Cold-blooded- (adjective): To lack of compunction. Remorse. Emotion.

Those silver eyes glinting with unfathomable callousness should have been enough of a warning. Enough to signal the alarms. And it was- she knew she should stay away. Far, far away.

But damn her curiosity, because how could she? How could she abandon the millions of questions swarming in her head, begging to be answered?

A rather simple answer-

She couldn't.

And she was well aware that if she kept up this odd behavior of hers, she would pay deeply.

"Now, can anyone briefly explain to the class what Felix Felicis exactly is?"

Rose's hand shot up, the only one doing so. A few sniggers and side remarks could be heard from the Slytherin side of the Potions classroom, but apart from that, the class remained silent.

"Yes, well perhaps someone who hasn't spoken up yet?"

The silence stretched, earning a sigh from Professor Slughorn. "Alright Miss. Weasley, give us your best."

"Felix Felicis. Also known as 'Lucky Liquid,' Felix Felicis is a potion of low viscosity that appears in a molten golden like shade. It serves the purpose of making those who consume it fortunate for a certain period of time. Anything attempted would result in triumph. In other words, it's a potion that blesses good luck. However, as much so as many other potions, it comes with perilous and even death-bringing consequences if abused. For one-"

The sound of the door thudding open had momentarily distracted her. She knew before she even turned around who it would be. Only four hours ago was he trembling in ripped clothes stained by blood, and yet here he was, appearing just as he had everyday for classes. Clean, neat Slytherin uniform. Tousled hair, middle parted with a few blonde stands hanging in front of his eyes. Bored expression- nothing new. Almost healthy looking. But she could see the bruised knuckles now that the blood was washed away. And the scratches, just barely visible thin, red lines skimmed down his neck, lost behind the collar of his shirt.

Albus stood besides him, both of them huffing slightly as though they had just been running.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. How nice of you boys to join us-" Professor Slughorn stopped short to look at the clock above him. "-fifteen minutes after class had started."

"Apologies, sir."

How could he act so casual? Or worse- who's to say he's even acting? What if walking out of a transformation half covered in blood was just a regular occurrence for him?

"Don't you boys apologize to me. Miss. Weasley here was the one interrupted."

Why, oh why must he put her on the spot like that?

Her cheeks tinted a faint red as Malfoy's eyes snapped to hers. Sharp and focused.

"Sincerest apologies, Weasley." He drawled, sounding in the least bit sorry.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, Rose." Albus added shortly after, flashing her one of his signature sheepish smiles.

She could only nod her head silently, feeling a sense of uneasiness wash over her as those gray eyes remained on her.

"Having got that out of the way, I suggest you two pull out your textbooks as the rest of the class has. Page one hundred twenty-five. Lesson one of Felix Felicis. Oh- and ten points off Slytherin."

"Ten? Slug- Professor. Slughorn, we can explain-" Albus started, but was cut off by the potions professor.

"No need." He sighed, waving his hands dismissively. "Just sit down and do try not to cause any more disruptions."

Albus let out sigh, grumbling something incoherent under his breath as he and Malfoy walked to the back of the classroom.

"Miss. Weasley, please continue."

"Er...yes, um, Felix Feliscis. It's risky in reckless hands as overwhelming amounts is extremely poisonous. And quite often, people don't even perceive themselves as foolish enough to do so, and end up finding themselves enticed to such a miraculous potion." She stopped for a brief moment, casting her eyes down to the loose thread hanging from her robe sleeve. "And given time, they become so subconsciously prevailed by their cheated success that they gradually increase their doses to toxic levels. By magic's nature, this is bound to have perilous effects."

"Very well explained! Ten points to Gryffindor."

Rose smiled, adjusting in her seat.

"Sometimes I like to pretend that I understand half the words that come out of your mouth." Dominique whispered from besides her.

"Now that Miss. Weasley has so kindly provided us all an informative introductory, I would like for you all to take this class time to get a start on your homework. Read all five chapters and have a short essay on your understanding of this potion ready by our next class."

Groans chorused throughout the classroom.

"When I see everyone Wednesday afternoon, you should be ready to brew your potions. Or at least attempt to." He finished, waving a dismissing hand as he sat back down. "Go on. Those chapters aren't going to read themselves."

The sounds of papers flipping and whispers across the classroom queued Rose to begin her reading, which she was particularly enthusiastic about. Not only was the idea of brewing Felix Felicis exciting but it was also a great way to get her mind off a certain blonde boy sitting only a few rows back from her.

It baffled her how her brain could actually be trying to justify what he did- or at least what she can only imagine he did. That small voice in her head seemed to be overpowering each and every good sense she had left.

He wasn't in control.

It's in lycanthropes nature.

He must have been threatened.

But despite what she told herself, the image of him was still there. Each time she blinked, he was there. Blood soaked cotton shirtfront. Tired and frail but almost...almost thrilled.

Rose shuddered, forcing her mind to go elsewhere- someone less daunting.

It was no use.

And her. How could she still be putting up with this? With him? One talk with McGonagall and he would finally be out of the picture- but at what cost? Something about this- about him- was just so- so...good God, she didn't even know what it was about him. What made her feel this need to study him, understand him. Why he does the things he does, acts the way he does. She doesn't know anything. It all just ties back to her burning curiosity, demanding to be fueled. And taken on with her stubbornness, she was determined to do so.

He was indecipherable. Closed off. Always has been. As far as she knew, people were intimidated by him. No one dared cross his path- and if they did, it never ended good. And it was quite clear he didn't want her in his.

She would stay away from him. For her own good, she would stay away.

One week.

That was how long it had been since she had any sort of interaction with him. She had done well listening to her common sense- not a look his way since.

She sat on what was once a luscious patch of sprightly greensward, now carpeted by the shriveled grass and a meld of amber and yellow leaves. Leaning against an absurdly thick tree trunk with her head down as she read the book in her lap.

Red curls flew in her face as a breeze of wind blew past. She shoved it back. Not a minute later, another puff of air swished her hair into her face. She groaned, pushing the thick lock of hair back again.

Having such unruly hair nothing but a curse, she thought to herself.

Her mind stayed back to the book lying open in her lap. It was a good story so far, The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. Growing up, it was one of her mum's favorite muggle-written fictions.

There was just something about classic stories by muggles that fascinated her to limitless ends. They were dreamers, believers of what is deemed as the unthinkable- at least in the Muggle World. They poured all of their fanatical hope into thin ephemera pages, and she absolutely loved reading them.

A gust of wind makes its way past her, flipping the pages of her book back a few pages and blowing her hair into her face. She makes an exasperated groan as she abruptly pushes her back.

It's then that she notices.

There's a boy standing against one of the trees barricading the entrance of the Forbidden Forest, his figure vague in the distance between them. It's not hard to identify him. White blond hair. The casually tall and proud posture. Black school robes, outlined with emerald, neatly tied together by the green tie hanging loosely from his neck. Porcelain-like pale skin. Nothing but half lidded eyes and a thin line shaping his lips.

Malfoy didn't seem to care that she had caught his eye. In fact, he was so unresponsive that Rose would have thought that he didn't even notice her catch.

But he did. Ever so still grey eyes focused on her for what could have been minutes or simply mere seconds.

She thinks back to the promise she made to herself and looks back down to her book.

One week and two days.

Malfoy comes to potions class fifteen minutes late.

One week and four days.

Nothing but glances his way every now and then.

No interactions. Good. How it should be.

One week and six days.

She notices four fresh scarlet marks peeking up from his cotton collar, scaring down his neck. Scratches, laying over his now faded ones.

The full moon has yet to come- she rules out the possibility that a werewolf had done it to him.

Two weeks.

He drinks his tea black every morning.

Two weeks and two days.

Can a lycanthrope transform without the influence of the full moon?

She'll have to do some research on that.

Two weeks and three days.

She did some rather extensive reading.

Yes, they can.

Two weeks and five days.

More scratches down his neck.

Three weeks.

She crosses October the twenty-fifth off of her calendar.

Seven more days until the full moon.

Three weeks and one day.

She sees Malfoy walking out of a broom closet with Alexis Yaxley.

Not sure why her stomach suddenly feels fairly heavy.

Three weeks and two days.

Her curiosity had won.

She was sitting in the dimly-lit library, the only form of light being the thin sliver of moonshine sneaking out of the window. Somewhere around two, three in the morning? She's not too sure.

But this wasn't out of the ordinary- she had been sneaking out past curfew to sit in the library for quite some time now. In there, she read on and on about lycanthropy. She figured it was best to do this when no one was around. No one there to catch on to anything rather...suspicious, as reading scrupulously for hours may seem.

She was reading a primeval chronicle about lycanthropes, so old that she had spent as much time reading the pages as she had to flip them. It was interesting; full of ancient tales and theories.

That was why she was reading them- because they were interesting. It had nothing to do with learning more about Malfoy, she told herself.

When her eyes began to flutter close in drowsiness, she closed the book. Held it firmly in her hand and walked around the bookshelves and out the entrance, careful not to awake the portraits.

It was when she reached the fifth corridor, not too far from the Hospital Tower, that something made her stop.

A faint groan, or something of the sort. This late into the night, early into the day, no one should be wandering around the castle.

She follows the echoes. It unexpectedly leads her to the door of the prefect's bathroom.

She knows who's behind the closed doors. It's a gut feeling, an intuition, an illogically rational suspicion. What she doesn't know is what he'll be doing there. That's why she opens it.

And by God does she regret it. Regrets every action that had led her to this lavatory, on this corridor, at this time. Regrets it all.

His back is facing her, though she can see his face through the mirror in front of him. He stood in the farthest end, leaning over a running sink. Eyes closed. One hand against the wall, the other...she's not sure. Grasping his neck, it looks like.

He doesn't notice her at first, despite the fact that he should have been able to sense her smell by now. No, at first, he stays still, breathing calmly as his hand holds his neck. Tightly, it seems. Knuckles growing white.

It's when she lets out a small gasp that his head snaps up. His eyes dart to her mirrored figure in milliseconds- no, faster.

When her hands fly up to cover that clumsy mouth of hers, it's too late. Her eyes widened. The book falls out of the hand, a thud following shortly after.

Regret, regret, regret. And something else. Something she can't quite place.

But she can't move. Just keeps staring at the mirror, pictured with a disheveled blonde boy and herself. Only them.

And he's glaring at her. Hard.

"And to think that you've finally fucked off."

His voice doesn't match his eyes. It's calm. Subtle. But somehow far, far from soothing- the opposite.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

He hadn't turned around yet. Still conversing through the rectangle mirror hanging above the sink.

She opens her mouth. Tries to speak but nothing comes out. She clears her throat and tries again. "It's far past curfew."

"Is it?" Calm. So terrifyingly calm.

She nods her head. Doesn't trust herself enough to speak. And she doesn't even realize that her hand had slipped into the pocket of her school skirt, grasping her wand around her fingers.

But he does. His lips curve up ever so slightly.

"There is this epigram that you muggles have. Curiosity killed the cat." He takes his hand off the wall to adjust his tie. Stands straighter, enunciating the foot taller he was than her. "Sound familiar?"

Yes. Her mum hated that quote.

"I'm not a muggle," is all that comes out.

"Close enough."

She grits her teeth. "Malfoy, if you don't go back to the dormitories, then I'm afraid I'll have to give you detention.

"Are you forgetting that I'm a prefect as well?" A small smile played on his lips provokingly.

"I- no. No, I haven't. Prefect or not, you can't be..." She trails off when her eyes drift to his neck. "...be..." He's still holding it, a bead of scarlet sliding down a pale finger. "...at two in the morning..." She murmurs.

"I suppose so."

He turns around. Pulls out his wand and twirls it around his middle digit in that slow, iniquitous way she hates. His eyes drop down to the book laying beside her feet.

"Atrocious." He says tepidly, his voice echoing off marbled walls with no emotion.

Her eyes finally leave his neck to meet him. "Huh?"

"Atrocious. That's how they illustrate us. Or, me, I should say." He huffed a laugh. "Not that they're wrong, per se."

She's not quite sure why she says it. Perhaps to defend herself for reading it. "I don't think like that."

Grey eyes belt up to her. And for the briefest of seconds, she swears she sees something flash in them. But he's quick to clear his face of all emotion, nothing but a quirked brow to emphasize his boredom. "Is that so?"

She makes an odd sound from the back of her throat, intended to be a 'yes.'

He tilts his head to the side, bangs of blonde falling onto his forehead. Takes one step forward. "You disagree? You don't find werewolves to be rather...savage? Brute?"

His tone echoed off the walls in the momentary silence, still calm but sharper. Colder. Interested.

She finds that she had been staring at him for too long without an answer. She straightens; attempts to be more confident than she appears. "Not you."

With a sardonic grin that makes her stomach squeeze into knots, he chuckles. Wand still spinning so gracefully around his fingers. "And they call you the brightest witch of your age- after your mother, I suppose."

She narrows her eyes. "Are you implying something, Malfoy?"

"Of course not." In a swift movement, he flicks his wrist towards the door behind her- the lock makes a click.

Almost instantaneously, she reaches for the golden knob to her side- pulls, but it doesn't budge. Her eyes widen as she looks at the closed door then back the boy smiling from across the room. "Malfoy, open this door," she demands, though the shakiness weakens her tone.

"Surely you're not afraid of being alone with me then, no?"

She could feel the numbing in her right hand, the blood circulation to her fingers cut off as she grasps her wand impossibly tighter. Subliminally takes a step back just as he takes one forward.

His brows furrow mockingly. "Is there something wrong, Weasley? Something bothering you, perhaps?"

She shakes her head. Takes a step back. "You open this door right now."

Malfoy takes another pace. "Something making you feel...uneasy?" And another. "Uncomfortable?"

With each step forward, she begins to take one back. Her hands tremble, voice quivers. "No."

"Speak up," he demands, a sudden shift from his previously belied calmness.

"No."

She stumbles back further- away from him.

"No what?"

"No."

Voices booming louder, thundering off the marbled walls. Stepfalls grow faster; what started as her timid steps adapted to little trips over her own feet as she staggered back. She sucks in a breath as her back hits the wall. Swallows hard as she realizes what she had just done- cornered herself, all alone in a room with Malfoy, who was now barely a foot away from her.

And when her hand finally pulls out of her pocket, arm extends out of reflex to draw her wand out, he's there. Right there.

But she's distracted again- asking herself of when he let go. Why he let go. Dried beads of scarlet drew down his neck. Shallow grooves, just a centimeter deep, ran down from the edge of his jaw to beneath his shirt. Some curving towards his nape, as well. But it's the tip of her wand that's digging into one of the scratches, prodding into his flesh. She gasps. Tries to snatch her arm back but icy fingers shackle around her wrists, holding them in place. And with the slightest bit of pressure, he pushes it deeper. The paper-thin stitches of skin that had just begun to seal his score broke open.

"Stop it," she whispers.

He ignores her. Applies more force. She watches in horror as fresh droplets of his blood run down his neck, bleed through his shirtfront.

"Stop it."

She tires to wrench her arm back, but his hold is too strong- almost bruising. And when her eyes manage to work its way up- away from what he was making her do to him, she sees it. Sees it in his eyes, dancing like wild flames. It sets alarms blaring her head, because it's grey eyes shining bright with jubilance at her, as though he's enjoying this. Enjoying the pain she's causing.

"You sadistic bastard," she gasps out- feeling somewhat suffocated. There's just too much. Too much.

It was barely a whisper, though she knows he heard her. Confirms it when he huffs a laugh. And he's driving her wand in just a little deeper each second, eyes never leaving hers. So focused on her.

"Maybe so."

A seemingly rational thought hits her. She pries her fingers off the wand, hearing it's clatter between them. Only then, did she realize that it wasn't as logical as she thought.

Because now, there is nothing to separate them.

"And how about now?"

He takes two paces forward- just enough for the tip of their shoes to meet.

And her whole body is trembling at their proximity. She refuses to meet his eyes again, refuses to be greeted by the pure sadism blazing in them. She focuses on his tie instead, vision blurred by a tiny silver serpent in a background of green. "What?"

"Are you scared of me now," he asks softly. Such a dulcet tone belied by his question.

"No," she whispers again. Repeating the same word because both of them know it's nothing but a valiant lie.

The hand still holding her wrist pushes against the wall, trapping her as their arms lay beside her head.

He raises an eyebrow. Lips curl up, as though he found something funny. "No?"

A cut-gasp escapes her throat as she feels the callused fingers of his other hand- the one covered in his own blood glide across the line of her jaw. It sends prickles down her spine.

Malfoy leans in closer, pronouncing the way he so easily towers over her. "You're lying."

"No." Again. A simple whisper as her voice seems to be drained out by the blood icing her veins.

His head dips down, cool lips skimming her earlobe. Her breath hitches and her body stills- frozen. Millions of thoughts racing through her head, and yet none of them pushes him away.

"Come on, Weasley. Say it."

Say she's scared of him. Terrified of him. As soon as those words come out of her mouth, it will all be over.

She stays quiet. Not just because her voice has failed her and not just because she has never had a boy this close to her, but because she's not quite sure if she wants it to be over.

She's curious.

Goosebumps spike her flesh as his teeth graze the skin. He can feel her body shaking, she knows.

"Admit it." He dips lower- down to the side of her neck. She jerks- let loose a tiny shriek. Because it's so many sensations all at once, so many nerves sparked as he let his cool lips rest against her skin.

There's a few seconds between them before he lets loose a muffled sigh against her neck. Her eyes fall shut on their own accord, a response to the oddly calming feel of his warm breath. Feels her muscles unravel, relax. She almost forgets who she is and who she's with.

"Say it," he murmurs, lips ever-so-slightly moving as he does.

She can't say anything. Doesn't want to, either.

He lets them rest there for just a few seconds longer. The tranquility doesn't last long when his light growl sends vibrations against her skin, fingers tighten around her wrists, and his teeth gently sink in.

She gasps- a loud, shocked gasp. Eyes flying open, open to the sight of both of them in the mirror sitting across the room. Her face, flushed cheeks and wide eyes. And the back of his blonde head, tucked in between her head and shoulder.

Oh, but she still doesn't push him off. Instead, her free hand strikes out to grab ahold of his robe, bunch it around her fingers. Steady herself, her trembling legs and rather wobbly body.

He sucks on the sliver of skin held between his teeth so softly, so gingerly. It sends nerves she's never heard of, never felt up her spine. Like jolts of electricity, sparking that small patch of skin and lower- much, much lower. Her hand fists his robes tighter, so taut that she's afraid she may tear it. And she can't even breathe properly, broken breaths sucking for air and sighing when she feels his hot tongue lavish over that sensitive sliver of skin he had just bruised. Any and every through that had been pacing through her head evaporated into nothing.

But just as suddenly as the pleasure came, it left. He let his lips linger on her neck, releasing a small sigh. Then pulls away, just inches but still enough for an inevitable whimper to escape her mouth. And he stays there, puffing hot breaths that hit her now sensitive skin with sparks of static. And when he seemed to have regained himself, he straightened. Rolls his shoulders back and flexes his neck before leaning in closer to her face.

"Admit it," he repeats in a whisper.

The tip of his nose brushes hers as he looks down and she looks up. His lips parted just enough for a wisp of his breath to fan over her face- spearmint. She smells spearmint. And he's so close that she can also smell the weak remnants of his extravagant cologne- finds that she can't quite place what it is but it has such a pleasant aroma that she inhales a small breath just to get another note of it.

"Why? Why do you want me to say it so bad?"

He glowers down at her. "I want you to understand that your actions have consequences. That you are playing a very dangerous game and that this-" He uses his free hand to jab a finger to her temple. "-will get you hurt if you don't think for once in your god-damn life."

She scowls at his blatant insult. "And you care if I get hurt?"

She knows he doesn't. He's cruel and cold-hearted and a narcissist who has done nothing but prove that he doesn't give a damn about her.

He huffs a laugh. "Care? No, I don't care about you. However, due to our circumstances, if anything were to happen to you, I would be to blame." His eyes darken and his fingernails dig into the skin of her wrists.

She can't fathom how quickly things escalated, how they shifted from- from what he was doing to her to threatening her.

But she can. Because this was Malfoy. Malfoy, full of mysteries and loose ends she wanted so desperately to tie together.

His mouth curls into a sneer. "And God forbid anything happens to the world's precious little princess, right?"

She closes her eyes. Takes a breath in and exhales. Cogitates, and finds that he's right. She has to admit it. She spends nearly half of her days thinking of him, focusing on him, trailing on him. Malfoy. And she doesn't even listen to herself when she says she'll stay away. She can't. It's like he's some sort of- of- of drug. And she's never even tried it before but it's her curiosity that's chasing after it. It's her subconscious, not her. Not her, she refuses to believe it's her. Rose Weasley isn't a fool. Rose Weasley knows what's bad for her. Who's bad for her.

And she hopes that saying it aloud, by admitting it, it would be the first step to stepping away. And it's hardly even a whisper, a loose breath that had slipped out of her mouth. "I am afraid of you...of what you're capable of."

Seconds become minutes in the deafening silence between them and she finally musters up the courage to open her eyes. With her head still tilted up, she opens her eyes.

Smokey pools of grey fill her vision. Half-lidded eyes opened up just a little bit wider, staring down at her. He doesn't say anything but she can feel the pressure of his fingers gradually release from her around her wrist. Her arm falls back in place as he slowly retreats his own.

He swallows. "Good." His eyes fall to his robes- to her hand grabbing it. He clears his throat. She lets go almost immediately.

Her eyes fall back down to his neck. To the scarlet scores drawing down it. She opens her mouth to question it, but remembers what he said. Remembers what he said, and what she admitted.

Don't, she thinks to herself. Asking will only draw her closer.

And when she brings her line of vision back to him, she finds that he's still staring at her. Face wiped of emotions, and simply staring.

Then he turns and leaves.

She's left there, alone in the candle lit lavatory, backed against the wall. Lets out a shaky breath that had been stuck in the back of her throat.

"But satisfaction brought it back," she says quietly to herself after moments of pure silence.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

References:

"The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha," written by Miguel de Cervantes. (a classic!)

"Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back," a proverbial expression by Ben Jonson, I believe.

A/N:

I don't know who it was that posed the review for this book because it was a guest but to who ever it was, I just want to say thank you! I'm really glad you're enjoying it so far and I hope you'll continue to as the story goes on! I love getting comments from my readers regardless of whether it is feedback or a nice word. So again, thank you!