The lawn stretched on and on for ages as if it had no boundaries. The grounds were perfectly manicured without a single blemish and in its center the same old gaudy manor that had been there for ages. Surrounded by exotic animals like peacocks and colorful birds of the jungle that signified their opulence and wealth. It was his father's and his father's father so on and so forth. The purging of its dark past had never once changed the feeling of it. There would always be those horrible memories lingering in its halls, lurking and grabbing the unsuspecting person. It was truly a never-ending prison. Azkaban couldn't hold a candle to this place. Never in a million years. A prison is a prison no matter how polished up it may seem to be.

The Wizarding World was at peace. Everything moved at its sluggishly slow pace. Everything was as it should be. There was no grey, but only black and white. A right and a wrong; a good and an evil. Socialites and their pyramid of hierarchy still existed, but only to certain people's favor. Everything had been flipped upside down since the Dark Lord was vanquished. Money and power meant nothing. That was taboo now. That was what had brought so many so much suffering.

All a wizard or witch had was their name, but as many had come to realize, it was touted very much, to the point of ludicrousness and idiocy just as money, power, and blood lineage had done in the Old World. There was order, but at the same time an underlying chaos in the New World. The same feelings of supremacy and anxiousness riddled the magical folk of the Wizarding World. Nothing had changed except for the fact that there was no direct figure of evil that the people could fight against. The heroes and dead of that era were revered as gods. As for those who were stupid enough to support the evil and horrid acts of the Dark Lord, well, they could be summed up in three words: vile, disgusting maggots.

That's what he was and always would be; a vile, disgusting maggot. This new world wasn't the shiny, bright world the ending of the war was supposed to create where everyone got along and forgave each other's trespasses. It would always be far from that, something that could never be realized because that was impossible. This was the real world, not some fairy tale.

A breeze swept through the grounds, slightly swaying the trees in the distance. From where he lay, the full moon shone brilliantly directly above him, stars expertly marking the night sky as would a great artist on his canvas. Nighttime was the only time he had to reflect on things. Every minute of his waking life was spent keeping up the family image, the family legacy as if there was anything to preserve. Any ounce of respect the family name evoked, even if was out of fear and intimidation, was gone the moment the Battle of Hogwarts started. This never-ending façade was tiring and taking its toll on him, though he would never show it. That was never an option.

The soft, moist grass felt wonderful beneath his bare back and out-stretched arms. For a moment, just a single moment, all his worries and troubles seemed to fade away. For a moment he was just like any other person.

Just for one second the name Malfoy didn't exist. Just for one moment the name Malfoy wasn't slowly torturing him to the point of insanity; wasn't squeezing the life out of him bit by bit.

The day before the first day of term would always be nerve wrecking no matter how many times she had experienced it. As always her school trunk was open wide and as she looked inside she dreaded what was to come next. The trunk was filled to the brim with junk of the past five years: broken ink bottles, discarded quills, notes from friends, parchments with meaningless doodles. It was a disaster and would take a long time to clean out. She took a deep breath as she started the grueling process on her knees. She picked her way around things and threw everything away she didn't want in the refuse bin. Her mother, like most of the time, but she hated to admit it, had been right. She wouldn't be going through this right now if she had cleaned out her trunk every end of term. Hugo was comfortably sitting on his bed reading about the Chudley Cannons, snickering every time she flinched or muttered a curse. Of course, Hugo had followed mother's advice being the mama's boy he was. He was getting on her last nerve.

"It'd be much easier if you did as mother said," he pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Shut your trap, Hugo," she hissed. "Just keep reading your bloody book and leave me the hell alone. I'm annoyed enough as it is and don't need you to add to it. Believe you me you'll regret it."

"Touchy, touchy and might I say very unladylike. Nothing like a rose, not delicate at all. I fail to see why mum and dad named you Rose. A better fit may have been Thorn," Hugo taunted.

"Shut up, maggot!" she was getting red in the face, just like her father might.

Her temperament, she had definitely gotten from her father. She could not stand to be taunted and teased and most of the time her lashing out didn't work towards her favor. Sometimes she preferred to not have the short fuse she did and would have gladly traded her intellect in its place. Being a hothead and know-it-all didn't help her social life in any way. Hugo was still going at it, thinking it humorous. He knew better than to think she was bluffing, but, honestly, he didn't care. He loved pushing her buttons and was very good at it. She had had enough.

"Levi Corpus!" she yelled.

In an instant Hugo was dangling from one leg, upside down. He was opening his mouth to yell, but not before Rose struck up another spell.

"Muffliato!"

She was nose to nose with him now. As he tried to cry out once again she put her hand over his mouth. He looked genuinely scared and she was enjoying that. For him to actually think she'd hurt him was laughable. He was her little brother after all and it was her job to scare him at times. Through all the sibling rivalry she really did love him as a sister should and would never let him get hurt. This was just sort of a shock treatment. Hopefully it'd work this time and he'd leave her alone this school year. He was starting his fourth year this term, but being in the same house didn't prevent him from pestering her. Hugo constantly clinging to her all summer was more than enough. She hated being the eldest at times. There was always constant pressure to be the best at everything: school, sports, being a friend, and, above all, a Weasley.

Her family had been dragged through the mud for ages, according to her dad and granddad. Blood-traitors they were called. Her dad was of the top tier especially after marrying a mudblood and although blood lineage wasn't talked about in the open much these days it was definitely still whispered about. The Second Wizarding War was a great conduit of change for so many, but like any change it came slowly though it only seemed that way to her. Her father, not so much her mother, basked in the glory of what fighting on the "right side" had brought him. The heroes and the fallen were revered as demi-gods.

Through their efforts, evil had been eradicated in the Wizarding World and it was all sunshine and flowers now for everyone. That was the illusion that was cloaked over everyone and no one dared challenge it.

Hugo's face was getting redder by the minute and he was struggling to cry out against her hand. She performed a nonverbal spell and he came crashing down on his bed. Again, he tried to cry out, but before he could she had her arm locked around his neck and started to rap his head rapidly with her other hand as if she were trying to start a fire. He cried out in pain, fidgeting trying to get away from her.

"Mum and Dad can't hear you," she laughed evilly. "Beg for mercy. Beg!"

"Mercy. For Merlin's sake, have mercy, mad woman!" he struggled to say sounding a bit garbled.

As soon as she let go, he leapt off the bed and in the blink of an eye he was out of sight no doubt heading downstairs to complain to their mother. As was custom her dad would could up to her room and give a long winded lecture that would go off into a tangent about the "old days". Sometimes he seemed more like sixty something years old. And like clockwork there he was leaning against the doorway with that same "dad" look on his face.

"Rose…"

"I know, I know," she said continuing to clean out her trunk. "I know and I apologize."

"Rose, hun, you need to learn to control your anger. Lashing out doesn't help anyone. When me and your mum were fighting in the War…" he went on speaking about the War as if took place a million years ago. "You understand?"

She nodded her head, her back still turned towards him. She was still cleaning her trunk. It was already nine in the evening. Soon she'd have her mom up here possibly joining in the tirade, but mostly likely stopping it. She was the more level-headed of the two something that Rose had not inherited by any means.

"Sometimes, Rose, I don't know why you bother following these ridiculous rules your mother puts in place," he took out his wand. "Scourgify!"

The trunk was now empty of the remnants of the past five years. As kooky and eccentric her dad could sometimes be she loved him with all her heart. After all she was and always would be a daddy's girl. Hugo resembled their mom more with his brownish deep red hair and deep brown almond-shaped eyes. She had inherited the infamous Weasley hair and from somewhere deep in the family line striking green eyes.

"Thanks, Dad," she turned around and smiled at him.

"No problem, hun. Just don't tell your mother. You know how she is with the muggle 'hard work' ideal," he winked.

"My lips are sealed," she winked back.

There were approaching footsteps in the hallway and soon enough her mom stood by his side and Hugo carefully entered the room, sitting on his bed, and continued reading the Chudley Cannons book as if he had just not betrayed her. Her mother put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. Her dad slowly backed away while shaking his head and heading down the hall. The more years they spent married the more her mother resembled grandmum. Reprimanding her children every chance she got, but not harshly. It was just routine now. And what kind of mother would she be if she didn't complain?

"Rose, how many times have I told you the Prince's spells are strictly forbidden in this house?"

Rose was sitting on her bed now with her head on the wall. Hugo was quietly snickering behind his book, but not quietly enough. Their mother had the ears of a fox. She walked up to the side of his bed and snatched the book from him.

"As for you Hugo," she frowned. "Stop pestering your sister. I can't believe you would act this with your O.W.L.s approaching and you doing nothing to prepare. Summer holiday isn't all about fun, you know. Your marks have been well below the acceptable. Your education comes first. Look at your sister. She's involved in all kinds of activities; she's a Gryffindor beater, volunteers at St. Mungo's during the summer holiday, helps Hagrid with his creatures, and still manages to keep her marks up. Highest in her year, mind you. I'm afraid I have to do something drastic,"

Hugo's eyes widened in anticipation.

"Accio broom!"

"No, mum, you can't! We might make it to the championships this year!" he attempted to grab the broom, but fell flat on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Hugo, but you've given me no other choice. No Quidditch until your marks are as they should be and that's final," and with that she stalked out of the room, broom in tow.

Rose didn't dare say anything in fear of evoking her mother's wrath. She truly felt sorry for Hugo. No Quidditch for him was like preventing a monkey from swinging from branches. It was just not natural. He slammed his closet door closed and buried himself in his covers not saying one word. She opened her closet door and started packing everything into the trunk putting her broom off to the side. All the school supplies had already been bought courtesy of her Aunt Ginny. Having three kids of her own, her dad had helped her shop for them in Diagon Alley. No matter how many years had passed her mom was still a bit cautious and over protective.

She and her mother could still feel the underlying tensions in the world. They were a bit too intuitive for their liking sometimes. Nothing was as perfect and calm as it seemed. Generations of biased witches and wizards didn't change overnight and they knew that, but unlike most witches and wizards out there they believed everyone deserved a second chance no matter how horrible they may have been during the war. The past was the past and it did no one any good to dwell on it. Unfortunately they were the minority when it came to that opinion.

There were strong divides in this world and they weren't just going to disappear especially with the mentality people had. No one seemed to want to work at unity they just figured after the War it dropped right on their laps. Evil was vanquished and wouldn't resurface again as far as they were concerned.

As she lay down on her bed she wished she could just dream those divides away, truly heal this world. Voldemort did more than just take lives he also took a spark within people, the hope for a truly better world. They were afraid of hoping for too much because hope could cruelly ripped away only to give way to more sadness and disappointment.

She looked out her open window as a breeze swept through the room. She inhaled deeply as she took in every aspect of the luminous full moon. She couldn't help but wonder who else was looking at it at that exact moment feeling the same sense of emptiness and hopelessness for the people in this world.

Little did she know there was one other, just one other and it was the person she'd least expect.