Sirius's party, according to himself, is glorious. According to Rosalie, it's loud, annoying, and she's only allowed to stay because James threatened Sirius's cassette collection — which she learns when a drunk James saunters towards her, throws his arm around both her and Acacia's shoulders, and guides them to the drinks table.

Drake glowers the entire time, following them like a shadow. Rosalie throws him a glace, her eyebrows furrowing as her beige skin is dulled in the dark light.

He nods, a sliver of a smile on his face.

James's body leans on Acacia's, and smirking, he offers them both a drink. Rosalie declines, not wanting to experience a drunk vision again (what a fever dream that was), while Acacia grins, downs the drink, and pours herself one more.

Drake huffs, crossing his arms.

Rosalie watches mirthfully as Acacia downs another cup. "She's been waiting for ages."

"To party?" James asks, his plastic cup in his hand, and a camera peaking out from his bag.

"No, to drink."

James blinks. "Oh."

"Okay!" Acacia exclaims, nudging Rosalie, who almost topples forward. "I'm going to dance, alright, Ali?"

The corner of Rosalie's lip tugs upwards. "Go for it. Just take Drake with you."

"Wilkins?" Acacia whirls around. "Where is he?"

"Right here," a gruff voice says, a palm grazing Acacia's arm. Drake gives her a half-smile, his eyes gentle. "I'm right here, Acacia."

"Acacia?" she asks as Rosalie stifles her giggle. "That's the first time you've called me that."

James coughs, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, but what choice does he have? He could be with Sirius (the worst choice), a drunk Remus Lupin, an even more drunk Peter Pettigrew (who apparently has never drank alcohol up to now), or a very spiteful Lily Evans, who he'd be pestering.

"Hmm," Drake says, steadying her when she trips. "We should sit down. And talk."

"Careful, Wilkins," Acacia slurs, giggling. "I'd think you're flirting."

It's Drake's turn to cough, his grip tightening on her waist. "Let's go, Abbott."

"Back to last name basis, Drake?" Acacia taunts, and he stiffens again.

"I love and hate this at the same time," Rosalie mutters as they leave, stumbling and bickering to a corner of the Common Room. Acacia's going to die of embarrassment tomorrow, but her friends are finally taking a step towards being together. "Damn, I need water."

James snorts as Rosalie pours herself a glass. "They make me feel painfully single."

Rosalie lets out a laugh. "Cheers to that."

She sips her water, eyeing the dancing teens in the middle. The loud music hurts her ears, but it's somewhat peaceful, being in harmony with James. He's not so bad, after all, even if sometimes he says, well, stupid things.

James lets out a breath, seating herself on the table. Rosalie follows, her only other choice being third-wheeling her two idiots in love like she's been doing the whole year. Only now, they're drunk and flirting rather than bickering.

"I'm bored," James says, sighing as he drums on the table.

"Where's your twin?" Rosalie asks, raising a brow. "Did he leave you? Do you miss him?"

"Painfully so," James announces, clutching his chest. "He is the star to my sun —"

"Oh, God," Rosalie mutters. "Please save me."

"I am the Earth to his Moon — Sirius!"

"James!" The epitome of annoyance himself, a piss drunk Sirius Black, strides towards his best friend, clapping him on the back. "Why are you with her?"

Rosalie scoffs. "Dickhead."

"She's cool, actually." James grins, nudging Rosalie. "I don't even understand why you both hate each other."

"Well," Sirius says, "it started in our second year —"

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "And he was being an absolute arse —"

"You mean you were being an arse, you —"

"Okay," James interjects. "It's your party, Sirius. Go have some fun."

Sirius pouts, pointing to Rosalie. "She's ruining the fun."

Rosalie scoffs. "I am not ruining the fun. You're such a child, Black. Go bully someone else."

James snorts into his drink.

"Liar." Sirius scowls. "You're a liar."

Rosalie blinks, stupefied. "What are you talking about?"

The essay, the essay, the essay —

"You are ruining the fun," he slurs, and she sighs in relief. "And you ruined our project."

He walks away, and Rosalie stares, stunned. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can't he let this one thing go? She needed that grade, she got the grade, and so did he.

Does he know about her? Does he suspect anything? Rosalie inhales deeply. Will he turn her in, make her a weapon?

"You ruined his project?" James asks, and she snaps out of her thoughts.

"He ruined my project back in second year, actually," Rosalie mutters, still panicking. "It would've been karma if I did, but we got an O."

"So that's why you hate him?" James asks, sipping his drink. "Because of something that happened when you both were twelve?"

"Thirteen, actually." Rosalie smiles weakly. "And it's a collection of incidents. It snowballed into one gigantic ball of hate."

Hate? More like panic. The insane amount of blackmail he now holds over her ... if he knows, at least.

She needs to talk to him.

Rosalie downs her glass of water, slides off the table, and stalks towards Sirius — who's doing a handstand with a bunch of girls surrounding him, drinks in their hands. Did Sirius kidnap them, or something? She can see it.

James snaps a picture with his camera, which is surprisingly working despite the sheer amount of magic in the school, which stops muggle objects from working. But maybe James's camera is fused with wizard inventions. Maybe it's a wizarding version of a camera.

Rosalie clears her throat. "Black."

He startles, crumbling into a heap on the floor. Rosalie hears a shuttering noise behind her as the girls scramble to help him. She would help, too, if he isn't such a piece of shit.

"We need to talk," she continues, as if he hadn't fallen in the first place.

He sends her an irritated glance. "Go away."

"Is this your crazy ex, Black?" one of them asks, and most of them dissolve into laughter. "She's pretty."

"No, she's not pretty," Sirius mutters, but a second girl scoffs at him.

Rosalie gives them a hesitant smile. "I'm not his ex, don't worry. That's Rachel. She wouldn't stop shoving their relationship in my face — as if I cared."

"Rachel isn't a good person," another says drily, a curly haired girl.

The first girl rolls her eyes. "She says she's so natural, as if makeup is cow shit."

"That's not very supportive of her," Rosalie agrees.

A third girl glances at Rosalie — Ashley Love, the girl who hit on her during Quidditch tryouts. "Oh my God, is that you, Rosalie? I couldn't recognize you; the lighting is so dark!"

"Hi, Ashley," Rosalie mutters awkwardly.

Sirius, who had been silently swaying on his feet the entire time, snorts. Rosalie glares at him.

"Ooh, so she's the girl you told us about!" the first girl says. "I'm Diana Kapoor, and this is Seraphina Selwyn."

Ashley elbows Diana, who cackles.

Rosalie grins. "Nice to meet you. I'm Rosalie Edson."

"Oh, Rosalie Edson?" she asks, eyes widening. "You're the one Alfie talks about — the House elf? I taught him how to make gobi manchurian two summers ago."

"Oh, yes!" Rosalie says, brightening. "He calls you Miss Dee, doesn't he?"

Diana nods. "That's right. And he calls Ashley Miss —"

Ashley smacks her over the head, and Diana glares at her, sputtering. The two bicker on continuously, with Seraphina rolling her eyes.

"They're always like this," the curly haired girl says, sighing.

"They remind me of my friends, actually," Rosalie hums. "It's just a front for their feelings."

Seraphina snorts, eyes dancing with mirth. "Right."

"The snake?" Sirius asks unhelpfully.

"He's not a snake, Black," Rosalie grumbles, sighing. "Good timing, though. We need to talk."

Sirius raises an eyebrow, and Rosalie gestures for them to walk. Once they're far from Seraphina, Diana, and Ashley, Rosalie coughs.

"What did you mean about me ruining our project?" Rosalie asks bluntly.

Sirius gives her a look, his legs wobbling. "You know a lot about Seers, love, stuff that isn't in the book but that you told me to read. You could've cost us our grade."

"But I didn't," Rosalie presses. "Why are you acting like this? You don't even care about grades, anyway."

He stares at her, grey eyes wild. "Because you knew too much."

Rosalie stares, open-mouthed as he leaves.

The music blares in her ears. Acacia and Drake are chatting at the side, the latter leaning on the former's shoulder. James is taking pictures with his camera. The party is in full swing, drinks on the table, cups littered on the floor.

And yet, Rosalie is frozen.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Delilah,

I'm staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Any arrivals and exits from our house is more dangerous for all of you. I worry for you. I even worry for myself.

You, Mum, and Dad have to stay safe. Please be careful. Please leave me here if you have to and move to America, or something. You know I'm desperate if I'm saying that.

Please stay safe. Don't die, or I'll drag you back from the depths of hell and kill you again.

Rosalie.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As the weeks pass by, Rosalie feels a sense of dread in a shard of her heart, hidden by her smile. She knows something is coming, even if her life has felt like smooth paint slathered onto a canvas. Yes, Rosalie only sees the past, the past of people hidden from history books; it's instead tattooed on her skin with invisible ink.

However, history always repeats itself. The events of the world, the life-cycles of people and animals and every living being is a circle, and so is society.

The darkest times of the Wizarding World are inevitable, Rosalie knows. It's coming. Her visions are ramping up for a reason. She sees death every day, ghosts of people she knows and doesn't, bodies sprawled in the grass with crooked limbs and bleeding into the forest, forgotten by everyone but her.

Sometimes, a flicker of joy is in the present, like her Quidditch commentating for the second Quidditch match, a riveting victory for the Hufflepuff House. And rarely, it is in the past, the sunset and sunrise, the sprinkled colours of red and yellow and heartbeats and love and laughter.

She sees her mother's childhood, growing up in rural Korea, plates of fish cakes and chap chae and life. She sees her father's past — Thomas, not Joon — in the city of London, working long hours and sitting on benches with Delilah and his late-wife.

She sees Joon sometimes, too, his younger self. He's in designer clothing. His room is painted grey with an off-white ceiling. He stares up at it, sometimes, in a four poster bed with a frown. Never a smile, only something haunted in his eyes that he had to pass on to his child.

Does Rosalie have that look in her eyes, now?

She stares in the mirror sometimes, focused on those dark eyes, almost golden in the candlelight, looking for a ghost of her father. His face flickers and meshes with hers.

She wants to burn it off.

With a sigh, Rosalie lounges in the carriage towards Hogsmeade, Acacia next to her and Drake in front of them. The two always rotate their spots, refusing to sit next to each other after Sirius's party; Drake was next to Rosalie yesterday in the Hogsmeade carriage, and Acacia gleefully took the spot this morning.

Now, Acacia refuses to ever get drunk again, wondering if the saying "drunk actions are sober thoughts" is even real. Drake subtly teases her, but Acacia taunts him back.

Then, they're both flustered, awkward, and Rosalie has to bring up how nice the trees look from their view — or the ceiling, or the wall, or Acacia's new Mary Janes, or anything.

And it's all because of her enemy's stupid party. Why did she attend it, again?

Despite it being a total disaster, James's wizarding camera (a costly invention), had given Rosalie a chance to purchase blackmail. For a couple sickles, she has photos — taken by James Potter himself — of Sirius doing ridiculous activities: Sirius in a wobbly handstand, him asleep with a moustache that a drunk Remus Lupin had scribbled on his face, and him passionately kissing a wall as Peter Pettigrew cackles in the background.

"We're here," Acacia says softly, tugging on Rosalie's arm. She clutches a newspaper, and Rosalie catches Vampire Lux Erzsebet At Large before Acacia tosses it into her bag.

The three of them hop off the carriage, walking awkwardly. Rosalie fiddles with her fingers, blowing out a breath.

This is great.

Acacia directs them to a shop, and the next thirty, extremely awkward, minutes are spent gift shopping as Drake and Acacia are glued to Rosalie's sides, refusing to look at each other. At this point, she will lock them in a closet. And she will not regret it, not one bit.

"Oh my God, both of you —" Rosalie starts, but a gruff Drake immediately leaves them both behind, his movements stiff and awkward.

Flabbergasted, Acacia stares at the door. "Did he just leave?"

"I guess so."

Rosalie clears her throat, and Acacia immediately blanches. She knows what's coming. Rosalie and Acacia will now have their seventh conversation about the party.

"So," Rosalie starts as they exit the shop with their gifts.

Acacia lets out a sigh. "This again?"

"Yes, this again," Rosalie iterates. "The awkwardness is killing me. I can't believe I'm saying this, but bring the bickering back."

The silence is loud, as it always is. Acacia usually changes the subject, offering Rosalie a breath mint and promising to buy her a drink.

Maybe it's because they've continuously had this talk, or maybe it's the sun messing with Acacia's brain, but she looks at the sky, instead saying, "I feel like hiding in a hole whenever he looks at me. My cheeks flush every time he talks to me. It's so stupid, Ros."

"You know what this is," Rosalie murmurs, surprised that she actually admitted it. "It's called fancying him. You fancy Drake Wilkins, and you have for a while."

Acacia groans. "And this is why I didn't want to say it out loud."

Rosalie raises a brow. "Because you know I'm right?"

"Because —" Acacia pauses, a slow smile spearing on her face. " — because the Three Broomsticks is right in front of us, and we should drink butterbeer."

"What — no —"

Acacia grabs her arm and drags Rosalie off to the shop, the latter failing as she loudly protests.

"Where is Drake? We need to talk about this, Ace — holy, that smells good."

"Told you." Acacia smirks, seating them at a table. "Now, we're going to drink butterbeer to nurture your stomach. And then —"

"Hello, ladies."

James Potter slides into a chair next to Rosalie as Sirius scoots next to a glaring Acacia. Remus and Peter are nowhere to be seen.

"James," Rosalie greets. "Acacia kidnapped me."

He frowns at said girl. "Abbott, how could you?"

Acacia shrugs, not one hint of shame on her face. "She was making me do something I didn't want to do."

"That's what she always does," Sirius mutters. "And she gaslights, too."

"You're just mad because I'm right." Rosalie frowns at Sirius, trying to stop her fists from shaking. "I'm going to find Drake —"

"Isn't James supposed to give you free butterbeer?" Acacia asks, and Rosalie sits her arse back down. "You know, 'free butterbeer for life?'"

"Right!" Rosalie exclaims, problems forgotten. "You owe me."

James sighs. "Alright."

"You can pay for all of us," Acacia says sweetly. "Except Black. He's rich."

Sirius scoffs. "Rude. And aren't you rich too?"

"No," she snaps, and Rosalie flinches at her tone.

"Both of you are liars," he mutters.

James shoots him a warning look. "We should order."

"Yes," Rosalie agrees quickly.

Acacia calls for the barmaid, Rosmerta, whom Sirius fails to sweet-talk as she takes their orders, James fishing out Galleons from his wallet. With a swish of her hips, she disappears, only to reappear with drinks moments later.

"You are horrible at flirting, Black," Rosalie comments, swirling her butterbeer with her straw. "That poor lady looked offended."

"Hardly, love," Sirius says. "She loves me."

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "You're delusional."

"As usual," James comments.

"You're one to talk, Potter," Acacia drones, sipping her drink. "Especially since the girl you're deluded about, well — oh, look, Evans is here."

James whirls around, the three beside him cackling as the door opens. Lily Evans walks in, her red hair curling down to her waist. Bright emerald eyes twinkle as James sighs, forlorn.

"She's still mad at me," he laments.

Rosalie's about to say something teasing, but the world falls beneath her feet, and every piece of panic drilling into her heart is begging that it's a fainting spell for her lack of sleep, instead.

Sirius and Acacia's faces in front of her blur until everything becomes black. The chatter of students in the pub fades until there is only a buzzing noise in her ear.

No. Not now!