(p.s. when i started this rewrite i had made a huge change to the plot regarding whit and have been setting up a certain thing the whole time, but started to change my mind in fear of making it too reverse harem-ish but fuck it—we are going full blast because i want to...also, if Tom upsets you—cry, this is not a morally good story and never has been...anyways xx enjoy)

TW: spelling errors bc i did not edit

third person pov

After a few days of being locked in a room, the withdrawals were starting to truly come in like crashing waves. Rose had thrown her dagger at Tom too many times, attempted to curse him, and even tried setting the room aflame.

She failed at every attempt to make him fazed, only driving her more mad. Not once in her life had anyone been more powerful than her or more stubborn, but now, Tom Riddle was her—on steroids.

Against her pillows she laid, as she did all day, losing track of how long her eyes had been stuck staring at the fireplace as the clock above hit one in the morning. Every inch of her felt icy cold, but somehow she sweated.

She pulls the covers closer to her neck, muscles aching.

Nyx slithered beneath the door frame before moving up onto the bed, curling in front of Rose's face.

"You don't look so well..."

Truthfully, she did appear dead. Only getting up to puke, and now it had been hours since she even attempted to use the bathroom—eyes burning red from staring at the fire unblinking.

When no words left her lips, or even a glance was spared to the snake, Nyx nudges her head.

"The dark lord is back," Nyx hisses, "He is on his way up."

Minutes later, Tom walked in slowly, preparing for another curse, hex, or book to be thrown, but instead was met with a horrific sight.

She felt the bed dip, not needing to break her stare to know who it was. Nyx had already slithered away again, probably exploring the floorboards.

Sternly, Tom asks, "Have you not moved since this morning?"

Her head slightly shakes.

"You should have called for me,"

Her voice comes hoarse, "I didn't want anyone to see me this way. I have been throwing up all morning, and I can barely stand up without falling...it's pathetic."

"Your stubbornness," He scolds, pulling the covers back. His hand slips down her spine, pulling Rose into a sitting position and forcing her to face him. "Rosalie," He breathes out at her features, head shaking, "I'll help you."

He scoops her out of the bed. Guiding her into the bathroom, and waiting outside. As soon as she finishes, it's silent, but Rose tries shoving him away upon leaving—except she barely makes it a step before he's picking her back up.

Cradling her head into his chest with ease, Tom pulls the pillows up, and then he lays her against the headboard. When her hands reach to pull the covers up, he roughly smacks away her hands—moving the covers up himself.

Annoyance crosses across his face as he sits by her side, eyeing the look of disbelief in her gaze.

Rose glances down at her hands. "You smacked my hands so hard," She says, looking at him, "And I wouldn't be surprised if they bruised!"

Tom cocks an eyebrow. "I smacked at your hands?"

"And I wouldn't be surprised if they bruised!" She repeats.

He scoffs. "Yes well, thank you for the repetition."

"You asked for—" Rose stops, weakly clutching at her forehead. "I don't think I can handle sitting up like this,"

The world spins, whirling in circles, but his hand brought her own down, encasing it between his palms. She goes to protest, overshadowed by Tom speaking first, "Just breathe." He demands.

She listens, because there are no other options, and the weight of his magic is already flowing into her.

Inch by inch, limb by limb; the muscles beneath her skin relax, the ache in her brain subsides, and the motion sickness fades into a mere memory.

She sucks in a rush of air, eyes fluttering open as his hands release her.

Breathlessly, she asks, "How do you do that?"

He ignores the question at first, grazing his knuckles down her cheek in an attempt to feel how her body begins cooling down. Finally, "Magic gets to the point where you can bend it to your will, Rosalie." He says, "You won't need silly names for spells when you're defying nature."

Her hand catches his wrist. "I want to learn how,"

"I'll teach you anything you can dream of," Tom lifts her chin with his thumb. "A mind like your own should be nourished."

At this moment, she is reminded of Dumbledore, for some odd reason. Remembering every moment of the man raising her power in his image, and where she sits—in front of his enemy—feels as if she's committing the highest betrayal.

Rose fades off, sitting fully up, twisting her rings around. She should probably take off the one Whitman gave her, Draco's as well, and the two from Theo. It's haunting to stare down at them, a constant reminder that they will have to exist as memories. She can't think about it too much, barely at all without needing to throw up.

But thinking of Dumbledore, of what he would say if he saw her at this very moment—it's almost gut wrenching.

"Rosalie," Tom calls her attention, breaking the silence, "You didn't tell me you were mentally unwell."

Her head snaps up. "Excuse me?"

"Regulus brought your medicine today," He says, "You never told me you had a disorder."

She scoffs at his audacity. "And you aren't mentally screwed?"

Normally, his lips would've twitched at that. Instead, he stares blankly into her eyes. "I am not attacking you, Rosalie."

Her head shakes, muttering, "Sorry." She sighs. "Pretty shitty weakness, huh?"

"No," He says, "Not on you." Her eyes widen, and he goes on, somehow still sounding cold, "We are all twisted in our own ways, doesn't make you any lesser than and the sooner you realize that, the higher you will hold yourself—although, I will be sure to have those pills crushed into your detox. I don't suppose I can trust you to take them otherwise."

"S'pose youre right," She tilts her head. "Never thought I'd see the day where the darkest wizard of all time is carrying me into bathrooms and," She finishes off in a teasing tone, "Somehow easing my burning self-hatred."

Tom's lips twitch. "Never thought I'd stoop to such low actions either,"

A soft kind-of-smile casts across her lips.

Noticing a drop of blood on his otherwise pristine collar, she whispers, "I don't believe you're all that bad,"

Another flash of annoyance hits him as the same piece of hair falls in her face, forcing him to move it away while saying, "Oh Rosalie," He tucks the hair back. "You'd be foolish to think I am anything but."

"A fool I must be then." She says, sucking in a sharp breath immediately after, frozen by his sudden rough grip on her face.

His features set into stone, a mask of chill that she remembers all too well, but appears more intimidating with his age. "Do not mistake my care for you as any goodness residing in me,"

Still, she smiles, leaning closer in curiosity of how far she can push him. "Not even a sliver?"

"You find yourself humorous?" asks Tom, getting up from the bed. "Searching for depth I do not hold will ruin you..." He stands above Rose, amused by her gaze following him. "Did you not already learn your lesson all those years ago?"

In the most twisted sense, her smile does not waver. "What is it I like to call you? A God?" Her eyes glint at his towering frame. "They are fabled to hold depth, are they not?"

As if under the guise of a gentle touch, he smooths back her hair before pulling on the locks to tilt her head fully up. "I find it quite interesting that you would consider a monster, a god..." He leans down, against her ear whispering, "I would never refuse you though, the image of me bringing you down to your knees is an inspiring thought."

She sucks in a rush of air. "Then why have you not attempted to do so, my lord?"

"Because when you finally do fall down to your knees–I plan on keeping you there forever" He lets go all at once, straightening his coat out with a normal tone, "All in good time, Rosalie."

Stunned, and flushed, she looks up to his smug face.

His smirk seems to grow as he says, "Get some rest."

And then he is off, heading to the exit of the bedroom.

Recovering her voice, she yells after him, "Wait!" Tom pulls the door open, and turns around. Her throat clears, "Can you send Nagini up?"

"You spend too much time with her." He muses, "Surprising though, she cannot bare company normally."

"What is she?" Rose blurts out, the curiosity winning inside of her brain. "I mean, she's not a normal snake, and not close to being large enough to be a basilisk..."

Tom studies Rose for a moment, wondering if he should tell her the truth, and ultimately, he decides to do just that. "A Maledictus," He says, leaning on the door frame, arms crossing as her eyes blow wide. "I presume you know what that means?"

"She was a human?!" Rose gawks, "I knew it was something! Her voice–it sounds so feminine and just..." She trials off, hand coming up to cover her mouth. "That's awfully heartbreaking," She mutters, "How long has it been since she stopped being able to turn back into human?"

Tom rolls his eyes at her dramatics. "A long, long time, Rosalie. When I met Nagini, the blood curse had fully taken over and she was already stuck as a snake."

The information is making Rose's mind spin, in a good way for once. "How long has she been with you?"

"A long time as well," He remarks, and Rose became sure at that very moment, from the look in his eye, that Nagini might be the only breathing thing he actually cares about. "I met her right before I started gaining followers, and she has been with me ever since."

She breathes out, "Goodness,"

Tom lets a quiet, but deep, breathy laugh as he pushes off the framing. "I must be off," He says, his back facing her, "I'll leave the door open for Nagini."

Rose yells after him, "Try not to kill too many people! Remember, innocence is a real thing!"

He laughed again while walking out, that is until realizing it was her who made that sound leave his lips.

Easy to say, Tom immediately stopped laughing.

And Rose crashed back against the pillows, rolling onto her side, pulling the covers up once again. Her mind was obsessive, and her empathy was a curse in itself—meaning two things; she needed to know everything about Nagini, and she wanted to hold the former woman in her arms in a state of sorrow.

Suddenly, her problems didn't seem so big anymore.

To be doomed, to be stripped of femininity–of one's body–of one's ability to speak...It was an awful thought. Never would such a thing be fair, and Rose didn't believe anyone could possibly blame Nagini for seeking refuge in Tom, who was probably one of the first people she could communicate with, after learning the truth.

So deep in the wheels of her brain turning, Rose didn't notice how tightly she clutched the covers, or how Nyx curled up above her pillow, nestling in the warmth of her hair.

The door slams shut, and when Rose opens her eyes that had been squeezed closed, Nagini is by the bed, the snake's body long enough to close the door from here. It is now that she truly takes in the size of Nagini, more than twelve feet long, thick as a man's thigh, and head almost as big as her own.

Nagini's elegant voice floats into her ears, "You asked for me?"

Rose nods, lifting the covers up.

They do as they had done for days, Nagini slithers her way into the bed, and the mattress dips as she does, her head coming up to rest by Rose's. It isn't until every part of Nagini that can fit beneath the covers, the rest of her hanging out from beneath the silk, that Rose drops the blanket down, and circles her arms the snake, cuddling into Nagini like one would a human.

In parseltongue, Rose asks, "How was the meeting you dragged Nyx to?"

Nagini adjusts her head on Rose's arm, staring right into the young witch's eyes. "The dark lord does not want you to worry about such things until you are in better health."

Rose begins slowly rubbing the snake's head, "I am in perfectly fine health."

Enjoying being unfeared, Nagini eases, almost feeling human with the way they lay on their sides. "Do not lie, Rosalie." She reprimands, "It is a terrible habit."

The Black cracks a half-grin, "When can I roam the house? Did you at least pull that information out of him today?"

"Two days, he said you must be able to walk without falling first." Nagini hisses, "It would help if you'd eat."

She huffs. "Why does he care what I do? Worried his little chess piece might not make it to the actual game he needs her for?"

"He is different with you...Not because of your power like I believed," Nagini goes on, "You are special, Rosalie."

Rose frowns, and silence takes them over. She rubs her thumb beneath Nagini's left eye, breathing out a sigh. Nothing in her wants this to be about Tom, but about Nagini instead. Everything feels oddly calm, peaceful in the midst of a dark home, and with the fire burning and Nagini this close, she knows safety. Nagini appears to feel the same, calmly watching Rose's face express a million emotions.

Breaking the quiet, Rose murmurs, "He told me—somewhat, about your blood curse."

"Do not pity me, my witchling." Nagini speaks with hope, "I can see it in your eyes, and I am fine with how I am now...Although, I will let you question me before your brain explodes."

Rose almost squeaks, but her body is too warm and comfortable to express such excitement, and deep down—she believes there still has to be a part of Nagini that misses what once was—preventing herself from experiencing too much curiosity at the cost of stories of another's pain.

So, she begs a simple question, "Did you get to do things you wanted before becoming stuck?"

"Did I get to love, you mean?" asks Nagini, "That's the most valuable experience, is it not? The rarest experience, I would say."

An ache swells in the witch's stomach, to think of love, and losing. Haunting at best, the word love, a reminder that the feeling is something she never will have again. After everything that has happened, Rose will never show forgiveness for such lies and torment casted onto herself by the ones who taught her what love is—the ones who gave her love only to take it away.

It would seem that everyone she even considers to love is taken away, a never ending loop.

But Rose is sure, and her heart screams to have hope, that she can learn from Nagini. And maybe it is foolish, to have instincts telling her to never think of the boys again, while deep down she knows her heart will always be owned by them.

"Well, did you?" whispers Rose, "Love?"

Nagini pauses, not breathing for a split second. "I did." She says, quietly, "My family died young, and I never had anyone to protect me when I was taken prisoner for a circus during the time I mastered changing into my beast form, but also could not control the spradotic moments I would change. The trained part of me though–that is the reason I was taken prisoner."

"Gods," Rose breathes out, "They used you for money?"

"Yes," Nagini says, "But I met a boy there–a very odd boy...I don't think I would change my fate if it meant I would have never met him."

You loved him that much, huh? Rose wants to say. But instead, "Do you want to tell me about him? About what happened?"

Nagini gives a barely recognizable nod, too comfortable in her position. "I began falling in love, in a place where it shouldn't have been found, and we—we escaped together at some point."

"The circus?"

"Oh yes, but many things were going on during that time..." Nagini says, "Grindelwald was rising higher and higher in power and Credence, he..." She trails off.

"Was that his name?" asks Rose, "Credence?"

Nagini gives her form of a hum as an answer of 'yes'. "He had a very bad life, you must understand, stuck in an abusive orphanage and...by the time we met, he was an obscurial."

Quietly, Rose gasps.

She remembers, what small details, Dumbledore told her about his uphill battle with Grindelwald. According to the headmaster, there was a young boy at the time, one consumed with so much malevolent magic that he became an obscurial. Dumbledore tried, apparently along with Newt Scammander, to save the boy before the magic could poison him to death's doorstep.

But in the end, the boy went to side with Grindelwald, and eventually, he died—as every obscurial does.

"The wizarding world either pitied him, or saw him as a monstrous threat to be put down. I as well had been shunned from society, claimed to be a monster–holding a beast of my own inside." Nagini says, "To be loved, to be cared for, that is all one thing. But to be seen, understood in ways only someone with the same condition, the same power can fully comprehend—to drink the same poison as another...that is something more rare than love itself."

Oh.

Oh.

Rose doesn't like who she thinks of.

It is wrong—so very wrong.

Nagini manages a head movement close to a nod at the look on the witch's face. "You understand what I mean, I knew you would—even if I had to spell it out for you. I had loved others before, but this was an entirely different experience." She says, "I can remember, Rosalie, the first time that boy showed me his obscurial form...I smiled so big on that rooftop."

Rose swallows thickly at the new thoughts inside. "Were you not scared? To be around something that could so easily destroy you?"

"The most beautiful things are often the most terrifying." Nagini hisses, "Is that not what you said when we first met?"

The Black smiles with a twinge of sadness. "It is,"

Nagini nudges her chin. "After that, I–" She stops suddenly. "That is all I have the strength to tell for tonight. One day...one day I'll tell you how it all ended."

"Another day then," says Rose, "Or never. It is your story, tell it how and when you'd like."

"Sweet, sweet witchling," Nagini slithers her head into the crook of Rose's neck not pressed into the pillows, content when the witch hugs her tight as ever. "I know you must think me evil, but I am not."

"I do not think you are evil, Nagini."

"I need you to know, when I met the Dark Lord, he was the only person I'd been able to speak with in years, but I was no fool..." Nagini's tone goes soft, whispering, "I could sense the darkness around him, but I did not care, and I saw parts of Credence in him, similarities of their pasts....Although over the years I've begun to believe good and bad can only be defined by the person you're asking, I am aware the dark lord is cruel." A pause, "But he has protected, cared for, and never abandoned me...that is why I stand with him. Morality, my dear, fades into nothing when you learn to embrace the worst parts of yourself."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Rose promises, holding onto the snake tighter, "I believe...I believe I am slowly losing hold of my own morality."

"I will stand by you either way," says Nagini, a sacred vow. "Thank you, Rosalie."

"For what?"

"For listening."

*

On another night, much later, Regulus arrived with a small bag, and made his intentions of staying the night clear. Rose didn't fight him on this idea, no matter how much she wanted to. Sirius had been sending letters, all in which ranged from kind ones full of apologies, to one's claiming the reason he had been distant was the fact she killed her mother. Presumably, Rose figured that one in particular was written while drunk, and another apology letter would arrive in the morning.

Regulus didn't seem to be in much higher spirits either, whether that be dealing with four boys back in France who were losing their minds and asking to do unthinkable things to the Dark Lord in order to get Rose home not matter how much he assured them she was safe, or from dealing with James Potter; who had been being cruelly distant since Regulus started going to Deatheater meetings.

Either way, they were the last living Black's—family.

They needed each other equally tonight.

Silent company or not.

When Regulus mentioned Whitman's name, Rose broke into instant tears, and when he said Theo, Draco, or even syllables of their names—Rose sobbed. Rose, nor Regulus, knew whether to laugh or keep crying from how quickly the cries broke free, but eventually, the laughter turned into fully pained tears that the uncle had to coax away.

Now, in an all too comfortable silence, Rose sat dangerously close to the fireplace, her chin resting on the knee propped up, a blanket from Regulus laid across her shoulders.

He too sat beside her, closely, but facing the young Black, a look of bittersweet sadness across his face as he watched her eyes stare aimlessly into the scorching flames—her pupils bloodshot with anger and heartbreak.

Into the fire, breaking their quiet, she rasps, "I want you to help Theodore move in. Don't let him return to his father, or think I don't want him living there."

Regulus tries hiding his shock. "You still want him to live with us?"

"Obviously," She breathes out, half-tempted to reach into the fire and let the flames engulf her, "And Wh—the other one. Don't let him even think about leaving."

"Okay..." mutters Regulus, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Surprised you're okay with seeing them that much."

"I'm not," She informs, "But I think it will hurt them more to breathe under the same roof as me and be unable to lay a finger on my body for the rest of their lives."

Regulus sighs in sudden defeat. "Rosie, you have every right to be angry, but you cannot rightfully hate Theo nor Draco for not wanting you to find out...Whitman is everything to you, and they were simply saving you the heartache. Do not be unfair in this,"

"Maybe," She buries her chin deeper into her knee. "Maybe my trust for them two is not shattered, and maybe they really were trying to spare me, but I am sick to my stomach everytime I remember they have known about this for over a year and looked me in the eye—told me they loved me, and still kept his secret."

"And you don't think they felt sick about it as well? Hiding something so heavy on their shoulders just to keep you from feeling as you do now?" Regulus asks. "You have been through more than most people would go through in a hundred lifetimes, excuse me for not blaming them for wanting to save you from losing someone like Whitman."

"You don't get it, you never will." She says, still refusing to break her gaze of the flames, "You had good friends, somewhat, but nothing like I had. Regardless, none of the other boys will understand either." Her bottom lip shakes with an exhale. "Draco knows a lot, Theo knows almost everything, but him...Whit was the one I have not breathed a minute without since Walurburga took me into her care at the age of one." A pause, "He hid things I didn't want the others to know, kept secrets of what our family did to me on the worst of days when I didn't want to worry the others...there is not a moment of my life he has not learned every detail of. He played every part, from caretaker, to the one who I took care of, to my closest friend, to the protective man in my life, to the lover, and even foe—days where he challenged me constantly...."

Regulus stays silent.

"It is true, that I do not know and cannot live without him."

"So forgive him," Regulus begs, "You forget I have watched everything..I ask you to not be so quick to lose something so special."

"I can't." She says, so simply.

"Whitman did what he had to do to protect you." Regulus says, "Given, he did not have to purposely drag out my father's death, or stand there and watch, or even make it so brutal, but that is his own psychosis to deal with."

Rose sits up straight, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she finally meets Regulus's eyes.

A moment of staring at one another passes, and then she whispers a broken sentence, "I think I loved him."

Regulus smiles softly. "We know you love him, you have told him plenty."

"No, I—" She stutters, hesitating, "I think I might've been in love with him my whole life, Regulus."

Shock never passes over her uncle like she waits to see, or even a sliver of doubt to show he had not expected those words off her tongue. Regulus just gives the slightest nod of his head, and says, "I know, Rosie. I sat there and watched." His smile returns, and he needs to hear her explain. "When do you think you first...felt it?"

Rose doesn't know how to feel about someone recognizing the feelings in her before she herself did. It makes her breathing quicken just to think of telling another soul, of spilling the pieces that have clicked in her brain during the torment of these four walls leaving her to do nothing but think. But Regulus is family, and although Walburga's voice seethes in the back of her brain at the idea of loving yet another human, she exhales those thoughts away.

She tells him, tells him everything. Tells him about how it was her who Whitman ran to at thirteen when escaping his family. About being so persistent in staying as the one person was with him on every full moon despite the others wanting to take turns, none understanding why she was so adamant it be her, and regardless of being taught how dangerous and monsterly werewolves were, she only loved him more.

She tells Regulus about being fifteen and watching Whitman kiss a girl for the first time, and about how it made her feel physically sick. Tells him about her sixteen birthday, and how when Whitman pulled her into his chest she found herself nervous for the first time, about how that night, as they whispered while Draco's snores filled up her bedroom, she found herself glancing at his lips and wishing he would close the distance between them.

Tells him even more about how over the years, every time she'd watch another girl slip out of their dorm, or witness him even simply speaking with another, she felt an unspeakable amount of jealousy toward girls who didn't deserve her anger.

Tells him how when breathing the same air as Whitman, much more so when his hand brushes her own or his arm lay around her, that she feels warm even in the coldest of environments, and safe—as if she can rest her soul. Tells him how being around Whitman is the epitome of being wrapped up in a blanket, and being able to close your eyes without worries of the future—how every time she is away, she yearns to be in his presence with all of his comfort again.

"So it was soft then?" Regulus finds himself asking, "Falling in love with the gentleness of what you shared?"

"No." Rose hastily corrects.

There are some things she skips over telling Regulus. How it felt the first time Whitman kissed her, and every time after that. About how, for the first time, she was able to kiss and be touched by another boy without thinking of anyone named Theo or Draco. About how badly she yearned to touch him after he kissed his way down her body for the first time. About how every day since third year, she has found every waking moment by his side to exist as seconds where she internally begs him to kiss her again—to just see her instead of the girls roaming by. Although he never did, and she will never be those girls.

But Regulus asks for more, and she indulges him. Going on to say the first time she allowed herself, against better judgment, to really see Whitman. How when Whitman laughed that day in the corridor nothing else seemed to move or exist, and the light shining through the windows casted around his body in a way she would not ever forget. Babbling about the scars on his skin made in the way a painter strokes its canvas, and every slight brush of his arm against her own made her lose track of her words.

She doesn't realize it, but by the time Rose makes herself stop, Regulus is reaching over to push away the stream of tears on her face.

"I think the night I found out about Blaise and him is when I finally let myself admit it—internally at least..." She sniffles, "I tried, Reg. I asked him to confirm if i was being crazily stupid or if what was happening between us meant anything but he," Her voice cracks this time. "He said it didn't."

It is not Regulus's place to tell her the truth, no matter how much he wants to, and he doesn't know what to do in this kind of situation. Their story is tragic, he thinks to himself, two people living unaware and with their awfully dark history—the thought makes him feel sick as well.

With nothing left to do, Regulus pulls her into his chest, cradling her head with words of sorrow as she cries.

"I just want him here,"

"I want him to be the one comforting me but he can't because I hate him and I hate him even more for making things this way,"

"I hate him more than anything,"

"I don't want to love him, or any of them,"

"I hate everyone now and I,"

"I just–"

All the different pleas flow from her mouth at different times, and Regulus holds her through it all.

*

The next morning was enraptured by chaos, and womanly rage.

Whether it be withdrawal symptoms, or the grief of losing love and betrayal—Rose was physically ill.

Regulus had just attempted to read with her for the tenth time until she threw another spell, knocking him back onto the couch.

He huffs, slamming the book closed. "I am very close to losing my mind here, Rosie."

She hastily wiped the tears from her face, pulling a pillow out from behind herself. "Please," She begs, "Just go away!"

Regulus walks over to her cautiously know he is a strong wizard but nothing even close to her strength and frankly, he was not in the mood to have another blood boiling hex thrown at him—she had done it merely ten minutes ago. "Rosie, just let me call the Dark Lord..."

Her head snaps to him. "If you do, I will have your tongue!"

Regulus crosses his arms, feeling sickened as he looked at her tears. "He is not busy right now, Rosie. All he has to do is put that spell on you and you'll feel so much better."

"Get out!" She shouts, "I don't need fucking help!"

His eyebrows raise. "I'm calling him before I strangle you"

Rose let out a choked sob, "If you love me—if you love me at all, then you'll leave!"

Regulus took another step in her direction, flinching as she chucked the glass of water by her nightstand at his face—barely missing his skin and shattering on the ground. His eyes fell close, "Fine, Rosie. I will go."

Angrily fumbling the covers, she stood up before grabbing Regulus by his collar and dragging him to the door. "Then get out!" She shouts, "Get away from me!"

Sighing as the door slams in his face, body shoved into the corridor, Regulus flinches as sounds of other objects breaking inside the room reach his ears.

Obliterating his promise of simply leaving, Regulus heads down the staircase with a plan of getting the Dark lord.

He stopped by one of the opened doors to a lounge room, hesitating before peeking inside. There he found Tom leaned against a wall as he read some report on the table in front of himself.

With a blank stare, Tom glances over until another crash echos through the house and he holds up his hand toward Regulus. "Give her five more minutes and the fit will cease."

Regulus lopped his arms behind his back, taking another hesitant step inside. "With all due respect my lord, this one will not. Ros—My niece has refused to the drink the detox from this morning or the calming draught you put a spell on. She is not well physically because of it and I believe she is having one of those blackouts I warned you off."

Tom clenched his jaw tightly shut, eyes raking over Regulus in scrutiny. "And why did you not force her? Rosalie is stubborn, this you must know by now."

"As I am a powerful wizard my lord, she is much more so. She put a hex on me every time I tried,"

Pushing off the way, Tom begins walking toward the Black in a way that makes him tense, "Do not let her trickery fool you—she asked you to spend the morning with her to avoid being forced into taking the measures needed for recovery."

Regulus gave a curt nod, stopping when Tom placed a painfully tight hand on his shoulder. It was unsettling, the only way to describe being touched by such an evil force.

"Go home, Regulus." Tom demands, his voice cruel, "And, stop letting your heart for her make you blind to her tricks."

Upon arriving to her door, something crashed against the door, and he was left with no choice but to open it up with force; something she had thrown blocking his path.

Rose existed as the epitome of a mess, trashing everything as cried—mood worsening when she saw him—anger flaring to new heights. She raised her hand almost immediately, throwing the Cruciatus curse at him.

Without moving his hands, or anything, Tom blocked the spell, as well as shutting the door. This contained on for minutes—her throwing any curse she could think of toward him—him blocking every spell so easily it was outrageously—her stepping closer and closer while calling him every profanity known to man.

When she breathlessly paused to wipe her flowing tears, Tom titled his head.

"I can see it in your eyes, Rosalie. You're not done." He gestures her closer. "Continue on—get it all out of your system."

After closing the three-foot gap between them, Rose decided on hitting his chest repeatedly instead of using magic, screaming, ""I hate you! Locked me in this room and made it to where the killing curse doesn't work! Nothing fucking works!"

With a tighter jaw than ever, Tom stayed still, taking every hit as she let out a sob.

"Why won't you let me fucking die?! You need your little pawn alive? Fuck you!"

When he showed no reaction to her violence, she let out another sob while looking up at him.

"Why won't you fight back?!" She shoved him with all of her might. "Fight back! Fight me back!"

All at once, Tom grabs onto her wrists tightly, forcing her to struggle against his hold. He speaks sternly, "Stop, Rosalie. You do not scare me, and you are not going to hurt me."

Her head shook, appearing more broken than he had ever seen as her attempts to break free began weakening.

"I don't—" Her voice cracks, "I don't want to be yours or anyones chess piece anymore...why—why can you not just let me leave?!"

His body moves on its own accord as he pulls her into his chest, holding the Black tightly against himself. She hits his back, attempting to get away while speaking through her tears, "Let me go!" Right after the words, she gave up on hitting him, instead grabbing onto his shirt tightly as her voice shattered again, "Let me fucking go!"

Tom almost replied, but her legs began to give out, her body sinking, and he made a idiotic decision to sink down with her—pulling the girl into his lap with ease before grabbing the back of her head—confusion hitting him. Was this affection? What she wanted? He truly did not know for he had never done such a thing, or received such.

She holds onto him as if he is the only tether to this reality she has.

A silent answer to his questions.

Don't go.

His fingers weave through her head, face dropping close to her ear, "You are not a chess piece, Rosalie." His voice is firm, "You are so much more than that."

Tom tilted his head back against the door, continually soothing her hair. "Do not speak foolish questions you know the answer to,"

Daring to put her ego aside, "Will...you do the spell, Tom?"

As if it could tighten any further, his jaw clamped at the usage of the name he wanted to rip off her tongue. When the spells begins, he says, "You need not ever ask for such, Rosalie."

Now it was her turn to wish the chance to rip the name she so hated off his tongue.

But the magic flowed into her all too calmly, like a sinners stolen kiss, and she found no fight in herself.

Tom on the other hand did not understand who he was in that moment—being gentle and having a sliver of himself wishing for her to not move.

He did not comprehend who he was in that moment, being gentle and a part of him yearning for her to not move. Reluctantly, he began pulling his hands away, but stopped as she spoke, "Don't—please."

He stayed silent, letting his unexplainable urge take over and resume onto holding her.

She wondered how she could feel so safe wrapped up in the arms of the man that would forever be known as the worst to exist—but she did, feel safe. He was, and even more so now, nothing comparable to the darkness she spoke of others having.

For an oddly long amount of time, Tom let her stay clinging to him, but when he stood up, Rose gave him widened eyes—worried he might be planning to throw her across the room.

He sat her on the couch before walking toward the fireplace, yanking a blanket from the metal rack and tossing it straight into her face.

She yelps, fumbling around until scowling at him as her head pops back out.

"What an awful sound that just came out of your lungs,"

"You just threw that blanket in my face!"

"The dramatics will always be very unnecessary, Rosalie." He says, attention snapping away and onto the flames as he leans next to mantle. Silence casts over them when his arms cross, one shoulder pressing into the stone surrounding the fire. Rose curls herself into the corner of the couch with a huff, tucking her legs beneath herself.

She dreads the moment he leaves, because then she will be alone again, and being alone doesn't feel good right now.

But he doesn't appear to be in a rush, and that makes her muscles relax.

"Could you stop standing like that?" She shouts out, covering her mouth immediately after.

Tom cocks an eyebrow in her direction. "Do explain how my way of standing irks you,"

"I'm the dark lord!" She mocks, "Tense and relaxed all at once!"

His lips twitch before settling into a smirk. "Do go on, Rosalie."

"You could very well be driving me mad!"

His shoulders roll back, "Tell me more."

She purses her lips together at once. "Wipe that smug look off your face! It's not funny!"

"I find my many things you do humorous," He muses.

"Usually you would say quite the opposite."

A breathy laugh escapes him at that.

Rose smiles momentarily, but as the quiet comes again, her sadness sweeps back in.

"Rosalie?"

"Hm?" She looks, finding his gaze focused on the flames dancing in shadows.

He is beautiful this way, stoic and distant.

"Why did you ever involve yourself with such drugs to begin with? I cannot seem to decipher the answer."

Shocked by his question, "Huh?"

Tom does not move. "Why, Rosalie?"

It is answer she doesn't know why she gives.

"I think...I believe the first time I tried them was the first time I could breathe." She murmurs the words, head tilting as he refuses to look in her direction. "I am not happy person, Tom. Every moment of joy I've ever experienced is always fleeting. I see people sit still, go on about their days, and I wonder if there is ever silence inside their minds—because mine never goes quiet. I want it to be quiet for mere seconds, but it is not possible."

"And what of now?" He asks, "It is an awful thing to do them to begin with, but you could barely walk when I came for you."

She scoffs to the side, balancing her chin on a hand. "I don't want to live anymore," She says, truthfully, "Everything I've ever done has been for them. I don't have anyone to live for now."

She feels his hand pulling up her chin before seeing him before herself, the shadows coming with.

His knuckles brush down her throat with two words, four words that should never come out of his mouth.

"Then live for me."

He awaits her tear to drop, and when it does, he wipes away the stream.

It is a peculiar thing, to have the devil care for you.

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A/N: hello my loves!! i feel so awful abt being MIA!! i was dealing with some stuff and logged out bc of some hate comments that kept annoying me at the wrong time but did not know so many of you would message me or anything...I'll be sure to give a warning next time because when i saw i was feeling so guilty omfg super sorry to you all <3 thank you guys for checking on me mwah mwah mwah

—Whit????? I NEED THEM TO REUNITE

—Nagini backstory </3

— Tom "you didn't tell me you were mentally unwell" Riddle ... i wheezed

love and missed you guys

xx bri