AN: Thanks bechilldarling and kate07 for your recent reviews! I love hearing from you all and hearing what parts of this story are most meaningful and enjoyable to you. Thanks to one of my followers on AOO for suggesting the song lyrics for this chapter and translating them from Polish!

Chapter 10

Without you, I care about nothing.
And I feel like there is only half of me.
That stubborn cloud above my head leaves me breathless…
Why is there no way to stop this moment when you are here with me?

- Krzysztof Zalewski [Miłość miłość (Love love)]

"What were you thinking! With almost the entire Ministry around! You're lucky not to be in Azkaban!"

Rose stared down at her cup of coffee and pulled her mother's dressing gown tighter around her body. Draco sat across from her at the kitchen table, looking just as tense while they listened to Narcissa shout at Lucius in the front room. Rose wasn't sure she'd ever so much as heard her mother raise her voice before let alone loudly reprimand their father. Draco was looking just as unsettled by the fight as she was.

"Did you even think of our children? Did you stop to think what could have happened if they'd been caught up in all of that!?" The tirade continued. Rose sipped at her coffee and winced in distaste—she'd let it grow cold.

"I'm going to bed," Draco said finally, sliding off his chair and hurrying from the room.

"Smythe and Dolohov are right, Narcissa," Lucius' voice hissed back. "The mark has been growing darker these past two months. When he returns, he will reward those who are still loyal to him and punish the ones who have gone astray."

"And you think he will be impressed by that performance, Lucius? By how quickly you all ran from his mark?" Narcissa replied scathingly. Rose heard Lucius' grunt of frustration and listened to his heavy footsteps as he walked away. The door to the kitchen was slammed open, and Rose looked up in alarm. Narcissa walked in, brushing angry tears from her eyes. Rose felt her insides squirm. She'd never seen her mother cry before.

"Where is your brother," she asked in a would-be-casual tone of voice, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a wine glass.

"He went to bed," she said, watching Narcissa pour herself a generous glass of wine with a shaking hand—spilling a good portion of it on the counter.

"Damn," she cursed, setting the bottle down and looking around for her wand. Rose flicked her own at it, cleaning up the mess. Narcissa smiled gratefully at her and took three large gulps of wine before walking over and joining her at the table.

"You should go to bed too, darling," Narcissa said, reaching out and brushing her hair back from her face. She cupped Rose's cheek and rubbed her thumb across her skin, looking worriedly at the bruise that had bloomed at the side of her mouth. Rose leaned into the warmth of her mother's hand, taking comfort from the touch.

"I'm not tired," she said. It was half true. Rose's body felt achy and exhausted, but her mind was running at a hundred kilometers an hour. She didn't think she could sleep now if she tried. Narcissa retracted her hand and took another shaky sip of wine.

"Did you see where Stefan ended up," Rose asked. She knew he'd been drinking as well but wasn't sure if he'd been too intoxicated to apparate.

"I think Margot took him with her," Narcissa answered. "I'm sure he's alright."

Rose nodded silently. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned at this information. She had so many other questions. If Margot had taken him, did that mean he'd been in the group of Death Eaters? Had Parker? Her mind flinched away from the thought of Parker. It was too close to thoughts of another Smythe whom she wasn't ready to think about just yet. Finally, her mind settled on one particular question. A question she had never before voiced, but after tonight could not possibly fathom the answer to.

"Mom…" Rose asked, hesitation in every letter. Narcissa looked at her with keen blue eyes, picking up on the seriousness of her tone immediately. "Why… why did you adopt me? I'm… I'm a half… a half-blood."

Rose had listened to whispers about her blood status for years but had always blindly trusted that her parents loved her. She'd always believed with a blind arrogance that she must have some quality that made up for not being pureblood. But after tonight, she didn't know what quality anyone could possibly possess that would make up for that in the eyes of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Roselin. Most of the people in that tent last night were half-bloods," Narcissa said. Rose knew this wasn't strictly true as there had been a good representation there of the last truly pureblood families in Britain. But even if that were the case….

"But you're not," she said quietly. Narcissa took another big gulp of wine.

"Rose. Your father and I love you," she said, setting one hand on Rose's own.

"I know that. That's not what I asked." Silence fell for a long moment.

"Rose… it took us… years to conceive Draco—even using every magical aid we could. The pregnancy was difficult, and after he was born, the healers told me I would not be able to have another baby," Narcissa began, looking down at the table with watery eyes. "And for a while that was enough. Lucius had his heir. I had a son…

"Oh, but Rose, how I wanted a daughter. I grew up with two sisters you know. And it would have been so wonderful for Draco to have a sibling so that he wouldn't be alone…. And then Severus came to us. When Draco was a year old. He told us in the strictest confidence that the Potter's daughter was being brought up in a muggle orphanage and that she was alone and needed a family. He knew how much I wanted another baby. And, of course, Lucius told him it was out of the question. But after Severus left, I kept thinking about you. I couldn't get the thought of you out of my head. Wizarding adoptions almost never happen in Britain—when would we possibly get another chance like this? And I kept thinking about it for months and months and every time Severus would visit, I'd ask if you'd been adopted yet, but you never were…. I don't know if you remember, but almost a year before we adopted you, I visited you on my own."

"You did?" Rose asked in surprise. She'd had many visitors in her time at Wool's and most of them were faceless blurs. Narcissa smiled at her, pressing fingertips to her trembling lips for a moment before continuing.

"You were so small and sweet and so very very sad. They were obviously mistreating you. I almost took you home that day, but Lucius and I both needed to sign the papers. It took me a year to convince him to let me bring you home. It was only a few months before he was as in love with you as I was. Your blood status, your heritage—it didn't matter anymore. You were our daughter. You are our daughter," she finished with conviction.

Rose's mind dully processed this story. She was their daughter. But after last night was that a fact that brought her pride or shame? 'I'm a Malfoy.' It was a phrase she'd thrown around so easily many times before without really understanding the fullness of what it meant. 'If you'd known them during the war—if you'd seen the things they're capable of… you wouldn't be so quick to call them family,' Sirius' voice echoed in her head. She'd gotten only a small taste of that reality tonight, and it hurt to know that he was right when she'd defended them to his face so adamantly.

"I think… I think I'm going to head back to our apartment," Rose said very quietly. "I want to see if Stefan's safe."

"I love you, Rose," Narcissa called after her daughter as she left the room.

"I love you too mom," she replied, not turning back to look at her mother. Narcissa let her face fall into her hands, and her shoulders began to shake while the tears she'd been holding back finally fell.

Rose could feel her nails biting into the palms of her hands while she walked out of the manor, hurrying across the grasses in the brightening light of dawn to get outside of the wards so that she could apparate. It was news to her that Severus had gone to her parents almost as soon as Dumbledore had placed her in the orphanage. She'd thought it had taken him two years to work up the courage to defy Dumbledore's orders and tell them in the first place. In her mind she'd always pictured them immediately rushing with open arms to save the poor, scared, abused little girl and give her a home. 'Two years,' she thought. 'It took them two years to move past my blood status and decide to adopt me.' Two years while she'd languished in that shithole of a place. For two years they'd been just as aware and just as unwilling as Dumbledore had been to help her. It felt like the deepest and bitterest of betrayals.

Turning on the spot she thought briefly about how all she wanted was a hot shower and to go to bed before she vanished from the English countryside. Rose stumbled a bit upon her arrival outside of their apartment. Her hopes for a quick shower and long sleep were immediately dashed by the figure of a man pacing agitatedly outside of her door—a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand. 'I can't do this right now,' she thought to herself bitterly, considering turning on the spot once again and disappearing before he could see her. But before she could make up her mind, he'd turned and spotted her. He froze when he saw her, eyes traveling down and up her body, taking in her skinned knee, her torn dress beneath the dressing gown, and the blackening bruise on her face.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed and took two long strides before engulfing her in his arms. Rose closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar earthy smells of him. Her throat felt suddenly full and sticky, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. 'Don't you cry,' she told herself. 'Don't you dare cry in front of him again.'

"What are you doing here, Remus," she asked instead, and he released her and stepped back quickly. Rose cursed herself internally at how flat her voice had sounded. She was just too tired for pleasant conversation.

"The attack was in the Prophet this morning. I knew you were there. I was…" The words 'I was worried about you,' died on his lips, but Rose could see them reflected in his blue eyes. Stepping past him, Rose unlocked the door and stepped inside. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Are you coming," she asked. She saw the hesitation in his face and rolled her eyes. "Remus, I'm exhausted. I want to change out of this stupid fucking dress, I'm not going to try anything."

"I can leave if you'd prefer," he said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to the elevator.

"I wouldn't," Rose said very quietly. He looked up at her in surprise, but Rose didn't meet his gaze. If he was just going to leave, she didn't want to look at him any longer than necessary. Suddenly he was by her side, his hand brushing over hers on the doorknob. Rose looked up at him, and his blue eyes were looking at her with a warmth and tenderness she'd missed so much.

"Alright then," he said simply. Rose blinked rapidly, looking away from him to hide her face. She heard him close the door behind him as he walked in.

"I need to send an owl," she told him, walking over to Morgan who hooted at her in greeting. "Make yourself at home."

She quickly scribbled out a note to Damien telling him that they were both alright but that Stefan was with his parents and she'd send another owl as soon as he returned. It was still quite early, so she was hoping to catch him before he read the paper and was over here panicking as well. The second note to the Weasleys took a bit longer to think through. There was so much she wanted to say and couldn't think how to express in a letter. She supposed she couldn't write 'I'm sorry my family might have killed your family last night.' Despite everything, her lips tugged back in a rueful smirk at this dark humor. Instead, she settled for simply asking if Harry was alright—not that she really thought he'd want anything to do with her after this.

"Do you want tea," Remus called from the kitchen while she let Morgan out through the window.

"Tea would be wonderful," she said honestly. "Do you mind if I get changed?"

"Not at all," he answered.

Rose moved into her room, dropping her mother's dressing gown on her bed and pealing off the sweat stained silver dress. The memory of Cyrus Smythe groping her through its loose fabric flashed through her mind, and Rose threw the dress forcefully into the garbage. She brushed out her hair that had frizzed and tangled quite badly from all the running and dabbed ointment onto the bruise on her face, watching as it began to fade to a sickly yellow-green color rather than a dark violet black. Rose glanced hesitantly at her normal pajamas which consisted of Remus' old white t-shirt and her blue cotton shorts. Should she wear something else while he was here? Finally deciding that she was too tired to care, she pulled them on and walked back out of the room.

Remus had situated himself on the couch in the living room. Two cups of tea were sitting on saucers on the coffee table sending translucent spirals of steam into the air. Though the man appeared calm, Rose noticed that his foot was tapping rapidly—the only thing giving away just how anxious he was to be in their apartment. He looked up when she sat down on the couch and then quickly looked away again. Rose didn't miss the miniscule wince that crossed his face at what she was wearing.

"Is Harry okay," he asked after a moment of silence.

"I just sent an owl to check, but he should be. They got out before…." Rose trailed off, picked up her tea, and took a sip. It was still too hot, and she burned her tongue, but she didn't care.

"Remus, why did you come here," she asked again, hazel eyes finding his blue ones. "You know… you have to suspect who was under those hoods. You knew I'd be alright."

Rose sniffled, looked up at the ceiling, blinked rapidly again to contain the stupid stupid tears that were begging to be released, and then stared pointedly at her lap. One of Remus' large hands reached out and closed over her hands that were clenched into fists in her lap. She didn't look at him.

"I know that you're a woman who cares deeply for her friends and family. I knew that you wouldn't just stand aside if they were in danger. And I was terrified that you might have been hurt trying to help them," he said. Rose pulled her hands out of his and tried to hide her trembling lips. How could he possibly know that when she hadn't even known what she was going to do before it happened? She'd just reacted with no thought and no plan.

"I was a coward, Remus," she said, and was embarrassed by the tremble in her voice. "I didn't do anything to stop them. After I knew that Sam and Harry were safe… I just ran."

Rose's shoulders began to shake, and she could no longer keep back her tears. Feelings of deep shame and guilt washed over her. She felt him shift on the couch and didn't resist when he pulled her into his arms. Rose buried her face in his chest and soon his shirt was soaked with her tears as she allowed herself to finally experience all of the pent-up stress, anger, and fear that had been trapped in her body over the past several hours. Remus quietly stroked her hair and his lips pressed to her temple while she emptied her body of all the emotion she had until all she felt was exhaustion.

When all the tears had fallen, she lay in his arms for a few precious moments, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, breathing in his familiar smell, treasuring the perfect way she fit into his arms. All too soon, she felt him loosening his hold on her. He cupped her face and wiped the last of her tears away with his thumbs. Her fingers closed tenderly around his wrists—she wished he would never stop touching her. But when he began to lower his hands, she didn't try to stop him, and their fingers slid across each other's without closing.

"I should go," he said again. "And you should go to bed."

'Always so quick to decide what I should and shouldn't do,' she thought but was too tired to pick a fight with him. Instead, she nodded. She was very tired.

"I'll let myself out," he said, standing. She nodded again and did not watch as he walked to the door. She thought he might have looked back before leaving, but Rose didn't look up to catch his eye. Instead she headed towards her bedroom, rolled herself up in her duvet and fell into an uneasy sleep.

She didn't know how long she'd been sleeping when she was awoken by the loud bang of the front door slamming closed. Jumping out of bed she rushed to the door of her bedroom and then hesitated at the sound of raised voices. The quieter of the two—whose words she could not quite discern—was certainly Stefan, but the louder one whose words were coming through painfully clearly belonged to Damien.

"Don't you dare just walk away from me like that," he was shouting, and he sounded hurt and angry. "I asked you a question, and I'm not leaving until you answer it!"

Rose pressed her ear to the door but could not make out Stefan's response.

"Don't give me that. It's a simple yes or no answer. You tell me right now, Stefan," and Damien's voice cracked as he spoke. "You tell me right now if you were under one of those masks."

A ringing silence echoed throughout the apartment, and Rose jumped when the front door slammed again. Damien was gone. In the moments in which she tried to decide what to do, Rose heard Stefan cross the apartment and go into his room. Steeling her nerves, she opened her door and walked over to his. She could hear quiet weeping on the other side. Rose knocked tentatively and the weeping stopped.

"Come in," he said tiredly, and Rose slowly opened the door. Stefan was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, his normally sleek black hair dull and disheveled. Rose walked over to him and he looked up at her. She was surprised to see a long red welt across the right side of his face. It took her a bare moment to realize where it had come from—it was the same shape and size as one of Margot's closed fans. Kneeling down, she touched his cheek in tender concern.

"Did she hit you," Rose asked.

"She noticed that I kept my wand in my robe the whole time. She was… disappointed," he said bitterly. Rose felt anger flare in her stomach at Margot Dolohov. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter—"

"No, it doesn't," he said forcefully, and his head dropped back into his hands. "It doesn't matter, because he's gone. He's gone and… I don't think he's coming back."

Stefan's shoulders began to shake again, and Rose wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight while he cried.

"I'm sure he'll come back… once he's cooled down a little," she said, but the words sounded empty even in her own ears. Stefan laughed bitterly and laid back in the bed, turning away from her. Hesitantly, she lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his hand grasp her own, clasping it tight against his chest while his body continued to shake.

"Why am I such a goddamn coward," he whispered into the room. Rose closed her eyes and wondered the same thing about herself.