2.

Sirius Black had been in his own world the entire morning and it was beginning to irritate James Potter who, it seemed, had been trying to get his approval for a date with Lily Evans which he had pieced together. "Sirius," he hissed for the fifth time, once again only just about managing to get half of his best friend's attention. Sirius' response was a vague "Mhm?" which infuriated Potter to no end. "Sirius," he snapped, slamming his palm down on his open Muggle Contraptions book, "I've been trying to talk to you for twenty five minutes. What's gotten you so distracted?" His eyes blazed. Sirius frowned.

"A girl," he said.

Potter's jaw dropped. In all their time together, Sirius had often talked about girls and flirted shamelessly with them in an attempt to win some snogging time; what he had never done was sit silently, gazing into nothing, thinking about them. Sometimes they had plotted cunning ways to seduce pretty ladies; sometimes they had plotted ways to get revenge on them; but never had they sat right beside one another, their minds seemingly miles apart, and thought about girls. Chewing his lip, Potter slowly closed his book and turned in his chair to look at his best friend. "Okay…" he began slowly, uncertainly. "Who is she?"

And just like that, Sirius' face lit up like a Christmas tree. Sighing dreamily, he slumped into his hand and gazed at a point just a little over Potter's right shoulder. "Rosaline Elizabeth MonDieu," he whispered. Potter almost had a heart attack.

"The Slytherin," he cried in surprised disgust. Sirius' face hardened slightly. "Yes," he retorted to Potter, "the Slytherin. She and I used to play together – you know – before the um… – before the kidnapping."

Potter grimaced. He had a feeling that not only was Sirius at least very interested in this girl but that, by grimacing at the idea of MonDieu, he had shipped himself off to his best friend's bad books. Fortunately, the handsome boy was mostly very forgiving when it came to his best friends – especially when it came to James Potter who was more like a brother to him than his own sibling – and so Sirius just reattached his dreamy gaze to that non-existent point and went on.

"She's from a very popular pureblood family. All of her mother's side are Slytherins and all of her father's side are Gryffindors but they're both equally amazing," Sirius insisted. "They live in the Muggle World but they also have a mansion in the countryside and sometimes – if there was some important, exclusive event – my brother and I would be sent off to stay with them there – in the winters and the summers; sometimes we'd go for Easter and the MonDieu's would send us off on an Easter Egg Hunt – it's a Muggle tradition – do you know about it?" Potter frowned. Sirius' obsession with this girl was rather unnerving but he was also curious as to why he had never heard of the MonDieu's if they were as "popular" as Sirius claimed. However, he didn't manage to get a word in before Sirius was running his mouth again about how wonderful Rosaline MonDieu and her family were. "She was closer to me than to Regulus. Regulus was always reading and experimenting – Grandpa MonDieu is retired but he used to own a potions shop – he would help Regulus with brewing – Regulus never questioned him and Grandpa MonDieu liked that."

"Oh?" Potter hummed, trying to sound interested while he scribbled down some notes. His new ideas as Head Boy were plentiful and it filled him with joy to know that he might have a chance at persuading the school's Fairy Godfather – Professor Dumbledore – to make them come true. "What about you and Rosaline? What did you two do together?"

"Rosie and I – well, we – um –" Sirius fell silent and Potter looked up. His eyes widened and a smirk curled around his lips when he saw the faint tint to Sirius' cheeks. The other boy turned his head away bashfully.

"Oh come on," Potter pressed, craning his neck to see his best friend's face. "You have to tell me now!" Sirius chewed on his lip and shook his head. "Sirius!" Potter begged desperately, a grin on his face. Glancing at him, Sirius' grey eyes shone nervously.

"Promise you won't laugh?" he insisted shyly, making Potter's lips stretch wider.

"Promise," he swore. His flawless teeth glinted in the yellowish-white light that was spilling through the high rectangular windows.

Sirius fiddled sheepishly with the hem of his robe sleeve. "We…" he began, gaze flickering up to Potter for a second before it shot back down. "We made daisy chains."

Break had come much slower than anticipated. Having sat through a boring lecture on Care of Magical Creatures in which the Hufflepuffs had been awarded fifty housepoints, Rosaline was about ready to stab herself with the weapon inside her boot. Fortunately, her self-control was much too great to give into such whimsical ideas and so here she sat, still alive, resting against the roots of a large oak tree. Her books were piled around her, a copy of Protection against Love Charms and Pranking Spells propped against her knees to be used as a table for her quill and parchment. Their CMC teacher had assigned them an essay about Kneazles and, in true bookworm fashion, Rosaline had come to the conclusion that the only way to fill her empty time was to do this homework. Sadly, fate had other plans for her.

"Good day Snivellus," a voice greeted haughtily, catching Rosaline's attention. Frowning, she slowly began to set aside her paper and pen, trying to decide if she should go and investigate the voice. Around her, people seemed to be magnetically drawn towards it and so she supposed that maybe she should be too. Getting her feet under her, she followed the trickling crowd towards four boys. "How are you today?"

"Look can't we just be civil about this?" a new voice insisted quietly, trying not to give away the fear woven into it.

Drawing nearer, Rosaline began to recognise the four backs to which she was heading. One was fat and greasy haired; the other two tall, dark and arguably handsome; and the fourth was a tall and gangly boy who stood back, slightly disconnected from the others. Only as she pushed her through the crowd did she notice what had grabbed their attention: Book Boy.

Book Boy was sitting on the grass, his legs crossed and his hands spanned out behind him to provide support as he leant back so as to meet his opposition's gazes. His long hair was slightly untidy, a few strands standing up or poking outwards, and there were grass stains on the knees of his dark grey school trousers. There was a book beside him and, although she was too far to properly tell, Rosaline was fairly certain it was the same one he'd had at dinner the night before. She pushed herself a little deeper into the crowd and paused to watch, curious about what was happening despite already having a pretty good idea about it.

"Civil?" the long-haired, grey-eyed boy (hence forth to be known as: Pretty Boy) snorted. There was something about his voice that she recognised. She cocked her head sideways, curious about what it was. "You've never been civil to us."

"Remember when you tried to curse us, Snivelly?" the short-haired, hazel-eyed male (AKA. Glasses) chuckled.

"I do! I do!" the greasy-haired crony yipped like a toady little pup (Rosaline decided to call him Lackey).

The fourth boy said nothing. He just stood there and stared glumly, almost as though he was guilty yet not guilty enough to intervene. Gnawing on her lip thoughtfully, Rosaline settled on the nickname Snow White for he was as pale as she and also just as still and helpless. For a second, their gazes met and then they both looked back towards the three wolves and their prey.

"And there was that time when you lied to Miss Lily Evans about my brother James here" – Pretty Boy gestured grandly to Glasses – "in order to try and turn her against him. That's not exactly civil, is it?"

Book Boy's brow knotted together. "You've done much worse to me." In seconds, Pretty Boy had whipped out his wand and was aiming it at the boy when he said his next words: "You deserved it."

Then magic pulsated from the tip of his weapon and before Book Boy could whip out his own pathetic stick it was worming its way through the air like lightning, heading straight towards his chest. Terror shot across his ivory face and he squeezed his eyes shut, horrified, just before the spell rebounded and struck Pretty Boy directly in the chest. Surprised, the full force of the spell struck him without any resistance on his part and he somersaulted through the air, crashing to the ground by Snow White's feet. "Ouch," he grunted as Glasses rushed to his aid. Stepping out from the crowd, Rosaline offered a hand to Book Boy. He took it nervously and she heaved him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Rosaline asked. Her eyes ran over him, trying to locate any injury. It seemed Master Ferdinand's lessons in nonverbal incantations had paid off after all, as well as Master Haziq's wandless magic sessions. She wondered what they would think of her if they knew how well she had just performed – she supposed they wouldn't mind how well she did as long as she harmed a Gryffindor somehow. Among the Death Eaters, there was a lot of bad blood that was shared as they joined together in their hate of three things: Muggles, Mudbloods and Gryffindors.

Grimacing, Book Boy pulled his hand out of hers and looked away. "I'm fine," he muttered sulkily – no doubt annoyed at having been saved by a girl. Rosaline wondered if maybe she should kill him right then and there but decided against it. She had to stick to the plan.

"Great," she said calmly. "Always glad to know when a fellow Slytherin hasn't been harmed." Then, turning to the four bullies, she bore her teeth in a menacing sneer. "Especially by pathetic Gryffindors."

As predicted, this roused anger in the group. Three of them simmered silently while the fat one attempted to spring at her, hooked nails ready to claw out her eyes no doubt. But then Glasses grabbed Lackey's thick wrist and pulled him back. When Lackey turned to look at Glasses with beady eyes filled with shock, the taller boy shook his head and discreetly nodded in Pretty Boy's direction. Rosaline looked towards the darkly handsome student curiously, eyebrow raised. He was staring at her in awe, not so much simmering with rage as he was trembling with excitement. Rolling her eyes, Rosaline turned and strode away. She could care less about what he thought of her; all that mattered to her at the moment was successfully carrying out the mission and going home – her true home: the fortress.

+ One Year Ago +

The music was loud, the drinks over flowing, the vomit like the floor's second skin. Men and women alike threw back tankards of ale like they were breathing oxygen. Rosaline had been called to the lead table and seated in the throne like a queen. To her left sat Mistress Indécis, still dressed head to toe in a thick cloud of mourning, and to her right was Master Espritnoir, almost already passed out, a leg of chicken dangling from his greasy fingers. Smiling sadly, Rosaline tried to imprint the image of every face around her – even the masked ones – onto her lids so that she might never forget where she belonged. She was startled out of her memorising when a hand of bony, ivory fingers splayed themselves over her left hand. Tilting her head, Rosaline gazed curiously as Mistress Indécis. The beautiful yet frail woman smiled.

"Don't worry," she soothed. "You'll be back very soon."

Rosaline gulped. Once upon a time, Mistress Indécis had been a fuller, livelier woman. She was hardly in her thirties and as barren as a brick. Therefore, the loss of her husband had been an even greater blow. Over a few months, her long chestnut hair had grown coarse and messy; her beautiful skin had turned to the colour of bone; her eyes had sunk into her face; and her body was so slim that she could hardly wear any of her old clothes without them slipping off her. She was a pitiful sight but Rosaline was grateful to find that while her physical appearance had suffered, her personality had differed in no way. She supposed that this was the choice you were given when you lost someone you loved: stay beautiful on the outside but grow rotten on the inside; or lose your body to dehydration and malnutrition but remain pure and kind within. She wondered which option she would choose – if such a decision ever arose.

She decided that she would much rather keep her mind than her looks.

"I'm not worried about getting back," Rosaline explained slowly, cautiously, with a brittle smile. "I'm worried that while I'm away, I'll forget how much this means to me. I'm worried that I'll not want to come back."

This explanation made Mistress Indécis nod her head in understanding, her eyes closing meditatively. Rosaline wondered if she hoped to conjure up an image of her late husband.

"Don't worry," Mistress Indécis soothed again, patting Rosaline's hand in an almost reassuring action. "You'll never forget. I know I never will."

Rosaline watched as a single, salty droplet of lacrimal fluid trickled down over Mistress Indécis' gaunt cheekbones before freefalling into the unknown. She envisioned herself as that water droplet and wondered if, just like it surely had, she would splatter when she hit the bottom.

+ Present Day +

Severus Snape was fuming. He had been humiliated in ways never done before. A girl had rescued him. A girl! The notion was laughable.

Slamming down his Potions book, he tried to concentrate on his studying but felt as though all eyes in the room were on him. Had everyone seen him? Had they watched as he whimpered under the threat of Sirius Black's stupid spell only for some strange girl to step in and save him? And a new girl at that! A new girl that had been held against her will for eight years without any sort of magical training until she returned the year before!

Sneering down at the text in front of him, he slammed shut the cover and pounced to his feet. He picked up his satchel and swung it across his shoulder and was out of the room before Professor Slughorn could stop him. Inside, he was fuming with hatred, about ready to punch a wall. Why in Merlin's name couldn't he bloody defend himself? His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he turned to head down the stairs to the Slytherin Common Room. But then a voice stopped him.

"Book Boy!" the voice called. Pivoting, Severus scowled when he saw the girl in front of him. She looked so at ease, her hands tucked into her pockets, her weight shifted onto her left leg, her head tilted to the side like a curious cat. "Where're you going?" she asked casually. The passivity in her tone enraged him further.

"I'm going to the Common Room," he snapped. "Why?"

His tone was harsh, bitter, hateful, but she didn't react in any way at all. In fact, her undefeatable relaxedness both intrigued and irritated him. Shooting him a sly smile, she skipped forward and over took him, heading down the steps herself. "Great," she said coolly as she reached the third step and spun around to stare him in the eye. "So am I." Then she carried on down the stairs and vanished into the tunnels below.

After a moment of hesitation, Severus followed. Behind him, torrential eyes glittered in the shadows with disgust.