Not your average Romione story! I hope you can give this a chance :)

This has been sat in the back of my mind for a while, not completely fleshed out just yet but I'll see where it leads to.

Disclaimer: All belongs to JK! I just own the waffle I've turned it into!


Prologue: The Vision

The air was thick and clouded as though covered in an impenetrable fog. She could see very little apart from what was directly in front of her, a large wooden door, with intricate knots and faded details, and an old brass handle shining through the dim atmosphere. The feelings in her chest weighed heavily. The distress and overwhelming shadows that plagued her body and mind were ever consuming and the unmoving body of Ronald Weasley was stained into her mind. She knew he would still be on the floor of the Great Hall, blood staining his already red hair, pale and drained skin illuminated by the few remaining candles in the room as his glassy, blank blue eyes stared directly through her.

The silence had been deafening. But now, she could hear bird song somewhere in the background, far away but still audible over the still air. Something terrible had happened to him, though she was unsure as to exactly what. She should have been there, and she should have been with him. Things would have been different then. But where that was and why was a mystery. All she knew, is that her hollow chest felt burdensome and oppressed as though she were being squeezed through a vice and the image of him was devastating to her.

It was the Headmasters office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before her, that much she was certain. The door could have been any, but she knew where she was, but not why. Only that it was for him. She was there because it was the only thing she could do, the only place she could go. She had to do this.

She reached for the door and turned the handle, a tear slipping down her cheek silently, and she gave a sudden start. Sitting up in her bed suddenly and gasping loudly. The light to her right turned on suddenly,

"Rosie?"

She turned to her sister and gave a weak smile, "I'm fine, go back to sleep Hermione."

"Are you sure?" Looking over at from her bed, she brushed her bushy brown hair out of her face and rubbed her sleepy eyes, yawing a little.

Rose yawned in response to her twin and nodded a little, falling back onto her pillow heavily.

"I'm fine sister, go back to sleep," She said quietly, hoping that she had not been tossing and turning all night again, a heavy feeling washing over her.

She could feel Hermione staring at her, and she willed her to turn the light off and leave her alone. But they were so alike, and the question was in the air already, she didn't need to ask it. Rose refused to answer regardless. After a few more moments, Hermione whispered to her,

"What was it?"

Rose remained silent. How could she tell her that she had been dreaming of the Weasley boy again. Her own sister's best friend of almost five years. It was always the same. He was always the same. And he had been intermittently entering her mind during the late hours for months. His cold and lifeless body burned into her memory as though it were real. The cool handle of the door pressed into her palm as her fingers closed over it. And then she would wake, gasping and covered in sweat. And then the next day she would see him, laughing with Hermione and Potter, alive as can be. Maybe he had looked a little more rugged in her dreams, maybe wearier and more worn, but she knew it was him.

She didn't exactly hate him, but he infuriated her and made her blood boil. She could barely look at him without feeling the need to insult him. It seemed natural that they should be at odds. He was a Gryffindor, she was a Slytherin. He was Potter's side kick, and she was unusual to say the least. Rare some would say. One of the few Muggleborns to be placed into Slytherin house. The terror that had filled her at aged eleven as the sorting hat had remained upon her head, in silence for what seemed like hours before whispering her house with an air of questioning. The only sound she had hear apart from this was the whispering in her ear from the hat,

"Imposter…"

And she had mechanically walked to her seat at the table, all eyes upon her, the hats word ringing in her ears.

That was, until he stood and looked her dead in the eyes. Draco Malfoy. It had been as if his mind was working overtime to try and figure her out. She had been petrified of the reaction of the rest of her house. During the time of the founders, none but Purebloods were permitted into the house by decree of Salazar Slytherin. And over the centuries, Halfbloods has gradually become accepted alongside them. But Muggleborns were few and far between. It was not uncommon for decades to pass without one. And those that were became twisted and vengeful thanks to their outcast status in the school.

Rose had thought that this would be her fate. But Draco had offered her a seat next to him instead, convinced that the twins had been sorted separately for a reason. That she was destined for greatness and had been chosen for a purpose they were yet to uncover. Hermione was with Potter. And she was with him. Weasley was caught in the crossfire.

And to an extent, Draco had been right. She seemed to have an unnatural talent for sensing things or seeing thing coming, her life plague by incessant waves of Déjà vu. She excelled in all subjects, far beyond her sister, and mastered magic beyond a usual students' capabilities with ease, much to Hermione's fury and Rose's glee.

It was this notion that terrified her where the dreams were concerned. They felt so real and the sense of foreboding that came with them was utterly overwhelming.

Things had been silent, for a while now, and Hermione's breathing had evened out, signalling sleep had overtaken her. Rose breathed a sigh of relief having successfully avoided the conversation for yet another night and resigned herself to staring at the ceiling until dawn broke.


Japan's Arc Angel x