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Chapter Text

An unfamiliar white surrounded Rose as she stared upwards. The ceiling stretched further and further upwards, the mist whirling into incomprehensible patterns. She watched it whirl lazily like steam lifting off a cup of freshly brewed tea, unaware of how long she lied there.

At some point, the thought of moving occurred to her. She sat up.

The mist had formed into a parlor room at some point. It looked similarly to the one on Grimmauld Place, just in shades of white. She took a seat at a settee where a cup of tea had appeared. The cup, although ornate, was also white. The tea itself was not.

Rose wasn’t concerned about the mysterious tea or her unfamiliar surroundings. She just watched the amber fire flickering in the fireplace, sipping from her cup. Eventually, she became bored of doing so, glancing away.

A man sat across from her.

Rose jolted, her tea splashing out of her teacup. The droplets fizzled into nothing before they could fall into the patterned dove-grey rug. The man just sat there, examining her. Rose examined him back.

He was another pop of color in the surrounding whiteness. Pale skin, dark clothes, orange eyes. His clothing was like most wizarding wear, an old fashioned suit beneath a shimmering silver cloak. Rings flashed on his fingers, silver and gold with gaudy stones. One ring was inconspicuous and boasted a solid black stone with the symbols of the Deathly Hallows on it. It looked remarkably like the Resurrection Stone.

Perhaps it was the Resurrection Stone. And the cloak around his shoulders was intimately familiar.

“Death?”

The man’s thin lips stretched into a pleased little smile. “Hello,” said Death.

“Where am I?” Rose asked. She couldn’t quite remember why she was here, just that she’d meant to be here. That she’d meant to meet Death.

“Some may call this Limbo,” the man told her.

“Oh,” she said to herself. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember, Rose?”

Memories blurred across her vision. Gringotts. The Dragon. Hogsmeade and the Hogshead and Aberforth Dumbledore. Hogwarts. The Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. Snape, his lifesblood seeping into the rotten floorboards of the Shrieking Shack, the wispy blue memories leaking from his eyes. Sebastian.

Sebastiansebastiansebastion.

“Oh,” said Rose, lifting a hand to her lips. They tingled with the memory of Sebastian’s kiss. It hadn’t been Rose’s first kiss. Cedric had been her first, before she’d gotten him killed. And there’d been some stolen moments with Ginny in the Quidditch locker room before Ginny realized girls were more her style. There had also been that forceful, angry kiss with Ron a few months ago before he’d left them in the Forest of Dean.

None of them compared to Sebastian, the feel of his palm on her cheek, the smoldering weight of his pained gaze.

But she would never see him again, would she?

She’d walked to her death, the spirits of her family at her side. Sebastian at her back beneath her invisibility cloak.

“How peculiar,” mused the man. He had grabbed a teacup at some point and was sipping at it, his ochre eyes somewhat puzzled as he gazed at Rose.

“What?” she said.

“You are more concerned about the boy than your own death.”

For some reason, the fact this man knew her thoughts did not bother her. It was as if he meant to know them.

“It had to be done,” said Rose, staring down at her tea. “I was a Horcrux. Voldemort wouldn’t die without it being destroyed. So, I let him do it himself. But Sebastian insisted on coming with me. Sir, do you know what happened to him? Did he get the final Horcrux. Did he…?”

“Die?” prompted the man.

Rose swallowed and nodded.

The man’s deep orange eyes were kind as he said, “Yes. He’s within my domain.”

“How?” Rose croaked.

“The Killing Curse rebounded upon Voldemort just as it had all those years ago. In the chaos of it, Sebastian managed to break the protections surrounding Nagini. He killed her with a basilisk fang, but not before he was bitten. It was quick.”

A lump formed in Rose’s throat, and she blinked rapidly as tears burned her eyes. That absolute idiot. Why did he have to go and do that? Sebastian should have waited with everyone else when Voldemort went to claim the school. Neville and Ron and everyone else would’ve been able to help him. He could have lived! He should have lived.

“You could see him again.”

Rose’s head snapped towards Death. “What?”

“You recognized my ring, and the cloak,” said Death. “And I suppose you recognize this?” Like it’d always been there, a wand sat in the palm of his hand.

Dumbledore’s wand. But as Rose thought, she realized it wasn’t Dumbledore’s wand anymore, was it? Snape had disarmed him, and Voldemort had killed him to gain ownership over it—but wait. Malfoy had disarmed Dumbledore before Snape had even appeared, and Rose, she’d taken his wand for herself mere days ago.

The cloak, the stone, and the wand, it meant—

Death was smiling.

“Is it true?” Rose asked. “The story?”

“Ah, the Peverells,” said Death, leaning back against the fainting couch as he reminisced. “They were a peculiar set of wizards. Necromancers. True necromancers. Not any of these charlatans like your Lord Voldemort. They could truly walk the deathlands. And the deathlands became the bridge and the river in the story, of course,”
 he added. “I had never appeared before a mortal in their realm, let alone tried to trick them to their death. My realm, however? That is an entirely different story.

“I was amused by their gall, so I approached them. Allowed them to choose three items. It was a test, of course. One must know not to accept items from deities plainly, let alone in their own realm. And, well, you know the story...”

“And the Master of Death?”

“The title was only ever meant for one person, as it pertains to the rumors,” said Death.

Rose stared at Death. “Me?”

“I knew the moment I met Ignotus there was something special about him—about his line. I have long since watched your family, as you lost the name Peverell in turn for the Potters. As your family has passed down the invisibility cloak, sharing the story of Ignotus, of myself, cautioning one not to fear their death but not seek it either. To accept it when the time came.

“And then you were born.”

Death’s expression seemed to soften, his eyes kind as he looked through Rose. She stared into his eyes, enraptured by fondness she saw there.

“You were marked the moment you were born. Marked by the Fates, marked before Voldemort ever put that scar on your forehead. Your family was meant to end with you, a tragic twist of fate. Just a mere babe, intended to defeat the greatest Dark Lord of the ages, and pay for it with your life. I…couldn’t see the death of Ignotus’s family,” he confessed. “And so, when my sisters weren’t looking, I ensured you would survive, even if it meant claiming you for myself.”

“And I did,” murmured Rose. “Until now.”

“Until now,” he agreed. “You have a choice, Rosemary. You can go on or… you can go back.”

Rose looked down. Her tea continued to steam despite the amount of time that had gone past, and her eyes watched the dancing patterns as she thought. She could go back. But what did that mean, exactly?

Go back where? To Hogwarts? To the Forbidden Forest where her corpse surely lied? So, she would be alive. She could walk out of the forest, proclaim Voldemort’s death. But his Death Eaters were still there, and the dead were still dead. Tonks, Remus, Fred, Collin, Lavendar… Sebastian.

“I don’t know,” said Rose in a small voice. “Everyone’s gone. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“And if you could go back to another time?”

Rose lifted her head. “What?”

“I never specified when you had to go back,” said Death with a mischievous little smile. “Just that you could. You could go back earlier, to before the deaths of your loved ones. It does not matter to me if you change their fate—they will greet me eventually.”

Rose chewed on her lower lip. Part of her soared at the possibility, at the thought of being able to save them all, but then she recalled Sebastian, the expression on his face after their lips parted. The Sebastian of the past wouldn’t be hers.

She closed her eyes, and admitted, “Not without him.”

“Does the boy truly mean that much to you?”

Rose thought about Sebastian, about their friendship.

Ron been her first friend who’d rescued her from her proverbial tower, just like in those fairy tales she’d always snuck into the library to read. But then he’d changed, had become jealous and turned on her throughout the past few years.

But Sebastian? He had been there through it all. He hadn’t turned his back on her, not when she was dubbed the Heir of Slytherin, not when she’d cost him fifty House points and caused him to be ostracized by the whole of Gryffindor. And even when he’d been petrified, even when he’d been tortured, even when he knew he could die—and he did—he had stood at her back. He had been her rock in the tumultuous events of her life.

“Yes,” Rose admitted to Death and herself. “Sebastian means that much to me. I can’t go without him. I’m sorry.”

Death stared at her for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his teacup.

“If you wish it—if the boy agrees—then it wouldn’t be too much trouble. You have already completed your destiny. Surely my sisters wouldn’t mind. They have already gotten their entertainment for the century.”

Rose clenched her hands around her knees, hope bubbling up in her chest.

“That pesky soul leech will be removed, of course,” added Death as he continued to think aloud. “You won’t have to sacrifice yourself again, not after all the trouble I’ve gone through.”

“You’ll let us go back? How?”

“I will take your present souls and merge them with that of your younger selves,” Death said. “It’s a simple matter, just has a lot of bureaucracy tied to it, which is why I haven’t done it previously. That’s more my sisters’ domain.”

“Right,” said Rose. “And if, if Sebastian agrees, I would like to go back. To before Voldemort came back, if possible.”

Death smiled. “Of course. Now all you have to do is open your eyes.”

Chapter Text

Rose opened her eyes, only to promptly clench them shut. Her head pounded in pain as something dripped down her forehead, and when she brushed it away, she found her fingers coated in an inklike sludge.

The Horcrux, thought Rose. She grabbed one of Dudley’s old t-shirts and dabbed at it, peering at her reflection in her wardrobe mirror. Blood and sludge plastered her fringe to her forehead, and she carefully peeled it away to look at her scar. It had split open, not unlike all those times when she’d gotten visions from Voldemort. But she wouldn’t get them again, would she? Death had taken care of that for her.

She smiled to herself, the grin eerie with the black staining half her face. She finished cleaning it with the help of Hedwig’s water bowl. The owl in question was cooing softly on her perch beside Errol, and Rose brushed a knuckle against her breast, feeling the soft feathers against her skin. Hedwig opened her great yellow eyes and nibbled at her finger.

“Hello, darling. I missed you,” Rose whispered, her throat thick. Hedwig’s death flashed in her mind, of the white blur darting in front of a Killing Curse and falling stiffly to her lap. Rose had given her a nice little burial beneath her favorite tree in the Weasleys’ orchard, her corpse decorated in handpicked forget-me-nots and wood anemone. With Mrs Weasley’s insistence, she’d included a lock of her own hair and took a feather in its place, a wizarding tradition meant to keep their bond even in death.

Hedwig was alive, now, and their bond felt as strong as ever.

After a few moments of cuddling her owl, Rose was startled by the slamming of a car door. She peered out the window to see Uncle Vernon’s station wagon pulling out of the drive. Rose frowned to herself. Her clock informed her it was a Sunday, so Uncle Vernon didn’t have work, and neither he nor Aunt Petunia ever attended church. Something niggled in the back of Rose’s mind, so she headed downstairs to investigate.

Dudley was still eating breakfast, his eyes glued to the television Rose recalled he’d gotten as a “welcome home” gift, and Aunt Petunia was reading one of her gossip magazines.

“Aunt Petunia,” said Rose, “where’s Uncle Vernon going?”

Aunt Petunia fixed her with an annoyed glare.

“To get your Aunt Marge from the train station, so you better go get cleaned up,” she ordered, eying Rose’s rumpled sleep clothes. “And you better not say anything about your freakishness, do you understand?”

Rose stared at Aunt Petunia, feeling vaguely horrified. Aunt Marge? Here? Didn’t they remember what happened the last time she’d—

Oh, that hadn’t happened yet.

“Aunt Petunia,” said Rose, thinking very quickly, “why don’t I head to Dia—to the place where I get my school things. There’s a hostel there, so I could stay there for the rest of the summer. That way I won’t even have to lie and risk slipping up in front of Aunt Marge.”

Dudley had turned away from his telly to stare at Rose. Rose understood why. She had remained meek to the Dursleys’ whims until she’d told them about her godfather, who was an escaped convict from wizarding prison. All Rose had to do was threaten them with a visit from him and they let her do what she wanted.

The suggestion must’ve been too good to pass up, because Aunt Petunia sourly asked, “How are you going to get there? I’ll not be paying for a bus fare.”

“I’ll be taking a, er, bus for my kind.”

Aunt Petunia’s eyes strayed to the clock on the wall. It was ticking down the time for when Uncle Vernon returned with his sister, which wouldn’t take very long as the train station wasn’t very far away.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But you’ll not leave a single abnormal think here, and you better be gone before your uncle gets back.”

Rose smiled brightly. “I’ll be gone as soon as you unlock the cupboard with my things.”

While Aunt Petunia fished for the key to the padlock, Rose retreated upstairs to pack up everything. Most things she left, such as Dudley’s old clothes and the things he’d left when she’d been given the room, but she made sure to pull up the loose floorboard hiding her homework and wand. Rose also sent both Hedwig and Errol off, Hedwig to the Leaky Cauldron and Errol to Egypt.

“I’ll be going now,” Rose said to Aunt Petunia. If she had her way, this would be the last time she ever saw the Dursleys. It reminded her of the last time she’d seen them, all pale and hurried off to some safe house by the Order. She never did get to know if they’d stayed safe.

Aunt Petunia merely sniffed and shooed her away. Feeling somewhat discomfited, Rose left. She dragged her trunk down Privet Drive, past Wisteria Walk, and to a long stretch of road bordering a sheep farm. Beneath a tree, Rose paused to rifle through her trunk. She pulled out some wizarding coin and a hooded cloak, which she buttoned up and pulled over her head. With another glance around to ensure no Muggles were present, Rose brandished her wand in a salute to a sky. Moments later, a triple-decker purple bus appeared before her with a bang.

“The Leaky Cauldron, please,” said Rose, handing over the appropriate fare.

The bus was different than the last time she’d seen it. Gone were the beds and partitions, and instead upholstered plush benches lined the bus in rows. Rose was quick to take a seat, and she kicked her trunk to the space beneath her just as the bus took off.

It only took two stops to get to London; one to drop off a large group of university-aged boys to a local-run Quidditch pitch and another a theatre of some sort. Once the bus screeched to a stop, Rose ensured her hood and fringe still covered her scar—which had somehow healed already—and departed.

The Leaky Cauldron was as dark and dank as always, but surprisingly rowdy. Rose stopped in the doorway for a moment to take it all in. It was different than when she’d last seen it just days ago. Then, it had been near-empty, full of suspicious eyes and huddling cloaked figures. Bile had risen to her throat when they’d tripped over themselves to prostrate before Bellatrix, who she’d been Polyjuiced as, and the same feeling erupted in her now.

For as involved Rose was in the war, she had been quite removed from the public side of it. The only time she’d seen the effects on others was when she’d snuck out to the neighbourhoods Voldemort attacked, visions having slipped through to her dreams. Rose had been quite safe in her little tent, tucked away with Sebastian and Ron.

Perhaps. Perhaps it wouldn’t have to happen again. Surely she could stop Voldemort from resurrecting again. She had a whole two years to prevent it.

The door opened behind her, and Rose was reminded she was still in the doorway. She apologized and dragged her trunk through the pub to stop beside the bar.

“Yes, lassie?” said Tom, catching sight of her.

“I was wondering if I could get a room until the first?” asked Rose.

Tom squinted at her. “Aren’t you a little young to be travelling alone?”

Rose bit the inside of her cheek. Why was Tom making such a fuss? She’d easily gotten a room the last time—but wait. She hadn’t made the arrangement herself, had she? Minister Fudge had gotten the room for her. And once Tom had heard it was for her, he’d taken it upon herself to provide the best service possible. Because she was the Girl-Who-Lived.

“My relatives have gone for the summer,” said Rose, absently running a hand through her hair and upsetting her fringe. “They’re Muggles, you see. They’d though I’d be safe here with my own kind.”

Tom’s eyes widened at the sight of her scar, but when he heard about her situation, his expression softened.

“Because of Black,” he said, his voice hushed. Rose winced. She hadn’t even thought about that angle. As far as she knew, Sirius was innocent, but no one else knew that. Perhaps, perhaps she could see him freed. But his current status would only help her now. She figured it was only right, what with skipping out on his godfather duties for the past decade.

“Yes, sir, because of him,” Rose fibbed, fidgeting and fixing her gaze down. She tried to look sad and frightened, and when she peered through her lashes at Tom, she saw he’d taken it hook, like, and sinker.

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Potter,” he said, leveraging himself across the bar as if to tell a secret. “I’ll give you the room up top. It’s meant for important officials and has some extra protections on it. You’ll need to keep safe from Black and seeing as you’ll be staying here for the month, I’ll be happy to rent it to you. In fact, I’ll keep it the same rate as the other rooms.”

Rose immediately began to protest, guilt stirring in her gut. “I can pay the usual rent! My parents left me more than enough money. I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“You aren’t asking for anything,” Tom cut her off. “I offered. My own parents died in the war but it’s thanks you that my Dottie survived. She’s a Muggle, see, and if you hadn’t stopped You-Know-Who that night, she wouldn’t be here now. I’m thankful to you—you and your family.”

“I wasn’t aware,” said Rose softly. This was the first time someone had genuinely thanked her for her family’s part in Voldemort’s downfall that night.

Perhaps sensing her unrest, Tom rested a hand on hers and said, “Take the room, Miss Potter. It’s the least I could do.”

Rose swallowed. “Thank you, sir. Do you mind if I store my trunk behind the bar while I go to Gringotts? I haven’t got enough money at hand.”

Tom agreed and waved her off.

Rose headed to the back courtyard and braced herself to see Diagon Alley once more. It still haunted her, the dark and desolate atmosphere, the people begging and insisting they were real wizards, that they deserved wands. She swallowed at the memory of one such wizard clinging to he robes, begging Bellatrix to believe them, and the result of the curse she’d cast at him to keep her cover. The man’s screaming still rang in her ears from when the curse rent the skin from his wand-hand. She’d learned it from the Black library, but she hadn’t expected it to be so horrible. Bile pooled in her throat at the memory.

She wouldn’t do that again, she swore to herself. She would prevent Voldemort from being resurrected so no one had to face that.

Rose rapped her wand on a brick, which wiggled in place before it began to move. The bricks surrounding it began to spin, grinding against one another as the opening widened to an archway, beyond which Diagon Alley appeared. Witches and wizards haggled for prices, children sprinted from window to window, and the very air seemed to buzz. War had not touched this place for twelve years, and it wouldn’t happen again if Roes had anything to say about it.

Fixing her fringe again, she made her way through the alley. Her hand itched to take her wand, and she flicked her wrists with the various wand movements for a shield or spell. She thought of Fred and George’s Shield Hats and wished she knew how they’d enchanted them, if only to quell her anxious mind.

Gringotts appeared too soon. Rose’s hands shook as she passed the two bowing guards. Goblins had divinatory methods of their own and she hoped they wouldn’t punish someone for a future deed. Using the Imperius Curse had been the only way. They would’ve been found out otherwise. She hoped to figure out another way to get the Cup from Bellatrix’s vault. She would have to discuss it with Sebastian later.

He'd come back, hadn’t he?

Rose shoved what-ifs away, sure Death would have informed her if he’d decided otherwise, and approached one of the tellers. They called a cart-minder to take her to her vault.

Rose stared at the mounds of gold, silver, and bronze. There was so much just sitting there collecting dust. She’d been so wary of spending money the first time she’d been here, afraid of upsetting Ron if he saw her with new things. She remembered walking around Wiseacre’s, mooning over all the fancy gadgets. There’d been one, a set of gemstones that projected various constellations on the ceiling with the mere tap of your wand. It was meant as an astronomy device, but Rose had been awed by the soft light it projected.

She’s always been afraid of the dark.

There was no use to buy such a device now, though. But, she thought, staring down at her worn trainers, perhaps she could purchase some other things. She wasn’t really thirteen. She ought to buy somethings for herself, starting with real clothes, not the hand-me-downs she’d paraded around with until her death.

The cart-minder had started to impatiently tap his claws together, so Rose shoveled handfuls of gold, silver, and bronze into one of the purses hanging beside the door. She half suspected he was tempted to leave her but hadn’t dared to due to being such a famous client. Still, after thanking him, Rose left Gringotts for the sunny cobbled streets of the Alley.

What to do first?

This thought was quickly answered when a witch entering the bank sneered at her. Rose flushed, aware of how Dudley’s clothes pooled around her. Right, she thought. New clothes it was.

As she headed towards Madam Malkin’s, a colourful swathe of fabric caught her attention. Rose paused outside the storefront of a boutique. The window display had mannequins dressed in flowing skirts, lacey blouses, and matching hats and gloves. One caught her eye. It was a verdant green dress with a white blouse and a verdant skirt, all ruffles and lace. It should’ve been gaudy to her Muggle-raised eye, but it wasn’t. It reminded her of one of Aunt Petunia’s favourite movies with Scarlett O’Hara. Rose would always take it upon herself to polish the fancy silverware Aunt Petunia stored in the dining room just so she could watch it, too.

This dress looked like the white ruffled day dress Viven wore in the beginning of the movie. It had always caught her eye, the layers of ruffles and the sash around the waist. The dress before her was rather different, with fewer ruffles, a less full skirt, and a modern blouse cut, but she loved it.

Rose found herself entering the boutique before she could properly think about it.

There were even more clothes than the dresses she’d seen in the window, all with a strange mix of Victorian, Edwardian, and modern fashion. There was also something else, something purely wizarding about the clothes. From the cloaks and robes to the small selection of shoes with all their buckles and metal.

Rose loved it all at once.

“Good morning,” said a prim voice.

Rose flinched for her wand, cursing herself for not watching her surroundings. She whirled about to face the person who’d spoken, pausing at the sight of a well-collected witch standing at a reception desk, her face a mask of professionalism as she looked upon her.

“Er, hello,” said Rose, her face feeling hot. She’d overreacted, she realized.

“Was there something I could help you with, Miss?” said the woman. “Do you need directions somewhere?”

The witch clearly thought Rose was lost and not a customer. She couldn’t exactly fault the woman—Madam Fawley, her nametag said—because she looked like the street urchin the Dursleys always said she was.

“I’d like to look at this dress, actually,” said Rose, gesturing to the one she’d looked at through the mirror. “It caught my eye as I was walking past.”

Rose commended the woman’s professionalism because she didn’t question if she could even afford such a dress. Perhaps she was humoring her.

“Of course, Miss Potter.”

Oh, so she’d just caught sight of her scar.

“Shall I take your measurements?”

“Please,” said Rose. She was ushered into a partitioned-off room full of mirrors and sweet-scented candles and bolts of fabric.

“Please strip to your undergarments,” said Madam Fawley, collecting a notepad and tape measure.

Rose froze. “Oh, er… I don’t…” she stammered, her face burning hot as she recalled the state of her underwear. “I don’t have any… I mean, my undergarments…”

“They’re the Muggle kind?” Madam Fawley frowned. “Well, that just won’t do. My dresses must be worn with the appropriate garments. Shall I fit you for some?”

“Oh, I guess?” said Rose, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She saw it had a few holes in it. She really did need some new clothes.

“What is your preference? A set of combinations, chemises, or drawers?”

“Er…”

Madam Fawley sighed. “This is your first time experiencing wizarding clothes outside your school uniform, isn’t it?” she asked, although not unkindly.

Rose flushed. “Yes, Madam. I live in the Muggle world but I’ve decided it’s time I get some new clothing.”

“Oh my!” the witch exclaimed, her hand going to her breast in surprise. “I had heard, but most thought it was just a rumor…”

“Excuse me?” Rose frowned. What was she talking about?

“There’s been rumors since you were a babe about where you’ve gone,” Madam Fawley admitted, going red in the cheeks. “There was some gossip some years ago that you were in the Muggle world but most thought it ridiculous. Who puts the Girl-Who-Lived in the Muggle world? But now it seems it’s true…”

Rose had no idea. She had come across wizards when she was younger, she remember, but she hadn’t realized there’d been rumors about where she’d gone.

“Well, I’ll be staying in the wizarding world from now on,” Rose told the woman.

“And so you need the proper clothing,” Madam Fawley deduced. She fluttered away and returned with a pile of white fabric. With a swish of her wand, they floated before Rose in a rotating carousel.

“These are drawers,” she said, gesturing to a pair of ruffled bloomers. A dainty night dress rotated before her, and Rose was informed it was a chemise or shift. “And these,” Madam Fawley continued as a garment that looked like a romper floated before, “is a combination. You may think it as a mixture of a set of drawers and a chemise.”

All of the garments were rather pretty, white cotton with frills and lace and richly coloured ribbons and bows. Rose vaguely recalled seeing her roommates wearing these items while dressing, but as she preferred to undress in the bathroom, she hadn’t paid much attention to them. There was just one matter that confused Rose, however…

“No bra?”

“Ah, yes, one moment.”

Madam Fawley returned with three items that looked like a corset, although one looked more like a bra than the other two.

“This is a corset; these are a set of stays—” She gestured to a garment like the corset, but which didn’t extend past the waist. “—and this is the most similar to your Muggle bra; a bustier.”

The bustier looked like the bra version of a corset that didn’t expand past the ribcage.

“I like that one,” Rose said, because she’d heard the horror stories of corsets and the stays looked like they would bind her chest uncomfortably. “I can wear it with anything, right?”

“Yes. However, I do recommend a corset for a more formal state of dress.”

“I’ll come by next year for one,” Rose promise. She was positive she would be roped into the Yule Ball once more.

Madam Fawley agreed easily, her eyes crinkled at the corners at the thought of Rose as a recurring customer. She set her up with a few brasiers and at least one set of each undergarment, although Rose preferred the short drawers, as they were called, as they were the closest to the underwear was used to.

Eventually, Rose found herself standing back on the stool before Madam Fawley in the bustier and a set of matching drawers. She stared at her reflection as the tape measure flew around her. With the lace and ribbons, she looked rather…girlish. She’d never really seen herself like a girl, not when she hung out with all the Weasley boys and Ginny who was a tomboy, not to mention the Quidditch team. And she especially didn’t feel like a girl when compared to Lavendar and Parvati, who were perhaps the prettiest girls in Gryffindor.

But now, she looked pretty. These were just undergarments. How was she going to feel in a proper skirt and blouse?

Madam Fawley eventually backed off with her notebook full of measurements.

“Shall we get you that dress?”

Rose beamed at her, and she was still smiling when she left the sore an hour later, dressed in that green skirt and blouse, with a matching set of flats, gloves, and sunhat. Her arms were full of her other purchases. She had spent over five galleons—that was more than five hundred pounds!

And to her surprise, Rose didn’t feel guilty for spending so much. Every time she caught her reflection in a shop window or on the side of a cauldron or in the fountain by Mr Fortescue’s, she grinned. She practically skipped to the pub, barely aware of the considering glances sent her way.

“Why, Miss Potter, you look like the proper young lady!” Tom said in astonishment. Rose flushed, pleased.

“I decided to do some shopping for coming back,” she said. “I hope my trunk hasn’t caused you any trouble?”

“None. I took it upon myself to take it to your room, in fact.”

“I haven’t even paid,” Rose said exasperatedly. Tom merely grinned at her and saw her to her room—after she’d paid the month’s rent.

Despite using her status as the Girl-Who-Lived to get the room, Rose found herself pleased with the change in rooms. It was large and spacious, easily twice the size as a regular inn room, and even contained a sofa and coffee table for seeing guests. When it rained, which it inevitably would, she wouldn’t be stuck in the stuffy little room she’d had previously. Last time, the rowdy crowd she could hear hadn’t bothered her. She had loved it, in fact, just because she was in Diagon Alley, but now she was sure it would drive her crazy otherwise. Rose had spent the past many months stuck in a tent with two men—and as much as Sebastian respected her privacy, there’d been times where she’d just wanted to be alone—so having some space to herself sounded brilliant.

Rose took a flying leap onto her comfy queen-sized bed, her purchases sprawling around her as she rolled onto her back to grin at the ceiling. There would be a time where she would have to consider serious matters like Voldemort, but for now, she was just going to enjoy being thirteen again.

Chapter Text

Midway through hanging up her new clothes in the inn wardrobe, Rose spotted Hedwig on the windowsill. She promptly dropped the skirt she’d been folding and opened the window for the owl, who landed on a perch in the corner of the room.

“Hi, darling girl,” greeted Rose, scratching at the base of Hedwig’s wing where she knew it got itchy. Hedwig cooed, leaning into her touch, and Rose had to blink away tears. She’d missed Hedwig so much.

“Did you have a nice fly?” she asked. Hedwig nibbled at her finger in response. “I bet you did. How do you feel about crossing the ocean? I need to send a letter to Sebastian.”

Hedwig bobbed her head and Rose smiled. Her owl had always liked Sebastian, oftentimes visiting him during morning mail time and begging for a bit of ham. She hadn’t minded Crookshanks that much, either, but she’d hated Scabbers. Completely understandable, considering who he turned out to be.

That reminded Rose she would have to take care of Pettigrew at some point…

That was a matter for later. Rose retrieved some stationary from her trunk, and sitting down at the desk, begun to draft a letter to Sebastian.

Dear Sebastian,

I’ve decided to spend the remainder of the summer in Diagon Alley. Dudley’s Aunt Marge is coming for a visit and I’m afraid I would blow her up if I had to share a house with her. I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the foreseeable future and would very much like it if you could visit before the holidays end.

Thank you for the present. I’m sure the broom care kit will come in handy. Imagine if some long-lost relative gets me a Firebolt for Christmas!

I’ve gotten a letter from Ron. He sent me a news clipping of the Weasleys in the paper. Scabbers is even in there!

Looking forward to your reply,

Rose

As much as Rose didn’t want to think about it, she wasn’t sure if Sebastian had agreed to come back in time with her. This letter was innocuous enough that if he hadn’t come back in time, that he wouldn’t find anything amiss. However, her coded messages were glaring enough to announce that she’d arrived intact had he agreed.

She could only hope he received them.

Rose took a moment to reread the short letter before rolling it up and tying it to Hedwig’s foot. “Be careful,” she told her. “And take a moment to rest when you get to Sebastian, alright? I want a letter back from him.”

Hedwig preened her plait before flying out the window. Rose watched her until she disappeared around a tall building. She hoped Death had convinced Sebastian to come back with her. What if he hadn’t? What if she had to take care of Voldemort alone? She could probably do it, but what if she couldn’t?

Rose forcefully pushed away the what-ifs and distracted herself with lunch. She spent the rest of the day wandering Diagon Alley, purchasing a brand-new pair of thin-framed glasses. She even threw out all of Dudley’s clothes to make room for any new ones she decided to purchase at a later date.

Two days later, while Rose was enjoying a late morning tea in a new nightgown, Hedwig flew through her open window with a letter tied to her leg. Rose hurriedly set down her tea and untied the letter, not even paying attention when Hedwig stuck her beak in her teacup. She unrolled Sebastian’s letter, her gut tense as she began to read.

Dear Rose,

I had an interesting meeting with a friend of yours a few days ago. I thought I was dreaming at first but then Hedwig came. It’s true, then. We’re going to start our third year in a month.

It’s difficult seeing my parents, but I’m happy to have them. I won’t be making the same mistake as I did last year, even if it means that I must tell them everything we get up to at Hogwarts.

Speaking of mistakes, I’ve decided to send a letter to Professor McGonagall to ask her to remove me from Divination and Muggle Studies classes. I don’t know what I was thinking. Divination is woolly and I can just take the OWLs and NEWTs as a self-study.

Do you still plan to take Divination, too? It’s not like you need to see into the future.

I’ve spoken to my parents about coming back early. They were planning on spending the whole summer in France, but I’ve managed to convince them to come back a week early and to let me stay at the Leaky Cauldron. It was difficult, but I told them about wanting to experience wizarding culture first-hand. They’ll be visiting once a day during their lunch break from their practice, but it’s worth it.

I’ll see you on August 22^nd.

Don’t forget your homework,

Sebastian

Sebastian’s letter was also coded. Rose grinned as she read it, even if she rolled her eyes at the mention of school and homework. She’d completely forgotten about that, but now that she was reminded, it was impossible to forget having to do her assignments in the middle of the night with a torch she’d stolen from the shed.

She’d have to redo any of the assignments she’d already completed, of course. Her handwriting wasn’t the same as it’d once been. It was much more refined now that she’d had six years practice writing with a quill instead of two. The only good thing she could think about her predicament was that she had to review her studies anyway. Six years of Hogwarts classes were stored in her memory, and while her grades hadn’t strayed past an Acceptable, even Sebastian hadn’t been ready to take his OWLs or NEWTs in his third year. It would be odd if she started doing advanced magic.

School was going to be rather boring, Rose realized. She already knew everything. Perhaps Sebastian was right about taking another elective. But what other classes were there? There was, of course, Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, which she’d taken last time. Sebastian had taken Muggle Studies, Study of Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy in addition to the two she’d taken. There were other classes she’d heard of, but she couldn’t remember what they were called.

Rose considered asking Sebastian for his thoughts before she realized she was doing it again. She was leaning on him to give her the answers instead of finding them herself. She’d done that ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Sebastian had seen how overwhelmed she’d been about what to study that he’d set up a dedicated schedule of spells to study and books to read, and Rose had let him do it. She’d continued to let him dictate her, thinking that he knew best, until she’d died and gotten him killed. And hadn’t Rose done the same with Ron? She’d followed him into Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, aiming for an easy E, and had allowed him to hinder her.

No, thought Rose. She’d hindered herself by not wanting to anger or upset him. She needed to start thinking about herself and not what others thought, even if it meant this Ron—who had stuck with her when the school thought she was the Heir of Slytherin, who had followed her into the basilisk’s den—didn’t want to be her friend anymore.

It was high time she took her future into her own hands instead of letting everyone do it for her.

Rose refilled her teacup with water for Hedwig before getting dressed in some of her new clothes. Overtop a blouse, she wore a deep brown suspender dress with three buckle straps at the waist. The buckles matched the ones on her new boots, and Rose tied a gold ribbon to the end of her plait to match their colour.

Rose had never seen a suspender dress before, but it reminded her of the denim dungarees she’d run around in as a girl. Madam Fawley had said the dress was a common fashion for girls her age and Rose could see why. She looked…cute. Nothing like the scrawny tomboy she was used to looking at in the mirror. She though that even Sebastian might think her pretty.

Rose flushed at her own thoughts, abruptly recalling Sebastian’s kiss. She slapped her cheeks a few times before heading downstairs. That, she would think about later.

“Good morning, Miss Rose,” Tom greeted her. “Breakfast?”

“Oh!” Rose had forgotten about breakfast in the wake of Sebastian’s letter. “Yes, please,” she said. “Do you have blueberry muffins?”

Rose always found her stomach got upset when she ate too much in the morning, and as Aunt Petunia had imposed Dudley’s calorie-deficit diet on the whole family this summer, her stomach had shrunken even more than it usually did over the summers. It would take her a few months to work up to big meals. The tea she’d had earlier had already filled her up most of the way.

“Coming right up,” said Tom. “Where do you plan on venturing today?”

“Flourish & Blotts,” Rose said, having decided while getting dressed. “I still need to get my schoolbooks, and I’ve also decided to change my electives. I thought I’d browse the Hogwarts section for an idea.”

“Make sure you ask for a course catalogue,” he advised. “You wouldn’t be the first to change your mind and they offer them free of charge for those who ask.”

Rose thanked him and paid a few knuts for her blueberry muffin, which merrily floated itself over to her. She sat beside the archway as she ate her muffin, just watching as Diagon Alley started to fill up. She was still unable to believe how it’d become such a shell in so little time, and she made a promise to herself not to allow it to get to that point again.

The bookshop wasn’t as crowded as she’d expected considering Hogwarts letters had just gone out, and Rose took the time to approach one of the workers before other patrons could.

“Excuse me?” she asked, noticing the wizard seemed preoccupied with the cage full of the Monster Book of Monsters. He jumped and a crazed look entered his eyes when she noticed the Hogwarts letter in her hand.

“In Care of Magical Creatures, I assume? Well, step back,” he snapped impatiently, tugging on some thick hide gloves.

“Sir, I’ve already got one of those!” Rose said, but it was too late. The monstrous books shook to life and swarmed the cage door. They snapped at the wizard’s hands, and two of them got into a tussle and started tearing out each other’s pages.

The wizard shouted and jerked back as a book managed to grab a hold of his glove. Before he got bit, Rose raced forward and stroked the spine. Just as she recalled all those years ago from Hagrid, the book turned docile and churred from her petting.

“How in Merlin’s name have you done that?” the wizard asked, staring at the books. “They always swarm when I come to them. Look, I’ve been bitten five times already this morning alone!”

Rose winced at the red marks on the man’s arms. “They’re enchanted to act like a beast,” she said. “You’ve got to stroke their spines if you want to calm them down.”

“Stroke them? Stroke them! Why couldn’t they have told me this when we ordered the shipment?” the man muttered to himself hysterically. He shook himself roughly and locked the cage before the books could start brawling again. “Sorry for the trouble, miss. Did you need help with something?”

“If it’s not an inconvenience, I would appreciate the third year’s class catalogue.”

“Not at all, not at all,” said the wizard, retrieving a list from the front. Rose thanked him and went to an unoccupied corner to read it.

Aside from the core classes and the electives she was familiar with, there was a subsection on extracurriculars. Some were graded while others were not, the catalogue said. The list also noted that the graded extracurriculars didn’t have NEWT exams but rather TOADs—otherwise called Tests for Outstanding Academic Distinction. Rose understood these to be a standardized test throughout Europe like the NEWTs. Unfortunately, these must be paid for and taken at the Ministry as they weren’t available at Hogwarts.

Unsurprisingly, Quidditch was listed as an extra-credit club instead of something that was graded. The list had a few books for it, such as those on rules and different plays. All were mentioned as supplemental reading. Rose noticed that she’d read a couple of them from the library, so it wasn’t like she needed to purchase these books.

Well, she might get one.

Rose bypassed the clubs in favour of the TOAD classes. There was Healing, which explained why she often saw student aids in the Hospital Wing; Ghoul Studies, which seemed to be an offshoot of Defence Against the Dark Arts that studied ghouls and ghoul-like creatures extensively, of which there were many; and Field Studies, which expanded on Care of Magical Creatures but purely in an academic zoological standpoint. Rose vaguely recalled Luna mentioning she was taking this class.

Although Rose was interested in Healing, she didn’t want to spend any more time in the Hospital Wing that necessary. It would eat up any time she had for spell practice or Quidditch.

Two other classes sparked her interest: Ancient Studies and Enchanting.

Ancient Studies seemed to be a precursor course for a future in Curse-Breaking, while Enchanting, as implied by the name, instructed one in the art enchanting objects.

Unfortunately, Ancient Studies required one to have an E minimum on their Study of Ancient Runes OWL exam, so Rose would be unable to take the class until her sixth year at the earliest. Based on the description of the class, Ancient Studies covered ancient magic practices and wizarding anthropology. Rose had always been interested in wizarding history even if she’d struggled in Binns’s class. Perhaps she ought to take Ancient Runes. She had thought them interesting when she’d helped Sebastian translate those runic books Dumbledore had willed to him.

Enchanting, on the other hand, required no prerequisites other than a minimum of an Exceeds Expectations on your second year Charms and Transfigurations exams. However, it required you to take Ancient Runes as they were used in the latter part of the year.

Rose chewed on her lip as she pondered what to do. With Divination out of the way, she would have two open periods to take. If she filled in with Runes and Enchanting, and then later dropped Care after her OWLs, she could manage to take Ancient Studies later on when studying for her NEWTs.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, Rose had gotten a crush on Bill after she’d met him. She'd even read up on Curse-Breaking to have an excuse to talk to him, and had been surprised by how interesting she thought it was. But as Rose had become busy with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and then Umbridge, and then the whole mess of her sixth year, she hadn’t been able to do any extra reading.

If Roes had taken Ancient Studies, then perhaps she could’ve helped Sebastian with the protections around the tent. They wouldn’t have been captured by the Snatchers and Sebastian wouldn’t have been tortured for having Muggle parents. And if she’d taken Enchanting, then Rose could’ve understood what Sirius’s mirror was earlier. She could’ve done a lot of things, if only she hadn’t let her insecurities overwhelm her and influence her into the person Ron would want to be friends with.

These guilty thoughts gnawed at Rose and cemented her decision. She purchased the books required for her classes, including The Basics of Enchantment and Ancient Runes Made Easy. Afterwards, Rose returned to her room in the Leaky Cauldron and penned a letter to Professor McGonagall, asking her to take her out of Divination and put her in Study of Ancient Runes and Enchanting. She followed that up by informing she had already purchased the required textbooks for both courses in hopes that it could be done.

While she had her dwindling stationary supply out, Rose also wrote to Sebastion with her decision and enclosed the course list. She thought he’d be interested in it, especially if he hadn’t seen the classes last time.

Hedwig was all too happy to spread her wings again, but Rose ensured she knew to take a break between going to Hogwarts and France.

Rose decided that since she’d already gotten her schoolbooks, she might as well get her other school supplies. Most of them were potions related—a new set of potions ingredients, a size 3 pewter cauldron, and a mortar and pestle—but there was also a basic runic kit for Study of Ancient Runes and, later, Enchanting. After looking through her existing supplies, Rose added new dragonhide gloves, especially with the type of creatures they’ll be handling in Care, and a glass stirrer as hers had broken at some point. She also needed more stationary, new Gryffindor robes as hers were getting short, and uniform-appropriate clothes to wear underneath since year three robes were styled as more of an overcoat.

Collecting her purse—a lilac coloured one with lilies embroidered on it—Rose headed back downstairs. She decided to stop by the stationary store first as it was closer than Madam Malkin’s.

Scribbulus’s Writing Implements was a tiny shop squished between Quality Quidditch Supplies and Flourish & Blotts. The smell of parchment and ink wafted towards her, a mixture of leather and bitter ink that reminded her of Sebastian. His hands were always stained with ink since he was always writing in those journals of his.

Rose wandered around the shop, filling the basket floating behind her with scrolls of parchment, ink bottles, and new quills. A new display by the till caught her attention.

“Are these pens?” Rose muttered to herself, picking one up with a tortoise shell pattern. She saw the tip was metal and nothing like the ballpoint biros she was used to.

“Ah, those are a new product we’ve implemented—fountain pens. You use them with inkwells, but the writing style is similar to Muggle writing tools,” said the worker behind the till, whose name was Hadrian.

“Oh, they’re used for calligraphy!” Rose realized. Uncle Vernon had once purchased a set for Aunt Petunia because she’d mentioned wanting to handwrite invitation cards for her tea parties instead of printing them, but she’d made him take them back as soon as she’d seen them. Probably because they reminded her of quills, Rose thought.

Hadrian smiled. “Exactly. They’ve become popular among the genteel.”

They showed Rose a set of lavishly styled pens, their handles made of stone and decorated with metal. One caught Rose’s eye. The body looked to be made of jade with swirling patterns of gold embedded to create a vine-like pattern. The pen was paired with a matching inkwell and a set of nibs.

“Lovely eye you’ve got there,” said Hadrian, catching where her gaze had gone. “Would you like to try it out?”

“May I?”

He got a spare bit of parchment for Rose to test the fountain pen on. She angled the pen in her hand and wrote her name as usual. The metal nib spread on her downstroke to give her writing that signature calligraphy look, and she noticed it didn’t make as much of a scratching sound. She finished her full first name with a flourished y.

“How long have you been writing with a quill?” Hadrian asked, studying her name. It was readable, a remarkable improvement from her chicken scratch that always got her marks off in Snape’s class.

“Six years,” Rose admitted.

“Were you ever formally taught how to write with one?”

Rose shook her head. “No, I taught myself. I didn’t even know how to cut the quills until one of the prefects taught me.”

Hadrian thought for a moment. “If you’ll please stay here for a moment,” he said, retreating into the back office. After a minute or so, he returned with a pamphlet. How to Write the Wizarding Way it said.

Rose flipped through it and saw that it taught you how to use quills, from preparing the feather to how to angle your wrist. It provided examples of all letters in upper and lowercase cursive with animated little pictures.

“Well, I could have used this my first year,” said Rose frankly. “Why aren’t these offered with quill kits?”

Hadrian scratched the back of his head and sheepishly admitted, “I made it. I’m Muggleborn, see, and had the same problems as you. I made one for my little sister and she said I should make some for others, but Mr Scribbulus won’t allow me to put them on the counter.”

Rose frowned and studied the pamphlet again. It could do with a little polishing, especially the drawings, but it would help a lot of people who were Muggle-raised.

“Do you mind if I take this?” she asked.

“Go ahead, I’ve got plenty in the back.”

Hadrian rung up Rose’s stationery, including a simple fountain pen. As much as she liked the jade one, it was a galleon, or the equivalent of one hundred pounds. It was too much for a writing instrument she could easily lose. Perhaps she’d consider it later if she didn’t lose her fountain pen like she did her quills.

After stowing away her stationery in her expanded purse, Rose mentally reviewed what she needed and decided to leave the potions equipment for last. Or another day. Perhaps shopping for school-appropriate clothing to wear beneath her robes would tire her out. Well, she could hope.

If Madam Fawley’s was a high fashion boutique, then Madam Malkin’s was the equivalent of Marks & Spencer. Most of the clothing available were plainer robes or simple trousers and blouses. Rose did notice that Madam Malkin’s was the only place to offer Hogwarts regalia, from blouses and skirts in House colours to robes in various styles. These included the simple dress-like robe first-years wore and an open-front robe, which was worn over regular clothing like an overcoat or topcoat.

Rose examined a set of Gryffindor robes on display. It was an open-front style that reminded her of a princess coat. They were scarlet with gold piping and numerous buckles and straps. Rose decided to splurge and get one of those with her set of plain open-front robes. To her grand misfortune, once she’d located an employee to get fitted, she was propped onto a stool beside the same person she’d met before her first year; Malfoy.

“Which year are you going into, dear?” Madam Malkin idly asked as she began to pin darts in place on Rose’s robe.

“Third,” said Rose, somewhat confused. She thought she’d be recognized since she’d been here for the past two years, and Madam Malin had made a fuss the first time she’d met her.

Malfoy glanced over, a curious expression on his pointy face.

“You’re a third year, aren’t you?” he assumed in that drawling tone that never failed to get on her nerves. “I would’ve recognized you otherwise. We’re in the same year, you know.”

Rose stared at him. Did he really not recognize her? Madam Malkin, she could excuse, but Malfoy had made it a sport to torment her and her friends. How did he not recognize her? But as she asked herself that, Rose realized she was staring at it. Her reflection was one she barely recognized. Her newly grown fringe framed her face in shiny loose curls, her eyes no longer looked tiny behind her thin glasses, and dressed in her new clothes, she didn’t look like the ruffian the Dursleys always made her out to be.

She didn’t look like the Rose Potter Malfoy knew, and in truth, she wasn’t. Rose wasn’t that thirteen year old girl whose worst enemy was her relatives. She had died and lived through a war, one where she’d seen people die, had participated in battle, had been tortured. She was not the naïve little girl who believed Gryffindors were good and Slytherins were evil.

And Malfoy? He was the naïve one. He still clung to his fathers coattails, spouting the prejudice he’d been raised to believe. He didn’t have the Dark Mark, he hadn’t been tasked with killing their headmaster, and he hadn’t lived under the same roof as Voldemort. Nor had he secreted away food to those hiding in his dungeons, or lied about Rose’s identity.

He wouldn’t need to be any of that if Rose had a say in it, even if he was a ferret-faced ponce.

“You don’t recognize me, Malfoy?” Rose said. “I know it’s been a month, but honestly, I haven’t changed that much.”

Malfoy reared back as if struck. “Potter?” he said incredulously.

“Took you long enough,” she huffed.

Malfoy scowled. “Well, I see you’ve finally seen sense,” he sneered, gathering his wits about him. “Gotten tired of dressing in Weasley’s hand-me-downs, have you?”

Rose was already regretting speaking to him.

“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy continued. “You’ve been an embarrassment to us all these past few years. Hanging out with the riffraff, dressing like a Squib. It’s like you don’t know you’re from an ancient family.”

Rose scowled to hide her confusion. What did she mean by embarrassing them all? Who was “all”? And just what did he mean about her family being ancient? Weren’t most families old?

“Did the Weasleys put you up to it? They all dress like that, but I’m not surprised. They’ve been going to the dogs since they refused that contract, but I didn’t expect them to rope you into it. How disgraceful. They must’ve gotten their claws into you before you set foot on the train. There’s no other explanation as to why you’d turn away my hand.”

Rose was getting more and more confused and angry. Thankfully, before she could lash out or reveal her ignorance, the worker adjusting Malfoy’s verdant open-front robe finished.

“Well, Potter,” he said. “I do hope you’ve finally seen some sense.”

What the bloody hell did that mean?

Rose wanted to shout at him, but Malfoy had already gone. She kept mulling over his words but didn’t expect Madam Malkin to pipe up.

“That boy’s got a point, deary,” she said. “I remember those clothes you wore last year. That’s no way for a young lady of your status to dress. It seems you’ve finally gotten your head back on your shoulders. I can’t imagine a family like the Weasleys roping you into their mess—they were always so genuine despite their lack of money…”

“They didn’t make me dress like that. It was just Muggle fashion,” Rose lied. She dearly wanted to ask Madam Malkin what she and Malfoy were talking about but didn’t want to show her ignorance.

What did it all mean?