third person pov

' every time I close my eyes,
it's like a dark paradise '

        The second floor girls laboratory was empty as usual from Myrtle's occupancy until Rose rushed in, wishing her tears to stop.

Nyx hissed in Rose's ear as the girl's shoes sounded out against the stone floors with the door closing, "I don't think you should go back to the chamber, Rose."

Rose scoffed in response, hating how weak she felt as she passed the showers lining the walls—keeping her gaze on the sinks forming a circle in the center.

The entrance to the chamber.

Nyx hissed again, sliding down Rose's robes and curling around the material on her arms to garner attention.

"Leave me be, Nyx."

The snake nodded her head, not wanting to send Rose over the edge as she stopped by one of the sinks.

As Rose began to run her fingers over the metal faucet, memories of the year before came.

She hadn't returned to this bathroom since Tom—or the horcrux, or whatever you wished to call him—was killed by Harry and herself.

I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for spending that whole year with a ghost of a man.

Myrtle appeared beside Rose as the girl started to slowly walk around the circle of sinks, "Is Rose Black back to see her old friend?"

Rose jumps back, placing her hand over her heart while quickly wiping her eyes.

No.

My 'friend' is dead.

"Screw off, Myrtle!"

Myrtle gasped at the crude language. "How dare you be so mean to me?!"

"I'm not," Rose snapped, before shaking her head and muttering, "I'm not in the mood."

The words sent the emotionally unstable ghost into a fit of dramatic sobs, zooming away to plummet herself into a toilet with a splash.

Rose had spent a lot of time coaxing Myrtle last year, manipulating the ghost into believing someone could tolerate her so Myrtle wouldn't tell a soul where Rose was disappearing to.

Was Rose a good person? Maybe, Maybe not.

But maybe she was only a young girl then, one being manipulated by something far greater than herself.

Nyx could see Rose hesitating, battling a storm in her mind as she grasped onto a sink with a snakehead faucet.

"Don't do it, Rose."

Of course, Rose didn't listen.

She took a step back, beginning to speak directly to the faucet in parseltongue, "Open. Open to me, open for me."

A slow resounding creak echoed through the bathroom.

Then the sinks clicked, all seven beginning to push outwards in opposite directions.

Rose took the deepest breath of her life before stepping between two of the sinks and allowed herself to go straight down the tube..

As her body slid down what felt like a slimy and dark abyss, she could feel those same glimpses of other tunnels branching off as she passed, but none quite as large as the one she went down—which twisted and turned for so long and so fast she thought she might just be sick and throwing up on herself before it ended.

But she has had too much practice now.

Nyx slid up into her sleeve, refusing to watch.

Upon reaching the bottom, there was rubble everywhere, but her eyes could only stay trained on the circle door covered with carved snakes—one large one wrapping around it.

"Open," Rose said once more in parseltongue, almost hissing viciously as if the door had been the one to harm her. The snake encasing the door clicked before sliding backwards—creaking after.

She latches onto the metal, carefully pulling it open and stepping onto a jaded piece of stone to climb through the wide hole.

The Chamber was flanked with towering pillars that were entwined with carved wood, and the Statue of Slytherin was at the far end with the mount still opened from where the Basilisk once hid.

Thankfully, the body of the beast had been removed after the incident last year.

Water splashed on the sides, multiple enormous snake head statues sitting in the green murky liquid, lining the pathway to the Salazar Slytherin head.

It was dark, barely having any light, and it felt as if ice was wrapping around each of her limbs.

Rose paused by the first snake's mouth, placing her cold palm against the nose of the bronze statue with a painful flashback coming through her mind.

It felt like lightning struck her.

Rose pov flashback — New year 1993'

         I entered the chamber, searching for that familiar head of dark hair.

And when I find it, he turns the corner and comes into view.

I can't help the grin that breaks out onto my face.

Tom.

Tom.

Tom.

He smiles warmly back at me.

"I wonder...." I began slowly, barely making a move near him. "Did you miss me, Tom?"

"Did you miss me, Rosalie?"

His voice is cold and callus, but it soothes something deep inside of me.

Then, I run to him without another thought, thinking of nothing and no one, throwing myself into his arms before he spins us around.

I feel the phantom hands, and for the first time I felt a slight weight to them—his strength clearly grows—I can feel his touch, however ghostly it may be.

When I am with him like this, wrapped in his arms, there is a matter of what feels as if the seasons are all swarming me, but another, much more important matter—it feels all too familiar, as if I, Rosalie Black, have known Tom Riddle in a lifetime, or a million.

Maybe even a trillion.

Tom pulls back from the embrace, setting me on the ground as his hands grasp onto my cheeks. 

"I did," I muttered. "Miss you, I mean."

"My Rosalie...it was a lonely two weeks without you, I must admit."

I laugh, letting it echo throughout the chamber.

"I wish I could bring you out of this place, let you see the outside world again." I wrap my hands around his wrist, almost too tight. It feels like skin, rough skin with a fleeting pulse of warmth buried beneath. "There is so much beauty this time of year, I want you to experience it with me. Somehow unhidden, un-secretively."

He sighs and he starts to stroke my hair out of my face. "You have a warmth I admire and despise all at once, but I...." He trails off. "Do you mean—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply. "You'll stay by my side when I leave here?"

I raise my eyebrows with a gentle smile, probably the most gentle he has ever witnessed. "Would you suspect anything else? I like to believe it'll be us against the world in every universe. However unfortunate that may be."

Something contorts on his face, as if he might not believe me. "Every life?" He grasps my cheeks tightly, painful tight—as if to bruise. "Swear it."

"Yeah," I begin, paying no mind to his flinch as I push a stray curl away from his brow. "I'll always find you, Tom."

end of flashback

       Her memory is interrupted by a voice she never suspected to hear again, a chill running down her spine as a presence settles behind her.

"Rosalie..."

Rose went stiff, refusing to turn around while muttering, "Not possible..."

"Well, you can choose to not believe in such," spoke Tom Riddle, still appearing as his sixteen year old self, but now with a slight sheen to his skin—as if he were a phantom in her mind once more. "But that would prove my high belief of your intellect wrong."

That condescending tone, that smirk she could feel without looking at him.

"You're dead!" Rose spat shakily before running a hand down her face. "I'm...I am losing my mind..."

His hand, with a golden ring on it, went to lay on her shoulder—but simply passed through.

He flinched at the action.

"If I truly was not here, would I know about the small scar on your right wrist...so faded it is almost impossible to see?"

Rose's breath hitches. "If I'm making you up, of course I would know about my own scar."

"Considering how much you've attempted to block me out of your head though I wonder—" Tom paused, and that smirk fades into a blank expression. Then, his face transforms into pure anger. "Why do you look confused at my rage, you foolish girl? Do you not recall?"

Her stomach drops.

How idiotic could she have been to think his ghost would somehow be okay with her? He truly is nothing more than a phantom inside of her head.

"Stop...stop...no..." She grabs at her chest, twisting her robes. "No....I...."

"You killed me," He grits out. "You, of all cursed humans, betrayed me."

She knows he is not actually there, but she says anyway, "You tricked me in every way a human can be fooled."

"I did not. If I was using you, Rosalie, then you would have carried that journal, you would not have known about my true origin. All you were was a mind I enjoyed," he says spitefully, like she is his curse. "Do not blame me that you stumbled upon a place you shouldn't have and met me—talking a million words at once with a idiotic grin. I never asked for this. I did not want this."

She goes silent, staring into his face.

She wants to remember here, this moment.

"I am here, Rosalie." Tom cocks his head to the side. "Whether you wish to believe me or not. I may be dead, but your foolish attachment to me gives this piece of my soul a cling to your world."

"Forgive me," she blurts out. "Let me bring you back. You can be a different person. I will do any—"

He cut her off with what she could almost mistake for regret written across his face, "It is impossible. Don't taunt me with such. It is too cruel, even for me."

"But I can find a way! You and me—"

"I said no, Rosalie," Tom spoke overtop of her in a demanding manner. "You cannot fix this. You cannot take back what you did. And besides, we..." He looked around, as if some timer was about to go off and take him far away—where she could never find him again. "Besides, we do not have long."

Her eyes close, a heavy weight on her chest.

"But you—...." This time Rose stops herself, she didn't need to say it, Tom knew.

"Will you allow me to hold on a little longer, or do you wish to make me suffer more?" Her words shot out full of venom, a disturbing weep sound escaping her lungs unexpectedly despite the snarl on her lips. "I'm not ready to never see you again. I am sorry, okay?! I am sorry for everything. Is that what you want to hear?! I am sorry."

His head turns away, as if he cannot bear to witness. "You must let go. Sometime soon."

"You don't get it," Rose snaps, her voice like a knife. "There has to be another way, you can change—I can change your future. Be a better man, be someone who does not cause harm. You leave me here to mourn someone who doesn't exist. Fix it."

"Parts of me still live, my dear Rosalie. You'll find me again." Tom attempts to smooth her hair back, and clearly not seeing a point in upholding their games when he no longer existed beyond their tether. He doesn't let his hand leave the back of her head, despite her flaring temper. He could not actually touch her, he looked as ghostly as the Hogwarts ghosts. "That is what you always used to say, is it not?"

"I don't want to find you if you are not a better man. A good man."

"Perhaps I will be, in another world."

Rose takes a deep breath, and then a deep exhale.

"Yeah," she mutters, turning to a lighter mood to cope. One laugh, that's all she needed. "But what if you're an ugly old man?"

Tom's lips twitch in amusement. "Then in the next life."

"Too long...."

"Not for us."

She closes her eyes, breathing in deep the wet air of the chamber.

And this time, when she opens her eyes, he is gone.

A glowing phoenix patronus stands before her.

The voice of Albus Dumbledore comes from the bird's beak, "Come to my office immediately. It is of the utmost importance you hurry, Miss Black."

*

         Rose made her way up the inclined steps to Dumbledore's office, Nyx hissing rapidly in protest as she did every time they came there.

"He is untrustworthy, Rose."

The Black heir could only laugh, Dumbledore had been like a father to her since starting Hogwarts and would never put her in harm's way—that much was for sure. Although Nyx had the best radar when it came to reading people, Rose was certain she was wrong about the headmaster.

From wandless magic lessons, weekly hangout sessions, the stock of acid pops he kept in her honor, Dumbledore was a pure soul to Rose and always would be.

Once reaching the office door, Rose swung it open without hesitation—making sure to put her best mask on first.

"Good evening!"

As the door slammed shut behind her, Rose found not only the headmaster behind his desk but Mcgongall and Professor Lupin sitting in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at Dumbledore. "Is this an intervention?"

Dumbledore chuckled in response, waving her over to the empty chair in between the two professors. "Of course not, Rose. I simply want to check on you, as you will see."

Rose scoffed, reluctantly taking the seat meant for her. "I don't need to be checked up on. I'm not a child anymore. Now, pass the acid pops."

The headmaster laughed once more, reaching below his desk before tossing a wrapped acid pop at her seamlessly.

"We all need a little checking in sometimes."

Rose raised her eyebrows challengingly, plopping the treat into her mouth as she flicks her wrist—making a stool fly across the room and land under her feet.

Mcgongall could tell Rose was attempting to ignore the two presences beside herself, casually kicking her feet up without a second glance to anyone.

Remus cannot help himself from asking. "You can do wandless magic?"

Dumbledore answered for her, "Since the end of her first year, Rose will be one of the most powerful witches of her age it seems. She's not yet fully capable of wandless, but it works well with small spells."

Rose gave professor Lupin a smug smirk, making him experience deja vu for the fourth time that day as she perfectly hides all the emotions just endured.

"So I guess you didn't call me here to gossip..." Rose broke the silence, clicking her tongue.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not....it would seem your boggart took three forms today."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't see how that matters to anyone in this room. It was no big deal."

Mcgongall began to protest, "You saw your grandmother doing an unforgivable, Draco Malfoy, and You-Know-Who! It is a big deal, Miss Black, and I will not let you downplay this!"

Rose looks up at her, shoulders drawing tightly together. "So what? And he wasn't Voldemort to me, Professor, he was a boy."

The head of Gryffindor shook her head in disbelief, muttering under her breath as Professor Lupin spoke.

"We are just concerned for you...First your father breaks out of Azkaban, your grandfather passes and—" He stops himself short, pulling an odd look from Rose. "I'm sorry but, is there something going on with your grandmother? You needn't fear speaking about it."

Everything inside of Rose dies out, and she shoots daggers with how hateful her gaze turns toward him. "You know nothing about my family. My grandmother is...is a good woman."

Lupin blows air out of his nose, full of sudden anger she cannot pinpoint the origin of. "I bet I know much—"

"That is enough, Remus." Dumbledore's voice cut him off, loud and powerful and surprisingly  angry. "Say no more."

Remus, who she now knows the name of, straightens up in his chair, unable to meet Rose's eye. "I apologize. I just mean...I just, well, I want you to know there are people in this school who are here if something were to happen."

"Thanks," Rose mutters, her jaw ticking. "But frankly I do not know you, and I don't need anyone from this school to help me. With anything, matter of fact. I love my grandmother, she has a good heart regardless of what you all think. She would never hurt me. Never."

Mcgonagall looked down at her hands, twisting them together anxiously with shame all over her face. "Please, Rose Dear, do not turn angry."

She hates when people treat her like this—as if she is some bomb about to explode.

"Has Mister Malfoy done something to you?" Remus blurted out. "Can you answer that at least?"

Rose said nothing.

"Can you please explain who Tom is? How is he related to Voldemort?" Remus asked quietly. "Why is he your fear?"

Dumbledore went to open his mouth, but was silenced by Rose beating him to it.

"Don't you dare, Dumbledore. I don't know this man, he doesn't get to ask questions about my life just because he's my professor."

Remus muttered to himself at her words, shifting uncomfortably as Mcgongall coughed.

Rose sat up straight, kicking her feet off the stool. "Let me clear up some things, I am perfectly fine with Orion being gone, and you—" She turned to Lupin, "Don't you dare call that man my father, he is no such thing."

Mcgongall reached over, moving some hair out of Rose's face. "But dear, we know....we know you went to the chamber after you left class."

Rose attempts to swallow the bile rising in her throat, reality hitting her in the face as she recalls Walburga as a boggart, Draco's face, and everything with Tom. "I don't know what you all want me to say, okay?"

Dumbledore sighed with a wave of his hand. "It's okay to miss him, no one is going to judge you for it. Tom was an extremely charming boy and a great manipulator....you could've not known he would be the most evil being."

Rose stood up abruptly, knocking the chair she sat in over and startling Mcgongall and Lupin at the same time. She shook her head, inhaling deeply.

"Rose," Dumbledore began.

She hissed, "He was just a boy too."

"Rose! Do not humanize him—"

"I am doing no such thing."

"You do not understand the evil—"

"I quite do!" Rose snapped. "I know of what he has done, I am speaking for the person he was before!"

Dumbledore inhaled deeply. "Rose."

"No, Dumbledore. I—I can't do this today."

Rose turned, rushing out of the room with urgency as Nyx peaks her head out from under the robe sleeve. She ignored the calls from both professors, and Dumbledore demanding they leave Rose be, as she slipped out of the room.

When she got past the gargoyle statue, Rose ran to the bathroom directly across the hall—swinging a stall door open before falling to her knees and beginning to throw up.

Sick, she was, because of the alcohol consumed. Sick because of Draco and her own endless war. Sick because she was forced to see Walburga at her one place of escape. Sick because everyone now knows her grandmother is her worst fear. Sick because she spent a year bonding with the darkest wizard of all time.

But most of all, sick because she needed Theo and Whitman and Blaise—badly.

Dear Merlin, help me.

I'm drowning again.

But then there is a voice in her mind, and it is taunting, full of fire and spite, something earned after years of hating the world. She knows it is not her own voice, nor her friends, although it is one she had heard not long ago.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before letting her head fall back against the stall walls, just as the voice began to laugh even louder.

'Have you seriously forgotten the truth?', the darkness in her mind whispered, and it was surely not the dead.

Before she could think, her hands were grasping at the toilet bowl once more, her guts spilling down into the drain.