Cedrella knows that her parents are not soulmates. They get along well enough, never arguing in front of their three daughters. In public, her father's arm easily reaches around his wife's waist. In private, her mother's hand always seeks his, their fingers intertwining perfectly. If Cedrella didn't know any better, she might believe that her parents are meant to be.
But the initials that mark the insides of their wrists do not belong to each other.
"Soulmates are an old and silly magic, Cedrella," her mother says sternly. "Some things are more important than fairy tales. Honouring your family. Keeping true to your values. Making a respectable match with a like-minded man is more than enough to make a woman happy."
Cedrella's eyes go wide and she opens her mouth to retort. But before she can get any words out, Callidora's hand has whipped out, wrapping her fingers tightly around her wrist in warning. Cedrella purses her lips and stays silent.
Her parents keep their marks covered after that. The intent is clear. Cedrella and her sisters are not to ask about soulmates again.
Still, late at night Cedrella often finds her fingers going to her unmarked wrist and tracing imaginary letters. One day, she would make fleeting contact with a boy and his initials would appear, bold and dark, there. That boy would be her soulmate. The thought makes Cedrella's heart flutter.
Three years later, Cedrella slides onto a bench to eat breakfast with her sister. Callidora is bemoaning her upcoming Arithmancy test when Cedrella's spoon drops to the table with a loud clang. The rest of Slytherin's table falls silent for a moment, curious eyes turning towards the sound.
"Cedrella!" Callidora stops mid-sentence to stare at her younger sister in shock. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Cedrella's cheeks flush with embarrassment. She lowers her voice. "It's just…your wrist. You met your soulmate."
"Oh."
Much to Cedrella's dismay, Callidora is totally dismissive. Instead of launching into a romantic tale of how they met, she goes back to her bacon and eggs. She's experienced the moment Cedrella has been waiting for her whole life, and she doesn't even care.
"That's all you have to say?"
"What else is there to say?"
"Who is he? Have you spoken to him about it?" Cedrella's voice is breathy. "Do you think you'll get married?"
"Edmund Fortescue. And no, we have not spoken about it. And I highly doubt we'll get married." Callidora gives her sister a pointed look. "No one actually marries their soulmate, Cedrella. You know that."
Cedrella's mouth drops open. But she has long since learnt that arguing about soulmates is just not done. The conversation, she knows, is well and truly over. Callidora, just like their parents, doesn't care for the notion of soulmates. She won't entertain the thought for even a moment. The letters on her skin are nothing more than splotches of magical ink.
Cedrella stares down at her bowl of porridge, half-heartedly stirring it as her sister returns to complaining about the school day ahead. Her eyes catch her own wrist, still unmarked. It's a sight that flashes in her mind sporadically for the rest of the day.
She's in Potions class when it happens. She's reaching into the cabinet for a jar of Asphodel. Septimus Weasley is, apparently, reaching for the same jar. Their fingers touch for just a moment, and Cedrella's wrist burns like hot coals.
The two stare at each other wordlessly, the Asphodel long forgotten.
"You—"
"You take it first," Septimus interrupts. "Maybe you could drop it off at my bench when you're done."
All Cedrella can do is nod. She takes the jar and hurries back to her table, trying not to cast glances his way. She also tries not to be disappointed when she doesn't catch him looking at her.
Still, he smiles and thanks her when she stops at his bench and pushes the glass jar towards him. It's a small gesture, but it makes the tips of her ears turn pink. As she walks back to her own work, she wonders why she's never spoken to him before. Try as she might, she can't remember having a conversation with him that had gone beyond a cordial hello or thank you.
"Jocunda…" Cedrella prods her friend in the side, ignoring the resulting yelp. "You know Septimus Weasley, right?"
"Know him?" If Jocunda is surprised by the question, she hides it well. "Of course. So do you."
"No. I mean, you've probably spoken to him, right? Because of Quidditch and all."
"Not much. It's not like we're on the same team. But we've said hello on the pitch. Why?"
Cedrella gnaws on her bottom lip. "Is he nice?"
"Is he—? Is he nice? Why do you suddenly care if Septimus Weasley is nice?"
"I'm just curious."
Jocunda pauses for a moment. "He's nice."
A sense of relief washes over Cedrella. He's nice. It's not much, but it's a start. A start that excites her. It doesn't even bother her when Jocunda nudges her with her shoulder, demanding answers about Cedrella's new interest.
It takes weeks for Cedrella to successfully corner Septimus. Despite her best efforts, he has managed to dodge her at every turn, slipping into secret alcoves or into crowds of first years. Honestly. It's as if she's the only person in the world who cares at all for soulmates. Today, however, she's in luck.
"You're my soulmate," she pleads. "I just want to get to know you."
"You want to get to know me." Septimus blinks rapidly. "Seriously?"
"Of course I do. We're soulmates." All of a sudden, Cedrella feels heavy. Maybe he would have preferred it if she'd ignored the initials on wrist. "Don't we owe it to each other to at least give it a try?"
The way his eyes widen makes Cedrella wonder if she's grown a second head.
"I'm just curious," she says weakly. "It's not a marriage proposal. I'd just like to be friends."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He smiles, and Cedrella suddenly feels weak at the knees. "There's no harm in being friends."
"But we will have to be discrete."
"In our friendship?"
Cedrella blanches. Yes, in their friendship. But more so should it ever become more than that. She opts for a simple explanation and says, "My sisters are nosy. They'll get the wrong idea."
"Right. Of course."
There's a part of her that wishes he were a little bit more excited about it. That he would at least pretend to be interested. At the very least, it would make her feel less crazy. But even as he walks away from her—and she notes that he doesn't bother to cast a backwards glance at her—Cedrella still holds on to hope.
Although Septimus does a very good job initially to feign his disinterest, it only takes a few hidden meetings at the corner of the Forbidden Forest for him to confess that he finds himself drawn to her. She's quick to say the same. All in all, having a soulmate is exactly how Cedrella had imagined it—exactly how she'd hoped it would be. Cedrella and Septimus fall into each other, each one half of a whole.
"Your family won't approve."
"No." Lying, she knows, is futile. "No, they won't."
"Then perhaps we should stop meeting like this."
Like this. It almost makes her laugh. He says it like they've been doing something salacious. Inappropriate, even. In reality, all they've done is picnicked on some grass and taken some long walks through the trees. And although they're alone, he's never taken any liberties. And although she wishes that he might one day reach out and intertwine her fingers with hers, she has to admit that she finds his hesitance charming.
"Is that what you want?"
Septimus clears his throat. "No. I like, uh, your company."
"My company?"
"You. I like you."
"You sound worried. You don't think I like you too?" When he doesn't respond, she gives him a comforting smile. "I like you too, Septimus."
"But your family…"
"We'll worry about them later."
She says it with so much confidence that Septimus can't help but smile back. But she's quick to guide the conversation elsewhere, commenting on how beautiful the leaves are now that they've turned orange. Septimus gets a sinking feeling that later might be sooner than Cedrella is willing to admit.
Cedrella should have known that she wouldn't be able to hide their relationship forever. She had, however, hoped that she'd be able to tell her sisters in her own time. Unfortunately, Callidora has an eagle eye. She catches Cedrella sending one too many longing glances Septimus' way and immediately questions her.
"Are you serious, Cedrella? Septimus Weasley? You need to squash this silly little cru—"
"It's not silly."
Callidora groans. "Don't tell me it's serious. Have you been seeing him? For how long? My god, Cedrella. What's wrong with you?"
"He's my soulmate!"
"So?" She looks baffled, as if she can't even fathom why Cedrella is bringing it up. "What's that got to do with it?"
"So, he's my soulmate. It's fate."
"You don't need your soulmate to be happy, Cedrella." Callidora holds her sister's hands in her own, looking into her eyes with a sad desperation. "But you do need family."
"It's not just that he's my soulmate," she insists. "I love him."
"It doesn't matter if you love him. Our parents will never approve. Not of a Weasley." Callidora's grip tightens. "They'll disown you. You know that, don't you?"
Cedrella frowns. She'd known—of course she'd known—that her fondness for Septimus would be a problem. And yes, the threat of being disowned had crossed her mind. But the way Callidora says it—with such disapproval—makes Cedrella pause.
"They would," she says slowly. "But I'd still have you. And Charis."
"Cedrella…"
"Yes?"
"If we spoke to you, we'd be traitors too."
Cedrella quickly pulls her hands away as the words hanging in the air have scalded them. Naturally, her gaze falls to her wrist—to the initials that mark her. Callidora watches, immediately understanding why the silence feels so heavy.
Cedrella has already made her choice. Truthfully, she'd made up her mind the moment her fingers had brushed his in Potions class that day and she'd seen all her childhood dreams of love and fate reflected in his eyes. There is no doubt that when the time comes, Cedrella will defy her parents and choose Septimus. She'll choose her soulmate.