The library was unusually crowded—most likely because everyone was determined to make a good impression at the start of the year, though it was certain that in a few days, the endless rows of old books and parchments would be deserted once again.

Rose was hard at work on an assignment due to old Slughorn for her Potions class the next day, when her concentration was broken by an unwanted intrusion. "I didn't know you were so studious. But then again, pretty girls don't need to study."

With a graceful, fluid motion, the young Slytherin lifted her gaze to meet that of the intruder, her lips curving into a mocking smile. "Ah, Rosier. It seems your ignorance truly knows no bounds. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Evan, visibly stung, snatched the parchment from her hands. "Golpalott's Third Law, is it? Quite the vast subject." Exasperated by Rosier's childish behavior, Rose rose to her feet and faced the seventh-year Slytherin. Evan stood a head taller than her, and judging by the satisfied smirk on his face, he had achieved what he wanted: captivate all of Shafiq's attention.

"Very well, Rosier, what do you want?" Rose's sharp, feline eyes bore into his sapphire ones as the young Slytherin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a soft, assured murmur. "You."

Rose's entire body seemed to react to Evan's magnetic presence. Denying that she felt an overwhelming attraction to this absurdly handsome and ridiculously seductive boy—a boy whose features seemed sculpted by the gods themselves—would have been an outright lie. But Rose knew better. A union with Evan Rosier, if it ever lasted, would cost her dearly—her freedom, at the very least.

Wrinkling her delicate nose, Rose let out a soft, muffled laugh. "In your dreams, Rosier! The rumor of our supposed trysts will remain just that—a rumor. And I suggest you leave me alone and stop interrupting my work."

Evan grabbed Rose's slender arm and pulled her against him. "We'll see about that, Shafiq. You'll be mine, here and outside these walls." Rosier had clearly grown stronger, and for a brief moment, Rose wondered if his training had anything to do with it.

Raising an aristocratic brow and struggling to free herself from the Slytherin's grip, Rose retorted with venom in her voice, "You're completely delusional. We'll never be together, here or anywhere else, and I'd rather die than be saddled with the name 'Rose Rosier.'"

Rosier's angelic face seemed amused by Rose's resistance, and as he walked away, he casually tossed over his shoulder, "That can be arranged," the words tinged with laughter.

Rose stood frozen in place, paralyzed for a few moments by Rosier's last remark, which chilled her to the bone. She had known this adolescent Adonis since childhood, and although he had always possessed a dangerous aura, he had clearly crossed a new threshold over the summer.

Around her, some students whispered, and aware that her little conversation with Evan Rosier would likely be the talk of the school by tomorrow, Rose resumed writing her assignment, ignoring the amused and curious stares. After all, Rose knew it was the price to pay for being Slytherin's princess, but she wouldn't trade her position for anything in the world.

In truth, the Rosiers, like most of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight," believed marriage an institution far too important and decisive to be left in the hands of hormone-fueled teenagers. In other words, the practice of arranging marriages over a glass of firewhiskey was commonplace, and Evan Rosier seemed to have no objections to it. What set these families apart, beyond their pure bloodlines, was their nobility. They represented the true aristocracy of the wizarding world. Of course, some families, like the Weasleys or the Abbotts, had seen their fortunes and prestige greatly diminished. Naturally, there were other ancient and pure families, such as the Dumbledores or the McGonagalls, but they were not of noble lineage. At the top of the pyramid stood one family—the Blacks. To put it in Muggle terms, Rose would be a duchess, and Regulus, the crown prince.

It was already late when Rose left the library, and the school corridors were nearly empty. Lost in her thought, the young woman moved swiftly through Hogwarts' maze of passageways. It wasn't the absurdly long assignment for old Slughorn that had kept her up all night, especially since being a Shafiq practically guaranteed an Outstanding grade. In reality, the statuesque Slytherin had lingered in the library—a place she usually disliked—on purpose. Since the beginning of the school year, the girl who fancied herself quasi-royalty among her housemates had found it increasingly difficult to spend time with her fellow Slytherins.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Death Eater's fiancée." That voice—Rose would recognize it anywhere. She spun gracefully on her heels, making her exquisite ebony hair ripple, and came face to face with the only boy in the school who could unnerve her.

"Black," she murmured, unable to muster anything more clever.

Leaning casually against a wall, twirling his wand, his black hair partially obscuring his face, Sirius Black was undressing her with his piercing grey eyes. It was fascinating how that same color, icy in Regulus' eyes, burned so intensely in Sirius'. The way the Gryffindor looked at her made her feel both uneasy and dangerously excited. She could see the desire in his eyes, mixed with loathing.

Rose's breath quickened as she struggled to maintain her composure. "What are you doing here?" Sirius's tone was dry, harsh, and it was a miracle she hadn't been hit by a spell from Hogwarts' resident Casanova.

Hesitating, Shafiq glanced around the corridor and realized, to her horror, that she had passed the entrance to the dungeons and was dangerously close to Gryffindor Tower.

"Isn't it obvious?" Rose asked innocently. Why had she continued walking toward Gryffindor Tower? Deep down, and as was often the case in her life, perhaps Rose was simply trying to provoke fate, to tempt the devil. It was amusing to think that many at Hogwarts and beyond, like Daisy Parkinson, believed that boys flocked to Rose by sheer luck or chance. In truth, being part-Veela, she knew how to lure them in, how to keep them. She had cast knowing glances at Rosier during the Malfoy family's grand ball last Christmas. She had also planted a deliberate kiss on Mulciber's cheek after Slytherin's Quidditch victory last year. What many didn't know was that as her lips brushed against the Slytherin's clammy cheek, she had winked at Slytherin's little prince, Regulus. Rose had seduction in her blood, and she firmly believed it was a skill like any other—one that needed to be honed daily to master.

Thanks to her family's prominence, the beautiful Shafiq enjoyed a certain celebrity. The Daily Prophet had been all too eager to publish a picture of her in a swimsuit on a French beach over the summer, alongside the son of the French Minister for Magic. It turned out he was her mother's godson, and he much preferred wizards to witches, but that was beside the point. Even if no one truly believed the romantic angle hinted at by the press, everyone now had an image of this pure-blooded Aphrodite, with her perfect curves and Gringotts vaults overflowing with gold. The French press had even gone so far as to dub her, with dubious originality, "The English Golden Rose." Perhaps, what Rose Shafiq loathed most about these uncertain times was that Voldemort was stealing her moment in the spotlight. Her sun-kissed skin and irresistible features were mere footnotes compared to "Voldy & Co.'s" exploits. The girl who loved standing by her father's side in the Quidditch stadium's VIP boxes was now confined to her home for security reasons. Narcissa had every right to hate her—in this game, both witches were equally skilled. Yet, for all her narcissism and selfishness, few truly understood the complexity of the soul behind the beauty everyone loved to criticize.

"I hear you and Rosier have gotten quite close?" Sirius finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he straightened up and moved toward her.

Rose rolled her eyes. It had taken less than an hour for the rumor to spread like wildfire. She was clearly more popular than she'd thought.

"And this bothers you because...?" Sirius ran a nervous hand through his hair, a habit he always had when he was on edge.

"He's a Death Eater, Rose. A bloody Death Eater," Rose bit her lower lip. It was the first time since she had come to Hogwarts that he had spoken her name, and it sounded like music when it fell from his lips.

"Don't be ridiculous. He hasn't even finished school yet—he..." Sirius glared at her so fiercely that for a brief moment, she thought he might strike her.

"Half your precious house joined Voldemort's ranks over the summer. I'm afraid my brother will follow those idiots soon enough." Suddenly, Sirius grabbed Rose's right arm and pulled up the sleeve of her shirt.

Something struck Rose at that moment. "Do you really think I could become a Death Eater too?" she asked, her voice laced with a sincerity and fragility that startled even her.

Sirius studied her for a moment, clearly weighing his response. "Do I think Rose Shafiq could join an army of blood-obsessed fanatics who only think about killing and torturing the weak? Yes, I do. And if you don't have the Dark Mark already, you will soon."

With a violent gesture, Rose slapped Black with all the strength she could muster.

"Listen to me, Black. I'm a Shafiq. I'm noble, I'm rich, and yes, I believe I'm above Muggles and half-bloods, but never—do you hear me? Never—would I kill anyone! I want nothing to do with that madman Voldemort, and I suggest you rethink your stance on your own caste too!" Sirius rubbed his cheek with his right hand, and the two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, trying to comprehend why their only conversation in five years had to unfold like this.

"Get out of here!" Black hissed, turning his back on her. "You don't belong here, and you should be thankful I haven't hexed you."

Rose watched him walk away before hurriedly retreating to the dungeons and seeking refuge in her bed.

That night, the young woman couldn't stop replaying Sirius's behavior in her mind, and each time, it made her want to cry. How far away were the days when everyone said Rose and Sirius would one day get engaged and make a stunning couple? How distant was that summer when two innocent children had "married" in secret, hidden away in the Shafiq family estate's gardens? A few months later, Sirius had entered Hogwarts, turned his back on his family, and, by extension, on her.

The fact of Evan Rosier becoming a Death Eater surprised no one. But that Sirius thought she could have embraced Voldemort's cause—that hurt her deeply. She had spent the summer far from England, visiting relatives in France and deliberately distancing herself from anything related to the Dark Lord. She rarely saw her parents and, as a result, had no idea where they stood on the matter. If she was being completely honest, she couldn't understand why wealthy, well-born people would want to bow to a nobody, no matter how skilled a wizard he was.