A/N: Hello! Back again! This little project entered my head one night while I was binge-watching 1980s movies. The chapters will remain short for the most part and switch between two point of views. As with Dark Comes Calling, updates will be slow until I finish Touchstone. Enjoy!
IMPORTANT TO NOTE: I use a shoddy voice recognition program that mistakes 'in' for 'and' a lot of times and various other atrocities. Feel free to point them out.
Timeline: 8th Year / EWE
Main Pairings: Draco/Hermione & Theodore/Luna
Minor/Mentioned Pairings: Blaise/Cho, Harry/Ginny & Ron/Pansy
Story Length: Novella (approx. 30,000 - 40,000 words)
Rating: T (rating may go up)
Inspirations: Legend *1985* & Love Exists - Amy Lee
Trigger Warnings: profanity, kidnapping, depression, self-harm & angst (This story will have a HEA.)
SOULS ON FIRE
- o -
CHAPTER I : BROKEN PATHS
"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."
- ANAÏS NIN
- o-0-o -
THEO'S POV
- o-0-o -
His father is dead.
For years Theo had convinced himself he would feel nothing with the old bastard's passing, yet here he is moping for a man who never deserved so much as a flicker of acknowledgement. You're born to the blood you're born to. An inconvenient fact, but a fact nonetheless.
Who had said that to him? Draco. He'd mumbled it during the rare occasion when he'd actually spoken their 6th year. Before that he could never shut up, constantly blathering useless noise about himself. Theo never stayed long enough to listen, though he was always around when the prat decided to be less of an egotistical peacock. Such inconveniences remain true even now.
The Honey Dukes trolley lingers in front of their cabin, making its second round. No one shows interest and the trolley is quickly gone.
Word is Theo's father was caught by a rogue curse that had cleanly separated his head from his shoulders. The imagery which pervades Theo's mind is remarkably unpleasant so he forces it away and directs his attention to the lush scenery outside, but he finds himself drawn to another unpleasant thing.
Draco Malfoy's reflection in the train window appears unnatural and ghostlike, throwing back sharp angles and dead eyes. If possible he looks worse than he did prior to Dumbledore's death, all hollows and papery skin.
Theo clears his throat. Nothing. Not so much as a twitch or a crinkle of Draco's brow.
Everything has changed.
Pansy gets up from the booth she is sharing with Blaise and exits the cabin, the air crackling in her wake. Blaise follows her exit with shrewd eyes and a judiciously indifferent expression while Theo frowns at her. She leaves the sliding door open—on purpose no doubt—and disappears from view. Theo catches Blaise's stare and the more collected Sytherin gives a shrug, though the action is so minute Theo scarcely notices.
If this were the earlier days, Theo could easily superimpose the countless rows had between Draco and Pansy onto this moment. The war hasn't happened. Lives haven't been lost. Draco is merely ignoring Pansy and she angrily storms off because of it. Just a common dispute between lovers who should have realized that sex is the only thing they have in common.
But they aren't lovers… Haven't been since the end of 5th year. And the war did happen.
For a fleeting moment Theo considers going after Pansy, but it would be fruitless. Empathy in this troupe is the equivalent of dropping blood in the water. Performance guidelines ensure only ruthlessness. Fangs are meant for one thing. Like everyone else in this cabin, Pansy has her own map of collateral damage wrought by this war. The unspoken acceptance between them is that they all handle those ramifications on their own, regardless of friendships. That's how it's always been.
Down the hall a wild mane of curls bounces out of one of the cabins and Theo rolls his eyes. Hermione Granger. The only visible disapproval from Blaise is a scant wrinkle of an angry brow, but Draco appears wholly unaffected, his misty stare never leaving the invisible thing he is fixated on outside the train window.
Granger turns, as if feeling their eyes, and studies them with a curious scowl, though her gaze lingers too long on Draco and Longbottom, who has stuck his head out of the cabin, startles her.
"Hermione. Luna wants a Pumpkin Pastie—oh, sorry."
She shakes her head, smiling. "It's all right, Neville, and I already suspected as much."
He chuckles shyly. "Of course you did."
It's often hard to fathom that this awkward git killed Nagini and stood before Voldemort, but Theo has found that there are lots of surprises waiting to shock him into humility. Almost.
After Longbottom's head disappears back into the cabin, Hermione's gaze travels to Draco again, a thoughtful pout flickering across her lips. Theo glares pointedly at her and gets to his feet. Her eyes flit to him as he strides up to the door, slapping it shut and drawing down the curtain. Whatever expression she wears after that is lost.
Blaise gives a gentlemanly snort and centers his attention on an interesting flaw in the wallpaper. Having a run-in with any of the Golden Trio would be as unsavory as a date with a werewolf. Things are quite different now and the simple lines that had been drawn in their youth no longer apply. Theo himself never truly wanted the world Voldemort had promised. The theory sounded pretty, however the practice wasn't quite so.
After all, who would want a shiny apple filled with poison? Looking pretty and promising death never struck Theo as appealing. Besides, Voldemort never gave a shit about them. Not even their pure blood. That ugly little fact festered at the back of all their minds, especially the Death Eaters, whether they ever admit this or not.
The last ten centuries of a firmly unbending dogma shattered. How unfortunate.
.
.
Hogsmeade station is a dull bustling of robes and air filled with the damp potential for rain. Pansy never returned to their cabin and Theo spots her with Tracy Davis, leaving him curious. It seems all the venomous rhetoric Pansy spewed about Davis before was simply hot air. Theo supposes he isn't completely surprised. Davis never was that bad, half-blood or not.
Blaise nudges past him and continues on ahead of them. Draco appears not to notice, his mind elsewhere. Theo follows his line of sight to the vivacious throng of people gathering around a small group of Gryffindors, including Hermione Granger. Theo has always known, unlike the others, that Draco has guarded a secret attraction toward the Golden Princess, but he's never stared at her so openly before.
Raising an eyebrow, Theo's steps down off the train, instantly colliding with something willowy and scented lemon. He quickly steadies himself, irritation bubbling up his throat. At his chest, a halo of pale hair frames a mildly bemused stare and a bottle cap necklace. A tiny scar marks the skin above her mouth. He's never noticed it before; not that he's ever looked. Theo's other eyebrow ticks up.
She doesn't speak, obviously because he's the one who bumped into her. "You make a habit of walking around with your head in the clouds, Loony?"
The bemused look of her eyes reaches her lips, drawing them into a sagacious grin. "I'd much prefer my clouds to yours."
Theo scoffs. "You should—
"You're forgiven, by the way." She cuts him off in a smooth lilt and he perceives the undertone of more behind that statement.
"I thought Ravenclaws were wise." He whispers, gloating over her. "Your side might have won this war, but don't test your luck."
She tilts her head, lashes drooping lazily over her eyes. "You won, too."
He opens his mouth, ready to blister her with spite when Draco's voice stops him. "Theo! Leave it!"
What the…? Theo turns to Draco, an edge of warning in his tone. "I was never one of your lackeys, Malfoy, and things have changed. You aren't—
"You're right." Draco agrees in a whisper. "We all know what happens to people who follow me."
Theo's anger partially diminishes. "Sod off, Malfoy. No one's buying into your pity parties this time." In spite of those words, Theo does want to acknowledge his friend's guilt. It's written all over the blond, polluting him.
"I don't expect you to, Theo. I just want to get this year over with in peace." The tail end of his confession is muttered so quietly Theo almost doesn't hear.
"You needn't worry, Draco." Lovegood declares.
Draco attempts a glare of her, though it comes out more a grimace. "That isn't an open invitation to friendship, Lovegood."
She starts toward the boisterous crowd and throws an intuitive smile over her shoulder. "Sure it isn't."
.
.
For the returning 8th years, the Head Mistress has set up a separate dorm in the dungeons away from the others. Theo considers it a miracle considering how much the old bint despises the Slytherin house. Slughorn leads them down to the new dorm and hastily lists some rules before disappearing for the night.
Everyone settles into the uncomfortable silence as gracefully as a confused flock of grackles.
Daphne Greengrass sits with her sister and Pansy contemplates remaining with Theo before ghosting off to bed. Davis follows after Pansy, but then changes her mind and perches near a window looking into the Black Lake, and Blaise collapses onto one of the couches opposite Draco, who took his seat during Slughorn's speech.
Not a second after Blaise's rump hits the cushion does Draco get to his feet and exit the dorm, uncaring of the curfew or Blaise's reaction. The proud boy simply sneers at Draco's back, but Theo knows better. No amount of detachment Blaise illustrates will detract from the evident fact. He does care.
Theo rocks on the balls of his feet for a moment, gazing at the door. Wouldn't it be a shame if he gets caught by a prefect. Probably not. There's a good chance Draco wasn't even listening when Slughorn gave out the password to enter the dorm. Not that this is much of a dorm. More like an oversized broom closet with boreholes for bedrooms. The few windows are just for show. Obviously.
"Go on then and bring him back, Theo." Blaise calls from his spot on the couch, legs sprawled elegantly. "I can see you want to."
Theo's shrugs. "It would serve him right to be caught after curfew."
Blaise nods. "Yes, but you aren't going to let that happen."
With a gusty sigh, Theo heads for the door.
"The password is: felix culpa." Astoria chimes in from her position next to her sister.
"Of course it is, dearheart. Don't forget to go back to your dorm before it gets too late." Theo drawls and allows the door to shut after him.
Distant dripping echoes off the walls and low groans crawl up from the depths as the late night monsters sing through the lake. You get used to and after a while, but you're primitive instincts always summon a sense of dread. Theo glances both ways with an arched brow.
"He went right if you must know." A voice hisses from behind him. "It's after curfew, too! Gone to fetch him, no doubt. I've half a mind not to let you back in."
Theo observes the portrait, one of the trivial no accounts McGonagall dug out of the refuse somewhere. The elderly woman, stout and ill-dressed, fixes him with a haughty glare, and he grins wolfishly. "We wouldn't want to tear ribbons into the handsome face would we?"
She sniffs. "You will learn respect soon enough."
Not bothering with a reply, Theo continues up the spiral stairs. A lot of damage was done during the Battle of Hogwarts and Slughorn had mentioned something about community service in his speech while looking directly at Draco. Salazar knows Draco will try to drag Theo and Blaise into it, so he doesn't have to be alone. It's not like he has that many people to ask anymore.
Gregory didn't return to Hogwarts this year and Theo knows without hesitation that Draco will likely never speak to him again. Not that Gregory would allow him the chance. After what happened to Vince…
Footfalls greet Theo as he crests the stairs and he spots the tell-tale glint of silver-blond hair. He quickens his pace to catch up with Draco, but Draco only walks faster. "Slow down you twat!" Theo growls coming up beside him.
"Why are you following me?" Draco mumbles, irritated.
"Don't play coy, Draco. It doesn't suit you."
He shrugs stiffly and averts his eyes to the demolished wall to the right. "I don't need sycophants licking at my boot heels, anymore."
"Fuck you, Malfoy." Theo punches his shoulder, hard. "Don't insult me. I'm your friend and I deserve more respect than that you wanker."
A low rumble sounds and his chest and he sighs. "I just wanted to be alone."
"From what your mother has said, you've been alone far too much." Theo rakes a hand through his hair. Friend are not this is troublesome territory. Share feelings circle-jerks are more for Hufflepuffs. "It's past curfew, anyway, and we Slytherins aren't exactly held in high esteem at the moment. Not that we ever were."
"Can you blame them for thinking that?"
Theo frowns at the statement. Draco has changed, more than he realized. Who wouldn't after the hell he's endured? "Come on back to the dorm, mate. Today has been tedious enough."
Draco nods, but Theo knows it's not in concession to his request. Whatever it is worming around in Draco's skull has him completely twisted up in knots. If an explosion went off ahead of them, Draco would be none the wiser.
And this is the world we have inherited from our parents. A royal clusterfuck of decisions and ideas that seemed great in theory. Now, here we are practicing in the aftermath. Theo bites down on his back teeth.
The walk back to the painting is shared in silence with Theo casting puzzled glances at his friend. A flicker of torchlight reveals the puff of red cradling gray eyes and saline tracks shimmering off papery cheeks. He's been crying. Sensing Theo's stare, Draco glowers over at him. The blond has always had a four to five inch height advantage over Theo, but it has never vexed him.
"What?" Draco snaps.
Theo drags his eyes away out of respect. "Nothing mate." Whatever it is it will pass.
"It's after curfew." the sour-faced woman grouses as they come to a stop before her.
Theo taps his wand. "And your handsome face is still handsome."
"Empty threats." She seethes.
"Get on with it, or I'm going to have Daphne start planning your wedding." Draco rolls his eyes.
"Not in this bloody life!" Theo snorts, but relinquishes and gives the old cow the password.
She turns her nose up at them, blue eyes flashing, and for a moment, Theo believes she actually won't let them through. However, with a condescending shake of her head, the portrait swings open. Theo waits for Draco to enter first and follows in behind him, his hand sliding along the portrait's frame.
A split second before the door clicks shut, Theo feels a nasty prick at his index finger and rips his hand back in surprise. "Fucking hell!"
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