A/N: This is, by no means, a healthy relationship. Be prepared for it to get fucked up. On another note, Evan Rosier became much snarkier than I originally planned.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Title: Perfection

Rating: M (for graphic violence and torture)

Pairing: Evan Rosier/OC


Chapter 2: A Bell Tolls

It didn't take long for Evan to get back into the swing of things.

Life at Hogwarts was as busy as ever. Between Evan's Head Boy duties, Quidditch practice, schoolwork, tutoring, and general school drama, he rarely caught a break. He sighed, collapsing into one of the leather chairs in the Slytherin common room. Halloween was fast approaching, and the snakes' humble abode was decorated with orange and black streamers, pumpkins that cackled whenever someone passed by, and skeletons that hung from the ceiling – Professor Slughorn had insisted. Wilkes looked up from his books – Transfiguration homework, Evan noted – and raised an eyebrow.

"You alright there mate?"

"Busy."

Wilkes winced. "With all the stuff you've got, I'm not surprised. Don't push yourself too hard. At this rate, you'll likely pass out, or something."

"Or something?" Evan smirked.

"You know what I mean. I don't know how you do it. I'd probably die from the stress."

"Good time management and a lot of patience."

"Still." Wilkes leaned back, burrowing into the couch. "It's good to take a break every once in a while."

"I suppose." Evan frowned, crossing his ankle over his knee. Wilkes grimaced.

"Come on, Rosier. Take some time to yourself. You deserve it."

"I have a lot to do, Wilkes."

"We're only here one more year. When's the last time you went to Hogsmeade?"

"Third year. If you'll recall, that's when The Pumpkin Pasty Incident happened."

"But I still went back."

"After a full year of nothing. And only after Avery bribed you with free blood pops."

"I'm still surprised you said no – they were free blood pops!"

Evan rolled his eyes.

"Anyways," Wilkes said, snapping his textbook shut, "You've been so busy with everything else going on, the others have started to get restless."

"I'm sure they can entertain themselves. They're not first years anymore, Wilkes."

"Yeah." Wilkes leaned forward and whispered, "But with that new Dark Lord on the rise…"

Evan glanced around the common room quickly. Most of the students present were busy with assignments, talking with friends, or keeping to themselves. None noticed the hushed tone which Wilkes was speaking in. Despite this, Evan shot the other boy a warning glare. Wilkes raised his hands.

"I'm just saying. They want to practice. DADA is a joke, after all. Besides," Wilkes winked, "We need our instructor to give pointers."

Evan sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Good man!" Wilkes grinned then stood from the couch and stretched. "Now come on, let's grab lunch. I'm starving."

Evan stood from his chair and smoothed out the wrinkles in his uniform as Wilkes packed his things. He then followed his fellow seventh year out of the common room.

Upon reaching the Great Hall, they took a seat at the Slytherin table and grabbed lunch. They were eventually joined by Mulciber, Avery, and Snape.

"Well Rosier?" Mulciber asked, plopping into the seat across from Evan. "We gonna practice later, or what?"

"What is this, an intervention?"

"Yes."

"No," Avery interrupted, "This is lunch. We can talk about that later."

Mulciber dramatically rolled his eyes, but let the matter drop. "Pass the chicken, Snape."

Conversation flowed between Wilkes, Mulciber, and Avery, filling the silence. Occasionally, Evan would contribute while Snape made non-committal noises. As Mulciber and Wilkes began bickering about the nature and evolution of chamber pots – how they got onto that topic was anyone's guess – Evan felt the heat of someone's gaze on him. He causally stretched, glancing about the Hall.

And there she was. The girl from the train.

An open book laid in front of her, her dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A half-eaten plate of food sat to her right and an empty cup of tea sat to her left. Her dull brown eyes, Evan noticed, would carefully scan the page in front of her before darting up to stare at him. He caught her gaze the next time she did so.

She smiled a thin smile before returning to her book. She didn't look at him the rest of lunch.

He felt her gaze as he left.

Suddenly, the girl seemed to be everywhere.

She watched him in the Great Hall, eyes unblinking, gaze unflinching, even when he stared back. Once, they had a staring contest that lasted ten whole minutes – it only ended when Wilkes pulled him into a discussion about racing brooms. When he looked back, she wore her typical thin smile that made Evan shudder.

They frequently passed each other in the halls. Once, Evan purposefully bumped into her and knocked her books to the ground, just to see how she reacted. His friends laughed and they moved on. When he turned back, she remained standing, staring as he retreated. Her thin smile burned into his memory. He walked to class faster.

She watched him play Quidditch. She sat in the Ravenclaw stands during games, writing in the leather-bound journal on her lap. But her gaze frequently shifted to him. His shoulders tensed when he felt her levelled stare – he became more aggressive in his plays, tossing the quaffle harder and faster, and coldly ordering Regulus Black to "Find that damn Snitch, already."

"Your admirer is staring at you again," Mulciber said, smirking. They sat in the library, working on various assignments. Wilkes glanced up. Beside him, Avery pulled at his hair, viciously biting his lip as he glared down at his Charms essay.

"She's real persistent," Wilkes remarked.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I mean, if you don't want her, I'll take her." Mulciber's eyes gleamed.

"Would you really, Mulciber?" Snape drawled. "She's muggleborn."

Mulciber's expression darkened. He shuddered. "Never mind then. You can keep her, Rosier."

As Wilkes questioned how Snape knew the girl's blood status - like it took a genius to guess - Evan glanced in the girl's direction. She sat several tables away, her books open in front of her. She twirled a quill between her fingers, tilting her head to the side when their eyes locked. He frowned.

With a crack of his neck and a sigh, Evan stood and packed up his things. "I'll catch up with you later." Throwing his book bag over his shoulder, Evan strode out of the library.

He didn't need to look back to know that she followed.

Evan darted through the crowds until he entered an empty corridor layered in dust. Armor sets lined the walls. The paintings that hung above them depicted macabre scenes of the torture muggles inflicted on witches and wizards during the late 15th century. Evan examined a picture of three hanged witches, swaying slowly in an imaginary breeze when he heard her approaching footsteps. She stopped beside him.

"It is quite rude to stalk someone."

"Yes. But how could I not?" Emotion flooded her voice. "You, Evan Rosier, are fascinating."

Evan looked down at her – she was at least four inches shorter – and saw her dull brown eyes lighten. She smiled.

"I have never seen someone so perfect."

He flinched. Turning on his heel, Evan walked – Evan Michael Rosier did not run; Rosiers did not run – back down the hallway as fast as he could.

Her tinkling laughter echoed behind him.

It reminded him of funeral bells.