(p.s. missed u guys!! i had to split this chapter into two parts so sorry, but it is once again tom centered because of that :/ preface, i actually had the worst time editing this and almost scraped it completely so you will all have to take what you can get lol)

~

third person pov

' the history book on the shelf,
is always repeating itself '

"Just focus," demands Tom, his energy heavy behind her back.

She casts her eyes down the edge of the cliff, chest shaking at how steep the instant drop is. All she can see are trees below, for miles and miles. Terrifying—the only word to describe how it feels to have her feet on the very edge, seeing pieces of dirt give away as the night air wraps around her limbs.

Tom steps closer, his chilled hand trailing down her arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. "I would never let you fall," He says, "Think of how fire feels against your skin—make it small at first."

She releases a shudder when his fingers lock around the front of her hand and force her arm to extend.

And then, Tom settles his other hand on her hip as she opens up her palm, providing balance that was desperately needed.

"What if I burn both of our hands?" She asks.

A deep, dark laugh leaves his lungs. "You are not going to, Rosalie." He says, "You have the ability to bend nature and magic to your will...It is necessary to push aside the voices who have told you of rules."

She breathes out a rush of air, and stares long and hard at her hand. On instinct, she goes to open her lips, speak words of ancient spells, but Tom tightening his hold is a wordless command to not dare such a thing.

His fingers slip out from her own like water, trailing to push back her hair.

Her skin burns, aches, and almost brings tears at first.

But suddenly, all at once, a flame bursts into her palm.

She screams in shock, moving to whip around—only to be rooted to the ground by Tom.

"Put it out!" She shouts, shaking her hand in an attempt to make the fire disappear, "Tom! Make it go away!"

His chest shakes with the most genuine laugh she had ever heard come from his lips, but still—sounded as cold as a midwinter's day.

"Tom!" she hisses, hand still shaking frantically, "It is not funny!"

None of his laughter ceases, if anything it grows, but the flame disappears from her hand with a blink from his magic. She gasps, clutching at her chest and stumbling against him.

"I thought my body was going to catch on fire," She breathes out, half-gasping for air, "I've used my finger to light a bloody cig, but Merlin — my entire fucking palm?"

Tom allows her to lean into his chest, but reaches for her hand in mocking sincerity. "Hm," he hums, twisting her fingers around, "I don't see any burns?"

Rose tears her hand away, and turns in their mess of limbs to glare at him. Getting nothing but a smirk in return when she swats at his chest. "You are evil! I was scared!"

"Me? Evil? What crude statements," He wonders with a raised brow. She nods affirmatively before moving to take a step back, and as his hands latch on her eyes go wide; the realization that her boots are halfway off the edge.

Her breath hitches. "Tom,"

He cocks his head down toward her. In a low whisper, "Scared now, Rosalie?"

"Yes..."

It is truly sinister how he smiles at that moment.

"Do you still wish to die?"

"Honestly..." Her arms shake in fear of him actually letting go, heart racing like never before. "Sometimes. Would you like to do the honors?"

He eyes her as if this is the most casual of things—as if he is not the only tether keeping her from falling.

"And when was the last time you felt alive?"

"Months, maybe years." She hesitantly mutters, "Where are you going with this?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Good." He says, releasing her arms, and then—pushing her off the cliff.

He will undoubtedly catch her before she can think to cast a spell, that is not the point of this.

But on the way down, as her life flashed before her eyes, Rose will realize she does not yearn for death, only a life well lived instead.

And when she sweeped away in his arms, once she catches her breath, it will feel as if she is breathing for the first time all over again.

The Dark Lord may be clinically insane in his lessons, and awfully cruel, but he had made Rosalie Black see how much she wanted to live — showed her how it felt to be alive.

That must count for something, she thought.

*

Augustus Rookwood and Mucliber were always in the Dark Lord's manor, for what—Rose did not know. She hadn't realized this in her few weeks of staying there, but now, being allowed to roam the corridors, Rose noticed the two aristocratic men were always present.

Her feet moved at a slow pace, relishing in the feel of dark magic from every corner. She had grown up in Grimmauld, meaning no part of her was uncomfortable in the intense environment.

It felt more like home—just immensely larger.

The letter in her hands seemed as if it weighed like a brick would, and the dagger in between her fingers continued to knick her skin as she tapped the parchment; debating cutting the wax seal.

She used her need to learn the layout of the home as means to avoid opening the letter.

"Rosalie,"

She turns inside the hallway at the now familiar voice and her lips quirk upwards.

As she heads toward the Dark Lord, she points the dagger in his direction.

"Yes, my lord?"

"You will never succeed with your shots," He warns from afar, "No matter how excellent."

"No one can always be on high alert," She says, lazily slinging the dagger toward him. Tom barely lifts his hand when the blades flies close, stopping the object midair—mere inches away.

She groans with each step until landing in front of him, eyes rolling as he carelessly takes the dagger into his hand.

"Ah," He twists the hilt around, holding it toward her. "But I am not just no one."

Something he could not possibly place flashed through her gaze as she took the dagger back, moving closer to gently press the blade against his chest.

His jaw ticks. "No time to play your games, Rosalie." He says, "Regulus is here."

She made an offended noise in the back of her throat. "Later then? I believe you enjoy a good game of cat and mouse, yes?"

That smirk, the one she had wanted to see, comes to the surface. "Undoubtedly." He pauses, brushing her shoulder of invisible dust. "Can you recall the spell for the Inferi? They should not be a bother since you hold a part of my soul on your body, but a smart witch is always prepared."

"I remember the spell and all the steps, my lord." She snaps, "What happened to not doubting me?"

Her attitude makes him roughly yank the dagger from her hands, shoving into the pocket of her corset. "If I doubted you once so ever, I would not be putting you up to this."

She smiles, sickly sweet. "I know...I just wanted to be reminded of that."

He scoffs to the side, she would never not be appalling. "Go Rosalie—he is in the foyer."

But then, he finally notices the letter in her other hand.

"Who is that from?"

She blinks, confused, before looking down. "Oh, it's from Adrian Pucey." She shrugs, and he notices her fingers become unsteady as she pockets the parchment. "His mother gave it to me at the meeting last night—"

"Celeste." He answers, nodding slowly. "You know that Adrian boy recently became a Deatheater? Gave him the mark myself a few days ago."

"You didn't tell me?!" She blurts out, revealing every emotion on her face.

Tom raises a brow, hands sliding into his pockets. "Should I have known of your fondness for a random boy? Don't even think about it," He says, snapping her opened lips closed. "I can hear all of your thoughts right now and I am not to blame for being unaware."

"He is too young," She hisses. These thoughts bring up ones that have been festering beneath the surface. "And where is Mattheo?! He has not been at school, and my PI has not been able to place him in England since the end of August!"

"You are foolish to treat being trusted by me, and initiated, as some curse instead of freedom." He says, bitterness laced throughout, "And what of my son? Why do you wish to know his whereabouts? Let us not pretend you cared for his location when you were off on a beach with your friends, while he, might I add, was dealing with hardships."

"I care about him, you fool!"

His head tilts, the motion making her feel miniscule. "Silly Rosalie..." He regards her callously, as if she is the jester, "You lose your mind for anything that resembles me in the slightest of ways...Tell me," He leans closer, and she shrinks a step away. Fearless she might be, but never has she wished to deal with his spitefulness head on. "Did you ever alert Mattheo of the real reason he piqued your interest when arriving at the school? Or did you delude yourself into believing because he shared my genetics, he would be the same?"

"I would not wish for anyone to be the same as you." She spat, chin lifted a little higher. "It would be cruel to wish another soul to be as lonely, and hollow, as your own. In your need for immortality, you have forgotten that the world will pass by quickly. Perhaps when I'm old and gray, and my body is buried beneath the soil, you will stand there with no one next to you—appearing the same as you do now—and maybe, just maybe, you will understand how callous this conversation is." These were all words of defensiveness, of her feeling cornered, but crumbs of truth lingered beneath.

And, somewhere, she managed to flip the topic, as a mastermind of manipulation would.

She does not provide him the chance to reply, nor hold the ability to look at his face, leaving him as one would a house fire.

*

Regulus stood on edge as his niece entered the foyer, adjusting his cuffs for the tenth time. Truthfully, he did not think that there is a universe where they should give the Dark Lord a horcrux back. Regulus gave his own life to take it away, and here he was planning to place it back in the wrong hands.

But Rose insisted, and once Regulus found out about the second unbreakable vow she had made less than three days ago—a vow to fully fight for the Dark Lord—he knew there was no other way. No matter, this time around, with the war brewing, Regulus was neither on the dark nor light side. He would fight on his niece's side.

So whatever she wanted to do, he would stand by her. Morals never stopped him before, and never really mattered anyways.

He was, afterall, a Black.

Rose adjusting his jacket brought him into the present, her raspy voice reminiscent of his own mothers on the rare days Walburga Black showed care.

"Reg? Are you unwell? I am sure I could do this on my own if I must,"

Never would he allow such a thing. They will face things together, as an immovable force, something he had not shared with others in his previous lifetime.

He brings their hands into one, muttering, "Let's go." And then they are off, within the bowels of Knockturn Alley, meeting a shaking Kreacher—who hands off the real locket wrapped in a velvety cloth, and warns them how foolish this is.

Regulus hurries the reunion between his elf and his niece, saying, "We must go Kreacher. He will suspect something unseemly if we take too long."

Kreacher holds on tight to Rose, tells the young girl how much love he has for her, and has to be forcibly ripped away. The elf, in many details, is just like Rose. He does not know how to let the things he loves go unguarded. Blind devotion, or foolish devotion—they both had it for everyone close.

Not much later, with arms locked, Rose with Regulus land upon a forty-foot high stone, resembling a mountain, in the center of the ocean. The cliffs linger ahead, a crack in the shape of a triangle, and Regulus shivers from the sight.

"Do you see that opening ahead?" He asks, voice loud over the waves crashing in a storm around them.

"Is that the entrance?"

"Somewhat," He tells, "I will apparate us again, if you're not feeling all too sick."

Rose nods along, and lets him take her through the drafts of apparition before landing in a dark sheltered cave, full of stones and mist. Magic radiates off every corner, not the good kind; an oddly familiar feeling.

She asks him if it is time to do the blood ritual, a sign that this place is nothing if not ancient, and he shows her a fully stone wall to press her hands into when ready.

She slices her palms open with eerie ease, a motion that reminds her of the times Walburga would take her to give offerings to old gods and fabled legends. The whispers of Latin fall out as a silent prayer, and in short moments they are walking into a much larger, hidden cave. Full of crystalized stones, in the shapes of protruding pendulums, instead of warm sand leading to the water.

On multiple occasions Regulus holds out his wand for a bit of light, clutching to her arm so tightly it will surely leave a bruise—but he is scared of reliving this—of losing her to the demons below.

"The boat?" she wonders, wavering by the crystals, unable to see anything ahead besides darkness and deep waters, "The Dark Lord said it is only made to carry one wizard of age, but he gave me an incantation to hoodwink it."

Regulus waits as she sends up a ball of light above, made to follow their movements. "It is invisible," He mutters, anxiety brewing, "Chained up somewhere in here. Kreacher found it last time."

She pulls herself away from him all too quickly, and he shouts, "Rosie!" in a plea for her to come back, but it is no use. She scales her way down to the very edge of the water. Ignoring his growing yells as she bends into a squat, running her hand inches from the deathly still liquid until her fingers catch against a heavy metal chain that she cannot see.

The seconds she yanks the chain forward, the sound of wood hitting crystals rings out, and then reveals itself.

She grimaces at the tiny size, hands on her hips. "Janky little thing, hm?"

Regulus is breathless when he reaches her, giving a look to express his pure shock of that being the main concern. He stands still when she whispers more spells he can no longer understand, too old for him to attempt comprehending.

But in no time, she is giving him a reassuring hand squeeze.

"I'll go first," He says, too late as she is already stepping down onto the wooden bench seats, wobbling with the unsteady boat.

She grimaces—again, head tilting up. "I mean...seriously? Could the boat be any smaller?"

His lips twitch somehow, and he allows her to pull him into the boat. Remaining breathlessly upon sitting across from her.

"Even in turmoil you find humor."

She gives him a smile even though she feels anything other than happiness within the dreary cave, not letting him become aware of her sending magic to undo the chains. Rose will do as she does for herself and the boys when experiencing the anxiety of familiar places—distract him to no end.

"It is how I survived this long," She says, as they slowly leave the comfort of the crystal bank, the orb floating above. "Although...I would not call that humor. This boat is a deathtrap in itself."

He snorts when she leans forward, managing to appear as an inquisitive professor, or an attentive parent. "I can imagine mother did not enjoy your hubris, or joking manner in times of despair."

"She certainly did not," Rose laughs airly. "But I presume it comes in handy when living in a society as stiff and dull as our own. Can't imagine the day Cissa starts forcing me to attend her Wednesday luncheons with the ladies...I will be sure to fall into a deep sleep, or preferably stuff my ears with one of the pastry cakes so I do not have to listen as Mrs. Bulstrode talks of her 'hot' gardener."

Regulus grins, almost forgetting where they are as he leans to pat her shoulder. "I do not believe you will ever be apart of the ladies luncheon on weekdays,"

She gathers his hands up in a pleading first. "I beg," She says, "I beg you to toss me to the dementors if I do. It's a trap I tell you, a trap!" Her voice lowers to a whisper, "Cissa swore the same when she was younger, and so did Miss Zabini—now they are the ones who run all the festivities..."

"How grave of a story," Regulus jokes, theatrical with his expression. She nods furiously in return.

The ride across the water began taking longer than one would expect. Rose told many tales, of the most random but intriguing of things, making it truly impossible for him to focus on anything else.

Soon enough though, she accidentally recalled a story with Theo, saying his name aloud for the first in weeks, and she went deathly quiet the minute the four letters formed together—deathly still, and Regulus wondered if she might be ill at the thought.

"Oh," Regulus remembers, every rushing anxiety blooming back to life. "I need you to swear it, that you won't go near the edge when we arrive at the island. If you even touch the water, the Inferi will start to come up."

A solemn cloud of curiosity casted around her head. "You didn't try to escape them, did you?"

"No," he remarks, honestly, "I was fine with death, and welcomed it with open arms. Besides...," he drones on, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "There is something poetic about a dutiful death, yeah?"

"Guess so," She shrugs. "But I do believe the word you meant to use is dramatic. It wasn't your duty to attempt killing the Dark Lord because he harmed Kreacher. Dramatic though? Yes. Very Shakespearean of you...To leave the world at a young age, no one knowing how you truly died—that is true immortality." She spoke animatedly, antagonizing him.

"Maybe I should keep you away from Theodore," Regulus remarks, "His writings are rubbing off on you."

Rose sighs, imagining the depths of Theo's eyes staring back into her own. She doesn't have the heart to think of the others. "I do not think you will have to worry about that," She says, cupping her chin. "We were doomed, and now I have no care to fight for it. I am tired, Regulus. Tired of being let down—just tired of it all."

"Things change, you will learn how to forgive."

It is only now, when she can barely hold her head up and stays staring off at their shared reflections in the water, can Regulus see how tired she really is.

Rose gives another shrug, another facade of strength. He doesn't know when he will see the light in her eyes again, or if he ever will.

*

The apparition was loud, instantaneously drawing Tom down the left staircase. There he found a disturbing sight; Regulus crouched to the floor, clutching tightly onto Rose—whose head wobbled in dellrium.

Faint words from her lips reached his ears as he headed down.

"I–I need,"

"Water,"

"What happened?" demanded Tom, the minute he stopped by the pair.

Regulus Black's voice shook like never before, "She drank the potion but...but I need to get her water,"

Tom undid the button of his coat with ease. Then bent down to her level, placing his hand on her back. His eyes, expressionless, glare into Regulus as she coughs. "What are you waiting for? Go."

Regulus shot out toward the hall at once.

Rose looks to Tom in a breathless manner, grateful when he pulls her closer for support.

"Hey Tom,"

He spares her a smirk. "Hey Rosalie,"

She cracks a pained smile before pointing to her throat in a weak attempt. "You know, I....I really cannot breathe."

Regulus was back in an instant, falling into a bend next to her—but baffled beyond belief when Tom took the glass away from his fingers. He watches on, with increasing disturbia, as Tom tilts her head back and forces the liquid into her mouth.

But his main focus is her survival, therefore he stays silent.

She futilely tried pushing the glass away, but was forced to drink every drop.

Tom gave a nod upon finishing and set the glass to the side, inspecting her face with every deep breath she took. "Good girl, Rosalie." He coaxes, "You'll feel better in a short few."

Rose pats at his chest sloppily, still incredibly weak, before eyeing Regulus. "Just hand him the locket and you can go calm down, yeah?"

The innermost pocket of Regulus's jacket opens and out comes the glimmering locket. He gives quick nods of recognition while rising up, and rushes out toward the foyer. He needed a minute, just one or two, to calm his aching nerves.

Tom made no signal of being actually pleased, simply pocketing the locket. "How do you feel now?" He asks, attention once again on her.

She groaned and leaned her head into chest. "What do you think I feel like? Sunshine and rainbows?"

He scoffs. "At the very least, we know your attitude survived."

"Not even you could take that away from me, my lord." She says, voice lacking merit in these conditions.

"I could take many things away from you, Rosalie. I just choose not to."

"How delightful." She mutters, "Say, you think I can—"

"You're going to bed." He interrupts.

She tries to laugh, but the sound is quiet and muffled against him and her limbs feel too weak. "No, I don't believe so. It is midday, and I, well I just need a second."

Tom knows what's coming next, now speaking fluidly in the language of Rosalie Black.

His magic cast around her in a haze, lulling Rose into a deep sleep before he can have to deal with her protests. He picks her up in his arms. Carries her up the staircase and into the bedroom in which she has stayed. And then, he shuts the door.

Easy solution, he thinks.

It isn't until hours later that Rose wakes up, the sun long gone; replaced by the sliver of a moon. The night air wafted through in a chilly breeze from the opened windows. That's a bad habit, Tom had said during her first week. She couldn't help it, feeling too much longing for her new home. She had grown accustomed to open windows and fresh air, but often forgot how cold England got during the night hours.

Her feet carry into the bathroom, finding solace in a burning hot shower.

After, once changed, she finds herself padding down the staircase, hugging the cashmere sweater around her limbs. Down in the hall she passes by Augustus Rookwood, who comes to a slight halt.

"You want to come eat with me?"

Rose doesn't hate him, never has. But he was one of Theodore Sr. and Lucius's friends, graduating a few years after the latter but with the Nott. That told her everything she needed to know. "What time is it?" She asks.

He checks what is, surprisingly, a pocket watch. "About a quarter till ten." He says, looking up at her inquisitively. "So...you coming to eat or not?"

"Well, what are you having?"

"Roasted lamb."

She grimaces. "I don't eat meat."

"What are you?" He laughs. "A vegetarian?"

"Yes? Is that a bad thing in your eyes?"

"Oh..." His face falls, and for a second Rose expects him to start the same rant as Lucius. 'Meat is necessary for your bones' health!' But he doesn't. Instead, he extends his arm. "Well, do you like roasted potatoes?"

She answers by hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow with a lazy nod.

He doesn't take her to the dining room as she suspected, but to the servants kitchen where Mulciber sits a squared table; one she never thought would be used. The random candelabras scattered around gave the space an eerie glow, and made Rose wonder if Tom had a thing against electricity, or if this was the work of elves. She was almost completely sure that no one ever stepped foot into this kitchen.

The smell of lamb was almost too much as she sat across from Mulicber, who was eyeing her in a way she couldn't discern. He was a bigger guy, the type full of so much muscle and height that you wonder if they simply have an obsession with fitness or themselves. Either way, his dark skin and arrogant nature had an air that used to make young Rose and Blaise fawn at him from a distance during balls.

"Ah," Mulicber flashed her a smooth grin, revealing a row of perfect white teeth as he leaned back into his chair. He looked somewhere behind her, where Augustus was grabbing plates. "You lure the poor girl into a trap so you can question her?"

"Nonsense!" called Augustus, "Rosalie, you said just potatoes?"

She decided, while staring at the roasted lamb, that her appetite had faded away. "Actually, just a glass of wine." She pauses, head cocking at Mulciber. "There is wine here, I presume?"

He let out a hearty chuckle, rising out of his seat and disappearing behind her—only to reappear within seconds holding a bottle of red. He pours her a glass, and says, "Only a fool wouldn't have wine nearby."

"So is this what you two do?" She asks, picking the glass from his fingers. "Drink wine and live in the Dark Lord's home?"

"Honor it is, that he trusts us so much." Mulciber remarks, curving around the table and back into his seat. "We don't have kids, and it's been quite boring all these years with him gone. Quite nice to have something to do, no point in working a job when you have all the money you need, yeah?....I'm sure you understand."

"And why didn't you have kids?"

Mulicber snorts while filling up his own glass. "Never been the type, it seems ah...pretty shit to me."

Augustus comes bustling over and setting the two plates down. "I don't think Rosalie needs to hear about your commitment issues," he says before sitting next to her. "You sure you don't want something to eat?"

Rose shakes her head. "No, but you could go ahead and get your questions out of the way."

"Told you," Mucliber grins. "A little spitfire, like Emilia." He doesn't give her a chance to react to the comparison, leaning on the table slightly with incredible intrigue. "Heard you got a hit out for your father. Awful man he is, wouldn't you say? Lucius says he wants to be the one to take his head, but it's sort of a race now, plenty of us have different reasons for wanting to be the one to do it. "

August makes a noise of disapproval at the topic.

"Did you know him?" she wonders, swishing the wine around.

"Did I know him? Grew up with the slimy bloke, and graduated with him." Mulicber takes to cutting his lamb, head shaking, "Always running around with that Potter boy...you heard of that one? James Potter? New money he had, from his father, but you wouldn't think it. Acted like he had never seen the inside of a vault. Arrogant too," He pointed at Augustus with his fork. "I tell you, that's what wrong with guys like that, get a little taste of wealth and start acting like fools. Dumb as a rock also, never see a point in their studies. Trust me when I say James Potter was no exception to that. He ruined your father's life—no wonder Sirius killed em'."

His blatant elitism is nauseating.

Rose raises an eyebrow, almost forgetting even the Deatheater's still think her father killed the Potter's. "And you believe yourself better? I only heard good things about James."

"All lies, that's Regulus's twisted version of events." Mulicber shrugs off. "You want to know more about your father?" She nods between a sip. He takes a quick bite, fully chewing first. "You shouldn't feel bad about wanting him dead, okay? Always was pretty shit to your mum, tossing her back and forth for that werewolf friend of his. That boy who lives with you, Whitman Rosier?'

She chokes on the wine. "Uh," She shifts around. "Yeah."

It became clear as day this guy didn't know how to stay on topic.

"His father, a real close friend of ours, hated Sirius." Now this idea—all too intriguing. "Got in lots of fights with him, yeah?" His expression died, voice switched low, "Oh...should've seen the one at Emilia's funeral. Evan pummeled him to the ground—just lost his mind when she died, I think. Bella did too, really messed with their heads."

"Mulicber," warns Augustus, glaring, "Rude to talk about such personal things."

"I don't mind," She says.

Frankly, at this point, Rose would take any information about her mother.

Mulciber nods along. "Evan loved her, you see. Never told her though, nothing ever happened. He ended up with Barty for a little while at Hogwarts, and then that odd French witch he got pregnant after Sirius and Emilia's wedding. Said he had to go do some of the Dark Lord's bidding in France but truthfully, I think he needed to get away—came back a few months later with a pregnant wife, if you can believe it."

History has a way of repeating itself in the most twisted of ways.

Rose felt sick, like one does when the apparation goes a little too fast. Even in these moments, she found herself asking a random question to solve mysteries of the past no one ever spilled. "Do you know why that girl he married left? Whitman never wanted to know why she left him so I have no clue."

"Evan died." deadpans Augustus, "She didn't want to be a mother on her own and left in the middle of the night. At least that's what the Rosier's said." He shrugs. "Could've killed her for all we know, they were a pretty dark family, and damn powerful. Wouldn't be surprised."

"Tragic, isn't it? When you start learning about the past?" Mulicber's eyes glint, as if he had been needing someone to be interested in the history he carried. "Personally, don't think Evan gave it his all when fighting Moody. Fought enough to leave a respectable mark as a dark wizard, but if he wanted to win; he would've. Think he was ready to go, what about you?"

She stuttered over her words, overwhelmed, and before she knew it—Rose had found herself hurrying away in a mess of excuses until reaching the door to the Dark Lord's office.

Waiting a moment, she turns the knob open.

Only the moon illuminates the rich space, sheer curtains floating through the breeze like a ghost waving hello. Tom sits behind a dark desk and the light shining in almost, ironically, makes him seem angelic. His fingers wrap around a glass of scotch and he gives her a cold stare—one she cannot read as her body leans against the door frame, arms crossed.

"You just get back?" She asks.

He gives the slightest of nods.

"Hm," Her gaze drifts to the opened windows. "You took my advice."

"I quite enjoy the air." He says, coolly.

She would've smiled, if it weren't for the ache in her gut.

"Will you hangout with me?" She wonders aloud.

"I 'hangout' with you an unheard amount."

For a split second, she raises an eyebrow. "So is that a yes?"

He simply takes another sip of the dark liquid, awaiting her to walk inside and shut the door. When she stays leaning on the framing, he blinks.

"Are you coming in or not?"

With her eyes rolling she shuts the door, and walks across the room, stopping behind his chair. Her hands glide onto his shoulders as gentle as a breeze and she leans forward slightly, eyeing the locket on his desk, the one that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. 

"I thought you were angry with me," He says, voice rumbling.

Her lips brushed across his ear, "I am unexplainably furious at you. Might even start hating you again."

Never being the one to falter, he kept his gaze straight ahead even as she dug her nails into his shoulders. "Careful then," He warns, "You're not acting as someone who hates me, and you're treading dangerous waters Rosalie."

He can feel her smile before she murmurs, "I'm a master in the art of deception..." Then she stands straight up, moving around his chair, "I learned from the best, wouldn't you say? That is your speciality, isn't it?"

He catches her wrist in a deathgrip. "And where do you think you're going?"

She smiles at him, exchanging a look between his face and the top of the desk. He rolls his eyes, and lets go of her wrist—well aware of where she plans to go.

"Go on," He says. She laughs and takes a seat on top of the desk. "Don't know why you refuse a chair."

She scoffs. "I'm not going to be treated as if we are having some meeting and I'm one of your lackeys."

"Fair enough." He says, lips quirked up until she snatches the glass from his fingers.

"Mhm," She hums before taking a sip.

Tom pays no mind to her antics, nor has he ever. "It'll be a month tomorrow."

"Of me staying here? I know."

"You need to get back to school." He says, easily pushing her chin up when she attempts to look away. "It is your university years, and you need to get that diadem for me." He leans back on the chair with hands laced together in thought. "I suspected you would be happy to leave here."

"I could just stay," She shrugs out.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Is it your fear of gravitating back towards drugs or having to see everyone? Wait..." He silences her opening mouth. Smugly saying, "I know the answer to that."

"Oh Tom," She sighs, "Wouldn't it be so great to have me here? University years are optional and it's not like you couldn't use the company—"

"Rosalie," He cuts in. "You cannot hide from the world and I do not want your company under the pretenses of being an escape route."

Her face falls into concern. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I do not care what you meant."

Silence casts around them in a stiff manner. Rose appears to be the only one who does actually care about how she had offended him. Meanwhile Tom looks exactly as he said—unbothered.

He picks the glass from her hands, and takes down the rest of the liquid in one go. "So tell me," He unbuttons his coat, leaning back to glance up at her. "How did you handle the Inferni?"

Her throat clears. "Fiendrye."

"And you could control it?"

Somehow, seeing him so relaxed makes her remember she doesn't have to walk around on eggshells with everyone over the simplest of mood changes. "Very well, surprisingly enough." She says, "I was real weak though. I'm sure I could've done much better without that potion in my body."

"You do know how powerful that makes you, correct?" He says, shock masking his unbreakable face. "Listen to me, Rosalie. Once you get all of that programming Dumbledore did to your brain, you'll be unstoppable. I know these things seem like nothing to you because he needed you to have self doubt, but what you did is truly astonishing. I'm not even sure that old man could do it without a wand. Did you use a wand?"

"I never carry my wand, and besides, I was far too delirious to think of that option. I just kept getting flashes of the other day—remember—after you pushed me off a literal cliff?"

"I did it for good reason, but do go on."

She stifled a laugh. "Well, after you made me burn down that whole forest—awful for the planet but,"

"Rosalie," He interrupts, "Focus."

"Yes well, um, I thought you lost your fucking mind but I did it with my bare hands after what you said." She leans back on the desk with her palms and sighs blissfully. "So thank you, I guess? It's just really hard forgetting the rules of magic."

He watches her pridefully in a state of knowing, not disbelief. He knew she could do anything. "Salzar, Rosalie. No wand, eh?" He breathes out.

"Are you...impressed, my lord?"

He nods and places a hand along her thigh. "More than impressed. Truly."

She plasters a grin, but knows she needs to change the subject before her neck can get any warmer. "Your turn,"

"For what?"

"To tell me something." She says, "How did you make the locket into a horcrux?"

He sits up somewhat, and then picks up the locket from atop the wood. "A homeless muggle, I believe." He places the locket in her hand with ease, amused by her flinch at the magic. His fingers wrap around her right hand, the empty one, and his thumb runs across the gaunt ring on her middle finger. "And this one was...particularly gruesome, even for me."

Her question came out in a breath, intrigue lacing through every word. "Who did you kill for it?"

She supposed he had some due diligence to look down at the ring, but as his eyes switch back up to look at her, she realizes he's laughing—a deep chuckle down in his chest with a smirk playing on his lips.

"Who?" She whispers, shakily, and slightly scared for the answer now.

"My father."

Alarm bells sounded off inside her head, even more so when he laughed again and seemed to gain amusement from her horror. She was always aware of his sociopathic nature, but this was the first time it felt real. After all the abuse Walburga had done to her, she could not imagine taking the woman's life, much less laughing about it.

Tom placed on a face of mocking sincerity as he stood up. His hands push her legs apart before he steps between them, his head cocking and thumb brushing down her cheek. "Oh don't look so disturbed,"

"I'm not." She forces out.

"Really?" He wonders, scanning her face as if he can see every thought. "Foolish to lie to me." He believes this is right. If he can make her hate him, or fear him, then it is for the better. Anything to make her stop seeing something good, because in all actuality—he is not hiding any warmth beneath the surface. This is who he is.

But she simply takes a deep breath when his hands settle on her thighs, and she looks down at the locket. "Beautiful, isn't it? Crazy to touch something owned by Salzar too."

"You know too much of my family history for comfort."

She smiles at him in a far off way. "I was blindly obsessed with you for a year of my life." Her head shakes. "You remember what your memory told me, don't you?"

"I remember it all, Rosalie." He says, "We shouldn't talk of it though."

"Of what?" She innocently asks. He sees it all over her face, realizing how she plans to mentally torture him. "Of how much I know what it was like for you in Wool's orphanage?"

HIs eyes darkened and his hold turned violent.

"You know nothing of that time." He spat.

"Oh but I do..." She murmurs, soft and angel-like. "Do you remember the other things? Now you didn't speak of your father, but you told me all about Merope,"

And this is when the violent delight of his presence turns into what would be a promised violent end. When she no longer sees Tom, but the Dark Lord instead—a man who could crush her windpipes with his bare hands and lose no sleep afterwards.

His hand wraps around her throat so suddenly and forcefully that she chokes. "You ever speak that name again and I'll cut out your tongue like you deserve."

"I know everything," She rasps, "How she died while giving birth to you at the orphanage. How you hated that place because of how cold it was to you. I know how you were almost sent to an asylum because—" He gripped her throat tighter, forcing the next words to barely come out, "How it felt impossible to bond with anyone there," She chokes up, again.

He had never, ever wanted to rip the life out of her body more than now.

"You told me these things," She mutters, refusing to not see how much she could push him, grasping onto the sides of his coat, "Because you were right, we aren't that much different except—you're willing to hurt me."

"I was wrong." He spat out, fingers digging into her skin as he leaned closer, "We are nothing alike. We never will be."

She grasps the hand he had around her throat, trying to make his hold impossibly tighter and completely constricting her airways.

Do it, she mentally dared him, Do it.

Tears bloomed in her eyes at the bodily reaction, as if being pushed under water with no escape.

"A..are you going to kill me, Tom?"

His chest raised and fell in quick increments, face void of any emotion. He told himself to do it. Kill off what the world would consider his weakness if they knew the truth. It should be easy, his head screams. She is nothing but a girl he once knew. A girl who fate never meant for him to meet.

If anything, he hates her more for his hesitation.

"Go on," she tells him, blinking away the tears, "Kill me, Tom."

Stop saying that name, he wants to scream, Stop using that against me.

She isn't special, he tells himself. He had taken so many lives they were uncountable.

Why couldnt he just fucking do it?

And she thinks, right then, he might actually kill her.

But then there is a moment of hesitation in his eyes, so visible across his face.

All at once, he releases her throat, and she collapses against his chest. He ignores her gasps for air and holds the back of her head, emotionless staring away.

After a minute though, when she's barely caught her breath, he pulls her away by her hair, his face leaning down close. "It's just a game," He manically whispers, "That's what you say. Just a game. Just playing a game."

She breathes out, "I didn't mean—"

"I do hate you, Rosalie." He spits out, holding on tightly, and angered by the tears that won't stop coming from her eyes. "I have never hated anyone more."

He shoves himself away, leaving her alone in the dark of the night.

*

The next morning, Rose laid in the bath for hours until her favorite elf of his came to bring her lunch and eat in secret together. After that she laid in bed, wasting away with a book in her hands.

She felt Tom come in sometime during the afternoon, but didn't look up from the words on the page that were starting to blend together. The paper of her cigarette crackled as she ignored the bed dipping by her legs.

"What're you reading about?" He asks, leaning forward on his knees, and turning his head to attempt spotting the cover.

She ignores him, but closes the book and sets it to the side. Taking the most time possible to dump the ash from the cigarette into the clear tray on the side table before sucking in another hit and gesturing him on.

"Rosalie,"

"You tried to kill me." She says, not in an angry manner; calm more than anything.

I remember all too clearly, he thought to himself.

"I'm not going to apologize." He says, "You wanted that reaction out of me and you got it. I am not blind to your manipulation like the others."

"I didn't suspect you to." She replies.

Rose understands, and sees, the contemplation in his eyes. At least that is what she takes the look for. All too distracted, she does not feel the twinge of burn between her fingers until he leans over and plucks the cigarette away, effectively tossing the burnt paper into the tray.

"You should be careful to not burn such perfection," He says. The nod of his head gestures her forward. "Come here, Rosalie."

Like a fool, she listens, moving so close she's practically in his lap when he pulls her legs between his own. His fingers brush the hair off her neck, and her eyes flutter close as he move all of her hair onto one shoulder. The next thing she feels is the clasping of a necklace around her throat.

Rose's heart lurches in her chest.

Too much magic at once, too much power.

His finger runs down the chain and her eyes open in response. "I want you to wear this." He says, an apology of a different form.

"Why would you want that?"

"My dear," He says, lifting her chin. "Must I decorate your body with every piece of my soul for you to understand?" He leans closer, blue eyes bright as ever. "Because I can, and I will."

Her breath gets caught somewhere between his gentle touch and forever damning gaze.

The coy twist to his mouth—one she had seen on every version of him—tugs at something inside her gut. "It is fascinating how my soul does not affect you like it would anyone else," His hands moves to her cheek. "Perhaps it is because you are already mad."

"Perhaps," She smiles against her better judgment. "I do worry though, that someone could find out and try taking them off of me."

"Do not stress about that," He murmurs, "Only I or yourself can take them off."

"Is it weird of me to say I feel more powerful with them on?"

A smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. "It is exactly how you should feel."

There is a moment before he stands up and adjusts his cloak. "I have a matter to deal with, but I have someone coming to escort you back to school."

"Who?"

"I think you will be pleased with who it is." He turns to leave but she catches his wrist. "What? I must hurry."

"You'll be here alone..." She mutters.

"Rosalie," He pauses to laugh dryly. "I have been alone my whole life and I much prefer it that way." He says, "If I can remember correctly, you wanted nothing more to leave."

"Well, I...I'll come see you in a few days."

He raises a brow, and runs his hand down the back of her hair with no words of reply. His touch is soft and his face is cold. He cannot not know how much she dreads leaving his side. It is foolish but true, and not for the reason of hiding from everyone.

________________________________

A/N: hey loves!! i miss writing the boys so much omfg but we will see them next chapter and I'll be posting it either tomorrow or the next day!! I'm feeling a lot better so my quick posting schedule should be getting back to normal <3

—the little info dump abt the past??!??!?!

anyways, memes:

rosie when tom pushed her off the cliff:

regulus realizing he died for nothing:

regulus trying to figure out what's going on when he walked back in and saw rosie and tom:

Mulciber and Augustus being the true girl bosses of the DE:

( ^i love them im sorry)

Rosie finding out about her mother:

Tom remembering how he murdered his father:

Us when Rosie doesn't know how to shut the fuck up:

Rosie when Tom tries to kill her (she literally knew he would and he fell into her trap):

Rosie when Tom said he hated her:

Tom "I'm not apologizing" Riddle:

Rosie when Tom came into her room:

Me after cutting the chapter in half and making you all wait to see whose coming to get her:

^^when the memes are back, you know I'm back for good 😁😁

xx bri