...Happy Birthday to me...
Hydra stared at her mother and refused to blink.
Her younger brothers fought about something or other in the background and Hermes, Vega, and Blaise quickly approached a duel over some inane topic off to the side.
Her father whistled long and low. "Which one do you think is going to give first?" he asked to no one in particular.
The room fell silent as the occupants considered his question. "Oh, Jamie for sure," Uncle Remus answered instantly. "She hasn't been able to stand Hydra's stare-offs since she turned fourteen."
"I'm not too sure, Hydra might crack first this time," Hermes bet slyly. "The last time she had a stare off, she ended up in the hospital wing for a week."
Hydra's eye twitched. "Bastard," she hissed at him. She lifted her chin and lifted a brow slightly. Her mother began to shrivel. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone about that."
"You see, darling sister of mine, I didn't tell anyone. I just heavily insinuated that one of your hospital stays wasn't as kosher as it appeared to be."
Her nostrils flared slightly as her eyes narrowed, and her mother's shoulders slumped. "Please, Hydra," she begged—it was a great day indeed when Jamie Black, Lady Potter, resorted to begging. "Just wear the dress."
"No."
It wasn't the dress she had chosen, so she wasn't going to wear it. While it was similar, it was not it. Normally she wouldn't have been this picky but well . . . it was sheer.
Everywhere.
"Please?"
"No."
"The party is in an hour."
"Not my problem."
"It's tradition."
"It's a stupid tradition."
"Hydra Rose!"
"Why can't I wear that blue dress you bought me last year?"
"It's blue!"
"I don't see the problem!" she hissed. Her mother drew back. "Sorry," she mumbled. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"What if I gave you a small shot of vodka to make you more comfortable?"
"N—"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Vega started. "You, Cousin Jamie, need to grow a spine." The Malfoy daughter stood, grabbed a handful of Hydra's long, dark locks, and yanked her off of the couch. Despite Vega's small appearance, six years of being on the Slytherin Quidditch team gave her quite the muscle power to be able to easily drag the equally small girl into a nearby room where the dress waited.
Screaming, swearing, and violent explosions were heard for the next thirty minutes before everything suddenly fell silent.
The door opened, and disgruntled mutters filled the air. "Why am I even your friend? Why do we get along? Sure, we're family, but so is Cousin Bellatrix. We put her in the loony bin and celebrated. We had a ball for Merlin's sake! I hate you, Vega. I hate this dress. I hate this tradition. I hate everything." Hydra came into view, her arms crossed over her chest, and glared at everyone. "Why are you all staring at me like that?" she demanded, nearly switching to Parseltongue.
A large mirror was summoned, and she was the one to be left speechless.
The dress was too long, which was expected of a dress that was meant to be worn with heels and had been fitted while she had been wearing heels. Despite that, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn.
As tradition of the Black Family, the dress was white. The entirety of the dress was made of layers upon layers of tulle until it was opaque in the areas that it needed to be opaque—which really just meant her hips down.
The bodice was sheer—as the white satin layer that was supposed to have the hydra constellation sewn into it with fine silver wire had somehow been left out—as it only had five layers of the fabric at its thickest spots—from the start of the skirt to just below her breasts—three layers over her breasts, and one layer just above them where it proceeded to magically melt into her skin. The neckline was a wide vee that dipped down to show a bit of cleavage—not that it was hidden in the first place—and fell off her shoulders into long sleeves of a single layer of tulle covered in diamonds that seemed to rain down her arms and onto her hands where a small ring of diamonds hooked around each middle finger.
Small clusters of diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds strategically placed on the bodice kept her modest, and the same clusters placed throughout the dress not only added color, but it added glorious designs that changed depending at the angle one looked at the dress from.
The dress was backless, and the only thing that hid that fact from her father was her hair that had been beaten into submission—literally—to sit in a half-up half-down style with large loose curls everywhere. It was somewhat like normal, but they looked nice.
Her large doe eyes were lined in thin black liner that enhanced the vibrant green they had become after a disastrous potions' accident in her third year—her father had to pull a lot of strings and had to do something 'utterly humiliating, darling you'll never know' to get her back into the potions classroom. Light shimmery powders had been added to her eyelid and browbone to further enhance the color, and her lips had been spelled to resemble the color of blood.
Around her neck was a large, clunky necklace with a glowing Rune in the center of the stone and rested on the center of her chest. Her eyes lingered on the Concealment Charm that had been a part of her reflection for as long as she could remember.
After tonight, the next time she'd see it again would be on her daughter's neck—if she had a daughter.
Her ears were adorned with white diamond studs, and her right ear had a snake that wrapped around the shell and draped along the top of her ear and the tail curled slightly onto her jaw—it had been a gift from Blaise.
She wore no other jewelry, and she wasn't sure if any necklaces had been prepared for once the Charm had been removed—she had told her mother to sort that out.
Her mother stood to the side of the mirror, and Hydra tore her eyes from her reflection. "Are you ready?" her mother asked as she came to stand in front of her.
Hydra shrugged delicately and glanced in the mirror once more before she turned away from it completely. "It's—it's kind of strange . . . isn't it?" she asked slowly. "I mean . . . I've been wearing it all my life . . ." she trailed off, unsure of what else she could say to get her point across.
Her mother smiled before she stroked her face. "I know. It was strange for me too." She bent down and kissed Hydra's forehead before she stepped to the side. "Sirius."
Her father walked over and took a deep breath, his eyes moist. "My baby girl's all grown up," he choked out, a wobbly smile on his face.
Hydra gave him an equally wet and wobbly smile before she wiggled her nose. She would not cry. She wouldn't. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he grabbed the necklace's stone and tugged.
It was painful, but it was a pain different than the kind she was used to—one that hurt and didn't hurt at the same time. Hydra was used to the sharp, nauseating pain of broken bones, the sudden burn of scrapes and cuts. She was used to the prolonged pain of healing injuries, and the acute pain that certain spells could cause when dueling or miscasting.
The pain of having her Concealment Charm removed was warm. Comforting, almost. It was an icy burn that both hurt and relaxed. It was like the satisfied burn that settled in her bones after a hard won Quidditch match, or the one that had settled in her mind after she finished her OWLs, NEWTs, and when she got her Mastery.
It was everything she could have wanted in life.
Then it was fire. Agony. Soul crushing despair. It was losing everything she could have ever loved in one world-rocking blow. It was the Old Ones awakening and tearing her limb from limb while keeping her alive in her heart and mind and making her relive it over and over in every second, every breath of poison needles—
The necklace's chain slid from her skin, and everything was over.
It was over.
She looked into her father's eyes and smiled weakly at him. He wiped a tear away. "That was . . . intense."
"I'm sorry. I should have warned you," he said with a sheepish smile. "I thought with all of the times you've been in the hospital wing, you'd have gone through it as a champ, but . . . I guess I was wrong," he said with a light shrug. He kissed her forehead and stepped away before he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "I'll leave you girls to find the Mark, and well . . . I'll see you at the Ball."
Her father, younger brothers, Hermes, and Blaise left the room. Her mother and Vega wrapped Hydra in their arms as her emotions finally took over her.
"It's okay," her mother soothed as her body shook with tears. "It'll be okay."
—ripping, tearing, breathing poison as laughter bubbles in the air around her—
"What if it's not?" she asked softly.
"It will be," Vega answered softly, "because you have us." Hydra sniffed and nodded. She was right, as usual. It was just difficult to remember that when she got emotional. "Now," the older girl started as she pushed Hydra away from the embrace, "let's find your Soulmark."
"If I have one."
Vega just lightly slapped her shoulder. "No pessimism from you tonight."
Hydra rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm going to have to strip, aren't I?"
"Probably. Now, turn around so I can undo the spells."
She did as commanded and pulled her hair over her shoulder. She frowned when the dress didn't immediately slide off her body. "Vega?" Silence. "Vega? Is everything alright?"
"Wow," her cousin breathed. "Aunt Jamie, do you have a camera?"
"Bix—"
A small pop sounded behind her. "Bixby has the family portrait camera, the muggle camera that no one knows how to work, and the camera Lady Potter bought last year. Which would Mistress Vega like to use?" Hydra's house elf offered.
"Uh—the new camera?"
"Here you are, Mistress Vega."
"Thanks . . . Bixby."
Hydra stifled a laugh.
Bixby had always freaked other Purebloods out due to the fact that he was either around with things that were needed before they were asked for or he would assume he was needed and cling to her. He would offer her things until she would quite literally banish him from her presence.
Her parents tried to free him once, but he refused to take the clothing and hid with Hydra until they gave up. Bixby had been with the Black Family for centuries and would stay with them until he died—so he claimed. He was passed from Heir to Heir, and he seemed to be happy with that lot in life.
"That will be all, Bixby," Hydra dismissed.
"Is there anything Bixby can do for Mistress?"
"Organize my closet."
"How would Mistress like it organized this time?"
Vega snorted as she took a picture. "Whichever way you feel will take the longest, and will be the least efficient," Hydra instructed. She would probably regret the instructions later, but she needed Bixby to stay away from her Introduction Ball.
Bixby wrang his hands together for a moment. "As Mistress commands."
Vega breathed a sigh of relief, which was the only indication Hydra had to Bixby's presence having left. "One day," her mother started, "you're going to give him an order, and you're going to end up being the Minister of Magic without even realizing it."
Hydra just grunted and began to make grabbing motions for the photograph. Her fingers wrapped around the glossy paper, and her breath left her lungs in a silent rush.
On her back, from a couple inches below her neck to just above her hips on her back—just above the hem of her dress—was her Soulmark. Where once an expanse of tanned skin marred by white scars from dueling and Quidditch was, now two snakes with their tails twirled around one another, rested on a slight angle.
One of the snakes was a king cobra and the other was a viper. The viper was small compared to the cobra, and was curled slightly around itself, almost as if it were afraid of something. Its body was mainly on the left, but the tip of its tail—which she now noticed had a triangle-like fin on it (was it not a viper then?)—pointed to her right hip. The cobra was arced protectively over the viper and its mouth was open wide, hood flared, and tongue curled out of its mouth and on to her left shoulder blade. The majority of the hood of the snake was on her right shoulder blade, and the head was almost completely perpendicular with her spine.
She couldn't help but coo at the image as she reached back and ran her fingers along her skin. She felt nothing different, except for maybe a lack of ridged scars, but something still warmed in her heart at the knowledge that it was there.
Everyone had a Soulmate. That was a fact.
Not everyone had a Soulmark. That was also a fact.
Many different factors went into why someone didn't have a Soulmark—the biggest being if they were muggle or not. Muggles didn't have Soulmarks, and as it was with a lot of things about Soulmarks, no one really knew why.
It was a large reason as to why the Wizarding World was so separated from them.
Another factor was age—you were either born too late or too early. If your Soulmate died before you were born you wouldn't get it. If your Soulmate died before your Concealment Charm was removed—if you wore a Concealment Charm—you didn't have a Soulmark. At least, you never saw your Soulmark. If you were older than your Soulmate, you would get your Soulmark the day they were born—if they weren't a muggle, that is. However, if they were to be born after you died, well . . . you'd never get it.
Muggles were lucky not knowing that somewhere out there, there was someone meant just for them. They didn't wait for them. They didn't die regretting their empty skin. They didn't regret either never meeting them or marrying someone else.
Ignorance was bliss.
"You know," her mother said as she wrapped her arms around her from behind. "One of the few things I remember about my maternal grandmother before she died was telling me how special it was to have both Soulmates depicted in an Image Soulmark."
There were many kinds of Soulmarks. Most were images that gave either extremely vague clues about the Soulmate—until you knew them and then it was obvious—or extremely obvious clues about them. The image would usually cover the entirety of a body part, and most witches and wizards tended to keep them exposed. The next most common Soulmark were words that embodied the Soulmate pair, and then there were the Soulmarks that were the dates that the Soulmates would meet.
No matter the Soulmarks, however, it was always stark against your skin, either black or white.
"How so?" Hydra asked as she ran a thumb over the cobra. Vega began to restyle her hair after she shooed the older woman away.
"It's often said that the Bond is extremely strong—True Mates, was what she called them. She said that the Bond has such a strong pull it's like the earth orbiting the moon orbiting the earth orbiting the moon orbiting the earth."
"That makes no sense. The moon orbits the earth."
"Or does the earth orbit the moon? Is what we know a lie? Is the gravitational pull between the earth and moon affected by one or the other? How do we not know that they orbit each other because of this pull? How do we not know if one is pushing and the other is pulling? How can we ever know?"
"Mom, you're making my head hurt."
A soft pop, and Bixby appeared in front of her. "Bixby has a headache potion for Mistress."
"Thank you, Bixby," she said as she took it. "I thought I gave you an order. Don't come back until that order is complete."
"Yes, Mistress, sorry, Mistress." He popped away.
She placed the headache potion in a nearby plant, hiding it by the roots, under the leaves. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
As she greeted her guests, and danced with, spoke to, and debated with Lords, Ladies, and Heirs and Heiresses of High Society, a part of her wanted her Soulmate to be there.
. . . orbiting one another . . .
As she laughed, joked, drank, and played Waltz Tag with her younger brothers and adopted older brother, Hermes, a part of her didn't want her Soulmate to be there.
. . . being torn limb from limb . . .
She didn't want to know what that could possibly mean.
Hydra leaned against the railing and sighed. She dangled her wrists over the railing and wiggled her fingers as if she were playing the piano. She shouldn't have drunk that fourth glass of fairy water. It was alcoholic, a little more alcoholic than butterbeer—as in you could actually get drunk off the stuff—but it shouldn't be making her fingers tingle the way they were.
And this is why we don't drink real alcohol, a voice snipped in the back of her head.
She wiggled her nose and dropped her head to stare at the ground below her.
It had been a great night. It really had been. She was just . . . over it. She was done with being the sophisticated Heiress Black. She wanted to be Hydra, just for a moment. Sadly, this was an event that she couldn't be herself.
She lazily flicked her right hand and rolled her head to see the time. 1:05 AM. She groaned. At least another hour and a half before she could disappear for good and have it be seen as acceptable. Maybe she could get away with leaving around two—
"Impressive," an unknown voice spoke behind her.
She squeaked at the dark, velvety voice that sent shivers up and down her spine. She stood and rapidly turned around. She stumbled as the heel of her right shoe caught between the large bricks of the balcony.
She briefly saw and registered the fact that an extremely handsome stranger—dressed in a suit that was way too fitted for her heart to handle—stood in the doorway. The light framed him in such a way it should be illegal. Her breath left her lungs like a punch to the gut at the sight, and she mentally chided herself.
She fully lost her balance.
A hoarse squeal left her throat as she tipped back over the low railing. She scrambled to grab a hold of the stone railing, but only got a hold of her dress, which tore—stupid tulle and its delicate nature. She could have fallen, probably to her death—but not likely considering they were on the second floor and Potter Luck wouldn't allow her to die such a divine death—but the man launched forward with deer legs and grasped her fingers.
He yanked hard on her hand and pulled her flush against his chest—his very firm chest she couldn't help but notice (curse hormones)—before he pulled her a few feet away from the railing. His heart pounded against her palm as he pulled her into the privacy that the rest of the balcony offered. Her own heart raced as she loosened her grip and attempted to smooth out the fine fabric.
She stared at the silver tie clip that was slightly below her eyelevel and refused to meet his gaze—even though she could feel it burning holes into her skin. Her hands tremored violently between the two of them as they hovered in the air, unaware of where they should go.
"Are you alright?" he asked lowly.
Heat crashed through her and settled low in her belly. She tensed in his grasp, and he laughed, the sound deep and sinful, as he pulled her closer. She made some sort of sound. It could have been a squeak—it could have been a moan.
She didn't know what was going on with her body at the moment, and her brain was still trying to process the fact that she had almost fallen off the balcony.
He laughed again; the sound rougher, deeper—more animal. His large hand cupped the left side of her face. He gently lifted it. His thumb ran circles along her cheekbone while his pinky ran up and down her neck. Glitter was left in the wake of his gentle touch before it was covered by magma, and then revealed once more by ocean waves.
Her eyelids fluttered as he continued to lightly touch her skin, but she still refused to meet his eyes—she was too unsure of what she would do if she did. Instead, she stared at the silver chain that rested behind the perfect knot of his black tie.
She swallowed.
Black tie. Black vest. Black shirt. Black tailcoat. Black pants. An emerald set into an elegant silver broach that was pinned to his lapel and had a chain that disappeared in the coat's pocket—
He was killing her.
He ran his nose along her hairline as his thumb stroked along her eyelid, and she was done in. Her knees collapsed under her, and she grasped onto his coat once more. He easily lifted her back up and against him. She raised her eyes to meet his bright blue ones. A wicked smirk crossed his face, and her heart stopped beating at the sharpness of his canines, and any and all control she had over her fangs disappeared.
What would his teeth feel like on her—
"Hello," he murmured.
"Hi," she whispered. She began to try to get her fangs back under control. It wouldn't do for her mouth to look like half-inch murder sticks had been inserted where her canines were supposed to be.
She was just grateful they weren't at their full length.
The man tilted his head forward until their foreheads touched and shifted his grasp. His right hand now held her face, and his left hand now held her lower back underneath her hair—something that hadn't been done yet by anyone.
Her skin seemed to burn with the contact. Whether it was from the fact he was touching her or the proximity of her Soulmark, she didn't know, all she knew was that it made her want more. While nothing would happen if he touched it and he wasn't her Soulmate, if he was her Soulmate—
. . . Old Ones awakening . . .
"I believe you owe me something."
The suddenness of his statement seemed to clear her mind of the fog that his presence induced. Her fangs snapped into place, her teeth normal once more. "I beg your pardon?" she demanded. She tried to pull away from him, but the hand on her face curled around to the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered as his grip tightened.
This man could do anything to—
"I saved you from falling to your death," he stated in a persuasive tone. "You owe me something."
A giggle escaped her lips. "This isn't some sort of fairytale. You're not my knight in shining armor. I'm not some damsel in distress, or some weak princess. I'm sorry, sir, you'll just have to get your favor somewhere else."
He laughed, the sound low and guttural. She felt it rattle in her chest, and heat flushed through her body and shivers wracked her frame as fire gnawed at her soul. He broke triumphant eye contact and dipped his head towards hers. "It didn't seem that way to me, princess," he murmured into her ear. He ran his lips against the delicate skin, and her breathing stopped completely as her eyes rolled back into her head before they closed. "I believe," he started as he pressed closer.
Her head leaned further into his hand while she leaned heavier against him. He smiled and took her ear between his teeth—between his canines. A soft gasp left her lips as control of her fangs disappeared once more. He ran his tongue along the top of her ear, and she shivered again. A little sound left her lips, a gasp, probably, when he scraped his teeth along the back of her ear, and it turned into a quiet moan of discontent when he released her ear.
"I believe you owe me a kiss," he whispered in her ear.
She tried hard to fight it—fight whatever was happening (whatever was between them)—but when he kissed below her ear, she gave in.
It felt too good to stop.
She nodded softly and opened her eyes. She met his from where they shone proudly above her. She expected him to immediately kiss her, as he had been so insistent upon receiving one, but when he raised a brow, she realized that he wanted her to initiate it. She rolled her eyes—to which he laughed softly—before she placed her hands on either side of his face.
She was used to feeling small, but she had never felt weak because of it. She had sent just as many people to the hospital wing as many times as she had been to the hospital wing. She could easily hold her own in a three-on-one duel, and she could take a bludger to the gut without blinking an eye—usually (it depended on the time of the month, really).
But . . . when she saw how small her hands were resting on his face, she realized how their bodies were pressed together. His belt dug into her lower stomach—and that was with her wearing six-inch heels. He was twice her width, and if his torso gave any indication, he was covered in muscles. With the size of his hands on her back and neck—
She knew this man could easily hurt her, and that made her weak.
Anxiety thudded painfully in her heart as she hesitantly pulled his face down to hers. She curled her right hand behind his neck and paused just before kissing him. His thumb stroked over her lips. "Don't tease, princess," he growled, his eyes dark with desire.
She pressed her lips softly against his.
Time seemed to slow before it came to a complete stop. There was nothing special about the kiss. It was just a simple press of the lips before she pulled away. But in those seconds where their lips touched, light seemed to sparkle behind her eyes and glitter seemed to dance in her veins as lava pooled in her heart, mind, and soul.
When their lips separated, his hand slid down to rest on her collarbone, his fingers wrapped lightly around her neck. He made a sound of protest—which was the most attractive thing she had ever heard—before he pulled her closer by the neck. Their noses brushed, and she kissed him again.
The kiss was slow, soft—composed.
Each movement was acceptable if someone were to walk out and see them. Lips carefully moving, tongues barely leaving mouths, and if they did, they never went further than the other's lips.
But then the kiss bled into another kiss, a slightly deeper kiss, a less composed kiss. Tongues touching, hands pulling—it was addictive. One kiss bled into another, and then another, then another, another, another anotheranotheranother—
His hand slid up her back as his teeth gently scraped against her bottom lip. A gasped moan fell into his mouth as the entirety of her Mark began to pleasantly sting.
Suddenly, the kiss was deep—possessive.
The illusion of her being in control was dropped as his hand slid up to wrap around her neck and squeezed gently. He scraped his teeth against her lip once more before his hand slid into her hair. The kiss became something she had never truly experienced before, her previous boyfriends all too scared to hurt her. He kissed her like she had never been kissed before, and it bordered on painful.
As his blunted nails dug into the skin of her back, and his fingers pulled at her hair, it was as if they were trying to tie their souls together and burn away the universe to create something new.
She pulled his hair, and he slammed her against the wall. A moan wheezed out of her lungs as he began to mouth at her neck as she gasped for air.
"I've—looked everywhere—for you," he panted between kisses against her skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to her sore lips. "What's your name?" he begged.
She laughed, slightly hysterically—coming home after a long day . . . losing everything she ever loved—as she held his face between her hands once more. He carded his fingers through her hair and looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
"Hydra," she murmured. His eyes widened with realization. "Hydra Black." She pulled him down and kissed him lightly. Her fangs caught on his lip, and he moaned softly before he kissed her like she was his sole source of oxygen—thankfully, she was able to shrink them in time so they wouldn't cut him. He pulled away and mouthed at her cheek and ear. "What's your name?" she asked softly.
He nipped her lip and licked at the ache before he moved to whisper in her ear—
"Tom? Are you out here?" He tensed and dropped his head on her shoulder.
"Shit," he cursed softly.
Before she could ask what was wrong—or if Tom was his name—he had his wand out and began to cast charms and spells to neaten the two of them up. He took a few steps back, craned his neck around the corner, before he nodded. He moved back to Hydra and kissed her softly—light and glitter shone behind her eyes once more.
"I'm not sorry for what we did," he whispered before he kissed her again. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen."
"What?"
"Shh," he whispered before he kissed her again.
He stepped away from her before he motioned for her to join him. She did so hesitantly.
He kept his distance.
Her heart ached.
"Tom! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you! Father wants to introduce you to someone."
Hydra groaned internally. Historia Nott. The world's most undeserving witch—she had everything and took it for granted. She had graduated four years before Hydra, and well—if it wouldn't greatly disappoint her parents, she would gladly find a way to kill the older woman and make it look like an accident.
Was she her Soulmate's date?
The blonde's attention was turned towards Hydra. "Hydra, darling! Congratulations!" The plump girl pulled her into a warm, smelly hug that made her skin crawl. She didn't return it. "I didn't know you and Tom knew each other! That's so cool. We should totally hang out some time!"
Only if it involved a noose.
"Tom and I don't really know each other," she said hesitantly. She was unsure of the relationship between the two, but something in her made her omit the truth of their connection. "I . . . lost my balance earlier after he startled me, and he was kind enough to save me from falling."
"Being known as the man who caused the Black Heiress to fall over the railing at her own Introduction Ball isn't good for the reputation," he commented slyly.
Her heart kicked painfully in her chest.
"Oh, don't worry about that Tom," Historia laughed. "Hydra would always trip going down the stairs from Ravenclaw tower for breakfast—" Only because you made me trip you little wench. "You have the grace of an eagle on a broomstick, but on your feet," she said with a pointed glance at her heels, "you're like a troll."
Ah, what she wouldn't give to just rid the world of Historia Nott.
Hydra grinned stiffly. "Yes, well, we all have moments at school we'd rather not have brought up, I'm sure. Moments that happen in the dead of night." The blonde paled as she knew exactly which memory Hydra spoke of. "Anyway, how do you and Tom know each other?"
Her demeanor changed completely. "Oh, right! You wouldn't have been invited since you were still in school. I'm kind of surprised Theo didn't tell you, actually—" There's a chance he had, and Hydra had just burned the letter without reading it. "Tom and I are engaged to be married!" A pale hand was thrust in front of her, and a large diamond ring resided on the ring finger. "Isn't it gorgeous? It was my great-great grandmother's ring."
All of the air left Hydra's lungs as if she had been hit in the chest with a stray bludger. The tip of her nose began to burn. "Yeah," she choked out. "Pretty." She wiggled her nose as her eyes began to water.
She met Tom's eyes and saw him already staring at her, his face carefully blank. I'm not sorry for what we did. I'm sorry for what's about to happen. She clenched her jaw and wiggled her nose once more.
"Tom and I have been engaged for eight months now," Historia cooed as she stepped back and wrapped her arms around his left arm. She pressed her body against him and rubbed her face against his arm. "The wedding is in November." She gasped as her eyes widened. "You have to come, Hydra. I know you'll be coming anyway as Heiress Black, but you have to come as Hydra."
"I—you know," she choked out with a small, choked, laugh, "I actually start my new job in October." A tear fell out of her right eye. "I'll be out of country," she lied. Kind of.
"Oh, bummer," she pouted. Her eyes widened again, and she began to bounce. Hydra looked at Tom once more, and saw his eyes were no longer blank, and were dark with emotion that she didn't bother to identify. "You should take time off—"
Another tear fell.
"I have to go."
She lifted her dress and ran away from the balcony. She ignored the two calling her name and ran through the ballroom, hastily apologizing to those she ran into. She was just out of the ballroom when she ran into a figure who grabbed her shoulders.
"Let me go," she cried. She pushed at Uncle Remus, but he wouldn't budge. "Let me go," she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her face into his neck. "I hope you know I'm going to kill the male that I smell on you," he growled.
She coughed out a choked sob and held onto his suit. "Don't—" she cried.
"Hydie—"
"He's my Soulmate."
"Oh—oh, darling," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
He led her to her room, and after he made sure she wouldn't do anything drastic, left. She locked the door behind him, placed wards on it, and cried herself to sleep.
He's the Stolen Soulmate.
So. The story is finished. I'm just doing final edits and posting as I go. So it should be up in its entirety in about a week, but no promises. I hope you liked it, and I look forward to your reviews :)