DOROTHEA {fred weasley}

eighty five

Camille Rosier strode through the Nott's manor as if she owned it. Portraits cooed at her and elves bowed, even Barnaby, Ezra and Theo's father, gave her a pleasant smile and bowed his head a little. 

Camille Rosier had always said she wanted no part in this war. She had her opinions, she knew how to appease, and nothing more had ever been asked of her. For a while, that had been enough. Taking Ezra from Dorothea had been initially satisfying, until she realised that her cousin couldn't care less about the man. Ezra's temporary and temperamental flattery had been enough too, for a few weeks. 

She had never felt the life of hiding away was enough for her, though, and that's all she did as a mistress. Camille was so ignored that, when Ezra was sent to kill Elvira Jones alone, no one in the whole of their society suspected that the other Rosier might accompany her. That the other Rosier, who had also spent time with Elvira and was presumably loyal to Dorothea, could have hatched a tight plan with Severus Snape which was strong enough to block a killing curse, to prevent murder. 

Now, Camille found herself more entwined in the war than she had ever intended to be. She had planned to return to France, never see Ezra again, or indeed her cousin. But something tugged her back. She put it down to blood and bones. In her blood, and indeed in her bones, she would always be a Rosier. 

The Rosiers were a lot of things, that was true. But one thing they were was fiercely loyal, to each other only. She had heard stories about Clementine Rosier and her father, Evan. Clementine had been problematic throughout school, as Dorothea had turned out to be. Friends with a British family called the Prewetts, who her father hated. In the end, Clementine was given a decision, she chose her brother. Despite Dorothea's dishonesty and rebellious behaviour, as soon as Clementine Rosier found out that Ezra Nott had laid a hand on Dorothea, she didn't once hesitate to use the cruciatus curse on the wizard, despite him being her son in law.

And similarly, as Camille lay in Dorothea's bed, lay with her husband, her bitterness and jealousy faded. Instead, watching her cousin grow more tired, paler, and weaker, made her feel closer to the witch. She wasn't on a pedestal anymore, she was just a nineteen year old girl, just as Camille was. Where there was once friendship, there was now fierce, raging, and secret loyalty. 

Severus Snape watched the girl striding down the long hallway to where he stood at the end. He was, secretly, impressed by the witch. When teaching her at Hogwarts, he put her down to being stupid and shallow, nowhere near as impressive as Dorothea. Now though, pulling off the double agent act seamlessly - a feat he had once thought only he could master, he was truly impressed. 

"Severus," she said cooly, reaching the end of a long, panelled hallway.

The wizard looked over her head, down the empty hall, and then back to the witch, holding out a cloaked arm. Camille took it, and the two vanished on the spot. 

In Spinner's End, Severus snapped the blinds shut with a paranoid flick of his wand, bolting the door with another. 

Camille smirked, "paranoid, Severus?" She asked, in a thick French accent. "No one suspects us, I'm sure."

"More that it looks improper, actually, Rosier."

That made the witch laugh and she slumped down into an armchair, looking around the room with interest, picking up a piece of parchment which sat on a side table, trying to make sense of the endless scrawling.

"Down, Camille," he snapped, whipping it out of her hand before she could make anything out.

"Dorothea has already made contact with the other side," Camille said, in a matter-of-factly tone, smiling gleefully when she realised that Severus did not have this information.