DOUBLE UPDATE: THERE IS A
CHAPTER AFTER THIS

SEPTEMBER 22nd, 1996

Theodore Nott has been watching Rosalie Black for approximately five days, four hours, and twenty-three minutes. He has come to realize that the witch is either very unaware of her surroundings, or he and Draco are incredibly good at stalking. To the point where she has not noticed them once.

He has learned her routine well, at a cost. Everyday, at six in the morning, he is forced to wake up because of her. Her who at six on the dot steps out of her dorm with oddest looking shoes he has never seen. Then, while the rest of the school sleeps peacefully, she is trailing out of the Dungeons, clueless to the fact that he is right behind her in the shadows. Everyday, at six fifteen in the morning, Theo leans himself against a significant willow tree by the Black lake as she goes to the Forbidden Forest edge and begins running inside.

He has never followed her inside, lighting up a cigarette or staring at the treeline until she comes back out. For a minimum of thirty minutes she is always gone, but when she comes back she can barely breath, much less stand, and yesterday he even witnessed her spitting up blood. He would have had half the mind to rush her to Madam Pomprey if he gave a shit, which he doesn't. She could have died right there, it would have made his job much easier.

As of now, he stands against a pillar by the courtyard, after witnessing her push around her food for the entirety of lunch, with a cigarette between his teeth and his eyes focused on the black-haired girl in the distance.

Rosalie was in the dead center of the courtyard with Pansy Parkinson sprawled out on a blanket beside her hip, the Black's hands working Daphne Greengrasses hair into a braid as the blonde leaned into her. From this far away, and with the kindness on her face as she talked to her friends, one would think she was half-decent human.

But, he knows better.

*

It is hours later when the spell Theo had set at the exit of Rosalie's door goes off, a soft bell ringing inside his mind. He slipped on another trench coat and headed out of his dorm. Making it into the common before her, finding the witch walking toward the metal exit hole with a towel laid over her forearm.

He had never been one to think himself daft, and the idea that she was planning to disappear into the school pool was a dot he connected instantly.

Just when the metal, circular door was about to close, he followed right behind her into the corridor. With a silencing charm around his body, his steps were quiet, falling deaf on the witches ears.

With every two steps she took, he took one. With every corner of the Dungeons she turned, he turned. She seemed irritated, something he has noticed is more often for her than one would suspect. Her hands kept clenching and unclenching, reaching behind her blanket of hair and rubbing at her neck as if an ache laid there.

It is almost laughable to see her in a state different from her normal behavior.

They go further and further into the Dungeons, until they are at the very end of the last maze of a corridor, where barely any light shines, where a heavy wooden door stands, a snake carved into the pine. Theo remembers his second year, when a band of Slytherins decided they refused any other houses using the pool, which was meant for everyone.

Not many students dared to use it anyways, afraid of trailing their way too deep into the Dungeons and not finding their way out. And the pool itself held a dark, intimidating story, one of Gryffindor boys being tortured when they went for a swim. A crime that Evan Rosier was accused of doing, a crime they could never prove he nor anyone did.

How fitting, Theo thought as he watched her push the door open.

In proper timing, he waited a mere two minutes, checking his watch to assure time was up, before wrapping his hand around the rusted handle and slowly pushing his way in. The place itself had always been beautiful, he must admit.

Cobblestone ran across the flooring of the massively rectangular space, where the same shape but incredibly smaller had been cut out of the floor, filled full of glistening blue water. The mimic of a water hole one would find in a cave somewhere in the mediterranean, and it did feel like a cave, despite the twenty foot ceilings. With the flute columns five feet away from the water's edge, benches lining the walls behind the towering pillars. And light, the only semblance were the rusted candle holders that burned on the columns.

Rosalie was nowhere to be found, much to his pleasure, and the barely-there orange glow was a blessing in disguise. Granting him the ability to smoothly walk over to one of the middle columns on the left side, and dip his body behind it.

The echo of a door opening rang out, a sound he knew came from the changing rooms; something that made him rest his back against a stone column and face the shadows by the benches. He did not need to witness her in a swimsuit. In fact, he would be sure to avoid witnessing such.

He imagined the witch made it to the cobblestone steps inside, which held no railing, oblivious to the body only feet away from her. She hissed as her ankles were engulfed by icy water, comparable to a glacier. And then he heard a splash, as if her entire body had been submerged beneath the surface.

That is when he allowed himself to turn around and look out from behind the column, pleased to find her resurfacing, wiping water from her face. Maliciously, he smirked at her stupidity. There he was, watching her, and she still had no idea of the deep blue eyes lingering in the dark.

She takes a deep breath, and it is shaky, before soothing her black hair back. As the hair moved from her shoulder, the one closest to him, his brows furrowed. One of the nastiest scars, stained with black smudges of magic, laid cut into her shoulder blade.

How unfair, he thinks, that someone has got to her before he could.

The witch seemed to slouch more than ever, her sighs hollow as the fall wind outside.

He crossed his arms, forcing himself into relaxation, and did not dare to flinch or worry about being seen when she moved to the pool edge mere feet from him.

Her arms folded outside of the water and on top of the cobblestone floor, her chin coming to rest atop. His breath got caught in his throat as her eyes lazily dragged to his own, but no reaction showed in her eyes.

She could not see him.

But her eyes were piercing, even in such a tired manner, and he urged the Gods to make her look away. He does not want to look into her eyes, he does not want to know if there is any depth behind the sea of gray.

Not gray in a way that Draco carried, but gray in a literal sense of the color. There was no way for her to pass as a muggle, this much he was sure of, no natural born human could manage that color, and there was a glint of magic around her irises that would sell her out-speak truth of the ancient blood that crafted her this way.

He stared so intently, for so long, that his eyes burned, unblinking and determined.

But the Gods must be on his side, because she sighs again, and then turns around, sinking further into the water and tipping her head back against the pool's edge.

Theo does not waste a second.

He pushed off the column, his steps silenced by his own spells, and found her eyes closed as she rested. At once, he bent down, pushing the trench coat behind himself, and placing his hand on top of her head-shoving her beneath the water with unmatched strength.

She screamed underwater, the sound causing bubbles to rise, and with one large push of struggle, her head almost resurfaced. But Theo curled his fingers into her hair, slamming her back beneath the water.

Her hands grasped messily onto his wrist, her nails piercing his skin as she fought and splashed like a maniac. Theo let out a heavily aggravated grunt, using his strength to keep her down.

He brought his left wrist up, checking the time as she continued on. "Six more minutes, Princess," he taunted, shoving her deeper beneath the water, "And then it's lights out for you."

Her nails dug deeper into his skin, and he hissed.

"Little Black..." he tsked, tongue clicking as he stared down at her bubbles slowly disappearing, something that brought him joy, "You don't know when to give up, do you?"

Finally, her hands released him, and he believed she was about to start fighting and flailing her arms, but instead she reached behind herself where he bent down. Before he could even begin to realize what she was doing, her hands frantically searched the stone until finding his trench coat-giving such a sudden and powerful tug that she sent him barrelling into the water with her.

Theo felt his entire body become engulfed with liquid as he disappeared beneath the surface, reaching a hand down to the bottom and pushing himself through the water, toward the opposite side.

When he resurfaced, his eyes were still shut from the salt-water, and he barely managed to push his hair back before a heavy hand smacked against his chest, forcing his back against the stone edge with enough force to pull a grunt out of his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

And the hand remained there, a cool blade coming up against his throat within seconds.

His eyes peeled open, finding the dark-haired witch dripping wet with her eyes ablaze and pupils blown, rage all over her face as her chest heaved with each heavy breath. He glanced down at the dagger she held against his throat, before a breathless smile spread over his lips and he met her eye.

"Well. Hello, Black." He murmured, "Is it your turn to kill me?"

"What is wrong with you?!" she screamed, disturbance all over her face. When he didn't reply, continuing to smile at her, she dug the blade in deeper, drawing a thin line of blood around his throat. He hissed, and she screamed again, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Nott?!"

He tipped his head back, still completely breathless, and placed a hand over his chest. "Now hold on, you really got my heart beating, Black." He sucked in a rush of air, keeping his head back as he tried catching his breath, "Well, you see nothing was wrong. In fact, I was doing quite well when I thought you were drowning but," He stopped, dropping his head forward with eyes fluttering closed, "I didn't see-" He gestured between them, "I did not foresee this happening."

After, he wrapped his hand around her own holding the dagger, but she instantly pressed deeper and he was met with her warning glare. He held up his hand, dropping it back beneath the water.

He smiled sarcastically, before his face fell, a sudden picture of the darkness in his eyes that she saw in Potions the day they were paired up-the day she knew he was thinking of every way he could harm her.

His eyes narrowed. "So what's it going to be, little Black? You plan to kill me right here? Or...should we play a little game of cat and mouse?" Her brow furrowed, and he answered a question she did not ask. "You know, you run, I chase you, and if I catch you....well, I kill you."

"I'm not playing any of your fucking games, you demented psychopath," she spat, sending his eyebrows up. "What I should be doing," She moved closer, her cold breath fanning his chin, "Is slitting your throat open, until this entire pool is stained red with your filthy blood."

He glanced down at the dagger again, and then flicked his eyes right back into her fiery gaze. "I must confess, I did not think you had it in you, Black...." He trailed off, delighted as her nostrils flared. "But, you see, that will not work with me."

Before his hands could make contact with her shoulders and shove her back under, the blade slashed across his chest manically. At the feeling of a thousand hot needles splitting open his skin, he grunted and bowed forward.

His arm went across the diagonal, gaping wound, blood already spreading out in the water around him, along with the sound of her rushing away, fighting for her life in the most literal sense.

And by the time he looked back up, she was pushing herself up with the stone edge across from him. She whipped around once standing, the dagger dripping with his blood as her chest heaved.

"You're fucking insane!" she screamed, clutching at her heart that wouldn't stop pounding out of its cage.

"Yeah?!" he screamed back, "Says the bitch that just cut open my fucking chest!"

"Oh, oh," she laughed maniacally, no humor in the malicious sound as the dagger pointed toward him, "How about next time I go for your head?! Because I will kill you, you piece of shit!"

A snarl twisted its way onto his lips as the pain grew worse and she began backing up. And suddenly, she rushed away, heading to the door, and he yelled after her, "Go ahead and run, Princess! I'll catch you eventually!"

Over her shoulder, she screamed, "Fuck you!" Before disappearing out of the door.

"Fuck sake," Theo hissed, finally glancing down at his chest. Truthfully, the entire change of situation had been a shock, and his mind was reeling, barely able to compute what just happened, and the mass amount of blood now in the water, he thought, should be his main concern.

Slow clapping began ringing out, his head snapping up, eyes trying to find someone that was not there. He turned, looking behind himself. Nothing. He turned again, realizing the sound was coming from where he once hid in the shadows.

The clapping continued as the darkness unveiled Draco Malfoy carefully walking out, a glint in his eye that held masochistic delight. "Great work, Nott. Truly, great work. Very planned out." He leaned his shoulder into one of the columns, arms crossing as his eyes glanced at the bloodied water before flicking to the door the witch had fled to.

"Who would've thought?" Draco murmured, more to himself than anyone, "Killing her might be more fun than I imagined."

"How long have you been here?!" Theo snapped, "A little fucking help when that psychotic bitch was cutting me open would've been nice."

Draco sighed at the door. "I heard her tell Daphne she was going to swim later on, been here for a while."

Theo went to open his mouth, curse Draco out, but only a grunt came from his lips, the pain beginning to sizzle as if burned.

Draco's eyes snapped to Theo and narrowed. "How daft are you?" he spat, "Trying to drown her with no plan?"

"It's called getting things done. I wasn't going to wait another minute to put her down."

"No," Draco corrected, pushing himself off the column and casually adjusting his cufflinks. "It's called being messy. Learn the difference." He began walking toward the door, his chin held high and pompous as always.

"Yeah well fuck you. I didn't know people carried knifes into pools." Theo spat, "And where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"To see the chaos that ensues when she runs through the common room in that tiny little fabric." Draco laughed, sick and twisted. "And to go make sure Pucey doesn't find himself wandering to her dorm door at midnight again." He paused, glancing back at Theo. "Oh, and make sure you heal that. It would be a shame if we lost you to something as simple as an runfair knife fight."

*

When the next day came, right on time in Potions, Draco and Theo heard the unforgettable sound of a bang. Looking up, they found the Black sitting across from them, too busy pulling out what they assumed to be her own version of a journal.

But just as she laid the book down, her eyes snapped up to their own. Life sparked in her gaze, something that been missing.

Her eyes dropped over Draco's face before switching to Theo's, and she placed a hand on her chin, leaning on the table mockingly.

"You poor thing," she murmured, "Is your chest hurt, Nott?"

Theo almost jumped over the table, took out her oxygen supply in front of the whole class. But instead he stared at her, imagining every which way she could bleed out, and when his quill snapped-she giggled.

She actually giggled.

For the rest of class, Rosalie worked on her own potion silently, but every time Theo would touch his chest that was bandaged beneath the uniform, she would giggle to herself.

It was one of the most infuriating things in the world.