Trigger Warning: Blood, death, graveyards

Rose was standing over the open grave. Blood dripped from her hands and down her chin, though she didn't know why. Rose couldn't see the bottom of the grave. Only darkness. It was dark outside, too, without even a moon to see by.

A voice behind her. She couldn't tell what the voice was saying, but she turned around to see her grandmother. Her father's mother. The woman caught sight of Rose standing over her son's grave with blood up to her elbows and smeared on her face and screamed, horrified at the sight. She shrieked an accusation and began running away.

"No! Come back! Please! It wasn't me!" Rose shouted, running after her with her bloody hands outstretched.

Her grandmother, horrified, continued to run for her life, outrunning the redhead before she could catch up to explain. What was there to explain? The first thing Rose could remember was that she was standing over a grave with blood all over her. She slipped on the dewy grass, landing hard on her side and covering her eyes with her hands, smearing crimson all over her forehead and sobbing. "Come back," she whispered into the night, her chest heaving. "Come back!" She screamed into her knees, shrill and piercing.


It says it isn't working for me, if you cant get to it then tell me and I'll dm it to you

Rose awoke with a start. Her nerves were shot, and her muscles had tensed. She was still laying down, but she felt cold, so cold. She curled up in a ball, gathering her warmth and her blankets. What had that been about? Rose had never ever dreamed anything like that before. That was horrid. She couldn't breathe, like a hand was closed around her throat and refused to let go. Rose crept out of her bed, silent like a cat, leaving Chaska in Rose's bed by herself. She was careful not to wake Henry, laying down her feet carefully.

Once outside of her room, she ran into the bathroom, flicking the light on and locking the door behind her. Her breaths came in heaves, huge and yet shallow. She couldn't get enough oxygen. She looked at her reflection, and suddenly- no, that wasn't right. For a moment, she thought that her arms had been coated in blood, but they weren't. It was just a trick of the light. Rose looked at her hands, trembling madly. Her breath shook. It was suffocating in here. The walls seemed to be slowly coming in towards her, sucking all the air out of the room, squishing her as she squirmed in its grasp.

Rose close her eyes, squeezing them shut. Sometimes if she did that and waited, the feeling would go away. But the moment she closed her eyes, a flash of her hands, of blood, of the grave, of her grandmother-

Rose left the bathroom, turning the light off and closing the door behind her. She slinked down the stairs and out of the front door, as quietly as she could. Outside, on the porch, she heaved in deep breath after deep breath, sitting on the ground against the door with her head on her knees. Once her breath returned to normal, she looked up, observing the lawn. She was still shaking. Her heart was shaking. Her stomach was shaking. Her hands were shaking. Everything seemed to be rocking, trembling, lurching. Rose stood up, about to go back inside and cuddle up with Chaska, or maybe even just sit next to Henry on the floor to know he was there and she was okay. To focus on the one thing that seemed real, but then she paused.

Her father was buried in Godric's Hollow. Why? Apparently he had always wanted to go there, and he had been buried here because he never had a chance. Rose sniffed, drawing her hand across her nose, and stood up. She was barefoot, in her pajamas, but it wasn't too cold outside. She just felt cold on the inside.

Rose knew where he was buried. Her mom had pointed it out to her one day, over a casual cup of tea. It had been so unnerving how she had said it like it didn't even matter. Like he didn't even matter. Rose, on a wild impulse, was going to visit it.

It didn't take long to walk to the graveyard, but it felt like forever when Rose was trying to find her father's name on all the gravestones. Then, there it was. Gabriel Franklin Moon.

Rose fell to her knees in front of it.

Her lip trembled as she struggled to make a decision on what to do now.

She sniffed and said, "Hey." Her hands went to her lap as she looked at the gravestone. "I-It's me. Rose. Your daughter. The middle one." What was she saying? He knew who she was. It was just her who-

"I-uhm. I didn't bring flowers. I suppose I was supposed to," she said, shaking the earlier thought away.

"I went to see your parents earlier today," she continued, like she was having a conversation with him. A tear escaped her eye. "They- they didn't like me very much. They didn't like me at all, actually." She sniffed, wiping away the wetness. "Well, I do think your dad liked me. He was really nice. He would have been-" She blinked to stop more tears from escaping, her hands moving from her lap to the dirt under her. She gripped the ground, her knuckles turning white. "He would have been a wonderful grandfather," she whispered, her voice breaking. The tears were inevitable by now. "But your mom, she- she hated me. So much. Once she learned who I was. I just thought that they'd be h-" She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress another wave, but it wasn't happening. "...I just thought they'd be happy to have me. To know me. Turns out she doesn't. She doesn't want..." Rose sobbed, her fingers digging into the dirt under her. "I don't belong with them, either."

Rose blinked, letting the tears fall down her cheeks and onto her pajamas. "Come back," she whispered. "Please come back." She wiped her eyes with one wrist. "This is so stupid, you're dead. You're dead, so why would you come back? I had my chance, my one chance to say-" she stopped, the hand around her throat restricting her from saying what she was going to say next.

"You wouldn't be proud of me," she whispered, under her breath. "I'm not particularly good at classes and I lost all my duels and I haven't accomplished anything. I'm in Gryffindor, though I have no clue why, and I'm so incredibly weak and-" she pressed her hands against her cheekbones. "You wouldn't be proud of me at all." She shook her head, then slowly started nodding it. "Yes, you would," she said quietly, her voice breaking. "That's just the kind of dad you would have been. You would have asked us before you moved on. You would have accepted help. You would have-"

She paused to breathe, leaning forward with her hands on the ground again. "You would have been there," she said, with a hurt in her voice she wasn't masking anymore. "You would have been the perfect dad. I wouldn't have been the perfect daughter. That's so unfair to you." She curled over her stomach, holding it and crying. It hurt. It hurt so bad that he was gone.

"Send me something, anything," she whispered under her breath, desperate.

Thus enters Henry Knight.

Reducio

OOC Note- you can have Henry follow Rose whatever way you want, just know that she is extremely quiet by herself. If he hears her and wakes up, then it will be a door or a creak of the floor most likely. Maybe he's already awake and sees her leaving. You can also godmod Chaska waking him up, wanting him to go to her, or Chaska waking Loki up and the both of them "telling" Henry to go find Rose. Or something else :3 these were just my ideas

Interacting: @Rose Moon
Mentioning: N/A
Date: August 14th, 2021

Trigger Warning: Death, grief, extreme anxiety and panic

The redhead was shaking violently, curled over at her waist, holding her stomach. Her breaths came in gasps and water raced down her cheeks. Thoughts zipped through her head faster than she could comprehend them, making her brain ache. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw movement. A panic settled in her bones.

Nobody could see her like this. She was crying. She was broken. She was weak. This wasn't the perfect side of her that anybody was allowed to see. Nobody was allowed to see this pain. Only the good parts. Only the polite, kind, smiling Rose who was always okay. That was the rule. That was always the rule. Because if anybody saw her like this, they could take advantage of her. They could hurt her. If she ever showed her vulnerable side, she would get hurt. If she let them in, then they would smash everything inside.

She couldn't be like this in front of others.

The redhead froze for a second, unsure of what to do. If it was her mother, if it was Faith or Franklin or Jess or Luke or some random stranger-

Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she tried to wipe her tears away with a shaking hand, calling up a mask, becoming an actress. She was okay. She wasn't crying. She was fine.

It was Henry. He knelt beside her and she watched his hand as he placed a single white rose on the grave, then wrapped his arm around her. For a moment, her body was tense, unsure of what to do. Indecision tore her between putting up walls to stay safe or finally letting someone in. An image of Henry in the Room of Requirement, a tear racing down his cheek, a whisper from his mouth, telling her the darkest part of himself. Then her muscles relaxed and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I didn't even say goodbye to him," she whispered, letting tears fall again. The grief wasn't so intense this time, but more heavy. It wasn't threatening to pull her in two anymore, just pull her down into the Earth like quicksand because of how heavy her heart felt. "He was dying and I wouldn't say goodbye," she said quietly.

Rose's mind snapped to her one clear memory of her father, and she finally let herself think about it. After years of suppressing the painful memory in her mind, she finally let it be there. Her mother had taken her into the room to say goodbye to him. Seeing him sickly pale in the bed, the rise and fall of his chest barely visible. And what had she done?

Rose had run. She was too much of a coward to even stay in the room where her father was dying. She was too much of a coward to say goodbye to her dad. Rose sobbed, clenching her hands together.

How brave. How chivalrous. How loyal. How she had carried on her father's legacy.

She was such a bad daughter.

She would never see him ever again. She couldn't have given herself closure? She just... ran?

Rose sniffed, drawing her hand across her nose. "Do you ever wonder..." she started, the intense grip on her heart loosening to an ache. "Do you ever wonder if they know each other now?" she asked him, barely audible. She was referencing both of their deceased parents. "Like wherever they are now, they're together?" She looked up at the dark night, at the stars, craning her neck backwards. "And that maybe they're watching over us?"

It sounded kind of crazy, and she didn't even know if it was true, but Rose sometimes wondered. It was a nice thought- Henry's mom and her dad working together and watching them closely, helping them to each other, guiding them along the way.

Interacting: @Rose Moon
Mentioning: N/A

Trigger Warning: Death

As Henry's question reached her ears, the redhead stared numbly at the gravestone for only a moment, then shook her head. "My mom won't be specific about it," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "I do know it was some kind of disease she couldn't fix. Something magical." Rose always liked to think that he fought valiantly for her life or something, heroically sacrificing his life for his family. But that wasn't how it happened. "He died in a hospital bed. I can't remember if it was at St. Mungo's or a muggle hospital, but we knew there was no way to stop him dying, and we were gonna go in to say goodbye. And..." she shook her head. She had already said that part, and didn't know if she could say it again. She didn't know the specifics of how he died, but she knew it must have been something magical, since her mom hadn't been able to fix it. Nobody at St. Mungo's had. But she didn't know what it was.

The redhead was, somewhere in the back of her brain, aware of Henry rubbing her shoulders and squeezing her, and it brought comfort to her somewhere, as her tears came less and less frequently. But her conscious mind was elsewhere, wondering how he died. She wondered if she even wanted to know.

Henry didn't answer her question, which Rose thought about asking about, but stopped herself. He seemed to redirect the question. Maybe he didn't like to talk about stuff like that. She wasn't going to ask him about it if he clearly didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't intentional for her words to kick up thoughts in his mind he didn't want there. Maybe it was a crazy thought, anyway. Something for a little girl to hope for. It was a nice thought, that maybe somewhere her father was guiding her, and maybe, somehow, he guided her to Henry.

Then he mentioned that both of their parents went to Hogwarts. Rose was confused for a moment, then realized he didn't know. She hadn't ever told him. She didn't say anything after the first question, but after the second one, she shook her head. "He didn't do Quidditch. He didn't go to Hogwarts either. My dad was a muggle. He didn't have a drop of magical blood in him." It had been pretty significant in Rose's life that he was a muggle. That's why she was so invested in movies, in the muggle world. In her grandparents. She wanted to know the world that her father had lived in, so different than the one she lived in, so full of magic.

And it was because he was a muggle that Rose's grandmother hated her. Another pang of hurt cut through her body. Rose had been so excited when she had learned that she had finally found her dad's family... only for Amber to hate her with all of her heart.

A freak. Her grandmother had called her a freak.

Her grandmother had spat out the word "witch" like Rose was some kind of criminal. Like it wasn't just who she was, it was an insult.

"I do not freaking care whose granddaughter she happens to be!"

Rose shook away the memory of the words spoken earlier that day. She couldn't change her grandmother's mind about her. It still hurt.

She sniffed, then asked, "What brings you out here?" Rose had been out here because of a nightmare and a sudden longing to see her dad, after all the things related to him had happened that day.

Interacting: @Rose Moon
Mentioning: N/A
OOC Note: mentions death

Trigger Warning: Death

It hurt how much she missed her dad. And it hurt even more that she would never know who he was and how much he loved her. Maybe she was just being selfish. It still hurt when she saw other kids with their dads, their real dads. It even made her jealous when people's real dads were mean to them, which she knew was preposterous. But at least they had dads. At least they could remember them and form a calculated opinion about them. Rose didn't even have one at all. It was pretentious, she knew. But she couldn't stop herself from feeling it.

There was barely any times that she addressed her dad. The only time she could remember very clearly, other than just now, was when she had left her house. Her original house. It had hurt to separate herself from her father's legacy that had been left in that house. Rose couldn't have brought herself to go in there after her mother took all the flowers off of the walls. The flowers that her father had painted there. She didn't know why, but now that she had moved out of that house, she felt so far away from her father. So distant. Like now that she had even moved away from where he lived, he was getting farther and farther away from her.

Rose didn't know what to believe about where her father was now. She supposed he must be somewhere, though maybe that was just the small part of her that couldn't bear the thought of her father just not existing somewhere. She supposed that was kind of childish, that she would want for that, but at the moment she really didn't care. She just wanted her dad back, and that could never happen.

At Henry's comforting words, her heart calmed a little. She reached the hand closer to him behind his back and wrapped her arm around his waist, holding him back.

The redhead didn't blame herself any less knowing that she was only three years old at the time of her father's death. Sure, she may not have known much better. But if she was a good person at all, she would have been there for her father. She would have at least tried to comfort him. She wouldn't have been a coward, hiding outside the hospital room while he... while he died. She had been missing in the last moments of his life, and it had all been because of him. She still blamed herself.

Faith probably remembered, Rose realized. Faith had never talked about their dad at all, but Rose realized that she probably remembered him more than anyone. She probably had memories of him that she could recall if she was asked. Rose's heart twisted a little bit, jealous that Faith would know their father better than she ever would. But then she realized that might not be true. She had his diaries. She had his thoughts, his poems, his entire life recounted. Faith, no matter how many precious memories she had of Gabriel Moon the first, would never know what Rose knew through his writings. Something in Rose liked that, even though it was in a selfish way.

His next words came, reassuring her that at least she didn't have to watch him die. Rose knew that she would rather have been there, have held his hand as the light drained from his eyes. Been there for him in the smallest way, instead of just running like a coward. She should have been there to give him closure. But after these doubts passed, something about that sentence from Henry felt off. Like he had watched his mother die.

No, she was probably just imagining it. There was no hint to that he had thought that. Rose told herself to stop jumping to conclusions.

Henry asked if her dad was a muggle, seeming to not believe it at first. She nodded, a silent confirmation. Yes, her dad had been a muggle. As he started explaining that her father couldn't, in fact, go to St. Mungo's, she relaxed. There was something about when Henry explained things that was comforting. "That makes sense," she said, after he finished.

She reached her other hand up and wiped the wetness from her face, the tears done coming. The sharp, overwhelming, suffocating pain from earlier had dwindled into a dull ache. It was less hard to breathe, but now she just felt grounded.

The redhead nodded at his answer. A scent made sense. He didn't seem to want to elaborate, so she left the subject alone. He asked her if he had ever told her about that night. Rose looked over at his face, trying to find a hint to his emotions, then looking back at the rose on the grave. "No, I don't think you did," she said, inviting him to tell her.

Interacting: @Rose Moon
Mentioning: N/A
OOC Note: mentions death

Trigger Warning: Death, werewolf attack

For most of the time they had been sitting there, Rose had been looking at her hands, at the ground, at her knees, at the grave where her father lay, and the single rose set before it. But she watched Henry carefully as she waited for his answer. Henry's arm was around her shoulders, so she slipped her arm around him, too, around his waist.

Henry started talking. His voice was slow, as if he was pulling the memories out of thick mud. Almost as if he had buried it so far deep in his mind that he had to dig it back up. She was sure he didn't remember the full experience- adrenaline did that to memories. Distorted them. Dug its cruel claws in the memories and twisted it. But she was sure he remembered enough. Far more than he wanted to, anyway.

A full moon. A large oak tree. Stargazing. It would have been so peaceful, so happy. Like their family had just been spending time together. But it was all ruined. It seemed to become more difficult to say out loud as Henry got closer and closer to the moment, the real moment that his mother died. That he became a werewolf. And then he said it.

"We watched her- we watched her die... Arthur, Anna, me."

Rose closed her eyes, the ache of grief far too familiar. Far too familiar to her, far too familiar to Henry. It was so unfair. But he was right. Rose may not have gotten to say goodbye to her father, but Henry never said goodbye to his mother either. The last thing Rose saw before her father died was the cold walls of a hospital, but at least it wasn't teeth, fur, flesh, bones, and blood.

It was a little messed up that Henry was only a werewolf due to the clumsy actions of a couple of werewolves. With all of Rose's insisting that at their core, werewolves were still good people, and just like the rest of them, without the potion... people died. And sometimes that was hard to grasp because werewolves don't mean to hurt people. (Well, most of them. Looking at you, Fenrir Greyback.) It was weird to think about sometimes.

Rose sniffed, nodding her head. She glanced up to study Henry's blue eyes, but only for a moment. He wasn't crying, thank Merlin he wasn't crying. Because if he had been crying, Rose would have cried too. And she was done crying, at least for tonight.

"Life is screwed up," Rose whispered. The redhead nodded as Henry continued, watching the grave instead. He was right. She could live for her father today. She didn't have to live in the past, she could live in the now. She could live for him. She leaned her head on Henry's shoulder. "And your mom saved you. That's a beautiful gift, even if it was a horrible situation." It was Rose's instinct to make the best out of a situation, even if the situation was hard, horrible, and grim. "It shouldn't have happened, though," she whispered.