third person pov

(PSA: enjoy the fluff in the beginning, seriously...i wouldn't rush through the happiness)

For two weeks of summer Theodore Nott was missing.

For two weeks of school Theodore Nott was missing.

For the past twenty four hours of his return, Theodore Nott had been holding Rosalie Black hostage inside her bedroom.

When the sun fell below the cliffs, and the sunny sky became replaced by a crystal sea of stars, they finally moved to the empty kitchen, heads still dripping wet from a bath, and smelling the space full of the floral smells Rose lathered all over him. Truthfully, Theo didn't mind it. If anything, he wanted to be enveloped in her fragrances until the end of time after going so long with hallucinations of the smell floating into his nose.

His hips leaned on the counter by the sink, the corners of his eyes softening as Rose leaned into the open fridge, her face illuminated by the light inside, and his shirt she had owned for years rising up her thighs as she peered around.

"Should we tell Draco and Blaise of you being found?" She wonders aloud, "I know they'll both be very happy."

"No," He scoffs, pressing off the counter, "I'm holding you hostage."

"Teddy," She warns.

His arms circle around her waist with a sigh, pulling her off her toes and onto flat feet. "My oblivious love," He warns back, nestling his chin onto her shoulder, "I'm liable to put those torture skills I learned to use if Draco breathes near you right now."

She cocks her head toward him. "Feeling possessive, are we?"

"I've always been possessive," His voice comes as silk, and there lays something dark inside of his gaze, "I just no longer care if you're against it."

Her eyes roll dramatically, attention swinging onto the fridge, "You don't own me, Theodore Nott."

He reaches for chin, pulling her focus back onto himself. "Lets not lie, baby," His lips flick into a smirk, fingers stroking her skin, "We know if you had to choose, it'd be me, everytime."

She purses her lips tightly, afraid of a smile slipping. Instead, she gives him a heap of attitude, "I would not do such a thing."

He cocks an eyebrow in amusement. "You wouldn't?"

"Nope." She deadpans, popping the 'p'.

His eyes narrow. "You're lying," He says, "Your right eye twitches every time you lie."

She tries wiggling out of his arms, but he does not let her, keeping Rose against his chest and her body rooted in front of the fridge, all while he stares from his place on her shoulder.

Her tone raises, "My eye is not twitching!"

Theo lets out a breathy laugh, full of cockiness, and presses his lips into the dip of her neck for far longer than it should've been. Then, as a smirk stretches onto his lips, he brings his face to her ear, breathing out the words in a way that makes Rose shiver, "It is, baby. It is."

She takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself, before shoving him away–barely making any progress. He rises up to his full height, but pulls her chin with him, tightening the arm around her waist, once again keeping Rose rooted in her spot.

This time, her eyes narrow, "You are insane!"

He hums, stroking down her throat with his knuckles, "You wouldn't be so madly in love if I wasn't."

"You're a fool," She says, a smile full of warmth finally breaking its cage as he lets her spin around in his arms, the icy air of the fridge now hitting her back. "A complete and utter fool."

He smiles back, so gut wrenchingly beautiful, hands carving out her waist. "A fool that you'd pick over anyone,"

Her neck flushes, as it has her whole life when looking into his eyes, and her hands glide over his neck. "And would you pick me?" She asks quietly, pressing up on her toes, "In any timeline?"

"Oh love," He murmurs, yanking her close, "It's always going to be you, in every universe." After the words roll off his tongue, Rose's smile grows, and her cheeks warm to the point she becomes embarrassed, her head tipping back with a laugh.

But Theo freezes up, his lips fall apart, and his breathing slows, as does time. He wished to explain it to someone who could understand, that her beauty was not soft on the eyes or easy to digest. It was something that belonged only in the lines of poetry, or pages of a book, and to exist before it was an overwhelming thing. But he is sure, in this exact moment, no poet could do her justice. The wind knocks from his lungs, to be the one holding onto her.

She looks at him curiously as the sound slowly dies out from her lungs. "What?" Rose asks, teasing the hair on the nape of his neck.

And Theo does not give her another chance to breathe, pressing their lips together so passionately that she gasps at first, but then she settles into the kiss, smiling against his lips. And Theo fully wraps his arms around her once again, picking her up, and kissing her as he spins them around, because he is not sure any words could explain how deeply he has fallen into basking inside the love of Rosalie Black.

A minute, or multiple, Rose does not know, but one thing is for sure, when he sets her down on her feet, she is completely breathless. His thumbs scoop up her cheeks, and a curl hangs across his face as he leans down.

"Dance with me," He says.

She raises her eyebrows, wrapping hands around his wrists. "But there's no music," She says, "And it's dark."

Theo glances over at the opened fridge illuminating the kitchen. "Excuses, love," He places a chaste kiss on her nose. "They won't work on me."

All at once, he pushes her completely away, and Rose goes to scold him in a mixture of shock and confusion, but then he's reaching back out, scooping her hand into his own, and spinning her right back into his arms.

Rose lets out a surprised giggle, laying her head against his chest as he gently sways them. "I wonder," She says, "Did that month away ruin your dancing skills, Mister Nott?"

"Me?" He asks, spinning her back out fluidly, "I'm the best damn partner you've ever had."
A laugh, one that makes her chest shake, reminds Rose that nothing else exists in this moment. He brings her in, slipping his arm onto her waist, and the free hand into her awaiting palm.

"You know...you are quite talented,"

Every jagged edge of his face smooths into a softened state as he looks down at her, a smile playing his lips. "Don't I know it," After, he nods at his shirt across her body. "I truly admire your ball gown tonight, Miss Black."

"This old thing?" She spares a glance down. Leaning up, getting close to his face, she whispers in a teasing voice, "It's vintage, can't find it at any of the shops."

Rose gives him a quick wink before spinning herself beneath his arm, pulling a deep laugh from his chest as he watches—his body too full of happiness to bare.

When she comes back in, and his hand presses into the small of her back, Rose leans up, leaving a kiss on his jaw. "I love you," She says, the words so natural when it comes to him.

It hurts, how big he smiles. Theo brings his lips to her forehead, "I love you." He repeats, a sacred vow reserved for Rose–his Rose.

She sighs in contentment most people never find in their lifetime, happy to be danced and swayed around by him.

"What's going on in here?"

Rose tips her head back, throwing Whitman, who stands by the table, a warm smile. "Dancing," She answers simply, as if it is not a preposterous sight to see.

"In the kitchen?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow as the pair continue swaying around.

She takes one hand off Theo, pulling herself away enough to latch onto Whitman's arm. The Rosier instantly protests, "No. Absolutely not."

Rose does not pay mind to his refrain, slipping her fingers down his arm, and into his own. "This isn't a kitchen, Whit." She begins dragging him in, teasing dramatically, "It's a ballroom!"

His feet drag in hesitation, "Oh how I wish to be as delusional as you,"

She shrugs, "It is quite nice,"

A smirk cracks his face. "I bet,"

She leans closer, nodding proudly before holding their joined hands up. "Now let me spin you, Mister Rosier." Rose demands, "Or," She nods toward Theo just as she fully slips away from Nott. "I'll have to send my other dancing partner after you...he's known to be quite vicious."

"No can do, but I will–" Whitman pauses, spinning her beneath his arm so abruptly that she squeals in shock.

Rose lands breathless against his chest, one hand pressed into his sweater, looking up to find a gentle smile now on his face.

"Happy?" Whitman asks.

She falters for a moment, stuck studying him, before shaking her head to snap out of it. "More than happy," Rose claims, taking steps backwards until her free hand is encased by Theo's. A grin, full of promise, is flashed to both boys, and then she is yanking them in until all of their bodies collide together, and she can wrap an arm around both of their waists. "But now you have to dance with us."

Theo nods, draping an arm over Whitman's shoulders, his hand moving to brush her cheek. "You see this face?" He directs the question toward Rosier, "We cannot ruin the look of happiness, it would be a cruel injustice."

Whitman tilts his head, along with his fingers moving to rest on the back of Rose's hair. "If it keeps her smiling like this–very well."

She laughs, bowing her head into their chests to hide her face, but Whitman tugs her right back out with a reprimanding look. "No ma'am." He says.

"Fine." Rose screws her chin upward, sliding her hands from their waists, down their arms, and into their palms. She pulls back to the point their limbs are stretched, "Ready for this?"

Theo gives her a questioning stare, one of amusement, as she presses up onto her toes like there are heels on her feet. "I don't know, Ro..."

She hums before spinning herself inwards, grunting from the way their arms tangle around her chest. She looks up with widened eyes, "It would seem I didn't think that one through..."

Theo chokes on a laugh. "No, baby...not at all,"

"You tried though," Whitman's words get caught on his own laugh, "You really did try,"
She giggles. "Set me free!"

"No actually," Theo teases, "I think we'll dance with you like this,"

"No!" Rose urgently begs, "I'll die of suffocation!"

"That's too bad," Whitman sighs, moving in perfect sync with Theo.

"Please!" Rose can't decide if she wants to keep laughing or continue being dramatic, her range changing between each word, "I'm turning claustrophobic!"

*

The next morning, Whitman stood in front of the stove, messing around with the two burning skillets, and Kreacher by his side, on a stool—the elf telling him all about last night's dream while the boy cooked.

Theo and Regulus were across the kitchen, sitting at the small table, the Black hanging onto every word falling out of Theo's mouth with a smile across his face. Truthfully, Theo had been telling him stories all morning, and Regulus couldn't get enough of it. Regulus had been watching Theo his whole life, as he had the others, and he had been excited, embarrassingly excited to actually have a conversation with Nott.

When Rose walked in, she yawned heavily, and Kreacher held up a finger to Whitman before slipping off the stool, wordless tugging on Rose's hand as communication. Everyone knew the rule, embedded into their brains, that no one should suspect a single syllable from her until caffeine invaded her bloodstream.

Rose gives the elf a sluggish nod, her face being taken over by another yawn that coats her vision with water. Slow as ever, she moves toward the table, and Theo pauses his conversation without looking up, sensing her presence.

"Morning love," He smiles, sliding a mug across the wood. "I made you some coffee."

She grunts, placing a hand on his shoulder before weakly leaning down, pressing her lips to the top of his head, and hoarsely muttering, "Sweet boy,"

"She's like a walking corpse," Regulus comments.

Rose hums, stepping away from Theo before he can pull her down into his lap, her hand sweeping up the mug. She gives a nod toward the living room as Kreacher slips his hand back into her own, and they walk away, the sound of Theo teasing her moods to Regulus bringing a twitch to her lips.

The elf lets her guide him down the hall, out through the back door, and onto the patio of sorts. Rose takes a moment as the door closes behind her, relishing in the morning sun shining through in slivers between the leafy roof over this area. The air, she couldn't quite formulate into words, felt so different here. Whether it was simply cleaner, or the ocean fifteen feet away, or even being in place so comfortable and homey, everything felt better.

She pulls out one of the chairs on the edge of the table, and helps Kreacher hop into her lap. Her arm drapes around the elf, and he curls into her side, all too happy to have a moment alone with Rose as she takes slow sips of coffee.

"Ocean is so blue here," Kreacher mutters, his head resting against her chest, but eyes transfixed on the blue waters beyond.

Her words come out hoarse, "It is, isn't it? Warm too."

Minutes laters, Tom's voice sounded out inside her head, "Rosalie,"

She sighs, begrudgingly sliding her mug onto the table before bringing the ring to her lips, speaking Latin into the stone, "Yes, my lord?"

"I heard you got Theodore back," says Tom, his tone unusually curious.

"Well, it's only his second morning back. Please, don't ruin it by asking to see him." Her eyes focus on the ocean as she keeps her head afloat with the hand holding the ring. "Why do you care?"

"You killed ten of my guards, Rosalie."

A lump forms inside her throat, but she is too tired to stiffen up. "I don't want to talk about it."

She hears the sound of him standing up.

"Very well," Tom goes on, "I spoke to your grandfather, was curious how a man of his stature could simply fall over dead, and Rosalie—he told me some interesting things that he wanted you to know. Shall we make talk of him instead?"

Another lump takes root in between her lymph nodes. "I'd prefer we didn't."

A mocking tone laces his reply, "But don't you want to know how he died?"

"He killed himself." She spits back, going on the defense, "So no, I don't want to be reminded of how he died, and I don't care for what he has to say after selfishly leaving me behind with his wife."

"But did he?" Tom wonders inside her head, "I worry, Rosalie, that the people you trust most have been keeping secrets."

Rose sits straight up, and Kreacher throws her a worried glance that she pays no mind to, eyes still stuck on the ocean. Her mouth stays close to the ring, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You are important to me, Rosalie, and I believe you to be deserving of the truth." He speaks as if this is a game, "Your dear friend, Whitman, is it? Stupefied your grandfather as he was walking down the corridor and speaking to the young boy, and then he hung Orion's body up, and the best part, the best part of it all, is that Whitman waited until Orion awoke, and then watched with a smile as your grandfather squirmed and tried getting the noose off his neck...but by the time Orion woke, of course, it was too late for his wandless magic, already rendered too weak for how long he had been choking while asleep."

Tears run down the hand covering her mouth, muting a choked sob.

Tom sighs into her head. "Orion wanted you to know the truth, and rightfully so."

No, it cannot be true. Whitman found her screaming after she ran into Orion's body, and helped her pull his body down. Whitman forced her into his own arms until they got her to the hospital that day, and he slept by her every night. Whitman crawled into her bed every night after that, held her in his arms as she sobbed.

Whitman, who had never lied to her before, would never do this.

After all, how sick is it to think the one who held her together, the one who wiped her tears, could be the one who took away her grandfather's life?

She forces a straight face, brings the ring down, and lifts Kreacher out of her lap, setting the confused elf on the ground as she shakily stands up.

"Kreacher," She says, almost as if warning him. "Whitman didn't kill Orion, did he? The dark lord is lying, right?"

The elf's eyes blow wide, and then he takes two beg steps back. "Wha.." He stutters, looking around, "What? What? Whitman...No!"

"Kreacher!" She snaps, her yell making him cower, "Did he do it?!"

Kreacher shakes his head relentlessly, eyes filling with tears. And Rose crouches down to his level, placing a shaking hand on his shoulder, and forces his eyes into her own. She doesn't have to say another word, the new found tears on her cheek, along with her lips pursed together, weaken his ability to lie.

The elf breaks out into a jumble of words, "He said it would be better! That Rose would be happier...and safe! You'd be safe! It was for the better and—"

Kreacher doesn't get the chance to finish his speech because Rose is gone, charging back into the house.

As she halts in front of the bar separating the living room and kitchen, her hands shake even more, and Whitman looks up from the stove momentarily before realizing her bloodshot eyes staring into him and her hands are gripping the counter so forcefully that her knuckles are changing colors.

He reaches over, turning off the different hobs. "What's wrong?" Whitman asks, shifting his body in her direction.

Theo and Regulus fall silent, both turning their heads up toward her. Worry consuming them almost instantly.

Her gaze does not waver from the boy in question, pure anger laced through every inch of her face. "Whitman," She rasps, "Do you have anything to tell me?"

He moves a step toward the opposite side of the bar, "About what?"

She takes a deep, but ragged breath through her nose, remaining terrifyingly calm. "About Orion. Or do you wish to dig the knife in my back deeper?"

Whitman freezes up, and it seems so silent that it's as if everyone has stopped breathing all together. He takes the last step to be across from her, something twisted in his eyes, and says, with no emotion, "I did what I had to do. And no, I'm not sorry. I'm glad I got to watch him die, I am glad that I watched him be powerless."

A small gasps leaves her lips, and her lungs close in, more tears welling up in her eyes. If anything, she expected denial, or the best damn apology in the world.

"Ro," Whitman shakes his head. "He sat back as his wife tortured you for years and that night—"

"What night?!" She yells over top of him, "What fucking night inspired you to murder my grandfather?!"

Whitman remains stoic as ever, showing that his action do not affect him in the slightest. "Orion was drunk, as always, and when you tried helping him up the staircase, he pushed you down." Anger, bits of it rise as he recalls the incident. "After that night, I knew what I had to do."

"What you had to do?!" She looks at him as if he is a stranger. "Orion didn't mean for that to happen! It was an accident! You killed him over an accident!"

His jaw ticks as he leans on the counter. "Like when Mattheo pushed you down the stairs? How that was conveniently an accident?" He scoffs. "Just because someone you love is angry, does not give them the right to hit you. Do you see any of us doing that? No."

"And just because you love me doesnt give you the right to kill my fucking grandfather without my permission!" She chokes up, angrily wiping the tears away, "You're a fucking psychopath!"

HIs voice finally matches her own, "You killed all of those guards because you love Theo! What difference does it make, huh?! It was still lives lost to protect someone you love!"

Her head recoils in disbelief, and Whitman nods affirmatively. "No!" She shouts, "There is a difference! When Theo's father said awful things to me, threatened his life if I didn't stay away...I didn't go kill him behind Theo's back because it was not my decision to make no matter how much I wanted to!" A pause, "Family is family!"

"Blood means nothing!" He yells back, "Your family has never been with them," He points to his chest, "It's with me! With us! The people who would never hurt you! The people who have killed for you to be safe!"

Her head snaps onto Theo, who sits with a look of pain on his face, a clear indication of how much it is hurting him to see her like this.

"Did you know about this?!"

Theo gazes down at the table, unable to look her in the eye and say it. "Whit, he um.." He visibly swallows. "I found out the day after Walburga's funeral."

She gasps, covering her mouth, stuttering back a step. The world was closing in, and she could hear her heartbeat thump inside her ears.

This—Theo, he was the ultimate betrayal.

And so was Whitman.

Rose stares at the top of his head, not uncovering her mouth as the next name comes out as a broken whisper, "Draco?"

Theo nods, twisting his rings around, refusing to look up.

Another knife, into the heart.

A choked sob leaves her lips. "Blaise?"

"No," mutters Theo.

Her blurry vision drags over to Regulus, finding him staring out of the window, giving her the answer to if he knew all along as well.

Her eyes immediately snap back onto Theo, who still refuses to look up.

She slams her hand down onto the bar, aiming her words straight at Theo, "Look at me, you fucking coward!"

Theo's back shakes with a deep exhale before he lifts his head up to her. "I wanted to tell you," He hoarsely speaks, "But I didn't want you to hate Whit. The truth would hurt more, and I knew that."

"Oh–you," She whispers, head shaking furiously. "What," She pauses, returning her voice into a yell as she points at him, "Whatever relationship we had is over! Do you understand me?! Over until the end of fucking time and I want you to know—" She breaks off, breathless, "I fucking hate you with every fiber of my being! I hate you!"

"Ro," Whitman reaches over the bar, but his hand is smacked away instantaneously.

She looks Whitman dead in the eye, screaming, "You're lucky if I don't kill you for what you did!" She rushes away, tears streaming, and comes to a sudden halt inside the living room, facing the group of three. "I'm done!" Her voice cracks, "I'm done with all of this! All of you! I would've never done this to either of you! Ever! You're just as dead to me as he is!" She clutches at her chest, "You let me find his body! You let me think he killed himself for years! How could you possibly do that to me?!"

Theo gets up out of his chair, practically running to her, but she is gone—apparated away in a flash.

*

Rose did as she had done since Walburga died and she needed to cope.

But somehow, found herself in London.

Muggle London to be exact.

A place connected to her past, or more so a past she desperately tried leaving behind but could never escape.

Here though, England in general, no one would think to look for her. It wasn't like she could simply apparate out of France, and they were probably so frantic in trying to track her that none would think about her portkeying to Malfoy manor—proceeding to apparate herself into London after.

The bar she sat in was too crowded, the drugs in her system made her too dizzy, everybody packed together, whether it be conversing in standing groups, or sat at the bar, or tables—there was barely any room to breathe.

It didn't help that the vodka no longer tasted like vodka, and the two men who had been buying her drinks for the past hour kept touching her back and knees, their group of friends surrounding her with loud talks.

Rose wasn't a fool, and never had been. She knew this situation was a recipe for disaster, and felt sickeningly similar to way too many incidents that have happened in her lifetime.

But it wasn't as if she could do anything.

The drugs, mixed with the alcohol, made her vision too blurry, and limbs too weak to stand. All she could do was hold her head in her hands while sitting at the bar, trying to nod along to whatever words the two men were spewing with their friends so no one would think she was truly incapacitated.

One option, that was all she had left.

One option that she had been hoping to not use since thinking of it ten minutes ago, praying to nonexist gods that the men would just walk away and she'd sober up somehow.

The ring, but there were two problems.

She didn't think Tom would come.

And, she didn't think speaking laid in her arsenal as of now.

Either way, Rose couldn't properly formulate a thought long enough to battle her ego.

With her head still in her hands, and throat closing up as the guy on the left rubbed circles on her knee, still laughing with his friends, Rose rested her lips against her knuckles.

She took a ragged breath, for once grateful for how many Latin teachers Walburga hired as the language felt like second nature—just hoping Tom could understand slurred words.

Against the ring, she murmurs, "Tom, I—Can you come get me?"

Within seconds, his sharp voice enters her mind, "Rosalie, I do not have time—"

"Please," She breathes out, trying to ignore the voices around her, "I can't get up and," Her mind spins. "Tom, he won't stop touching me and I—"

"I'm coming." He interrupts, sounding angry as ever.

The words were a promise, one Tom made good on.

Upon entering the bar, a faint bell atop the door announces Tom's arrival, the echo overshadowed by the crowd. His eyes scan across the space, completely disgusted by the copious amount of people.

He finds her instinctively, leaning on the bar, almost completely circled by a loud group of men.

But then, he witnesses a hand run down her spine, and his eyes follow the limb connecting to an ashy head of hair.

Suddenly, every single person inside that bar, besides Rose, goes into a trance-like state, falling completely silent, only the soft music floating from the different televisions.

And, in perfect synchronicity, each body drops the ground in piles—dead.

Tom doesn't blink at how many lives he just swiped off the earth, simply popping open the button of his coat as if all he did was breathe.

He steps forward before his shoe hits something, eyes turning downwards.

Before him laid a sea of bodies, blood streaming from their noses, all piled together, or sprawled across the floor, and a lifeless gaze stares up at him from the body he ran into.

He grimaces while stepping forward, having to navigate between cracks to not walk on a corpse.

Halfway across the bar, he is forced to step on a man's chest, pulling a grumble of disgust from his lips.

When Tom reaches Rose, he places his hand on her back, sternly saying, "Rosalie,"

She lifts her head up, relief flooding her instantaneously. Her neck can barely stay lifted, resulting in Rose propping herself up with one hand. "Hi," She manages, a fucked-up smile spreading on her lips.

His tongue rolls against his cheek in sheer frustration at her dilated eyes.

He pushes back her hair, lowering his deep, gravelly voice to a whisper, "I'm getting sick of your benders,"

She nods before becoming confused at the once packed bar now empty. Her head turns, gaze following down to the floor. Body after body, dead eyes after dead eyes, blood after blood, pile after pile—Rose gasps, tears filling up her vision in horror.

What had he done?

Tom reaches out, turning her cheek back towards himself. His jaw clenches together as she looks up at him with the water running down her face, staring at him as if he is some kind of monster.

He doesn't say anything, sliding an arm beneath her legs hanging off the stool, and one behind her back, picking her up bridal style.

And then, they are gone. Inside of his manor, and when she tries looking up at him in the darkness of the home, Tom pushes her head into his chest, starting up the staircase on the left.

"You came for me," She mutters.

"You're going to bed." He replies coldly, stopping in front of the first door, swinging it open with a single glance.

Seemingly forgetting everything that just occurred, she gasps as he walks her toward the bed in the center of the room. "I–I have so much to tell you,"

Tom ignores the words, laying her down atop the mattress with foreign gentleness.

He leans over her body, grabbing onto her chin rough as ever, "Stay still." He commands, eyes falling shut, casting a wordless spell to sober her up. Afterwards, he begins stepping away, "It should only take a second,"

She rolls onto her side, catching his hand. "Don't leave,"

He hesitates, heavily, before sitting on the edge of the bed. "I will spare you a few minutes, but only just,"

Rose sighs. "Today was so bad, you know? And I–well I guess I knew even with Theo back I wouldn't be able to quit drugs completely but when I got to England, and the drugs kicked in...I walked past a weird store," This time, she scoots closer, grabbing onto his arm. "Did you ever play with toys as a kid?"

Tom blinks at her. "Do I look like I played with toys as a child?"

She shrugs, yawning, but relentless to tell the story. "They have plastic people—I swear it!" She says, "It is quite a scary thing, Tom, little plastic eyes...." Her head cocks up toward him. "Do you want to hear about what I played with as a kid?"

He gives an annoyed look, jaw twitching, but figures she'll fall asleep soon enough to stop spewing gibberish.

"Knives and books!" She informs as if it is obvious. "I was so very bored and I asked Walburga, what can I have? And can you guess what she said?"

He blinks, again, confused on what she could've taken, but nevertheless relaxes knowing the substances will be gone shortly. Therefore, he indulges her, "Hm...knives and books?"

She gasps. "How did you know?!"

He shakes his head, placing a hand over her eyes and attempting to shut them. "Go to sleep, Rosalie."

Her eyes stays closed, but she groans, trying to kick off her shoes, "I will once these stupid things are off my feet,"

Tom watched her struggle as he stood, and began to hate himself for what he was about to do.

Thoughts of simply murdering her cross his mind as he yanks her legs up, hastily taking off each shoe and tossing them to the floor before pulling the covers over her body.

Although he feels to be tethering the line of snapping, Rose sighs in contentment, smiling as she drags the cover up to her neck.

Waiting until her breathing slows, he exits, but as he does, casts a spell over the room—sealing her inside.

*

Rose didn't wake up until the next night.

No matter who you are, or where you are, there's always those five seconds when waking up that nothing else exits. No bad memories, no recollections of your life.

But within five more seconds, everything comes back.

The only thing she could remember from yesterday though, was the truth about Orion, and disappearing into a bar. So when she felt a bed too soft to be her own, and air conditioning so powerful bumps spread over her skin—Rose sat up immediately.

Nothing looks familiar about the gothic setting, and when her head turned at the sound of a fireplace, she jumped at finding Regulus Black sitting on a couch with a glass of dark liquor in his hands.

Regulus takes a long sip of the substance, awaiting her yells that never come. His throat clears, "Only twenty hours later and you're up."

She scowls at him. "Do you really think locking me up in some random house is going to make me forgive you or them?! They are all dead to me!"

He sighs, dropping the glass onto a side table and walking toward her. "Can I sit with you?" She brings her legs up, nodding slightly before he sits on the edge of the bed. "I didn't put you here, Rosie. You're in the dark lord's manor."

Her throat closes up, and she rests her chin stop her knees, staring off into oblivion as yesterday begins coming back.

"You're letting me be near you." He says, "I'm assuming some of that anger has faded?"

Without looking at him, she mutters, "Your my blood. I'm stuck with you either way."

"And they aren't your family as well?"

"Not anymore." Her voice shakes, "How can I ever look them in the eye again? What else did they keep from me? And—" She stops herself, pursing her lips together, eyes clouded by new tears. "What am I doing here? Why is he keeping me in a room?"

Regulus prepares for the storm. "I tried to convince him otherwise but I just—well, I cannot make him listen."

"You're freaking me out,"

His eyes fall shut. "The dark lord is forcing you to stay here and get clean, but I did bring you lots of books, clothes, and I'll absolutely get you anything else you need...I, um," A pause, "I do not believe you will have to see the dark lord again, I'm sure the elves will be taking care of you under his orders so at least we don't have to worry about that."

She hawks at him. "I'm not getting clean and he can't keep me here!"

"You don't have a choice," Regulus mutters, "He's sealed this room and the manor. You're strong, Rosie, but nothing like him." A sad smile spreads on his face. "I know it'll be hard but you'll get through this. As much as I despise you staying here, you'll be able to fight this addiction."

"I'm not fucking addicted, Reg!" She yells, "I just found out that one of the most important people in my life killed my grandfather, and my boyfriends knew about it for over a year! I just lost three people!"

"So much has happened and I've been there before with Evan...you'll come out of this with a clear head." He softly says, "I can't imagine what you must feel, but you can't keep turning to drugs every time something goes wrong in your life."

She pushes his hands away. "I said I'm not an addict! I just want Orion and Walburga back! I—I don't want to live this way anymore!"

Regulus nods, using a voice that reminded her of what people would call the state of tranquility, "It runs in our family and I can help you through this. I might look the age I died, Rosie, but I'm a lot older than you. I'm the adult in your life now, and you have to trust me."

"Do I need to fucking spell it out for you?! I'm not a fucking addict, Regulus Black!" She angrily climbs out of the bed, rushing over to the door.

Regulus watches with sadness as she repeatedly casts spell after spell at the door.

He stands, speaking firmly, "Rosie, stop! There is nothing you can do!"

She turns to him with a watery gaze. "Where is the so called dark lord?!"

"He had business to handle and won't be back for a few hours...you don't need to test his patience. He is nothing but cruel. Whatever you need, let his lackeys do it for you."

She gazes around the room until her eyes focus on a trunk Regulus must've packed, and quickly walks over to it. "You go tell him I said to get his arse back here this instant!" She pauses and points her finger at Regulus. "And there better be cigarettes in this room or so help me Merlin I will kill myself!"

Regulus raises his eyebrows, nodding towards the couch. "Your pouch is over there but I made sure to buy you some new ones,"

Her eye begins twitching, "Go get Nyx for me! I will not live without her! And—and I don't think it's safe for Jade to come!"

Regulus bends down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back soon, okay? Is there anything you want me to tell the boys? They have many things to say but I'm assuming you are not in the right mind to hear it, and I'm not allowed to bring them here apparently..."

She goes still as a statue, no words coming to the surface—only bile.

The minute Regulus disappears, Rose remembers she has a way to communicate with Tom. Lifting the Gaunt ring to her lips in a state of fury, "Oh I am going to murder you when you get back here! Locking me in a room? And just when I thought you couldn't be more of a maniac you go off and test my patience!"

Tom's voice enters her mind, "Shut up and get adjusted because you aren't going anywhere. I'll be home soon,"

Rose scoffs, angrily waking to the bathroom, "Did you just tell me to shut up? You get your arse home right now!"

"Yes I did and I will do it again." He says, "Shut up, Rosalie. You are going to listen whether you like it or not, and I am not coddling your idiotic anger."

*

Around two in the morning, Tom knocked on her door. Upon getting no reply, he pushed open the entrance, but stopped in his tracks.

She sat on the floor, in between the couch and fireplace. Appearing quite comfortable from the sweater she was bundled in, a mass amount of parchment surrounding her body—never once noticing his presence as she repeatedly shoved her hair back with eyes darting between the pages. The cigarettes, it would seem, were her coping mechanism because Tom watched her take a long drag, amused when spotting the many discarded ones in the ashtray by her thigh.

He began taking off his jacket, shutting the door behind himself. "Well, I am here, Rosalie." He says, "Time to do your worst."

Without looking up, she waves him over, not wanting the man to notice her bloodshot eyes from sobbing over her now ex-boyfriends and never to be called again best friend. "I'll do that later, come here."

The jacket was tossed onto the couch, and he pushed up his sleeves as he came to stand above her.

Rose holds up a page. "In the chamber you told me—well, your memory told or whatever you would like to call it, told me about Horcruxes. I never explained to Dumbledore what magic was inside that diary, and he didn't know, only thought it to be dark and twisted."

"And?" Tom asks, taking the page covered in scribbles.

She picks up another page. "You had a diary that you stored one in—most think Horcruxes to be indestructible, but there are certain objects that can take them down. For example; your diary was destroyed from a basilisk fang, as you know."

Tom takes the next page when she shoves it up at him. Reading as she speaks again, "We need to find your Horcruxes. If someone else does, like Harry or Dumbledore or the Order, then they'll destroy them." She finally tilts her head toward him, slightly grabbing at his leg. "We can't risk that happening."

His eyes fall into her own, tone sharp, "What is the underlying meaning of this? You gather my Horcruxes under my orders then use trickery to destroy them?"

She pats the floor. "Sit,"

He scoffs. "I am not sitting,"

Rose yanks on his hand not holding the pages. "Please," She begs, "I'm very much on edge and I happen to have found something to distract my brain."

Tom rolled his eyes before sitting down beside her, an arm laying over one of his knees. "I am never doing this again," He warns, "Is there a reason you chose to sit on the floor when there are many other options inside this very room?"

"It's grounds me," She gives him an odd look. "I find I do my best thinking on the floor."

His lips twitch, "You become odder to know as the days pass on,"

She gives him a smug look, "I wouldn't be your favorite if I was normal."

His face falls blank. "You make me wonder just how quickly your body would fall to the ground if I killed you."

Holding a hand over heart heart, she leans toward him, "Careful, my lord...my clothes might just accidentally come off when you speak so recklessly,"

Tom grasps her chin, an obsession he realizes, "Focus, Rosalie."

Leaning into his touch, "You give me a piece of your soul to wear and expect my standards to be reachable to another man? Especially with all the news I just learned of yesterday?"

He smirks, cruelly—wickedly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out there was a Horcrux on your finger," He pauses, digging his fingers into her skin. "And I only suspect your standards to be so high that no man can reach them."

"But a god," She wonders, eyes scanning his edged features, "He could reach them, wouldn't you say?"

His pointer rubs painfully down her jaw, and he thinks it would be best to kill her—ruin her before his fascination can go further. "Only a god would be enough for you," He murmurs.

Her lips part at the words.

Finally, she confesses, "I don't want to find your Horcruxes to trick you. What I want is for you to be protected because we are starting a war."

His jaw screws shut. "I don't need protection and why would you want that to begin with?"

The truth will not leave her mouth, and it is too embarrassing to say. Instead, "We are bound by an unbreakable vow, I cannot betray you despite how I might wish to." Rose says part of the truth, "And I just—I don't want you gone, I guess."

"You do not want to get attached to me, Rosalie." He pulls her chin closer. "It will not end well for you."

"I'm not afraid you, Tom." She says, fingers coiling around his wrist, "But if we're going to be on the same side, and I'm going to do all these awful things for you—then I am going to protect you."

"Don't make me expect too much if you plan on letting me down," He smirks, in that same way. "We both know how nasty I can get when angry..."

She visibly swallows, pushing his hand off of her at once. "I—I cannot believe what you did to those innocent muggles yesterday,"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Rosalie." He snaps coldly, "I did that for you. Men are cruel, but there are some worse than murders—ones who will abuse you in ways far worse than death. When you told me he—" Tom stops himself as she flinches, "If you call for me and say you have found yourself powerless in a situation like that, then I will murder an entire city under those pretenses. If you wanted a clean escape, you should've called for one of those boys. Violence is necessary, whether it be deserved or not."

Something in her gut twisted, knowing he meant it—genuinely meant it.

He took in the silence before letting go of her chin, then tucking her hair behind her ear. His voice calms down, "Now, tell me. Where do you want to start?"

She gulps, not realizing the cigarette burning her finger. Tom, on the other hand, looks at her amused, taking the crisped paper away.

"Cigarettes burns," He murmurs, "Terrible little things..."

Rose clears her throat, focusing on the parchment with haste. "So...I'm assuming you did the maximum amount of Horcruxes? Seven, right? Now there would only be six left."

He tosses the cigarette into the ashtray. "Smart girl, but I only ever made six."

She pushes around the parchment before finding the one needed. "Here's what I figured out, and this may comes as a shock but," A pause, "Harry Potter is a Horcrux—the one you never intended on making."

Full of denial, Tom leans into her, studying the page with her reasoning on it. Shock takes him over, and then everything seems to piece together. He is a genius—how he had not realized sooner was unsettling.

Unknowingly though, Rosalie Black just ruined a prophecy, messed up fate, and would change the course of everything.

Harry Potter no longer had power that dark lord knew not of, and this meant very bad things for the world.

Rose runs her finger down the page. "Hear me out...Harry speaks parseltounge; a trait extremely rare in someone who is not a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. I mean, it is possible as we know, but a halfblood would never gain that ability with no connection." Her head shakes. "That's not what made me realize it though. His scar—it hurt him when you touched it."

She glances down as his arm comes between her own to pull the page closer.

"Anyways," Her throat clears. "Even simply being in the presence of you makes him crumble with pain. That night Lily Potter protected him with 'love' but still...that magic is no match for dark, right?" She takes a deep breath. "So, when the curse rebounded, your soul latched onto the only living thing in the room; him."

Tom focused on her, the wind knocked from his lungs.

"It's why you have a connection," She speaks surely, "And I think...I think that Dumbledore plans for this unknown fact to be your downfall."

His lips twist into a smirk that never failed to show he had terrible things prepared. Tom brings his hand up, brushing her cheek as she looks to him, "You do not nearly get enough credit for the immaculate mind you carry," He says, "It goes behind the simple term of intelligence."

She gives him the most real smile. "I am quite smart, aren't I?"

"The smartest woman I have ever encountered in all my years,"

That—that was a sentence that put fire into her bones.

"Remember that when you doubt my ability to protect you," She says, "We'll start at the beginning. Collect each Horcrux before you kill him."

Tom was blown away, she really is the smartest woman he has ever met. He wondered how she would react if he told her he wanted to split open her head just so he could pick apart her brain, and learn everything she kept inside. "I have never doubted your abilities, Rosalie." He says, grabbing her attention once again. "You forget who I am and how I've treated you," He couldn't resist the urge to tilt her head back, so very carefully studying her. "And I happen to have as much time as you need tonight."

If this was darkness, she never wanted to see the light again.

______________________________

A/N: well....once again i have no words

—it was so sweet of me to give you the purest scene ever and then til it away immediately:p (i actually love u guys I'm so sorry)

—on a real note, im actually so distraught abt rosie and her boys

—there is something so mind blowing to me about tom sitting on the floor with her

—how was everyone's weekends? mine was so lazy, i slept so so so much omfg

MEME TIME:

me after Tom showed up without hesitation:

Rose when she realized Tom locked her up:

Tom trying to figure out what she took:

Rose to Tom every time he breathes:

Orion watching how mad Rose is from the afterlife:

All of you after I gave you the fluffiest moment only to ruin it in the next scene:

Draco when he opens the letter explaining that Theo is back, his girlfriend is no longer his girlfriend and hates him, and she knows he knew about Orion:

xx bri