This is a O/s written for the FB group The Fairest of The Rare in response to their Sing-Me-A-Rare comp. The prompt was the song was Love The Way You Lie by Eminem ft Rihanna. I'm so pleased to announce Wounds to a Flame won Best Angst and came runner up for Best Thriller! I put so much hard work into this piece and had to channel a really dark place so I hope you can appreciate this tragically beautiful story.
Triggers: Character death, suicide, unintentional violence against women. If any of this bothers you - this is not the story for you.
Beta love to Sandra-Sempra
Theo inhales the puff of a cuban cigar, his lungs enveloped with smoke as the rich, earthy, aromatic flavours quench his tastebuds. Exhaling, his peace is disrupted by Draco.
"It's not like you to be anti-social."
Theo remains silent, passing the stalk of the cigar to him, encouraging a puff. Glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Hermione is out of view, Draco inhales, allowing the flavours to warm him.
"What's going on, Nott? This doesn't happen to have something to do with Astoria being here with her husband, does it?" It isn't an ominous statement. It has everything to do her.
Theo pauses, considering his response. "Fuck off, Malfoy."
Draco scoffs but he's not offended.
"What do you expect, Nott?" He hands back the cigar. "Did you think she'd come here without him to be with you? Do you honestly think she loves you enough to leave him?"
The bitter words leave a sour taste; a flavor Theo attempts to wash down with firewhiskey, but it doesn't dull the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Did you come over here to make me miserable, Malfoy? That's no way to treat a guest." He's spiteful out of anger, but he can't help aiming it at his friend.
"I'd hardly call you a guest, Theodore," states Draco blatantly. "I've known you my whole life - you're my brother from another mother. I hate to see you out here, wallowing in self-pity like this… It's weird and disturbing - I don't fucking like it."
Theo chuckles for a second, finding some comfort in his friends honesty.
He sighs, "I just want to be alone, Malfoy. I can't be out there, dealing with him waving her in my face like that. Not when she was in my bed three nights ago."
Draco nods in understanding, but he needs to force the reality of the situation into his friend's head.
"I get that, but you seem to be forgetting one major detail. She told you she can't see you anymore. Astoria made her choice, Nott… A shitty one at that, Weasley is no snake charmer, but it is what it is. You have to let it go."
The words spilled from his lips just as easily as Astoria had dismissed Theo, his anguish made evident by the twitching of his clenched jaw.
"I can't - it's too soon. I shouldn't be here... I thought if I came, we could talk and she'd change her mind but she hasn't looked at me once. How can she go from loving me to washing her hands of me like that? I don't get what I did to make her change her mind so quickly."
Draco sighs, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Theo acknowledges the gesture but it doesn't ease the pain.
"She lead you on and hung you out to dry. I admit thinking your stupid for getting involved with her but I get it. Jealousy is a Slytherin's curse. Stop being a pussy and play the game. Look, the Weaslette is here and she's sweet on you. If you mean anything to Astoria at all, you'll know about it. Besides, you may actually enjoy Weasley's company."
"I doubt a Weasley is going to fix this when I've plotted the death of one them."
"She won't be a fix, think of it as a test. If it's that bad, I'll let you leave. But you have to try."
Theo downs his drink, letting the amber liquid burn his throat. He had added a little something to give it a kick.
"Get me another firewhiskey then," he demands.
"I'll get you ten," mocks Draco lightheartedly, directing Theo back inside.
A charmed tray of glasses filled with various liquids, floats effortlessly around the room. Theo snatches two glasses, downing one after the other. Placing the empties back on the tray, he grabs another, this time sipping it generously as he walks towards the crowd on the edge of the dancefloor. Draco is whispering something in Hermione's ear, his hand resting on the small of her back. Hermione nods before walking off, probably in search of Ginny. As she moves out the way, Astoria and Charlie come into view.
Astoria is resting her head on his shoulder, her body up against his. Charlie has one hand resting so low down her back it's basically on her arse, the other is intertwined around her delicate fingers, guiding her around the dance floor. He leans into her, saying something that causes her to raise her head from his shoulder, earning him a searing kiss.
Just like that, the green-eyed-snake called jealousy ignites. On impulse, Theo is moving towards them so quickly, Draco almost misses him.
Blaise appears on the other side of Draco, curious eyes and a full glass in his hand. In between sips he says casually, "We should probably intervene before this gets out of hand."
Draco tilts his head nonchalantly, "We should. But perhaps we let him go just a little bit. He's going to combust if he doesn't get it off his chest."
Blaise agrees, "Point noted." Leaning closer to Draco, he mutters in a hushed tone, "What I meant to say is, we need to stop Theo before he does something stupid like kill somebody," his head nudges subtly in Charlie's direction." Our boy wears his heart on his sleeve and Tori is playing with him like he's her last meal."
"In Theo's defense, she used him to no end while Charlie was in Romania."
"He set himself up for the fall," quips Blaise. "He played with fire, he was always going to get burned."
Watching the scene unfolding before them, Draco observes, ready to intervene at a second's notice. Blaise drains the remainder of his glass in preparation to help.
Theo finds himself an arms stretch from Charlie, an uncontrollable rage radiating through him. Losing his cool, he explodes in rapid succession, driven by nothing but pure jealousy and hate. A dangerous glint flashes in his eyes, his hand shakes angrily, swooping forward to grip Charlie's shoulder, yanking him back with furious force. Without a second to reconsider, Theo balls his fist, his knuckles connecting with the robust jaw of the skilled Dragon trainer: smack!
The music plays on, intensifying the dramatic pause in the room. Her piercing cries for Theo to stop almost sounds like a painful rendition of an opera singer at the symphony, painting a vivid picture of the turmoil of when a girl falls for two men. "Theo, stop!"
He can't tell if she's crying for him or Charlie, but the fear in her voice triggers his jealousy.
The fact she can stand there and defend the ginger cunt makes his blood boil. Has she forgotten the things she said to him? Has she forgotten all the things they've done?
Questions swirl in his mind, giving him more motivation to destroy Charlie Weasley's face.
The crack of Charlie's jaw can be heard by those close enough to the fight, his face rebounding off Theo's knuckles, spraying a combination of blood and saliva. Instinctively, Charlie pushes Astoria out of the way, his body swiveling around to see his attacker head on. The colour of his cheeks glow red upon recognition of being face to face with Theo. His lack of surprise suggests perhaps Astoria came clean about her infidelity when he returned, and he finds great satisfaction in knowing he can effectively grind the Weasley scum.
The moment their eyes meet it's game on, Theo fighting out of anger for the girl he lost, Charlie fighting for the girl he loves, the two wizards embroiled in what proves to be a very personal fist fight.
Theo dives forward, an arm swooping around Charlie's neck in an attempt to tackle him to the ground, if he can get the upper hand on him he'll choke the cunt to death. Charlie is prepared - his reflexes exceptional as he ducks, missing Theo's advance, seizing the opportunity to land a right hook. He doesn't miss, his fist connecting loudly with Theo's jaw, only intensifying the rage in Theo more. They're even, an eye for an eye.
Theo catches a glint of Charlie's gold wedding band in the light and his anger intensifies. Preparing to charge back at him, Astoria unexpectedly rushes forward, a stupid attempt to prevent Theo perusing her husband. He doesn't register the tears in her eyes pleading him to stop or her trembling bottom lip mouthing words he cannot hear. He doesn't realise his fist is clenched and swinging in her direction while she's screaming his name in retaliation to Charlie's mere presence.
Caught in the heat of the moment his knuckles don't hesitate to connect with her beautiful face. A cry in sheer shock and his shout in disbelief fills the room at the realisation.
Her cheek splits on impact, her hands moving shakily to cup her now bleeding face. Her facial features form a look of pain, confusion and shock - her blood dripping steadily down her face to compliment his foul play. Tears flow freely from them both, Theo's glass half full with regret; Astoria's glass half empty with disdain, between them regret is rife.
Wanting nothing more than to dismiss him completely, Astoria stumbles away from him, bumping into Hermione. The greatest witch of their age reaches for her, arms curling around in support, offering to shield her blood soaked face. Her crimson stains Hermione's hands with betrayal.
Momentarily distracted by his shame. All he can think of is how he regrets the past thirty seconds of his life. Diverting his concentration to his curled fists, he finally releases their grip to examine the blood on his hands. His eyes twinge at the sight, blinking to try and rid the visions plaguing him. Refocusing, he trembles while he flexes them as the memory replays.
Only a minute passes but it feels like hours. Theo is holding onto every single regret, wanting to rid himself of every bad decision made. While contemplating his future without her in it, knowing the fact that laying hands on her makes him unfavourable, he's oblivious to the crushing, bear-like arms closing around him.
There's lots of shouting but it's happening so fast he fails to differentiate the details. Searching the crowd for her he falters, falling victim to the turmoil of his internal war. She's gone, save a few drops of blood on the floor, and the same sticky substance now smeared all over his hands. He did this. He hit Astoria. If this is the kind of person he is than maybe she deserves to be with Charlie after all.
Charlie. He spits the name out like venom, while wrestling to free himself from Charlie's tightening grip as reality sets in. Before his opponent takes him down, Theo lets his assault on Astoria fuel his anger, twisting his body to try loosen Charlie's grasp. He pushes his heel into Charlie's kneecap with enough force, causing him to release his grip. Theo spins around, trying once again to tackle him, this time not only swooping his arm around Charlie's neck in a snug hold, his right foot slips behind Charlie's injured leg, causing him to fall backwards. The two of them collide on the floor as they begin to grapple.
Theo has the upper hand on him, having locked his legs around Charlie as he rolls onto his back, his arms snake around him in a choke hold. The ginger wizard's face now matches the colour of his long, ginger locks. His face strains as he struggles to breathe, Theo's grip tightening to squeeze the life out of him quite literally. Theo's strength is unparalleled, his motivation comes from a very dark place. The party noise fades as he feels Charlie's body begin to weaken from the affects of his choke hold. Each time Charlie finds a burst of strength to fight, Theo tightens his arms for good measure, giving him less chance to make a come back from the fight.
Theo is unaware of the crowd surrounding them, or Astoria's begging for him to stop, when he feels the pull of magic forcing his arms to release his hold. Draco and Blaise loop their arms around him, dragging him away from the scene almost effortlessly while Astoria, Harry, and Ginny rush to aid Charlie.
Together, Draco and Blaise pull Theo into a standing position, their collared shirts ruffled, half untucked from their pants. Theo's shirt is ripped, one side hanging loosely from his shoulder, the other bares blood stains of his lady love and the blood of a Weasley, no less.
There's stiffness and swelling around Theo's jaw, evidence of the only punch Charlie landed on him before he took him down. When it comes to Weasley, he has no regrets, except for the fact he didn't get to finish the job.
Patting him on the chest to snap him out of it, Blaise mummers, "Alright mate, that's enough. Time to go home."
They don't bother with the floo, Apparating Theo directly into his house, landing in his living room with a loudthud. Theo struggles to be free of them. In his haste, he collides into a coffee table and stacks it on the floor.
"Easy, Nott. We're here to help you!" Exclaims Draco with concern, his open palms raised to help convey his willingness to be there for his friend.
"I don't want your fucking help," slurs Theo, peeling himself off the floor.
Using his wandless magic, rather poorly, Theo manages to pour himself a fresh glass of whiskey, not even bothering to offer one to the friends that practically carried his arse back here.
"Fuck off, will you," he mutters dismissively. " Just leave me alone."
Draco ignores Theo's attempt to push them away, determined to stay. His eyes dart over to Blaise for confirmation - he can tell he's offended by Theo's eagerness to brush them off.
Blaise can only comply with Theo's request, articulating himself almost comically, despite the offense. "I can tell when I'm not wanted."
Draco nodds reluctantly, accepting the need to respect Theo's call for alone time.
"Alright Nott, have it your way. Sit here and fucking sulk. We'll check on you tomorrow."
Not caring about the logistics, Theo waves a hand in response, his half-arsed attempt at saying goodbye.
They leave shortly after, knowing how messed up their friend is. What they didn't know, is just how seriously Astoria is affecting him.
He's got that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest: a combination of heat being dispelled from the roaring fire and the warmth of the whiskey gliding down his throat. Stumbling towards the ledge above the fireplace, Theo throws the dregs of his drink into the tainted flames - the blaze tarnished by the contents of once loved picture frames. The heat of the fire intensifies with the impact of the flammable liquid, it's flames bursting into a series of cracks and pops. It's the aftermath of a tornado meeting a volcano, causing the drying tear tracks on his cheeks to burn into his skin like wounds to a flame.
Slamming his glass onto the ledge - the weightless object proves far too much to bare. His grip tightens around it as he imagines his fingers choking the life out of Charlie Weasley. Weasley, the cunt! He grunts, rage building behind the force of his grasp, causing his glass to crack and spider. Dramatically, he tosses it into the flames, propelling it enough to shatter against the stone backdrop protruding from the rear of the fireplace. The overwhelming ache in his chest feels like his fractured wounds contain shards of his broken heart. The damage is irreparable now. She's made her bed, now she has to lay in it.
At the thought of her, Astoria envelopes his senses; he drowns in the not-so-distant memories of her flooding his mind. A flash of her bloody cheek penetrates his mind and it follows with agonising guilt - he is capable of physically hurting her. He tries to push aside the visions of the harsh truth, because despite how hurt he is, she in no way deserved to be harmed that way - especially by him. He'd give anything to take it back. He'll resort to any means to forget.
He searches for another memory of happier times: her disheveled brown hair, supple bare skin hiding under white sheets. Flustered rosy cheeks, the scent of peonies lingering on her neck after rolling in petals sprinkled on the floor. Her bright eyes welcoming him while her fingertips paint their way across his chest, paving a way for her greedy lips.
Obliviation isn't enough, he'll never be able to forget her touch. He can't rid himself of the evidence of what he's done to her. He needs more than a gentle rinse to physically wash her off him; he needs to tear off his skin and dowse it in toxic flames. Maybe then he'll be able to destroy any remnants of the witch who chose someone else. Maybe then, he be able to forget he laid a hand on her.
Leaving the comforts of the smouldering fire - diminishing from the lack of wood, Theo whirls around to fetch a fresh glass of mind numbing liquid. Removing the lid off a bottle of Ogden's finest, he sloppily pours the amber fluid, sloshing it over the glass as it overflows. He snatches at it, his lips merely meeting the glass's edge before diving to consume its contents in a series of gulps. Wiping his hand on the back of his sleeve, he pours another and downs it the same way - deciding to take the bottle with him while he attempts to soak in the bathtub.
He adds the company of another cuban cigar; while cigars usually an aid in celebrations, one can say he is celebrating the last minutes of his life. Before he knows it, his lungs greet the smouldering smoke encapsulated in his chest. Theo feels it tightening, his organs suffocating, robbed of the air they need to survive; but the lack of control is soothing to him. He feels desperate to let go, of what he did, of her...life - everything.
The decision came easy to him the moment she reappeared with a cut face, falling to her knees by Charlie's side. Perhaps, if he'd done dismal in the fight, she'd be aiding him right now, but there's no way his pride could have taken that kind of blow.
He trudges up the stairs, cigar hanging out of his mouth, arms cradling the whisky bottle, approaching his luxurious bathroom.
Upon entering, he makes his way to the bath, resting the glass bottle on the edge of the tub. His cigar has a home too, in the ceramic ashtray beside it. Once turning on the taps, he doesn't bother adding bath salts or soap, opting to visit the mirror above the basin. Peering at his reflection, he's disgusted by what he sees: a man incapable of being loved and respected; a wizard unworthy, undeserving of her love; a gutless prick who hit the woman he loves...
He takes his time to examine the pain reflected in his glassy, brown dullness lacking the bright sparkle she once gave him. Turning his head, his bloody fingers trail over the tender swelling around his jaw, examining his fresh bruises. Trying to loosen the stiffness, Theo opens his mouth but the dull ache restricts further movement of his jaw, causing him to clench his teeth. He releases a grunt in frustration, lowering his hands to grasp the edge of the basin as he rocks back and forth; the mental struggle far worse than the physical pain of his injuries. Momentarily, he escapes, strangely finding comfort in the reminder of what he did to her. He can scrub the guilt off his hands but wearing his regret can only add to his determination. It's all too clear for him now.
The distraction of his wounds isn't enough to help him forget the real reason for his anguish. Theo's heartache is overwhelming his body with a numbing emptiness threatening to swallow him whole. He longs for a brush of her warm skin to make him feel again. He aches for her lips to soothe his dying soul and take him away from shadows drawing him to the bright white light. He's conflicted by how he feels and what he should feel.
For a moment, he swears he see's a skeletal frame underneath a shimmering, dark cloak stalking him from a distance. His eyes strain to see where the figure is but the reality is: she's not here and she never will be here again.
All he has to do is give in and let go. If he can't have her, then what he did to her - she can be the driving force of the last few minutes of his life.
The bath overflows, water pooling around his dress shoes; the gentle pull of an enticing bath guides him to take the final step. Not bothering to remove his clothes, Theo's feet guide him towards the bath, each step a countdown - his life about to end just as quickly as he came to be. He can't see his reflection as he steps into the tub, but he finds comfort in the sound of water pouring from the taps, sloshing over the sides to accommodate the body in the pool of liquid encompassing him.
He makes himself comfortable, sliding back until his head meets the water. His tub is so large, he can lay in it without touching the sides, which makes it easy for him to slip under the surface as he plunges himself into it's shallow depths. He keeps his eyes open, observing how his vision blurs under the pressure of the watery crimson liquid encapsulating him; the dried blood washing off his hands like it's rinsing away his sins, but the memory still remains.
He imagines what it would feel like to be out at sea, letting himself drown in a bottomless abyss.
Expelling the air out of his lungs through his nose, he allows himself to sink further as bubbles rise to the surface. He doesn't panic when the bubbles stop, he merely admires his discipline, to go such lengths to end his life. He begins to count, refusing to think of any memories that may pull him from this disillusion as he struggles to hold his breath any longer. He spells himself to stay buried underwater, the desire for air far too great. His mouth forces open to "breathe" allowing water to pass into his airway and lungs. He feels no fear when he begins to choke on the endless liquid draining into him, filling his body like a buoy but the weight of his spell keeps him in place.
Within seconds, his eyes fall heavy - his brain has well and truly stopped receiving oxygen and he finds himself no longer aware of his surroundings, except for the water engulfing him. His half-lidded eyes begin to meet their final destination as a blurred figure with long brown hair hovers over him. He feels warm as delicate fingers curl around his arms but he can't move to respond, his body limp and heavy. He thinks it's an angel, taking him to where he needs to be, but the angel's hands seem to be unsuccessful at recovering him. His final thought is of the resemblance of Astoria to this angel squeezing and shaking him, but his body merely bobs lifelessly underwater. His eyes no longer strain to see as they close, plunging him into a world beyond darkness.
Sobbing hysterically, Astoria tries to pull Theo from the water. She climbs into the tub, desperate, straddling his waist while trying to pull his head above water. She attempts to use magic but it's blocked, nothing is working.
No! she cries, slapping his face underwater, but the movement has no impact. You're not gone! You can't leave, I won't let you! I made a mistake! I'm sorry, Theo, Please don't do this!
Five minutes of trying to retrieve him prove fruitless, the truth crashing down on her like a relentless wave. The weight of his death is on her hands, she's the reason he did this. Her heart feels as heavy as her soaked clothes, pulling her into his final resting place. Through chattering teeth she trembles: I'm coming. Wait for me, my darling, okay?
Curling her arms around his waist she feels his wrinkled skin, evidence of his time spent underwater. She can't shed any more tears as she plunges her head underwater, letting the luke warm water surround them both in a waterbed of lifeless limbs and broken hearts. It takes her far less to succumb to the watery death as he had - her goal to greet him on the other side.
A dark haired angel is waiting behind the backdrop of a beautiful sunrise. She radiates a warm beam of light that attracts him, urging him to go to her. He can only oblige by moving forward. Theo feels a slight tug on his pinky finger, a translucent red string tied around it. His gaze follows its length, going well beyond him in the direction of the angel. He doesn't resist, the string acting like a reel, pulling him towards her. They grow nearer, her face becoming more clear in the distance. His heart swells, skipping a beat, no longer feeling the numb, emptiness that had engulfed him before. He inhales a breath of air, it's freshness filling his lungs, giving him the capacity to breathe in a new lease of life. Upon meeting her face to face, he is captivated by her beauty, and it feels like he's known her a lifetime. The string gets shorter as they meet side by side, their hands finding each other.
Hand in hand they walk towards the sunrise, their string no longer tying them together. Each step forges an unbreakable connection, sealed by the bonding of their fate. Two hearts become one as they fall into step, the wind acting as a guide to where they need to be. Eternal bliss awaits at the great golden gates shimmering in the distance. The world wasn't ready for this love, so they took it to the afterlife. No regrets or judgements. No more competition, no wounds... Just twin flames.