavy knot that seemed to shadow his eyes, but he held out a craggy arthritic hand to her
and she accepted it congenially, shooting a quick glance at Remus as her hand slid into his
roughened one.

“Rosalie Pott—” she began, surprised when the hand that took hers and turned it over instead of
shaking it as she’d expected and began inspecting it with a degree of intensity that made her flush
red as the wizard ignored her words entirely.

“I know who you are, girl,” He huffed, his accent warping his words in an unfamiliar way as he
turned her palm up and spread her fingers, muttering to himself: “Eleven inches, interesting.”

“What?” Rosalie asked, confused.

He ignored her question, “We will begin now.”

Rosalie frowned, “Okay?”

Gregorovitch pulled a trunk from within his robes and resized it until it was more than double the
size of the trunk she’d taken with her to Hogwarts every year. He hefted it into position easily
though and fiddled with the clasp so that he could throw open the lid. Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up
into her hairline in surprise at the contents of his trunk, “Where are the wands?”

Gregorovitch scoffed and continued to set up his work space, unfolding the trunk piece by piece
until an entire corner of their wonky tent had been transformed into a work space that looked like it
had been there for weeks instead of mere minutes.

“It is going to be your wand, no?” he told her as he reached in for another smaller trunk and sat it
on the work station that now stood before them, “every piece of this wand must resonate with you,
not me, not some stranger—certainly not the Dark Lord. This wand will be yours in a way no other
wand would or could be.”

“You’re going to make it?” Remus interjected suddenly.

Gregorovitch shot him an irritated look, “This is what I just said, yes.”

“How long will that take?” Remus asked with a frown.

“It will take exactly as long as it takes,” Gregorovitch responded dryly, his tone dismissive,
“Longer with interruptions.”

Remus scowled, “That was not part of the agreement—our time is limited and Rosalie will need
time to train with the wand to become familiar with its power and feel. We do not have endless
weeks ahead of us for you to whittle a wand from scratch.”

“You have made many wands yourself, yes? To have such understanding on how long ‘whittling’ a
wand will take?” Gregorovitch barked, his accent thickening so that his ‘w’-sounds were coming
out sounding like a ‘v’: ‘You haf made many vands yourself, yes? To haf such understansing on
how long ‘vhittling’ a vand vill take?’

Remus glared mistrustfully at him, “No.”

“This way is better,” Gregorovitch continued, turning back to Rosalie, “This wand will be entirely
yours. The most powerful. No training will be necessary.”

Remus said no more, retreating to the corner of the room to keep a watchful eye over them as
Gregorovitch turned back to the trunk that sat on the bench before them, “First you must pick the
wood that we will use.”

He cracked open the lid on the smaller trunk to reveal tray stacked atop of tray stacked atop of tray
of wooden branches, all varying in shape, colour and length, displayed neatly beside one another
on green velvet. Rosalie lent forward and glanced over them unpacking each layer carefully until
they were all laid out around them for her to choose from.
Gregorovitch looked at her expectantly, but said nothing, watching her carefully as her eyes traced
over each of the different woods.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Rosalie admitted when no further guidance was forthcoming.

“Yes, you do,” Gregorovitch replied gruffly, “You are looking for a wood, that speaks to
you...Perhaps you stir at the sight of it, no? Is it the smell? Is it the colour of the wood, or the way
the bark feels against the palm of your hand? Is the wood from a sapling, still supple and young
and green at its core? Or is it older, wiser? Perhaps it has come from a tree that has stood the test
of time and seen the world changing over decades and centuries?”

Rosalie frowned as she turned back to the selection of wood before her, her hand reaching out to
brush her fingers across the surface of those nearest to her. She lingers over a piece, shorter than
the length of her holly wand, and curls her fingers around its width. It’s pale in colour and almost
weightless in her palm and immediately she knows it is the wrong piece and puts it back down.

She spends a further twenty minutes agonising over every piece of wood on display before her
before she picks up a piece of wood as black as the moonless sky at its core and tests is weight in
her hands. It is solid and warms pleasantly in her palm as she handles it carefully. The feeling it
evokes in her is enough that she is about to turn back to Gregorovitch with her answer when
another piece takes her eye. It’s immediately so familiar to her that she instantly knows that it’s
from a holly tree and without relinquishing the piece already in her hands she picks up the holly
branch.

“This is it,” She said suddenly with a conviction that startles her but she knows intimately to be
true.

“The holly?” Gregorovitch prompts.

“No. Both,” Rosalie says turning back to him, “The both of them together. It feels...right.”

Gregorovitch inclines his head, but there is an expression on his face that Rosalie reads as surprise.

“Is it possible to have more than one type of wood?” Rosalie asks as, she clutches both pieces
protectively to her chest.
“It is uncommon, but not impossible,” Gregorovitch replies as he wastes little time packing away
the remained of his stock, with quick, sure movements despite himself and the arthritis that twisted
his fingers, “Which one will form the base?”

“The base?” Rosalie parroted in question looking down at the two branches in her hands, gripping
and rolling them in her hands as she assessed the feel of them both in her palms.

“The handle?” Gregorovitch clarified.

Rosalie nodded, holding out the midnight wood, “This one.”

“Ebony,” Gregorovitch told her, “A highly uncommon choice of wood. Many do not have the
personal fortitude to wield a wand of ebony, but it is an exceptional wood choice for a duellist, to
be sure.”

Rosalie nodded, “And holly?”

“Another rare selection, but perhaps not wholly unexpected,” Gregorovitch offered.

Rosalie nodded and looked back again at the two branches of wood in her hands, “I didn’t realise it
would feel this profound.”

“The right wand will—it is a good sign you will be well matched. Come, I will begin crafting
them,” He said holding his hand out for the branches. Rosalie handed them to him, but with the
reluctance one might hand there wand to a stranger—which she supposed, in a fashion, she was.
Gregorovitch nodded approvingly, “You will sit with me and tell me of how you see them coming
together.”

Rosalie followed him obediently and conjured an armchair to sit alongside him at the workstation
as he attached the first branch—the ebony—into a brace that sat atop his work bench. He conjured
up an uncomfortable looking wooden stool to sit before it and placed his foot over a pedal beneath
the bench, then, as she began to talk, he slowly began pumping the pedal with his foot and the
branch, held tightly between the ends of its brace, began to turn.

Rosalie sat with him, talking and answering his questions, long into the evening as the sun inched
its way across the sky and then dipped below the horizon. Wood shavings piled up at their feet as
the hours ticked by and the two branches she’d picked from his chest slowly began to take the
shape of a wand—her wand. The questions he asked her seemed to guide his hand, though at times
seemed completely unrelated to the task at hand:

“Night or day?” He’d prompt, not looking at her as his gnarled arthritic fingers moved in sure
strokes up and down the constantly spinning piece of wood, freeing the wand trapped within.

“Day,” Rosalie would answer, “No, morning! When the sun is just creeping up above the horizon
and everything is still and silent as it’s washed in the first light of day.”

“Favourite subject at school?”

Rosalie pondered the question, “It used to be Defence Against the Dark Arts or Care of Magical
Creatures. I haven’t been at school for a while though and recently I’ve taken an interest in
healing. I found this book at this place I was staying for a while, it’s called the ‘The A-Z Healer’s
Companion’. I’ve been studying it in my spare time.”

Gregorovitch nodded.

“Do you like potatoes?”

“What?”

Gregorovitch looked at her seriously, “I asked if you like potatoes...”

Hermione stopped by from time to time to deliver them food, which Gregorovitch never touched,
and tea, which he sipped at constantly. Rosalie avoided the tea where possible, it made her need to
go to the toilet too frequently and Gregorovitch seemed to dislike the interruption to their work
flow—though the beverage seemed to have no effect on him.

By the time they called it quits for the evening, Hermione was asleep on the couch, her arms
tucked up tightly beneath her head due to the cold. The fire in their living space hand long since
burned down to hotly burning coals too small to truly heat the room outside its immediate vicinity.
Silence filled the room as the constant squeaking of the Gregorovitch’s foot pedal finally came to
an end.
 Almost at once Hermione lifted her head, sleep clouding her gaze, as if the absence of sound had
awoken her.

“Is it done?” she asked, her words slurring together.

“For tonight,” Rosalie replied as she stood and stretched out her back, watching as Gregorovitch
took himself off to bed without another word. Rosalie sighed, “You should go to bed; I’ll take over
from Remus.”

Hermione shook her head, “No, I’ve had a couple of hours. You should get some rest.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay, thanks.”

Hermione smiled and pushed outside to take over watch from Remus and for a moment after she’d
left Rosalie stood there and stared at the wand that was taking shape before her. Her wand. The
thought still felt so foreign. She ran her fingers over the now smooth column of wood and felt the
tingle of power inside it as it sparked up her arm. The ebony handle spiralled up into the shaft of
the holly which made up the majority of the wand. Ebony threads twisted up seamlessly from the
base, twining around the holly, inlaid into the wood with such intricate craftsmanship that no seem
could be felt between the two different pieces of wood.

It was beautiful. Rosalie curled her fingers around it’s smooth surface as she gripped the handle
lightly, it’s energy dancing up her arm. Beautiful and powerful. Powerful enough, she hoped, to
help her defeat the most destructive Dark Lord the wizarding had ever seen and walk away with
her life.

Chapter End Notes

I spent a fair bit of time looking over these sites while thinking about what Rosalie's
new wand should look like before I settled on a decision:

https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/wand-woods
http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Wand_core
 Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Notes

A/N: So soon? I know, I'm surprised too :)

Also, sending a big thank you to GhostTari for offering to beta read for me! You're a
life saver!

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gregorovitch muttered under his breath the entire time it took for him to pack up his workstation
and exit the tent so that it too could be dismantled. Remus remained unswayed, seemingly
oblivious to the older man’s blustering as he helped the two teens pack down their camp. Their
lop-sided little tent went down with much less effort than it had gone up only a couple of days
prior, but something in the way it had folded itself up made Rosalie suspect that it’s ‘tilt’ was likely
permanent.

“Ready?” Remus had asked when the area was clear, stretching out his hands for Rosalie and
Hermione to take. Rosalie was the only one to extend a hand to Gregorovitch and he’d accepted it
reluctantly, his gnarled fingers slapping into hers with petulance only the very young and the
elderly seemed to ever get away with. Seconds later they disapparated, that sucking pull Rosalie
hated so much stretching over them and drawing them in tight only to burst outwards again as they
rematerialised in a small clearing of lush green grass in a densely wooded forest.

Rosalie stumbled as she lost her footing, the world still tilting crazily around her as she came back
to herself.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked as she gripped under Rosalie’s arm to steady her.
Rosalie nodded, “Thanks. I hate apparating almost as much as I hate travelling by floo.”

They glanced at their surroundings as Rosalie righted herself, her bag slipping from her shoulder to
land with a soft thump beside her feet. Evergreen trees soared overhead so that the sky looked very
far away from where they both stood. Utterly dwarfed by their stature, Rosalie tilt her head back,
staring up at the small patch of pale blue that could be seen above them. In fact, trees encircled
them entirely, packed tight like the palings of a fence so that even the cool light of morning was not
yet high enough in the sky to penetrate the heavy mist that licked around their ankles. Dew lingered
persistently on the foliage and the soft, thick grass beneath their feet wet the cuffs of Rosalie’s
pants as she turned in a circle on herself staring in awe at the forest that surrounded them.

Rosalie inhaled deeply, taking the clean, crisp smell of damp earth into her lungs, “It’s beautiful.”

“Start setting up the tent,” Remus ordered unnecessarily as he made for the border of the trees
where he would begin work on the wards. Gregorovitch grunted and wandered away from them,
cutting a steady line through the mist, to plonk himself down in a conjured chair.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Rosalie continued as she pulled out her holly wand and began work
reassembling the tent, “if Remus hadn’t apparated us here, you could almost believe that you were
the only person in the world that knew such a place even existed.”

Hermione hummed her agreement, “I wonder how he came across it?”

“Probably as a wolf,” Rosalie replied reasonably, “You know I’ve thought about living somewhere
like this? I could build myself a little cottage, far away from everyone and everything...”

“It’s very remote,” Hermione agreed, but her tone was dubious.

“It hardly matters when we can apparate anywhere we need to go in the blink of an eye,” Rosalie
countered, “and at any rate, the whole point is that it’s remote.”

Hermione nodded, “I guess I can understand how that might appeal to you.”

Gregorovitch’s heckling tone interrupted them, “Are you putting up the tent or shall we sleep on
the floor tonight?”
Both girls shot him a nasty look as he stared back unapologetically. The tent went up crooked.
Rosalie cursed under her breath as she attempted to try and fix it, but no matter how many times
she tried to make it stay in place it kept keeling over again.

“With my wand, you will not have the same problem,” Gregorovitch groused as he watched her
struggle and Rosalie let her arms fall as the tent sagged back into place. She glanced over her
shoulder at him with a sceptical look.

“How can you be so sure?” She asked as she turned fully to face him.

Gregorovitch scoffed, “Because that bit of wood Ollivander sold you? It was not made for you.
You are merely suited to one another.”

Rosalie frowned as the old man pushed himself up and moved, on surprisingly nimble feet, to stand
at her side. He snatched her holly wand from within her grasp before she had time to blink and
Rosalie inhaled sharply as he ran it through critical fingers assessing the ‘piece of wood’, “What
are you doing!?”

“Ollivander has always been such an uninspired sort of man,” Gregorovitch huffed, ignoring her
spluttering, “His wands lack...imagination. The same tired woods with the same tired cores when
there are so many combinations in wandmaking to explore.”

“That’s a rather large claim to make. Ollivander is considered by many people to be the best
wandmaker in the world,” Hermione challenged, “Perhaps years of experience have come to teach
him what the most powerful combinations are.”

Gregorovitch grunted, “Just because Ollivander sells the most wands, doesn’t mean he makes the
best. His wands are reliable, yes, but they lack the true power that comes with harmony—harmony
between wand and wizard. Every piece of the wand I am making for your friend will resonate
inside of her. Nothing picked off a shelf could possibly come close. This you will never
understand, girl.”

Hermione looked put out and glared openly at Gregorovitch as he tossed Rosalie her holly wand
and meandered back to his armchair.

“I don’t trust him,” Hermione muttered, turning her back on him.

Rosalie shrugged, “I can’t help but wonder if he’s right, though... My holly wand feels familiar and
safe. The energy I feel when I touch my new wand, though... It’s different—stronger—and it’s not
even finished yet.”

“Yes, but is it stable?” Hermione hedged shooting the man another wary look, “How do we know
he’s not sabotaging it somehow.”

“If he could, I doubt Dumbledore would have ever agreed to having him make me a wand in the
first place,” Rosalie replied reasonably, “but if it makes you feel better, we’ll give it to the
Headmaster to look over before I use it.”

Hermione nodded, “I think that’s wise.”

Remus was still walking the perimeter of the camp, incanting his wards and protections as the
three of them made their way back inside the tent. Hermione got to work on lighting a fire in the
hearth as Rosalie trailed in after her. It took Gregorovitch next to no time at all to unpack his
equipment once more and soon he was beckoning her over with an impatient hand. He seemed
keen to get back to work, Rosalie thought—anxious, perhaps, to finish the job and return to his life
of retirement.

He was inspecting his workmanship as she came to stand alongside him, running his fingertips
critically over the now smooth wood of her new wand, assessing the intricate etchings where the
ebony wood had been inlaid into the lighter grain of the holly.

“Sit,” he’s ordered without turning around, and Rosalie obeyed him without question.

“The wand core you choose can be tricky,” Gregorovitch began as he pulled a leather roll down
from off of a high shelf. It was soft and supple with age and the leather lace that held it closed
faded and peeling. His gnarled fingers tugged at the fastenings, unthreading the knot that secured it
and then, with a flourish, Gregorovitch rolled it out flat along the bench.

Rosalie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she leaned in closer to peer at the contents, “Are these
all...?”

“Different types of wand cores,” Gregorovitch told her, “More than the handful Ollivander uses,
no?”
“There are certainly a lot of them,” Rosalie agreed as she ran her gaze down the length of the
unrolled pouch.

“The wand core you choose is as important as the wood that encases it,” Gregorovitch continued as
he eyed her shrewdly, “Some wand cores are temperamental, others flamboyant and
impulsive...the chosen core is said to reflect the type of wizard who wields it. I do not know if this
is always true, but there must be an understanding between the two, I believe, for reliable results to
be achieved.”

Rosalie nodded, “So I pick one then? The same way I picked the wood?”

Gregorovitch nodded, “It will take me some time to carefully drill through the middle of the wand
so that the core may be placed inside. You will use this time to choose the core that resonates with
you.”

Rosalie nodded and began to pour over the range of potential wand cores before her. There were so
many different options to choose from. Each one had been meticulously stowed away in their
place, some with neatly written labels attached and others seemingly completely unaccounted for.
The sheer variety was overwhelming: mermaid fin, unicorn hair, hippogriff claw, veela or banshee
hair...the options were plentiful and varied.

It was tempting to pick up those that were beautiful and brightly coloured, but instead, Rosalie
passed over what looked like a shimmering phoenix feather without a second glance and picked up
a tuft of long dark hairs. They were thick and coarse like an animal’s and a little shiver passed
through her as she wound them around her fist loosely. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. Not
really. There was something awfully familiar about it though and as she ran her fingers over the run
of hair wrapped over her knuckles there was a sense of stillness that followed. Perhaps it didn’t
have to be ‘pleasant’ to be ‘right’? She found herself repeating the action thoughtfully, her fingers
passing over the smooth swatch of hair again and again. It contrasted dramatically with the brash
energy of the wood she’d chosen, but perhaps it would be a balancing influence? A moment of
stillness in the midst of a great storm?

“May I hold my wand for a moment?” Rosalie questioned as she turned to Gregorovitch. To her
surprise, his gaze was already on her.

He nodded once and sat back so that she could curl the fingers of her other hand around the wood
—
Yes.

Her eyes fell shut and her head tipped back in surprise as a low hum started at either point in her
hands and spread throughout her warmly.

“Oh, wow,” She breathed softly.

“Now you understand what it is to have a wand that is entirely yours,” Gregorovitch told her
gruffly.

Rosalie nodded as her eyes popped open once more so she could look at him, “If the difference is
so pronounced, why doesn’t everyone get their wand made for them?”

“Money,” Gregorovitch told her plainly, “It is time-consuming and expensive to make individually
crafted wands.”

Rosalie nodded again and let her hand fall reluctantly from the wood of her wand, looking back at
the wand core she’d chosen.

“What is this?” she asked as she ran her fingers over the thick black hair again, “They were
unlabeled.”

“Threstral tail hair,” Gregorovitch replied plainly, “A most intriguing choice. I know of only one
other wand that has utilised such a wand core, that you would choose the same for your wand
intriguing indeed.”

Rosalie looked at the black hair wound about her fist with new eyes, “Oh. Who did the other wand
belong to?”

“It has passed through many hands,” Gregorovitch told her, “For a time, I too called it my own, but
it was fickle and difficult to master. Unusually powerful, unlike any wand I’d ever seen or would
see again. In the end, it was taken from me—stolen from my workshop in the dead of night—and
no matter how I tried to recreate it, experimenting with the same combinations of ingredients,
nothing I have ever crafted has come close.”
Rosalie frowned, “You mean it’s still out there? Someone else is using it?”

“Quite possibly,” Gregorovitch replied, “it’s quite famous among certain circles. Those who know
of it call it the Elder Wand. It is one of Beedle the Bard’s Deathly Hallows.”

From the way he announced it, Rosalie assumed that she was meant to know who this ‘Beedle the
Bard’ was, but she had no clue about him or his ‘Deathly Hallows’. She’d never heard of an Elder
Wand before, but if it was true and this all-powerful wand did exist, then she hoped You-Know-
Who didn’t know about it. Truthfully, though, they sounded like something Gregorovitch had
made up.

“Well,” Rosalie said slowly, not sure how to proceed, “I guess mine will be the second wand you’ll
see that uses Threstral hair—though it is a bit of an odd choice...”

“Is it?” Gregorovitch prompted, “Are you not someone who will look death in the face before this
war is through? An interesting parallel indeed.”

“Perhaps,” Rosalie shrugged, “As long as it’s not some kind of omen.”

There were signs that they’d indeed been there, perhaps even as recently as earlier that very day,
but it was obvious as soon as Severus apparated to the appointed location that they were gone.
Signs of their camp remained—a flatness over the ground where the tent had stood, remnants of a
campfire and the lingering static of hastily dismantled wards—but certainly nothing to indicate that
they were in any way expecting to return to the location.

Severus sneered, his voice a steaming hiss of anger, “ Lupin.”

If he were a less logical man he might have wondered what had prompted such an abrupt departure,
but he knew exactly what this was: an attempt to separate Rosalie from him and shrewd timing on
the wolf’s behalf. It rankled that his movements had been so predictable.
He should have made the trip the night Lupin had come to Hogwarts to confront him over Rosalie.
He almost had, for a moment, instinct propelling him towards the door before rational thought and
lingering anger slowed his step. The realisation that he was ready to place himself beside her,
really ready, and that he would remain beside her even when their relationship was revealed to their
toughest critics had thrust him forward before it had occurred to him that following Remus back to
the campsite then and there was likely a bad idea. Moreover, his simmering anger over Rosalie’s
foolish actions had only mildly abated and it would have taken little prompting to stoke the flames
higher once more. Time apart had done them both good to cool down, no doubt. That had meant
waiting until the end of the school week though: Friday evening once his office hours were done
and his time was his own once more.

Predictable.

With a snap of his robe, Severus turned on his heel and apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. It
was not so late that Albus couldn’t be found in his office and ten minutes later, he was striding up
the circular moving staircase that led to the Headmaster’s office.

“Severus!” Albus called in surprise, beckoning the Potions Master into the room, “I thought you
were departing for the weekend?”

“I intended to,” Severus began as he came to a stop in front the large ornate desk that dominated
the room, “I apparated out to the Forest of Dean to continue with Potter’s training only to find that
they are no longer there?”

“Oh, indeed?” Albus asked, though his tone was light Severus could sense an underlying hint of
unease.

Severus looked at him sharply, “You were unaware?”

Severus watched as a silvery phoenix burst from the tip of the Headmaster’s wand and shot off
through the walls of the castle. Even an imbecile would be able to put two and two together and
figure out what, or rather who, had prompted Albus to check up on them, but Lupin would have
little choice but to answer the question if he didn’t want to raise his own suspicions. Leaving Albus
out of the loop was sloppy, it solidified Severus’ opinion that the move hadn’t been planned but
instead had been a rushed attempt to keep Rosalie sheltered from his influence. What else would he
be willing to do?

The thought made him pause.

Severus moved in calculated paces to the chair that sat across from Albus’ desk. Something
monumental was shifting inside of him, coalescing into something bigger than merely a decision to
move forward.

“Albus...”

The headmaster turned to look at his Potions Master and paused at something in the man’s
expression, “What is it, my boy?”

“There is something you should know. Something I have been intentionally remiss in informing
you,” Severus told him calmly, the words almost out of his mouth before he realised what it was
that he intended to say, “The nature of my relationship with Miss Potter has changed.”

Albus eyed him pointedly over the rim of his spectacles, “How so, Severus?”

“It has been some months now since we have become, I suppose one might say, romantically
involved,” Severus replied evenly, his expression neutral as he willingly delivered the news that he
had so dreaded Albus finding out. It was a calculated risk, one that could potentially backfire
spectacularly, but it would look worse if Lupin were the one to break the news before they were
ready.

His confession, however, was met with a tense silence as the Headmaster kept his careful gaze on
Severus’. His expression was unreadable and Severus felt sure that Albus was attempting to gain
access to his thoughts, but if so, the attempt was too subtle to detect and he stared back into Albus’
diamond hard eyes as the other wizard assessed him, “And this was entered into consensually once
Miss Potter became of appropriate age to legally consent?”

Severus nodded, “Certainly.”

“Are you in love with one another?” Albus asked him blankly.

Severus hesitated, his innards twisting uncomfortably at the frank intimacy of such a question, “I
care for her. I believe that I am as close to love as I have ever come, as impossible as it may seem...
I cannot speak on her behalf, though. We have not spoken of our attachment in such terms.”
“I see,” Albus replied when all at once his face crumpled, a look of profound sadness passing over
him as he dropped his gaze, “It gives me great sadness to hear this.”

Severus felt himself tense up, a familiar dark cloud of emotion rolling in overhead as he stared
back at his mentor, “It is as I suspected then; you are disappointed in me.”

“No. No, my boy, I am not disappointed in you, but perhaps in myself? Yes. I should have seen
that this was a possibility when I pushed you towards one another. I’ll admit, Severus, that I did not
think you had it in you to move beyond ‘James Potter’s daughter’ with our Rose, you have always
managed to exceed expectations though, haven’t you?” Albus removed his glasses and swiped his
good hand over his face, “I fear my short-sightedness will cause you both a great deal of pain...”

“What do you mean?” Severus asked as he sat rigid in his chair. Albus looked up at him again,
despair roiling in his sharp blue gaze.

“It was always my intention that you would one day learn the truth, Severus. You are the only one
I feel I can trust with the burden that I alone have carried now for some years. Perhaps to tell you
now is cruel, but you must learn the truth and to keep it from you after what you have just
confessed seems equally terrible,” Albus began and Severus knew that whatever Albus said next
would taint whatever happiness he’d found so unexpectedly with Rosalie, “but first, my boy, I must
ask you if you know what a horcrux is?”

Severus shook his head, “No.”

“A horcrux is a powerful dark object created by a magic so horrible that much of the knowledge
ever generated pertaining to their creation was suppressed many centuries ago,” Albus explained
carefully, “It is a dreadfully difficult topic to find information on, however, for a time we kept a
book here, in the Restricted Section of the school’s library, that contained more knowledge
regarding horcruxes than I was comfortable allowing people access to.”

Albus pulled out his wand and summoned a book from the highest shelf of his personal library. A
thick black book sailed across the room to land on the desk before him and Albus placed a staying
hand over the cover. Intrigued, Severus’ eyes flicked across the curled cursive that spelt out its
title: ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’.

“When I realised what was contained within the book, I had it removed from the general
circulation. The horrible acts of dark magic made available within this book were truly horrifying,”
Albus continued, “As far as I knew it was the only one of its kind and so, for many years, I put it
from my mind, knowing it was safely beyond the reach of those that would use its pages to harm
others. Then Tom Riddle started at Hogwarts. I was suspicious of him on more than one occasion
throughout his time at Hogwarts, but ultimately he wouldn’t pose any acknowledged threat until
some years after he had graduated and moved on. You know the history of the Dark Lord’s first
rise and fall, so I won’t rehash old history, but it was our suspicions in the days that followed the
Dark Lord’s fall that I again thought of the book that sat on my shelf.

“You see a horcrux is an object into which a witch or wizard places a fragment of their soul in
order to achieve immortality. It requires the murder of another living being, an act of the utmost
evil. You know what it is to take a life, Severus. You know how damaging it can be to your psyche
in the days following the event, but to set out with the intention to murder? To end someone’s life
for one’s own selfish gain is to metaphysically damage one’s soul—to splinter it. To create a
horcrux one must intentionally set out to cause such damage so that a fragment of one’s very life
force can then be placed into an appropriate receptacle for safe keeping.”

“The Dark Lord’s artefacts,” Severus said with sudden awareness.

“Yes. It was still some years before I knew for sure what Tom had done. Twelve-year-old Rosalie
Potter sat in my office and told me the story of how she’d slain a basilisk and defeated a boy
named Tom Riddle who had come to life out of a diary. Quite astutely she stabbed the diary
through its centre with the basilisk fang that had pierced her very arm—unknowingly using the
only possible method she had available to her that could have destroyed the horcrux that resided
inside Tom Riddle’s diary—but her story had left me we far more questions than indeed answers
and I am only slightly ashamed to say that I used Legilimency on both Rosalie and Miss Weasley to
piece together the remaining parts of the puzzle. I soon came to discover that Tom Riddle had
made not one, but seven horcruxs. Seven, Severus! Even once is considered unspeakable, but to
split one’s soul seven times...”

“If you had the only book concerning their creation, how did the Dark Lord even come to know of
their existence?” Severus asked.

“Tom Riddle truly is a decedent of Salazar Slytherin,” Albus replied sadly, “He is Slytherin’s Heir,
one might say, responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets twice in the recent history of
Hogwarts... Rosalie and her friends asked recently for access to the school in order to search the
chamber in the hopes of finding another horcrux. What they found was Salazar Slytherin’s secret
study. Inside was Slytherin’s private library and an ancient manuscript with an entire chapter
dedicated to horcruxes. Alas, it seems my efforts were for naught and Tom found the information
whilst still a student in this very school.”

Severus let himself think back to that night, to finding Rosalie hurtling through the forest as the fire
burned out of control around them. She would have been carrying Slytherin’s manuscript in her bag
that night, “And they all have to be destroyed before the Dark Lord can be defeated?”
“Ah,” Albus sighed, “and now we come to it...”

Severus watched as Albus visibly struggled with the words that were yet to come and a cold knot
of premonition began to harden inside of him.

“As it turns out, the object chosen to become a horcrux need not be inanimate,” Albus began
slowly, “Nagini for instance, is Tom’s final horcrux—”

“No,” Severus interrupted, busting from his seat as realisation washed over him in a sick wave
prickly heat, “I will not accept it! You cannot seriously mean to say she...”

“Yes. Severus, I am sorry,” Albus confirmed, all the wretched despair written across his face as he
implored his Potions Master to understand what he was telling him, “Rosalie Potter is one of Tom
Riddle’s horcruxes.”

Severus hissed, “Does she know?”

Albus shook his head, “It is my belief that neither is aware of the nature of their connection. I
believe Tom intended the Potter’s deaths to be a ‘significant kill’ that would forge the creation of a
new horcrux and the horcrux inside Rosalie was perhaps unconsciously made at the moment of his
destruction. Her parseltongue was the first hint that something was different—then came the
dreams and visions.”

Severus turned on him sharply, “How can you be sure it remains within her? Surely the basilisk
venom in the Chamber of Secrets also destroyed the horcrux inside of her when it entered her
bloodstream?”

Blue eyes that stared back at him sadly, “The horcrux is tied to her soul, while she lives it
remains.”

While she lives...

Severus felt the floor shift beneath his feet and he swayed off balance.
While she lives...

Something heavy felt like it was pressing against his chest and for a second he worried he wouldn’t
be able to draw breath...

“I’m not sure I understand—” Severus replied, “Are you telling me—”

“Rosalie must die for Tom Riddle to be defeated,” Albus confirmed softly.

Severus felt the blood drain from his face as he staggered, his knees buckling as he collapsed back
into the chair behind him gracelessly. Bile fought to make its way back up his throat, hot and
acidic, and he swallowed thickly as he forced it back down.

Rosalie.

There was a buzzing in his ears, loud enough to drown out the world around him and he
remembered suddenly how cold the night had been as he’d walked into the Potter’s house that
night. He’d known before he’d even entered the house. He could hear the baby crying upstairs,
loud hiccupping shrieks that echoed down the halls. He’d stepped over James Potter’s body
without a second glance as he’d made his way up the stairs two at a time, rushing down the hall to
where he knew he’d find Lily. The door caught on her arm as he pushed it open, but it wasn’t
Lily’s body lying on the floor. It was Rosalie. His Rosalie, so still and cold with her hair splayed
out around her where she’d fallen and her wide eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling.

No.

He was breathing heavily, his mind plummeting with despair as grief crashed over him in wave
after wave, sudden and fierce. He let his head fall into his hands, barely noticing Lupin’s wolf
loping into the room to relay its message back to the Headmaster. His mind was a whitewash of
noise. One thing was clear though: there had to be another way.

“I can’t accept it,” Severus insisted suddenly.

“You must,” Albus persisted.

“No, Albus. You forced us into one another’s company time and again so that I might train her to
survive. To survive—time utterly wasted if you never intended for her to walk away from the final
confrontation. You let me care for her—” Severus’s throat caught and he turned from the
Headmaster abruptly, so that he could swallow around the lump in his throat. There felt like there
was a gaping hole punched through his chest, raw and ragged, “I did not go through all that to
watch her walk like lamb to the slaughter.”

“You must,” Albus told him again, standing to walk around his desk as he came to rest a hand on
his Potions Master’s shoulder.

Severus shrugged it off and snarled over his shoulder, “Do not expect me to accept this, Albus. I
will not.”

“Severus—”

“Tell me where they are,” Severus demanded, abruptly calling halt to the discussion.

“Severus, please. I did not tell you in order to cause you pain—”

“Tell me where they are, Albus,” Severus demanded again, his voice a snarl.

Albus sighed, knowing Severus would need time to come to terms with the reality he’d had years
to accept.

“They are on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest where it borders Hogsmeade,” Albus relented,
watching as Severus strode for the door, “Please know that I am glad you found each other. I’m
glad that she will experience love before the end, but she mustn’t know, Severus. Not before it’s
time.”

Severus paused in his march towards the door as he let that sink in, “She will never know if I can
help it.”
 *

Severus passed through the wards surrounding the hidden campsite with ease and emerged on the
other side to a wand thrust sharply under his chin. He might have been impressed under different
circumstances, but as it was he had little patience for her display.

“Identify yourself,” Granger’s voice hissed.

“Granger,” Severus returned, “Politely removed you wand from under my chin immediately.”

“How do I know you are who you appear to be?” She persisted.

“Because I knew where to find you, because I have passed through the Wolf’s wards without
hindrance, because I have shown up in the middle of the night and can only be here for one
reason,” Severus snapped, “I have no doubt you know what I speak of by now. Put your wand
down immediately and let me pass.”

The witch hesitated a moment before reluctantly removing her wand from the soft underside of his
chin.

“You were quick to act,” Severus acknowledged, “but if you truly feared an intruder you should
have intervened before I breached the wards.”

Hermione nodded.

It was dark out and Severus glanced briefly around the camp, taking in his surroundings. Very little
moonlight made it this far into the thick crop of surrounding trees and the darkness of the night
covered them like a thick blanket.

“I’m glad you’ve come, Sir. Rosalie will be too,” Hermione offered as she trailed him back up to
the tent.
“I see,” Severus replied as strode onwards to their poorly constructed tent. It sagged noticeably to
one side and he wondered, as he pushed in through the main entrance, why no one had thought to
fix it.

Lupin was waiting for him just inside the doorway, “I thought I made myself clear when we last
spoke.”

“Certainly, you did. Likewise, I believe I was equally succinct in my portrayal of ‘I don’t give a
fuck’, Lupin. Yet here we are and still you seem unable to grasp the fact that Rosalie is an adult, as
am I, and therefore your opinion has no bearing on our relationship.”

Lupin’s growl was more wolf that human and Severus subtly fingered his wand.

“Severus?”

They both turned at the sound of Rosalie’s voice and just the sight of her had Severus heart
constricting painfully in his chest. She was a horcrux. She would need to die in order for them to
win this war. His chest ached with the weight of his knowledge.

Rosalie was looking between the two of them, her eyes flicking between Severus and Remus with
sudden understanding, “You know then?”

Remus nodded, “Yes. Yes, I know, Rose. How could you keep this from me?”

Rosalie frowned, “I never know where I stand with you from one moment to the next lately.
You’ve been hot and cold with me all summer, Remus, but I knew this thing between Severus and
myself wasn’t something you’d like.”

Severus looked down at her as Rosalie moved to stand beside him, presenting a united front to her
self-appointed dogfather as he continued to glare at them.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew how you would react,” she continued, “and I was right. I
appreciate your interest in my life and the fact that you feel somewhat responsible for me because
you’re the only one left, but you are not my parent, Remus, you are not my guardian and you have
no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. Severus is right: I am an adult. I will be with whoever I
choose to be and you can be my friend and support my decision or you can keep your opinions to
yourself.”

“He is the same age as your parents, Rosalie!” Remus exclaimed, “For Merlin’s Sake! If things had
been different he could have been your parent! He was in love with your mother too, did you know
that?”

Rosalie hesitated for the briefest moment, turning to look at Severus in surprise.

“Lily was my best friend, nothing more,” Severus hissed.

“Oh please, it was obvious to anyone looking at you,” Remus huffed, “The way you pined for her
when she chose James over you was proof enough—”

“That’s enough!” Rosalie interrupted, her voice raised and her cheeks flushed, “Cut it out, the both
of you!”

“This is my decision Remus, not yours,” Rosalie said quietly after a beat or two of silence, “While I
understand you have reservations, please understand that while I will take them under advisement,
the decision is mine and I have heard enough.”

“Fine, if you won’t listen to reason,” Remus said as he made to stride past them, “I am only
looking out for your best interests, Rosalie. If your father were here, he would be absolutely
appalled at the very thought of this.”

Severus drew breath to return the volley but stopped at the feel of Rosalie’s hand gripping his
wrist. She shook her head, watching the wolf storm from the room.

“You came,” Rosalie offered softly when they were finally alone. Severus reached for her but she
glanced away from him taking a step back and Severus let his hand fall again.

“Naturally, it was never my intention to stay away indefinitely,” Severus replied, his deep voice
washing over her like a balm to the frayed edges of her soul, “I apologise if my absence led you to
such a conclusion, I have responsibilities that kept me at Hogwarts.”
Rosalie nodded, unable to meet his gaze and the rising tide of emotion which threatened to choke
her.

“I know,” She nodded as she made to turn in the direction of her room and away from the thick
coils of tension that surrounded them, “But the way we left things, I thought perhaps I’d at least
hear from you given I can’t leave Remus’ wards to seek you out. I mean, that’s what got us into
this mess in the first place, isn’t it? I thought perhaps you meant what you said.”

“Perhaps in the heat of the moment, I was concerned for your safety—” Severus replied as his hand
came to rest on her shoulder and his body stepping in close behind hers.

Rosalie shrugged him off, “Hermione said you were afraid.”

She could already feel her resolve crumbling, and she didn’t want to sweep it under the rug like
everything else. Instead she pulled him into the privacy of her bedroom and shut the tent flap
behind them.

Severus stared at her plaintively as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest, “Rosalie—”

“Yes?” She snapped, her eyes full of fire as she stared up at him.

Severus heart was thundering in his chest. How could he be expected to stand by and watch her
sacrifice herself to the cause? She was so full of life, this stunning creature that had chosen to give
herself to him and whom he was expected to give up in return. There had to be another way, some
loophole that Albus hadn’t thought of...

His dark eyes were as strained as hers as he stared back at her, “I apologise.”

Rosalie pressed her lips together tightly and shut her eyes against the emotion she saw in him, the
halting hesitance of his voice, “Are you really? Or are you just—”

“Did we not both play a role in what has transpired between us?” Severus continued lowly, “I’ll
admit that the way I spoke to you that morning was unduly harsh. I find it difficult to articulate my
concern for your wellbeing in a manner sufficient enough to encompass all that your recklessness
stirs in me. The thought that I had not reached you in time, that you were injured or... deceased—”
Merlin the thought was abhorrent.

“You were afraid for me,” Rosalie stated plainly.

“Yes, is that so impossible to believe?” Severus admitted with his chest tight and heart thudding
painfully—‘I am still afraid for you’, he thought to himself.

Rosalie shook her head.

“You can’t just snap like that and chastise me like a child every time I do something you don’t
approve off. I’m either your lover—your equal,” Rosalie implored, uncrossing her arms to gesture
at the space between them, “or I’m not, Severus. I refuse to stand for anything less.”

“This is uncharted territory for the both of us,” Severus told her, “We are going to make mistakes
and we’ll fight. We will not always agree.”

“I understand that,” Rosalie said pulling away from him again with a frown, “That doesn’t—”

“What else do you wish me to say? I have apologised for the way in which I spoke to you, have I
not? I have admitted that it was uncalled for,” Severus interrupted, his voice lowered to a sharp
hiss, “I can’t promise that I won’t react the same way in the future, I have been conditioned
through time and experience bite back when threatened and you threaten my emotional wellbeing
every day. You crept over walls I have spent a lifetime building and made me care, Potter. I am not
used to caring and certainly not for someone who is constantly thrown in the path of danger, or in
fact, seems to welcome the experience!”

Rosalie’s eyes were shining with tears as she looked up at him and Severus huffed out a sigh as he
spun away from her, shutting his eyes against the unfamiliar flood of emotion that threatened to
consume him.

“I can promise you that in future I will try to curb reaction,” He began again after a beat, “I can tell
you that even when I’m upset, it doesn’t mean I do not care for you, even when I do not agree with
the choices you have made. The effort cannot be solely on my part, however.”
Rosalie was nodding as he turned back to her, tears wetting her cheeks, “I know. I’m sorry, too. I
knew as I left that what I was doing was going to make you angry, but I did it anyway. I didn’t do
it to hurt you, Severus, or to make you worry. I wanted to feel useful and I regret not speaking to
Dumbledore about it first, but I knew he would send someone else and I wanted to do more than
just sit in some old dank house waiting to be taken off the shelf and be put to use.”

Rosalie swiped at her eyes, “Look at where it’s gotten us, though?”

Rosalie reached out a hand and Severus pulled her into his chest, her forehead coming to rest again
his sternum.

“I hope not so far beyond repair that we cannot move on from this?” Severus replied lowly as his
palm reached out to cup her face, tilting it upwards as his thumb rubbing gently across full lips that
were damp and trembling softly.

Rosalie shook her head, lips pressing gently against the pad of his thumb as she lent the weight of
her head into the palm of his hand, “No. Not so far...”

She was breathing heavily, her own chest visibly rising and falling with each shaky inhalation, as
she stared up at him, her expression naked and unguarded, “I missed you.”

He closed the gap between them with the weight of his hand against her face and Rosalie pushed
herself up onto her toes, her hands coming up to encircle his face as they sealed their lips together
urgently, gracelessly, their faces mashed tightly together with almost violent need. Rosalie gasped
shakily against his mouth, her whole body quivering with emotion as gripped his shoulders.

“Severus,” Rosalie breathed as Severus fingers combed back into the stands of her hair and tugged
gently, fastening his mouth over her throat, sucking and kissing and biting his way down the soft
column of flesh. He nosed gently at her thrumming pulse, a pulse that was pounding in her ears and
her head as she clutched at him heatedly, pulling his face back up to hers as they stumbled back
across the room.

“I have never cared for someone—needed someone—the way that I do you,” Severus all but
growled against her, as he kissed her with all the intensity—the focus—that he usually reserved for
brewing. His words made her heart stutter and Rosalie bit at his lower lip, dragging her teeth across
the tender flesh as her shaking hands gripped at his face and moaned against his open mouth.
The bed rushed up to meet them as they collapsed onto it, mouths hot and devouring as they
immediately coiled around one another. Rosalie hitched her legs up around his waist urgently,
rolling her hips into his as she arched against him.

“Yes, yes...” She agreed breathlessly, between kisses and hot slide of his mouth against her face
before Severus sat back on his haunches, pulling her with him as they dragged her shirt from her
body in a tumble of long hair and warm limbs.

Rosalie reached for the buttons on his robes the minute her arms were free, loosening them quickly
and efficiently as she stared up at him through the tousled mess of her hair, lips swollen and eyes
shuttered with need. Severus thumbed those lips again, pressing in against the plump heat of her
kiss-warmed mouth as she pushed his robes from his shoulders and closed her lips around the tip of
his thumb, sucking lightly.

Nimble fingers tugged his shirt tails free and danced over the heated flesh of his flank as he
brushed the hair from her face and kissed her again with a shaky moan. Severus pressed her back
into the bed as he freed himself of his shirt and rutted his hips down against her as she rolled up to
meet him, luxuriating in the warm slide of her soft breasts against his chest as she undulated
beneath him.

“Rose—” he gasped breathlessly as he palmed the weight of her breast in his hand, her nipple a
firm point against the heat of his palm.

Rosalie moaned and pressed herself into him, fingers digging in through his hair as she encouraged
him lower. Severus went willingly, one hand braced against the mattress beside her head as he
lowered himself over her, tongue flicking out to encircle the crinkled peak of her breast as he
sucked it into his mouth.

Rosalie moaned brokenly, eyes fluttering with need as she looked down at him suckling at her
breast, tongue swirling restlessly beneath the suction of his mouth. Sighing in a quivering breath
she pressed her leg up between them, rubbing her thigh against the heated hardness between his
legs gratified at the body deep moan that vibrated through him at the simple touch.

Severus rocked against her, panting, forehead pressed against her sternum now as she kept steady
pressure against him, her fingers coiled tightly in his hair as they both shuddered with need,
“Severus...”

“Rosalie.”
Rosalie felt the press of his lips against her thundering heart as large hands moved to bracket her
ribs, thumbs teasing at the underside of her breasts as his open mouth skimmed its way down her
body. Warm fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants and Rosalie let her hips cant up as
pants and underwear were unceremoniously dragged from her body leaving her entirely bare and
shivering with a need that was bone deep.

Severus dropped the discarded pants beside the bed and crawled back up over her, hooking one leg
up and over his shoulder as his tongue made a broad swipe from perineum to clit.

“Ah—” Rosalie gasped, hips bucking as her fingers found purchase in his hair, legs falling open,
“Severus...”

Severus hummed as his tongue circled her clit, sucking it into his mouth as he’d done her breast as
his hands gripped her thighs, keeping her open to him as she twisted beneath him with pleasure.
Her breath coming in sobbing pants as she pressed her hips up into his face shamelessly.

“Rose,” he rumbled again, the words muttered against slick flesh, the thick scent of her arousal
filling his senses as his tongue bisected her folds, slippery with want, as he licked and sucked at her
opening, nose nudging at her clit as he all but feast on her.

Rosalie was shaking, unable to remain quiet as her empty passage began to rhythmically clench
with need, begging to be filled, drawing in tight as it prepared to tip her over the edge, “Severus,
please—I need—”

Severus pressed a kiss against the soft skin of her inner thigh, following her urgings as she tugged
at his hair, beckoning him up her body and back to her mouth, soft and open as she tongued at his
lips and mouth, her hands dropping to the fastening of his pants. They pushed them off easily,
discarding them as carelessly to the floor as they had hers.

Never breaking their kiss, soft and needy now, as Severus hitched one of her legs up over his hip
and reached down to position himself at her entrance. Rosalie canted her hip up to meet him,
breaking the kiss only to sigh heavily as he sunk into her.

Severus’ hand drifted up to cup her neck gently, his thumb sweeping over her jaw as they held
perfectly still, his cock throbbing heatedly inside her as they traded plush kisses back and forth.
“Severus,” Rosalie moaned softly, between wet lips, “I want to feel you, please.”

Slowly Severus began thrusting into her, the wet slide of his cock dragging against her slick heat so
good that he felt his eyes to roll back into his head, a broken moan forced from between his lips,
“Urgh, Rose...”

Severus looked down at the woman beneath him, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the small frown
of concentrated pleasure creasing her brow and the way her mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’ of
ecstasy as every thrust into her body drew a gentle gasp from within. Her hands were everywhere
at once, clasping the back of his neck, sliding down the flexing muscles of his back to clasp at his
clenching arse, before sliding back up his body to rake through his hair as she pulled him close, her
mouth meeting his, dragging him under.

They were hardly being quiet, the pace between them building and growing until the bed was being
flung against the flimsy tent wall and the smell of sex permeated the entire room. Severus knew
that Wolf was out there somewhere, probably able to smell their coupling, despite the discretion of
a silencing charm, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than the hot slide of her
body against his, the reverent way she moaned his name and clung to him needily as the slap of his
hips against her slowly turned her thighs and rump pink.

It felt huge—momentous even—as the pressure between them built. Severus could feel it in the
way her legs lifted to clench around his waist even as her fingertips were gentle against his face.
He knew it in the way she kissed him tenderly even while his hips thrust furiously into her warmth.
To risk losing her was unacceptable, he would love her the way he had loved none other before her
and would love none other after her. She would consume him utterly and he would relish every
moment of her domination over his heart.

His hips stuttered as she began to clench around him.

“Oh, it’s perfect—” Rosalie groaned loudly, her mouth a hot slide against his neck, “It’s perfect.
Keep going—Sev!”

He felt her inner muscles snap closed around him, the bite of her nails in his arse only adding to the
pleasure as she orgasmed around him, inner walls fluttering and pulsing erratically as he continued
to thrust through her clenching channel. Severus held her tightly as her cheeks flushed pink with
release. Her eyes blinked open afterward to stare at him languorously before she was pulling him
down into her mouth again, lips soft and needy as she licked her way into his mouth, clenching her
muscles around him as he chased his own release.
It didn’t take long. Her hands were in his hair, her needy gasps still ringing in his ears as he thrust
himself into her two, three, four more times until the tidal wave of his completion broke shore.
Severus moaned into her neck as he emptied himself inside of her. He felt her smile against him
and Severus pressed a kiss into the soft skin beneath his mouth.

Rosalie pushed up into him, rolling them across the bed together in a tumble of limbs. Severus
smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, her body stretched out across his as they kissed lazily.
The sweat was cooling on their bodies when Severus rolled her over again until she lay half
beneath him, soft and sated and staring up at him with eyes so warm and tender it was almost a
physical caress against his soul.

“Rosalie,” He whispered again, pressing a gentle kiss into the tender skin under her jaw, trailing
gentle kisses down her neck and shoulder languidly.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” She told him again after a moment, fingers once more in his hair.

Severus sighed against the curve of her neck, before rolling back into the pillows, “Nor I.”

Rosalie rolled with him, pressing her cheek into his chest as she hooked a leg up over his hips.
Severus curled his arm around her shoulders, fingers trailing absently against her upper arm.

“We should get dressed,” Rosalie sighed, “I share this room with Hermione since Gregorovitch
took hers. It’s almost time for Remus to takeover her watch...”

Severus held out his hand and wordlessly summoned his wand. It slapped into his palm and then
without another word he erected a host of privacy charms over their bed and the space immediately
surrounding it.

“Is your wand almost complete?” Severus asked conversationally as he laid his own wand on the
bed beside them. Rosalie nodded as she reached out and ran her fingers over the dark wood
carefully.

“Is this ebony?” She asked, looking up at him curiously.

“Yes.”
Rosalie flushed, “Oh...my new wand is made of holly and ebony. I guess it makes sense really, that
the wood of your wand would resonate with me. It’s a combination of the two now... it’s the core
that’s special though, Gregorovitch says he’s only ever seen one another wand successfully use the
same core. Apparently it can be difficult to master, but so far we haven’t had any problems.”

“What core did you choose?”

Rosalie shrugged, “Threstral tail hair.”

Severus felt himself go cold, “Threstral?”

Rosalie nodded, “I know, it seems pretty ominous doesn’t it? Omen of death and all, but I have
seen plenty of threstrals in real life and I’ve never put much stock in omens. I think they have a bad
reputation, really, I rode one halfway across the country and I’m fine.”

Severus felt himself nodding, but it was like another nail in the coffin of her future, a future where
Rosalie Potter had to die. Severus shut his eyes and turned his face into her hair breathing in her
warm vanilla scent. It was just like him to have found happiness, only for it to have it ripped away
again. Nothing in this life was easy. He would fight for her though; he would do everything in his
power to overthrow her destiny and see that she made it out of this alive. He could accept nothing
less.
 Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Summary

A/N: Thanks again to GhostTari for the read through! Thank you also to all the lovely
people who have left me reviews and kudos on this work! I know I don't respond you
you all individually, but I read each and every comment and your words are what keep
me writing even when I am in a slump! So THANK YOU!

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hermione had not long cast a warming charm over the area surrounding her when she heard the
tent flap shift and Remus stepped out into the night. He looked tired and worn, the dark shadows
beneath his eyes extending down his face as he let out a jaw-cracking yawn and rubbed his hands
together briskly.

“Hey,” She greeted softly as he ambled over to where she was seated, “You look tired, are you sure
you’re up to this?”

Remus waved her off.

“I’m fine. I’m no worse off than I am the morning after a full moon, but... you should head inside
and get some sleep—you can use my room if you like,” Remus told her as he ushered her out of her
chair so that he could take her place.

Hermione rose slowly, shooting him a questioning look, “You’re room?”

“If the idea of sharing with the two of them is too much for you,” Remus clarified and the sight of
the confusion wrinkling her brow.

“Oh,” Hermione frowned, the word coming out in a soft exhale that hung between them like smoke
as she stepped aside for him, “Should it be?”

Remus’ eyes flicked to hers, quiet and assessing, “I suppose that depends... you support them
then?”

Hermione nodded carefully, “I support Rosalie’s decision.”

Remus stared at her a long moment, tired amber eyes pinched with thought as he absorbed her
words. The night was clear and crisp, the moon in just the right position to cast a gentle light over
their camp despite the trees that surrounded them, he could see her expression clearly and she was
watching him with a shrewdness that told him she wouldn’t be swayed.

“You don’t think he’s too old for Rose? He’s more than twice her age,” Remus asked searchingly,
“You think Rose could be happy with someone so... Snape? He’s the last person James would have
chosen for his little girl—or Sirius for that matter.”

Hermione watched him for a long moment, recalling the sound of raised voices that had drifted out
from the tent earlier after Snape had arrived. Remus’ disapproval had been clear, as was the fact
that he was now looking to her for support.

“I was always under the impression that you thought well of Professor Snape, even if you didn’t
really like him,” Hermione replied softly as the werewolf sunk tiredly into the chair that she’d just
vacated, “At least, you were civil to one another and you respected his position within the Order,
unlike Sirius whose disdain for Snape was obvious. I thought you were more level-headed than
this.”

“This isn’t about tolerance, Hermione,” Remus said with a shake of his head, “but, you’re right, to
a point. Snape and I have had our differences over the years, but there was never outright hate on
my part the way there was for James or Sirius. This is different though. This is Rosalie. To have
the audacity—”

Remus cut himself off abruptly as he let his head drop with an exasperated sigh.
“How could either of them think that this is okay? That people would just accept it?” he continued
after a moment, “It’s selfish of Snape to shackle her to him in such a way... You are both still so
young and naive—everything feels like love when you’re seventeen and in a relationship for the
first time, Hermione, trust me. Rosalie may think she is in love with him now while she is
sequestered away in hiding while the rest of the wizarding world is at war, but what about when
she is able to step back into the world and he’s there like an albatross hanging from her neck? She
could have anyone she wanted and instead—”

“That’s not really the point though is it?” Hermione returned, “She could have anyone she wanted,
but she wants him. Rosalie is not blind to who Snape is, in fact, she probably knows him better than
anyone. It’s not like they are permanently binding themselves to one another. If he makes her
happy, why should it matter to you?”

Remus peered up at her as though the very thought pained him and sighed, “Because the choices
she makes now could have consequences later.”

Hermione was shaking her head.

“I know Snape isn’t the most conventional choice, but he’s Rose’s choice and, well if I’m
completely honest, it’s none of our business. Surely you can see that she’s been good for him,
though?... He’s changed since he’s been with her,” Hermione told him frankly, “I get that it’s a lot
to take in and perhaps I’ve just had more of an opportunity to get used to the idea, but he listens to
her, he understands her and he’s supported her through everything she’d had to deal with over the
last year or so... I think their relationship just evolved.”

“You’re both still so young,” Remus frowned, “how do you know what you really want when you
haven’t had the opportunity to try anything else?”

“Youth doesn’t preclude us from knowing our own minds. By that logic, how can you say that Lily
Potter really knew that she wanted to marry James? They were younger than Rose when they
started dating and they left school and got married. You’ll only push her away if you aren’t careful,
Remus,” Hermione offered sagely, “Just be happy for her and let it go.”

Remus watched as she waved goodnight and disappeared into the tent then scrubbed a frustrated
hand over his face.

“How has this fallen to me, James?” he whispered morosely as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a
headache beginning to form behind his eyes.
‘I’m only trying to protect her,’ Remus reflected as he settled back into the chair. Perhaps not
unexpectedly, thoughts of Tonks surfaced in his mind and Remus huffed out a bitter laugh at that
parallels between Tonks and Rose. His own situation wasn’t all that dissimilar, it would seem; he a
werewolf shunned by society and Tonks the younger woman who was vying for his attention.
Unlike Snape, however, he cared enough for Tonks to not be her albatross.

“I won’t let it go, James,” Remus whispered into the night, “She deserves more.”

As he laid awake, dawn less than a handful of hours away, Severus stared up into the dark canopy
of their bed, distant sightless eyes swallowed by the darkness around him. Like an old friend
returned to him, insomnia had settled in and despite the deeply familiar plumes of fatigue that
washed over him, he was no closer to sleep than he’d been an hour ago, or perhaps even an hour
before that. His mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts with no obvious answers, driven by a distant
buzz of panic. There was no clear path forward and for once in his life, he was held captive by
indecision, immobilised by the fear that there was no answer.

Severus tightened his arm around her, his fingertips sliding over a bare shoulder as he pressed his
cheek against the top of Rosalie’s head. She was laying almost half on top of him, her cheek
pillowed on his chest, heavy with sleep. She sighed as he tightened his hold and shifted against
him, her body pressing closer.

He was at a loss. Clearly, he needed to know more about Horcruxes if he was to make progress
with a solution—for that he would need to borrow Albus’ book—but the question he really needed
the answer to was how they would destroy the Horcrux without destroying Rosalie. The Dark Lord
could not be allowed to continue, but Rosalie... the familiar gaping maw of grief inside him silently
yawned, its jaws stretching wide around his heart.

“Potter,” he whispered softly. It was easier to think about her potential end when he thought of her
in terms of ‘Potter’ instead of ‘Rose’. It created just enough distance that he was still able to think.
Severus looked down at her again, her dark hair laying in a tumble over the arm he had curled
around her, face peaceful with sleep as he considered the fact that Albus expected him to let her go
—to let her perish—for the sake of the Wizarding World.
It was abhorrent.

Somehow, almost without his knowledge or consent, she’d managed to crawl in past every one of
his barriers and safeguards to carve out a place for herself inside of his heart. She occupied more
space within him every day. How cruel fate was to have given him this only to try and steal it away
again. He’d known though, hadn’t he? Before they’d even started, he’d known.

“Severus?” Her sleepy voice questioned as she tilted her head back, her green eyes slow with sleep
as she blinked up at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied, his voice soothing, “Go back to sleep.”

Rosalie turned in the circle of his arms and it was only as she broke his hold that he realised he’d
been gripping her shoulder. A warm hand slid up his chest as she peered down at him, “Tell me.”

Her thumb was stroking back and forth over his sternum as long elegant fingers brushed over his
nipple. Severus picked up her hand and laid a kiss on her palm and then threaded their fingers
together.

“Nightmares,” he replied finally under the weight of her concerned gaze. It was half true after all,
only this particular nightmare wasn’t unfolding while he was asleep.

She made a sympathetic noise of understanding and warm lips pressing against his chest as she
soothed him. It was like a hot brand against his soul, calming and inflaming all at once. Severus
turned them onto their side, sinking down the bed with her until they were in better alignment to
tangle themselves back together in a knot of long limbs and warm skin.

“I told you,” He whispered gently, stroking his hand against the thigh slung over his hip, “it was
nothing.”

“It was not ‘nothing’,” she replied softly, her lips skating against his as she cupped his jaw, “I know
what they can be like, Severus. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always.”

Severus shut his eyes, overwhelmed to feel a lump of emotion catching in his throat. He kissed her,
his lips brushing gently against hers in a barely there press of lips.
‘Maybe not always,’ he thought to himself, looping both arms around her back to clutch her to his
chest.

They stayed like that until morning broke and gentle light began to filter into the room, Rosalie
drifting off to sleep once more within his coiled embrace.

Rosalie thought about the number of times she’d woken up in Severus’ arms and wondered if one
day, should they remain together even after the war, if she might tire of this feeling?

Her eyes were closed still as she pressed herself back into Severus’ warm chest, the last traces of
slumber falling away as she became fully aware of her surroundings and the feel Severus wrapped
around her. There wasn’t a lot of room in her tiny little bed—it was half the size of the spacious
double that they’d shared at Grimmauld Place—but she found she didn’t mind. It had forced them
to remain close to one another during the night, tangled together in their sleep instead of stretched
out across the expanse of the mattress beneath them. One of Severus’ arms was thrust beneath her
pillow, the other looped around her middle with his hand loosely curled against the mattress and
the sloping arch of her ribs. She could feel his warm steady breath against the back of her neck and
the hair of his thigh against her skin where his legs pressed into the crook of her knees.

Rosalie smiled. It was a pleasant way to wake up, even if they did share the room with her best
friend who was sleeping in a bed identical to hers just across from them. Truthfully, Rosalie was
surprised that Severus was okay with it given how protective of his space and his privacy he
usually was, but not even a token protest had been made before he’d wrapped her in his arms
pulled the covers over them. Thinking of her friend, Rosalie lifted her head and spared a quick
glance in Hermione’s direction. As far as she could tell, the brunette was still fast asleep, almost
lost beneath her bedding except for the unruly tuft of frizzy hair that could be seen poking out from
beneath the blankets.

‘Who’d have thought I would end up here?’ Rosalie mused as she slipped quietly from the bed and
Severus’ embrace. She pulled on her clothes methodically and tugged her long hair up into a quick
bun atop her head and then tiptoed across the room to the door. The hour was late—much later
than she’d normally rise—but the tent was still and silent as she padded on silent feet to the
kitchen.
It was her favourite time of day, these quiet moments to herself—usually just as the sun was rising
when the horrors of the night before had been chased away and the day was made new for her to
start again. Even now, when she’d spent the night in Severus’ embrace and the nightmares had
been kept at bay, there was something renewing about this time and she found herself feeling
hopeful about the coming day as she went through the motions of preparing a pot of tea.

“Good morning.”

Rosalie startled mildly and spun around at the sound of Remus’ voice behind her. He was standing
just inside the entrance to the kitchen, the long cold hours of the night he’d spent on watch written
across his tired face. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath his eyes and his normally bright
eyes were faded and dull.

“Remus,” Rosalie greeted with a sigh, “You startled me.”

Remus nodded and sunk into a chair at the kitchen table, “Can we talk?”

Rosalie hesitated and turned back to her tea preparations to allow herself a moment to collect her
thoughts. She wanted to say no, she wanted to tell him that she knew what he was going to say and
that she didn’t want to hear it, but instead, after a moment, she picked up her teacup and slid into
the chair across from him, “Okay.”

Remus sighed at the defensive tone of her voice, “I don’t want to fight with you, Rose, that’s not
what this is.”

Rosalie shrugged and looked down at the steaming cup in her hands, “Neither do I. I feel like that’s
all we ever do, though, Remus. You seem to expect things from me lately that I constantly fall
short of achieving.”

“It’s been a difficult few months for us,” Remus agreed tiredly, “I know I’m not your parent—I’m
not even officially your godfather—but I care about you like you’re my own. I hope you know that.
You’re my pack, Rose, and I only want what’s best for you.”

“You’re important to me too, Remus,” Rosalie replied softly, offering him the barest hint of a
smile.
“Then surely you can understand how I’d find this news of you and—” Remus swallowed thickly
and looked away, “you and Snape difficult to swallow.”

Rosalie shook her head, “Not really... What should it even matter so long as he treats me well?
Which he does, he’s a good man, Remus.”

“A ‘good man’?” Remus repeated and shook his head, “Rosalie, a ‘good man’ isn’t someone who
starts a relationship with a girl less than half his age. You have so much of your life ahead of you,
yet here you are, barely above the legal age of consent and already plunging headlong into a sexual
relationship with someone who has held a position of authority over you for half of your life! I
worry that it’s not healthy—”

“Oh, please,” Rosalie sighed, rolling her eyes, “It’s not like that—”

“Isn’t it?” Remus countered, reaching across the table between them to take her hand in his, “Look
at what impact this relationship has already had on your life. Look at us, Rose; look at the strain
between us. We used to be able to talk to one another, but now I find out you’ve been lying to me
for months, presumably because you were too afraid to tell me the truth? We are so at odds with
one another at any given moment that we can barely converse without things devolving into an
argument...”

“I’m sorry that things have been difficult for us, Remus,” Rosalie offered in conciliatory tone,
squeezing his hand, “but—”

“I’m not finished, Rose,” Remus interrupted as he looked across at her pleadingly, “Then there’s
Ron Weasley. I can only assume this thing with Snape is the reason behind your fall out with him
too?”

Rosalie looked away, tugging her hand back out of his as she leant back into her seat, “Ron is
obsessed with the Girl-Who-Lived. He decided he was in love with me and won’t accept the fact
that I don’t return his feelings. It’s got nothing to do with my relationship with Severus. I thought
you understood why he left; I thought you agreed that it was better that he had some distance from
us for a while?”

“I still do,” Remus agreed with a nod, “Knowing what I do now, though? His behaviour starts to
make more sense. I seem to recall Ron having a rather large dose of suspicion and mistrust for
Snape.”
“Ron has always hated Severus,” Rosalie stated blandly.

“So did you once upon a time,” Remus pointed out, sending her a meaningful look, “My point is
that your attachment to Severus is forcing a wedge between you and the other people in your life
that care about you—people who love and support you.”

“Ron doesn’t even know about us,” Rosalie scoffed, shaking her head in disagreement, “If there is
a wedge come between us, Remus, it’s not due to anything Severus’ done.”

“I disagree. I don’t think you see it,” Remus replied, “You’ve changed, Rose.”

“Is that so hard to believe? That I might change given the circumstances I’ve been forced into?”
Rosalie huffed with incredulity, as her back snapped straight and she threw her arms out as if to
emphasise her point, “You forget, Remus, that you don’t actually know me all that well. Apart
from the time we spent together in third-year—when I thought you were just my teacher—we’ve
seen each other—what? A handful of times between then and the beginning of this summer?
Letters aren’t the same. Of course, I’ve changed...”

“Under Snape’s careful tutelage it would seem,” Remus agreed.

Rosalie shot him a glare, “You know what? Perhaps if our relationship is suffering it’s because you
won’t accept that Severus is a decent person who is worthy of my time and affection or because
you won’t respect that it’s my decision who I chose to be in a relationship with. For Merlin’s Sake,
Remus! This is Severus we are talking about, it’s not like I’ve taken up with some random Death
Eater! Severus is not some Dark Wizard trying to lure me away from my friends and family so that
he can hand me over to the Dark Lord. You know him better than that, don’t pretend that you
don’t. You’re beginning to sound just like Ron! Severus may have been a Death Eater at one point,
but he’s been our spy in their midst for longer.”

Remus sighed and scrubbed a tired hand over his face, “You are wilfully misunderstanding what I
am saying...”

Rosalie shook her head disapprovingly and took a careful sip of her tea, “No, I’m not. I understand
what you are saying perfectly well.”

“It’s not just that Snape has a dark past, though I won’t pretend that isn’t part of it,” Remus
continued full of exasperation, “Ultimately, I trust that Snape is on our side. My concern is you.
You are young and full of life and you have your whole future ahead of you. You don’t need the
stigma of someone like Severus Snape weighing you down. Even after all this time as
Dumbledore’s man Snape has retained a certain reputation. He is seen by many as a Dark wizard
and is generally neither trusted or well liked...”

Rosalie crossed her arms stubbornly and stared back at him, “I would have thought you of all
people would understand how a stigma doesn’t necessarily reflect the person under it. What does
his baggage matter if I’m willing to carry it? I have baggage too, Remus, perhaps more than he
does. Maybe if you understood that, you’d be willing to give Tonks a chance.”

“This is not about Nymphadora and me,” Remus denied, “I don’t want you to come to regret the
decisions you make now when you are forced to live with the consequences later. You’ve never
been in a real relationship before, Rose, and while it’s new and exciting at the moment, that will
wear off and then you’ll be left with a middle age man with a sour attitude for life who is stuck
living in the past. You forget that I have known Snape a lot longer than you have, I know what he’s
like and this attachment to you is completely out of character.”

“Oh, really?” Rosalie hissed, “That couldn’t possibly mean, I suppose, that I mean something to
him?”

Remus shook his head, “Perhaps if it weren’t for his history with your parents—”

“I am not my parents, Remus,” Rosalie told him firmly.

“I know that Rose,” Remus pushed, “Does he?”

“Of course he does,” Rosalie shook her head in exasperation, “My parents are dead. I don’t even
remember them and yet somehow people seem to think they still have some bearing on how I live
my life! Severus has nothing to gain from using me against them for some petty revenge, if that’s
what you’re thinking—they are gone!”

“I’m not so sure it’s so simple...”

Rosalie hissed as she pushed back from the table sharply to stand over it, “Yes it is. They are gone
and I am here. It is as simple as that. Not everything in my life has to come back to them. I’m sorry
that you miss them, Remus, but I will not live my life second guessing every decision I make just
because you’re worried they wouldn’t approve.”
“Rosalie...I wasn’t lying last night when I told you Snape was in love with your mother,” Remus
continued watching as she pressed her lips together and shot him a poisonous glare.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—” Rosalie snarled.

“Did you know that they met before they even came to Hogwarts? Severus and you’re mum? They
lived in the same neighbourhood and remained friends even after they were sorted into different
houses at Hogwarts. They still spent most summers together at your mother’s house. Lily was
always kind to Snape, even when others weren’t and he worshipped the ground she walked on. His
attachment to her was borderline obsessive. Of course, everyone loved Lily, she was bright and
beautiful and popular, even with those outside of her year level. It was easy to get caught up in her
attention and Snape was so odd that he was always a bit of a loner. He hated it when she spent time
with anyone who wasn’t him and he would sulk around the places she spent time with friends,
waiting to catch her attention again. It drove James mad and he picked on Snape mercilessly for
it.”

“That doesn’t mean he was in love with her,” Rosalie pointed out sharply, “and I know very well
the kinds of awful pranks Sirius and my father played on Severus—”

“He was in love with her, Rose,” Remus insisted, his tone equal parts tired and beseeching, “When
James and Lily started going together Snape came right out and begged Lily not to be with James.
It was too late though, she was in love with your father and she turned Snape down. Harsh words
were spoken and their friendship was never the same afterwards. Snape went Dark after that, I
mean he had always had one foot on the Dark side before that, but he fell into a bad crowd after
their falling out which eventually led him into the Dark Lord’s service—and let me tell you, he
went willingly. I won’t have you believe that Snape was bullied into taking the Dark Mark; he was
a full and willing participant to all that You-Know-Who and his followers engaged in. He once,
wholeheartedly, believed in the philosophies and teaching of that madman that would see people—
like your mother and Hermione—labelled an abomination and killed for sport. It was only after
learning that Lily had become a target that Snape began to change his tune and switched sides
again to turn spy for Albus. Despite everything, when it came down to it, Snape loved her still...
and probably still does.”

Rosalie stared back at his earnest gaze, “Even if what you are saying is true, she’s dead. What does
it matter?”

Remus sent her a sympathetic look, “You’re not dead. Perhaps you’re the closest thing to Lily he’ll
ever get and the temptation was just too much to say no to.”
Rosalie glared at him, feeling the sting of his words like a knife in the chest, “That’s a horrible
thing to say.”

Remus held out his hands, “I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“But you are!” She snapped at him, her tone brittle, “You’re hurting me now—”

“That was not my intention. I only want to make sure your eyes are open to the truth, Rose,” Remus
sighed, “There is proof of what I’m saying.”

Rosalie didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at him.

“Did you know that the shape our Patronus can change? Often they are a reflection of our hearts
and will change form to echo that which represents what we hold most dear. Lily’s Patronus
changed from a bird to a doe when she fell in love with James, whose Patronus, like yours, had
always been a stag. Severus’ Patronus, however, even after all this time, is still a doe. Nearly
twenty years later it is still a reflection of his love for Lily Potter.”

Rosalie glared at him darkly and it was with a start that she realised her hands were shaking, “I
think you’ve said enough.”

“Rosalie—”

“Just don’t,” She bit out harshly.

“Just promise me you’ll at least consider what I’m telling you?” Remus implored, as she turned her
back on him and began busying herself with preparations for breakfast, “Don’t just dismiss what
I’m saying because you don’t like what you’re hearing.”

Rosalie didn’t respond. She could feel his eyes on her back and, for a few long tense minutes, she
ignored him, refusing to turn around or acknowledge him until the sound of his retreating footsteps
could be heard. Once she was sure he was gone, Rosalie let her head fall into her hands. She drew a
wobbly breath, her mind a horrid maelstrom of fear, doubt and chaotic anger as the poison of
Remus’ words washed over her. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest and a fine tremor
ran through her hands as the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body began to bleed out
of her leaving her cold and shaky.
Turning, Rosalie quickly made her way out of the tent abandoning breakfast midway through its
creation as she dashed for the door feeling trapped—trapped by Remus’ words and the tiny
makeshift kitchen where they had been given voice. She knew that what he had said had been
intended to throw doubt, but she hated that it had worked. She knew Severus cared for her, though
there had been no explicit declarations. Severus wasn’t the type to declare his emotions like that
and she hadn’t been expecting him to. She could feel the way he cared for her in the way that he
touched her and way that he looked at times when they were alone. The very idea that he was
looking at her and seeing her mother was both appalling and painful, but the smallest voice inside
her couldn’t help but wonder. What if Remus was right? What if he was in love with her mother
and she was just the next best option?

It was cold enough that her face stung as she stepped out into the freshness of the morning and
Rosalie breathed in deeply, the cool air rushing into her lungs as she let her head fall backwards.
When she opened her eyes again, it was to the small patch of sky overhead.

Rosalie swallowed thickly.

It was unbearable to think of, but what if?

Was she kidding herself believing this thing she had with Severus was something more? Ron
doubted her, Remus doubted her... Hermione was the only person who’d shown the idea of them
any support.

Was she just seeing what she wanted to see in him?

Her doubts plagued her for the rest of the day. The more she resolved to put the matter from her
mind, the more it seemed to invade her thoughts until she was so distracted that even Gregorovitch
refused to work with her until she’d ‘sorted herself out’.

Severus’ eyes watched her keenly. Rosalie could feel his weighty gaze on her—‘Dreaming about
red hair, perhaps?’ her inner voice prodded nastily and Rosalie felt her stomach roll—but she
avoided him as best she could without trying to be too conspicuous of the fact she was. He allowed
the distance, but somehow that was worse. It felt too much like a confirmation that she meant
nothing to him. She wanted him to confront her—to pull her aside and ask her what was wrong!—
but he gave her space, letting her orbit him at a distance as she agonised over everything Remus
had said.
She believed it and she didn’t. She didn’t want to, she didn’t think it was true, but what if it was?
What if he was right? Surely she would know?

It was his Patronus that was giving her pause. Rosalie had seen it not even a handful of times
before, but she could picture it clearly in her mind’s eye: his doe. She’d always thought it an odd
form for the charm to have taken on, so incongruous with Snape’s personality that she’d wondered
about it after she’d first seen it. She’d never asked him about it; now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to
know the answer...

Rosalie felt sick with indecision.

“Will you tell me what’s troubling you?” Severus asked finally when the evening was waning and
she could no longer reasonably avoid him, “Or shall I take myself back to Hogwarts and give you
your space?”

“No,” Rosalie replied, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Indeed?” Severus questioned, as he conjured a chair and took a seat beside her outside the tent
where she would be on watch for the next six hours. The shadows of the evening were growing
darker by the minute, with no fire lit outside the tent for light, her face was washed grey as he
looked across at her furrowed brow, “I thought our disagreement had been resolved before we
retired for the evening last night. Yet I awoke alone this morning and you have gone to lengths to
avoid any contact between us for an entire day.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Rosalie replied sulkily as she pulled at a loose thread from the rip in
her jeans.

“You were mistaken, I mind a great deal,” Severus lowered his voice, the rich cadence of it
capturing her almost as much as his words, “You seemed not to want my company, however, and I
would not force it upon you.”

“No, Severus... That’s not it. I just—” Rosalie looked up at him with heavy eyes, surprised by the
intensity of his focus as she opened her mouth to say: “It’s something Remus said to me.”

“I see,” Severus replied, his voice full of resignation, “and you are now having doubts about the
realistic longevity of this relationship?”
“What? No. Are you?” Rosalie asked with concern, suddenly wondering if she wasn’t the only one
who might have been swayed by doubts. It made her realise that as much as she had doubted his
motivations for being with her in the first place, she had never doubted the fact that he desired her.

“No,” he replied sternly.

Rosalie sighed reaching out, to place her hand on his thigh, “Good.”

“Then tell me,” Severus encouraged, his own hand lowering to rest atop hers, covering it entirely.

Rosalie exhaled in a rush of built-up anxiety, “Remus implied—well, no actually—he told me that
the only reason you had any interest in me was because... because you are in love with my mother,
that you’ve always been in love with my mother, and I am merely the closest thing to her that
you’ll ever get.”

Rosalie held her breath as she stared across at him, waiting for his reaction, but he didn’t deny it.
He didn’t even flinch. He looked steadily back at her, his focus never wavering as her words hung
between them.

Merlin.

“And you’re concerned that perhaps he is correct and that I am indeed carrying a torch for your
long deceased mother,” Severus responded dryly as he stared neutrally back at her.

Rosalie stared up at him, “I want to believe it’s me that you are in this relationship with and not her
ghost, but every time I tell myself I am being stupid for worrying over something so ridiculous, the
doubt creeps back in and I wonder if it doesn’t make some horrible kind of sense?”

“That is absurd,” Severus informed her matter-of-factly, “I assure you, your mother has never
entered my thoughts when we’ve been together. Nor are you a placeholder for my affections
towards her. To think so is preposterous and somewhat insulting to us both.”

Rosalie’s fingers tightened on his leg as she worried her lower lip. Her heart was pounding out a
heady rhythm in her chest, “But he... he told me about your Patronus, Severus.”
“My Patronus?”

“It’s a doe,” Rosalie breathed, “It’s the same as hers was. Remus told me what that meant. He said
my mother’s changed too when she fell in love with my father.”

“Changed?” Severus queried.

“Because she fell in love with him,” Rosalie clarified.

“Am I to understand that you believe mine also changed for the same reason?” Severus asked her
pointedly, “If so, then you would be incorrect. I did not achieve a corporeal Patronus until some
months after leaving Hogwarts as a student. There had been very little happiness in my life up until
that point and thus producing a corporeal Patronus beyond my grasp to achieve. Eventually, when I
did manage, it was due to the memories of my childhood friendship with your mother. Therefore,
my Patronus became a doe.”

Rosalie licked dry lips, “You weren’t in love with her then?”

“No,” Severus stated firmly, “I was never in love with Lily, but I once...cared deeply for her
because she was my best friend—my only friend—and a refuge from all the ugliness in my life. It
is true, for a time, once we hit a certain age that I fancied myself taken with her... but it was a
fleeting fantasy that had no real basis. Things between us were never romantic, no matter what
Lupin would have you believe.”

Rosalie was staring up at him with wide aching eyes as he took up the hand that was still gripping
his thigh and turned it palm to palm with his own, “Surely you realise that you were... entirely
unexpected, Potter. While our relationship is by no means typical, it is not a substitute for
something greater. I agonised over you. I struggled with myself over the things you have made me
feel and whether or not they were ‘right’—in the end, it didn’t matter. I want you: more than is
decent and more than what’s ‘right’.”

Rosalie was nodding her head in agreement.

“Merlin, Severus, the very thought of you with anyone else—especially her makes—me sick with
jealousy,” Rosalie told him as she moved from her chair into his, pressing herself into his warmth,
her arms encircling his neck as she climbed atop of him. Rosalie allowed her forehead to rest
against his as she felt him magically widen the chair beneath them to make room for her legs to sit
comfortably astride his own.

“Perhaps now you are beginning to realise what it will truly mean to be linked with me,” Severus
told her quietly as stroked a thumb over the length of her jaw, “Our relationship will be continually
cast in doubt. Aspersions towards my character will, no doubt, be numerous... You should decide if
this is really what you want. I have told you I will place myself beside you, but it would appear that
you remain somewhat uncertain of where you stand.”

Rosalie shook her head, her hand lifting to slide against his, keeping it pressed against her face, “I
know where I stand, Severus.”

“I am merely suggesting that there will be others who feel as strongly as Lupin does,” Severus
continued, “If you remain unsure in anyway—”

“I’m not uncertain,” Rosalie told him firmly as she took his mouth with her own, a quick hard press
of lips against his, “I know where I stand and it’s beside you. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Severus’ hand left her face to grip the back of her head as Rosalie made to lean back out of his
personal space and a shaky smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she leant back in. His breath
ghosted across her lips as she hovered over him, two hands on his face, as she kissed him gently.
All the pent up worry and frustration she’d harboured throughout the day finally finding their
release as she trembled against him and brought their lips together again and again.

“I am not handing you an ultimatum,” Severus reiterated after a moment, breaking away from her
to sweep the hair back from around her face carefully, “Nor am I asking that you promise yourself
to me in any binding manner. There is no question this shouldn’t work, Rosalie, and though it
physically pains me to admit it, Lupin is not wrong to harbour concerns regarding the practicalities
of our relationship. It was impossible to have imagined that we might find ourselves here; no one is
more surprised than I that we have managed to navigate ourselves to this point. Lupin’s mistake is
expecting that I would cave to his disapproval. In this matter, outside of my own interests, the only
other person whose opinion I care about is yours...”

There was a hard lump in Rosalie’s throat and she swallowed around it, eyes fierce as she started
into Severus’ dark gaze.

“Severus...” Rosalie pressed the words into his mouth.

Severus avoided her advance, his thumb sweeping over her open lips, “Perhaps what I am asking—
poorly it would seem—is that you truly take the time to consider if this relationship is worth the
potential risks it poses. There are easier paths laid before you and I would not fault you should you
decide to take one.”

Rosalie frowned, sitting back from him abruptly to stare at him in shock as his hands fell away
from her face, “I...what? How can you say that? How can you tell me that you care enough to face
potential public harassment with me one moment and in the very next breath tell me you wouldn’t
care if I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle?”

“I never said I wouldn’t care,” Severus snapped, eyes suddenly fierce enough that her outrage was
immediately quelled, “I said I would understand if you chose to explore other options.”

Rosalie considered his words, weighing their meaning as she stroked her hands over Severus’
shoulders and down his arms. She supposed there probably were easier paths she could have taken
—paths that might not yet be entirely beyond her reach.

Rosalie recalled eager hands and sloppy kisses that left her feeling empty.

Where would she be now if she’d returned Ron’s kiss the Library that day? What would have
happened if she’d chosen to turn her back on the riotous feelings Severus had begun to stir in her
and chosen to let Ron be enough?

Her friendship with Ron, before this summer, had almost always been easy and uncomplicated.
Would a relationship with him have been the same? Rosalie tried to picture a life where Ron was
more than just her best friend, but the image was hard to grasp onto—thin and insubstantial.
Rosalie tried to imagine herself straddled comfortably over Ron as she currently was across
Severus’ lap or wrapped tightly within her friend’s arms at night, feeling sheltered by his strength.
It felt bizarre to even consider, both awkward and absurd. Ron felt like such a boy compared to
Severus man. Perhaps, her days might have been filled with simple conversation and easy
camaraderie, but life with Ron would have lacked the burning passion she felt just breathing the
same air as Severus. Ron paled in comparison to the towering presence of Severus in her life. Right
from the beginning, even before the lessons that would force them to move beyond the blind
animosity that drove them, Severus had always been there, orbiting on her peripheries. He’d been
an undeniable presence in her life from almost the moment she’d stepped foot on Hogwarts’
grounds, incapable of being ignored or dismissed and nothing they’d been able to achieve since
then had come without effort.

Her relationship with Severus had been wrought from a place of mutual sufferance. Like a
blacksmith slowly heating and shaping the dull steel that he would slowly forge into an elaborate
blade, they had smouldered in the hot coals of their anger and circumstance and railed against one
another, fighting the process every step of the way as they unknowingly bound themselves closer
and closer. Then, without her even realising what had happened, barely concealed disdain had
become tolerance, tolerance had become reluctant understanding and eventually, understanding
had morphed into mutual respect. They had grown together, fought together and confided in one
another until, like the blacksmith’s steel, they’d bonded themselves so closely that Severus felt like
he had become part of her.

Rosalie looked down at the hands resting in hers—large and capable, clean and dry—and carefully
threaded her fingers through his.

Severus’ eyes were on her when she lifted her gaze again.

“Perhaps there were easier paths I could have taken, but none of them would have been this,”
Rosalie said as she squeezed his hands gently, “We’ve worked through so much to end up here and
maybe we’re not something that others will approve of but I don’t care. You understand me like no
one else, you challenge me like no one else and you make me feel things like no one else. So you
see, I know exactly what I’m ‘risking’ with this relationship, Severus, and the minute it stops being
worth it, I promise I’ll tell you.”
 Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Notes

A/N: Currently unbeta'd because I'm impatient, lol! So any and all mistakes are 100%
mine!

Once again, a massive thank you to all the lovely people who take the time to
comment on this story! I seriously do read every one of your posts and they inspire me
to keep writing even when the mojo isn't there! You're the best! Seriously :)

Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

The night was dark and the air tasted briny on his tongue. Severus could feel it thick against his
face as he inhaled deeply, angling his head into the gale that whipped sharply through his hair and
tugged at his robes. He could hear the echo of his name on the squall—calling him, surrounding
him—and he swiped impatiently at the hair that had blown into his eyes as he peered into the
night.

The water was black in the moonlight—a restless, heaving beast that churned with unease—
excepting where the white-capped waves thrashed mercilessly against the sheer cliff face on which
he stood. He could feel the vibration of their power reverberating through the ground beneath his
feet and Severus swayed as he peered over his toes, aligned neatly with the edge of the precipice
where it fell away into the sea.

Below him as the waves crashed and the distant roar of water ricocheted up the soaring incline of
the abyss below, Severus felt his balance waver, his stomach lurching uncomfortably as heat
prickled up his spine and sweat stuck hair to the back of his neck.

‘All I need do is step back,’ Severus thought rationally as he stared down at his feet and the
maelstrom of water below him.

Yet something held him in place.

The night was turbulent—weighted with a sense of foreboding—and as he turned, carefully finding
his feet to glance over his shoulder, the sound of his name became clearer.

“Severus!”

A short distance away, across a narrow clearing, a darkened forest stood at his back and the pit of
Severus’ stomach twisted as he stared up at its expanse. It was vast, it’s shadows deep and as he
stared into it he had the uneasy sense that it was staring back at him.

“Severus!”

The urge to look away was strong, but he held its indistinct gaze, peering through the darkness with
an intent focus. Searching, he realised, for Rosalie’s familiar form amongst the shadows cast by the
trees. It was her voice that called to him, from somewhere between the abyss at his back and the
darkened forest before him.

Rosalie.

Rose.

Almost as if his thoughts had summoned her, suddenly she was there, tumbling out of the
undergrowth without warning. A shout bubbled up uselessly inside of him as Severus reached for
her despite the distance the separated them, his stomach clenching as he watched her stumble over
her own feet. She looked wild, harassed, her long hair whipping around her face as she shot a
fretful glance over her shoulder at the darkness at her back.

“Potter!” he called, eyes scanning the tree line for her pursuant as he beckoned her towards him—
towards safety. She made no response. No sign that she had even heard him as she scrambled to
her feet and began making powerful strides across the clearing.

It was only as he began to feel the echo of her stride through the ground beneath his feet that
Severus realised her gaze landed somewhere beyond him, out in the blackness of the ocean.

“Rosalie!”

Severus felt his heart stutter in his chest, his feet stumbling forwards, aimed for the trajectory of
her current course as he raced along the cliff edge to intercept her.

“Rosalie! Wait!”

Time seemed to slow as he reached outwards blindly, his fingers barely skimming the fabric of her
clothes as she planted her foot against the precipice of the cliff face and launched herself beyond its
limits.

“No!”

She soared outwards, momentarily weightless, her legs pedalling through the air as if she were still
running as Severus snatched at the place where she’d been only seconds before. The rush of her
forward momentum made him stumble and Severus’ hands shot out for balance as he felt his heels
leave the ground, arms flailing through the air as his centre of balance began to pitch forward.

The thumping of his heartbeat filled his ears.

Seconds seemed to lengthen.

Below him Rosalie was plummeting out of reach, her arms outstretched towards him as he teetered
halfway between upright and falling, the sick realisation that he was about to follow her over the
edge stealing the breath from his lungs as he felt gravity tugging him ever closer to the abyss.

Severus gasped breathlessly as he felt the sudden cold bite of upwards draft ripping through his
robes, his stomach lurching weakly as his feet slipped free of the ledge.
The fall didn’t last an eternity.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

One second he was falling and the next, before he’d even been able to draw breath, he was halfway
down the cliff face, watching helplessly as Rosalie’s body hit the water. Her impact barely
registered in the churning waves, her body quickly disappearing beneath the surface, swallowed
whole by the heaving beast below him.

Severus shut his eyes as he felt the first misting of sea spray hit his face and then, just as the icy
tendrils of water made a snatch for him, the roar of the water becoming almost deafening in his
ears, he plunged headfirst into the icy water and bolted upright in bed. Gasping breathlessly for air,
lungs heaving, sweat drenched his chest and underarms as he tossed the claustrophobic covers back
off of his legs.

He was shaking. Fine tremors wracked his frame as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, hands
pressed against his knees for support as he took in slow, deep lungfuls of air, ‘It was just a dream.’

Swiping his lank hair back from his face, he glanced over his shoulder at Rosalie who seemed
undisturbed by his restlessness. She slept soundly, her face peaceful, and as he peered through the
darkness at her, he fought to slow the hammering in his chest—thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud—
timing his breathing with her own gentle breaths.

Several moments later, once the buzz of adrenaline had begun to dissipate from his veins, Severus
drew his wand from beneath his pillow, “Tempus!”

‘Half four in the morning,’ he thought ruefully, pushing to his feet as he padded across the room to
the attached bathroom.

Severus dimmed the lights against his tired eyes, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as a matter of
habit as he reached into the shower stall and turned on the spray of water. Leaning back against the
sink as he waited for the water to turn hot, Severus scrubbed a hand over his tired face as he fought
against the fatigue that made his head feel hazy and his limbs feel wooden.

It had been years since he’d given up searching for meaning in his dreams. More often than not,
they were merely reflections and re-enactments of the horrors he suffered—or
sometimes committed—while he was awake. It didn’t require any particular skill at Divination to
find meaning in what had none to begin with nor did it require any particular insight to realise that
this sense of disquiet that had plagued him since learning of Rosalie’s fate was spinning out of
control.

He needed to get a handle on himself.

He needed to begin searching for the answers.

As steam began to rise from the top of the shower stall, Severus peeled himself out of the pyjamas
that stuck to his chest, dropping the sweat-soaked garments to the floor. Nude, Severus stepped
into the shower, ducking his head under the stream of water, soaking his hair sweaty hair, before
turning his back against the spray to allow the water to pound down against his back. Water sluiced
over his shoulders and down his chest, warming his aching body as he tried to dispel the images of
his nightmare from his mind. He stood there long enough for his skin to turn rosy with heat, the
flush of warmth spreading across his shoulders and down his back, as he braced his hands against
the tiled wall and let his head hang forward. The steam-filled air was thick in his lungs as he
inhaled deeply, his damp hair curling in the humidity of the confined space where the glass had
fogged over and condensation slicked the tiles.

He was still standing there when a billowing of cold air from behind him had Severus glancing
over his shoulder. Soft hands ran the length of his back, cool against his heated skin as Rosalie
stepped in behind him. Silently Severus made space for her, straightening up and removing his
hands from the tiles, watching as water dripped listlessly from the heel of his palm-print.

“You’re not sleeping,” She said softly as she pressed herself into his back, the tepid heat of her skin
like a soothing balm in the over-heated space of the shower. Rosalie reached her arms around to
encircle his chest and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

Severus sighed as one hand moved to cover hers where they rested against his chest, “Nightmares.
They aren’t important.”

Soft lips caressed his shoulder through the run of water. Then, slowly, she encouraged him around
to face her, “They are important to me. They’re not normally this bad, Severus. You’re worried
about something, I can tell.”

Severus took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, water cascading around them as he pulled
at her lips with his own, coaxing her mouth open so that he could take her bottom lip within his.
How impossible it all still seemed that Rosalie Potter should be capable of stirring such sentiment
within him. That this petite beauty could bring him so ruthlessly to his knees at the very thought of
losing her. Severus felt it catch behind his chest—a wet tearing feeling ripping him through his
centre as he drew back and pressed his forehead against hers.

Rosalie looked up at him, water clinging to damp lashes as she pushed his hair back out of his face
and searched his gaze.

Severus thumbed her lower lip, his dark eyes resting on the petal soft lips that were so full and
sweet. Then he allowed his sight to travel lower, over the swell of her breasts where rivulets of
water poured over the soft mounds, warm and heavy. A little less than a handful in his large hands,
Severus brushed his knuckles lightly over their crinkled peaks, the little nub tightening beneath his
fingers.

She let out a breathy sigh, her eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

Severus let his mouth drift to her neck, lips gliding up her throat as her head tipped back and her
arms lifted to encircle his shoulders. Severus buried his hands in the wet strands of her hair and
sucked a mark against her throat as she sagged into the strength of his embrace, poised on tiptoes,
her back arched into him.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to distract me,” she told him breathily.

“Distract you from what?” Severus murmured against her.

Rosalie pulled back to peer at him searchingly, worry colouring her gaze, “You know what. Don’t
pretend like nothing is going on when we both know that’s not true.”

Her green eyes, so familiar to him now, were full of concern as he stared down into them. He could
feel the weight of her truth pressing down on him, threatening to suffocate him, and he kept his
expression carefully blank: ‘How could I possibly be expected to tell you?’

At that moment, he hated Albus Dumbledore with a passion he had not felt in years.

“I just wish you’d talk to me,” Rosalie whispered into his chest when it was clear he wasn’t going
to answer her, “I know something is bothering you. I know it’s more than nightmares and I want
you to feel comfortable telling me things. All I ever seem to do is lean on you for support, but it’s
meant to go both ways. I want to be here for you as much as you’ve always been here for me...”

“There is nothing you could do that would change the predicament I currently find myself in,”
Severus said finally.

Rosalie sighed, “Maybe you’re right, but at least you’d have someone to shoulder the burden with
you.”

Severus inclined his head, “I have always been reserved in voicing my personal matters and
emotions—”

Rosalie stared up at him blankly, “So you’re saying... you just ‘don’t want to’?”

“No, that is not what I am saying,” Severus sighed, lifting his free hand to pinch the bridge of his
nose, “Rosalie, it is not something that I don’t wish to share with you, it is something I cannot. Just
know that I have found myself burdened with a difficult truth I feel compelled to try and change.
Yet, I see no possible recourse at this stage. It’s is understandably weighing heavily on my mind.”

“Why didn’t you just say that then?” Rosalie asked quietly.

“Because I am unused to having someone like you in my life to care about the troubles I’m facing,”
He told her honestly, “I am... unpractised at having to share my thoughts and feelings and it is not
something that comes naturally to me.”

Rosalie stared up at him for a long moment, the worry unabated from her face until finally, she
relented and the creases made by her pinched brow evened out and her eyes lightened.

“You are better at it than you think you are, you know,” She told him gently after a long moment.
Gentle fingers trace the length of his jaw as she pulled him down into a soft kiss.

Severus hummed noncommittally against her lips as he cupped the back of her head and angling
her face into a searching kiss that despite how close they were pressed together remained soft and
unhurried.
“Rose...” Severus wrapped his hands beneath the curve of her bottom and lifted her into his arms,
encouraging her to wrap her strong legs around his waist as he backed her into the shower wall.
She gasped at the shock of cold tiles against her overheated skin as he pinned her in place with his
body, her arms encircling his shoulders as she stared down at him.

He kissed her until they were both breathless, their lips swollen and the water had started to run
cold. Severus hissed as a blast of cold water hit his back and Rosalie laughed as they were finally
forced to scrub themselves clean under the icy spray of water. Severus felt something in his chest
lighten at the sound of her happiness and smirked along with her as she shrieked good-naturedly
every time she was subjected to the cold stream of water.

She was shivering by the time they stepped from the stall to bundle themselves into towels Severus
had charmed warm and he wrapped his arms around her as she pressed herself back into his chest
and stared up at him with happy eyes, “Come on, it’s still early. Let’s go back to bed.”

Severus followed willingly as she led him from the bathroom, the last cobwebs of his nightmare all
but forgotten as they slipped under the covers of the bed. Severus inhaled deeply as Rosalie
shimmed back across the space left between them until her back was pressed into his chest and her
warm vanilla scent filled his senses.

‘There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe,’ he thought fiercely as his arms closed around
her protectively, enjoying the way their bodies fit together seamlessly, ‘which is why I’ll succeed
where Albus failed. There is no line I will not cross if I can find a way to save you.’

“Lupin.”

The wolf was sitting in the lounge, a book opened on his lap, as Severus swept through the room
on his way out of the bedroom the next morning. He felt the burn of Lupin’s eyes track his
progress across the room as Severus made his way into the small kitchen and went straight to the
teapot. He tapped his wand against it briskly as he set it to boil and moved across the room to take
a seat at the kitchen table. His eyes sought out his lover’s familiar frame as he settled into his seat,
spying her across the room where she was already deep in discussion with Gregorovitch over his
workstation, the final stages of the wand creation taking place.
‘The biggest issue,’ Severus thought idly as his dark gaze lingered on his lover, ‘it that they are
conjoined.’

And wasn’t that a disconcerting thought?

If it were simply a matter of removing the Dark Lord’s soul, perhaps his task wouldn’t seem so
impossible. Rosalie had proven that she had access to some of the Dark Lord’s powers, though—
parseltongue, for instance, was not a learnt ability, nor something she could have inherited from her
parents, and yet somehow she had manifested the talent. Were their two souls so fused that
Rosalie was able to access aspects of the Dark Lord’s soul within her and draw on his powers?
Was there even separation? Or had they begun to blur?

No.

Clearly, there was some measure of separation or else Occlumency, no matter how proficient
Rosalie had become, would have proven to be a fruitless endeavour. Albus had clearly already
come to the same decision, Severus realised as he recalled how the Headmaster had gone to lengths
to avoid Rosalie in her fifth year, foisting her Occlumency training off onto him with a warning not
to drop his guard: ‘Until Miss Potter is able to Occlude her mind successfully, we must assume
Voldemort is lurking in the shadows of her mind, watching everything we do, Severus. Remain
vigilant and behave accordingly.’

Even then Albus had suspected. At the time, Severus had questioned the Headmaster’s decision not
to teach Rosalie Occlumency himself and had taken, at face value, the reasoning that Albus was
protecting his own mind—and the secrets housed within it—from Rosalie’s untrained mind.
Perhaps, a more honest answer would have been that he was protecting his mind from the Dark
Lord that was fettered inside of her.

‘Yet, I never felt the Dark Lord’s presence. I never suspected, even for a moment, the presence of
something—someone—foreign within her mind,’ Severus mulled, ‘I have no idea how separate
they remain.’

Even if the link could be severed and the Dark Lord’s soul fragment removed, Severus worried
that it would be at the risk of causing serious and irreparable damage to his lover. There was no
telling what it might do to her or how much would be left behind once they were done.

Behind him, the teapot started squealing.

Summoning both pot and teacup, Severus went about preparing himself a cup of tea as Lupin
walked into the kitchen.

“Come to try your luck at round three?” Severus sneered, wishing he could simply hex Remus-
Fucking-Lupin to smithereens and be done with it. Severus took a long pull of the hot brew, his lips
pulling tight against the burn as the tea scalded his tongue.

He missed his scotch.

“I came for some tea, actually,” Lupin said mildly as he poured himself a cup with a wave of his
wand, “I think I have made my opinion on your ‘relationship’ with Rosalie perfectly clear, there is
little else I can do now but sit back and hope you will both see reason.”

“Excellent,” Severus intoned nonchalantly, “in that case, as there is nothing more to say, why don't
you bugger off and find someone interested in entertaining the ‘kicked dog’ expression you insist
on casting about and leave me to enjoy my morning.”

“Charming,” Lupin muttered, “What Rosalie sees in you I’ll never know.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Severus sniped.

“You’re a selfish bastard,” Lupin replied with a shake of his head.

Rosalie looked up at them suddenly, her gaze wary as she looked back and forth between them.
Severus stared back at her even as he replied: “Undoubtedly.”

“Ten and three-quarter inches long, made of perfectly crafted holly and inlaid ebony and possessing
a thestral tail hair core,” Gregorovitch said as he handed her his finished work. Rosalie took her
wand from him carefully, gasping lightly at the zing! of energy that raced up her arm the minute
her fingers made contact with the wood.

“A bespoke piece—highly original and tailored entirely to suit your needs,” The wandmaker
continued as he watched her run her fingers over the intricate design.
Rosalie nodded as she turned the wand over in her hands, testing the weight of it in her grasp and
curled her fingers around the soft dragon hide grip, “It feels...good. I can feel the energy in it—it
feels like its humming.”

“It is of superior quality to what you used before,” Gregorovitch informed her, “Nevertheless, you
should test it to ensure you are satisfied with its performance.”

Rosalie nodded and looked up to where Severus was seated at the kitchen table. She frowned as
she took note of Remus seated across from him and the carefully blank expression on Severus’
face. She could feel the tension radiating from them from clear across the room, but their
conversation was pitched low enough that she couldn’t make out the words. Severus held her gaze
as he muttered something at the wolf and Rosalie shot him a questioning look.

“Severus did say he wanted to train with me this morning,” Rosalie answered absently as she eyed
the man in question.

Gregorovitch hummed, “It is little wonder you move like a Death Eater. Yet, I will admit, I was
surprised when I first witnessed you duelling.”

Startled Rosalie tore her eyes away from the exchange at the kitchen table to stare at Gregorovitch,
“Excuse me?”

“Severus Snape has been responsible for much of your training, no?” Gregorovitch continued
unfazed, “You can see it in the way that you hold your wand and in the way that you move. It is
clear that Dumbledore had no hand in it.”

Rosalie bristled.

“You lack the structure of classical techniques in your stance—things you would have learnt under
Dumbledore’s tutelage,” Gregorovitch continued to point out gruffly, “Instead, you cradle your
wand from below, fingers curling underneath, your volley low and sweeping—all hallmarks of
your lover’s techniques.”

Caution crept over her, discomfited as she was by the implication she could feel behind his words.
He’d been watching her—far more closely than she’d realised. It felt both intrusive and if she were
honest, vaguely threatening. That he could have inferred so much from watching her duel was
disconcerting. It made her wonder what else he’d been watching for and what he’d intended to do
with the information—what others would do it they tortured the information out of him. What
seemed like such an innocuous observation could have dire consequences if the Dark Lord had
reason to suspect Severus’ loyalties before they were ready.

Gregorovitch laughed, a bitter sound, deep and rasping, “I can see your mind whirring, girl. It was
a simple enough observation.”

It didn’t feel simple though. It felt like a threat—if not from Gregorovitch himself then from the
risk he posed leaving with such information unchecked.

“I understand,” Rosalie offered calmly, “Thank you for my wand.”

Gregorovitch inclined his head, his head dipping before her.

Rosalie didn’t hesitate.

In the fraction of a second that his eyes lost hers, pale blue sliding away from emerald green,
Rosalie struck.

Power began to swirl inside of her, thrumming through her chest, rocketing down her arm and into
her wand where she felt it begin to coalesce into something more, something with intent as it came
together with a single focus—a single purpose—before bursting outwards with such a voracity that,
for a second a blinding light filled the room: “Stupefy!”

The spell hit him point blank and Gregorovitch was blasted backwards violently only to hit the
ground a couple of feet away like a sack of potatoes, crumpling in on himself in an ungainly heap.
His head bounced off the hard floor with an audible crack and Rosalie frowned down at him, her
wand still outstretched before her.

“Rosalie!” a worried voice called from the kitchen. Remus was standing, his chair tipped over
behind him as he stared at her in shock. His eyes were wide and frantic, his grip on the table white-
knuckled as he took in the scene before him.

Severus too was sitting at attention, his sharp focus fixed on her as she lowered her wand slowly,
“What happened?”
“We should Obliviate him,” Rosalie answered calmly, as she moved to toed at the body at her feet,
pushing Gregorovitch onto his back, “He knows too much.”

“He is under oath,” Remus reminded her as he moved towards her slowly, eyes straying back and
forth between her and Gregorovitch like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
Gregorovitch was bleeding from a laceration on his forehead, the spot where his head had
connected with the ground.

Rosalie shook his head, “It’s not enough. He needs to be Obliviated too.”

“We should send for Poppy,” Severus offered evenly as he came to stand at her side, “It will not be
safe to Obliviate him until he has been medically cleared. His head hit the ground with some
force.”

Rosalie nodded, “I will need to learn to meter my power with this wand.”

Severus nodded and Rosalie was surprised when she felt his hand sweep down her back
reassuringly. She looked up at him, seeing the concealed concern in his eyes.

Remus was shaking his head, “I guess I’ll send for Poppy then.”

Rosalie turned to him as Remus left the room, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It is no matter,” Severus eyed the man on the ground beside them, “What precipitated your
action?”

Rosalie quickly rehashed their conversation for him, “I didn’t want that information falling into the
wrong hands. No matter how harmless it might seem.”

“Gregorovitch is no Death Eater,” Severus replied calmly.

“No, but he is familiar enough with them to recognise I’ve been trained by one and he refuses to go
into hiding even when he knows we suspect that Vol—Sorry, the Dark Lord, will come for him,”
Rosalie pointed out reasonably, “it’s careless to let him walk away with anything that might come
back to harm us.”

Severus nodded, “Very good.”

Rosalie sighed and turned to look down at Gregorovitch again, smiling when she felt Severus’
warmth move in behind her, a large hand coming to rest on her shoulder comfortingly. Rosalie
leant back into his strength, silent and supportive as they stood together, comfortable in one
another’s space until Remus walked back into the room with Madame Pomfrey ten minutes later.
The Mediwitch eyed them both shrewdly as she stepped into the room and Rosalie felt her cheeks
tint pink. Behind her, Severus’ thumb stroked down the back of her neck soothingly as his hand
slipped from her shoulder.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Madame Pomfrey said as she stood over her patient, “Dear me, what a
mess! You certainly put the whammy on him, didn’t you, Miss Potter? Well, let’s get him up on to
the couch and I’ll see about fixing up his head.”

Remus levitated Gregorovitch’s unconscious form up onto the couch carefully.

“We intend to Obliviate him,” Severus stated as he followed them over.

Madame Pomfrey nodded, “and you’ll be able to, once I’ve healed this contusion and checked for
internal bleeding.”

Severus nodded briskly and then stood back with his arms folded across his chest to watch the
mediwitch work. The group was silent, Rosalie hovering over the mediwitch’s shoulder as she
performed a full body scan, tutting softly to herself at the results, “That’s quite the stunning spell
you have in your repertoire, Miss Potter.”

Rosalie nodded, “I didn’t mean to put quite so much power behind it.”

“He needs to rest, but he will be fine. There was a small area of internal bleeding adjacent to the
point of impact, but it was contained—I have healed the damage. He will be able to safely able to
withstand Obliviation,” Madame Pomfrey announced after a moment or two, “he’ll need a few
hours rest first, however. Keep him asleep until after lunch.”
“Thank you,” Remus told the mediwitch gratefully, “I’m sorry to have pulled you away from
Hogwarts.”

Rosalie nodded her head in agreement, “I appreciate your help, Madame Pomfrey.”

The mediwitch smiled at her, her keen eyes flicked surreptitiously towards Severus and back again,
“You have always been my best customer, Miss Potter.”

Rosalie blushed, “At least it wasn’t me this time.”

“In fact,” Madame Pomfrey continued, “might I have a word with you before I leave, Rose? In
private, perhaps?”

“Oh, um... okay,” Rosalie replied in question, “We can use my room?”

“Perfect,” Madame Pomfrey agreed as she stepped around the couch where her patient lay and
followed Rosalie from the room.

Hermione was still fast asleep as they entered, miraculously having slept through the whole ordeal,
and so Rosalie led the mediwitch further into the room and behind the privacy wards erected
around her bed. The mediwitch’s eyebrows shot up as she took in the rumpled bedcovers and the
sight of Severus’ robes draped across the end of her bed tellingly.

“Well, that answers that I suppose,” The mediwitch offered shooting a pointed glance in the
direction of the guilty garment.

Rosalie’s gaze followed the gesture and felt her face flame.

“I trust, Rose, that the relationship between you and Professor Snape is a recent development?”
Madame Pomfrey began without preamble, eyeing Rosalie closely over the rim of her spectacles,
“Certainly not something that was happening whilst you were still a student of Hogwarts?”

Rosalie’s cheeks remained hot, but she lifted her chin defiantly as she returned the mediwitch’s
direct gaze.
“I was under the impression teacher/student relationship were not forbidden?” Rosalie countered,
“We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Madame Pomfrey gasped, “Forbidden? No. Frowned upon? Most certainly. Do you mean to tell
me that this tryst—”

“No. Merlin, No,” Rosalie shook her head, with a heavy sigh, “It happened just after my birthday—
and it’s not a tryst!”

Madame Pomfrey gave her a long assessing glance before tutting in exasperation, “I must say I
expected better of Severus. I could wring that boy’s neck for being so careless with you! A
pregnancy scare! Of all the reckless and irresponsible things! What would have happened if you
had been with child?”

“He didn’t know!” Rosalie replied trying to placate the mediwitch’s ruffled feathers, “That is to say
—it wasn’t his fault. Things just... happened. Neither of us was expecting that we might... It wasn’t
something we planned, you know?”

“Planned or not, there is no excuse for a man of Severus’ age to behave so inconsiderately of his
partners,” Madame Pomfrey said with a shake of her head, “I have half a mind to march back out
there and give him a piece of my mind!”

“Ah, please don’t!? He doesn’t know... about the pregnancy scare,” Rosalie said in a rush, biting
her lower lip anxiously, “I never told him about it.”

“I thought you said you discussed things with your partner,” Madame Pomfrey frowned.

“We did, kind of. He brews me a contraceptive potion each month now,” Rosalie assured her, “I
just didn’t want to give him another reason to try and break things off with me. Severus was
conflicted enough about things developing between us as it was and—nothing about this has been
easy.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Madame Pomfrey sighed, “Severus is by no means an easy man; he is a
good one, though. He deserves your honesty, Rose.”
Rosalie nodded, “I know, it’s just that I’ve left it so long... I wouldn’t know how to bring it up.
Things would be different if I’d actually been pregnant, you know? But I’m not and as far as we
can tell I never was, so...”

“Well...” Madame Pomfrey huffed after a moment, “What you do and say is none of my business
as long as you have things well in hand. Though I will admit I am surprised by the two of you... I
felt sure that you were seeing Mr Weasley. Serves me right, I suppose, for being so presumptive.”

Rosalie looked up at her cautiously, “It doesn’t bother you? Severus and I?”

Madame Pomfrey glanced at her shrewdly, “Why ever should it? You have assured me you were
both consenting adults when you entered this relationship and that you are taking the appropriate
measures to remain safe from unwanted pregnancy... why should I care one way or another if the
two of you are involved? In fact, it does my old heart good to see you both so happy.”

“Happy?” Rosalie asked, trying to conceal the little bubble of pleasure that had bloomed with the
mediwitch’s observation, “What makes you say that?”

Madame Pomfrey gave her an indulgent smile, “I’ve known Severus since he was a boy at
Hogwarts himself. That he even allowed himself to be seen with you says everything I need to
know about how he feels, Miss Potter. The Severus I know would never have allowed himself to
be caught in such a manner.”

“Remus doesn’t feel the same way,” Rosalie admitted softly, “He’s kind of furious at us both.”

“Yes, well, it will not be an easy road ahead,” Madame Pomfrey agreed with a small shrug,
“Remus likely is just trying to protect you. Give him time. I’m sure you’ll see that deep down he
just wants what’s best for you. When the time comes for you to tell the world of your love, I have
no doubt, he’ll be standing right behind you.”

“I hope so,” Rosalie replied dubiously.

Madame Pomfrey patted her gently on the shoulder, “I must be getting on.”

Rosalie was left sitting on the edge of her bed, contemplating the mediwitch’s easy acceptance of
her relationship with Severus and wondering if perhaps others, who also knew Severus to be a
good man, might feel the same? It was possible that they would have more support than they
realised once news of their relationship became common knowledge. It was a pleasant thought, but
not one that she allowed herself to dwell on—their was so much to get through before they made it
to that point and she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Nothing in life was ever so easy.

Rosalie looked up as she heard Severus enter the room, his face grim as he crossed the room and
passed through their privacy wards to stand before her. Rosalie looked up at him, standing to greet
him with concern as she reached out to lay a hand on his chest, “What is it? Are you alright?”

“I feel, perhaps, that I should be asking you that question,” He said levelly, his dark gaze searching
hers.

“What do you mean?” Rosalie asked in confusion.

“This is the second time Poppy has taken you aside for private consultation in the last month,”
Severus pointed out evenly, “I am merely concerned for your wellbeing.”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing,” Rosalie assured him with a smile, “I am perfectly healthy.”

Severus looked unconvinced, “Indeed? I believe you used those same words the last time I asked
you that question, after first informing me that you were meeting with Poppy to discuss ‘women’s
stuff’ and then assuring me it was nothing more than a routine follow up from the cave incident.”

Rosalie blinked at him, staring back at his skeptical expression as she absorbed the fact that he’d
suspected—for weeks—that she’d lied to him. That he’d suspected and yet not said anything,
allowing her to dismiss his concerns and let the lie to stand between them.

“It really was nothing, Severus. She just wanted to ensure we were taking the
appropriate precautions with our relationship,” Rosalie admitted, glancing up at him from beneath
lowered lashes, “To, you know... avoid an unplanned...”

“Pregnancy?” Severus supplied darkly when her voice trailed off, “She is aware of our relationship
then?”
Rosalie nodded, unable to look him in the eye as she sunk back down onto the edge of the bed,
“Yes.”

“And she assumed I would be reckless enough to risk impregnating—” Severus cut himself off
midsentence as he realised he had been that reckless. It had only been once he’d caught her sending
her bloody house elf off to buy a contraceptive that he’d realised he’d never thought to ask if she
was protected.

Severus took in her bowed head and the guilty slump of her shoulders, just realising that perhaps
she hadn’t been...

Rosalie sighed into his silence, glancing up into his knowing eyes, “I wasn’t taking anything that
first time we were together—or the second, actually. When I realised what that could mean I
contacted Madame Pomfrey and she gave me a potion that would take care of any potential
conception and advised me to start taking a regular contraceptive if I was going to remain sexually
active. I never told her who it was I’d been seeing, but she figured it out tonight.”

“You told me you had ‘run out’,” Severus replied evenly.

Rosalie shook her head, “I know. I was afraid of how you’d react if you found out. You were
barely okay with the idea of there even being something between us and by that stage, it was
already too late—”

“And your ‘check-up’ a few weeks ago?” Severus interrupted.

Rosalie looked up at him slowly, “Madame Pomfrey told me that to be one hundred percent certain
she would have to complete a scan five weeks after the potential date of conception. It was
negative, of course.”

Severus stared down at her impassively, “You weren’t going to say anything.”

“It was negative,” Rosalie reiterated, “I didn’t want to give you any more reasons to push me away
that you’d already come up with yourself.”
“So you lied to me,” Severus replied blankly.

“I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you,” Rosalie shot back, “I’m not obliged to tell you every little
detail of my personal life.”

“You lied by omission, Potter,” Severus stated firmly, “You let me believe that it was nothing
more than a follow up after the cave incident.”

“Fine, I lied,” Rosalie huffed, pushing to her feet again, “I lied about being on the contraceptive
potion and I lied about seeing Madame Pomfrey about a pregnancy scare. What does it matter?
I’m not pregnant, Severus. I never was.”

Severus stared silently back at her, arms folded precisely across his chest like a physical barrier
between them.

Rosalie sighed heavily, her hands going to her face in a fight for composure, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell
you, but I feel like I’m constantly walking a knife’s edge with you, waiting for you to come up with
some other reason why this can’t work between us. You are my first everything, Severus, and so
much of this has been new and exciting, but not all of it has. I’ve never had to navigate any of this
before and when I realised there was a chance I could be pregnant because we had unprotected sex,
I panicked. I didn’t want you to push me away again because I was too dumb or immature to be
with you and not think about something as basic as protection...”

“I see.”

“You’re angry.”

“Immensely,” Severus said levelly, “But more so I am disappointed with myself. If I had even a
modicum of control around you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Contraception is as
much my responsibility as it is yours and I cannot allow you to shoulder the blame alone.”

“It was a mistake, Severus,” Rosalie sighed, taking a step towards him as she looked up at him
beseechingly, “We both did things we shouldn’t have, but we’ve dealt with it—I’ve dealt with it—
and nothing bad has come of it.”

“Indeed,” Severus replied precisely, “and perhaps we have enough hurdles in our life right now
that we should not let a mistake such as this come between us.”

“Yes,” Rosalie breathed emphatically, “I agree. Wholeheartedly.”

Rosalie stepped towards him and smiled when he opened his arms to her, allowing her to step into
his embrace. She tucked her head under his chin, gratified when she felt him turn his lips into her
hair.

“Do you still feel so uncertain of your place in my life?” he asked softly after a moment, his voice
pitched low.

Rosalie swallowed thickly, “Sometimes. No so much anymore.”

 Chapter Thirty
Chapter Notes

A/N: Thank you to everyone who takes the read this story, especially those of you
who leave a review. Your words give this story life!

We have officially hit over 200k words with this chapter! What a ride it's been!

Not beta read.

Enjoy!

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,
Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being
made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Thirty

“It would be prudent to relocate him whilst he is still unconscious.”

Rosalie nodded in agreement, eyes meeting Severus’ over Gregorovitch’s inert form. He was still
sprawled across the couch as he had been half an hour earlier, the laceration on his head now
nothing more than an inflamed pink sheen of newly healed skin under Madame Pomfrey’s careful
care. Rosalie tried to feel guilty about it, truly she did, but the truth was she’d do it all again in a
heartbeat if it meant protecting those she cared about most. In truth, there was nothing she
wouldn’t do to protect them when she came down to it. Gregorovitch had always been a liability to
them; she’d just never taken the time to consider what that meant until it was standing right in front
of her.

Rosalie bit her lip as she glanced down at her own handy work, “I suppose it would be better he
doesn’t wake up here after we’ve Obliviated him?”
“Undoubtedly,” Severus nodded in agreement, dark gaze meeting hers.

A sigh sounded from behind them and Rosalie immediately felt her back stiffen.

“If it must be done, surely it would be safer to Obliviate him in an environment we have control
of?” Remus interjected, drawing their attention across the room. He stood just inside the entrance
of their tent, present and yet by choice, equally removed, “He’ll need to be awake before you can
Obliviate him; once he is removed from the camp the balance of power shifts. Any number of
variables which cannot be accounted for beyond the boundaries of these wards may influence your
success.”

Severus inclined his head, his eyes sliding away coolly, “Obliviation is most effective when
performed in a location removed from the environment which forms the basis of the memories one
is attempting to conceal.”

“Suit yourself,” Remus huffed and Rosalie bristled at the sound—such a small sound, little more
than a sharp exhale of forced air through his mouth—yet it conveyed to her everything his words
didn’t. Disdain, exasperation and misplaced superiority. Anger prickled down her spine as Rosalie
drifted across the room in response, moving to stand at Severus’ elbow.

Remus’ amber gaze tracked the movement blandly, “Where will you take him?”

“Home. Obviously,” Severus replied evenly, unfazed by Remus’ obvious disapproval, “In the
period of confusion immediately following the casting, his mind will do much of the work to fill in
the missing pieces if he is in a familiar environment. A basic principal those of us experienced in
the art of Obliviation are familiar with, Lupin, though, I suppose, I should have known better than
to assume you might understand such a thing...”

Rosalie’s tense gaze remained on Remus who looked like he had more he wanted to say but instead
huffed out a mirthlessly, resigned laugh and pushed out through the tent flap without another word.

“Why is nothing ever good enough for him?” Rosalie huffed the minute the tent flap had swung
shut behind him, swinging her annoyed gaze around to stare up at Severus, “He’s acting like we’re
some sort of savages for wanting to Obliviate someone!”

Severus’ gaze seemed to soften as it returned to her and his hand came to rest on the back of her
neck, sliding beneath her hair to rub her nape soothingly, “He is merely trying to exert control of
that which he feels he can because he is powerless to prevent what is truly bothering him.”

“You’re defending him?” Rosalie breathed disbelievingly.

“Hardly,” Severus sneered, “His behaviour is infantile at best.”

Rosalie shook her head, “He’s being such a git.”

“Yes, shocking isn’t it?” Severus deadpanned.

Rosalie shot him a weak glare as she silently fumed beside him over Remus’ behaviour.

“You will not be able to partake of this endeavour,” Severus told her after a moment, his thumb
still rubbing a soothing swatch into the back of her neck.

“I figured,” Rosalie sighed, turning into his embrace, “It’s safer for me here.”

Severus arched his eyebrow, his hand sliding down her back and away from her body altogether as
he turned back to Gregorovitch, “It is.”

“I made the right decision, didn’t I?” Rosalie questioned quietly.

“Right or wrong, you made a decision and were able to justify your actions,” Severus replied
evenly, “Given the circumstances, no one could reasonably expect more from you.”

Rosalie sighed knowing that there would be others—like Remus—who wouldn’t feel the same
way. Nothing was easy anymore, no choice she made came without consequences and she was
learning, however hard that it was, that there was no way to keep everyone happy.

They both looked up the sound of movement from the bedroom and Rosalie smiled tightly in
greeting as Hermione emerged from within the doorway. Still rumpled with sleep, her face bearing
the hallmarks fatigue from a night spent on watch, Hermione peered across at them curiously.
“Morning,” Hermione waved tiredly. She was bleary-eyed with sleep and her hair a riotous mess of
curls but she frowned as she spied Gregorovitch’s prone form on the couch, “What’s happened to
him?”

“We’re Obliviating him,” Rosalie replied plainly as her friend shuffled over to them.

“Oh?” Hermione enquired, stifling a yawn as she attempted to tuck the lively strands of her hair
behind her ear, “He’s finished your wand then?”

“This morning,” Rosalie nodded, pulling her new wand out from within her sleeve and twirling it
lightly between her fingers. It hummed in her grasp expectantly, its latent energy reaching out
eagerly for her own. It was a heady feeling, one she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to.

“So how did he end up like this?” Hermione asked curiously, frowning up at them in question.

“I stunned him,” Rosalie admitted, tucking her wand away again, “Although admittedly, I may
have slightly overdone it.”

Severus arched an eyebrow, “Undoubtedly so.”

Rosalie shot him a look, “It was an accident. I had no idea how much power my new wand—”

Rosalie was cut off midsentence as Remus burst back into the room startling Hermione who let out
a small yelp of surprise. Rosalie turned in response taking in Remus’ tight expression and wild eyes
and the retort she had perched on her lips died away. She felt something in her freeze at his
expression and her heart leapt into her throat and lodged there.

“What is it?” Rosalie asked, her voice trailing off as he motioned for her to stay quiet.

“We have company,” he replied abruptly, his amber eyes settling on hers.

Rosalie looked at Severus, but his gaze was focused on the wolf, his expression darkening as his
wand slipped into his hand.

“Who?” Severus asked lowly as he joined Remus in the doorway.

“Snatchers,” Remus replied as they exited the tent together, their grievances temporarily set aside
in the wake of a bigger threat, “at least two that I’ve seen.”

“Snatchers?” Hermione parroted in confusion.

Rosalie shot Hermione a worried glance and together they hurried to follow the two men from the
tent. Rosalie breathed in the cool forest air as she thrust the tent flap out of the way and stepped
into the clearing her eyes immediately registering Remus and Severus ahead of them before drifting
to scan the surrounding forest. That Snatchers had somehow pinpointed their location was surely no
accident. This deep into the forest there was little to no chance that they were merely out scouting
the woods on the off chance they stumbled across something—or rather, someone.

A light breeze rustled the clearing, sunlight streaming in through the trees as it neared the brightest
part of the day when the sun was almost directly overhead of their little clearing. The suns rays
illuminated the forest floor, chasing away the last remnants of morning dew that still clung to the
foliage around them. Intruders would be at their most visible, Rosalie reasoned, holding her breath
as her eyes scanned the dense tree line.

“I don’t see anything,” Hermione breathed beside her.

“Shh,” Remus hissed quietly, wand out as he and Severus spread out along the boundary line.

Rosalie’s eyes remained trained on the forest beyond them as they waited. Hermione’s hand
gripped her arm and Rosalie reached over and took it up with her own giving it a small squeeze of
reassurance.

“Came from ‘ere, dinnit?”

Four heads whipped around in the direction of the voice as it echoed through the trees, carrying in
the stillness of the forest and yet, far too close for comfort. Beside her, Hermione’s knuckles
turned white where she gripped Rosalie’s hand and they watched as both Remus and Severus
immediately altered their course as if choreographed.
A branch snapped under the weight of someone’s foot and a second voice replied: “Ain’t nothin’
says it’s her. Blas’ that powerful, all the way out here? Wild goose chase, it is. Ain’t no bloody
‘Girl-Who-Lived’ runnin’ around willy-nilly in the forest—”

Rosalie watched as they came into view through a break in the trees: two men, both filthy and
unkempt, their faces hard and their eyes keen as they prowled the perimeter of Remus’ wards. They
seemed to be taking little care to conceal their presence, talking at normal volume as they
unknowingly skirted the wards that concealed their quarry.

“This close to ‘Ogwarts, though? Suspicious if ye ask me.” The first man replied. Then, as if
sensing her eyes upon him, he stopped dead in his tracks. Rosalie froze along with him as she
tracked his movements. He rolled his head on his neck, shoulders hunching briefly as he let his
head fall backwards and, nose in the air, he sniffed: “People been ‘ere recently.”

Rosalie held her breath as she watched his head pop back up and scan his surroundings slowly, his
gaze passing directly over her, eyes almost making contact but for the wards that kept her hidden
from view. Rosalie shivered at the sight of him and steeled her back.

His companion stopped alongside him, waiting impatiently, “It her?”

The man scenting the air shrugged, “Dunno. She ain’t been at ‘Ogwarts, but I wouldn’ put it past
‘em to be keepin’ her close by.”

“One way to find out,” The second man sneered.

Rosalie watched as the second man lifted his wand, his eyes sharp as he muttered an incantation
under his breath and then, with a pulse strong enough to send a rippled of magic surging around
them, she watched as he let loose a stream of magic that arced brightly over the wards that
protected them.

Rosalie felt something inside of her still as she watched the tendrils of his magic creep upwards as
it crackle over them like electricity over a wire fence, revealing their presence like a beacon in the
night. It popped and hissed where it touched Remus’ protections, passing over them in a wave of
heat that chilled Rosalie to her core and left her feeling both vulnerable and exposed.

“Well, well...jus’ look at that, would you?” The first man crowed as he looked up at the evidence
of their revealed wards, “Send for the others.”

Severus was suddenly at her side, his eyes grim: “Get inside.”

Rosalie frowned at him, “What was that?”

“Detection spell,” He breathed silently, his hand on her lower back urging her onwards, “Pack your
things. We’re leaving. Now.”

“There are only two of them,” Hermione pointed out, “Surely if we confronted them, before they
—”

Another crackle of heat and electricity passed overhead and the wards trembled around them:
“We’re coming for you, Potter!”

Remus was suddenly behind them, his voice firm as he interrupted her protests, “We cannot risk
the confrontation and we have no way of knowing what resources are at their disposal. Severus is
right. Go get your stuff. Leave nothing that could identify you.”

Rosalie shared a look with Hermione and hurried inside, Severus hot on her heels as she made her
way through the tent, “You don’t trust the wards to hold them, do you?”

Severus shook his head, “That spell carried far more power than I would have believed him
capable of.”

“It was my Stupefy, wasn’t it?” Rosalie guessed as she waved her old holly wand about the room,
pulling all her meagre possessions haphazardly into her rucksack, “it revealed our location
somehow...”

“Most likely,” Severus nodded as he waved his wand over their bed, stripping it of its sheets and
shrinking them down so that he could stuff them into his pocket. Severus hesitated and then shrunk
the mattress down too.

“Where will we go?” Hermione asked as she hauled her jeans on, uncaring that Severus was in the
room as she hopped around on one foot in nothing but her underwear as she tugged the thick denim
up her legs.

“Hogwarts,” Severus replied dismantling the privacy charms from around their bed with a flick of
his wrist. Rosalie dashed across the room to the bathroom and with a single sweep of her wand,
cleared it of personal items.

“Hogwarts?” Rosalie parroted in surprise, “I thought it wasn’t safe—”

“We have little choice,” Severus told her, shrinking her rucksack and thrusting it into the same
pocket of his robes that held the mattress and sheets.

“I’m ready,” Hermione called, slinging her tote over her shoulder and across her body.

“The manuscript!” Rosalie cried suddenly.

Hermione patted her tote reassuringly, “It’s in there.”

“We can’t apparate with it,” Rosalie hissed.

Hermione shook her head, “It’s just the copies. The Headmaster took the original before we left
Grimmauld Place.”

Severus eyes strayed briefly to the bag slung Hermione’s body as he guided them from the room,
“Problem?”

Rosalie shook her head, “No. It’s fine, let’s go.”

Remus was waiting for them in the living room. He was standing over Gregorovitch’s prone form,
looking down at the unconscious wandmaker contemplatively, “I’ll side-along apparate with him;
we can’t risk awakening him now.”

Raised voices and the sound of apparation sounded from somewhere beyond the boundary of the
wards. Rosalie could hear their jeering and laughter as they called to them through the barrier of
the wards. Severus was right, Remus’ wards wouldn’t keep them out for long, and when they gave,
they couldn’t risk being anywhere in the line of fire. Not now.

“Apparate to the Shrieking Shack,” Severus replied, sliding his arm around Rosalie’s waist and
offering his other hand to Granger, gratified when she didn’t hesitate to slide her hand into his until
they were both grasped hand to wrist, “from there we will be able to contact Albus and arrange safe
passage into the school.”

With a nod Remus took up Gregorovitch’s limp hand, “I’ll count to three then drop the anti-
apparation wards.”

Severus nodded briskly as the tent shook under the tremble of power from the bowing wards
outside, “Just do it, Lupin, we are running out of time.”

Rosalie held her breath as Remus count to three and slashed his wand through the air. She felt the
wards crumbling around them at the same moment Severus tighten his arm around her waist and
they disapparated from view with an audible crack!

“They are in the Shrieking Shack, you say?” Albus repeated once the wolf was finished recounting
his story.

“Under heavy warding, until one of us returns,” Remus nodded, “I realise this is less than ideal...”

“No, no, my boy, I understand the circumstances granted you little choice,” Albus inclined his
head, “And Gregorovitch?”

“Snape has been in contact with Bill. They are in the process of seeing him returned to his home as
we speak,” Remus continued, “Snape intends to Obliviate him.”
Albus nodded sagely, “A wise decision given the circumstances.”

Albus ran a pondering hand over the length of his beard and admitted to being shocked by the turn
of events that had brought Remus Lupin to his office. During Voldemort’s first rise to power,
Snatchers had only come to be in the final days of Voldemort’s tyranny and only as little more than
cheap mercenaries hired to round up Muggle-borns so they could be segregated from the general
wizarding population. They had been troubling development then, but this felt more focused. The
men that Remus and described had displayed both the power and skill to identify and dismantle
Remus’s protections over their campsite that their predecessors never had.

They were closer to the brink of destruction than Albus had realised. They were barrelling so
rapidly towards their final conclusion that for a brief moment, Albus wondered at their ability—as
a population—to see this through. All out war hung over them. No one would be safe then.

For certain, the time had come that it was no longer safe for Rosalie Potter to remain outside of
Hogwarts walls.

Albus sighed as he contemplated his options. He had hoped to avoid having her return to the
school, as perhaps he should have done the minute the wards at Grimmauld Place had been
damaged, but in light of this most recent revelation, it was clear that they had reached a point of no
return. Hogwarts was the safest place for her whilst they saw out the end of their mission. He could
feel the storm gathering as they catapulted to their inevitable conclusion and it only seemed fair
that Rosalie was given the opportunity to return home before the end. By her own admission, her
happiest days had been those she’d spent within Hogwarts walls, he would not deny her the
opportunity to find that happiness again before she would sacrifice herself for the greater good of
her people.

“Alas, it appears the time has come for Miss Potter to return to Hogwarts,” Albus sighed, “I had
hoped to avoid this eventuality, not just for the sake of the school and those that reside within it,
but for those children whose families owe the Dark Lord fealty. If they suspect she is here, I fear
the crippling pressure that will be placed on their young backs to provide results they cannot give.
Look at Draco Malfoy...”

“Her magic cannot be contained by my wards—to be honest, I’ve not seen it’s like in power,”
Remus said again, “I feel this is our only option...”

“And you would be correct,” Albus agreed, “I will have the house-elves set up lodgings at once.”

Remus Lupin nodded, opening his mouth to reply then hesitating, “Regarding Snape...I had hoped
to discuss a certain matter with you that I feel you should be made aware of...”

“Go on,” Albus prompted when the wolf hesitated again.

“It would appear that Snape has entered into a—” Remus cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Well,
a relationship of a sexual nature with Rosalie.”

Albus nodded once, “Ah, yes. I am aware.”

“You...you know? Albus, If you are aware then surely you understand my concern as to the
appropriateness of this given Snape’s history,” Remus continued beseechingly, “I am not
convinced that someone of, well... Snape’s character is the best choice for Rosalie.”

“I understand the nature of your concern,” Albus smiled, eyeing him over the rim of his spectacles,
“but let it not be so. Severus Snape and Rosalie Potter are as close to kindred souls as any I’ve
come across. Whatever contentment they find together is something to rejoice in. We live in
uncertain times and I would not begrudge anyone their chance at happiness, don’t you agree?”

Remus stared at him in shock, “Kindred souls? Albus, I want Rosalie to be happy, but—”

Albus gave him a measuring look, “Then you should respect that the choice is not yours, nor mine,
to make.”

“He is twenty years her senior,” Remus huffed; frustrated his concerns were once again being
brushed aside, “Not to mention the fact he is a former Death Eater. I hardly think it appropriate—”

“I am not unsympathetic to your concerns, Remus,” Albus said, lifting a hand to interrupt the flow
of words pouring from the werewolf’s mouth, “But ask yourself this, who out there could better
understand the darkness that has touched Rosalie’s life? Who could protect her more fiercely? She
trusts Severus implicitly and though you would rather not admit it, you and I both know there is a
very real chance that either of them might not survive this war. Would you really rip away any
happiness she has found simply because Severus is not the conventional choice of partner? Nor
perhaps the choice you would have made for her given the opportunity?”

Remus shook his head, “I just don’t want her to come to regret this decision later in life. A life full
of regrets is not a life worth living.”
“War makes for strange bedfellows,” Albus offered with a small humourless smile, “but Rosalie’s
mistakes should be her own to make—as should be her successes. It is not for us to intervene in
matters that are not our business.”

Remus cut his gaze to the floor, “I’m not sure that I can live by that directive. James would want
more for his daughter... I want more for her.”

Albus nodded, “Then perhaps it’s time I redirected your focus elsewhere. Rosalie will be safe here
at Hogwarts and you will have no further need to watch over her so closely.”

Heaving a sigh, Remus nodded, “Perhaps you are right.”

“It will be for the best. Time away will afford you the opportunity to make peace with that which
you do not agree,” Albus offered sagely.

“Where are you sending me?”

“There is a property in Little Hangleton that is of interest to me,” Albus explained, “I plan to visit
the property myself in the near future, but in the meantime, it would be of great benefit to me if
you would keep the property under surveillance. We are of the belief that it is no longer frequented
by the Dark Lord or his followers, but any information you can provide—without accessing the
property yourself—would be greatly appreciated.”

Remus nodded, “I’ll leave tonight.”

“I feel adrift,” Hermione said into the silence, breaking the hush that had settled over them.

Rosalie looked up, but Hermione was staring blankly ahead of herself, a distant look in her brown
eyes.

They were both subdued, sitting across from one another in the pervading gloom that lingered over
the Shrieking Shack like a thick evening fog. They’d been that way for hours—sitting, waiting, and
brooding—as they awaited word from either Severus or Remus that it was safe for them to enter
the school. It was taking longer than she’d anticipated, midday sun waning to the burnt-orange
light of sunset without news and Rosalie couldn’t help but wonder what ‘solutions’ to this latest
disaster were being discussed without them.

‘Where shall we put Potter now?’ she thought bitterly as she pictured the conversation what was
happening in the Headmaster’s office.

It was her fault that they were here, after all. Remus’ wards had been no match for the uncontrolled
power of her stunning spell that morning. That someone had been monitoring the area was little
more than bad luck, but hardly unexpected given the proximity with which Remus had placed them
to Hogwarts.

“There really is nowhere for us to go—nowhere safe anyway,” Hermione continued, unknowingly
mirroring Rosalie’s own train of thought. They could have packed down their tent and found
another forest to hide in—keeping on the move as Remus had always intended them to be—but
ultimately, they all knew it wouldn’t be enough. Remus’ wards weren’t strong enough to contain
her power, and she needed somewhere where she’d be able to train without disrupting the wards.

Rosalie looked across at her friend again, hating the lost expression on her friend’s face, “You
have a choice, Hermione. You don’t need to carry on with me.”

Hermione scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” Rosalie asked quietly, picking absently at a loose thread that was
sticking out from the seam of her jeans.

“I was just thinking that we are really at war and that there is nowhere left that I feel truly safe,”
Hermione replied with a small incredulous shake of her head, “There are Snatchers roaming about
freely, for Merlin’s Sake! What is the Ministry doing? How have they let it come to this?”

“Fear,” Rosalie replied softly, “People are afraid.”

Hermione nodded, “They should be. I am.”

“I know, and being cooped up all the time just makes it worse... I understand my place in all this
and I get it, I do—I just can’t stand the waiting,” Rosalie sighed and looked across at the tunnel
entrance, “I’m going stir crazy.”

Hermione nodded, lapsing into silence again as they watched the last rays of sunlight disappear
from where they had warmed the wall across from them.

“Where do you think we’ll stay?” Hermione pondered, “Remus has been gone for hours.”

Rosalie shrugged. A part of her—a large part—hoped that the Headmaster would make room for
them in the castle, though she knew he had been reluctant to have her inside its walls. She
understood the need to keep Voldemort’s focus away from the school, but everyone knew it was
already under his scrutiny and she doubted his interested had lessened in the time that she’d been
absent.

“I thought Severus would have returned by now,” Rosalie noted absently, “I hope nothing went
wrong Obliviating Gregorovitch.”

Hermione hummed and shot her a furtive look, “You guys are... pretty serious.”

Rosalie eyed her best friend, “Yeah. I guess we are.”

Hermione nodded, “I was kind of surprised. I mean I know you told me about the two of you... but
the fact he’s so open about your relationship is kind of incredible. It’s not how I pictured he’d
behave.”

Rosalie felt her stomach grow wings, “I... I know. I can hardly believe it sometimes.”

“He’s a different person around you, Rose,” Hermione smiled softly, “I’m happy for you.”

Both girls stilled as the sound of a shuffling noise from the tunnel entrance brought an abrupt end
to their conversation.
“Did you hear that?” Hermione whispered, eyes darting to the darkened entrance warily.

Rosalie nodded as they both scrambled to their feet and withdrew their wands cautiously. The
length of a heartbeat passed between them as they stared expectantly at the tunnel entrance and
then, startling them with its sudden appearance, the ghostly form of a doe bounded out of the
darkness of the tunnel.

Rosalie huffed out a relieved sigh and lowered her wand, “It’s okay—it’s Severus.”

Reaching out a careful hand Rosalie trailed her fingers through the ghostly apparition of the wide-
eyed doe as it opened its mouth and said, in Severus’ familiar voice: “The Headmaster and I will be
arriving shortly.”

Moments later the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from within the tunnel.

“Sir,” Rosalie greeted as the Headmaster appeared in the entranceway.

“Ah, Miss Potter,” Albus greeted as he stepped free of the tunnel, “Miss Granger. Good evening.”

Behind him, Severus was straightening up to his full height.

“As you are both aware, I had very much hoped to avoid this outcome,” Albus began solemnly as
he peered at them intently over the rim of his spectacles, “However, it would appear that
circumstances, as they stand, have left us with little recourse. I cannot impress upon you enough,
the importance that your presences within the school remain strictly confidential.”

Rosalie nodded, “I understand, sir.”

Though truthfully, while she could respect the Headmaster’s wishes, she wasn’t sure how her
being at the school made any kind of difference. Hogwarts was no more or less secure whether she
resided in the castle or not. Should Voldemort choose to attack today he would come up against the
same obstacles he would have the day before. It was only in his desire to end the threat she
represented that the danger to the school increased, but surely it was not so much as to goad him to
attack an institution so heavily protected as Hogwarts?
Rosalie turned the thought over in her head as she once again found herself wedged awkwardly in
beside Hermione beneath her invisibility cloak—disillusioned for added protection—as they
followed the Headmaster into the school. The familiar halls were deserted, the portraits above them
paying the Headmaster no mind as he passed by in seemingly quiet conversation with his Potions
Master. Behind her, Hermione was silent, clutching lightly at her waist for support as they left the
main halls and began to climb the staircases that led to the west side of the castle.

‘Ravenclaw territory,’ Rosalie thought as they came to stand before a bronze statue of a witch
dressed in elaborate robes, her hair windswept and her arms extended outwards for the eagle that
was perched on her forearm. The bird’s wings were thrust wide, its body tight with coiled tension
as both woman and bird worked together to launch the eagle into the sky.

To Rosalie’s surprise, a whole section of the walled-off stone arch behind the bronze statue swung
inwards at the Headmaster’s uttered password, revealing the entrance to a narrow and steeply
coiled staircase. The Headmaster ushered them inside and, despite the close quarters, they all
crammed into the narrow space and let the stone wall swing shut.

“This tower was once used as faculty housing. There was a time when it wasn’t uncommon for the
teaching staff to live full time on campus, even outside of the school term,” Albus told them as
Rosalie pulled the invisibility cloak free of her shoulders, inadvertently elbowing Severus in the
process. He grunted, his hand flying up to cup her elbow, guarding against further attacks.

Beside her, Hermione shimmered back into existence sandwiched somewhat awkwardly between
the wall and the Headmaster.

Rosalie felt a giggle rising.

“Indeed. Perhaps the history lesson might wait? Albus?” Severus asked tersely, gesturing for Albus
to proceed up the spiral stairs.

“Yes, of course, my boy,” Albus nodded and preceded them as they climbed in single file up the
narrow stairs, “Many of the teachers that worked here had families that would reside in the castle
with them and as such, accommodations were made for those who made the castle their home.”

Rosalie counted the stone steps beneath her feet, reaching back to Severus in apology as they
ascended the stairs. She looked back at him as their fingers tangled and she felt his free hand move
to run the length of her waist, settling on her hip for a moment before dropping away altogether.
As they approached the top of the stairs, they entered into a large communal living space. Rosalie
smiled as she glanced around the room. Though smaller than the size of the Gryffindor common
room, it was not dissimilar in appearance. Couches and armchairs were grouped in clusters
throughout the room, bookshelves—thought mostly empty—lined the walls and thick rugs covered
the stone floor making it feel both cosy and inviting. There was a large central fireplace against one
wall, a fire already lit in the hearth, and Rosalie could already picture herself spending the evening
curled up in front of it.

“I have set up an internal floo connection between this fireplace and the one in my office,” Albus
told them as he gestured towards the fireplace Rosalie had been admiring, “I ask that should you
need to leave these rooms for any reason, you take the floo directly to my office and not leave via
the way we have just come. The fireplace is not connected to the floo network beyond the castle, or
indeed, in any way beyond the connection to my office.”

Rosalie and Hermione both nodded following the headmaster as he led them towards the back of
the room where another stone archway led to another set of stairs.

“These stairs lead upwards to the private living quarters of those that once lived here,” Albus
explained as midway up the staircase they came to a small landing with a heavy wooden door,
“These will be your rooms for the foreseeable future.”

The Headmaster opened the door and gestured for them to make their way into the small living
room that lay beyond. The room wasn’t very large, but Rosalie supposed that it didn’t need to be
with the communal living space that resided only a floor below. Still, it was both clean and
comfortable and as she began to explore the small dwelling, she realised that through a separate
doorway they had their own small kitchen/dining space.

“The house-elves have been instructed to serve all your meals to you here as you won’t be joining
us in the Great Hall for obvious reasons,” The Headmaster explained as he watched her taken in the
space, “In addition to the kitchen and living room, there are three bedrooms and a bathroom.”

“Where will I train?” Rosalie asked, looking between Severus and the Headmaster.

“I’ve asked the house-elves to ensure space is made available for you in the common room below.
It is the best that I can offer at this stage,” Albus replied genially.

Rosalie nodded, “Thank you, Professor. This is fantastic.”

“Albus,” Severus interrupted, “I believe it will raise less suspicion if I am able to floo here unseen
from my own quarters to train with Miss Potter. As such, I will require floo access.”

“A fine idea,” Albus nodded, “Though I needn’t remind you, I’m sure, that despite the time you
choose to spend here, your duties as Head of House require that you remain available to your
students should the instance arise that they require your assistance after hours.”

Rosalie felt her cheeks flood with colour, ‘After hours assistance? What was that supposed to
mean... Did the Headmaster know?’

“Naturally,” Severus replied unfazed.

“Excellent,” Albus nodded, “In that case, I shall leave you to get settled in.”

Hermione met her gaze, “I’m just going to go...pick out a bedroom.”

Rosalie watched as her friend excused herself from the living room, leaving her alone with
Severus, her cheeks still flushed pink with embarrassment. Rosalie gestured weakly to the door the
Headmaster had just left through, “Does the Headmaster know...?”

“Yes.”

Rosalie felt her cheeks turn pink, “Oh.”

Rosalie looked across at Severus. He was watching her levelly, his arms folded across his chest,
but he unfolded his arms to accept her into his embrace as she drew near. Why was it more
embarrassing to find out that Dumbledore knew she was having sex than it had been realising that
Remus knew? Rosalie brushed her fingers over the front of Severus’ robes, smoothing out the dark
material as she laid her hand over his steady beating heart, “and he’s okay with it?”

“Evidently,” Severus agreed as he settled his hands over the flare of her hip.
“We have more people on our side than we realised,” Rosalie said with a small smile as she
glanced up at him, “Hermione, Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey...”

“Lupin, Ronald Weasley—likely all the Weasley’s in actual fact,” Severus countered with an
arched brow, “The entirety of the wizarding world...”

“Well,” Rosalie shrugged, “right now, they’re not important.”

Severus hummed noncommittally.

Rosalie tilted her face up to his, smiling when he obliged and lowered his face to her so that they
could press their lips together briefly, “I know it’s not what the Headmaster wanted, my being in
the school, but I like knowing we’re in the same building. Maybe now we won’t need to go weeks
without seeing one another.”

Dark eyes smirked down at her, “a fortunate outcome.”

Rosalie bit her lip as she tilted her head at him, “You could maybe... spend your nights here?”

“Indeed? And what of the Headmaster’s warning... being Head of House requires that I be
available for ‘after hours assistance’ should my Slytherin’s require it,” Severus pointed out, his
voice like dark chocolate as it rumbled against her ear but despite what his words said, his tone told
her he was not in disagreement with her suggestion.

“What if I need your ‘after hours assistance’?” Rosalie replied softly, her lips brushing the side of
his face as she spoke, “You’re a creative man; surely there is a monitoring charm you can place on
your door in case someone comes looking for you?”

Severus lowered his lips to her neck, kissing a neat line from the curve where shoulder met neck
upwards to the small patch of skin behind her ear, “An inspired suggestion, indeed.”

Delicate fingers clutched at his waist as she tilted her head to the side for him, baring the length of
her neck, “I want you here—with me.”
Severus brushed her hair back from her face and slid a hand beneath its curtain to cup the back of
her neck, drawing her lips back to his, “I believe something could be arranged. I have proven, if
nothing else, that I have not the fortitude to refuse you.”

Rosalie smiled against his mouth, “You have plenty of ‘fortitude’ when it comes to refusing me...
you just don’t want to.”

“Perhaps,” Severus conceded.

“In that case, let’s choose our bedroom,” Rosalie said, turning from him, her fingers hooked into
his robes as she led him from the living room and into the short hall that head to the bedrooms and
bathroom.

Severus waited until he was sure Rosalie was deeply asleep before he slipped from their bed. He
stared down at her for a moment and took in the sight of her peaceful face, her long dark eyelashes
nothing more than dark smudges against her pale skin in the dim light of the room. She’d stolen his
pillow, her body stretched diagonally across the bed so she could share his space and the oversized
t-shirt she wore had slipped from off of her shoulder revealing her smooth milky skin to his gaze—
it glowed in the moonlight, soft and smooth, begging to be touched.

Not for the first time, Severus marvelled at his good fortune that Rosalie Potter believed him
worthy of her time and attention. Such thoughts didn’t stem from a place of insecurity so much as
knowing himself well enough to understand he was not what most considered to be ‘conventionally
handsome’. Severus understood his own appeal. There had been women over the years—beautiful
women, even—who had praised him for his hair and his eyes or, perhaps most frequently, his
voice... but none of them had ever come close to being in a league like Rosalie Potter.

Men like him didn’t end up with women like Rosalie. And yet... here they were.

Merlin.

His chest ached at the sight of her and it did nothing but harden his resolve.
Pulling his nightrobe around his wiry frame, Severus slipped quietly from their bedroom and into
the darkened hall that lay beyond, soundlessly guiding their bedroom door closed behind him. The
stone floor was cold against his bare feet, its chill seeping into his soles as he took his time casting
his senses out around him, allowing his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness of the windowless
hall.

It was nothing for him to slip quietly down the hall and into the room he knew Granger to be
occupying. Years spent spying on the Dark Lord’s faithful had honed such basic skills of stealth
into an art form he’d long since perfected. Yet, when he came to it, he found her door unwarded,
the handle giving easily under his steady grasp as it swung open on mercifully silent hinges.

The room was bright compared to the darkness of the hallway, moonlight shining in through her
undraped window as Severus stood on the threshold, taking note of what lay beyond. The
mustiness of sleep in the air hung in the air, Granger’s gentle breaths drifting out from behind the
closed curtains of her bed.

Almost immediately, his eyes fell on the object that had driven him from his bed in the middle of
the night. There, sitting propped against her bedside table with no effort made towards concealment
was Granger’s tote. Inside it, Slytherin’s manuscript.

“Accio!” He muttered softly, watching as Granger’s tote lifted to sail silently across the room into
his waiting hands.

Severus caught the bag in nimble fingers, a frown creasing his face as he shut the girl’s door
behind him and he carried the bag swiftly into the kitchen where he could study the manuscript
under better light. Gas lanterns flared to life under the swish of his wand as Severus hastened to
across to the table, pulling the copied pages of the manuscript from the bag as he went. He tossed
the tote carelessly to one side as he sat before the stack of parchment, his hand running over the top
page reverently—Slytherin’s manuscript. An artefact as precious as this—even just a copy of the
original—should have been afforded the time and respect it deserved, instead, after a moment of
silent appreciation over the very fact something like this even existed, Severus began whipping
through the pages with incredible speed, his eyes racing through line after line of cramped script in
a desperate search for any mention of the word ‘Horcrux’.

It was tedious work and despite his best efforts, progress was protracted as he worked his way
around old language and spidery scrawl. Forty-five minutes after he’d begun, when the script was
beginning to blur before his eyes and the chill of the night air had begun to seep into his bones,
Severus admitted defeat. It was going to take more hours than he had available to comb through
the information before him—not when Rosalie or Granger could happen upon him at any moment.
He needed to copy it.

Summoning blank parchment, he lined the two stacks side by side withdrew his wand. Replication
was difficult to do well; it required concentration and patience to ensure that each page, each
passage and paragraph was copied exactly. It was not a talent he had ever excelled at, but he was
confident that he could duplicate the manuscript to a well enough degree that he’d be able to study
it at a later date in the privacy of his own quarters.

Almost two hours had passed by the time he’d replaced the bag in Granger’s room and was sliding
back into bed beside his lover’s slumbering form, his own copy of the manuscript shrunk down
and tucked securely into the pocket of his robes. Rosalie stirred as the bed shifted beneath his
weight and blinked up at him, “Where have you been?”

“Just the loo,” he lied easily, slipping in beneath the covers, “go back to sleep.”

Rosalie sighed and rolled over, settling in against him, “You’re cold.”

Severus hummed his agreement, relishing the feel of her soft sleep-warmed body pressing in
against his. He ran his hand over the thigh she hooked over his leg, stroking the silken skin beneath
his hands. Her bottom was bare beneath the threadbare material of the t-shirt she’d worn to bed.

“Kiss me?” she whispered against him, guiding his lips down to meet hers. Severus let his hand
trail up beneath the back of her shirt, clasping her near naked body to him as their lips slowly
pulled and tugged at each other. Gentle lips coaxed soft nips and kisses from his mouth, their dance
slow and unhurried. Intoxicating. Severus let himself melt into her, her warmth and the gentle
suction of her mouth beckoning him in like a siren as the space beneath the covers of their bed
grew hot with want.

He could feel the heat of her centre through the fabric of his pyjamas as her hips rocked into his,
rubbing against the hardness growing between his legs.

Her breath quivered out against his lips, “I want you...”

She blinked up at him with a warm arousal as she rolled onto her back, spreading her legs as she
guided Severus’ hand down between her thighs and into slick heat, “Severus.”
Severus looked down at her, her flushed expression and hooded eyes, her wild hair in disarray
against the pillow behind her head and felt his stomach tighten. He looked down at where his
fingers were buried inside of her, thrusting slowly in and out of her body as she lay panting in his
ear, moaning softly against him and shifting her hips up into his hand.

“You are beautiful like this,” he told her softly, his voice a low rumble as he leant over to press his
face into her covered breast, nuzzling the soft mound with his nose as he breathed in the scent of
her—tender warmth, sweet vanilla and the clean musk of sex—he wanted to drown himself in that
scent. To bury his face permanently in the soft swell of her breasts. Her hand tangled into the black
strands of his hair, clutching him against her as Severus opened his mouth over her nipple, the thin
barrier of her t-shirt no barrier at all against the heat of his mouth as he tugged on her nipple
through the flimsy fabric.

“Severus, wait...I want to—” She gasped, restless fingers plucking at the hem of her t-shirt as she
pushed him back far enough that they could tug the t-shirt free of her body. Severus withdrew his
fingers from her clutching heat as he rolled on top of her, hand painting wet streaks up her side as
he pushed at the material of her t-shirt, bunching it up above the swell of her breasts and up over
her head as he gazed down at her through heated eyes.

His lips dropped to her chest, kissing a line down the centre of her sternum as they fell back against
the pillows. He could feel her hands fisting in the back of his nightshirt, pulling it up over his head
and free of his arms as he sucked her bare nipple back into his mouth. They were both breathing
heavily, her body trembling in his arms as Rosalie ran her hands back into his hair and pulled him
up to her face, claiming his mouth with her own as Severus settled into the cradle of her hips, her
warm thighs encircling his waist.

His erection was dribbling with excitement as they pushed at the waistband of his pants, tugging it
down beneath the curve of his arse to free him into the space between their bodies.

“Salazar,” Severus sighed, breath panting out against her mouth as he took himself in hand to guide
the thick head of his cock between her swollen lips, sliding back and forth through the wetness he
found there. She was slick with want, breathless with desire and as green eyes flashed up at him
clouded with heady arousal, he began to push his way home.

Rosalie keened, flexing her hips into him as he slowly buried himself inside of her.

“Salazar,” Severus huffed again, blinking his eyes open as he felt her warm hand against his cheek.
Green eyes met his and something like pleasure quaked its way through his body. He wanted to
chase that look in her eyes to its completion. He wanted to lose himself inside of her while he
drowned in the emerald pools of her gaze. Her fingertips traced over the sharp jut of his shoulder
blade and down his quivering flank and Severus pressed his forehead into the side of her neck,
breathing in her scent as her fingers raked back into his hair, holding firm against the back of his
head, “Rosalie...”

His lips were a hot smear against her neck as she rolled her hips up into his, pussy clenching around
his throbbing length inside of her, “Oh—”

Severus grunted, snapping his hips into her, face all but buried in the pillow beneath her head as
she clenched around him, thrusting in time with the surging of his hips. She was whimpering in his
ear, finger clasped tight in his hair—lost to him, just as he was lost to her—and Severus wondered
how it was that the sound of her arousal could be as stimulating to him as they feel of her wrapped
around his hard length or how the feel of her hand in his hair, grasping him to her almost
desperately, was as important to him the way her hips rolled to meet his.

“Oh! Merlin... Severus, I—Oh!—”

It was raw and unrefined, their bodies cleaving into one another as they chased completion through
the steady grind of their hips and the hot press of damp lips.

She was everything.

“Merlin, I’m going to...” Severus huffed into her neck as the as his impending release washed over
him, gathering low in his stomach, tightening his balls as he grunted through every thrust of his
hips. His hand slid between their bodies, fingers finding her clit as she began to tighten around him,
breathless cries exultant as he thrust through the constriction of her walls.

“Yes!” Rosalie cried, lips blindly finding his, “I’m almost there...”

“Rosalie.”

Severus felt her clench around him, walls pulsing as she gasped his name against his lips, crying
out in ecstasy as her hands fisted in his hair—

“Oh! S-Severus!” She was sobbing, forehead pressed tightly against his, trembling as she panted
against his mouth.
“I love you...”

It was a soft whisper, barely there against the heaving sound of their bodies and harsh breathless
pants, but he heard it, and his eyes flew open to stare at her, her green eyes full of something thick
and overwhelming as her fingertips ran the length of his cheek. Severus faltered—pleasure hit his
body, pouring over him, through him, like a tidal wave of heat. Words stolen from his throat, he
gasped breathlessly against her mouth, gaze full of those green, green eyes as he erupted inside of
her.
 Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Notes

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirty-One

‘I love you’

Embarrassment curdled inside of her, the hot prickle of insecurity needling the back of her neck as
the words, so quietly spoken, hung heavy in the air between them. Oh, Merlin. They’d tumbled out
of her without intent, clumsy and rushed in the heat of the moment when her emotion for this man
—this wonderful man—had filled her full to overflowing.

Rosalie swallowed audibly noting the way his breath quavered out against her neck.

He was faintly trembling; she could feel it at every point where their skin connected. Instinctively,
her fingers tightened in the stands of his hair, her nails raking lightly across his scalp, not sure
which of them she was trying to comfort.

“Severus?”

He pulled away from her gently, pulling himself from within the clutch of her body to roll onto his
back at her side. Rosalie bit her lip as looked across at him, at the tight knot of his brows where
they were drawn together in the centre of his forehead. Shaking fingers pressed to her mouth, she
sat up, crossing her legs in front of her as she tugged the sheet up over her exposed chest and
tucked it under her armpits to hold it in place. The weight of his silence was unmistakable and the
sudden need to apologise—to excuse her sudden slip—was almost overwhelming. Instead, she
buried her face in her hand, her palm spread wide to shield her eyes as she stared down at her lap.

Her heart was hammering at a fevered pitch within the cage of her chest.

“Do you mean it?” he asked softly when the silence had begun to ring in her ears.

Rosalie huffed out a small mirthless laugh as irritation lanced through her. He was giving her an
out, a way for them both to escape this unscathed. It was a concession she’d neither wanted nor
asked for and it landed like a physical blow to her chest—a crushing weight bearing down on her,
suffocating the air from her very lungs—because although part of her wished she could take the
words back, to simply wave it off as nothing more than a slip of the tongue in the heat of the
moment, she knew that whatever happened now, things would change between them. Love came
with expectation and with expectation came the risk of disappointment. Perhaps they could have
pretended before, but now it was out in the open, thrust between them and into the spotlight.

What had she done?

Distantly, she realised she was panicking. Perhaps because she knew that the bigger part of her, the
part which was trembling and fragile and waiting to be crushed, wanted nothing more than to hear
him offer the words in return. Rescinding what had been spoken wouldn’t change the fact that
they’d been said, “How can you ask me that?”

A warm hand reached out to sooth the length of her bare back, rubbing softly until his large hand
settled over the small of her back, warm and comforting, “Come here.”

Despite herself, Rosalie allowed him to carefully coax her back into his arms until they lay on their
backs, side by side, with her head pillowed on his shoulder as they stared up at the canopy
overhead.

“I feel like I should be apologising,” she admitted softly as she felt her lips begin to quiver, anxiety
and fear and undiluted emotion brimming up inside of her until her whole body felt wrecked with it.
Merlin.

“Rosalie—”
“I didn’t mean to mess things—”

Severus turned towards her, pulling her back into his chest, lips soft against her throat as he
soothed her trembling limbs, “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for. I... Nothing could
have prepared me for the impact you’ve had on my life, you understand. You are everything I
never knew I needed.”

Tears spilt from her eyes as she turned her face into the pillow beneath her head, body shaking. It
wasn’t the declaration of love that she’d hoped for, but it was comforting all the same and she
gripped at the arms that held her, clinging to his strength.

She didn’t sleep and the remainder of the night passed slowly. By morning there were dark rings
beneath her eyes and although Severus had not once relinquished his embrace in the night, she felt
jittery and uncertain as the sun crested the horizon. The moment she was able, she slipped from
their bed, choosing to flee on silent feet to the relative safety of their small kitchenette rather than
linger in the warmth of his lax embrace. Setting the kettle to boil, she leant against the counter
wondering at the mess she’d made. It had been too soon, she thought; probably too eager, allowing
the power of him to move her to words he’d been unprepared to hear. Not because he didn’t care
for her, because it was obvious he did, but love?

‘I agonised over you. I struggled with myself over the things you have made me feel and whether or
not they were ‘right’—in the end, it didn’t matter. I want you: more than is decent and more than
what’s ‘right’.’

No matter how reasonable she tried to be, a hollow, ragged kind of hurt was bleeding inside of her
—a weeping dull ache that made her want to rub at the centre of her chest to disperse the feeling.

Wasn’t the fact that he cared enough? Shouldn’t it be? She knew Severus. He was reserved in his
feelings and expressed them with difficulty by his own admission. Despite that, he’d not been
unkind in the face of her declaration and the logical, tempered part of her told her that perhaps he
simply wasn’t ready. Love was not linear, just because she’d arrived at it before he had didn’t
mean that he wasn’t going to. Perhaps love would come with time if she was patient enough in the
meantime not to mess things up more than she already had? Surely this raw, vulnerable feeling of
having overexposed herself, of being left untethered and listing in unsettled seas would eventually
have to pass and things—

“Good morning.”

Her thoughts were interrupted as the man in question entered the small kitchenette, his fingers busy
with the few remaining buttons of his teaching robes as he glanced up at her, “You look tired. Did
you sleep?”

Not at all. Rosalie shrugged, “Some.”

He gave her a measuring look as he adjusted his cuffs, peering at the dark circles beneath her eyes,
“I would stay for breakfast but my presence is required in the Great Hall...”

Rosalie bobbed her head, fingers curling around the warm mug of tea in her hands that she didn’t
remember pouring. It was too hot against the palm of her hand, her fingertips and the heel of her
hand burning where they were pressed against the porcelain, “I know. It’s fine. I...I understand.”

“As much as I would like to enjoy breakfast here with you, my routine cannot be seen to have
changed,” Severus replied and Rosalie started at the feel of his warm palm as it settled against the
curve of her neck. It lingered there a moment, his thumb rubbing a gentle swatch against her cheek
as she looked up at him. His eyes held tenderness in them as he gazed down at her and something
in her lightened at the warmth of that look, expanding in her chest until she was almost able to
ignore the frayed edges of her heart. She reached up, touching her fingertips to his wrist as she
lifted her face to accept the soft kiss he dropped to her lips. “I shall see you this evening.”

“Have a good day?” she offered as they parted, pleased when he lingered in her space, warm hands
cupping her face.

Severus grimaced, “A futile endeavour.”

Rosalie smiled.

Severus could admit, if only to himself, that he was behaving irrationally, not that admitting it
made a whit of difference. He was in a foul mood, all things considered, even by his own
standards. Every step that he’d taken away from Rosalie—her tired eyes and pale face—had
blackened the thunderous cloud that had begun to circle overhead until it was a seething, knotted
mass of hot (irrational) anger. It roiled within him, quickening his temper as he steamed his way
silently through breakfast in the Great Hall and into his first classes of the day. The passage of the
morning was marked only by the age of the students who bore the brunt of his quick temper, their
pale faces wary and eyes keen under the barrage of rash detentions, loss of house points and
scathing correction he’d doled out unflinchingly across the course of the morning until defeated,
they’d marched disheartened from his classroom.

Perhaps it was unfair, but—

“Life is unfair,” Severus seethed as he slammed closed the door of his office, throwing the bolt and
marching across to his desk intent on barricading himself in over his lunch break and the free
period that followed. Collapsing into his desk chair, Severus pinched angrily at the bridge of his
nose. Rosalie’s pale face and those soulful green eyes clouding his mind’s eye as the words she’d
spoken clamoured through him: ‘I love you.’

Sweet Salazar!

Three words, which strung together in such a manner, had the immediate simultaneous effect of
filling him with elation and dread. For all that he had known where their relationship had been
heading—because only a fool wouldn’t have realised that they had progressed well beyond simple
affection and mutual satisfaction—he had not been prepared for a declaration of love. Not then.
Not whilst this burden that Albus had placed squarely on his shoulders prevented him from
returning such a sentiment! Because he knew now—Salazar, he knew; like he knew the truth of his
own name!—that he wanted to return it. Yet, how could he when he was forced to harbour such a
secret from her? To in one breath confess to be in love with her and keep concealed the truth of her
impending mortality?

Severus sighed heavily as the ache in his chest intensified. Must life always be so abominably cruel
to him? To at once be gifted Rosalie’s love and face knowing that he must save her if he wished to
keep it?

Severus fished the curled, copied pages of Slytherin’s manuscript from his pocket and smoothed
them out across the flat of his desk to stare at them. If the answers were inside, they were obscure
enough the Albus hadn’t recognised them. Yet, his search had to begin somewhere. While Albus
was one of the greatest Wizards of their time, he was neither omnipotent nor infallible. There was a
chance, however slim, that Albus might have missed something and because of it, Severus would
be able to save her.

It was an appealing thought and not in the least because such an act might make him feel deserving
of her love. Severus didn’t allow himself to ruminate on that as he reached out and turned the first
page of the copied manuscript. Dark eyes scanned the cramped script, darting across the spidery
scrawl for anything mentioning either horcruxes or the soul. The more he read, though...
Severus sat back in his chair, staring off into space as he tried to digest what he’d learned. Because
the more he read, the more he began to comprehend the significance of the Dark Lord’s insanity. It
was unconscionable. Every moment leading up to this point, Severus had underestimated how deep
the poison ran. Tom Riddle was profoundly unwell; his unfortunate intellect only compounding his
psychosis. Even Salazar Slytherin had thought to warn those reading his manuscript to take caution
and yet—

‘He made not one horcrux, but seven,’ Severus wondered.

Seven separate pieces. Seven different vessels to house a soul so warped that it no longer
resembled anything recognisable as human and now amongst it all Rosalie, bound irrevocably to
the final piece with no clear path forward. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, mind whirring.
How was he meant to rectify this catastrophe that would rip Rosalie Potter from this world and into
the next?

He wasn’t. That was the point.

Severus marvelled at the Dark Lord’s sick cunning. Killing another being was unquestionably
more difficult than destroying a mere artefact—undoubtedly his very goal. What safer vessel was
there than the body of an innocent child? Who wouldn’t baulk at destroying a fragment of his soul
when it was bound irrevocably to its living host? Because the only known means of destroying a
horcrux was through the destruction of the vessel that housed it. It was monstrous; Severus didn’t
know why he was surprised. A horcrux, already the Darkest of magic, made indubitably Darker—
when a murder created it and only a murder would see its end.

In that respect, however, surely his logic began to fail him? How did it make sense for the Dark
Lord to have chosen to make his horcrux out of someone he’d long been hell-bent on seeing
eliminated when keeping her alive ensured his very survival? Why turn Rosalie Potter into a
horcrux in the first place when she was prophesized to bring about his end?

Unless, of course, he didn’t know...

‘And he can never find out,’ Severus realised, knowing that without somehow destroying the
horcrux inside his lover, they would never be free of the Dark Lord. Already, the Dark Lord was
too close to the truth. It had taken many years for the Dark Lord to fully realise the extent of the
connection between his mind and Rosalie Potter’s, but the connection was there, perhaps even
obvious once all the pieces of the puzzle were laid bare. Yet, the Dark Lord had merely attributed
their connection to a phenomenon created by her survival of the killing curse. The link between
their minds was like none other, except perhaps—
‘Nagini,’ Severus thought abruptly as the snake’s significance became clear. The Dark Lord’s
connection with the snake every bit as unnatural as his connection with Rosalie and surely no
coincidence in light of what he now knew, ‘The snake is a horcrux.’

The possibilities opened up before him.

If they could acquire it, he could test his theories on the snake. Or perhaps, instead of destroying
the piece of soul inside of Rosalie, they could draw it out of her and reconnect it to the fractured
piece inside Nagini? Then, they’d need only to kill the snake... Of course, he would still need to
figure out a way to safely withdraw the horcrux from Rosalie’s body and cleave it from where it
clung to her like a parasite, which in itself presented perhaps the larger issue. The only method of
soul removal he had ever encountered was by way of Dementor, which was a fate worse than death
and not something he could even bring himself to consider subjecting Rosalie too, not least because
he didn’t know what happened to the soul once it was extracted. Yet, clearly, the soul was in itself
a tangible concept if one could fracture it in the first place?

With time and patience, perhaps access to a Dementor...and Nagini to test his theories on...?

It was a lot to risk—perhaps more than he was truly willing—and yet, Severus knew if he began to
doubt himself before he’d even begun, then all hope was lost. He had nothing more to lose by
trying and everything to gain by finding the answers.

‘I love you.’

He shut his eyes tightly as he whispered confession echoed through him. Her soft voice and gentle
touch as she trembled against him afterwards while he—struck mute by the heavy weight of the
secret he harboured from her—could not bring himself to reply in kind though his love for her
resonated in every ounce of his being.

Salazar, how he loved her...

He would find a way.

*
Dumbledore knocked twice on the door before him and cautiously turned the handle, “My boy,” he
sighed as he took in the figure hunched single-mindedly over the desk before him, “do you quite
realise the time?”

Severus looked up distractedly from his work, “Albus—”

“You’ve missed your afternoon classes,” Albus chided gently as he came to a stop over the desk
and rest his healthy hand on the man’s shoulder, “Indeed, dinner has long since concluded and it is
now well into the evening.”

“I see,” Severus replied carefully, surprised that he’d become so engrossed in his work that he’d
been able to neglect the passing of time and the weight of his responsibilities, “I apologise, I’d not
noticed the time.”

Albus looked down at the multitude of texts lying open across the man’s desk, “You are
conducting research on Miss Potter’s predicament.”

Severus stared blankly back at the man before him, “Did you really expect that I wouldn’t?”

“No. No, of course not,” Albus sighed, “Indeed, I hold out every hope that you have more success
than I in finding a solution. You have my full support, Severus. I hope you realise that whilst I have
come to terms with the inevitability of Miss Potter’s necessary demise, I am by no means
comfortable with it.”

“I am unable to look on upon the situation with the same level of equanimity,” Severus replied
tersely.

“No, you have rather more at stake,” Albus agreed.

“More than I believed possible. Albus, I—” Severus sighed, cutting himself off abruptly.

“I quite understand,” Albus replied with a small smile, “I too was once faced with the very real
possibility of losing a lover under the most extreme of circumstances. I admit, our situation was
quite different, but perhaps my fears were not so different from your own. We were at war then
too.”

Severus eyed the headmaster thoughtfully, “What happened?”

“A death of a kind, I suppose,” Albus sighed, “The death of our relationship to be sure. Tragedy
and loss had befallen us long before I defeated Gellert Grindelwald in 1945 and saw him sentenced
to lifelong imprisonment for his crimes. Privately, after the fact and although many years had
passed since I’d last seen him, I mourned his loss all the same. I once loved him dearly. In many
ways, I love him still.”

Severus stared up at the Headmaster in surprise, “I never realised.”

Albus smiled, “It is not something that is widely known. Our relationship, brief though it was, was
a heady, intense courtship that saw me abandon all reason and sense for the good favour of a boy I
refused to see any fault in. He was fiercely intelligent and charismatic and I fell to infatuation
before I had the tools to deal with it. Needless to say, my lust almost sent me down a very dark
path I have spent my life atoning for. Any romantic inclination between us had fallen apart many
years before the fateful duel that would see him imprisoned. I had learnt to live without him by
then.”

Something pulled tight in Severus’ chest at the mere thought of ‘learning to live without’ Rosalie in
his life. Surely, there was nothing left to be learnt? He had lived without her all of his life but for
the few short months he had been able to call her his. Yet, the very thought of returning to the half-
life that he had been living before her... was unconscionable, “I cannot accept the same.”

“I do not mean to imply that you should, my boy,” Albus reassured him, “it pains me to see you
forced into these circumstances. I will see the reading material I have on the subject sent down. I
do, however, expect you back in the classroom tomorrow, Severus.”

Severus nodded, “Of course.”

“It’s late. Perhaps you’ve done enough for one day?” Albus told him gently, his hand descending
on Severus’ shoulder once more and squeezing, “Don’t waste what time remains to you both
locked away from one another. Go spend some time together.”
‘—while we still can,’ Severus finished internally, hating the implication of the Headmaster’s
words. Hating that whatever ‘faith’ the Headmaster held in the situation, he still believed that
Rosalie Potter would die. Sneering, Severus shrugged off the hand that remained upon his shoulder
and stood at his desk, “Indeed. You’ll excuse me then while I take a moment or two to return my
desk to sorts.”

Albus inclined his head, “Naturally, my boy, I understand perfectly.”

Severus avoided the Headmaster’s gaze as Albus turned and headed for the door, choosing instead
to grasp at the paperwork on his desk, shuffling the reams of parchment into haphazard piles of no
significance beyond the purpose of providing him with a task to busy his hands. The door to his
office swung shut and Severus counted to ten, letting the Headmaster’s presence recede from the
room as he allowed himself one slow measured breath. Then, impotent rage brewing inside of him,
he picked up a glass paperweight from his desk—a gift from Albus—and hurled it against the wall.

“Things are...back to normal then?” Hermione asked several days later as Rosalie was blasting
dummy targets back and forth across the room with a brutal kind of accuracy. They both winced as
a particularly violent Reducto! reduced one of the targets into a fine pile of ash: “You’re definitely
getting better at that.”

Rosalie glanced at her, “What do you mean by normal?”

“You and Professor Snape,” Hermione clarified as she waved her wand over the pile of ash,
banishing it when it refused to reform, “After your argument over our trip to the library and then
Remus finding out...things are, alright?”

Rosalie nodded, lowering her new wand, “Yes—we talked and things are fine.”

Hermione frowned, “But?”

Rosalie shrugged, “But nothing.”

Hermione gave her a pointed look, “I know you, Rose. The last couple of days you've been
preoccupied with something. I can tell something is bothering you.”

Rosalie sighed, waving her wand so that the training dummies pinging back and forth across the
room fell still, “I...I told him I loved him.”

“Oh,” Hermione gasped, “Oh, wow—Rose, that’s huge!”

Rosalie nodded, “He didn’t say it back.”

Hermione sighed and pulled her friend into a hug. Rosalie clutched at her friend, her face buried in
the plumes of Hermione’s curls as they embraced one another fiercely, “He cares for you. Merlin,
anyone who cares to look can see that! Maybe he’s just not ready to say the words?”

“I get that,” Rosalie agreed, releasing her friend with a heavy sigh, “and he wasn’t a git about it
when I told him...”

Hermione nodded encouragingly, “So?”

“I guess I’m just upset that I’ve made things awkward between us. I thought once we were moved
here I’d see more of him, which I guess I do since he spends his nights here,” Rosalie admitted,
heat filling her cheeks at the admission, “but he’s working late every evening, so late that I’m
sometimes asleep when he comes to bed and he’s up just as early every morning—and Merlin,
listen to me, I sound like a whiny nag! He’s busy, I know, it just feels like he’s avoiding me.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, “I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s got a lot on his plate and this is the
first time you’ve been together whilst he’s here, working. Usually, you have him all to yourself.
Perhaps he is just busy.”

“Yeah,” Rosalie sighed, “You’re probably right.”

“You should talk to him.”

Rosalie shrugged, “I don’t know how. I don’t want to make things weirder.”

Hermione nodded, pulling her over to the couches that had been pushed to one side in the corner of
the room. The sat down facing one another, Rosalie’s legs folded underneath her as the sunk into
the softness of the cushion, “You’ve been bottling this up, haven’t you? You can talk to me about
anything, Rose, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Rosalie sighed heavily and dropped her head into her hands, “Because I feel guilty enough as it is
with how much time I spend thinking about him. He’s all I think about some days until I remember
there is a war going on, one that I’m an integral part of and it’s selfish of me to be spending so
much of my time an energy fretting over my love life.”

Hermione scoffed, “Don’t be silly. There is a limit to how much time we can spend focused on
You-Know-Who’s horcruxes—right now there isn’t anything we can do until Professor
Dumbledore decides it time to retrieve the cup. We’ve done everything we can up until this point
and you’ve been training with your new wand—you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Rosalie let her gaze drift out the windows, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“You know I am,” Hermione insisted.

“I’ve just...never felt this way about anyone before,” Rosalie admitted again after a moment, “I am
completely and utterly in love with Severus Snape and it feels so amazing and wonderful on one
hand and on the other, I feel lost and vulnerable because what if he’s never ‘ready’?”

“I can’t imagine that ever being the case,” Hermione insisted, “You forget, I’ve seen the two of
you together. That man loves you, Rose.”

Rosalie shook her head as she plucked nervously at a loose thread in the couch stitching, “I hope
so. Emotional vulnerability is not something that comes easily—”

“To anyone,” Hermione agreed, reaching out to clasp her friend's hand, “Stay strong in your
convictions and let him grow comfortable in the certainty of your love. You’ve already put yourself
out there; now make him believe that you meant it. Show him that you’re willing to wait for him to
make the same leap of faith.”
“So basically you’re telling me to stop stewing on the things that aren’t broken and focus on
moving forward,” Rosalie replied wryly.

“I’m saying that you don’t need words to know that Severus Snape loves you,” Hermione told her
fervently, “He may not be effusive, but for someone as controlled and reserved as Snape, the very
fact that he doesn’t hide his affection for you in front of others is akin to shouting it from the
rooftops. Show him that the words don’t matter.”

Rosalie stared at her friend in awe, “You’re right.”

Hermione returned Rosalie’s gaze steadily and squeezed the hand trapped in hers.

“Merlin, Hermione, you’re so right,” Rosalie laughed breathlessly, pulling her friend into a rib-
crushing hug, “I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she pulled back, “Stop being so dramatic.”

The fireplace crackled to life, green flames flaring to life out of nothing as the floo was activated
and together they turned to watch as the Headmaster stepped into the room, straightening up to
smile at them both in greeting, “Ah! Miss Potter, Miss Granger, just the two women I was looking
for.”

“Professor,” Rosalie greeted in surprise, rising to her feet to greet him, “We weren’t expecting
you.”

“Forgive my intrusion,” Albus waved her back into her seat as he crossed the room to join them,
peering around the common room at the various training dummies set up at different points,
“You’ve been hard at work, I see. How are you coming along with your new wand?”

“Very well, sir,” Rosalie replied, as she sunk back into her seat with a quick curious glance to
Hermione who’d straightened herself in her seat, “I use it now almost exclusively.”

“Wonderful,” Albus nodded his head, “It can take time to learn the measure of a new wand. I,
myself, acquired my own wand later in life—learning the instinct of one’s second wand is both a
challenging and rewarding endeavour.”
Rosalie nodded at a loss as she looked across to the Headmaster, “Was there something you
needed, Professor?”

Albus gazed at them both for a moment, his gaze assessing, before waving his wand over the small
coffee table between them, summoning a tray of tea and biscuits.

“I believe the time has come for us to retrieve the Hufflepuff Cup,” Albus began without preamble
as he took up the teapot from the tray and began pouring them each a portion of the hot beverage,
“I will need you—both of you, if you feel comfortable, Miss Granger—to accompany me this
Friday to Little Hangleton.”

“This Friday?” Hermione breathed. Speak of the devil and he shall appear—had they not only just
been speaking about the Headmaster and the Hufflepuff Cup?

Albus nodded, peering at her over the rim of his spectacle, “If you wish not to accompany us, my
dear, you need not feel obliged.”

“I want to come,” Hermione insisted.

Albus nodded and passed her a cup of tea, “While I hope to avoid a confrontation at the property, it
would be negligent not to be prepared for such an eventuality. There are wards surrounding the
house and Tom will likely feel them fall.”

“I understand,” Hermione replied firmly, accepting the cup from him a taking a slow sip.

Rosalie watched her friend closely, taking in the resolute expression on her face, “Friday evening,
sir?”

“Professor McGonagall will be able to look after the school in my absence should any issues arise
and our presence will not be unduly missed. It felt like the most prudent time to go,” Albus agreed,
passing Rosalie her own cup of tea, “No doubt, you will both be very happy to learn that once we
have the cup, we will have accounted for all seven horcruxes. Indeed, just this morning I was able
to locate and safely retrieve Ravenclaw’s Diadem here within the castle.”

“You have Ravenclaw’s Diadem? It was at Hogwarts this whole time?” Hermione gasped in
surprise, “Have you destroyed it, sir?”
Albus shook his head, “I have not. Once we have retrieved the cup they can be destroyed together.”

“At Stonehenge, Professor?” Rosalie questioned.

Albus shook his head, “That is no longer necessary. They can be safely destroyed within the walls
of Hogwarts—the wards are strong enough to withstand the backlash of power and by that point, it
will no longer matter that might Tom Riddle know where you are.”

Rosalie nodded feeling a chill work its way down her spine.

“What of the two remaining horcruxes?” Hermione asked, “Won’t he realise that we’re on to him?”

Albus inclined his head, “Alas, by that point it will no longer matter as there will be nothing Tom
can do to prevent the inevitable. The final two horcruxes are both hiding in plain sight, although
may prove to be significantly more challenging to destroy; however, we can focus on them once
Friday is behind us.”

Rosalie swallowed thickly as the reality of what the Headmaster was really saying settled in the pit
of her stomach. Once they had the cup, all bets were off. Voldemort would know what they were
up to and immediately set out to ensure the safety of his other horcruxes. One by one he would find
those that he could get to gone and realise that he had been out-manoeuvred. What choice
remained then but to confront the threat head-on or retreat? With no more horcruxes left to make he
would be forced to search for another solution, but what other solution was there? He was
committed to staying the course. They all were.

Rosalie shivered, “It’s almost time, isn’t it?”

The look of compassion in the Headmaster’s eyes was almost more than she could bear, “We are
approaching the final days, yes.”

Merlin, she wasn’t ready.

Fear gripped her with sudden, bursting clarity.

A small hand reached out and gripped hers in a white-knuckled grip and Rosalie looked up into
Hermione’s determined brown eyes, “We can do this, Rose. You can do it. I know it.”

Rosalie nodded, “Okay.”

“I have every faith in you, Rosalie. When the time comes I know you will have the strength to do
what is necessary for the greater good,” Albus agreed gently, “because of your efforts, the
wizarding world will one day prosper again.”

“Let’s just focus on the cup,” Rosalie replied with a brisk nod, “I’ll think about the rest later.”

Friday arrived at once too quickly and with a tedious dragging inevitability that left Rosalie taut
with high-strung impatience. Left to stew, she felt snappish and anxious, unable to settle on a task
other than training for any length of time before her mind began to wander to the task before them.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that beyond this, Albus expected things to quickly come to a head,
the culmination of the past seven years of her life reaching its final conclusion. It was only the first
week of October, yet Albus had told her that he didn’t expect that they’d still be fighting come
November.

Three weeks.

Three weeks to find and destroy four more horcruxes.

Three weeks to decide the fate of the Wizarding World.

Three weeks and she might be dead.

Three weeks and they might be free.

Rosalie grabbed the floo powder from the mantle and threw a fistful into the flames, “Severus
Snape’s Quarters.”

She was disobeying direct orders, but she’d seen so little of Severus in the preceding days that
somehow, despite what she thought he’d have to say on the subject, the risk seemed worth it. As
she spun through the short floo network connecting the floo in their common room to the floo in
his private rooms she realised she didn’t care. She needed to speak with him, she needed to hold
him. Rolling over in the middle of the night to find him curled up in the bed beside her only for
him to be long-absent by the time morning brightened the room wasn’t enough. She wasn’t content
to let this linger between them like it had or for him to avoid her. She didn’t need him to love her in
return, she just needed him to be there, to be present and whole and to make her feel less alone.

“Severus?” She called as she stepped out on to the hearthrug of what she presumed to be his living
quarters. The whole room smelt like him, warm and comforting and Rosalie allowed herself a
moment to close her eyes and simply inhale, “Severus? Are you here?”

She heard the sound of a door opening and closing, clipped footsteps approaching, and then:
“Rosalie? What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have left the tower, the Headmaster—”

Rosalie opened her eyes slowly and looked at him, “I needed to see you.”

Severus hesitated before her, his eyes dark as he reached out to cup her elbow, “Has something
happened?”

Rosalie stepped into his embrace, her arms circling his waist as she pressed her cheek into his
chest. His arms immediately lifted to encircle her, his strength encompassing her as one hand
settling low on the nape of her neck and the other kept her pressed tightly against him.

“It feels like you’ve been gone for days,” she muttered against him, words muffled by the press of
his chest, “I’m sorry if I’ve contributed to that in any way, I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” Severus questioned, his tone gratifyingly surprised, “I’ve hardly been avoiding
you, Rose. I’ve been occupied researching the... ‘difficult truth’ I mentioned. I’m trying to find a
way to circumvent it, but it’s proving challenging. Time-consuming, too, it would seem.”

Rosalie nodded, pulling back far enough to look up at him, “Dumbledore came to speak with us a
couple of days ago.”

Severus nodded encouragingly, his dark eyes quiet as he smoothed her hair back from her face, his
thumb reaching out to trace the edge of her jaw, “About?”

“He’s taking us to retrieve the next artefact,” Rosalie told him, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Severus repeated tightly, “and you didn’t think to say something until now?”

“When exactly was I meant to have said something? You’re never there, Severus,” Rosalie huffed
pulling away from him, “Some nights the only reason I know you’ve even come home is that I
wake to find you sleeping next to me in the middle of the night. Should I have awoken you? Was I
meant to rob you of what little sleep you’ve been getting to—?”

“Rosalie,” Severus soothed her, reaching out to draw her back into him, “You’re right, I apologise.
Go on?”

She looked up at him, his dark gaze searching hers, pulling at the distress inside of her until it
threatened to come unravelled. Rosalie looked down at their clasped hands, twisting hers in his
grasp until she could lace their fingers together, “Once this is done—if the Dark Lord finds out...I
—”

Severus squeezed her hand briefly, a frown marring his face, “Is the Dark Lord likely to find out?”

Rosalie shrugged.

“Maybe? Probably. There are wards surrounding the property we’re going to. Dumbledore thinks
he will feel them fall and then—well, there is only one reason any of us would be there and then
he’ll know,” Rosalie looked up at him, wondering if she was making any sense at all, “Once he
knows... Merlin—there won’t be much anyone can do but wait for the fallout. Dumbledore thinks
the war will be all over by the end of October! That’s only three weeks away. I should be happy, I
know, but I’m terrified that I’ll fail or that I won’t live to see the end of it and—”

Her breath hitched and Severus pulled her in against him urgently. Strong hands stroked through
her hair and Rosalie let herself crumble, silent tears filling her eyes and soaking into the wool of
Severus robes. It was too soon—much too soon—and despite the hours she’d spent training for
this very moment to come, she felt ill-prepared for the task that awaited her: to kill the Dark Lord;
to be responsible for the fate of the Wizarding World. She felt woefully ill-equipped for such a
responsibility and yet, she had always known it would come to this. There was no other possible
outcome. Her life had been building to this moment since the night Voldemort had chosen to mark
her as his equal thus ensuring the prophecy Trelawney had spoken would come to fruition. She just
never expected she would stand to have so much to lose—a scruffy little orphan with no one who
loved her and no one to love now had a life, a family and a partner whom she loved fiercely.

Tilting her head back, she found Severus’ mouth with her own and pressed her lips to his though
her cheeks were still wet and her breath uneven.

“Shh,” Severus soothed her softly, his hand cupping her face as he smeared the wetness beneath
her eyes into her cheek. Even as he calmed her though, she could tell that he wasn’t unaffected by
the news and it only made her want to cling to him harder as the reality of their situation reared its
ugly head. There was no assurance that either of them would come out of the coming weeks
unscathed, not in the least because she was expected to take on a man who had first risen to power
before she was even born.

“Make love to me? Severus, please—”

He didn’t hesitate, lowering his head to hers again to take her mouth in a kiss that left her
breathless and wanting. She clutched at him desperately, hands cupping his face and drawing him
in as she gave herself over to him, lips parting to grant him access into her mouth, her life, her
body, her soul. There was no part of her that didn’t belong to this man and she wanted him to know
it, to feel that should he wish it, nothing need stand between them.

His hands were on her waist, clutched in her clothing, his fingertips curling into the small of her
back as he exhaled her name on a sigh, “Rosalie.”

‘Yes,’ she thought, reaching up on her toes to chase his lips, feeling the first stirrings of his
burgeoning hardness between the desperate press of their bodies, ‘Just like this.’

Rosalie loosened the buttons on his teaching robes, pushing the heavy garment from his shoulders
to puddle on the floor around their feet, “I love you. Severus.”

Severus moaned, his brows twitching together with a tortured need as his hands found purchase
beneath her thighs, hoisting her up into his arms so she could curl her legs about his waist,
“Hearing you say that...”
“I know,” Rosalie hushed gently, hands clasped around the back of her neck as she brought their
lips back together.

He carried her into his bedroom, his grip both strong and sure as he guided them through his rooms
until, with one arm a tight band about her middle, he braced one knee against the end of his
mattress and lowered them both gently into the centre of his bed. Rosalie gazed up at him as he
settled her against the pillows, revelling in his strength and the scent of him enveloping her as she
sunk back into the softness his bed and the depths of his steady gaze. She wanted to drown in that
gaze, to soak in the look he was giving her, dark and tumultuous—possessive—like he understood
that she was his, that she’d always been his.

His hand parted her thighs as he settled into the cradle of her hips, his body warm—vital—above
her.

She keened and arched her back as a warm hand slipped under her shirt, pushing the soft material
up her body, baring her abdomen to his warm gaze as he lowered his mouth to her skin. Her
stomach jumped at the brush of his mouth, hyperaware and primed for his touch as he kissed his
way up the taut line of her abdomen, “Oh...”

Rosalie allowed her fingers to rake into his hair, keeping him against her, enjoying the passage of
his mouth up over her body, between her breasts, over her chest.

“I want to feel every inch of you,” He rumbled, coaxing her up off the bed, voice like dark
chocolate as they peeled her shirt from her body, her bra following. His hands cupped her breasts,
thumb plucking over her nipple and Rosalie moaned, turning into him as they collapsed back
against the pillows. She turned damp lips toward him, nosing against his temple and mouthing a
breathy kiss against the sharp edge of his cheek as he kissed her neck, her throat, her jaw. Rosalie
wrapped her arms around him, crossing them over the back of his neck as she basked in the feel of
him, the closeness, the tender worshipful way her skin lit up at every point they connected. Her
heart was all but fluttering in her chest, a heady, unsteady gallop of want and need and Severus.

“Yes, yes...” She agreed breathlessly, arching against him, moaning at the hardness she could feel
trapped between them. She rolled her hips against it, enjoying the way his breath hitched, “Please.”

Her mind was a haze of lust, love as they divested themselves of their clothing, rolling across the
bed in a tumble of limbs until they were naked and clinging to one another. She ended up on her
hands and knees, Severus behind her as reverent hands pushed the hair away from the back of her
neck, lips trailing kisses in their wake across the line of her shoulder and neck. Rosalie shivered. It
should have felt impersonal, propped up on all fours, faced away from the man she loved, but
instead—as she arched her back and pressed back into him, relishing in the feeling of him
blanketing her, one hand tangled with hers beneath the pillows as the other slid up her flank—all
she felt was cherished.

His breath was heavy on her neck, his chest pressed flush with her back as she reached up to tangle
her finger into his hair.

“So beautiful,” he rumbled darkly, stretching to meet her lips.

Rosalie kissed him, moaning softly at the hot length of his erection where it hung wet against her
inner thigh, “We are. You and me...”

She felt his hips pull back, separating them briefly as the tip of his cock came to nudge at her
entrance, parting her wetness. He kissed the back of her neck, “Rose...”

Rosalie sobbed as he joined them, hips tilting backwards to receive him as he banded an arm
around her waist, his other still thrust beneath the pillow, their fingers threading as they clasped at
one another—“Uh!”

She trembled beneath him, breath coming in unsteady pants as she squeezed his hand.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, his voice soft against her ear as the hand about her waist began
making slow soothing circles beneath her belly-button.

“Yes,” she breathed, voice wavering, “Just... stay like this a moment?”

Severus nodded, his hand keeping up the soothing motion as he kissed his way slowly down her
neck and shoulders, “As long as you need.”

Merlin. What did it matter that he hadn’t said the words when she could feel his love
encompassing her, moving through her, holding her? She could feel his length throbbing inside of
her, delaying his own need as he soothed her gently, cradling her against his body as she fought to
calm the emotional upheaval in her body. Her heart felt full to bursting, violent affection and need
clawing at her to never let him go.
Gently, she pressed back into him, clenched around him as she turned her head to glance back at
him through shuttered eyes. Severus moaned and immediately rolled his hips against her, grinding
himself inside her sweetly as Rosalie felt her breath catch, lips parting on a silent gasp.

“Yes?”

Rosalie nodded and slowly they began to move, bodies grinding hopelessly as he worked himself
inside of her tightness, her body clutching at him rhythmically as he pressed deep—so deep—
desperate to keep him inside of her. Rosalie let her eyes flutter closed, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

His grip on her was possessive, his palm fit once more to the swell of her hip, the tip of his nose
cold where it brushed against the shell of her ear. His mouth hot, his body slick with sweat, but it
was the sound of him moaning, the stuttering of his hips as he moved against her—with her—that
had her huffing out her own pleasure, sweeping her hair off of her neck irritably as she pressed back
into him as he gasped: “Rosalie...”

Rosalie felt her heart swell, an exquisite pleasure that had little to do with their heaving bodies
rattling through her, “Severus!”

Rosalie felt herself begin to tighten around him, every thrust inside of her pulling her closer to the
edge, drawing down, building, building inside of her as he reached down and found her clitoris with
his fingers, “Oh—”

“N-not yet,” She reached back and gripped his thigh, “Not—I want to look at you, Severus, I—”

Rosalie pulled away from him, feeling his heavy length slide out of her as she rolled beneath him.
His gaze was dark and wild, thick with need as she reached for him, arms encircling his neck as her
legs fell open.

“Salazar,” He breathed as he immediately settled over her, hand reaching down to widen the
spread of her thighs as he guided himself back into silken heat and thrusting home, he buried
himself to the hilt.

Rosalie gasped, fingertips dancing across his neck, eyes fluttering as she looked up at him and then
—she couldn’t look away. She couldn’t take her gaze off his dark eyes, the crease of concentration
between his brows or the high flush on his cheeks. His face, so familiar and dear to her, handsome
in a way she knew others couldn’t appreciate, was rapturous as he made love to her. Reaching
down she joined the fingers, drawing his gaze back to her own as she arched into him, lifting her
legs to twine about his waist. He kissed her then, long, deep, needy kisses that stole her breath and
smeared heat across her face as they panted into one another’s mouths through ebb and flow of his
hips.

“I’m close,” she breathed, canting her hips into his to deepen the penetration, “Severus...O-oh,
Merlin...”

His hand snuck between them, thumb pressing down over her clit as he thrust himself into her slick
channel and Rosalie felt her walls begin to contract around him as her orgasm began. She cried out
as it washed over her, pulling in tight, her body constricting around him, drawing in as it began to
coalesce into a single, bright, brilliant point of need in her centre that made he her body quake and
tremble as it hit a fevered pitch before bursting out over her, flooding her with the rush of release as
she sobbed his name, “Severus!”

“Perfect,” he huffed, lips wet as his hips stuttered through the constriction of her pulsing channel,
grip white-knuckled around hers, until he came, throbbing inside of her, his release flooding out of
him on an audible groan as her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

“You’ll be careful?” he asked after a moment when their heartbeats had settled and the sweat was
cooling on their skin. She was still in his arms and she held on to him as he rolled them across the
wreck of his bed, her body still quaking as she came to rest against his chest. She pressed a kiss
against the skin beneath her mouth.

“I’ll be careful,” She agreed as she tilted her head back to look up at him. His gaze was serious
—worried, she realised—and so she soothed her hand over his chest and down his side until it was
wrapped around him, “I promise.”

“The Headmaster...” Severus began haltingly, the words seemingly torn from his chest against his
will.

Rosalie nodded, prompting: “Yes?”

“The Headmaster may well have his own goals...” Severus continued only to trail off again with a
shake of his head, “You have good instincts. Ensure that you use them.”

Rosalie frowned, looking up at him questioningly, “I will.”

Severus shook his head again, his hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her
lips as he lent down and pressed his mouth to hers. Rosalie sighed into him, her arms reaching up
to encircle his neck again as they kissed softly, her body pressed tightly to his, “Last time he
whisked you away like this, Albus returned with you half dead and fading fast. I have no wish to
repeat the experience.”

“This won’t be like that,” Rosalie assured him, “We’re taking back-up.”

“Lupin?” Severus scoffed.

Rosalie nodded, “and Hermione.”

“Hardly what I’d call ‘back-up’,” Severus sniffed.

“It’s more than we had last time,” Rosalie pointed out, “The fewer people who know about this,
the better—for everyone’s sake.”

Severus hummed, his agreement noncommittal.

“What’s the time? I have to go,” Rosalie whispered against his lips, kissing him softly once before
rolling out of his arms. Severus released her, watching as she slipped off the mattress and began
assembling her clothes. She grimaced softly as she performed a hasty cleansing charm and then
dressed swiftly, pulling on her underwear and pants she looked up at the man still lounging naked
across his bed, “You’ll be here? When we get back?”

“Provided I am not summoned,” Severus agreed.

Rosalie nodded, hesitating at the end of the bed, “Okay, then.”

Severus nodded, “Go.”

 *

“There are wards surrounding the outer perimeter of the property, but they are basic at best. A
deterrent mostly, something to keep the muggles wandering too near,” Lupin explained, “I couldn’t
get closer without tripping the initial ward to sense more, but there is almost certainly a secondary
layer of protection if that is all that is protecting the perimeter.”

Albus nodded, “Indeed. I would expect nothing less.”

Remus nodded absently, letting his gaze stray to where Rosalie was chatting quietly with a nervous
looking Hermione. They were both dressed in dark clothes, black jeans and dark sweaters that
would be difficult to spot in the gloom of the night. Not that Remus believed anyone would be
watching. Little Hangleton was an astonishingly muggle little town that despite its history, seemed
amazingly ignorant to the strange goings-on that occurred from time to time in the abandoned
manor house on the hill that overlooked the town. Perhaps it was some deeply buried sense of
survival that kept them both ignorant and alive?

“Albus, I’m not sure that bringing—” Remus cut himself off with a shake of his head.

“Rosalie has as much right as anyone to be here,” Albus reminded him, “Perhaps more.”

Remus looked at him, “And Hermione?”

“Has been involved in every step of the journey that led us here,” Albus pointed out calmly, “We
will watch out of her, naturally, but Miss Granger is an astonishingly capable witch, as I’m sure
you know, so I hardly think it will be necessary.”

Remus sighed with a shake of his head, “They are children.”

“No, Remus,” Albus replied firmly, “They are not.”

Remus bristled at the abrupt dismissal.

They apparated into Little Hangleton under the cover of night, arriving with a quiet pop in the
shadows of a cluster of trees no more than a couple of yards beyond the perimeter of the wards.
Riddle Manor loomed before them, a dark and imposing silhouette against the night, but was both
still and silent under their watchful eye as they spent a moment orientating themselves to their
surroundings.

“Basic indeed,” Albus agreed after a moment as he strode forward, hand outstretched as the
glimmer of wards that stood before them fell under the force of his will alone. Rosalie watched in
awe as it dropped like water released from a ruptured balloon, “The cup will be under heavy
protection, even if it appears to be exposed and vulnerable. Do not attempt to touch it before we
can determine that it is safe to do so.”

Rosalie nodded and shared a look with Hermione through the haze of darkness around them.
Remus’ hand on her back urged her forward and as a group, they crept their way around the back of
the house to the unwarded back door. The same door that Frank had taken unaware that it was
leading him to his death. Rosalie could only hope they weren’t making the same mistake as they
entered the grimy kitchen and she let her eyes stray over the familiar surroundings. It looked
exactly as it had in her dreams the night that Frank had passed through, hollow and echoing,
completely void of life. Dust caked the countertops and floors, carpeting the stone and muffling the
dull clap of their feet as they left tread marks in the powdered filth beneath their feet.

“It won’t be in here,” Rosalie said softly as she moved to stand beside the Headmaster, “The
kitchen holds no significance for him.”

“The kitchen is considered by many to be the heart of the home,” Albus pointed out neutrally.

“This is a manor home,” Rosalie argued back, with a small shake of her head, “The Riddle’s would
have had servants who worked here. There is nothing of significance in here to have attracted the
Dark Lord’s attention.”

Albus inclined his head, “Perhaps you are right. Where would you look then?”

Rosalie pressed her lips together as she thought of her answer, “The drawing room, where the
Riddle’s bodies were discovered. Or upstairs—where he plotted his rebirth.”

Albus nodded, “Then let us make our way to the drawing room.”
Out the door and down the hall, Rosalie frowned as she retraced Frank’s steps, past the front door
and the mullioned windows either side. Moonlight streamed into the hall, dappling across the floor
as they moved cautiously through the house.

“It’s so strange. I feel like I’m having the strangest sense of Déjà vu,” Hermione whispered as they
passed the foot of the staircase and paused to glance up into the relative darkness of the second
level, “I keep feeling like at any moment Frank is going to come lumbering around the corner and
up the stairs to his end. Or worse... that snake.”

Rosalie nodded, “I know. It’s definitely weird. You don’t have to worry though, You-Know-Who
isn’t here, trust me I’d know.”

Hermione nodded, “I suppose you would.”

The door to the drawing room stood open and—disconcertingly—unwarded. Rosalie felt her breath
catch as she followed the Headmaster across the threshold, wooden floorboards creaking
underneath their weight as they edged into the room, their eyes roving hungrily over their
surroundings. She could feel the residual thrum of Dark magic rattling its way down her spine,
raising hairs on the back of her neck as she scanned her surroundings. It was here. It had to be.

Large windows overlooked the front of the house, moonlight and a thick coat of dust leeching the
room of colour, bleaching everything a pallid blue. There was a fireplace against the far wall, its
hearth long since turned cold underneath the elaborate mantle that bracketed it. On the floor, at its
feet, half a bird’s nest lay in pieces where some unfortunate bird had tried to nest in the flue.

“There isn’t much in here,” Hermione pointed out as she examined a small cabinet filled with
knickknacks.

Rosalie scuffed her foot along the thin, moth-eaten Oriental rug that lay in the centre of the room.
A settee and two gentleman’s chairs that had both seen better days sat elegantly arranged in front of
the mantle.

“It’s here,” Rosalie insisted, though where she wasn’t sure, “I feel like I can feel the presence of his
magic in the room...”

“Indeed?” Albus replied looking intrigued.

“Is it possible it’s been hidden beneath the house?” Remus asked as he tested his weight over a
couple of loose floorboards, feeling the creak and groan beneath his shifting weight.

Rosalie shut her eyes, breathing in deep as she focused on locating the source of the magic that
resonated within her.

When she opened them she was staring at the mantelpiece. Her eyes drifted upwards, above the
ornately carved ledge of the mantel, to a Muggle painting that sat perfectly positioned over the
fireplace. It looked old, painted in oil with the distinct pattern of craquelure layering the image
beneath a thick border of grime that topped of the canvas. It was a fairly mundane scene, the
background steeped in shadows of muted browns and blacks, drawing the viewers focus to the
pristine spread of a white tablecloth and the still-life that had been artfully arranged on top. The
table was bursting with colour, a flood of fruit spilling across the table from an upturned woven
basket: the full red of plump grapes, the yellow-green sheen of an apple streaked with red, plums
and figs and a pomegranate that been cracked open so that its weeping centre lay exposed.

And then...

There on the table, sitting innocuously behind the fruit and set beside a full carafe of wine was a
golden goblet.

Rosalie felt her heart skip a beat.

“Sir?” she called hesitantly, her voice week with surprise.

Rosalie couldn’t pull her eyes away from what she was seeing, unwilling to let it leave her sight as
she cocked her head slightly and called over her shoulder again, “Professor? I think I found it...”

“Where is it?” Remus asked as he came to stand beside her, Hermione and Albus falling into place
at her back as they all stared up at the painting.

“Ah, yes, my dear,” Albus agreed, “Well done.”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t—”

 “Look,” Rosalie insisted, drawing her friend forward so that she could follow the line of her
shaking finger as she raised it to point out the goblet. There was no mistaking it. There on the table,
in the middle of a Muggle painting, was the Hufflepuff Cup, a badger engraved proudly on its
gleaming surface, “it’s inside the painting.”

Chapter End Notes

So this chapter is over 10k! I struggled with it, but I seem to feel that way about most
chapters recently. Severus originally softened enough to call her 'Darling' at one point,
but then I had to go back and re-write that whole passage because as much as Severus
is a changed man because of his relationship with Rosalie, I can't ever imagine him to
be the type of man who uses pet names or endearments. I even googled it, lol. What
do you think? It seemed out of character, so I left it out... Rosalie should probably be
thankful he doesn't insist on calling her 'Potter'.

Please let me know what you thought, I LOVE reading your comments :) They really
are fuel for my sluggish, stubborn muse!

I anticipate the next chapter being pretty action packed... ;)

 Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Notes

A/N: There is a ton of Voldemort in this one and it turns out I hate writing Voldemort.
Unfortunately, I comitted myself to the lisp in earlier chapters though #regret

Let me know what you think! Love it? Hate it? Hate Voldemort as much as I do? I
want to know your thoughts...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirty-Two

It happened in the space between heartbeats.

Hermione screamed and Rosalie reacted on instinct gripping the back of her friend’s jumper and
tugging as the thickly muscled body of a snake sprung at them from within the fireplace. Rosalie
gasped, twisting them out of the way, stumbling blindly backwards as the furious gaping maw of
the serpent snapped at them.

“Diffindo!” Rosalie hissed, her wand hand swinging upwards in a precise arc as she wrapped
Hermione up in a protective embrace. Her spell crackled through the air like electricity, the sharp
smell of ozone ringing in her ears as it struck home with a sizzling thwack that flung the serpent
backwards and neatly sliced its powerful body in two. It shrieked hideously, its coils writhing as it
fell to the ground in two pieces that hit with a wet thunk!
Rosalie could hear Hermione panting in stunned alarm, her grip on Rosalie’s forearm was white-
knuckled as she stared down at the snake that had come mere inches from sinking its fangs into her
face.

“W-was that Nagini?” Hermione stammered, practically rigid with fear.

“No,” Rosalie replied, eyeing the severed body of the snake cautiously, “He keeps Nagini close to
hand; he wouldn’t have abandoned her to this place.”

Rosalie looked up at the Headmaster and Remus as the two men stood, wands at the ready, staring
down at the scene on the floor.

“We must have triggered something,” Remus replied as he cast a critical gaze over the writhing
remains that lay on the floor, “We knew there would be protections.”

“I wasn’t expecting snakes—although I don’t know why I shouldn’t have when it’s clear he bloody
loves them,” Hermione breathed, slowly releasing the death-grip she had on Rosalie’s arm, “It
appeared out of nowhere...”

“From within the flue actually,” Albus noted as he cast a quizzical eye over the dormant fireplace,
“A unique method of protection albeit rather ineffective, it would seem.”

“Do you see that? It’s still alive,” Hermione jumped and skittered out of the way as the snake’s
thick body flopped nearer to her feet, “Perhaps you have to destroy its head? Both pieces are still
moving and—oh my...”

Both ends of the snake were knotted around each other, writhing, hissing in furious death throes,
only... it seemed, for the briefest moment, that perhaps the snake wasn’t dying at all. It was
regenerating, mending the wounded portion of its body as it coiled about itself.

“Most intriguing... your spell appears to have replicated the original snake,” Albus noted, as it
became apparent that there were now two snakes where before there had been only one. The snake
nearest the Headmaster’s feet lunged at him with a furious hiss and Rosalie watched as the
Headmaster batted it away wordlessly, wandlessly, sending it reeling back into the cold hearth with
an angry hiss, “I wonder...”
“He’s using a replication enchantment,” Remus said when, after a moment, they watched two
snakes emerge from within the hearth where only one hand entered, “We need to find some way of
destroying the original snake—”

“No,” Albus interrupted as he swung his wand in a powerful arc above his head and conjured a line
of fire that split across the room, crackling to life and separating them from the angry serpents at
their feet, now three apiece and each in turn as thick as a man’s arm, “It is a sound theory, Remus,
but we mustn’t lay waste to them. They are the key to retrieving the cup.”

“Professor?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“Venom, Miss Granger,” Albus replied with a small smile.

“Venom?” Hermione asked, more confused, “Surely you don’t mean...”

“I have to wonder if that isn’t exactly what Tom had in mind,” Albus agreed, “Some snake venom
has been known to induce hallucinations in wizarding-folk—hallucinations that allow you to see
beyond what one has been presented. It is a popular, albeit ancient, practice in some East Asian
wizarding cultures with families passing down their own uniquely designed antivenin from
generation to generation as a tightly guarded secret. No doubt Tom thought himself awfully clever
incorporating such rights into his protections. Nagini herself may have introduced him to such
rituals.”

“I don’t understand,” Rosalie said quietly, absently rubbing at her scar as it prickled under her skin,
“Are you suggesting that, to reach the cup—”

“—one must allow oneself to be bitten and poisoned with deadly venom. Yes,” Albus agreed,
“Venom that is likely intended to be fatal before one can flee with their prize.”

“Albus, you cannot be seriously considering this,” Remus cut in with an imploring tone and a
shake of his head, “Even if by some miracle you are right, we don’t know what kind of venom we
are dealing with or how long we would have to administer an antivenin before it is too late.”

“If that’s what we need to do to get the cup, what choice do we have, Remus?” Rosalie cut in
frowning up at the wolf, “If we leave now, we risk You-Know-Who finding out that we were here.
If he finds out he’ll move the cup and we may never get another chance at this.”
Albus nodded, “Rosalie is right, Remus.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, “Perhaps one of us should go and retrieve an antivenin first so
that we have it on hand?”

“We don’t even know what venom we’ll need to counteract,” Remus sighed as he began to pace.

“It will be Nagini’s venom;” Rosalie replied matter-of-factly, rubbing again at her forehead,
“Severus has the antivenin for it. I can apparate back to the castle—”

Remus shook his head, “No. I’ll go—”

“Enough, please,” Albus interjected, holding a hand up for silence, “Rosalie you will send your
Patronus to Severus asking him to gather his antivenin and meet us at the Hogwarts’ gates post-
haste. I will be the one to retrieve the cup. Once I have done so the serpents will likely disappear
and as a group, we will apparate to the school gates to meet Severus who will administer the
antivenin as required.”

“Albus,” Remus said doubtfully, “If something goes wrong...we are not ready to face this war
without you. If we don’t make it in time—if Snape is delayed...”

Albus smiled and placed his good hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, holding the blackened husk of
his other up between them tellingly, “No one else need take this risk when I am not long for this
world either way.”

Albus turned to Rosalie, “You have all the pieces now to finish this whether you are aware of it or
not; all will become clear to you soon. My dear, please know that I am ever so proud of everything
you have achieved and if there had been any other path for you, I would have found another way.”

Rosalie hesitated before nodding stiffly, “We will get you to the antivenin in time, sir. Hermione,
be ready to apparate with him the moment he has the cup. Remus and I will deal with whatever
fallout remains.”

Hermione nodded reluctantly.

Looking away Rosalie summoned her Patronus, a smile coming unbidden to her face as the great
stag stalked regally into the room, “Prongs, take this message to Severus: ‘We need your strongest
antivenin. The school gates. Hurry.’”

“Very well,” Albus said with a nod, “If there—”

Rosalie cried out suddenly as she slapped her palm to her forehead in response to her scar igniting
into sudden, blistering agony. She clamped down on her Occlumency shields, reinforcing her
defences as the skin beneath her palm grew hot and wet with blood.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione breathed as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder,
supporting her as she fought her way back from the pain, “He knows...Are you okay? Rosalie?”

“We must act swiftly,” Albus hastened, “Time is of the essence.”

Rosalie nodded, biting back the pain as she looked up at the Headmaster, “I’m okay. We’re ready,
sir.”

The minute the containment line was broken, the nearest snake struck, lunging forward to latch
onto the headmaster’s leg with an angry his. The older man grunted, stumbling under the pain of
the bite as he instinctively tried to jerk free.

Remus lurched forwards instinctively, “Albus?”

Albus held up a staying hand, “I’m... quite alright. Stay back.”

“Is it working?” Rosalie asked.

The Headmaster turned his head to glance up at the canvas on the wall, “Not yet.”

“Merlin,” Remus breathed, his hand going to his face to rub over his temples.
“Just give it a moment, Remus,” Rosalie cautioned.

Tense moments passed as Albus swayed on his feet, gazing around dazedly as the three of them
looked on anxiously. Rosalie blotted at her weeping scar uselessly as blood trickled its way down
the side of her face. Beside her, Hermione was wringing her hands.

“Albus?” Remus called again, “Enough. Call it off, if it was going to work it would have by now
—”

The heralding crack! of someone apparating nearby interrupted the werewolf midspeech, followed
quickly by another and then another, followed by two more in quick succession. Rosalie, Hermione
and Remus shared a grim look, the burning sensation in Rosalie’s scar intensifying, despite the
fortification of her Occlumency shields. Rosalie felt her stomach lurch.

“It’s him,” She whispered urgently, “He’s here. I can feel him.”

Hermione went white with fear.

“Get the cup,” Rosalie said firmly, giving Remus a hard look, “We get the cup and we get out.”

“Albus!” Remus called in a hushed tone.

“I can see it,” Albus slurred as he stumbled forward on unsteady legs. There was a trail of blood
splattering the ground in his wake, smearing off of the bottom of his shoe as he lurched forward,
reaching for the painting with a shaking hand that couldn’t quite reach the mark.

“Rose...” Hermione moaned as they heard the squeak of old hinges—a door swinging open
somewhere in the house.

Remus pulled out his wand, breaching the containment line in swift wand strokes as he came up
alongside the Headmaster, kicking away the serpent at his feet as he hitched an arm around the
Headmaster’s waist. Remus propped up Albus’ drooping form, supporting the Headmaster’s
wavering, outstretched hand as his fingertips sunk beneath the cracked surface of the painting like
it was made of molasses. They heard the clank of metal beneath fumbling fingers and Rosalie
turned to her friend, “Hermione, go now. Take the Headmaster and get out—make sure you get
both him and the cup safely to Hogwarts.”
Rosalie could hear Voldemort’s Death Eaters in the house, feel the monster himself getting closer
and closer.

“It...it is too soon for this confrontation, Rose,” Albus slurred as he and Remus stumbled back over
the containment line, Albus sagging to his knees with the gleaming Hufflepuff Cup in hand, “I will
not leave you.”

“We don’t have a choice, sir, you must go,” Rosalie begged, “Please. Go.”

It was too late, though, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she turned to face the
drawing room door, a steady tattoo beating against the inside of her ribcage as the night grew
darker around them. Her wand was humming intently in her hand as she squared herself against the
coming threat. Rosalie drew breath, watching as he seemingly materialised from the darkness
before them, his robes forming from the very shadows that clung to the walls until he was made
solid before her, his presence insidious and pervasive, leeching all the air from the room.
Voldemort. He smiled at her as his breath huffed out in a hissing laugh, his tongue darting out to
sweep his upper lip—reptilian-like.

“Rosssalie Potter...” he began, his voice hushed and serpentine. Behind him, four of his most loyal
swept into the room in close formation, white masks firmly in place as they spread out to block the
exit, “Imagine my surprise, finding you here of all places.”

“Tom,” Rosalie gritted through teeth which were clenched tight against the burn in her forehead as
she and Remus moved quickly to place themselves in front of Hermione and the Headmaster, the
latter of whom was barely able to sit upright under his own power.

“Hermione,” Rosalie bit out, wordlessly pleading with her friend to leave, to get the Headmaster
and the cup out of there before it was too late. They could not risk losing either the man or the cup.
Not now. Not when they were so close.

“I. Can’t.” Hermione hissed back.

“Anti-apparation wards,” Remus informed them quietly.

Voldemort huffed out another hissing laugh as he eyed them through cool red eyes, “Naturally. I
can’t have you running off with what’sss mine—” Voldemort’s eyes flicked to the painting above
their head, “Nagini’sss venom worksss quickly, does it not, Albusss? Every moment you remain
ssslumped here you commit to forfeiting your own life.”

His Death Eater’s chucked darkly, the sound unnatural and rehearsed—creepy in their
synchronisation.

“I thank you for your concern, Tom,” Albus replied genially but with great effort, “but I assure you
I am quite well.”

Voldemort smirked, his tongue darting out to wet his lips again, “You fool no one, old man.”

“You assume I haven’t already taken the antivenin,” Albus countered.

“Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. It isss no matter,” Voldemort replied dismissively, his eyes
darting over the four of them calculatingly, “None of you will live to greet the new dawn.”

“That will be a first!” Rosalie snapped, “What makes you think you’ll be so lucky when you’ve
failed to kill me time and again?”

“You missstake your own luck for ssskill, Potter,” Voldemort hissed, “There isss no one left to
help you now, with the Great Albusss Dumbledore dying at your feet!”

“So sure?” Rosalie countered with more bravado than she truly felt, “Surely you know why we’re
here—”

“Rosalie, no—” Albus interrupted, reaching up weakly to clasp at her arm.

“—what we came for? Did you think we didn’t know? That we wouldn’t find out? The depraved
lengths you would go to in a pathetic, gasping attempt to hold onto your wretched excuse for a life?
Just look at yourself: vile, barely human, no nose...the desperate bid of a scared, unwanted little
boy whose life’s mission has always been to show the world that he doesn’t like to be ignored.”

“Insolence!” Voldemort snarled, “Crucio!”

Rosalie smirked as she batted the curse away with a wordless twitch of her wand. It gathered
power as it careened back at him and struck the Death Eater to his right. The man toppled to the
ground under the weight of the Dark Lord’s curse, contorted and screaming in agony.

“You dare talk to me in sssuch a fassshion!” Voldemort hissed furiously, “I, Lord Voldemort, your
better in every sssense—”

“You are beneath me,” Rosalie interrupted, enunciating the words slowly and carefully, “You, the
‘Dark Lord’ who was so afraid of a little girl—a baby—that he set out to kill her, and failed—keeps
failing—”

His next spell was nonverbal, a streak of purple light streaking towards them like electricity.
Rosalie blocked the attack again, shuddering as the power of it exploded against her shielding
charm with enough force to rattle her bones. Her wand jumped in her hands, ready to do her
bidding as she returned fire, a blasting hex rattling the windows in their panes as it ricocheted off
the Dark Lord’s shield and reverberated around the room.

“Reducto!” Remus slashed his wand angrily, joining the fray as the room around them suddenly
erupted into chaos. Voldemort’s Death Eater’s descended on them as spellfire lit up the room,
streams of colour—blue, red, yellow—lighting up the room as Remus and Hermione did their best
to stand their ground and protect the Headmaster.

Rosalie cried out as she dodged an attack, suddenly on the defence as the Dark Lord fired at her
again and again, thick and fast, pounding down against her Protego in rapid succession as she
fought to keep the charm in place. She could feel her cast weakening, teetering against the edge of
breaking under the weight of his attack, but she could do nothing but block his advance as the Dark
Lord descended on her with his teeth bared, robes flailing around him as his wand slashed
viciously through the air.

“Protego—Declino—Declino—PROTEGO!”

Rosalie kept her wand up under the onslaught, shielding and dodging as he bore down on her. Her
heart was pounding violently, hard enough that she thought it might break through her chest as he
loomed over her, death in his cold red gaze.

“You think you can best me, Rosssalie Potter?” the Dark Lord hissed in parseltongue, “Mark my
wordsss I will sssee you sssuffer before I kill you.”
Rosalie grunted as a slashing curse broke through her shielding charm, catching her across the left
breast and shoulder, deep enough to steal the breath from her lungs momentarily. She gasped,
clutching at her chest, blood beginning to weep through the front of her clothes, “What makes you
think this time will be different from any other? You forget that unlike you I’ve heard the prophecy
in full. You’ll never beat me, even if you still had your horcruxes to protect you—”

“Ssstupid girl!”

“Expelliarmus!” Rosalie gasped flinging the curse in Voldemort’s direction and ducking under a
wayward curse from across the room where Remus was standing over the Headmaster, he and
Hermione standing shoulder to shoulder as they valiantly held off the remaining three Death
Eaters.

Voldemort hissed and managed to keep a hold of his wand as he seemed to expand before her eyes,
the pervading darkness around him leeching outwards.

“Rosalie...” A weak voice called warningly.

“Reducto!” Rosalie hissed again, the curse barely missing him, landing at the Dark Lords feet and
blasting a hole through the floor. The floor beneath their feet shook, an ominous cracking sound
coming from beneath the floorboards.

“Do you think your ssschool yard curssses can ssstop me?” Voldemort hissed at her, fury glittering
in his eyes, his wand raised.

“Sectumsempra!” Rosalie bit out, knowing deep down that this was futile. There was no winning
against the Dark Lord whilst even one of his Horcruxes remained. She needed to get them out of
the room, off the property and away from the anti-apparation wards that kept them trapped, but to
do that she needed to put enough distance between them and the Dark Lord that they had time
enough to run. Time enough to—

“Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Hermione cried as a flash of blindingly green light lit up the room and all other activity
came to an abrupt halt. Rosalie felt her breath catch as she saw the bolt of green heading towards
her as if in slow-motion. She blinked. There was no time; no way to could avoid it...she raised her
arms, wincing as she tried to pull herself out of the way—

The curse hit her square in the chest.

Then sound of a body hitting the floor echoed with a dull thump.

Severus paced impatiently, the antivenin clutched tightly in his hand as he waited for the sound of
apparation and tried not to think about the fact that the time elapsed since Rosalie first called for
the antivenin was already too long for it to be of any use—at least in regards to life-saving
measures. The effects of Nagini’s venom would already be deeply advanced. Administering the
antivenin now would halt further progression of the symptoms, but significant damage would have
already occurred, necessitating critical medical intervention—

He looked up and saw a dark shape moving towards him rapidly from the castle and he peered at it
intently through the darkness, realising as it drew nearer that it was, in fact, two dark shapes:
Minerva and Poppy. Something inside of him froze. They were running down the hill, robes lifted
in front of them as they hastened towards him at full tilt.

Something had gone wrong.

Very wrong.

His head whipped around as the sound of apparation shattered the silence of the night, immediately
pulling his attention away from the two approaching witches.

“Help me!” Lupin called as he stumbled to his knees and Severus felt himself walking, jogging,
running the short distance between them. Lupin was cradling Rosalie’s limp body in his arms,
floppy as a ragdoll, covered in blood. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, cold dread
turning his feet to lead as he stared at her. Her pale face. White lips. Blood soaked chest.
No.

“Snape!”

Severus tore his eyes away from Rosalie’s prone form to look at the wolf.

“What happened?” Severus grit out, his voice hoarse with grief, heart in his throat as he too fell to
his knees, arms reaching for Rosalie instinctively. Hope flared in his chest as his fingertips touched
warm skin and his eyes darted up to stare at Remus “She’s alive—”

“Yes. I don’t—I mean, I can’t...,” Remus stammered handing her over without complaint, unable to
do anything but watch as Severus cradled her gently in his arms, long potion-stained fingers
pushing her dark hair back from her face, “Don’t ask me how—”

“Does she need antivenin?” Severus asked, trembling fingers fluttering over the pulse in her neck.
They came back black and covered in something putrid smelling. His eyes flashed furiously at the
wolf, “Lupin! Does she need antivenin?”

“No, she wasn’t bitten—”

“Oh, my word!” Minerva exclaimed as she reached them, taking in the scene, hesitating between
Rosalie and Albus, before finally, seeing Rosalie was well in hand, turning her attention to
Hermione and the Headmaster, “Albus?”

“He needs antivenin. Urgently,” Hermione hastened, flagging the mediwitch over, “he was bitten
over 15 minutes ago. We got here as quickly as we could, but—he lost consciousness a couple of
minutes ago and before that, he was incredibly weak—”

“Severus!” Poppy called, prompting the Potions Master who was cradling Rosalie in his arms
tightly, his whole focus trained searchingly on her features. Remus pulled the vial of antivenin
unresisting from the Potion’s Master’s fingers, where it was clutched against Rosalie’s side and
tossed it to the mediwitch.

“What is the status of Miss Potter?” Poppy called briskly after dumping the contents of the vial of
antivenin down the Headmaster’s throat and was in the process of running diagnostic charms over
the Headmaster’s prone form.
“She was...she was hit. With the killing curse,” Remus told them bringing everyone, save
Hermione to a grinding halt.

“The killing—Oh, Merlin, no,” Minerva gasped tremulously, turning to where Rosalie was still
lying limp in the Potion Master’s arms, “She’s...?”

“That’s just the thing. She isn’t.” Remus said wondrously, “She survived. Again.”

Poppy couldn’t make heads or tails of it, not that Severus blamed her, they were somewhere far
beyond the realms of modern mediwizardry. Rosalie was now the only person in history known to
have survived the killing curse not once, but twice. It was an impossibility none of them had ever
dreamt possible, and yet, Rosalie had managed it. The mediwitch couldn’t explain it, but Severus
was forming his own theories and despite himself, hope filled him at the thought that maybe, just
maybe, she’d survived because of the horcrux inside of her. One that had now been destroyed by
the Dark Lord’s own hand and was oozing from her scar like ink. It wasn’t outside the realms of
possibility, was it? And yet, he couldn’t let himself dwell on it when she remained silent and
unresponsive in the bed before him, not dead, but not yet out of the woods either.

She hadn’t come out the other side unscathed; while the curse had purportedly struck her in the
chest, and she had the burn to prove it, it was her brain tissue that was swollen, increasing the
pressure in her head to dangerous levels. Poppy had explained that it was beginning to put pressure
on surrounding structures in her head, rattling off words such as ‘perfusion’ and ‘oxygenation’ as
she worked diligently so that Rosalie was now sedated and being magically ventilated—which
meant that Poppy was controlling her breathing with a complex piece of mediwizardry that Severus
had only witness once before when Albus had performed a variation of the same charm on Rosalie
all those months ago. It made her chest rise and fall unnaturally, but it was the icy touch of her skin
that was the most disconcerting. Poppy had cooled Rosalie’s body to the point of hypothermia,
ensuring Severus that all this was necessary to ensure Rosalie’s brain was protected while Poppy
worked with potions to reduce the swelling in Rosalie’s head, but it meant that her hand was cold in
his; limp and lifeless even as Severus laced their fingers together.

Under normal circumstances, Poppy had assured him that treating this kind of brain injury
wouldn’t pose much of a problem, but given she’d never treated anyone who had survived the
killing curse, besides Rosalie, she didn’t want to offer him promises she might not be able to keep.
Nothing could be considered routine or expected regarding her care—there were no trend or
precedence to guide them and as such, she was rightfully cautious in her management.

Severus swallowed past the knot in his throat.

It was not right seeing her this way, so still and silent and yet they’d been here before. He’d been
here before, but never with so much to lose and never having come quite so close. She should be
dead right now.

He could hear the hum of voices across the infirmary. Albus was in critical condition, Nagini’s
venom having laid ravage to his already weakened state and yet Severus could not bring himself to
leave Rosalie’s side to tend to him—no matter the considering look Minerva had given from across
the room. The group had been lucky to escape with their lives from what little he’d heard Granger
relaying to Minerva. Their saving grace nothing more than the Dark Lord’s glee turned to fear as
the woman he’d struck down showed signs of life against all odds: he’d retreated, running from the
impossibility of it all as he struggled to comprehend what had occurred and Ganger and Lupin
taken the opportunity to see themselves to safety. Severus doubted whether any of them would
have made it home if such the Dark Lord had not retreated.

“Professor?”

Severus looked up at the sound of Granger’s voice, calling to him from the other side of the
privacy screens Poppy had set up. Gently he untangled his fingers from Rosalie’s and sat back in
his chair.

“Come in, Granger,” he called neutrally.

The girl slipped in through the curtains, coming to stand along the other side of Rosalie’s bed,
“The Weasley’s will be here soon. We—I had to call them; Rose is family, after all.”

“Naturally, as well you should have,” Severus replied, inclining his head, “They should be here
with her whilst she recovers.”

“She was fierce,” Granger told him, eyes shining as she looked up at him, “She held her own.
There was no way she could have dodged his curse, though—he was almost on top of her when he
fired it. I’ve never been so afraid in all my life.”
Severus didn’t respond—he suspected he knew how she felt.

“I can’t believe she’s alive,” Granger breathed, her voice thick with tears.

“We can be thankful that she is,” Severus agreed, his voice suspiciously affected as he reached out
almost unconsciously and took up Rosalie’s hand in his once more, his thumb smoothing across
her cold knuckles. He could feel Granger’s gaze on him as the girl perched herself carefully on the
side of Rosalie’s bed and took up Rosalie’s other hand. Severus wasn’t how long they sat there like
that, each clutching at one of Rosalie’s cold, limp hands as her chest rose and fell with mechanical
regularity, but he looked when the sudden bustle of noise alerted them to the Weasley’s arrival.

“You’ll alert me if anything changes?”

Granger nodded, “Of course, Professor.”

“Severus,” He corrected, his eyes never straying from Rosalie’s quiet face, “I think by now, you
ought to call me Severus.”

Granger nodded again, “Ok. Severus—I guess then you ought to be calling me Hermione.”

The halls were still and silent and clack of his boots echoed off of the walls as Severus walked at a
steady clip as he made his way back to his quarters. The was hour was so late it could be
considered early, the pale glow of morning visible on the horizon in the distance as he passed the
windows in the Entrance Hall and made his way down into the bowels of the castle. To his
dungeons where it was still as dark as night and would be for hours to come. He was of a mind to
get some rest while there was a veritable sea of redheads crowded around Rosalie’s bed, but even
as he entertained the thought he knew he’d never be able to sleep whilst Rosalie’s future was still
so unclear. As he thought of her, his hand reached for the vial that was in his pocket, his fingers
curling around the cool smooth glass reassuringly only to pull it from his pocket the second he was
in his rooms and the door had swung shut behind him.

“Lumos!”
He held the vial up to the light of his wand so he could study the oily black substance inside. He’d
collected it from where it had oozed from Rosalie’s scar—foul and insidious—if only so he could
try and make heads or tails of it later. He wanted to believe it was the horcrux inside of her, finally
destroyed, but he had no way of testing it. It fit, though. It explained why she might have survived
the killing curse a second time and perhaps even why her brain was bearing the brunt of her ordeal
when the curse had struck her in the chest. In his wildest dreams, however, he hadn’t believed they
could be so lucky. Despite the logic that was warning him not to get ahead of himself, hope was
burning brightly inside him, hope that perhaps she could survive this after all...

Dropping the vial back into his pocket, Severus cancelled his lumos stalking through his quarters,
to his bedroom where he allowed himself to collapse face-first onto his bed his arms pushing under
his pillows so he could drag one down beneath his head.

His eyes were drifted shut when he bolted upright again as pain ignited in his left arm, the mark
burn hotly against his skin as his stomach twisted with dread.

He was being summoned.

The minute he appeared before the Dark Lord his knees buckled beneath the pain of the Cruciatus.
He heard himself scream as he crumpled to the ground, his body arching unnaturally, contorting
around the pain as it ignited across his skin, down his nerves, making his muscles contract and jerk
discordantly. Fire licked up his spine as his back warped and twisted, his teeth threatening to grind
themselves away to dust—

Severus gasped as the curse was lifted, the pain stopping just as suddenly as it had started as strong
hands grasped him tightly under each arm and dragged him unceremoniously to his feet to stand
before the Dark Lord. Severus sneered and shrugged himself free of Voldemort’s goons, though he
was still trembling uncontrollably, and turned to face the Dark Lord’s wrath.

Swathed in black, his robes billowing behind him as he paced the length of his dais furiously the
Dark Lord spun to face him:
“Exsssplain to me, Severusss, what good isss a ssspy when you fail to bring me anything of ussse?”
The Dark Lord hissed, fury narrowing his red eyes, “For months Albusss has been sssneaking
around behind my back, taking what DOESSSSN’T belong to him! How isss it that you knew
nothing of Albusss’ little essscapades? What ussse are you when you fail in even thisss mossst
sssimplest of tasssks?”

“My Lord,” Severus whispered, bowing so deeply he fell back to his knees, his forehead almost
touching the ground, “Please forgive me. I know not what you speak of, only that I was called
urgently to the Hospital Wing tonight to assist the mediwitch—”

“It isss your job to know! Yet again Dumbledore managesss to out manoeuvrer you!” Voldemort
bit out, “Crucio!”

Severus cried out as his body contorted again, his teeth clamping down on his tongue, slicing it
open as he writhed uselessly on the ground, gasping for breath as pain scored it’s was over his
body relentlessly.

“Potter livesss?” Voldemort asked as he lifted the curse.

“Yes, My Lord,” Severus gasped, not moving from his place on the floor. His head resting against
the cool marble as blood spilt from his mouth, “but it is not known if the Dumbledore will make it
through the next few hours. His condition is critical—”

“Imposssible,” Voldemort replied, yet his tone was almost thoughtful. He turned his back on the
Potions Master and continued pacing.

“Potter is still under the mediwitch’s care,” Severus informed him as slowly he pushed himself to
his knees, “Though is expected to make a full recovery.”

He kept his shields in place as the Dark Lord spun to face him again and ploughed into his mind,
ransacking his way through Severus psyche in search of falsehoods.

“Get back to the cassstle and sssee to it that thessse are indeed Dumbledore’sss final hours,”
Voldemort turned back to him, “I exssspected better, Ssseverus. I exssspect to be kept apprisssed of
newsss before it occursss. Your failure to do ssso has cost me dearly and I am mossst dissspleased
—were your posssition more easssily filled, you would sssee you dead, unfortunately, you can
ssstill be of sssome ussse.”
“As is your right, My Lord, my life is yours to dispose of as you see fit,” Severus replied dutifully.

“Fail me again, Ssseverus, and that is exsssactly what I’ll do.”

“Will he live, Poppy?” Minerva McGonagall asked quietly after the frantic hustle of the night had
settled and even the Weasley’s had left for the evening, though Molly had put up a fuss when her
husband had gently pulled her away. She looked down at her friend lying unconscious and frail-
looking in the bed before her, a man who was both leader and mentor in so many respects, and
worried at her lower lip. She did not know what would become of them if Albus Dumbledore
didn’t pull through—while she was perfectly capable of running a school in his stead, marshalling
troupes for war was something else altogether.

Poppy Pomfrey looked up at her friend, a small frown etched across her brow, “It is too soon to
say, Minnie. We have done everything we can for him, but now we must wait and see how his
body responds. I won’t lie and tell you he is out of the woods, the effects of the venom were
already quite advanced. It will not be a quick recovery—but I have made every effort to give him
the best chance of pulling through.”

‘People forgot sometimes, what an excellent mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey was,’ Minerva mused as
she sighed and nodded her head in understanding, “and Miss Potter?”

“Will live,” Poppy replied shaking her head in astonishment, “I cannot tell you how, or why, such a
thing is possible, Minnie. To be hit with the killing curse—twice!—and live to tell the tale is
unheard of, as you well know. I am not worried about Miss Potter, however. She is resilient and
she is well in hand.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows, “With Severus, perhaps? I thought his behaviour this evening was
most unusual, was it not?”

Poppy smiled and shrugged, “They are in love.”

Minerva spluttered, “My word, Poppy—In love?”

Poppy nodded, “Yes, for some weeks, if not months, as I understand it. I’ll admit, initially, I was
quite shocked—”

“Poppy, please, just stop,” Minerva interrupted, holding her hand up as she called for silence, “Do
you mean to tell me that Severus Snape and Miss Potter are involved romantically?”

“And sexually,” Poppy nodded.

“Sexually! She is his student,” Minerva gasped affronted.

Poppy scoffed, “Oh come now, Minnie, you and I both know that while that may have been
technically true before last summer, the way Albus had them interacting long before that was well
beyond the bounds of a teacher/student relationship. I honestly don’t know what people expected,
getting Severus to teach a young woman Occlumency night after night in such close quarters. Such
a process is highly personal—feelings were bound to develop.”

Minerva pat at her chest absently, smoothing the thick wool of her robes as she pondered that
remark, “I am not sure how to feel about this.”

“Be happy for them,” Poppy informed her, catching her friends gaze and giving her a meaningful
look, “Be happy that they have found happiness amidst all of this. They are not doing anything
wrong, Minnie and things are going to get worse before they get better. I can’t think of two people
more deserving of love and support, especially in the coming months.”

Minerva hummed and nodded her head slowly, “I suppose. Only it is highly irregular. I never
thought Severus, of all people, would take up with a student. I never thought he would be the type
—Gilderoy Lockhart, now he is someone I knew to watch closely, I’ll still never understand why
Albus would hire such a puffed-up buffoon—but Severus?”

Poppy eyed her friend carefully, “I would not have told you, Minerva, if I thought that you would
not be accepting of this. I understand your reservations, I too had questions, but Miss Potter assured
me that their relationship did not start until after her birthday and after she had left Hogwarts as a
student—”
“Barely,” Minerva cut in.

“—and therefore, it is none of our business,” Poppy continued.

“Oh, I understand that,” Minerva sighed, waving off her friend’s terse tone, “I won’t say a word.
All the same, surely he must understand the scrutiny that will fall on them—on him, in particular—
once this all comes out. People will speculate and rumours will develop.”

“Most likely,” Poppy agreed.

Minerva shook her head and cast her eye over to the curtained-off bay where Rosalie lay,
unconscious, “I’m still in shock.”

Poppy’s lips twitched up in a smile, “I have a feeling you ought to come to terms with it quickly, I
have never seen Severus so demonstrative with his affections—of course, this is still Severus
Snape we are talking about and as such, it is hardly effusive.”

“Do people know?” Minerva asked.

“Remus Lupin,” Poppy replied, “I’d be surprised if Miss Granger didn’t know and I’d suspect
Albus is probably aware also.”

Mention of the Headmaster’s name drew Minerva’s focus back to the prone form of the man in
question, “How on earth are we to proceed from here, Poppy? Albus is integral to so many plans
and undertakings.”

“Perhaps you ought to call a meeting with the Order,” Poppy offered, “Discuss next steps.”

“Certainly, we must. If You-Know-Who suspects we are vulnerable...” Minerva trailed off, “An
attack could be imminent. I can feel it building, can’t you?”

Poppy nodded, “Things are coming to a head.”

 “I fear it will come time soon to send the younger students home to their families and fortify the
castle,” Minerva continued, “These are indeed dark times.”

“We will see it through, Minerva, I have every faith that when the time comes, You-Know-Who
will make his stand and he will fail,” Poppy replied seriously, “I have not spent the last seven years
treating Miss Potter and learnt nothing, after all. Where there is a will, that girl will find a way.”

Chapter End Notes

I soooooo wanted to end this chapter with Rosalie getting hit with an AK. That would
have left the wordcount way too short though and I don't post frequently enough for it
not to have been plain mean. So YAY she lives...
 Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Notes

Bet you weren't expecting this so soon! Neither was I. This chapter practically wrote
itself!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirty-Three

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” Minerva called, casting her gaze around the small
crowd of people who were haphazardly squeezed into Albus’ office. Silence fell over the small
group, the hum of anticipation buzzing in the air as they turned their attention toward her. Minerva
took a deep breath, moving to stand behind Albus’ desk as her gaze scanned the faces of the Order
—her friends and allies, “I believe we should make a start. If those of you up the back would make
some room for any latecomers...Yes, good.”

She paused to cast her shrewd gaze around the room over the rim of her spectacles, "Thank you all
for coming on such short notice. This is not easy, but I come to you today in Albus’ stead to inform
you that two nights ago he undertook a mission in the company of—good grief!”

The office door swung open with an almighty crash interrupting Minerva midspeech as the crowd
swung around, in unison, to lay eyes on the cause of their sudden intrusion. Mad-Eye Moody
hobbled into the room, looking around at the assembled group, his magical eye spinning carefully
as he tallied up those present: “We have a situation,” he announced abruptly, focusing in on
Minerva, “Where is Albus?”

Minerva’s hand was plastered to her chest, her racing heart thundering as she eyed Moody in
exasperation.

“Alastor, take a seat before you startle us all half to death,” Minerva said, gesturing at a vacant
chair in the centre of their small assembly, “I was just getting started.”

“This cannot wait, Minerva,” Moody gruffed, hobbling forward to bang his hand down on Albus’
desk, “Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange have escaped our custody. I’ve just come from the
scene. Mundungus was on watch. He’s dead—they left him carved up like a Christmas Turkey on
the dining table for us to find...”

Molly Weasley gasped audibly as she reached out to clutch at Arthur’s hand. She wasn’t the only
one; a chorus of urgent whispers broke out across the room at Moody’s statement.

“How is that possible?” Severus intoned darkly, “At the very least, Albus assured me that they
were under complex magical dampening and anti-apparation wards.”

“They didn’t use magic. The wards were still in place, if not a little weaker than I’d expect,”
Moody replied seriously, “The house-elf looking after them was dead on the scene too—where is
Albus? He needs to know about this.”

“Albus is currently indisposed,” Minerva replied briskly, smoothing down the thick wool of her
robes.

Moody’s intense gaze swivelled around to settle on the Transfiguration Professor, “Indisposed?”

Minerva nodded, “There is no gentle way to put this and so I will simply say it: Albus is currently
confined to the infirmary in critical condition. He is unconscious and fighting for his life after
suffering a highly venomous snake bite. Whilst Madame Pomfrey’s expert care has stabilised him,
his body was ravaged by a prolonged period of exposure to the venom before antivenin could be
administered and as such he had sustained significant damage to his internal organs.”

“A snake bite?” Kingsley asked urgently as gasps echoed about the room.
Minerva nodded, “Two nights ago Albus left the school in the company of Miss Potter on a
mission known in full only to the two of them—”

“Bring the girl forward then!” Moody boomed.

“Are you quite finished interrupting me, Alastor!?” Minerva snapped, finally at the end of her
tether, “Miss Potter is currently unavailable for questioning, as it were. She too is currently
residing in the Hospital Wing after being struck with the Killing Curse—only to have survived,
once again, against all odds!”

The frenzied chatter broke out across the room as Ron Weasley, who was seated beside his parents
shot abruptly to his feet, “What?!”

“Sit down, Ronald,” His mother hissed, yanking the boy back into his seat.

The redhead glared at his mother mutinously, “You knew and didn’t tell me?”

“I know this comes as shocking news,” Minerva continued more calmly, speaking over the din,
“Especially in light of the information Alastor has just brought us. I have been lead to believe,
however, that the mission was a success—despite evidence to the contrary.”

“How do you know?” Bill Weasley asked from the back of the room, his arms slung casually
around his wife.

“Because Hermione and I were with them that night,” Remus spoke up, nodding respectfully in
Minerva’s direction as he stood to address the crowd of concerned Order members, “And while I
do not know all the details of why we were there, I can tell you that we were able to retrieve the
artefact we set out to find and it is a vital element towards us winning the war.”

“That girl’s got nine lives,” Moody chuckled darkly as he finally settled into a spare seat, his
wooden leg proper out in front of him awkwardly.

“That any of us escaped at all is a miracle in and of itself,” Remus replied pointedly, also retaking
his seat, “We were nothing if not incredibly lucky.”
“I’m not making light of it,” Moody gruffed, “That girl would make one hell of an Auror
someday.”

“This is worrying news. What is Miss Potter’s condition, currently?” Kingsley inquired.

Minerva glanced at Molly, “You were with her this afternoon, Molly?”

“Rose is expected to make a full recovery, but right now Madame Pomfrey is keeping her sedated
whilst she treats the swelling in Rose’s head,” Molly offered, glancing across at Arthur for support,
“Poppy isn’t sure what caused it and we won’t know more until she is awake. After all, no one but
our Rose has ever survived the Killing Curse before—we are not sure what effects it might have
had.”

“The Dark Lord is furious over the loss of this artefact and rattled by the fact that Rosalie survived
his curse,” Severus told them, sending the room plummeting back into stony silence at the mention
You-Know-Who, “He is desperate to regain control of this situation and I’ve been ordered to
ensure that Albus does not survive the coming days. The Dark Lord is both angry and displaying
signs of restlessness—it would not surprise me if he were to direct this anger into a targeted attack
as a means of reasserting his power.”

“Do we have any idea of where he might strike?” Tonks asked from her place beside Remus, a
small frown creasing the skin between her pink eyebrows.

Severus shook his head, “He’s made no indication of intent, however, history is the greatest
predictor of future behaviour and we have all been here before.”

“Which is why, now more than ever and despite the challenges set before us, we need to act,”
Minerva agreed, raising her voice again to address the crowd, “I do not believe we have the luxury
of operating independently of one another any longer. Albus is not here to collate every piece of
this puzzle. It is time to pool our knowledge and our resources so that we know exactly where we
stand moving forward. My concern is that You-Know-Who knows that we a vulnerable—or
indeed, may soon realise this fact. We are currently without Albus or Miss Potter, his two biggest
threats and if he decides that now is the time to attack, we must be ready for him. Hogwarts may be
a school, but she is our strongest foothold in this war. We can defend her if we are prepared—and
we must be prepared.”

“Agreed,” Moody replied to a chorus of nods around the room, “Now more than ever we must
remain vigilant!”

“Thankfully, the Dark Lord believes that Miss Potter’s condition is far less ambiguous than it
currently stands,” Severus told them, “He believes that she has walked away from their
confrontation with little more than a scratch for his troubles. A ruse that will not stand for long
should one of his spies make it into the Hospital Wing and report back to him.”

“Certainly, she should be moved,” Minerva agreed with a nod, “Albus too if we are to make it
seem as if he has been put to rest.”

“She has rooms here in the castle where we have been staying. They are hidden and safe,”
Hermione pointed out, “The Headmaster told us that it was once used as faculty housing.”

“Very good,” Minerva nodded.

“From here on out, we’ll need to meet more regularly,” Moody stated, looking around the room,
“Albus’ office is the only area with direct floo access, so we’ll hold our meetings here. Anyone not
currently involved in an assignment given to them by the Headmaster will work on making the
castle defendable. We will need to work on the castles warding, focusing on limiting points of
entry—”

“We can help you there,” two identical voices piped up as the twin’s shared a knowing look.

Moody nodded, “Good.”

“We should consider setting up a rotating schedule that keeps a member, or members, of the Order
on school grounds at all times,” Kingsley said picking up the rhythm of the conversation,
“Minerva has a school full of children to deal with and if something were to happen, we need to be
able to mobilise the rest of the Order as quickly as possible.”

“Would it not just be easier if we were all staying in one place?” Tonks responded, “The faculty
housing that Hermione mentioned, for example? If we are all staying in one central location, at
least for the short term while Albus recovers, then the flow of information doesn’t stop. We don’t
need to wait for a meeting to be convened to keep up-to-date and should You-Know-Who attempt
an attack we will already be here to defend the castle.”
“The tower is connected via floo to the Headmaster’s office,” Hermione agreed, “People could
floo in and out without ever being seen by the general school population.”

“Tonks makes a good point,” Kingsley conceded, “Would anyone object?”

No one raised voice.

“Should we be thinking about sending the children home?” Arthur questioned mildly.

“It would help flush out any little Slytherin spies,” Moody agreed.

“In some cases, it would also be sending innocent children home into a situation they are not ready
to deal with. Many students, particularly those in Slytherin, have parents with ties to the Dark Lord.
They may be safer her until the last possible moment.” Minerva pointed out.

“Sending the students home would also send a declaration to You-Know-Who that we are
anticipating and preparing for an attack,” Bill Weasley added.

“They stay, for now,” Minerva agreed, “At least until we know more over the coming days.”

“The hospital wing will need supplies, I suppose, potions and the like...” Molly offered, glancing
across the room at Severus, “I can help with that.”

Severus inclined his head, “I will see to it that you are equipped with the necessary
accoutrements.”

“It’s settled then,” Moody announced with finality.

Minerva nodded, “I suppose it is.”

*
Hermione wasn’t sleeping.

It had been three days since their mission to Little Hangleton. Three days since they’d come face to
face with You-Know-Who. Three days since she’d seen her best friend struck down with the
Killing Curse. She couldn’t get the moment out of her head. It filled her thoughts, her dreams and
nightmares, tormenting her with a flash of blinding green and pure panic—terror—anguish. Every
time she recalled it her heartbeat quickened and bile rose in her throat. Rosalie’s scream echoed in
her ears and Hermione was left feeling...hunted.

Then it had come to her in the middle of the night, in the aftermath of a nightmare whilst she was
still shivering from the memories, tears running down her face: Why?

Why did Rosalie survive when everything they knew about the laws of magic said there was no
counter for the Killing Curse? Yet, twice Rosalie had been able to survive it. How was it possible?
It defied logic. Everything inside Hermione told her it shouldn’t have been possible, and yet
something had occurred that night...something miraculous...

When it happened, when it had struck, Rosalie’s body had been flung backwards into the wall
behind her, her hand clutching at her chest where the curse had hit before she’d slumped,
seemingly lifeless, to the ground. Yet, it was her brain that Madame Pomfrey was treating and that
had made no sense to her until Hermione recalled the black ooze which had trickled from Rosalie’s
scar that night. They had discussed the possibility for some time that Nagini could perhaps be his
final vessel, but what if Rosalie was one too?

Hermione looked at the notes spread before her wondering how in everything they’d researched
and learnt about horcruxes, that she’d never considered the possibility that Rosalie herself was one
of the very things they were trying to destroy. It was a horrifying thought, but it was also the only
answer that made any sense.

Her fingers traced over the writings of Slytherin’s manuscript. How had she been so very blind?
The visions, the very visceral connection that seemed to exist between them all seemed so very
obvious now, so obvious, in fact, that she wondered at the possibility that the Headmaster must
have known all along. That he had been prepping Rosalie like a lamb for slaughter. After all, there
could have been no way of knowing that she might survive against all odds, even Dumbledore
could not have anticipated such a turn of events.

Hermione recalled his words to Rosalie three nights ago and the apologetic tone they’d taken: ‘My
dear, please know that I am ever so proud of everything you have achieved and if there had been
any other path for you, I would have found another way.’

Hermione wanted to be disgusted with him, but they had spent endless hours researching horcruxes
and she knew that the only known means of destroying a horcruxes was through the destruction of
the vessel that housed it. Logically she knew there would have been no other choice, difficult as
that was to accept.

Only now, Rosalie had survived and as soon as she could manage it, Hermione would need to
figure out some way of determining that the horcrux was truly gone.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice: “Guess I should be apologising
to you too?”

Hermione glanced up from her work, casting a level look in his direction: Ron. She hadn’t heard
him floo in. Pressing her lips together, she ran a critical eye over him where he stood, the pace of a
handful of steps between them all but a veritable chasm for the once tightly knit friends. She could
tell he was uncomfortable, his posture was awkward and there was tension in his frame, but it was
the fact that he couldn’t meet her gaze that prickled her anger.

“That depends, are you asking me?” Hermione countered, her tone unapologetic, “Because I’m not
interested in hearing you out if you’re only here because you want me to tell you how to make it
right again.”

Ron huffed a small self-deprecating laugh, “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Is there some reason you think I should?” Hermione replied, sliding a marker into the seam of her
book as she placed it carefully to one side so she could stand to face him, “We are all responsible
for our actions, Ron. Only you know what you’re here to apologise for.”

“I was a right dick about things, alright?” Ron replied, his tone frustrated as his eyes flashed at her,
“I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have stopped speaking to you when it wasn’t you who I was
angry with in the first place. I just...”

Hermione didn’t speak as he trailed off uncomfortably unwilling to put the words she wanted to
hear into his mouth if they weren’t what he’d come here to say.
“I was crushed, yeah? I felt like you were on Rose’s side like you always are, and I needed some
space to wrap my head around things. So I left and I blanked you both even though it wasn’t you
that I was upset with,” Ron said in a rush, the flood gates opening, “I really loved her, you know? I
still do, though I know now nothing is going to happen between us. I guess the point is, there are
more important things going on in our lives than the fact that I’m in love with my best friend. I
should have been there with you guys. Maybe then Rosalie wouldn’t have been hit with the Killing
Curse—”

“You being there wouldn’t have prevented that,” Hermione told him seriously, “Nothing could
have come between Rosalie and the end of You-Know-Who’s wand that night, but you are right in
saying you should have been there. A lot has happened since you left, Ron. This isn’t even the first
battle we’ve been involved in, but you wouldn’t know what because you’ve been at home sulking
over you wounded feelings. So, if you are only here to apologise because you think your presence
that night might have somehow saved Rosalie, then turn around now, go home and think about
what you wanted to achieve by coming here today because Rosalie doesn’t need you to save her.
None of us do. What we need is someone who we can rely on to support us, to help us work
through the challenges of this war so that we can all succeed.”

“Merlin, Hermione,” Ron sighed.

“What?” She snapped, “You think I’m being unfair?”

“Yeah, a little,” Ron agreed, his voice exasperated as he threw his hands in the air, “I’m here,
trying to apologise, but I’m getting the sense that you aren’t really interested in hearing that I’m
sorry.”

“Are you really, though?” Hermione countered.

Ron’s cheeks were flushed, “Yes.”

“Because all I’m hearing is that you are sorry you weren’t there for Rosalie,” Hermione continued.

“That’s—no! That’s not it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you too, Hermione,” Ron replied softly,
“You’ve needed my support just as much as Rose. I should have been there to help you research
and plan and carry some of the load. I was being selfish and I’m sorry for the stress that must have
caused you. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it... I knew I made a mistake leaving, but
then, I didn’t know how to turn around and come back either. You’re my best friend and you
deserved better.”
Hermione stared at him, indecision warring inside of her. Part of her wanted to stay angry at him, a
big part of her that was still angry and upset about how childishly he’d handle himself in the face
of rejection, but a part of her knew that it was just as petty for her to hold onto a grudge. Especially
when no one knew what would happen in the coming days and weeks. This might be their only
opportunity to put things right between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his face full of genuine contrition and she felt something release inside
of her. It was enough, she supposed.

“Okay, then,” she nodded, “I believe you.”

“Really?” Ron asked cautiously, a smile creeping in around his lips as watched her.

“Yes, really,” Hermione nodded, reaching out to beckon him over, “but there are things you need
to know. Things you should probably consider before you try and talk to Rosalie, because if you’re
back then you need to be back, despite everything else that’s going on.”

Ron frowned, “What things?”

Hermione bit her lip, “Like the fact that Rosalie and Snape are together.”

Ron stared at her, “What do you mean together?”

“I mean, together—that they are in a relationship,” Hermione told him, “a romantic relationship
and you’ll need to be okay with that if you expect to get anywhere with her.”

Ron’s face darkened, “What?”

“Ron,” Hermione warned.

“I’m never going to ‘be okay’ with that, Hermione. I think you both know exactly how I feel about
Snape,” Ron seethed, “I knew there was something fishy going on there, but no one wanted to
believe me, did they? I mean, bloody hell!”

“She’s happy, Ron,” Hermione interjected, “I know this is a sore point, for a lot of reasons, but you
need to be able to let it go and not harp on it every two seconds because all you are going to do is
push her away. So if you can’t do that, then perhaps you should reconsider trying to reconcile with
her.”

“Rejected by my best friend for Snape, of all people, and I’m forced to sit by an accept it?” Ron
huffed, shaking his head, “I didn’t think it could get any worse.”

“I wouldn’t have said anything, except for the fact that you’ll be staying here now and it’s going to
become pretty obvious,” Hermione replied, “Snape stays here in the tower with us.”

Ron frowned, considering the implication of those words, no doubt and Hermione watched as he
fought to keep his temper under control.

“I won’t say anything, but I’m not going to pretend like it’s totally cool either,” Ron replied after a
moment, “It would be a lie because I think Snape is a stupid decision that is only going to wind up
hurting her in the long run.”

“It’s kind of part of being an adult though, right?” Hermione offered, “Accepting the fact that you
don’t approve, but also realising that there is nothing you can do to change it because it is not your
decision to make.”

Ron looked at her sideways, his expression hopeful, “Does that mean you don’t approve either?”

“It’s not for me to approve or disapprove of,” Hermione replied carefully, “I was worried at first,
I’ll admit, for a lot of reasons, but I actually think they are good for one another. Snape...has
changed—a lot—and it’s because of Rose. When you see the two of them, it’s obvious how much
he cares for her and I want Rosalie to be with someone who loves her as much as she deserves to be
loved and treats her right. If that’s Snape, then I guess I’m okay with that.”

“So people know?” Ron asked, “Like they are open and public together?”

“Some people know,” Hermione nodded, “Not everyone.”

“Like who? Who knows?” Ron pressed.

“Remus, The Headmaster, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione began listing people off on her fingers,
“You and me. That’s it, I think.”

“That’s not exactly what I’d call public,” Ron replied considering, “And they all approve?”

“Most of them,” Hermione hedged.

Ron looked at her, “So who doesn’t?”

“Ron,” Hermione cautioned, “If this is about drumming up support against Snape—”

“Nothing like that,” Ron shook his head, “I was just interested. Promise. I said I wasn’t going to
get involved or cause trouble, didn’t I?”

Hermione sighed.

“Remus is dead against it. He and Rosalie have had a bit of a falling out over it,” Hermione
admitted, watching the redhead carefully as he nodded and absorbed that information, “Otherwise,
the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey have both been supportive.”

“Alright,” Ron shrugged, but Hermione could see that he hadn’t truly let it go. She opened her
mouth to caution him again when the floo place in the common room flared, “That’ll be mum.
We’re moving in today. She was going to start bringing stuff from home through—”

But it wasn’t and Hermione tugged Ron hard to get him to shut up as Snape stepped out of the floo
and tuned to hold his hand out for the person arriving behind him. Rosalie stepped out, and into
Snape’s arms as she stumbled, her knees buckling under her weight. She looked tired and weak, but
even still she protested as Snape swung her up into his arms and turned for the staircase.

Ron twitched beside her, but Hermione hushed him silently, pulling him back into the cushions of
the couch with her where they remained unnoticed by the couple making their way across the
common room.

“I can walk, Severus,” Rosalie protested weakly, “Put me down. I’m too heavy to carry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Snape replied gently, “You’ve barely been awake half an hour—”

“And I’m fine. Madame Pomfrey said I was fine, it’s just the sedation wearing off and that calming
draught she poured down my throat,” Rosalie sighed, though her arm had looped itself securely
around the back of Snape’s neck, “I promise.”

“Rose,” Severus cautioned, his voice a gentle rumble, “Let me do this. Please.”

Rosalie didn’t respond, neither did she protest any further as they disappeared up the staircase and
out of sight. Hermione looked across at her friend who was staring after them pensively.

“We’re just going to let him take her up there? Alone?” Ron said after a beat, turning to look at
Hermione in askance “Is that appropriate?”

Hermione shook her head, “Really, Ron? Don’t be so thick.”

“Stay with me?” Rosalie asked softly as Severus settled her onto their bed. It was late afternoon, far
too early to retire for the evening—the bleak wash of afternoon light still filled the room as a
gentle patter of rain tapped rhythmically against the window—but Severus still nodded his
agreement, drawing back only enough to remove both his outer robes and shoes before slipping in
beneath the covers. Rosalie rolled into his arms, her body tucked neatly into his warmth.

Severus soothed a hand down her back, his fingers splaying over the soft planes, “Rosalie...”
Rosalie nodded, her upper arm curling around his waist, clutching him that little bit tighter as she
looked up at him. Her green eyes were wet as his hand moved to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping
the soft contour of her lower lip.

“There was a moment when Lupin arrived back at the castle with you in his arms that I thought you
were...” He swallowed thickly. He couldn’t say it—couldn’t say the word ‘dead’. The image that it
evoked was too raw—a festered wound inside of him that refused to heal.

“I know,” Rosalie murmured, turning her face into his palm. Her lips were soft against the heel of
his hand, “For a moment, so did I...I don’t know how or why I survived, but... I’m so thankful that I
did...”

Severus nodded, “There is something I must tell you.”

She blinked, wet eyes spilling tears down her face as she looked up at him again, “What is it?”

Severus’ eyes flickered to her forehead and the still angry-looking scar that rested there. Reaching
out carefully, he ghosted his finger over the top of it, “I know that Albus has you hunting down the
Dark Lord’s Horcruxes, he told me as much a couple of weeks ago when I confessed to him that
we had formed a romantic attachment.”

Rosalie nodded, pulling back slightly to wipe at her eyes, “Alright. Severus, I trust you, as does
Albus, clearly, why should that matter?”

“It matters because it was at this time that he also told me something that I have been struggling
with ever since,” Severus continued lowly, letting her take up his hand and lace their fingers
between them.

“Your ‘difficult truth’,” She guessed.

Severus nodded, “He burdened me with this knowledge and charge me with keeping it a secret. I
was told I must accept the truth of it when to do so was simply...unbearable.”

Severus looked across at her, her green eyes focused and full of patient understanding as he fought
to find the words he’d need to tell her the truth. His knuckles were white where his hand grasped
hers.
“You can tell me, Severus,” She reassured him softly.

“You are the Dark Lord’s final horcrux, Rose,” he said as calmly as he could manage, a hot prickle
of unease flooding through him as her eyes widened, “You are the final piece to the puzzle.”

Rosalie stared at him, “I’m...”

“Yes.”

A fine tremor started up in her hands as understanding quickly dawned on her, “and so I must
die...for the Dark Lord to be defeated?”

“Albus believed that, yes,” Severus told her as he extricated his hand from hers so he could cup her
face as it began to dip. She was trembling all over now, “—but I do not accept that, Rose. I will not
and I promise you I would have found a way—”

Rosalie shook her head, her face crumpling, “Oh, Merlin...You don’t understand...there is no other
way. The only way to destroy a horcrux is to destroy the vessel. If I don’t die, Volde—I mean, the
Dark Lord will win, Severus.”

Severus looked at her affronted, “I do not accept that.”

Rosalie simply stared at him, mournful green eyes full with a thick sheen of tears as her fingers
knotted in the front of his shirt, “Severus—”

“No!” he bit out, cutting her off abruptly, “I will not accept that, Rose, because against all odds you
were hit with the Killing Curse and you survived and while I sat there, holding you and waiting for
you to wake up again—” Rosalie gasped as a small vial zoomed into his suddenly outstretched
palm, “this was oozing out of your scar.”

He held the small vial up between them and Rosalie looked at the black fluid that was rolling
around inside. It coated the walls of the glass vial like oil, only it was thicker and black as the ink
from her inkwell.
“I said I would have found a way to save you, only because I believe that I no longer a need to,”
Severus continued more calmly, “Madame Pomfrey has never seen or heard the like of it. This is
not the result of some medical phenomenon. Rosalie, in trying to kill you, I believe the Dark Lord
only succeeded in bringing his own destruction that much closer by destroying the horcrux inside
you.”

Rosalie let out a shaky breath and stared at the vial, “You think that this black stuff is a horcrux?”

“What is left of it, this is only a small sample of what was discharged from your scar,” Severus
agreed.

“Is that possible?” Rosalie asked nervously, her eyes hopeful as she turned the full force of them on
him.

Severus looked at her, “Is surviving the Killing Curse?”

“Surely it couldn’t be so simple?” Rosalie denied.

“Nothing about this was simple, Rose. Not one second of it,” Severus he told her seriously as he
reached back and placed the vial on their bedside table, “We were incredibly fortunate at such a
turn of events. We would never have attempted removing the horcrux in such a way—I would
never have allowed it. There was no way anyone could have known that you would escape such a
fate and eventually walk away all but unharmed.”

“Not unharmed,” she replied softly, her hand rubbing over the new scar that adorned the centre of
her chest, sitting low in the valley between her breasts. A starburst pattern the size of a Sickle, a
new curse scar that would never be removed and serve a constant reminder that she should be
dead. Severus’ hand reached out to cover hers, long fingers curling around her hand as he pulled it
away from her chest.

Rosalie lifted her face into his as Severus pulled her into a gentle kiss, his fingers curling around
the back of her neck as his lips moved slowly over hers. Rosalie melted into him, the tension
seeping from her frame as she reciprocated his kiss. It was soft and tender, comfort more than
seduction. She sighed into him, breaking the connection as she settled back in against his chest,
eyes still brimming with emotion.
The sun had slowly set in the background, the room slipping gradually into a cloak of darkness.
Silence fell between them as they lay curled around one another into the evening, well past dinner
time and his obligation attend the Great Hall. Minerva could wonder at where he was; he didn’t
care what assumptions she would draw from his absence. He was slowly coming to realise it didn’t
matter what anyone else thought of his attachment to Rosalie Potter.

When she eventually spoke again, her voice was filled with quiet exhaustion, “I can’t believe...I
just don’t know what to think or feel about any of this. How have you known for weeks that I
would need to die and not said anything...?”

Something inside of Severus froze, unable to interpret her tone or choice of wording, “What would
you have had me say?”

Rosalie sighed, “No, nothing. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just sorry that the Headmaster made
you carry such a burden on top of everything else.”

“Are you angry with me?” Severus found himself asking, surprised that he needed to hear the
answer even if he already knew the truth. Shocked, once again, that he feared that she might
answer ‘yes’. Once upon a time, he could have—would have—remained indifferent to her feelings
on the subject. Like a good soldier, he would have done what was necessary and not concerned
himself with the fallout. Now though, how things had changed... to fall from Rosalie’s good graces,
to realise that he might have wounded her trust in him beyond repair...

Rosalie shook her head, reaching up to trace the tips of her fingers over the side of his neck, “No. I
don’t know what I would have done with that information—I still don’t. All I know is that I’m
worried that you’re wrong about the horcrux being gone. I’m worried that this was all just a freak
accident and that when the time comes I’ll be forced to leave all this behind—forced to leave you
behind—for the greater good. I’m scared that even if you’re right and the horcrux is gone, it won’t
matter and You-Know-Who will gain the upper hand again and I’ll end dead anyway, or you
will...or Hermione or Remus or anyone else I care about—”

Severus long fingers curled around her wrist loosely, “It’s normal to feel that way. Nothing is
certain right now.”

“I know, but this whole—” she pulled her hand free of his to wave it wordlessly at the scar on her
chest, “experience has brought it into a sharper focus.” Rosalie shivered, her trembling hand
pushing the hair back from her face as she shook her head again in denial, “I don’t want to
experience anything like that ever again. I don’t want the people I love to experience it. To know
what it feels like, Severus... I always thought the Killing Curse was mean to be painless—a quick,
instant death—but it was excruciating. Worse than the Cruciatus, worse than anything I could have
imagined.”
“You remember it?” he breathed.

“Yes.”

Severus ran a soothing hand over her head, smoothing back her hair as he caught her gaze with his,
“I can’t promise that there won’t be other people that suffer as you did at the hands of the Dark
Lord in this war. I can’t imagine what it is you experienced, Rose, but I do know that that curse
should have stopped your heart the minute it struck you in the chest. You should have died on
impact. So though it may be nothing more than a small mercy and meagre comfort, all I can offer
is this: I don’t believe anyone who has perished under this curse felt what you felt that night. I
don’t believe anyone will again, given the extraordinary circumstance through which such a
phenomenon was even possible. The pain you felt? There are other possibilities which we might
consider also...”

“Like what?” she whispered.

“Is it not possible that when the Dark Lord struck you with the Killing Curse, destroying the
horcrux inside of you, that what you felt was the pain of his horcrux being ripped from your
body?”

Rosalie hesitated, considering the possibility, “I suppose, but we don’t even know for sure if that’s
what happened...”

Severus gave a small conciliatory shrug, “True, but we could lie here all night discussing ‘what
ifs’. Come tomorrow, I will do everything in my power to determine that the horcrux inside of you
is gone so that we might move on from this. In the meantime, however, can you not accept that
what happened to you will likely never happen again in the way that it did that night? As with so
many things, you are the exception to the rule. Our history is long and fraught with wars, and yet,
there is no record to date of anyone having ever survived the Killing Curse—other than you. Take
comfort in the fact that you are unique in your experience.”

Rosalie bit her lip thoughtfully, “You make a lot of sense.”

“I am frightfully intelligent,” he agreed with a small teasing smirk making the corners of her lips
twitch up in reluctant amusement.
 “Not just a pretty face,” She chuckled softly, blinking damp eyes up at him cheekily as she
smoothed her fingers over his cheek and lips.

Severus snorted, “I’m not that either.”

Rosalie smiled at him.

“To me, you are,” She assured him, her expression so earnest that Severus could almost believe it.

Chapter End Notes

Dialogue heavy, I know. I can't help myself. This was more of a filler chapter anyway
:)
Let me know what you think?
 Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Notes

Thank you to all the beautiful people who reviewed the last chapter! Your comments
literally inspire me to keep writing, even when the words don't want to come. I hope
you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the last!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirty-Four

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you!” Hermione cried the minute they laid eyes on one
another, the two women practically flinging themselves at one another as Hermione pulled Rosalie
into a tight embrace. Pale arms twined around Rosalie’s neck as curly brown hair covered her face.
“I’ve never been so afraid. I thought he’d killed you. I thought I’d just seen you murdered before
my very eyes...”

Hermione was clinging to her tightly, her grip fierce. Rosalie hugged her back without restraint.

“I know,” Rosalie eventually, her tone soothing as she pulled back to meet warm brown eyes, a
small wry smile curling her lips, “I thought I was toast too.”

Hermione nodded, her gaze turning cautious, “About that, Rose… we should probably talk about
why you’re not dead. I’ve been thinking a lot about how that was possible and, well…”
“You figured out that I am a horcrux,” Rosalie finished holding her friend’s worried gaze.

Hermione stared at her agape.

“You knew?” Hermione asked, shocked and a little betrayed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rosalie shook her head, ushering her friend into the room, away from the fireplace through which
Hermione had just arrived and down into one Dumbledore’s plush, albeit garish, armchairs. The
Headmaster’s Wall of Portraits looked down on them as the two women settled themselves across
from one another, curious eyes tracking their movement across the room with keen interest. Only
Rosalie’s privacy wards kept their conversation private from the eavesdropping canvases watching
over them. Rosalie suspected that at this point, they couldn’t be too careful about who heard the
information that passed between them—that and the fact she could take a hint.

Professor McGonagall had barely batted an eyelid at her request to use the Headmaster’s office that
morning, her shrewd assessing gaze had flickered over Rosalie once, oddly satisfied, before
granting her unrestricted access the the Headmaster’s inner sanctum: “The space is yours to do
what you must to complete your task,” McGonagall told her briskly, “I needn’t remind you, I’m
sure, to take the proper precautions to ensure that your meeting remains…confidential?”

Rosalie had nodded, “Of course not, Professor. I’m not entirely sure how long it will take,
hopefully not more than a couple of hours though…”

“I’ll see that you’re not disturbed,” McGonagall assured her, “It’s good to see you up and about,
Potter. You had us worried.”

Rosalie had been left standing in the quiet of Dumbledore’s office, alone in the silence of a room
that usually felt full of vitality and interest but instead seemed sapped of life. Without the
Headmaster’s presence, it lacked the charm that had always made it feel so welcoming. Things had
felt unnaturally still, even as his gadgets whirred and ticked around her. She knew she was in the
right place, however, and that conviction had only been reinforced as a familiar musical trill cut
through the relative silence.

“Fawkes,” Rosalie smiled at the impressive bird as he burst into existence behind her in a shower
of heat and sparks. His beautiful plumage was at the height of its magnificence, the richness of
colour dazzling as his wings beat a lazy rhythm, blowing her hair from off of her shoulders as he
hovered over the Headmaster’s desk.
Clasped in his talons had sat Ravenclaw’s Diadem and a letter.

“No, I didn’t know. I had no idea,” Rosalie told Hermione presently as they settled across from one
another, “At least, not until it was already too late to have done anything about it. Severus told me
—and he only knew because Dumbledore confessed the truth about You-Know-Who’s horcruxes
to him a couple of weeks ago so that Severus would understand what he was getting into by getting
involved with me. It turns out, that Dumbledore has probably known for years that my scar was a
direct link to You-Know-Who because of the horcrux living inside of me. It’s been there since the
night he murdered my parents and tried to kill me.”

“It explains a few things. More than a few things, really,” Hermione nodded, “I can’t believe I
didn’t think of it sooner, it seems so obvious now.”

Rosalie shivered, “I don’t think it’s something I’d have ever considered without someone telling
me. Horcruxes are so Dark and I’m just me. To think that one has been living inside me all
along… and that the reason Severus was so preoccupied wasn’t that he was losing interest in me at
all, but rather it was because he was looking for a way to get rid of the horcrux inside me without,
well…”

“Without ‘destroying the vessel’—you—oh, Rose!” Hermione finished with a worried sigh, “We’ll
have to test you somehow so that we can be sure it’s really gone, but in a way, we’ve been
incredibly fortunate. Of all the things to have happened…If you think about it, the fact that you got
hit with the Killing Curse and survived, potentially eliminating the horcrux inside of you… You-
Know-Who might have inadvertently done us a pretty big favour.”

Rosalie laughed wryly, “That’s one way to look at it.”

Hermione grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“In other news, Ron has been by to see me,” Hermione said after a moment, sending Rosalie a
careful look, “He apologised to me for the way he’s been acting and he wants to see you too.”

Rosalie sighed, “Of course he does. It only makes perfect sense that he’d pick now of all times to
hash this out, wouldn’t he? We haven’t got the time to deal with his temper tantrum at the moment,
Hermione. Haven’t we got enough going on as it is?”

“I think he wants to help, Rose, he feels bad about the way he handled things,” Hermione said with
a small shrug.

“Until he finds out about Severus and I and ends up—”

“I’ve already told him,” Hermione interrupted mildly.

“You what?” Rosalie exclaimed in shock, completely derailed, “You told him? Well, how did he
take it?”

Hermione sighed, pausing to push her bushy brown hair back out of her eyes, “Not well, obviously,
he hasn’t changed his opinion about Snape, that’s for sure. He could have certainly handled it
worse, though. I told him not to bother coming back if he couldn’t accept that you and Snape were
together and, well, I don’t think he really accepts it, but I think he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Rosalie hummed dubiously, “I suppose that’s all I can hope to ask for, isn’t it? Although I wonder
how long it will last. Ron has never been very good at keeping his mouth shut and he’s just so…so
bloody pigheaded about this.”

Hermione nodded, “I think we need to give him the chance though. Our future is…well, who
knows what will happen today or tomorrow or even the day after that? If this really is the lead up
to end of the war, then things have got the potential to get a lot worse before they get better and I
think we owe it to him to take him at his word. Who knows when we’ll be given the opportunity to
mend fences again?”

Rosalie cast her gaze to the floor, guilt swirling uncomfortably in her stomach, “You’re right. I’d
regret it if something happened and I’d not taken the opportunity to put things right.”

“I think we just need to be kind to one another,” Hermione continued carefully, “he’s still our
friend, despite a difference of opinion and I think if we turned him away now when he’s trying—”

“I get it, I get it,” Rosalie interrupted placatingly, “And really, it’s not that I don’t want to put
things right between us or that I’m really all that upset with Ron, not about leaving anyway. I can
understand that he’d need time to sort himself out. I don’t hold that against him, but I know him.
You know him. You know that once he’s got something in his head he finds it hard to let it go.”

“He got over the Goblet of Fire incident. Well, eventually. Maybe this will be the same,” Hermione
said with a small hitch of her shoulders.

“We’ll find out, I guess,” Rosalie nodded.

“I’ll call him to join us, then?” Hermione asked, pulling out her wand so that she could summon
her Patronus.

Rosalie nodded, smiling at her friend, “You are an amazing friend, Hermione. The best really. I
don’t know what I would do without your steadying influence.”

“You’d wind up in far more trouble than you already do, that’s for sure,” Hermione laughed and
with the spirit laughter in her voice summoned her Patronus.

Rosalie watched Hermione’s otter scurry off as she considered what she’d say to Ron when he
arrived. The last time they’d been face to face had been that awful night in the library at
Grimmauld Place when he’d professed his love for her. Just the memory of it made her prickle
with hot anxiety and Rosalie felt her stomach twist uncomfortably, flip-flopping over itself.
Although it had been her who had rejected him she couldn’t deny that she felt nervous about seeing
him again. Would things just go back to normal? Or would this strange air of expectation forever
linger over their friendship? As the floo flared green, however, it was with a jolt that Rosalie
realised the moment was upon her before she felt truly ready for it. There was no time left for
‘what if’s’ as long limbs and a shock of red hair unfolded from within the floo and Ron Weasley
stepped out into the Headmaster’s Office. Blue eyes immediately sought her out as Ron’s cheeks
took on an unflattering pink stain.

Ron lowered his gaze as he dusted himself off, “‘Lo, Hermione. Rosalie.”

It had taken remarkably little time for him to arrive, Rosalie noted, wondering if he’d been waiting
by the floo for Hermione’s summons—ready and waiting for Hermione to clear a path for him to
rejoin their group.

Rosalie sighed, casting Hermione a brief knowing look at the witch’s clear and skilful
manoeuvring before turning her gaze back on Ron. Rosalie eyed him carefully, taking in the
downcast tilt of his shoulders and his lowered head and decided then and there that perhaps it
didn’t matter. Perhaps the best thing for everyone was just to move on, “Come sit down, Ron, we
have a lot to catch you up on.”
Ron nodded, peeking up at her with a grateful smile as he loped across the room and pulled up a
chair. He pushed his fringe back from his eyes as he gave her an appreciative nod. Rosalie nodded
back, before casting her gaze between her two friends.

“A lot has happened since, well…”

“Since I ran out on you guys?” Ron offered as nonchalantly as he could, surprising her with the
frankness of his comment—owning his behaviour for what it was, Rosalie realised. It showed far
more self-awareness than she would have expected of him, but then, they’d all changed this
summer, all grown in different ways—just grown up.

Rosalie shrug-nodded, “Yes, well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. Instead of fighting, we
should be focusing our energies on ending the war and as of this moment, we are closer to that goal
than ever before. Ron, since you’ve been gone, we have accounted for all but one of the seven
horcruxes. Two of them, I hope to destroy today.”

“All but one?” Ron asked in surprise, “What’s left?”

“Nagini,” Hermione offered, “Probably the hardest of all, really.”

Rosalie nodded her agreement. Nagini was not an inanimate object like a cup or a book, if
threatened, she would defend herself and a snake like Nagini could be deadly in her own right—the
Headmaster was proof of that. More than that, however, Voldemort rarely let her out of his sight.
Getting to Nagini meant getting closer to the Dark Lord than any of them were really all that
comfortable with.

“After what happened at Little Hangleton, it is more important than ever that we destroy the two
horcruxes that we have in our possession as soon as possible. We don’t have the luxury of waiting
for Dumbledore to recover now that the Dark Lord knows... It’s been days since he found us
retrieving the cup. He’s had plenty of time since then to revisit each and every location and tally
how many of his horcruxes are missing—all of the ones he can reach, that is. For perhaps the first
time we have him on the back foot. The sooner the horcruxes are gone once and for all, all that will
remain to be eliminated will be Nagini before he’s fair game,” Rosalie said with determination,
eyes alight with a single-minded focus.

Ron rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully, “Nagini sticks pretty closed to You-Know-Who
from what I’ve heard.”
Rosalie nodded, “I know. They may need to be taken care of at the same time, or at least one after
another, most likely at the final confrontation.”

“What were they all, in the end?” Ron asked, looking between the two girls.

“Well,” Hermione began as she shared a look with Rosalie, “You know about the diary, the ring
and the locket. The Headmaster told us he had retrieved Ravenclaw’s Diadem and then we
retrieved the Hufflepuff Cup from the house at Little Hangleton.”

“That’s five,” Ron prompted, “Nagini makes six…”

“And I make Seven,” Rosalie told him.

“What?” Ron asked in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Rosalie reached into her pocket and withdrew the small vial of black oily liquid that Severus had
collected from her scar. She placed on the table between them where it remained as ever, dark and
insidious, vaguely threatening even in its inert state.

Ron stared at it uncomfortably, “What’s that?”

“When You-Know-Who hit me with the Killing Curse,” Rosalie told him carefully, her voice slow
and measured, “It appears that the only thing he ‘killed’ was the bit of his soul that was trapped
inside of me. I am the final horcrux—or I was, at least, up until a few days ago.”

“You bloody well were what?” Ron cried looking up at her in horror, “How’s that even possible?
All this time and you never knew?”

Rosalie nodded, “Ever since I was a baby…”

Ron looked at her in horror and Rosalie wondered if perhaps this was it, the thing that finally cured
him of his feelings for her. If anything was going to do it, knowing that she’d been harbouring a
parasitic piece of the Dark Lord’s soul inside her head for the last seventeen years was surely it.
Ron’s world had always been black and white—good and evil, Light and Dark, there was no
overlap.

“Bloody hell, Rose! And Dumbledore never said a thing?” Ron asked angrily. Angry on her behalf
she realised, but then Ron was like that as a friend, any grievance against a friend was felt as
keenly as a grievance against himself. One of the many qualities she’d always admired in him.

Rosalie shook her head.

“Merlin,” Ron breathed, reaching out to pick up the vial that still sat on the table between them,
holding it up to the light to inspect the substance inside, “It’s gone now though, right? This is it
here?”

Rosalie let herself be surprised at his easy response.

“We will need to find some way to test for it so we can be sure,” Hermione offered as held her
hand out for the vial so she too could inspect its contents, “But for now we believe so.”

“I guess it explains a few things though, doesn’t it?” Ron shrugged, looking up at Rosalie with
raised ginger eyebrows, “Like how he was able to access your mind and no one else’s or how you
can speak parseltongue even though it’s an inherited trait—and not one passed down through the
Potter family tree.”

“Parseltongue! I never thought of that,” Hermione cried in excitement, “Ron, you’re brilliant
sometimes! Rosalie have you tried to speak Parseltongue at all since the incident?”

“No, I’ve had no reason to,” Rosalie replied honestly, “I’ve barely been conscious for 24hrs, it’s a
wonder that Madame Pomfrey didn’t chain me to the bed to keep me in the Hospital Wing.”

“It was safer for you not to be,” Hermione told her matter-of-factly, “If you Madame Pomfrey
hadn’t woken you when she did you would have been moved anyway. There are too many eyes
around that report back to You-Know-Who and we needed him to think that you’d walked away
from his Killing Curse all but unharmed.”

Rosalie nodded. Severus had told her as much the night before, but even still she fought back the
urge to rub at her chest where a starburst scar marred her chest. Not entirely unharmed.
“So we test Rosalie to see if she can still speak Parseltongue and we’ll have our answer,” Ron
concluded.

Rosalie was dubious, “And what happens if I can still speak it?”

Ron shrugged, “Then we think of something else.”

Hermione shook her head, “I’ll have another look through the manuscript to see if there is some
way of testing for the presence of a horcrux. Though nothing springs to mind, maybe I missed
something?”

“Right now I think we should focus on destroying the two that we have,” Rosalie told them,
pulling their focus back to the reason they were there in the first place, “The rest can wait, but I
won’t feel comfortable until I know the two horcruxes we do have are gone.”

“Did Dumbledore give you the diadem?” Hermione asked.

“In a way, Fawkes brought it to me this morning,” Rosalie said with a nod towards Dumbledore’s
desk where Ravenclaw’s Diadem sat innocently, the light of the fire reflecting off its smooth
surface, “Be on guard around them. I don’t think they are sentient exactly, but at least two of the
Dark Lord’s horcruxes, the two that I destroyed, we able to manifest apparitions that tried to
dissuade us from destroying them. The first one was almost successful.”

“What if he makes more?” Ron asked worriedly, “He knows that you know. What’s stopping him
from making more?”

Hermione shook her head, “We know it’s not that easy. It takes preparation that he won’t have had
time to complete. What happened with Rosalie when she was a baby would have only been able to
occur because he intended on using her murder as the catalyst for his next horcrux and he would
have needed to have completed all the preliminary steps prior to the murder.”

“I find it a little disturbing that you know so much about this,” Ron replied with a small shake of
his head.
“I know. I almost wish I didn’t,” Hermione agreed.

“But you see now why we are running out of time,” Rosalie added, “We’re not sure it’s even
possible for him to make another horcrux, it may not be possible for his soul to be split again. But
if it is, then we are running out of time—the final confrontation must occur while he is
vulnerable.”

Ron and Hermione both nodded in unison.

Rosalie looked at her two friends, “Once we have destroyed the cup and the diadem, it will be time
to take what we know to the Order.”

“Alright, then,” Ron said with a nod, “Let’s do this.”

Dearest Rosalie,

While it pains me to have left you to deal with what is to come alone, please know that while I may
no longer be there to guide you, I have not left you wholly unprepared to face what is to come. I am
ever so proud of everything you have achieved and of the woman you have become. If there was
any other way, Rosalie, please believe that I would have found it, but, my dear, the truth of the
matter is that you are the final piece of the puzzle. You are Voldemort’s final horcrux. I do not
believe even Voldemort realises the significance you hold or else he would not have tried to kill you
for so many years. You are the key to his survival and his demise.

So you see now, the truth of it: only you can end this madness, Rosalie. Any number of us would
have gladly taken this weight from your shoulders should we have possessed the power to do so,
but Voldemort took that option from us long ago. Yet, however difficult the truth may be, I have
faith that you will have the strength to do what must be done. He chose you for a reason, Rosalie,
when marked you as his equal. You are everything that he is not—kind, selfless and full of love and
that, my dear, is your greatest power. It is the power that will see you stand tall when the time
comes for you and Tom Riddle come face to face.
Foolishly, some weeks ago, I confessed the truth of your fate to Severus. Watching him struggle
with this knowledge has been one of my biggest regrets. I misread, perhaps, how strong your bond
truly was. He has found love with you, Rosalie, and he will not let you go easily, my dear.
However, I know that when the time comes you will do everything in your power to see this
through.

Fawkes has brought you Ravenclaw’s Diadem as instructed and will remain with you from here on
out. He is an invaluable source of comfort and inspiration in times of need and I hope that you are
able to draw as much from him as I have done so in these final days.

Yours faithfully,

Albus Dumbledore

Rosalie swallowed thickly as she carefully refolded Albus’ letter, her fingers trembling as she ran
her thumbnail along the seams, re-creasing them with care. Her heart was pounding painfully in her
chest as the words he’d written scored themselves into her soul—a carefully worded edict to lay
down her life for the cause. Rosalie slipped the parchment into her back pocket and stared out of
the Headmaster’s window, thankful that she’d waited until Ron and Hermione had left before
allowing herself to read the letter the Fawkes had delivered along with the diadem.

Almost as if he knew she was thinking about him, Fawkes trilled behind her.

Rosalie shook her head, the point was moot—she’d fulfilled her destiny, it seemed—and yet there
was still an inescapable flicker of injustice that burnt inside of her. All the escapades and the risk-
taking stunts that she pulled over the years—behaviour that Dumbledore had subtly fostered in her
—had all been in pursuit of preparing her to take this leap to her demise. She’d been raised like a
lamb for slaughter and it made her question there every interaction.

The thought stoked the hot coals of fury that smouldered inside of her.

They were all nothing more than pawns to him, pieces to be moved about on his private chessboard
or sacrificed as his strategy called for. Oh, he cared for her, as he did all his pawns, no doubt, he
just didn’t let it get in the way of doing what he felt was best for the ‘Greater Good’. In that
respect, she supposed that someone had to, war wasn’t won by bleeding hearts, it was why he was
their leader, but it also meant that the image that he portrayed to the world—the benevolent,
eccentric, wise old man routine—was nothing but a carefully crafted falsehood.
Albus Dumbledore was a manipulator.

A liar and schemer.

That he meant well was all well and good, but Rosalie knew she would never again trust him with
her life or the lives of the people she loved. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—trust him not to deem
someone she cared about as ‘dispensable’.

Rosalie licked her lips carefully as she considered the ruined remains of Ravenclaw’s Diadem and
the Hufflepuff Cup. Part of her wanted to speak to Severus about what their next move should be,
but the rebellious part of her also wanted to grab her invisibility cloak and make her way down to
the Chamber of Secrets—if she could open it, then she would know once and for all whether or not
the horcrux was gone. It didn’t matter that she had every reason to believe the horcrux had been
destroyed by Voldemort’s Killing Curse, her mind wouldn’t rest until she had proof.

White teeth sunk into her lower lip and with a brisk nod, she summoned Kreacher.

“You called, Mistress?” The decrepit house-elf asked as he dropped into a bow so deep that the
elf’s nose was almost touching the floor.

“I need you to retrieve my invisibility cloak and bring it to me, please?” Rosalie asked him once he
was upright once more, “but make sure that you are not seen by anyone—especially my friends or
Severus.”

“As you wish,” Kreacher replied, bowing once more before he vanished from the room and
reappearing moments later with Rosalie’s invisibility cloak clutched in his hands.

Rosalie accepted the proffered cloak gratefully.

“Thank you, Kreacher, that will be all,” Rosalie replied, dismissing him back to his duties at
Grimmauld Place.

It was a moment’s work then to cover herself in the cloak and slip from Dumbledore’s office. She
rode the spiral staircase downstairs, checking the hall twice before stepping out into the school
proper. Her feet were silent as she made her way carefully through the halls. Thankfully, it was
still early enough that most of the school’s population was still in class, consumed by their last
period before lunch when the school would then congregate in the Great Hall for their midday
meal.

She couldn’t have timed things better if she’d tried, Rosalie thought with satisfaction as she
approached the Second Floor Girl’s Lavatory. She knew from her escapades over the years that the
bathroom was rarely used for its intended purpose, but it wasn’t out of the question for it to be a
used as a hiding place from time to time for those playing truant from class. If she’d been thinking
clearly, she’d have made Kreacher retrieve the Marauders Map as well, Rosalie thought in
annoyance as she checked the hall before slipping into the bathroom.

Rosalie shut the door behind her as quietly as possible as she listened for the sound of occupancy
from within the stalls.

“Homenum Revelio!” Rosalie muttered, her voice barely louder than an exhale, only relaxing when
it confirmed that she was alone in the room.

“Colloportus!” She said absently, flicking a locking charm at the door she’d just entered through as
she tugged the cloak off of her shoulders.

Rosalie took a deep breath as she stared at the sink in question, her eyes fixed on the snake
engraved tap that sat over it. Such a simple lock that it was a wonder that it had remained hidden
for so long. If not for the fact that Parseltongue was incredibly rare in modern times, it might have
been found and opened several times over the years. That it had only resulted in the death of a
single student—Myrtle— was nothing short of a miracle.

Rosalie made her way carefully across the room until she was standing in front of the sink,
wondering absently what Salazar Slytherin would think of the fact that the entrance to his precious
Chamber was now through the plumbing network of a girls lavatory.

“Open,” Rosalie whispered fearfully, her focus fixed on the snake engraved tap. Her heart was
hammering with trepidation as anxiety built inside of her, flooding her limbs with useless
adrenaline as she waited for the Chamber to open, but nothing happened.

Rosalie pressed her lips together apprehensively.

“Open up,” She repeated, louder and more determined, her tone a clear command that would not be
ignored.
The breath caught in her lungs as Rosalie waited for the trap door to open to her command, but
again nothing happened. The entrance remained stubbornly closed against her demands. She held
her breath until the air burned in her lungs and she was forced to exhale, the trapped air whooshing
from her lungs just as she’d begun to feel lightheaded. Still, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets
remained impassable and Rosalie felt a thrill race through her as she realised what that meant.

“I can’t open it,” She said aloud as she let the realisation sink in. She wasn’t speaking
Parseltongue. She couldn’t speak it, because the horcrux inside her was gone. It was gone.

A delighted laugh bubbled out of her and Rosalie grinned as she glanced up to stare at herself in
the mirror. The face that stared back at her was grinning brightly, happiness shining in the
woman’s green eyes—her eyes—lighting up her features in a way that she remembered, but hadn’t
felt in a very long time. Spinning on her heel she bent to scoop up her invisibility cloak and swirled
it up and over her shoulders, the smile still plastered to her face as she slipped from view.

The halls were still all but deserted as she dashed unerringly through the castle, down flights of
moving staircases as she descended through the castle, only one destination in mind.

Severus looked up from his paperwork as a gentle knock sounded from the other side of his office
door.

“Enter,” he called, his eyebrows shooting up as the door swung open and then closed seemingly
admitting nothing, “What are you doing out and about in the school?”

Rosalie was grinning as she pulled the invisibility cloak off and walked over to him, “You knew it
was me.”

Severus gave her a wry smile, “I don’t have many other invisible guests in my office. What are you
doing here?”
Severus heard the click of his office door’s lock sliding into place as she slunk around the side of
his desk, her cloak abandoned to the visitor chair that sat opposite him. She was smiling as she
came to lean against the side of his desk, “I wanted to see you.”

“It’s the middle of the school day, Rose,” Severus reprimanded gently even as he replaced his quill
in its inkwell and turned to give her his full attention. Her hand reached for his and he let her lace
their fingers together gently. Amazing how such a simple gesture could feel so good. Severus had
never considered himself the hand-holding type, but everything seemed possible with Rosalie.

“I know, but it’s lunch—everyone else is in the Great Hall,” she replied easily as she pulled him
out of his chair and twined his arm around her waist. Severus allowed it, quirking one eyebrow
down at her questioningly as he made a non-committal sound of agreement.

“Anyway, I have good news,” she continued, unable to contain the smile on her face, “Don’t you
want to hear it?”

Severus nodded, “I do, but—”

“Shh, this is important. I promise,” she interrupted, her fingers sneaking up to press against his lips.

“I can’t speak Parseltongue anymore,” she breathed against him as her forehead came to rest
against his, the warmth of her hand slipping around to cup his jaw, “I just tried to open the
Chamber of Secrets to be sure, but… nothing. It’s gone.”

Severus pulled back so he could stare down at her in surprise, his eyes flicking back and forth
between hers as he searched her face, “Truly?”

“Yes.” Rosalie replied with a small nod, “I was worried that perhaps the horcrux inside me wasn’t
really gone and, well, Ron made me realise that parseltongue is an inherited trait—one that
couldn’t have been passed down from any of my ancestors and even if it had, in any case, it’s gone
now which means it must have come from—”

“The horcrux that the Dark Lord destroyed,” Severus finished.

She nodded happily, “Yes. It’s gone, Severus.”

Severus smiled, his hand finding the warm skin at her waist as his hand slipped under the hem of
her sweater, “This is cause for celebration.”

Rosalie nodded, her hand curling about his neck as she tugged him into her, her lips finding his as
she pulled him into a soft kiss. Her lips we soft and plush, moving with his in ways that had
become familiar to them both over the last few months and Severus, against his better judgement,
allowed himself to give in to her despite the fact that they were in his office and despite the fact it
was the middle of the school day.

“We should ward the room,” he muttered against her lips, felt them quirk up as she smiled against
him, pressing her lips to his once more before she pulled back only far enough to draw her wand.
She had become frightfully adept at privacy wards in the last few months, he thought idly as her
wand made a quick circle above their heads and not entirely due to the war they were embroiled in
either.

Her arms smoothed up his chest and over his shoulders, one small hand raking in through his hair
as she turned her attention back to him, “When this is all done with, I think we should leave
here…”

“Hogwarts?” Severus queried, having had the same thought more than once.

“Wizarding Britain,” Rosalie clarified, “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to travel the world and
just live a simple life. I can wait to sit my NEWTs if I have to and I know I said I’d like to be a
healer one day, but right now I can’t really imagine pursuing a career straight away.”

“If you have the money to support yourself there is no rush,” Severus agreed.

“I have enough money to support both of us,” Rosalie nodded earnestly, “If we wanted to, neither
of need ever work ever again.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I would never allow you to take on the burden of supporting me
financially,” Severus refuted, his hand cupping her face gently, taking the sting out of his words as
his thumb swiped over her lips, “I would not be comfortable not earning my income—I have
always worked for my living and will continue to do so.”

“If you want,” Rosalie nodded easily, not offended in the least by his refusal, “Maybe we could
find a house somewhere, something that is completely ours, somewhere quiet and secluded where
you can set up your potions business and work from home.”

Severus squeezed her waist gently, “It’s a lovely dream.”

Rosalie frowned at him, her fingers curling in the front of his robes, tugging gently, “I don’t want it
to just be a dream, Severus. I want it to be our future. I want a future with you and I want it to be
out from under Dumbledore’s thumb.”

Severus watched her closely, brushing the hair back from her face as he searched her gaze for the
meaning in what she wasn’t saying, “Albus is an interfering old coot, but he means well, Rosalie, if
we survive this war, he will have no say in what happens in our lives. Our future is our own to
build—wherever or however we choose to build it.”

“No. No,” Rosalie said with a shake of her head, “I know he means well, but I don’t trust him not
to drag one or both us back into his plotting. I think we have both earned our freedom, Severus. I
intend to ensure he respects that and the best way I know how is by removing us both from his
sphere of influence. Tell me you want the same thing?”

Severus held her gaze, “I do. You know I do, Rosalie.”

Rosalie sighed, nodding, “Good.”

“If you want to leave, of course, I have no compunctions about doing so. I have long desired to step
away from teaching, as you know, and I have, until recently, lived a solitary life. If a secluded,
simple life is the life you choose to live, then I am happy to give it to you in any way I know how,”
Severus reiterated, “but we need to get through tomorrow first.”

Rosalie smoothed her hands down his chest, “We will make it through, Severus. We have to.”

Her hands cupped his face again as she pulled him into her, her lips joining his with an intensity
meant to seal her promise—seal their fate against the world. Severus could almost believe it. If
anyone could achieve the impossible, it was Rosalie Potter. Severus kissed her back, his long
fingers curling around the back of her neck as desire sparked between them like muggle electricity.
His chest felt thick with his affection for her—his love—emotion bubbling up as she melted into
him, her body pressed against his, so warm and pliant, as their kiss grew bolder.
A small moan escaped her throat as she pushed herself back up onto his desk, pulling him along
with her until he was stood between her open legs, pressed in tight against her like the twines of a
lovers knot. Severus felt her breath hitch at as his hands slipped under her sweater, soft, warm skin
gliding beneath his fingertips as he encircled her waist.

“Severus,” She breathed against him, the slick press of her lips skimming across his cheek as
Severus buried his face in the warm vanilla of her neck. A scent he’d begun to associate with the
heady burn of arousal.

The bell signalling the end of lunch sounded, chiming discordantly in the distance.

Severus cursed silently, his eyes automatically flicking to the locked door over her shoulder.

“Do you have a class?” She asked breathlessly, her eyes cloudy with arousal as she blinked up at
him.

Severus nodded, disentangling himself from her arms gently as he stepped free of her embrace
watching as she sagged back onto her hands. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed pink and her
lips were swollen—anyone who saw her would have no questions about what she’d been doing in
his office. She looked thoroughly debauched and the sight of her alone was causing his blood to
rush to his groin anew.

She’d never looked more beautiful.

Severus cursed again as he readjusted his robes around his half-hard erection—he absolutely could
not walk into his next class in this state.

“I should go,” She smiled, slipping off of his desk and reaching for her cloak, “Unless you want
help with that?”

Severus glared at her without rancour, “I highly doubt your presence will do anything to ‘help’ this
situation given you got me into it in the first place. Go, you blasted woman, leave me my dignity.”

Rosalie laughed, “If you say so.”

 “Go.”

Still chuckling Rosalie slipped back beneath her invisibility cloak and Severus couldn’t keep the
small amused smirk off of his face as she disappeared from view. He waited, watching for the door
to swing open and closed, but her voice, when it floated out to him, was closer than he’d imagined
it would be: “I love you.”

“I know,” he told her gently, his hand resting over hers as she reached out an invisible hand to
touch his chest carefully, “I’ll see you tonight.”

He felt the air shift around him, a tell-tale sign of her movement away from him moments before
his door handle depressed and the door creaked open.

Chapter End Notes

We were so close to some Rosalie/Snape Office Sex, but in the end, it didn't feel right.
Perhaps poor Severus will get some action in the next chapter? :) We will definitely
see more Ron and Rosalie interaction to come as they still need to clear the air
between them, but for today they had bigger issues to focus on. I also elected to have
the horcrux destruction happen out of scene, which I'm sure some of you won't like,
but while I felt that it was important to know that it had occurred, I didn't feel like it
was as important to the story development as the other elements that were focal to this
chapter.

I hope you liked the chapter anyway, please let me know what you think!
 Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Summary

*********************************************************

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

*********************************************************

Chapter Notes

Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter. I appreciated them all
more than you know. Your words are golden!

I hope you enjoy this latest update! Let me know what you think.

No beta read, sorry for any mistakes I might have missed!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Thirty-Five

Their little common room was loud and bustling with people, full of so much life and good spirit
that Molly didn’t even mind that the feast they were consuming wasn’t of her own making—
although she couldn’t deny, she considered blithely and just a little bit smug, that her own recipe
for shepherd’s pie was superior to that which the elves had prepared. Nevertheless, despite the
shepherd’s pie, it was nice seeing everyone together and Molly was thankful that despite the
growing horrors of their world, they could still sit down around a shared meal and unwind—laugh,
even. Soon enough, the plates would be cleared and they would turn to the real reason they were
congregated under one roof and in one swift moment, all of the levity would be gone and war
would be upon them once more.

Molly sighed.
When would be the next time they’d all be able to sit down like this? Halloween was just around
the corner and after that Christmas was only a couple of months away, but Molly couldn’t help but
worry that it would be a different kind of celebration this year. Most of her family was seated
around this table—with the exception of Percy, of course, and Ginny who was still in school—and
very soon they would all likely walk into battle alongside one another. Was it too much to ask that
they all make it through unscathed? Or was it just wishful thinking?

“Everything alright, Mol?” Arthur asked as he leaned into her, his warm familiar hand finding her
knee beneath the table and squeezing gently. Molly placed her hand over his, patting it gently in
return as she looked up into his warm blue eyes.

“Just appreciating the moment,” she assured him with a smile as she curled her hand around his,
“Oh, it’s nice, isn’t it? Having everyone together like this?”

“Right you are,” he agreed warmly, “Right you are, Dear.”

Plates were being passed back and forth across the table as food was shared and drinks were
poured. For all that hung overhead, the conversation was light and flowing freely and Molly
couldn’t help but sigh happily as she glanced around at those gathered. With the notable exception
of Albus and Poppy, most of the Order was in attendance, crammed in elbow to elbow around a
table that wasn’t quite big enough but still managed to overwhelm their small common room. Yet,
even despite the close quarters, everyone was in fine spirits. It would be moments like these Molly
would choose to look back on with fondness once Voldemort was nothing more than a dirty smear
on their history. The bonds of friendship and family, camaraderie forged of a common goal, uniting
them as one.

And speaking of bonds...

Molly’s eyes strayed to Rosalie who was seated across the table and two or three chairs down from
herself and Arthur. Severus, like a looming shadow, was pressed in beside her and Molly pursed
her lips at the arm she could see looped around the back of Rosalie’s chair. Though Severus was
paying Rosalie no mind, that arm plucked at something inside of Molly that was strung taut like a
bow—a mother’s intuition, Molly suspected. In Molly’s experience, such an intuition was rarely
wrong and whilst Rosalie may not be her daughter by blood, she had been a daughter of Molly’s
heart since she’d walked into their life at age eleven.

It was such a little thing really, Severus wasn’t even touching Rosalie, but the whole thing filled
Molly with an awful sense of awareness. Awareness, perhaps, that it stood for more than what it
seemed. After all, Molly couldn’t say what about it had even drawn her attention—perhaps it was
that it seemed subconsciously proprietary in nature, his easy sprawl through the polite boundaries
of Rosalie’s personal space—but once she’d laid eyes on it, she couldn’t look away.

‘I’m being silly,’ Molly scolded herself, leaning forward to take up her goblet of juice, ‘You knew
Severus and Rosalie had become close. It is just an arm.’

Yet, unbidden, a memory sprung to Molly’s mind of Rosalie returning to the tower three or four
days ago rosy-lipped and bright-eyed, her hair a tousled mess. Molly had made nothing of it at the
time, noting and dismissing Rosalie appearance the space of a single breath, never once thinking
anything more of it until that very moment. Yet think of it now, she did, wondering what had put
that colour on Rosalie’s cheeks.

Unable to help herself, Molly twitched her wand, watching as a goblet of pumpkin juice toppled
over, spilling across the table in front of Rosalie. A chorus of startled cries rang up around the table
as Rosalie jumped back from the resulting flood of orange liquid, pressing herself back into the
arm that was slung around the back of her chair as she withdrew her wand. Molly watched as
Severus’ attention turned to her, his focus narrowing in on the commotion as the hand that was
slung across the back of her chair moved to the centre of Rosalie’s back, settling comfortably
between her shoulder blades. Rosalie banished the spill of liquid, offering him a quick smile as she
replaced her wand and settled back into her conversation with Hermione.

Then, as Molly watched, Severus’ hand swept lazily down the length of Rosalie’s spine before
reclaiming its place over her backrest and Molly’s gaze narrowed in vindication.

“Whatever are you scowling at, my love?” Arthur asked easily, a small chuckle in his words as a
warm hand ran down her own back in an awful echo of what she’d just witnessed. It was nothing
more than a thoughtless caress, Severus attention already back on his conversation with Minerva,
but to Molly, it spoke volumes. It was clear to her that Severus had become accustomed to moving
within Rosalie’s personal space and Rosalie, in turn, seemed unfazed by his encroachment.
Physical proximity between the two of them had become familiar and welcome.

“Severus Snape is sleeping with our Rose,” Molly hissed to her husband as she dragged her eyes
away from the unlikely pair.

Arthur spluttered, almost choking on his drink as his gaze shot up to where Rosalie and Severus
were sitting, “Merlin’s beard, Molly, what makes you say that?”

“A mother knows, Arthur,” Molly said pointedly as her gaze darted back to the couple in question.
The question was, now that she knew—or, at least, strongly suspected—what was she to do about
it? Molly would have to speak to Rosalie, surely? This was not the right choice for a young woman
like Rosalie. Severus was a man steeped in Darkness—a former Death Eater, branded with You-
Know-Who’s mark—and though Molly knew Severus to be wholly on their side, she couldn’t, in
good conscience, call him a nice man, even if he was a technically good one. No, she knew him to
be snide and petty, bitter and cold and his sarcasm had teeth that he knew how to wield. Their Rose
deserved so much more than what someone like Severus could offer her! She had already been
through so much in her young life, she deserved everything good and light in the world, not a man
twice her age with a dubious reputation. That reputation would cause her nothing but heartache.

Rosalie needed someone who could stand beside her and support her through the ups and downs of
life and everything that being Rosalie Potter meant, her fame and the press that came with it—
Molly could only imagine the uproar that would ensue once the news broke that the Girl-Who-
Lived was involved with a Death Eater—would be unrelenting. Rosalie deserved someone who
understood what it was like and who wouldn’t make things worse, someone who would make her
smile and laugh till it hurt. Someone who loved her unconditionally and who would one day help
her build the family and life she’d been denied up until that point, a life Molly knew she dreamed
of. Would Severus Snape give her any of those things? Could he?

Arthur was still wheezing beside her as he thumped his fist against his chest.

“As long as she is happy, Molly,” Arthur told his wife gently, “She could do worse than a man like
Severus Snape.”

Molly’s head snapped around to stare at her husband in shocked outrage, “She could ‘do worse’?
Do worse? Really, Arthur?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at his wife’s dumbfounded outcry.

“Quite. As much as I disliked seeing my son in pain these last few weeks over Rosalie’s rejection,
it has always been quite clear that our Rose was going to need someone who could match her and
Severus is certainly that!” Arthur chastised his wife gently, before adding with a small chuckle: “I
rather think they might be good for one another. Severus is strong enough to temper her wild spirit
without crushing it, though I’d wager she gives him a run for his money! No doubt our Rose is
joyfully turning his quiet life upside down!”

Molly stared at her husband in surprise, wondering that she hadn’t stopped to consider what impact
Rosalie might be having on Severus’ life as she turned to consider the unlikely couple once more.
She couldn’t deny that once upon a time, Severus rarely bothered joining them for dinner before
the formalities of the evening commenced. Where once he’d lurk in the shadows at the back of the
room, he’d now become a regular seat at their table. His posture was curiously relaxed and open,
his body angled, ever so slightly, towards Rosalie even as he remained in conversation with
Minerva. She’d not considered what his motivations for this change might have been, but it seemed
clear now that it was because of his attachment to Rosalie.

As Molly was considering this, dark eyes lifted to meet hers and Molly startled guiltily, flustered
by having been caught staring so intently. Severus held her gaze for a moment as he inclined his
head and Molly felt her cheeks turn pink as she nodded back uncomfortably.

‘The gall of him...’ she thought hotly.

Her temper carried her through the remainder of dinner and into the meeting that followed once the
dishes had been cleared and Minerva had moved to take her place at the head of the table. The fog
of anger only lifting as Minerva began to relay reports of the growing number of Death Eater raids
that were occurring in ever-increasing proximity to Hogsmeade. It only added to the worry that was
bubbling away inside of her. Businesses were closing down, windows were being boarded up and
people were abandoning their homes and livelihood as they fled from the coming storm. It couldn’t
be allowed to continue and yet, Voldemort had the advantage of numbers on his side.

“He’s coming for Hogwarts then?” Someone asked from the end of the table.

“We do not know for sure what he hopes to achieve through these raids, aside from the obvious
terror and destruction that it inflicts on those that fall victim to his whims, but we believe Hogwarts
is the ultimate goal, yes,” Minerva responded gravely.

A weighty silence descended over the room as heavy looks passed between those seated at the
table. Molly felt the oppressive burden of responsibility fall heavy on her shoulders, the threat of
war at her back, boxing her in. It seemed all but inevitable that it should come to this.

The jarring sound of wood scraping stone startled her from her thoughts and Molly turned to see
Rosalie stood at the table, her chair pushed back behind her.

“Professor McGonagall,” Rosalie called respectfully, “There is something I feel it is time the Order
knew, would you mind I said a few words?”

“By all means, Potter,” Minerva nodded, “The floor is yours.”

Molly watched as Rosalie scanned the table, her gaze calm, assessing and so awfully grown-up that
Molly’s heart leapt to her throat in apprehension of what was to come, “I mean no disrespect, I
know some of you won’t like what I am about to say, but I think that it needs to be said and there
are things that you all need to know.”

No one voiced a word of protest. Instead, silence rung throughout the room as they waited for
Rosalie to continue, the room so deathly quiet that Molly could hear the logs crackling in the
fireplace as the bark popped and hissed, flames slowly turning the wood black and peeling its outer
layer. Molly too felt like her skin had been pulled tight across her face, a hard knot of unease
building inside of her as Rosalie let the words linger between them.

Her voice was clear and confinement as she continued: “I believe we are past the stage where it is
reasonable—or acceptable—for us to pretend that all-out war isn’t bearing down upon us like a
herd of angry hippogriffs. A confrontation is in inevitable; I’m sure all of you can all feel it
approaching, but… I believe that when it does happen, it shouldn’t be on his terms. We cannot
afford to be reactive any longer. Lives are being lost while we wait for him to make a move and
yet we don’t have the manpower to counter every raid he sends out when we don’t know when or
where they’ll happen. So perhaps it is time to go on the offensive.”

Molly looked around their group as murmurs broke out across the table.

“For over a year now, I have been working on a task alongside the Headmaster—with help from
Hermione and Ron—that will prove vital to our success in the coming confrontation. I cannot give
you all the details, but what I can tell you is this: when Tom Riddle was just a boy, a student at this
very school, he stumbled across a spell—the worst kind of Dark Arts—horrible, horrible magic
that would allow him the power of ‘immortality’ through the creation of a single object. It was to
be an item of his choosing. Anything that he desired...”

“Merlin, Rosalie...” Bill said breathlessly—fearfully, Molly realised as she stared at the stark white
pallor of Bill’s face, “Surely you cannot mean to speak of—”

“Not another word, Bill,” Rosalie said, cutting him off abruptly and Molly watched as Bill nodded,
falling silent under the stares of those seated around the table.

“And?” Moody prompted gruffly.

Rosalie took a deep breath, “And, against all reason, he made seven of them. Seven objects that
needed to be destroyed before we had any hope of defeating the Dark Lord once and for all. We
have found and destroyed six of them, only one remains, but the final object will not be won easily.
After Little Hangleton, the Dark Lord knows that we meant to rid him of these objects and he will
be keeping her close.”

“Whom close?” Minerva asked cautiously.

“Nagini,” Rosalie replied, “The Dark Lord’s familiar—the final obstacle to overcoming the Dark
Lord’s immortality.”

Molly shivered and glanced around the table once more, worry was etched across every face,
anxious concern not only for what Rosalie was telling them but what it meant for the war effort.

“You’re telling me, the Dark Lord has linked his very existence to his snake?” Kingsley asked
plainly.

Rosalie nodded, “Exactly.”

Moody huffed, “And what makes you think, with all your vast years of experience that you can
stand up there and order us to march off to war?”

Molly bristled at the question, at the challenge she could hear in his words as he fired them across
the table at Rosalie. Despite the tone of his words, however, his expression wasn’t confrontational
—challenging, yes, but not confrontational. In fact, it was almost as if he knew the answer to the
question he’d just asked, but wanted it voiced all the same. He was pushing her, testing her resolve
and Molly wanted to snap at him to cut it out. Surely Rosalie had proven herself time and again?

“I’m not ordering you to do anything,” Rosalie returned calmly, her resolve unshaken, “I am
merely pointing out that our current method of ‘wait then intervene’ is unsustainable. An
opportunity has presented itself to end this war once and for all. The Dark Lord can be made
vulnerable, we have the means to do it, but he won’t stay that way forever. He could attempt to
make another object, and whilst, personally, I no longer believe that that is an option for him,
should he somehow succeed or come up with an alternate scheme, he will have clawed back the
advantage. Right now we have a window to strike and I believe we should take it.”

A polite cough interrupted Rosalie’s speech and Molly dutifully turned her attention to her
daughter-in-law who was sat forward in her seat, “I don’t mean to interrupt, Rose, but surely…
wizout Dumbledore we are at a zignificant dizadvantage, no? Perhaps we ought to wait—”
“Unfortunately, Mrs Weasley,” Minerva interrupted gravely, her Scottish brogue thick, “If we were
to wait for Albus to recover—”

The witch cut herself off abruptly, the backs of her fingers pressed against her lips as she fought to
contain the sudden flood of emotion that gripped her. Molly felt her heart clench with sympathy,
feeling the loss of their leader just as keenly at that moment as the witch who stood before them
trying her best to keep them all together in the face of incredible odds.

“That is to say,” Minerva continued after a moment, her voice slightly wobbly, “That Albus’ future
remains uncertain. Madame Pomfrey is doing everything she can to allay the worst of the damage
caused by the snake venom in his system, but unfortunately, his body had already undergone
significant damage from his cursed hand. He is weak, his body tired and Madame Pomfrey still
cannot say for sure whether or not he will, in time, make a full recovery. Even if Albus recovers
from this, it will be many weeks if not months before he is back at full capacity, if that is even
achievable. Waiting for such an eventuality would be a folly.”

“His condition remains that severe?” Tonks asked worriedly, her hair as sombre black for the
occasion.

“Indeed, it does,” Minerva confirmed.

Molly searched out Arthurs hand blindly, clutching at his fingers.

“We don’t need Albus to win this,” Moody huffed pushing to his feet, “Not if we are smart about
how we face him.”

“The Dark Lord will not engage in outright battle,” Severus cut in smoothly from where he was
seated, his voice like dark chocolate, “Like a general he will stand back and wait for his moment to
strike allowing his troops to clear the way.”

Kingsley frowned, “And we do not have the numbers to face them in outright warfare.”

“Which is why we should not reveal our hand to him until it is too late,” Moody agreed, “If we can
lure him in—and the bloody snake—perhaps he can be done away with quickly and quietly.”

“He wants the school,” Rosalie told them, “For more reasons than it being the seat of
Dumbledore’s power. One of his objects was hidden here and he will want to know if we have
found it. If he believes that the Headmaster is dead, perhaps he can be lured into the school,
believing that it is easy pickings.”

“Such a ploy reeks of being a trap,” Kingsley said with a shake of his head, “He will never fall for
such obvious bait.”

“What do you suggest then?” Rosalie asked him.

“A memorial service for Albus, in Hogsmeade,” Kingsley started slowly, cautiously, “With
carefully cultivated rumours leading up to the event that you, Rosalie, will be in attendance, along
with other prominent members of the Order. Hogwarts will need to be shut down and the students
sent home, too. With the castle ‘unoccupied’ and the Order otherwise engaged, Hogwarts will
become an attractive target for the Dark Lord.”

Rosalie huffed, “How is that any different? It might have more detail, but the underlying plan is
the same.”

Moody guffawed, “Kid’s got balls, Shacklebolt.”

“And when Albus recovers,” Filius piped up for the first time that evening, ignoring Moody’s crass
interruption, “How then will we explain the memorial we held for him?”

“Albus’ return from the other side, as it were, is the least of our worries,” Severus scoffed, “The
bigger issue that you are all neglecting to address is that inviting the Dark Lord past the wards is
suicide. They are the best defence we have against him and should not be done away with so
easily. Not to mention, assuming the Dark Lord can even be duped in such a way, he will not come
alone.”

“What if we don’t need to get him past the wards,” Rosalie continued, taking the information in
stride, “The Shrieking Shack has a tunnel that leads into Hogwarts, but it remains outside the
school’s protection …”

“That has more merit,” Kingsley agreed.

Molly blinked as she watched the rapid-fire exchange of information, the plan taking place before
her very eyes and Rosalie, amongst it all, welcomed with a seat at the table, respected and taken
seriously by those around her whom, in some cases, had years of combat experience. She was
knowledgeable, Molly realised, learned in ways that suddenly counted and that Molly would never
have expected of her. Molly watched her as maps were summoned and rolled out across the table
and Minerva and Moody made room for her to crowd in beside them. Gone was that wide-eyed and
fearful eleven-year-old whom she’d taken under her wing at King’s Cross Station. Perhaps she
should have seen it sooner, there had been hints of it when she’d rescued Ginny from the Chamber
of Secrets, glimpses every year after, but to Molly, it was as if she’d blinked and Rosalie had
suddenly flourished into this strong woman, someone who was fearless and protective—someone
to be admired on her own merit and not merely for the name she carried.

“Come on, Molly dear, let’s leave them to their planning,” Arthur said after a time, gently
encouraging her up from the table. They were not the first, other members of the Order had already
begun dispersing slowly, winding their way up the staircase or back through the floo to the
Headmaster’s office.

Molly followed quietly, her mind full of everything she had seen and heard that evening.

“It will be alright, Mollywobbles,” Arthur reassured her gently, his hand a steady presence on her
back as she made her way up the stairs ahead of him.

“How can you say that?” Molly sighed, “Nothing is alright. We are going into battle, Arthur—
our children are going into battle. Rose is involved with a Death Eater—”

“Molly!” Arthur snapped in reprimand, “You’re being unfair.”

Molly huffed, “I know. I know—I didn’t mean it. Not really… but Arthur…how can any of this be
alright?”

“We have to have hope, Molly,” Arthur replied as he followed his wife into their temporary home,
“If we lose hope then we will have lost the fight before it has even begun.”

“And Rose?” Molly asked, turning to face her husband as he closed the door behind them.

Arthur frowned at his wife, “Does it really bother you so?”

Molly sighed heavily, “What good will come of this, Arthur? I know Severus is a good man—
Dumbledore’s man—but what does his have to offer her?”

“It isn’t up to us, Molly,” Arthur sighed, “If Rosalie believes Severus to be enough for her, then
who are we to argue? If you try and talk her out of it, you will only push her away. She cannot be
deemed old enough to plan a war on one hand, but not her own partner on the other.”

“She shouldn’t be doing either,” Molly groused, but her tone one of capitulation.

“And yet here we are,” Arthur agreed, “Give it time, Molly, whatever you may feel, ripping away
her support now will only prove detrimental.”

Rosalie sighed as she watched McGonagall disappear through the floo, green flames erupting to
life and then dying out to nothing more than hot coals in her wake. The hour had grown so late that
it could be considered early. Outside, the pale light of morning had begun to bleach through the
heaviness of the night sky, turning the room a murky grey as they crept closer and closer to dawn,
and yet she hadn’t been to bed. Neither had Severus, who along with McGonagall, Kingsley and
Moody, had stayed behind for hours after the rest of the Order had left, plotting and arguing and
poking holes in a plan that felt both risky and something like their best shot. She felt both wired
and utterly exhausted.

“I could sleep for a week,” She murmured, looking across at Severus who appeared as little more
than a dark smudge in the half-light that filled the common room. The candles had been snuffed
out, their maps and furiously drawn strategies tucked safely into McGonagall’s robes before she’d
vanished through the floo. They were the only two that remained, stood across from one another in
the dim light of morning as a chasm of uncertainty lay gaping at their feet.

Severus reached for her and Rosalie folded herself into his arms, sinking into the security of his
embrace.

“You did well tonight,” he told her, his deep voice soft and intimate as her arms slid around his
waist and up across his back.
“I only hope it will be enough,” Rosalie replied, voice muffled by the wool of his robes where her
face was pressed into his chest before she looked up at him, studying the dark shadows of his face
through the gloom that surrounded them.

“Time will tell,” Severus agreed, “Though I dare say it will be a miracle if everything goes to
plan.”

Rosalie nodded, stepping back out of his arms so that she could take his hand in hers. As his long
fingers curled around hers, she led him from the common room and up the stairs that led to their
quarters. You could only plan for so much, she knew, the rest would be left up to chance. Would
Voldemort follow the path they laid out for him? Would Severus’ word be enough to convince
him? Would he bring Nagini and if he did, would they be able to kill it before she came face to
face with the Dark Lord? What would happen if they didn’t? There were so many variables that
had the power to influence the outcome of their plan, that her mind felt clogged with a million
‘what ifs’.

Rosalie was silent as they prepared for bed, changing into an old, worn-soft t-shirt that fell to mid-
thigh before slipping beneath the covers. Sitting up against the pillows, she pulled the covers up
over her bent knees as she watched Severus move about the room, his routine familiar and
comforting. Rosalie reached out to run her hand down the line of his back as he sat on the edge of
the bed to remove his boots, his robes abandoned to the chair that sat in the corner of the room.

It was the best kind of domestic, being with him like this. Sharing these small insignificant aspects
of his day to day life. She wouldn’t let Voldemort take that from her.

She scooted across the bed and into his arms as he settled beneath the covers a short while later,
her head pillowed against his shoulder as his arm moved to cradle her against him. She sighed as
their legs tangled beneath the covers.

“It has to work, Severus.”

She felt his head turn into hers, his lips pressing against her hairline, “I know.”

When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming in through the window, bright against her
eyelids, and they’d shifted across the bed as if chasing the darkness to avoid it. Severus was curled
around her back, his head tucked behind hers so that his gentle sweeping breaths ghosted across her
neck, tickling her nape. Rosalie smiled, summoning her wand wordlessly so that she could twitch
the curtains around their bed closed, plunging them back into relative darkness, hoping it would
allow him to sleep a while longer. It wasn’t often she was awake before him in the mornings and
she allowed herself to bask in the feeling of him as she pressed herself back into Severus’ arms.
There was a quiet kind of peace waking up beside Severus this way, contentment filling her every
pore at the heat of his body pressed against hers, his lax arms still cradling her against him even in
sleep. Rosalie traced her fingertips idly over the arm that was slung across her waist, before sliding
down, linking their hands over her abdomen.

“What time is it?” A voice, still thick with sleep muttered against her neck as he turned his nose
into her hair.

Rosalie smiled, “I don’t know—morning.”

“It was morning when we went to bed,” he informed her gruffly, making Rosalie smile again—
desperate affection flooding her at the sound of his ire.

Rosalie twisted in his arms, gently scooting herself around so that she was facing him, her head
level with his on their pillow. His eyes were still closed but there were dark circles beneath them
from lack of sleep. Twin bruises that she knew were mirrored under her own eyes and yet, despite
the fatigue that marred his face and his too-thin frame, despite the perpetual scowl that seemed
permanently etched across his brow, he still looked lovely to her eyes. His dark hair was fanned out
across his neck and pillowcase like a dark ink stain and Rosalie sighed softly as she reached out and
tucked a limp strand behind his ear.

“Late morning, then,” she amended carelessly, her fingers tracing the line of his stubbled jaw,
“Does it matter?”

Severus cracked an eye open to look at her, “Molly Weasley is no doubt having kittens over your
whereabouts. She’s probably lurking outside our door as we speak.”

Rosalie chuckled, “What? Why on earth would she be doing that?”

“Her keen inspection of my person may have escaped your notice last night, but let me assure
you, I was acutely aware of it,” Severus informed her as his hand slid over her hip nonchalantly and
up under her t-shirt to press, warm and steady, against the bare skin of her back, “No doubt she
thinks I’m despoiling you in any number of depraved ways.”

“Oh?” Rosalie asked with an amused smirk, her tone teasingly coy as she pressed herself against
him purposefully, “That isn’t what you’ve been doing to me, Severus?”
Severus arched an eyebrow.

Rosalie smiled; love a hot and potent bloom in her chest.

“If I am, it is entirely your fault,” Severus agreed as he tugged her closer, his hand ghosting back
down over her behind pointedly. “May I remind you that currently, you are the one without any
knickers on.”

Rosalie laughed.

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason not to live up to expectations?” Rosalie suggested, still smiling
as she leaned in and brushed the wet of her lips against his lingeringly. Severus moaned softly, the
sound barely more than a rough exhale as his hand tugged itself free from within her nightshirt to
tangle in her hair. His palm cradled the back of her head, keeping her in place against him as the
energy between them crackled to life.

Rosalie shivered, midnight-blue eyes filling her vision as she pressed her forehead against his,
breathing into the charged space between them as Severus held her.

“I suppose not,” he agreed softly, long fingers tightening in her hair as Severus urged her forward
and took her mouth with his.

Rosalie felt her breath hitch, a moan catching in her throat as he kissed her—slow and deep—his
hands still in her hair as she trembled against him. She gasped against his lips as they drew her
under and set her body on fire until she felt hazy with unbearable need. A need that left her restless
and wanting as she framed his face with her hands. This. This was what she wanted, what
she needed. Severus’ hands on her, tangled in her hair, holding her in place against him as he filled
her with a heady, reckless desire.

Rosalie groaned as his knee lifted, hitching up between her legs as he rolled her beneath the weight
of his body, pressing her back into the mattress as he came to rest atop of her, braced on elbows
and knees. She arched against him, the heat of his body flush with hers, her core pressed intimately
against the soft cotton of his pyjama bottoms where his knee was pushed up between her legs. Her
hips shifted restlessly against him, riding the firmness pressed against her.

“Oh…Severus—”
Severus’ palm slid up her side, hot against her bare skin as it dipped beneath the cotton of her t-
shirt. The material bunched over his wrist as his hand crept up past her waist. She could feel the
growing bulge of his arousal pressed intimately against her hip, throbbing in time with the steady
beating of his heart as his thumb found her nipple and rubbed over it lingeringly.

Rosalie rocked against him as her arms lifted to encircle his back, tugging at his nightshirt as she
fought to pull it up over his head, “I need to feel you.”

“Rosalie,” he moaned softly, her name shivering out of him as he sat back on his haunches abruptly
to tug his nightshirt off over his head.

“I want you so much,” Rosalie breathed as his chest was bared, drinking in the sight of him and the
unexpected power housed in his lean frame. That he was strong—unexpectedly so—had always
excited her in ways she didn’t fully understand but knew to be an undeniable fact as she trailed her
fingers over his chest, pale and scarred. Rosalie gasped as he tugged her upright so that he could
pull her nightshirt from her body, the material slipping over her head in a desperate tumble of hair
and warm limbs as his hand cupped the back of her head, his lips trailing a line of hot kisses down
her throat. Rosalie gripped at his shoulders, her fingertips sinking into muscle as they fell back
against the pillows.

His fingers traced over the starburst scar between her breasts as his lips continued their descent
down her chest. Rosalie raked her fingers into his hair, curling into him as his hot mouth closed
over her nipple, sucking the pink bud into his mouth. She gasped, brushing the hair back out of his
eyes so she could stare down at him, “Oh, Merlin!—”

Dark eyes flashed up at her, capturing her gaze as Rosalie widened her legs so that he could settle
into the cradle of her hips. Her knees lifted, gripping at his waist. She felt the warm waft of his
breath against her chest, followed by the press of hot lips and wet tongue as her skin pebbled with
need.

Hooking her toes into the waistband of his pyjamas she pushed them down passed the curve of his
arse.

“Impatient,” Severus rumbled with a smirk, reaching down to help her push his pyjamas the rest of
the way down his thighs as she arched against him needily.

“Always. For you.”

Severus pushed her hair back from her face, his dark eyes intense as he stared down at her, his
fingers curling around the back of her neck as her green eyes lowered. He followed her gaze,
watching as she reached between them, her hand closing around his weeping erection, making his
thighs shake with a desperate need, sudden and overwhelming. Her thumb rubbed over the tip in a
slow circle and Rosalie felt him throb in her hand as she pulled her knees back carefully and
positioned him at her entrance.

His voice was wrecked, “Merlin—Rose—”

Rosalie moaned as the thick head of his cock nestled into the soft folds of her sex, hot and blunt.
Thick with desire. With trembling hands, she released her grasp on him as she gripped impatiently
at his waist, “I want you.”

Severus bucked his hips carefully, teasing them both, making them moaned simultaneously as his
cock speared up through the slickness of her arousal, “Oh! Severus—”

Her cheeks were flushed pink, a light sheen of sweat already coating her brow as he leaned down to
kiss her, his lips warm and plush as his arm slid beneath her neck until the weight of her head was
cradled in his elbow. Rosalie’s legs cinched around his waist, crossing against the small of his back
as her hands curled around the back of his shoulders, every inch of them pressed together
intimately.

“Take me inside, Rose.”

His voice, deep and rich like velvet, spurred her on as she lost herself to the hot, messy kisses that
followed as Severus reached between them, holding himself steady as he slowly pressed inside of
her grasping heat. Rosalie gasped, opened mouthed against his lips as her body stretched to
accommodate his place inside of her, “Merlin...Se-severus!”

His words, deep—lost—rumbled out against her lips, “Salazar! You feel—”

Rosalie keened and arched beneath him, cupping his cheek, her breath a near sob as she pressed
their mouths together, again and again, relishing the feel of being wrapped in his arms, their bodies
joined so intimately. “Oh, yes…”

They hadn’t been intimate since before Little Hangleton and her body missed the feel of him—the
power of his body pressed skin to skin against hers. She felt hyper-sensitized to his touch, primed
with a longing that was bone-deep as he throbbed inside of her, like a brand against her very soul.

“Rosalie…” he groaned, already grasping at the tender threads of control, fighting to reign himself
in as his hips jerked with restrained need.

“I love you,” she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Severus shuddered, then—one hand braced against the bed for leverage—he rocked into her.
Rosalie cried out, tilting her pelvis up into the downward roll of his hips urgently. Her body
clenched around his cock, making them moan in unison as he sank deeper still, sliding through her
slick heat. He did it again. Sweat slicking their bodies, they began to move as one, allowing the
intensity to build between them as they fell into a steady rhythm.

“So perfect for me,” Severus grunted, lips a hot smear against her cheek.

Rosalie turned her head and lapped at his lips, a whine escaping her as Severus drove himself
through the tightening clutch of her body. Her cries were desperate and needy as she dug her heels
into his backside, “Fuck me—Severus, oh!—”

Severus growled, his face finding her neck, the huff of his breath rapid against her throat, “I’d
spend the rest of my life inside you if it were at all possible.”

“Y-you have me,” Rosalie agreed, whimpering as he ground into her, the pounding of his hips
growing frantic as he gasped against her neck, “For the rest of your life.”

“ Fuck—Rose!”

Pleasure was throbbing inside of her, building with such alarming intensity that she was left
clutching at him, legs spread, gasping breathlessly as he laboured over her. His cheeks were
flushed with exertion as he drove himself into the depths of her cunt. The smell of sex surrounded
them, the steady clap of their bodies, as they chased completion, making her slick walls flutter
around him.

A sob was building in the back of her throat, until suddenly she was there, toppling, falling over the
edge, breaking apart into a million pieces...
Her grip turned white-knuckled, her hips curling upwards as her orgasm washed over her, making
her cry out his name. Her inner walls clenched tight, pulsing around him as Severus’ hips lost
rhythm—stuttering, grinding helplessly—as he continued to thrust through the constriction of her
release, “ Merlin! Sev!”

He was moaning loudly as he ground his hips into her, barely leaving the slick clutch of her heat as
he worked his cock through her pulsing channel and flooded her with his release.

Rosalie sighed, her fingers carding into his hair even as her heart was still beating wildly. Severus
kissed her neck and rolled them to one side, keeping their bodies joined intimately. As their
passions cooled, Severus idly traced the dip of her spine.

“At least now when Molly chases you from the tower with her favourite spatula, it will have been
for a good cause,” Rosalie said with a small smile.

“Merlin, help me,” Severus groaned.

“We should probably tell her,” Rosalie remarked after a beat, looking up at him to gauge his
reaction, “If she’s already suspicious, she’s not likely to let things go easily—it will be better in the
long run if we are upfront.”

Severus grimaced, “If you think it will help.”

Rosalie frowned, “You don’t want her to know?”

“It is more that I do not relish the idea of being interrogated by your surrogate mother when she
knows very well what I have been doing with her daughter,” Severus informed her pointedly as he
brushed her hair back from her face, his gaze meaningful. As if to emphasise his point, his
softening cock slipped free from her body to lay wet against her thigh.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, “She can’t know. Not really. Perhaps she suspects…”

“She knows,” Severus assured her and Rosalie felt her cheeks flame.
“Merlin,” Rosalie chuckled, “On second thought, perhaps we can just avoid her altogether?”

“How is he, Poppy?” Minerva asked with a sigh as she gazed down at the Headmaster’s prone
form. He looked gaunt, his colour grey like the life had slowly leached out of him just that little bit
more each time she laid eyes on him, “I won’t lie, I could do with some good news.”

Poppy eyed her friend sympathetically, “I’m afraid there has been little change. The damage to his
organs, Minnie… were it anyone else, I would have already begun suggesting end-of-life
measures...”

“But… he might still recover?” Minerva asked hopefully, “You said it was a possibility.”

Poppy shook her head, “He is slipping away, Minerva. Every day the possibility of him recovering
from this is a little bit less than the day before. I’d have expected more improvement by now, but I
suspect his cursed hand is complicating things somewhat.”

“This was not how I expected a man such as Albus Dumbledore would leave us,” Minerva
admitted, her voice wobbly as she pulled out a tartan handkerchief to blot at her suddenly wet eyes,
“This war has taken so much from us already and I fear that without Albus there to guide us, the
worst might yet be still to come.”

Poppy reached out and gripped Minerva’s hand, “It will be alright, Minnie.”

“I am not the leader that Albus Dumbledore is, Poppy,” Minerva replied thickly, her brogue curling
the words as they tumbled out of her, “I am a Transfiguration Professor. I can and will keep us
afloat, but I am no warlord. The Order will need more than I have to offer to see it through the
trials that are ahead of us. If our plan fails…”

“I have faith in you,” Poppy told her firmly, “and I have faith in Rosalie Potter. She may be young
yet, but that girl has an uncanny ability to survive when faced with impossible odds and with
Severus looking out for her… Well, if nothing else, trust that. That man would sooner cut off his
own hand than see a hair on Potter’s head harmed. Together, they are no easy target.”

Minerva chuckled, “Well that is certainly true enough.”

“We will get through this, the best we can—nobody can ask for more than that,” Poppy said finally
giving Minerva’s hand a final squeeze before she let go and moved to check on Albus’ vitals.

“I think I’ll sit with him a while, if that’s alright?” Minerva told the mediwitch as she moved to
perch on the edge of the chair that was pulled up beside the Headmaster’s bed. Poppy nodded
agreeably and as the mediwitch left them be, Minerva took up Albus’ good hand in her own,
patting the top of it gently, “I have faith that you will see yourself through this, Albus, you don’t
have a choice in the matter! Potter needs you. We all do.”

The hand in her palm was wizened and cool, fragile-looking in its inert state. As she stared at it,
Minerva found herself wondering at the power she had seen pass through these hands. More than
just magical strength, Albus had a political force that would be needed when the dust had settled.
Their community would need rebuilding from the ground up and Albus had the clout to see to it
that the mantle of power didn’t come to rest in the wrong hands.

If their plan came to fruition, the Dark Lord could be dead within the next fortnight and then, the
next chapter would begin.

Minerva looked across at the wand that was sat innocently at the Headmaster’s bedside, it’s power
passive as it waited tirelessly for its master to rouse once more and take it up. It was as much a
symbol of Albus Dumbledore as his questionable choices in fashion. As famous as the man who
wielded it.

Carefully, Minerva picked it up, pressing her lips together at the faux pas she was committing as
she turned it over in her hands. The grain of the wood was worn soft from years of use. It was quite
a bit longer than her own, heavier too, and although she did not feel the spark of compatible magic
she’d felt when she’d first held her own wand, she could feel it’s potency as it hummed with
suppressed power.

McGonagall made a noise of displeasure, frowning down at the piece of wood in her hands.

There was no way that the Dark Lord would be fooled by a fake.
 Albus’ wand seemed utterly unique.

“It was my sincerest hope that it would not be the case,” She whispered to the still, lifeless form of
her friend and colleague, “but Severus was right, as he often is in such matters. If we are to
convince him of your demise, this is the only way, you understand?”

Decision made, Minerva pocketed the wand with a brisk nod. Practical to a fault, she saw little
sense in dithering over the choice when it had all but been made for her.

“Forgive me, Albus,” she said softly, patting his hand once more before she stood, smoothed down
her robes and exited the room.

Chapter End Notes

So, fun fact. My old laptop died and when I upgraded I also upgraded to Office 365.
Did you know, that in the 'review' tab of this version of Word, that you can elect to
have your work read aloud? I had waaay to much fun listening to the robotic voice
read my erotic fiction back to me in monotone. Too funny. Or maybe it's just me, but
listening to some of my dialogue, oh god *facepalm*

Anyway, as always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!