Cruel Fates Theodore Nott vs Draco Malfoy

by Capricornbaby0

Descended from a line of seers, Dahlia has a rare gift to see visions of the future — an ability dark wizards seek as they pave their path to power. With the winds whispering of approaching darkness, she knows it isn't safe to fall for Theodore Nott. Tangled in the chaos of his heart, she strikes a deal with Draco Malfoy to help save him and the consequences are binding.

20. Chapter 20

The peace of the winding, snow-dusted path was disrupted as Devereaux Aldair apparated with his daughter to the edge of the castle grounds. The winds cried and the frosted trees shook as the iron gates of the perimeter creaked to life, slowly opening so they may walk through the heavy wards that protected the castle from unwelcome intruders and outside apparition. Dahlia was wordless. Her father looked down and assessed her reddened face and bloodshot eyes. He grabbed her arm, worried she might make a run for it.

"I'm not a chi-" she reacted spitefully with a tug of her arm.

"Do not speak." His face scrunched in frustration. "Never assume we are alone." He dragged her through the warded gates and they swiftly groaned shut behind them. The Aldairs left the castle grounds without a moment's pause.

Dahlia stumbled into the grand foyer of her home. Her trunk slammed onto the cherry oak floor with a heavy thud beside her. She reoriented herself and smoothed her skirt. It was uncanny to be standing here in her school uniform when Hogwarts had always felt more like home.

Her father straightened his suit and threw his cane aside with a tired sigh, as if bringing her home had been a tedious chore. His public mask of joviality slipped to reveal heavy disappointment. He looked ten years older with weariness. He turned to face her and spoke, exasperated, with one hand on his hip .

"Dahlia, I've been quite lenient. I've let you run off with Amelia at your own discretion because I know these past years have been difficult."

He stepped forward. His face twisted with coldness. "But I will not have you living with that Nott boy, or any man, until it's appropriate. I will not tolerate you barely passing your classes and rumors circulating about indecent behavior."

He ran his hand through his well-trimmed grey hair then pointed at her. "It is not who we are. You've lost your gods-damned mind." He turned from her as if the sight of her was triggering. He shook his head viciously and swiped his hand across his mouth as if to hold back harsher words.

Dahlia shifted uncomfortably, her thoughts swirling. He must have received her letter about her holiday plans and been furious. She wondered if she should have not told him at all. Then she could have carried on as she wished — shattering the last of her pristine facade to become whole. She rubbed her hands together as she felt her anxiety heighten.

Her father brought his fingers to squeeze his forehead as if her silence and this whole interaction was giving him a pounding migraine. "Dahlia, I know you are cross with me, but it is critical we present a clean, united front to the public during difficult times. Things are unstable and in a delicate balance."

Dahlia shifted, unable to overcome the feeling of shame she had been raised to endure when she was less than perfect. It was a vicious conditioning she had yet to break.

Her father glanced over and his eyes softened. He lowered his head to level with her. "Are you upset about the Malfoys?"

The question caught her so off guard that she finally found words to string together amidst her emotional storm.

"What are you talking about?" She scoffed, squeezing her arms across her chest, bone-weary in tone.

His eyes sharpened. His irritation grew as he realized she hadn't bothered to read half his letters. "I had hardly considered the offer, but your recent behavior makes me want to sell you off." He laughed as if the thought was sickly humorous.

Dahlia pursed her lips as Draco's harsh words echoed in her mind. His honesty had been too cruel for her then, as he had reminded her she was useless to her father, and only worth the alliance he might gain from her hand in marriage.

She opened her mouth to question further, but stopped short as her father sighed in contemplation. He muttered under his breath to himself, "and then I might shift you away from Tiberius's son."

Her father knew there was no point in stating his disapproval directly, as Dahlia hadn't needed to ask if her father approved of Theo in the first place. She already knew the answer — known it from the start that Theo wouldn't have been an acceptable choice. He wore his heart and intentions on his sleeve, which Devereaux Aldair found incredibly foolish. The Nott House had been mortared in blood spilled disrespectfully from open violence — they were unfair men. The match would be scandalous, regardless how he could try to spin it on her behalf. Her father had hoped it was only an infatuation when Theodore Nott had taken that first step into their home. He felt a pity for the boy, but not nearly enough to let him keep his only daughter.

Dahlia sat on the monstrous staircase that had been carved to resemble the hollow of an ancient tree — the railings smoothed into delicate, blooming branches. She exhaled slowly. There was no need to argue what Theo might be worth to her father. She had deemed him worthy, which was enough for her. She couldn't yet fathom what he had just done. What she had seen was incomprehensible. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The long silence revealed something broken. She placed her hand where her mother had once sat in a withered, fading memory. It might have been her first cognizant thought — how beautiful her mother had appeared laughing in a ball gown as she sat on the same stair, drinking from a bottle of champagne as it neared midnight. Her mother had cradled her sleeping frame as she had refused to tuck her in, wanting all the hours with her, but also not wanting to ever leave a party. Her parents had pleasantly squabbled. Then, her father had taken Dahlia out of her mother's arms while shushing her cries and took her to bed. The reminder of that small separation painfully ricocheted off the more permanent severance. She missed her mother so much that it revealed a new perspective. Who had her aching heart, and who would have her cursed hand simply didn't matter. The romantic sleights now seemed insignificant — they didn't hurt so much, because no romantic heartbreak could ever compare to this bone-crushing loss. They were small fissures next to a gaping ravine.

She chuckled a sob, scolding her father for thinking her so foolish to be upset over romantic dealings.

"You broke us," she spoke quietly. She nodded, grudge building. "You broke her." Her voice also broke with the truth as it left her lips.

He stiffened, his composure lost for the first time since he had last held his late wife.

Dahlia muttered, "you took her from me." She wiped a furious tear. "And now I am alone..."

She let the words hand in the air like a decaying corpse — long gone. She looked away from her father, who had never been much for it. She wiped her eyes and in a disgusted tone continued, "...because now, you might as well be dead to me too."

Her father took a step closer, refusing to soak in her words and accept she knew the truth.

"Who has been putting these wild thoughts into your mind?" He laughed casually.

She stood up in a quiet rage and opened her trunk. She ripped through her clothes and belongings. She found her father's own journal. She tossed it at his feet. She said nothing. The betrayal in her eyes said enough.

He let out a shaky breath. It was as if he realized he had no choice but to fold. His face tightened as if fighting the words. He muttered sharply, "I put my trust into the wrong hands and I paid dearly for it."

He nodded unwaveringly, "I loved her, as I love you." A million truths flashed across his eyes but he stuttered as he attempted to grapple with another sentence.

"This isn't love!" She bellowed as she grabbed the journal off the floor since he hadn't cared enough to pick it up himself.

The emotional turmoil began to manifest, taking on life.

Dahlia couldn't breathe. She heaved and gasped for air. Her father mistook it for a cry of despair. He shoved over a crystal vase of cream dahlias in frustration. It shattered across the floor at her feet. She recoiled from the sharp glass. She fell back to the stairs. She gripped the banister as the toll became too great, and blackness seeped into her periphery. She looked around frantically as she heard otherworldly whispers licking her ears.

Her father finally took notice of her hysteria. He stepped towards her, panic-struck, as she clenched the stair beneath her seated frame. He tried to remember how he would soothe her mother in such cases. He tucked Dahlia into his chest as she wailed in agony, her consciousness splitting.

She begged herself to stay present as her mind began tumbling through the stars and whipping timelines, but it was too late — she was gone. The cosmos took her. She desperately reached for a timeline to hold on to that might break her fall, but all she saw were flashes of possibilities, a film screen burned into her mind, as different realities rippled.

She saw her father shake hands, well in the past, with a handsome young man. Her mother levitating into the stars as they swooned in worship. Her father weeping as he played with her and her teddy bears — a wailing voice carried down a maze of halls. Her child-self winced at the familiar sound. She saw her father begging the same handsome demon for it to end.

"No!" She cried, voice cracking, as she watched him barter his own daughter's life — her life — away to end it.

Dahlia writhed against the stardust to grapple a different string of time only to see her mother crawling through blood-stained grass. Dahlia sobbed a scream — it wasn't her mother she realized. She looked down and became herself. Warm blood soaked her own black-dusted fingertips and star-touched hair. Someone desperately reach for her cold, death-touched hand. She flinched and reality rippled — she was suddenly out of body.

She turned, terrified and heart racing. She sobbed at the future she had found. The image before her would forever brand itself into her memory — Theo holding her lifeless frame, limp and well past dying. He roared, as fury ripped him clean in half. She saw the dark chaos he would cause in the cracks of his tearing soul. He was reborn, in this moment, into the monstrous, fallen prince.

She covered her gasping mouth as she began to hyperventilate. She wiped tears of blood from her face as she ran into the ancient wood. Here the trees were inverted, roots hung high above. The large trunks were covered in moss, fading from the brightest green to cursed black. She ran, heart pounding in terror, away from her lifeless body, until a cold hand snatched her ankle. She twisted around, tumbling to the ground. The back of her head cracked against the ground.

She had fallen into a void where nothing existed at all. She floated aimlessly through the sacred waters of dark matter. In the graveyard of dying stars, she found peace.

— — — — — — — — — —

"Dahlia?"

She felt strong hands shake her shoulders gently back to life. Her eyes fell open, quickly embracing the moonlight. She gasped for air as if she had been sweetly drowning. She felt stiff. She tilted her head and saw Draco kneeling beside her. He looked far too brilliant to be real. His white hair glowed as to create a wondrous, angelic aura about him. No, this was a dream. There were far too many stars in the night sky.

"You alright, Aldair? Have a nightmare?" He asked amused.

She blinked as she tried to make sense of it all. She brushed her fingertips across her skin to assure herself that she could feel her physical body.

"Usually the women let me speak first before fainting." Draco chuckled at his own joke.

She knew nothing was amiss if Draco was making bad jokes.

Her shoulders relaxed. Dahlia coughed and sat up. Her hands squished against the dewy, short grass and dampened dirt. She mewled pathetically as the image of blood-stained grass flickered restlessly before her eyes.

The amusement was wiped from Draco's expression. His face twisted in confusion as he stood. He held his hands out as to help her if she so wished. Dahlia instead crawled back until she was safely within the roots of an aged willow tree. She slapped away his reaching hand as her back finally hit the ancient tree trunk. She closed her eyes, and placed her hands over her heart to calm herself. It was beating — she was alive. She was safe here in their dream, she repeated.

He leaned against the tree, crossing his arms. He waited patiently as if her distress was becoming a normal occurrence. He monitored her carefully in case his assistance was needed — it usually wasn't preferred.

She finally answered his question. "I'm alright."

Even though she wasn't so sure. Emotionally, she was the farthest from it. Physically, she seemed to be free from any injuries. She opened her eyes and made sense of her surroundings. She was sitting in front of the pond, full of the blooming lily pads she used to dream of so often. She gazed up at the barren branches of the primordial willow tree. She had rested her head here dozens of times, night after night, and watched the golden hour fade over the mirrored lagoon. She had seen the branches become more sparse as the nights passed.

"I used to dream of this place," she whispered breathlessly as if it comforted her.

Draco tilted his head down to her. He slowly grinned like he often did after learning an ugly secret that he might leverage.

"This is my home," he replied smugly with a raised brow. His eyes gleamed with pride as he pointed back at a gilded manor in the distance.

"Come here often?" He crossed his feet and grinned at her arrogantly. "I can give you the grand tour, yes?"

She smacked his knee, unamused, and brought her hands back to her chest.

"I can't be here," she croaked. She realized she must have been asleep, or knocked out, to have fallen into this dream. She wondered where her physical body had ended up. She had last been in her foyer.

"You would leave me all alone?" He asked feigning disbelief. "Just when our friendship is finally budding?"

"Draco, seriously," she groaned.

She never should have admitted she had also been dreaming about the Malfoy Manor for months on end. It had made him unbearably confident.

He closed his eyes briefly and inclined his grey eyes to her stars above. "It never gets old — hearing you say my name."

Dahlia rubbed her face in frustration.

He sighed in defeat as he saw distress still lingering in her eyes. "Move," he demanded calmly, motioning for her to scoot forward.

She shimmied away from the tree trunk and felt the summer wind caress her back. He sat down behind her and pulled her by the waist into his chest, saving enough room to account for their blurred boundaries. He pulled her tousled hair over her shoulders and began running his fingers through it.

"Fight with Theodore? Rather be running off to kiss it better?" His tone was cold and biting, a contrast to how he currently was coddling her.

She said nothing, unwilling to offer any details up about their fight to provoke him. She hoped their tense conversation hadn't been that noticeable when she had left Hogwarts.

He rolled his eyes at her refusal to answer the question. "He was insufferable about it. Shall I wake him up and tell him you're alright? We are roommates after all," he teased.

"No," she snapped angrily as she looked sharply over her shoulder.

He dropped her hair and leaned back on his arms. Draco's eyes narrowed. He grew more annoyed by her sour mood, but fought the impulse to deliver a snide remark.

"Sorry," she whispered. "It's not just Theo. I had a fight with my father." She leaned back on her hand between his legs to face him. To any unknowing strangers, they were seated quite intimately, like lovers.

"Why did your father bring you home? I thought you were spending the holiday at the newly renovated, jolly and merry Chateau Nott?" He angled his eyes in amusement. "He didn't like that, I suppose?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't. Truth be told, I haven't read his letters in weeks," she mumbled.

She paused painfully as the flickering images of her father from the vision crossed her mind. She sunk her fingers into the dirt beneath her hands to ground herself. She shut her eyes to shoo the images away. The universe had showed her what her father was too ashamed to speak. It wall all too raw to vocalize this soon.

She looked up at Draco who was watching her. He leaned forward casually throwing his arm on his knee. She thought for a moment he might kiss her. If she wasn't so heartbroken, she probably would have kissed him back.

"Draco?" She tilted her head with a shadow of concern.

"What?" He balled his fist as he caught himself reaching for her face.

"My father thought I was upset about something your family offered?" Her voice was quiet and hesitant. She shot him a questioning glance, accompanied by an expecting silence for him to fill.

Draco tensed. He had assumed his and Devereaux's conversation had been a private matter. He had thought the rumors swirled silently as their pairing had made sense in so many eyes, but he had been wrong. Devereaux had been loose-lipped with their dealings. He now felt foolish as he stared back into her forgiving eyes. They had been growing closer, and he knew he was about to rip the rug out from underneath her. He was about to smash the faith he had been carefully crafting all to dust. This would be a betrayal. He should have told her — a stab of regret had him breathing out a harsh breath. He had been content to be selfish at the time, and force her into his love, but he cared far too much now. He calculated an answer that would break the news, and her trust, delicately.

"I may have asked," he paused and looked away from her doe eyes. He tightened his jaw in remorse. He took a steadying breath and sat taller. "I may have casually mentioned the idea of joining our houses, eventually," he said smoothly with a quiet confidence.

He watched Dahlia's face drop as he fumbled her heart. Her weary curiosity was replaced with a sweet, disappointed frown as she read between the lines.

He held his breath as he waited for her to speak.

She stiffened as the moments passed. As she made sense of the revelation, her face carried a new regret that she had been too vulnerable.

He reassessed his naïve tactic to dance around the truth as self consciousness suddenly paralyzed him. His vagueness had seemed to only irritate her further.

He became acutely aware, in this fleeting moment, that he wasn't her chosen partner no matter how much he loved her. There were parts of her that would always be foreign to him — and that revelation cut deep.

He had no clue as to how to handle a romantic squabble with her. He was racing to build walls of a relationship that didn't have a solid foundation. He still needed a compass to navigate her emotions. Jealousy reared from the blackest depths of his heart. Theo likely knew all the pieces of her and didn't need a way-finder to bring her back into his arms. He knew how she preferred to be held, and if she preferred to sleep on tough conversations or work it out immediately. He knew whether a nap or a hot bath would soothe her most. Theo had that sweet intimacy, the full understanding of her, that he would never have.

"Would you like to be more clear with me, Draco?" She emphasized his name lyrically.

He sensed a simmering rage lurked beneath her alluring tone. It was a sucker-punch that sent him stumbling back into his comfort zone of cold arrogance. He narrowed his eyes at her. He would fall back into what he knew best, even if he knew it wasn't right. His own icy superiority would forever be his familiarity.

He smiled at her awfully, recognizing that he wore cruelty so much better than her — his true north.

"I might have asked permission to take your hand in marriage, shall it come to it," he replied in a silkened voice.

His stormy eyes were as calm as the lagoon that mirrored the starlight. There was no contrition in them as he looked at her harshly — proudly. She couldn't cope with another betrayal. She held back a sob and accidentally channeled her devastation through the single thread that tied their hearts together.

He winced but quickly recovered.

"We are fated, Dahlia. It's simply insurance, shall you need it." He leaned back casually, unbothered.

"Insurance for what? In case he wrecks me? You'll come pick up the pieces? Assess what I might still be worth?" Her scornful words didn't even seem to scratch his impenetrably cold surface.

He rolled his eyes as if she was being dense, even though she was quite right. He planned on taking her from Theo one day, even if his actions wouldn't be outright. He still waited for Theo to completely implode while he planted the seed of his own love. This was only a hiccup — the fallout he had dreaded.

"There is a war happening, Dahlia. I would like to keep you close — and alive," he answered nonchalantly.

She laughed scornfully at his lie when she had so clearly seen the truth. He would steal her last breath; stop her heart.

He ran his hand through his hair. It was a tell that he was also distressed beneath it all.

"Draco…" she softened her voice, then shook her head as to ask for his honesty.

He looked back at her sharply. "There is little to nothing that I wouldn't do for you," his eyes rolled over her entire frame, "or to have you."

Dahlia's features hardened. She knew she had gotten the truth she seeked, and if he was unwilling to apologize, then she was disinclined to be in his presence. The idea of marriage was so unfathomable that she couldn't yet be furious.

It would never happen — she would never marry Draco. No one would force her down any aisle. She was far too young to consider such things. She felt like an open wound of emotions — beaten down and too exhausted to scream. She added this to her growing list of betrayals.

"My days are numbered, Draco. Don't waste your time," she replied softly as she stood.

The surrender in her tone was too honest. Draco couldn't stand to look at her any longer — afraid she would see how awful, and sorry, he truly was if she looked too long. He diverted his attention to the dimming moonlight. He abruptly exhaled in misery as he understood the loss of light meant she had vanished.

—

Somewhere secure within the Nott Manor, Theodore hummed to himself as Dahlia usually did when she was lost in thought.

The morning sun beat down on him through the green-hued glass of his overrun conservatory. It was a beautiful day of sunshine amid a harsh winter. He squinted at the vial placed before him as he mindlessly stirred the boiling belladonna at his side.

This damn vial he had lured off the hands of that irritating Hufflepuff had caused him quite the heartache — and migraine. It was a tincture from the sap of an extremely rare and poisonous flower that only grew in the ancient wood of a sacred row of trees. He brewed a piece of Dahlia's star bright hair into the seething cauldron of the deadly nightshade.

Finding her essence for the potion had been easy. His black attire was consistently covered in her shedding hair — the one downfall of having a girlfriend, surely. He sighed. The current concoction he was brewing now combined with a blade forged from that cursed pool of starlight would surely be enough.

He heard scuffling from the decaying door. He rolled his eyes. He had spent years wishing his brother would come home, only to be constantly annoyed by his presence now that he was back.

"Still in a sour mood, I see?" Alex taunted.

"If she would just…respond," he said in grand irritation at the open journal as he threw off his gloves.

He hadn't spoken or heard from Dahlia in days. She had left Hogwarts, and Eloise had assured him she had packed Dahlia's journal. He had moved the heavens in an attempt to bring her home and she didn't even seem to care. He had almost considered burning that damn estate to the ground, but thought against it as Dahlia probably had memories of her mother in there.

He was starting to think the wild rumors might me true — her father had sent her to France or The States to finish the last of her schooling. Theo planned to leave for Paris in the morning if she didn't respond by tonight.

"You are too young to love like this, Theodore," Alex smirked.

"Says the bastard whose never loved at all," he answered casually. "Holding out for someone in particular?"

His brother only shook his head as he leaned against the rusting table. "What's she like then? The ministry darling," he teased as he pushed himself onto the metal surface. "The dealing-devil's daughter?"

"Don't start with me. I beg you," Theo replied smoothly. He placed his hands on his hips and looked to the sky to scrounge up some patience.

"If you only knew the stories I've heard about Devereaux Aldair ." Theo could hear Alex shaking his head in disapproval.

"Well, good thing I don't particularly care for morals," Theo answered.

He lowered his eye to him. "And what are you? Any better?" He threw a lazy hand in his direction. "Some holier than thou agent for the order." He shook his head and smirked. "A hit man is a hit man, brother."

"You could join?" His brother raised a brow with the offer. Alex had been at it for days, slowing wearing Theo down.

"I work for myself. I told you," Theo sighed.

His brother smiled. "I liked you better five years ago."

Theo didn't respond as he stirred his potion.

"Come on, Teddy. Tell me about Dahlia Aldair ," Alex prodded.

No one had called him that since his mother had died, but didn't refuse it.

"She's kind. She's clever, and a bit wistful…I never know what she's thinking — it's captivating in the worst ways. She can be incredibly emotional, but in a way that makes you want to feel that same level of emotion, as well." Theo didn't know how to describe her divinity so he settled on something imperfect. "She's a bit spooky. You know, a kind of haunting beauty." He spoke animated with his hands.

Alex tilted his head on confusion.

Theo continued, furrowing his brows, "like you could wake up and she's the beautiful ghost staring at you at the end of your bed that knows things you don't."

Alex snorted and shook his head. "Are you sure you don't fancy sexy phantoms?"

Theo grinned and laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. He spoke more quietly, "she's like mum in a sense that she can find the best in someone, no matter how awful they might be."

Alex only nodded and handed him a beer. It wasn't about her. The question had only meant to cheer his brother up.

"She can quite literally glow!" Theo added excitedly.

"That's enough," his brother answered with a snort.

—

Dahlia startled awake.

She gripped consciousness with relief as she sat up and realized she was in her own bedroom. She kicked off the sheets and discovered she was still in her school uniform. She grabbed her wand off the nightstand and ran to the door on light feet, careful to not make a sound. She gently locked her bedroom door in silence. She cast a more secure locking spell for extra measure.

She tiptoed into her bathroom, unaware if her father lurked nearby and was listening for sounds. She closed the doors, then locked them. She slumped her shoulders in relief, finally feeling safe enough from harm. She held herself together for a moment in anguish before she began peeling her clothes off as she slowly crumbled.

No place could ever feel truly safe anymore. She couldn't stand to hear herself cry one more time, so she let her tears fall loosely in silence as she breathed deeply and steadily. She had dozens of places to go, but none of them were home.

A singular longing pulsed over, and over, in her mind as her blood pumped through her heart to the same rhythm — Theo.

It was a habit that couldn't be broken even if he had messed up. Theo was home, whether it was made of ash or gold. She just needed to know, but she needed to know — she wasn't quite sure.

She ripped open her bathroom doors in nothing but her bra and underwear. She shuffled through her trunk in a somber hysteria. Eloise had packed it. She had seen her pack it.

She fell to her knees and leaned over the edge of her trunk as she shook out a folded sweatshirt. Her journal fell to the ground, its pages sprawling across the floor. A heavy relief filled her weary bones. She clenched it to her chest like a lifeline. She crossed her legs on the cold, dark wooden floor. She shivered and sniffed back tears as she opened it. She didn't bother to read what he had written. She wrote: Where are you?

She closed her eyes and clutched the quill as she steadied her breath. It all came undone, and it was too much to manage. The men in her life had taken turns at cutting her open. Theo had been disloyal, Draco gone behind her back and the worst of it — her father taken the one person who truly loved her away, then condemned her to the same fate.

She tilted her head to the brilliant sunlight shining through her bedroom windows. She knew it was early; it was too bright to be afternoon. The memories of her mother waking her up every morning in this very room pierced through her fragile mind. She inhaled a sob. She wrote, hands shaking: I can't be here. Please.

She brought her knees to her chest as she sat back from the journal impatiently. She knew it might be irrational, but if he loved her, then he would have his journal with him and waiting. She flipped through the pages from a careful distance, willing herself to read his messages before they faded into nothing. He had written:

Don't unpack. I'm coming.

Dahlia, things are not as they seem. You know I've been searching for a solution to sever your bond. I needed a tincture. I heard she was a good botanist from a Gryffindor at a party. I'm deeply sorry I wasn't there for you the moment your father arrived.

I need your words. Everything I do is with you in mind.

You aren't being fair, Dahlia. Let's discuss this. I'm coming for you the moment I can.

Please write back to me. You know I hate things I can't make sense of.

Baby, I'm sorry. Your father has warded the house heavily from apparating. I'm trying.

Her heart constricted as the journal glowed, receiving new words. She flipped the page and read what Theo was currently writing on the other end, somewhere out there while she lay trapped.

He responded: Are you safe? Where are you?

She released a hot breath and scribbled again: Tell me where you are.

She knew the Hogwarts Express had only left this morning to bring everyone home for the holiday.

He answered: I'm home with my brother. I left Hogwarts late that night. There is a secret passage into Hogsmeade from the castle. I apparated from Honeydukes to my home, and then to your estate. It appeared dark inside, and I couldn't get to you through new, reinforced wards. They're whispering you aren't even there, that he's sent you away.

They were writing frantically to each other simultaneously.

She answered: No, I'm here. I'm home.

He wrote at the same time: I'll bring you home. Can you escape?

She shook her head in response. She momentarily forgot he wasn't really here. She hated that she wished he was. She wanted him to kiss her palms and make it all better. She wanted to rid the image of him flirting with another girl from her mind. She responded: I'll see.

She hesitated before purging her heart out to the person she thought she trusted most. She chose to trust him once more, nevertheless. Terror dripped off her spine. She quickly wrote: Draco is bargaining for permission to marry me, but my father has already sold me to the Dark Lord.

The pen had felt horrid against the page, even more abominable to imagine speaking the written words.

She had known the handsome stranger was the Dark Lord by the same scent of his soul from her previous vision. His bleeding eyes had been of grisly similarity. Her father had shook his hand once, in an exchange of power — influence traded for the word of the Divine. Then he had shaken it twice, with an unbreakable vow to end her own mother's suffering in exchange for their first born if she too had been touched by The Fates.

She felt as if she couldn't breathe. She was a caged, terrified animal. It hit her as the words disappeared from the page to Theo — she was raised for nothing but to die, and she had been the last to know among her parents and the whispering stars.

Theo answered in barely legible, furious scribbles: Where is your father now?

She held her quill barely above the paper, hand shaking. She could practically sense his instability through the journal, even though it suddenly felt like they were worlds away. He was too unpredictable to share anything more. She tried to write that she was currently fine but it was too great of a lie. Instead of responding, she put the quill down and closed the journal. She knew he would be furious that she ignored him.

She stood and tucked the journal beneath the clothes in her trunk. She went back to her bathroom and locked the doors — still fearing her father. She took steadying breaths as she filled her bathtub. She heated the water to a painful temperature. She stepped into the tub and submerged herself whole, embracing the physical pain as an emotional ease. She held her breath until it burned, then rose up from the water, gasping in relief. She tilted her head back to her enchanted ceiling, letting the shooting stars guide her thoughts to calmer places.

She startled with a scream as a small voice cleared its throat. She whipped to see Dagadan standing in the corner with a tray of food as she covered her chest beneath the water. She exhaled slowly as she realized it was just her elf. He snapped his fingers, and the tub filled with soapy bubbles. She nodded, and he slowly approached.

"Leave it, please." she answered meekly.

He dropped the tray by the tub on the floor.

"Master Aldair has requested your accompaniment to an event tonight." He bowed and braced himself for her fiery response.

She felt a bitterness, but she wouldn't take it out on the elf. She knew her father might beat him if he came back with less than delightful news.

"What event?" She couldn't help the annoyance that seeped into her tone.

The elf fidgeted with his hands before squeaking, "madame, it's Christmas Eve." He looked up at her fearfully, "Master Aldair thought it best to keep you comfortably asleep."

Her mouth fell in confusion. She had been asleep for days. Theo hadn't been able to get to her for an entire week.

The elf continued, breaking through her baffled silence, "The Malfoys sent you a gift this morning along with your very own invitation. Master Aldair received his some time ago."

Dagadan snapped his fingers yet again, and this time a large black box wrapped in a silky silver bow appeared. He brought it carefully to the floor and handed her the silver envelope. It was addressed specifically to her in Draco's elegant handwriting. She opened the envelope and pulled out a rather generic invitation. Draco must have thought it would be like receiving a golden ticket. She rolled her eyes.

"Pen please, Dagadan."

A golden, ink pen materialized from thin air. He handed it to her bubble-covered hand. She wrote on the ledge of the tub with white knuckles on the RSVP line: go fuck yourself.

She sighed as she tucked the RSVP card safely back into the envelope with a little water stain.

"Please send this back to Draco Malfoy. I would like you to personally deliver it as this message is of utmost importance and sincerity," she ordered politely.

He bowed. "Madame needn't be ready until seven o'clock."

He disappeared before she could refuse.

Dahlia proceeded to rest her head against the back of the tub. She gazed at the large present from Draco as she slowly slid beneath the bubbles to lose herself. She wished it was possible to rid her mind of all of her thoughts. She lay beneath the water and remembered how Draco had pulled her out of the star-filled void. She imagined Theo pulling her out instead. Her stomach flipped in response.

Theo had threatened to shift her whole perspective of their relationship with the smallest gesture that had felt like a time-stopping betrayal. He had been momentarily disloyal, then claimed he had done so only to accomplish their goals. Theo always called her his wild card — a swindler who had tricked him out of his heart. Maybe he loved her because he saw that same quality he deemed exceptional about himself, in her.

She had made it clear that she loved him for his worser qualities — he hadn't considered conning one of them. Theo had tried to better himself for her by quitting drugs and drinking, none of which mattered to Dahlia, but only to the public. What might have counted for her, is if he had laid to rest the plotting. She had never considered that he might be willing to hurt her in a scheme in order to accomplish a bigger goal. Of course, he would rationalize it to both her and himself — that the brutality of the means were insignificant when considering the end they desired.

Dahlia knew she was no worse than him though. If she was a better person, she would have resisted Draco and the act of her own betrayals. Her betrayal wasn't a ploy — it was worse. It was a suppressed truth. She kissed Draco because she-

She couldn't even admit it to herself. It was too traitorous. It ate at her.

Beneath the water, she finally came to terms that she would be willing to lose her bond with Draco if it meant she could run to a future with Theo. A future where they would never fight and never doubt. She lost herself in a daydream of what she would wear and what she might say as he held her hand and walked her down the side streets of all the major cities. They would snicker quietly as they performed small charms in cafes and watched the muggles' faces twist in confusion. She dreamed of how Theo might look when he's older. What he might read, and what career he might have.

Dahlia came up for air once more. She had been soaking in her bathtub for a ridiculously long time. She finally stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a plush towel. She sat on the heated tile floor and crossed her legs. She was content to remain safely in the confines of her bathroom.

She bit into a piece of bread that Dagadan had left as she began ripping into Draco's present, covering the expensive wrapping paper in crumbs. She discovered a black garment bag inside the box. She rolled her eyes at how cliche Draco could be. The outfit within the bag was surely meant to be worn to the party tonight.

She pulled down the zipper, quickly and uncaring. She opened the garment bag and her breath caught. She nearly choked on the bread. She hadn't expected to receive something so beautiful.

The dress was stunning. It was a form-fitting, off the shoulder gown that shimmered as if crafted from starlight itself. It was made of hundreds of crystals and tiny pearls. She inspected the bag for a note, but there was nothing else within it. There was also no tag on the dress. He must have had it made for her. She revisited the box and found the note within the tissue paper that she had so casually thrown aside.

His note read: For my North Star, you shine the brightest.

She would never admit it to him, but she adored the gift. A slow grin broke across her lips and she savored the moment alone. She allowed herself to embrace the joy he had brought to her in the solidarity.

She shrugged and held the dress in her hands. The gift had cleared her mind as she plotted a way forward. She would go tonight if only to escape. She stood and hung the dress on the door. She told herself she would don the gown only since she had nothing else to wear tonight.

She slowly opened the bathroom doors and checked to make sure she was still alone. She went back to her trunk and grabbed her makeup to prepare. She also dug her journal back out.

She wrote to Theo: I'm going to the Malfoy's party tonight. Hoping to escape then.

Theo responded as if he had been waiting: I will be there. I love you.

Dahlia didn't respond. His words fell on a numbed heart. She knew it still beat for him; she loved him, but she couldn't bring herself to write it back just yet. He had overplayed his hand, and she wanted him to sweat for it. She shut the journal and got ready for the evening.

—

Dahlia and her father passed wordlessly through the ominous iron gates of Malfoy Manor.

She had met him with silence in the foyer. The silence persisted as they apparated from their home to a quiet road where enchanted, horseless carriages waited to chauffeur them up the long, endless driveway of the manor. Dahlia noted the perfectly spaced trees that lined the road out her small window before angling her spiteful eyes towards her father. He sat across from her in the carriage, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Your mother used to prefer to be kept asleep after her visions," he said quietly as he observed the albino peacocks frolicking through the pristine gardens.

She shook her head, disgusted he would feel comfortable enough to speak about her mother so casually now.

"Dahlia, anything I've done to her, was not by my own will." His voice cracked as if pained. He still wouldn't meet her gaze.

She shook her head refusing his answer. "And what about me?" She asked as her fingers sunk deeper into the emerald velvet cushion as she maintained a cool composure.

He tilted his head to observe her only partly.

She nodded to confirm she knew of his nasty dealings. It was all too much to stomach.

"I saw you trade what was left of her life for mine," she murmured numbly. To give life to the truth was to bring fear into her bones. Her stomach roiled. She was doomed.

He looked up at the night sky and whispered as if in denial, "I never thought he would return."

He glanced back to finally fully observe his daughter's face that resembled his love's so dearly. His expression hardened with a different kind of betrayal as he stroked his beard in agitation. "She told me he would pass, that all would be well." It was almost as if he blamed her.

He shook his head as they came to a stop in front of a colossal marble fountain. It was sculpted to showcase dragons roaring as they were slain, then re-birthed from stolen eggs in an endless cycle.

He straightened, reviving a cool indifference for the world now that they had arrived. "We will deal again. He will not have you, as well." He squinted his eyes as formulating a plan, vying his different options.

He exited the carriage and held his arm out for her. She took his arm, as she had a plan of her own. Dahlia hissed as a rock found its way into her stiletto heel. She paused on the gravel driveway as she shook out her foot. Her father nudged her in annoyance.

"Behave," he whispered menacingly, gripping her arm more tightly.

I never do, she thought.

She made a note to harass Draco later for having a rocky driveway surrounded by albino peacocks who were eying her rather murderously. She was seconds from sprinting to the front door in fear of being chased. She was also officially positive she had worn the worst shoes when they finally approached the massive, opulent doors of the gilded manor. To think he had wanted her to marry him — live here with the tiny biting beasts and the sharp pebbles that stabbed her feet.

The sentient front doors swung open as they entered. She looked back and regarded them peculiarly. They were now in a dark, bare stone hall. This was not what she had expected after so many dreams of this place. Worn and fading tapestries of French fairytales adorned the white stone walls. She felt a thrum. She thought it might be her wildly beating heart.

Her father pulled her along, forward towards a second set of carved doors. She tilted her head up nervously to them. She realized they had been carved to display a popular folktale, only this time the wolves ate the small girl in the end. The thrumming turned to a rumbling of a crowd just beyond — she had mistaken it. The smaller doors began to slowly fan open. They were pulled wide magnificently by two stoic, tail-coated servants.

She tried to compose herself, but her mouth fell slightly agape. The manor was a sumptuous dream — a portrait of lavish excessiveness, all made grander by the bareness of the stone foyer.

Jewel-encrusted portraits lined the stone walls of the manor between the grand windows and silver, velvet drawings. The men and women in the portraits flirted unabashedly with guests. The white marble below her feet was strewn with golden and technicolor veins. She glanced around wildly. The manor was filled with extravagantly dressed laughing bodies — none of which she recognized.

The guests lined the crescent-moon shaped stairs and the towering halls as their champagne clinked and sloshed brazenly onto the different shades of marble. She thought the floor might flood with it by the end of the night and carry her away in the bubbling river. The melody of a full orchestra echoed from a distant ballroom. She looked up to the enchanted ceiling high above. It had been painted, then bewitched to showcase dazzling dragons soaring as if the ceiling were the sky itself. Their wings refracted the light of dozens of hand lit, crystal chandeliers. Mistletoe hung from each one.

"Miss Aldair," a smooth voiced strummed her soul.

Her eyes slowly fell from the chandeliers to her Fated.

Draco Malfoy leaned against a rounded, marble table before her, waiting patiently, in front of the crescent-mooned stairs. Centered upon it was the largest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. It consisted of poinsettias and gold-sprayed roses with lush greenery for the holidays.

Draco wore a pristinely tailored black suit that made his silver hair all the more striking. She noted he hadn't bothered to slick his hair back for the evening. It was a casual display that he was comfortable within the palatial space that was his home. He picked a rose from the bouquet behind him and blew it to her. He waved his hand so that the petals transformed into tiny fireworks on the wind of his breath. She laughed as she continued to stare wondrously at her surroundings instead of him.

He smirked, satisfied with her enchanted expression as she soaked in the beauty of his home. It was a small sign she could find happiness here. He reached for her hand at her side. She offered it up politely. He took it as she stood breathless in amazement.

Their eyes finally met as he kissed the top of her hand, like a perfect gentleman. She found herself smiling. She thought she might already be drunk.

Narcissa Malfoy appeared from the crowd and stood by her son's side. "Devereaux, it is so wonderful that you could attend this evening," she said politely to her father. She nodded at Dahlia. "You look so lovely, my dear," she said wistfully.

"May I?" Draco asked her father. He pushed off the table and stood tall as to take her arm from his.

Her father gripped her arm tightly. "Do not run, Dahlia. I'm warning you, and remember your manners." He quietly scolded her before passing her over to Draco.

She feigned a new smile as she took Draco's arms. He guided her deep into the bustling crowd. There was a false sense of anonymity amongst the sheer amount of drunken bodies.

"You look monstrously divine," he murmured. His lips grazed her earlobe where the sapphire earrings gifted from Theo hung. Her center regretfully tightened at his contact. "I think I might have fallen in love with you again," he added casually.

"We are no longer on speaking terms, Draco," She responded harshly.

"That's quite fine, darling. I don't need you to say a word when I take that dress off of you."

He hadn't even bothered to whisper. It was an announcement to the blurring crowd. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck. He was trying to charm his way back into her good graces. Having her in his home must have made him more bold.

She glared at him. His grey eyes danced with mischief as if she was his sole purpose.

"Would it be so bad? To be my wife?" He asked with a presumptuous grin.

He held his hand out to insinuate this lovely palace could be hers. She remembered his words from the ancient wood outside Theo's home. He had asked if it would be so bad if The Fates were deceiving them with a destined love for their own agenda.

She grimaced, not at his question, but at the sudden awareness of how comfortable she felt at his side, and the realization that he was growing on her despite his actions.

She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp but he refused her wishes, and she didn't want to cause a scuffle. "All those millions and billions and you can't even pave your driveway," she scoffed, tilting her head up at him.

He glided his fingertips under her chin. "I have better uses for my finances," he replied as his eyes took in every inch of her currently displayed in the gown he had bought.

"You could say thank you," he teased. He reached for a champagne flute off a passing tray without taking his eyes off of Dahlia.

She looked around at all the marvelous things he owned, and watched the guests enjoy his riches. She peered back at him, his eyes had never left her. There was a checkmate within them — a cool confidence that her love might be bought. He had planned to show her his exuberant world in order to lessen the blow he had dealt, and restore a small piece of the trust he had broken. She realized she desperately just needed an apology from him, not his own scheme.

He tilted his head and brushed her cheek as she read the desperation for her thoughts on his furrowed brows. She glided her hand across his neck to bring him closer, feeling brave in the blissfully uncaring crowd.

"Thank you, Draco." She felt him smirk.

"I quite like wasting your money now. Doomed for misery, right?"

She giggled derisively in his ear. She leaned back to watch his hopefulness fade as she repeated his words that had cut so true and haunted her for nights — he had told her the only thing she was good for was wasting time and money until her father could marry her off to someone he considered more important and useful. He had mocked it as a miserable life for her.

He briefly lost his composure, and she slipped her arm out of his grasp. She ate it up that he was the one wheeling and dealing to impress her father so he, himself, might buy her hand after his condemning speech.

He shot her a desperate, earnest look as to plead with her. She held strong, and it was gone in a flash as he rebuilt his charming facade for wandering eyes.

"I guess we'll find out if my father considers you useful enough," she murmured into his ear.

She felt him stiffen as he went cold. He grabbed her wrist, but she twisted out of his grip easily. She had struck a chord, not only against his ego, but as she had thrown back his own words at him. She hadn't seen him furious in far too long.

She had counted on him not wanting to make a scene as she took the champagne flute out of his other hand. She peered innocently into his furious eyes that confirmed she had ruined his night. She realized she had assumed wrong as he placed a lethal grasp on her forearm and pulled her closer. He pressed his body against hers. She panicked at the display of intimacy in front of such a crowd.

His mouth touched her cheek as he spoke a hateful promise, "I remember, Dahlia. That was the first night I shattered your pretty little heart, right?"

She went to squirm out of his grasp, but he only gripped tighter. He nodded as to make sure she was listening close. "You will be my nightmare, and only mine," he murmured as he felt a wave of desire bloom within him. He wasn't sure she had even realized that she had sent it dripping down their bond.

He smiled smugly to himself and continued, "I'll have you begging me to take you — praying to your stupid little gods, on your knees before me."

He released her harshly and savored the shock on her face.

She was dumbfounded as she disappeared into the party. He watched her go with pleasant casualness. She was nearly sweating with hatred — and desire. What had he fucking done to her?

She threw back the champagne and replaced it with a full flute from another passing tray. She turned back once more and noted how his fingers cupped the champagne flute as he laughed pleasantly with another guest. She gripped her chest as she shoved down the ghost of his touch into her haunting recollections. She could feel his eyes on her flustered figure. He sent a wave of crippling remorse and bold defiance into her. It almost knocked her down. She grabbed the wall to steady her. She almost moaned as the wave receded, and the sensation turned sweet with lovely nothings. It dripped off her mind and flowed down her trembling nerves.

"Dahlia!" She glanced up and saw Blaise approaching her. He wore classic dress robes with a silk bow tie. "Are you alright, doll?" He asked pushing through the crowd.

She pushed off the wall and hugged him tightly, happy to see a familiar face. He handed her another glass of champagne.

"I'm so glad to see you!" She released him from her embrace.

He nodded for her to follow him up the grand staircase. He took her arm and led her through the lavish crowd. They began heading up the steps. "I didn't think you would be here," he said with an air of peculiarity as he pulled her by the hand through the giggling groups.

"Honestly, me neither." She shrugged.

"I was invited last minute. I'm here with my father." She paused for a moment. "Have you seen Theo?" She tried to hide the desperation from her voice.

"No, but Amelia is right up there," he answered, pointing to the marble railing of the second floor. Amelia hung casually over it, dressed in a black slinky gown.

"She'll be thrilled to see you. We've all been worried." He turned back to face her with a smirk. "But honestly, you've never looked better, doll."

She scrunched her face as she unsuccessfully hid her sly smile. "You don't look so bad yourself," she answered back playfully.

They reached the top of the stairs and pushed past the crowd to where Amelia stood with Pansy, Daphne and Xavier. From the railing, they had a bird's-eye view of the party raging below.

"This is madness," Dahlia yelled over the echoing voices below.

Amelia turned and threw her arms around her neck, hugging her tightly.

"I'm fine," Dahlia assured her.

"What happened?" She shook her head in concern. Blaise leaned in to listen closely. The amount of people shoving around had them huddled closely.

"My father was furious that I had planned to spend the holiday with Theo and had been ignoring his letters, so he brought me home. He didn't realize I was upset about by mother. He thought I was upset over the Malfoys. Apparently Draco has offered something grand for permission to marry me eventually." The words flowed loosely out of her mouth as she had been guzzling champagne since she first stepped into the carriage.

"Fuck," Blaise cackled with a snort. "Theodore is going to go absolutely ballistic. He was a riot when you left." His face lit with amusement.

"I already told him. I wrote to him earlier," She yelled over the crowd with a shrug.

Blaise covered his mouth with his fist as he delivered an incredulous laugh. Amelia shoved him as to shut him up. He pulled wildly on Xavier's tie to fill him in.

"Malfoy asked her father if he could marry her!" Blaise laughed loudly.

"He's fucking lost it," Xavier answered coolly, spinning the amber liquid in his glass. "Nott is going to drag him for this," he shook his head.

"Malfoy is going to get his shit wrecked," Blaise cackled drunkenly.

Amelia shoved him away. "Are you returning to Hogwarts?" She asked seriously.

Dahlia nodded. Amelia glanced back at Pansy. She was suddenly stuck between two friends with the knowledge that Draco had intended to marry Dahlia someday, not her. Amelia knew Draco had always played cruelly with Pansy's heart.

"I'm sorry," Dahlia shook her head apologetically at Amelia. The truth always came with cost.

"And Theo?" Amelia asked. "He was livid, Dahlia. I told him he was a fool and to stop fucking with things he doesn't understand. I told him he might lose you in the process. That stupid girl," Amelia rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette.

"I just love him. I'm not any better," she shook her head.

"Dahlia..." Amelia looked startled, voice falling. "Don't say that," she whispered as if it pained her that Dahlia thought so lowly of herself. Amelia didn't know how haunted she was by Draco's touch and how good his mouth had felt against hers.

"I'll never marry Draco," she mumbled.

"I never mentioned that," Amelia grinned, breathing out smoke.

Dahlia glanced back over the railing at the entrance into the manor. Her breath hitched as she recognized the person Narcissa Malfoy was embracing. The boy in an all black suit with a loosely buttoned shirt pulled away and her heart yearned.

It was Theo. He looked so handsome that it pained her to remember that they had fought. She realized he had curiously cut his hair. It was now shorter at the sides. It made the angles of his face appear harsher. He turned his head up, and met her far gaze under hooded eyes. He grinned wildly and raised his brow as he trailed his eyes down her gown in approval.

She smiled at him before her blood ran cold. He hadn't come alone.

Theo took his eyes off of her as a man not much older than themselves leaned close to mutter something secretive into his ear. He was a bit shorter but shared the same eyes and unruly hair. She instinctively reached for Blaise's arm. She pulled his attention over the railing.

"Blaise, it's him. That's him — the man from my vision." Her voice came out in a panic.

He followed her eyes with concern. "Fucking hell," he exclaimed drunkenly.

"Who is that?" Amelia asked.

"That's Alexander Nott," Blaise answered in disbelief. "Strolled in from the grave."

Theo's brother was confirmed to be the man from her vision, where she had sat chained to the cold floor. It dawned on her ruefully. She should have followed her gut. They had all talked her out of it, unwilling to hear the ugly truth.

"Dahlia…" Amelia rubbed her shoulder soothingly. Her friend couldn't find the words to help in this situation.

Theo's eyes glanced back to her as he nodded to confirm something his brother had spoken. Dahlia lifted her skirt and began walking away from the railing and deeper into the manor, away from the crowd. She scurried down a dimmed hallway with a racing heart.

She finally came to a set of double doors and opened them in a panic, desperate to find a place where she could be alone.

She stepped forward, and found herself on the second floor of a grand library. It was lit by nothing but the night sky that shone through the glass dome above. She rested her hands on the railing of the balcony and took a deep breath. The center of the library lay below.

It was okay; she thought. She would improvise a new plan where she could stay far away from Alexander Nott. She would skip the holidays, and her and Theo would head straight to her mother's cottage. She would decipher her marking and absorb another amplifier — bones this time to rule death — deep in the wood with him by her side. If she was powerful enough, she could hopefully speak to her mother directly and find a path forward. She could tell her mother now, that she loved her so much more than she once had as she dwelled in her grief.

"Dahlia?"

She picked her head up off the railing and turned to see Theo. Her heart constricted. He was in front of her in a moment. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up into his arms. He placed her on the railing as to bring her to his eye level. He held her against his chest as he brought his forehead to hers. His hands roamed recklessly, down her face and up her thigh where her dress was slitted. It was as if he needed to feel all of her bare skin.

He closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered. His voice wavered as he finally touched her after days of wishing for it.

He brought his hand upwards and scrunched her loose curls against her cheek as he cupped her face. "I love you," he repeated.

She looked up at him with her mouth slightly parted. She wanted to ask him to fix her, but didn't know how, or if he could. He saw all of her emotions, as sorrow cut into his own beautiful face.

"I'm so fucking sorry. Dahlia, please. I needed something from her, but I shouldn't have gone about it that way. I shouldn't have done that."

She reached up as she might run her hands through his hair but all that remained was short hair faded at the sides, and a trimmed pile of curls on the top of his head. He had cut it to look more like his brother, she realized. He looked older now with a colder, hardened exterior.

She gripped his jaw to stop his begging. "Never do that again," she finally answered as she shifted within his arms. "Or on the gods, I will kill you myself," she whispered. She released his face harshly.

"I should have told you sooner," he rested his forehead on her shoulder and she caressed her fingertips down the back of his neck.

"No more secrets," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"I'm going to sever your ties to Draco, and Dahlia, I'm going to kill them for it," he stated casually. Dahlia stilled, spine straightening.

He lifted his head and stood tall with an unrestrained gleam in his eye. She placed her hands on the railing she was perched upon. One of his arms supported her back safely.

"The Fates?" She questioned in confusion.

"Who else?" He angled his head at her as if it were obvious.

"You're my whole fucking world, Dahlia." He caressed her arm gently.

There was a new, unfamiliar air of confidence about him. Something was different, almost mended. She had never contemplated who he might be with his family by his side once more.

"Theo…that's delus-"

Her sentence turned into something breathless as his hand was suddenly beneath her dress, caressing the highest point of her inner thigh where her legs were crossed.

He nodded with a crooked grin as he looked at her lips to confirm that he knew it was delusional, as if aware it was only possible because he, himself, was that fucking insane. A clever man fully leaning into his deranged nature, aided by a taste for dark magic.

"Tell me you love me back." His stare was intense as he pushed his hand harder between her crossed legs. The unpredictability gave her whiplash. She was speechless. Something didn't feel right.

"Please, I beg you." he said now delivering hot, breathy kisses on her neck.

"I pray to you every night, my beautiful goddess." He squeezed her inner thigh tightly and groaned, unable to withhold his desire.

Dahlia fell victim, ignoring her woes. He pressed himself against her, and she mistakenly whimpered. He was hard for her, as if the thought of her was enough for him. She grinned wickedly, parched of his healing touch. He mirrored her expression as she undid the button of his pants.

"I'll always love you," he whispered as if he couldn't take enough of her love. He tore her knees apart. She brought her hand to his hard length, then moved over all of him.

"Nevertheless." He looked her in the eyes with absolution as he stuck his fingers inside of her roughly with haste. He covered her mouth with his own to revel in her pleasure. He groaned louder as she moved her hand roughly against him.

This was so wrong; she found herself thinking.

He held her firmly in place as she leaned her hips forward into his touch. She wriggled beneath him as he suddenly moved his thumb against her core intensely without warning. She watched the door in a delicious fear that someone might catch them. He smiled with mischief.

"Between the moons," he whispered as he nudged her face with his own to look at him instead. His eyes were full of promises. He was relentless as he moved against her.

He wanted to see how fast he could steal her high. He wanted to take her tonight — a dirty secret they could share as the men all turned their heads to wonder about her. He moved harder and faster at the thought. He loved her so fucking much it tore him apart.

"In any lifetime," he vowed deliciously.

She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck. He watched her mouth fall open, head tilting back in building pleasure.

"I love you too," she finally answered.

"You are my madness," he prayed reverently against her lips. He didn't stop, so she didn't either.

He whispered, "I know all of you — what pleases you best." He moved his thumb over her sweetest spot and smirked as she jolted in pleasure.

"I know how to make you come undone for me." She moved her hips against his palm as to plead for it.

"Would you like that?" He murmured against her cheek.

She nodded as she kissed him hard, gripping his jaw as she was now fully supported by only his arm as she leaned off the railing. He finally brought himself into her as they couldn't bring their mouths apart. The satisfaction of finally being filled so fully, stretched so sweetly, made her heart beat too fast. He moved so surely and confidently like he had solved the mystery of her long ago.

"I'm gonna come," she whispered pulling away from his mouth. He leaned into the grip she had on his face like he wanted her to squeeze harder.

"Bite me, Dahlia," he ordered.

She brought her mouth back to his and kissed him harder as he brought her over the edge. Her teeth sunk down on his bottom lip as she free-fell through the bliss. He groaned in his own euphoria as she drew his blood. He slowed his motions as to take every ounce of pleasure from her.

He brought her forward, and pulled her off the railing. She stood on unsteady legs.

"I fucking love you," she reassured him as he wiped the blood from his lip.

He nodded in a daze of his own. "I love you, Dahlia."

He ran his fingers through the top of his curls after fixing her dress. "Let's go home, love," he sighed breathlessly.

He reached for her hand, but she stood rigid. She knew her next words would trigger him, but she had to say them. She couldn't stay in his home if Alexander would be there. She took a deep hesitant breath and gripped the railing with sweaty palms.

She noticed a book fell off of a shelf nearby as an imperceptible jolt creaked through the walls.

Somewhere below, Draco Malfoy inhaled sharply as his dark mark scorched his skin. He ground his teeth in pain as he attempted to keep himself composed. He fought the urge to grip his forearm as dread filled his champagne-filled gut. Understanding punched him in the chest as his senses kicked into overdrive — The Dark Lord was near. He sneered in disgust that he would feel so comfortable to come and go casually from the walls of his home. He threw his crystal glass on the ground, uncaring that it shattered, and hustled through the crowd in a cold fury. He went to find his mother immediately.

Above, Dahlia stuttered on her words. "Your brother — it's him. He's the man from my vision. I saw him with you. It's him," Dahlia admitted upstairs in the quiet hush of the Malfoy's library.

Theo shook his head in defiance, rolling her truth right off his back.

She was coming to terms that being a seer was its own Divine curse. Although people were desperate to know their futures, they never truly believed what was foretold.

He sighed in crisp disillusionment, or denial, Dahlia wasn't sure. There was a tense pause as Theo became more restless as she refused to fold to him.

Outside the sweet and tense silence, panic slowly reared in the midst of the party as those with the Dark Mark began to whisper. They moved in hushed attempts to send their loved ones as far away as possible without raising suspicions. The horror on their faces however, couldn't be fully concealed. The restless purebloods were banking on borrowed time as they rushed to escape as casually as possible.

Devereaux Aldair saw the silver hair of Draco Malfoy strutting forward furiously. Devereaux took a large step toward him. He grabbed Draco by the collar of his pristine suit. Draco stilled before tearing himself out of his grasp. He turned with a sneer to face Devereaux.

"Get my daughter out of here." Devereaux took a step closer and dropped his tone dangerously low. "Now. Take her to Albus. She'll be safe within his walls."

Draco nodded before Devereaux had even spoken his next words. "And she's yours."

Bellatrix Lestrange's haunting screech of a laugh echoed through the halls — mania ensued.

Tucked safely upstairs, Theo had fully come to believe in his own truth. "Darling, if you knew him you wouldn't believe that," he said lovingly.

Dahlia took a step forward. "Theo, baby," she gripped his face as she might infuse the truth into his mind with her touch. He grabbed her hands gently and lowered them to his heart.

"You just need to meet him. You'll see. It's safe here at the manor, we're on neutral ground. Let's go-" Theo suddenly stopped short as he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

They both froze as if sensing alarm at the same time. He turned to the doors of the library as the enormous manor rumbled. It sounded as if a stampede shook the ground. Muffled cries of panic echoed from the short distance of the hall.

Theo looked up through the glass dome as a traveling flume of black smoke crossed the sky like a horrid shooting stars. His stomach dropped.

Dahlia raced out of the room before Theo could grab her arm. She needed to find her father, and she needed to find Amelia to guarantee the safety of the people she loved most from whatever danger was suddenly lurking.

She shoved open the doors of the library, and the world tilted on its side. People were screaming as expensive trinkets were shoved off tables and broken. Portraits fell and landed on the marble with their own painted screams as the crowd rushed out. Strangers dropped their champagne as they ran in terror, covering the floor with priceless crystal.

Dahlia doubled over. She felt the sharp breaking of skin. Her hands caught her fall as she streaked the marble ground with her own blood within the shattered crystal. She heaved as the awful stench of his aura blanketed her senses. His tattered soul was an atrocity for her divinity to come near.

Theo was by her side in no time. He placed a gentle hand on her back as she attempted to dampen her senses so she could continue on. Tears streamed down her face in hysteria as she couldn't rid herself of the sensation. It was torturous. She pulled her falling hair away from her face with a bloodied hand only to discover that it wasn't Theo — it was Alexander.

A new horror exploded within her. He must have come for her in the chaos to carry her off. She violently shoved him away and reached for her wand. Theo caught her flailing arms as she stood and shouted. Dahlia's knees buckled as a fresh surge of corruption made contact with the pure cosmic balance of her soul.

"He's here," she wailed.

Theo cupped her face and wiped her tears of agony. She was ripped from his arms.

"We don't have time for this," Draco's cold voice boomed in the emptying hall as he tucked Dahlia safely within his own arms.

Narcissa Malfoy, Blaise and Amelia were quickly approaching behind him. Dahlia took steadying breaths as she found the strength to cope with the abomination cutting like a razor-sharp edge against her soul.

"Draco, drawing room, now." Narcissa said in a quiet, steely voice.

The manor had fallen into an eerie silence.

"You both, as well." She nodded at both Theo and Alexander. "It's requested."

"Come, Dahlia." Narcissa motioned for her.

She shook her head from within Draco's arms and turned her blurry eyes to Theo, "I'm not leaving without you," she screamed.

Narcissa gently pulled her from her son's iron grip. She didn't object.

His mother cupped her reddened cheeks and looked calmly into her manic eyes. "I will keep you safe in the gardens with Amelia and a few others until you wish to leave," she soothed.

"No," both Theo and Draco protested.

"There is no more time," she snapped.

"Go, Draco. He's impatient."

If it hadn't been his own mother, Draco would have risked the limited time and died to ensure Dahlia's safety. But he trusted his mother, and no one else. She would be safe with her. His mother had navigated the games and politics of the Dark Lord for years. He gave her a parting nod before storming down the staircase. He looked over his shoulder at Theo who was hesitating to leave as Alexander attempted to pull him away from Dahlia. She tearfully whispered something, then Theo finally turned away from her with a look of despair.

He waited for Theo and Alex beneath the stairs before continuing on to the drawing room. His dark mark ached more harshly with every step he took that brought him closer to the Dark Lord. Draco found himself giving Theodore a heartened look of pity before pushing open the ornately carved doors of the drawing room. He knew Theo would be forever haunted by the moments to come. It was no simple thing to face him.

The three boys walked into the room with unreadable expressions — the safest of options. Draco took a seat next to his aunt, Bellatrix, who motioned for him with a demented smile. Theo and Alex stayed close as they sat across from him along the endless table. No one spoke as they waited for the Dark Lord to appear. He always lurked inconspicuously.

The doors creaked once again and Draco looked up for the first time. His mother appeared and took a seat next to him. His eyes lingered on Devereaux Aldair who sat stoically across the room, at the other end of the table next to Amelia's parents. It was a relief to see Blaise had been spared for now.

A slither broke the tense silence of the room.

"My servants," the Dark Lord hissed smoothly as he took a seat at the head of the table.

He fought the compulsion to wince at his unnatural voice. Draco refused to look at him. To look would be to challenge him. He kept his eyes on Theo's own.

"Some new loyal faces, I see."

The wind audibly shook the windows. He hadn't remembered it storming before.

"A family reunion, how proud Tiberius would be." It was as if nails on a chalkboard had been given a voice. "I have such a glorious purpose for you boys."

Draco glanced down as to convey that Theo must bow his head in response. Theo did so slightly. Alex followed his brother's lead.

"Come," Voldemort motioned with his wand to the Nott brothers. He moved across the floor, spectral in nature. He lit the towering fireplace with a hiss.

Green flames found life as they exploded upwards and licked the sides of the slick, black marble. He held his wand directed at Theo, prepared to make him crawl to him if needed. Alexander stood first, gripping Theo's shoulder tightly to demand he follow his lead. Theo's eyes briefly flickered with fear, not for his own life, but for his brother's. He stood, as well. They approached the screeching fireplace coolly, looking at the rest of the attendants. No one looked into the eyes of the Dark Lord unless granted permission.

The Dark Lord brought both brothers to their knees sharply before the green flames. Theo winced as if they smelled of rotting death. They grunted in pain as they were restrained by invisible forces. Draco clenched his jaw as he realized he might be forced to watch one of his best friends die in a short moment. Regret weighted his bones. He wished he had seen clearly, and buried the hatchet between them sooner.

"My loyal-born servants," he croaked into Theo's ear.

Theo closed his eyes for a moment as he recomposed himself to remain brave. "Would you like to bring your father home?"

Draco's jaw tightened. He hated Theo's father, and it was no secret that Tiberius Nott hated his sons. He was an unkind man who had supposedly murdered his own wife, their mother, and had beaten his own violent nature into his two heirs.

The Dark Lord gripped Theo's face so he could gaze into his tar like eyes. Draco watched Theo's fist clench as his best friend finally bared witness to Voldemort's decaying features — his bloodied cracked lips and serpentine nose.

"Break his chains. Bring my pathetic servants back to me from Azkaban," he hissed as he drilled the order into the broken, chaotic eyes of Theodore Nott.

Draco spared a glance to his mother as to question if she had come to the same conclusion. The Dark Lord wanted his own father home. He was demanding the Nott brothers break out his captured followers from the most impenetrable place known to all. It was an impossible heist.

Draco moved his eyes feverishly back to the fireplace where they remained kneeled, frozen in servitude, as the familiar sound of a thick body slithered across the floor.

He fucking hated that snake.

The Dark Lord released Theo's face as Nagini coiled behind him. Alex turned and watched in horror as the Dark Lord bent Theo's arm unnaturally to expose his left forearm. Draco winced as he remembered what came next, as the same fate had befallen him not too long ago.

Foreign serpent-like words rolled off Voldemort's own wretched split tongue. Nagini bit into his arm rapidly, depositing venomous black ink. It moved as if the venom was settling into his skin like a water-colored painting.

Theo grunted in pain as the ink burned. It felt like a knife cutting repeatedly down to the bone. The room smelled of burning flesh as the Dark Lord whispered the sacred spell of his own creation.

Draco closed his eyes as he felt his mother pat his knee beneath the table. He kept his head down, unable to look anymore, as Alexander received the dark mark, as well. He finally heard the brothers gasp for air as they were released from the invisible restraints that had kept them kneeled.

"Do not fail me," the Dark Lord spoke as he pressed the tip of his wand firmly into Theo's cheek. "Sit," he ordered.

The Dark Lord soothed the green flames in the fireplace to a crackle as the brothers took their seats, once again at the large, polished table.

Draco looked at Theo as he settled back into his chair stiffly. A line of sweat beaded his forehead and there was a familiar gleam of chaos in his eyes that covered a newly born trauma. He blinked slow as to communicate he would be alright.

"Devereaux."

Draco watched as Theo closed his eyes briefly in dread. His own breathing suddenly halted, but to physically react would bring suspicion. He composed himself with cold coolness.

"It has been such a long parting." He paused. "Tell me, is your daughter nearby?"

Draco thought he might puke as the Dark Lord continued his taunting.

Not Dahlia, please not Dahlia; he thought.

"I can feel her grace as if she is within these walls. She is just a lamb, yes? I imagine her mind is more fragile than her mother's own."

Draco felt his nausea rise as understanding dawned on him. The Dark Lord knew Dahlia was a seer. The Dark Lord had used her poor mother, as well.

He attempted to contain his horror. He couldn't risk sending anymore pain to Dahlia through their tethered bond. He looked at Theo, unblinking as he pushed through his crashing panic.

Theo looked unfazed by the ordeal. Had he known? Did he know her father was in on it? Did Dahlia?

A new revelation unfolded — he had bargained a piece of his fortune for permission to take Dahlia's hand in marriage, only for her father to condemn her to death. Devereaux must think him a fool. He would laugh all the way to Gringotts. Draco knew there was a crucial plot he wasn't seeing clearly though. Devereaux had looked truly concerned for his daughter's wellbeing as he had asked him to return her safely to Hogwarts. Something wasn't as it seemed.

Theo ever so slightly raised a brow, communicating that this is why he had been so stubborn to let her go home. If Draco hadn't stopped him, maybe Dahlia would still be safely within the castle walls. Maybe she would be with Theo, who wouldn't have just been forced to receive the dark mark.

"My Lord, my daughter is being kept safe from harm for you within the walls of Hogwarts. I may come and go as I please with permission from Albus himself." Devereaux's voice was strong.

The Dark Lord took a horrid breath through the slits of his grotesque nose. "Ah, Devereaux, I don't believe you. Her revolting purity is so much stronger than her mothers. You did quite wonderfully with that white demon."

"My Lord-"

"Shall we hunt?" The Dark Lord exclaimed gleefully. "I'm sure she can sense my power as I sense hers. Her terror," he cackled loudly, and darkly, at her father's expense. It was uncanny.

"Yes, how marvelous!" He leaned down to her father's cheek. "Bring her to me!" He sneered to his followers.

Draco watched in horror as his aunt vanished into the shadows of the home with her own slick, greasy smile that promised pain. Theo quickly followed suit, surely to find Dahlia first. Devereaux stood, but the Dark Lord forced him back down into his seat.

"You shall watch, Devereaux." The Dark Lord was in a punishing mood.

His mother urgently grabbed his hand and Draco suddenly found himself somewhere within his gardens outside the manor. She had apparated them away as the death eaters had begun their fervent search.

Narcissa covered her mouth in horror as she looked around frantically. She turned to her furious son with a sorrowful look as the reality of her absence hit him.

They had made a run for it, so he would now have to hunt for her too.

He took off his jacket in a chilling calmness. He rolled up his sleeves, not wanting to get a custom suit too dirty, revealing his dark mark on one arm and his sacred brand from The Fates on the other.

He sent a reassuring conviction through their bond. He was coming for her. He hoped it might boomerang back to give him a small hint of her location. There were only so many endless possibilities of where she might be since she could barely apparate.

"I'll find Bellatrix," his mother whispered.

He trustfully nodded, and held his wand firmly as his mother vanished with a crack. He looked up to the night sky and focused on the instincts of the wind. It's what Dahlia would have done.

An urgent fear suddenly filled his chest — it wasn't his own.